Balzac: genius extraordinaire; lover exagere



Is it that, unlike us mere earthlings, some men and women descend on earth to shine like stars, illumine our lives and then fade away? …
  More often than not, theirs is but a short sojourn, for, knowing the rapacious nature of ‘man’, Providence keeps the fine balance: between too much and too less. If it were indeed so, I would reckon Honore’ de Balzac as one such starry gleam that shone brightly but briefly on earth, made the world stop, shrug and look awhile at this crazy genius before the jealous gods plucked him away for their own pleasure.

I happened to feast on ‘Jeevan Madira’ - a Hindi translation of Balzac’s biographical novel ‘Wine of life’ by Charles Gorham, written by the felicitous pen of that fine, genial Punjabi man of letters Jung Bahadur Goyal who, among several books, has also elevated our lives with his beautiful gem ‘Muhabbatnama’.

Born in a French town, the childhood days of this prodigy were all pain and misery: Perhaps Providence was hewing and hammering him in the hot furnace of life for his future flowering into a sparkling gem. His self-centred mother Anne-Charlotte was harsh and cruel who kept ridiculing him: more concerned about her beauty, status and self-aggrandizement. His father Francois Balzac and sister Laure loved him but were powerless before the lady of the house. He was put in a school -  a hell hole for torture than enlightenment - where his script – a product of his first precocious attempt at writing - was put to flames by the teacher-priest followed by severe whipping which left his body bloodied but his irrepressible spirit undaunted; unscathed.

At his ambitious father’s insistence and his heartless mother’s coercion he was made to study law. But his heart throbbed with love for the written word. Eventually, he hired a dingy room and set about writing over endless cups of coffee through the nights with fiery passion and was soon out with his first manuscript- but only to suffer derision and apathy. At this juncture, a married, older lady, Madame Burnie tiptoed like an angel into his life. She recognized his genius and gave him her all: inspiration, support, money, guidance, and above all, Love: first as his mistress and later as a nursing mother.

Speaking of women, his craving for them was indefatigable climbing insane heights of obsessiveness. But then he was Balzac. He had his own rulebook, his own raison d’etre of life, and went about his own ways, undeterred. He wrote a lot, loved a lot, earned a lot, squandered a lot, and suffered a lot at the hands of women. Duchess of Abrantes Laure Junot knowing his weakness for women toyed with him like a plaything. So did the rich Countess Ewelina Hanska from Poland. Though she eventually married him after her husband’s death, it was all borne out of her unabashed selfishness to lead a life of luxury and to indulge in sexual tangos with several fancied lovers- all at poor Balzac’s cost!

Balzac’s writing genius was astounding. He could churn out a sizzling novel in 4-6 weeks working night after night, non-stop. Victor Hugo was his admiring friend and Alexander Dumas a jealous one; for, his insightful works depicting Parisian society and culture were sending waves across Europe, bracketing him with Shakespeare and Charles Dickens. Of the 20-odd books, his magnum opus ‘The Human Comedy’ is his most enduring work, and his ‘Physiology of Marriage’ an astute take on marital infidelity and inner workings of ‘woman’s’ psyche. Ironically, it is to the guiles of women - of whom he wrote with such uncanny perception – that he fell victim to! He loved a life of luxury and could lavish all his money on it without batting an eyelid. Contradictions he had aplenty which, he used to say, were indeed the wellspring of his creative genius.

Balzac died young but the luminosity of his books endures; and his uncommon lifestyle and amorous ways thumb a big nose at Sapiens’ perceived notions of wisdom, vice and virtue. Perhaps geniuses are those sublime, high-flying winged souls which are beyond human ken and know of no human bondage.

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Comments

  1. Beautifully written and very informative. I wonder how many of us have heard of Balzac. I never read Balzac but then I have read only one french author, Alexander Dumas.

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