self repeatedly as working eighteen hours out
of the twenty-four. In the midst of all this (it seems singular), he
found time for visions of public life, of political distinction. In a
letter written in 1830 he gives a succinct statement of his political
views, from which we learn that he approved of the French monarchy
having a constitution, and of instruction being diffused among the lower
orders. But he desired that the people should be kept "under the most
powerful yoke possible," so that in spite of their instruction they
should not become disorderly. It is fortunate, probably, both for Balzac
and for France, that his political role was limited to the production of
a certain number of forgotten editorials in newspapers; but we may be
sure that his dreams of statesmanship were brilliant and audacious.
Balzac indulged in no dreams that were not.

Some of his best letters are addressed to Mme. Zulma Carraud, a lady
whose acquaintance he had made through his sister Laure, of whom she
was an intimate friend, and whose friendship (exerted almost wholly
through letters, as she always lived in the country) appears to have
been one of the brightest and most salutary influences of his life. He
writes to her in 1832:

There are vocations which we must obey, and something
irresistible draws me on to glory and power. It is not a happy
life. There is within me the worship of woman (_le culte de la
femme_), and a need of love which has never been fully
satisfied. Despairing of ever being loved and understood by
such a woman as I have dreamed of, having met her only under
one form, that of the heart, I throw myself into the
tempestuous sphere of political passions and into the stormy
and desiccating atmosphere of literary glory. I shall fail
perhaps on both sides; but, believe me, if I have wished to
live the life of the age itself, instead of running my course
in happy obscurity, it is just because the pure happiness of
mediocrity has failed me. When one has a fortune to make, it is
better to make it great and illustrious; because, pain for
pain, it is better to suffer in a high sphere than in a low
one, and I prefer dagger blows to pin pricks.

All this, though written at thirty years of age, is rather juvenile;
there was to be much less of the "tempest" in Balzac's life than is here
foreshadowed. He was tossed and shaken a great deal, as we all a