Balzac: genius extraordinaire; lover exagere
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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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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