Cromwell. Our most vivid painter of historical portraits is not more
charmed to discover a characteristic incident in the life of his heroes,
or to describe the pimples on his face, or the specks of blood on his
collar, than Balzac to do the same duty for the creations of his fancy.
De Foe may be compared to those favourites of showmen who cheat you into
mistaking a flat-wall painting for a bas-relief. Balzac is one of the
patient Dutch artists who exhaust inconceivable skill and patience in
painting every hair on the head and every wrinkle on the face till their
work has a photographic accuracy. The result, it must be confessed, is
sometimes rather trying to the patience. Balzac's artistic instinct,
indeed, renders every separate touch more or less conducive to the
general effect; but he takes an unconscionable time in preparing his
ground. Instead of launching boldly into his story, and leaving his
characters to speak for themselves, he begins, as it were, by taking his
automatons carefully to pieces, and pointing out all their wires and
springs. He leaves nothing unaccounted for. He explains the character of
each actor as he comes upon the stage; and, not content with making
general remarks, he plunges with extraordinary relish into the minutest
personal details. In particular, we know just how much money everybody
has got, and how he has got it. Balzac absolutely revels in elaborate
financial statements. And constantly, just as we hope that the action is
about to begin, he catches us, as it were, by the button-hole, and begs
us to wait a minute to listen to a few more preparatory remarks. In one
or two of the stories, as, for example, in the 'Maison Nucingen,' the
introduction seems to fill the whole book. After expecting some
catastrophe, we gradually become aware that Balzac has thought it
necessary to give us a conscientious explanation of some very dull
commercial intrigues, in order to fill up gaps in other stories of the
cycle. Some one might possibly ask, what was the precise origin of this
great failure of which we hear so much, and Balzac resolves that he
shall have as complete an answer as though he were an accountant drawing
up a balance-sheet. It is said, I know not on what authority, that his
story of 'Cesar Birotteau' has, in fact, been quoted in French courts as
illustrating the law of bankruptcy; and the details given are so ample,
and, to English readers at least, so wearisome, that it really reads
mo