"You are right, friendship is not found ready made. Thus every day mine for you increases; it has its root both in the past and in the present. . . . Though I do not write often, believe that my friendship does not sleep; the farther we advance in life, precious ties like our friendship only grow the closer. . . . I shall never let a year pass without coming to inhabit my room at Frapesle. I am sorry for all your annoyances; I should like to know you are already at home, and believe me, I am not averse to an agricultural life, and even if you were in any sort of hell, I would go there to join you. . . . Dear friend, let me at least tell you now, in the fulness of my heart, that during this long and painful road four noble beings have faithfully held out their hands to me, encouraged me, loved me, and had compassion on me; and you are one of them, who have in my heart an inalienable privilege and priority over all other affections; every hour of my life upon which I look back is filled with precious memories of you. . . . You will always have the right to command me, and all that is in me is yours. When I have dreams of happiness, you always take part in them; and to be considered worthy of your esteem is to me a far higher prize than all the vanities the world can bestow. No, you can give me no amount of affection which I do not desire to return to you a thousand-fold. . . . There are a few persons whose approval I desire, and yours is one of those I hold most dear."
Among those to whom Balzac could look for criticism, Madame Carraud had the high intelligence necessary for such a role; he felt that never was so wonderful an intellect as hers so entirely stifled, and that she would die in her corner unknown. (Perhaps this estimate of her caused various writers to think that Madame Carraud was Balzac's model for the /femme incomprise/.) Balzac not only had her serve him as a critic, but in 1836 he requested her to send him at once the names of various streets in Angouleme, and wished the "Commandant" to make him a rough plan of the place. This data he wanted for /Les deux Poetes/, the first part of /Les Illusions perdues/.
Like his family and some of his most intimate friends, she too interested herself in his future happiness, but when she wrote to him about marriage, he was furious for a long time. Concerning this question, Balzac informs her that a woman of thirty, possessing three or four hundred thousand francs, who would take a fancy to him, would find him willing to marry her, provided she were gentle, sweet- tempered and good-looking, although enormous sacrifices would be imposed on him by this course. Several months later, he writes her that if she can find a young girl twenty-two years of age, worth two hundred thousand francs or even one hundred thousand, she must think of him, provided the dowry can be applied to his business.
If the Vicomte de Spoelberch de Lovenjoul is correct in his statement, Balzac showed Madame Carraud the first letter from /l'Etrangere/, in spite of his usual extreme prudence and absolute silence in such matters. She answered it, so another explanation of Balzac's various handwritings might be given. At least, Madame Carraud's seal was used.
In later years, Madame Carraud met with financial reverses. The following letter, which is the last to her on record, shows not only what she had been to Balzac in his life struggle, but his deep appreciation and gratitude:
"We are such old friends, you must not hear from any one else the news of the happy ending of this grand and beautiful soul-drama which has been going on for sixteen years. Three days ago I married the only woman I have ever loved, whom I love more than ever, and whom I shall love to my life's end. I believe this is the reward God has kept in store for me through so many years of neither a happy youth nor a blooming spring; I shall have the most brilliant summer and the sweetest of all autumns. Perhaps, from this point of view, my most happy marriage will seem to you like a personal consolation, showing as it does that Providence keeps treasures in store to bestow on those who endure to the end. . . . Your letter has gained for you the sincerest of friends in the person of my wife, from whom I have had no secrets for a long time past, and she has known you by all the instances of your greatness of soul, which I have told her, also by my gratitude for your treasures of hospitality toward me. I have described you so well, and your letter has so completed your portrait, that now you are felt to be a very old friend. Also, with the same impulse, with one voice, and with one and the same feeling in our hearts, we offer you a pleasant little room in our house in Paris, in order that you may come there absolutely as if it were your own house. And what shall I say to you? You are the only creature to whom we could make this offer, and you must accept it or you would deserve to be unfortunate, for you must remember that I used to go to your house, with the sacred unscrupulousness of friendship, when you were in prosperity, and when I was struggling against all the winds of heaven, and overtaken by the high tides of the equinox, drowned in debts. I have it now in my power to make the sweet and tender reprisals of gratitude . . . You will have some days' happiness every three months: come more frequently if you will; but you are to come, that is settled. I did this in the old times. At St. Cyr, at Angouleme, at Frapesle, I renewed my life for the struggle; there I drew fresh strength, there I learned to see all that was wanting in myself; there I obtained that for which I was thirsty. You will learn for yourself all that you have unconsciously been to me, to me a toiler who was misunderstood, overwhelmed for so long under misery, both physical and moral. Ah! I do not forget your motherly goodness, your divine sympathy for those who suffer. . . . Well, then as soon as you wish to come to Paris, you will come without even letting us know. You will come to the Rue Fortunee exactly as to your own house, absolutely as I used to go to Frapesle. I claim this as my right. I recall to your mind what you said to me at Angouleme, when broken down after writing /Louis Lambert/, ill, and as you know, fearing lest I should go mad. I spoke of the neglect to which these unhappy ones are abandoned. 'If you were to go mad, I would take care of you.' Those words, your look, and your expression have never been forgotten. All this is still living in me now, as in the month of July 1832. It is in virtue of that word that I claim your promise to-day, for I have almost gone mad with happiness. . . . When I have been questioned here about my friendships you have been named the first. I have described that fireside always burning, which is called Zulma, and you have two sincere woman-friends (which is an achievement), the Countess Mniszech and my wife."[*]
[*] Balzac is not exaggerating about the free use he made of her home, for besides going there for rest, he worked there, and two of his works, /La Grenadiere/ and /La Femme abandonnee/, were signed at Angouleme.
His devotion is again seen in the beautiful words with which he dedicates to her in 1838 /La Maison Nucingen/:
"To Madame Zulma Carraud.
"To whom, madame, but to you should I inscribe this work, to you whose lofty and candid intellect is a treasury to your friends, to you who are to me not only an entire public, but the most indulgent of sisters? Will you deign to accept it as a token of a friendship of which I am proud? You, and some few souls as noble as your own, will grasp my thought in reading /la Maison Nucingen/ appended to /Cesar Birotteau/. Is there not a whole social contrast between the two stories?