since the days of his vast enthusiasm over Cromwell, in his garret in
the Rue Lesdiguieres. Had he drawn any nearer to fame, that "pretty
woman whom he did not know," and whose kisses he so eagerly desired
during his long nights of labour and of dreams? He has descended into
the literary arena with valiant heart, as a soldier willing to serve in
the ranks, yet cherishing the legitimate hope of earning promotion. He
had not shrunk from the humblest tasks, and yet, after three years of
struggle, he found himself back at the starting point. His novels had
brought him neither fame nor fortune, and he had not even acquired the
leisure that was necessary to him before he could achieve those works
which seethed and teemed within his brain, filling it with the nebulous
and confused elements of an unborn world. What was he to do?

Honore de Balzac refused to admit defeat, and, with a promptness of
decision which belongs rather to men of action than to the
contemplative type, he turned his attention to business and commercial
enterprises. He had none of the prejudices of men of letters, who
refuse to recognise that there are any employments worthy of their
faculties outside of literature. Little he cared as to the means,
provided he could lay the foundation of his fortunes, and assure his
independence. Novels had not brought him material emancipation. Very
well then! he would abandon them without regret. Nevertheless, he would
preserve the memory of them, and recognise that they had been useful as
a literary exercise. In fact, he said to Champfleury, in 1848, "I wrote
seven novels, simply as a training. One to break myself in to dialogue;
one to learn how to write description; one to learn how to group my
characters; one as a study in composition, etc." Although Balzac never
publicly acknowledged these works of his youth, they had their share in
his intellectual development; and, because of this claim, they should
not be wholly set aside from the rest of his gigantic work. In any