"Le Père Goriot" is a fine work, but monstrously sad. To make it complete, it was necessary to show the _moral sink-hole_ of Paris; and it has the effect of a disgusting sore.
I must tell you that yesterday (my letter has been interrupted) I copied out your portrait of Mademoiselle Céleste, and I said to two uncompromising judges: "Here is a sketch I have just flung on paper. I wanted to paint a woman under given circumstances, and launch her into life through such and such an event."
What do you think they said?--"Read that portrait again." After which they said:--
"That is your masterpiece. You have never before had that _laisser-aller_ of a writer which shows the hidden strength."
"Ha, ha!" I answered, striking my head; "that comes from the forehead of _an analyst_."
I kneel at your feet for this violation; but I left out all that was personal. Beat me, scold me, but I could not refuse myself the enjoyment of this praise; and I tasted the greatest of pleasures,--that of secretly hearing a person praised who is unknown and to whom one bears a deep affection. It is enjoyment twice over.
I am convinced of the immense superiority of your mind, and I am confounded to find in you such feminine graces, together with the force of mind which Madame Dudevant has and Madame de Staël once had; and I say this very loud, that you may not make yourself small behind that tall steeple you have so often boasted of to me. The opinion that I express upon you is a matured opinion. I am here, far from the prestige of your presence. I go over in my mind, impartially, your sayings, your opinions, your studies, and I write you these lines with a sort of joy, because Madame Carraud and Madame de Berny have made other women seem very small to me; and because, in the matter of grace, amenity, and the science hidden under the frivolity of smiles, I am a great connoisseur, having lovingly inhaled those flowers of womanhood, and what I say of you is conscientious and true. Besides, you are too _grande dame_ to be proud of it. What you should be proud of is your kindness, and those qualities which are acquired only by the practice of Christian virtues, at which I never jest now.
Forgive me the disconnectedness of my letters, the incompleteness of my sentences. I write to you at night before I begin to work. My letters are like a prayer made to a good genius.