Balzac's impurity, passion and love, and so on.

Balzac's former residence is at 47 Raynouard Road, hidden in one of the best residential areas in District 16. The so-called noble location, even in a city as conservative as Paris, has changed a little in two hundred years. In Balzac's time, aristocrats lived in Saint-Germain (it is still noble, but the 16th arrondissement has come from behind). Balzac would be happy to know he is so vain! The French finally tolerated his vanity, and now when they mentioned him, they acquiesced in the "virtue" he suspiciously added between his last name and his first name. This is Honore de Balzac.

the former residence is not big, the study is even smaller, and there are not many books. I don't feel bookish or expensive when I go into it, unlike Hugo's former home at 6 Vosges Plaza. What I find most shocking is Balzac's desk, which is similar in size to my Ikea desk. It turned out that so many of his works were written on such a small, simple table. Then a self-sufficient and cautious imperial society was born in this area of more than one square meter, which is the birth of the universe at a singularity. For twenty years, the man wrote almost every day from midnight to noon the next day, then read various newspapers and magazines from noon to four in the afternoon, dined at five, went to bed Rest from 05:30 to six, and got up in the middle of the night to go back to work. He can write for twenty hours in a row. He has written a long novel of 180000 words in a week, and his manuscript often has to be revised twenty times. He is a genius, and he is an extremely diligent genius. He is a donkey of God.

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Balzac created a living world with a pen. To this world, he is an omniscient and omnipotent god and a despicable voyeur; he is a young general with clear eyes on his journey, and a coolie in his twilight years whose shoulders are burdened with flesh; he is an arrogant emperor who guides rivers and mountains, and he is also a bent slave squeezed out of the last drop of blood and sweat. His fate is not only the writer's greatest dream but also the writer's most feared fate. He has the talent, passion, and fame that all writers crave, and his life experience is neither envisioned nor feared.

by contrast, I prefer Hugo's life. Young Hugo said to himself: either become Chateaubrion or die. He knew for a long time that what he wanted was the honor of literature and the position of the textbook. His family is so well-off that he doesn't need to be a best-selling writer to make him rich and respectable. Hugo is the darling of heaven. His life, literary, political, loving, fatherly, grandfather, etc. He unexpectedly played every role very well and was not overtired. He is such a lively man that he is still having an affair at the age of eighty. Balzac, on the other hand, was overwhelmed by his high-intensity creation at the age of 50.

this hapless old Balzac, it is not that he does not want to do some speculative business to put an end to this unfortunate day oppressed by writing-but as soon as he is published in the book world, his shrewdness is useless, he loses all his old money and spends no money, so he can only continue to write one book at a time to pay his debts. In this day of oppression by words, he was both voluntary and forced.

I also saw the famous walking stick with a gold-plated head and turquoise inlaid. Even though it is an antique in terms of age, it still looks so gaudy. Balzac, who was short, fat, and rustic, held it so proudly that he pretended to be an upper-class boy and laughed all over Paris. He is an ugly man with small eyes, a thick chin, no neck, "one bite on both shoulders", a big belly, and short stature, and as much as he is not flirtatious and chic, he is not flirtatious and chic. There are many famous statues on the negative first floor of his former residence. I don't know why people like to mold him so much. Maybe his face is more expressive than those exquisite faces. Look at his ugly face, he is eager for quick success, stupid, villain, ridiculous-but he is full of moral sense, naive, superhuman, great.

he is so contradictory that if you are God, you simply don't know whether it is better to put him in heaven or hell after death.

and his love. There is no shortage of stories in his life, the longest and most wonderful of which is with Mrs. Hanska. Balzac wrote novels with great passion and wrote love letters to Mrs. Hanska with a great passion for 18 years. There is no difference between the two: Balzac conquers the real world with a pen, his weapon for the public is fiction, and his weapon for women is love letters.

I think Mrs. Hanska, in Balzac, is indeed the ideal lover: dignified appearance and cultural accomplishment, which is the foundation. Further, she had something Balzac coveted: she was a true aristocrat, and her territory was the size of a French province! Moreover, her remoteness and mystery are enough to inspire the greatest admiration of a visionary.

with Balzac as half-hearted, it's a miracle to love someone for so many years. Love is a soft thing of continuous quality, but passion is another matter. What can support eighteen years of passion? Of course, it is not continuous love-it can arouse a person's unceasing desire to conquer, but only because he is always unable to conquer. Mrs. Hanska finally agreed to his proposal; unfortunately, the result came too late. Balzac was seriously ill and died five months later. I very much doubt that he is seriously ill, which is the reason why Mrs. Hanska finally got married. If you have been in love for 20 years, how can you not give an account to your sick lover? After all, a woman's heart is very soft. Besides, she first met Balzac at the age of 28 and married a 46-year-old woman who didn't have as many choices as she did in her heyday. A writer with a reputation in Europe is not a too bad choice-- women have a tendency, and I don't remember who said it-- "willing to sleep with immortality."

I think of Rigo's comment on love: "Love is valuable because its texture and human nature are cut out on the same piece of cloth." If a kind of love, only sweet mature praise, gentle coax, superficial sensual desire, only positive, construction, equality, interaction, that is because its drill bit does not go deep into the depths of human nature, flying sand and stones, and then arousing dregs and filth.

although it is about love, it can also be used to solve the problem of creation. This is why some people with the title of writer feel barren and superficial when they read, while some people's words are really good before you can analyze and sum up why it is good. You feel that kind of good and stinging-- because this kind of writing is like the kind of love that goes deep into human nature. "?. In Balzac's own words, "pain also has its dignity, which can transform the laity." To do this, all you have to do is to be real. "

Balzac is so real, he passionately loves all material and spiritual good, his people and his books are close to the painfully reborn truth, and his drills drill into the dregs of human nature. that scum is his impure, earthly love, and his religious solemn truth. Although he can never be the object of my sexual fantasy, uh, I love him.