s then any
woman who has passed through the 'storms of life' would see that I
attribute the blame of all faults committed by the wives, entirely
to their husbands. It is, in fact, a plenary absolution. Besides
this, I plead for the natural and inalienable rights of woman. A
happy marriage is impossible unless there be a perfect
acquaintance between the two before marriage--a knowledge of each
other's ways, habits and character. And I have not flinched from
any of the consequences involved in this principle. Those who know
me are aware that I have been faithful to this opinion ever since
I reached the age of reason; and in my eyes a young girl who has
committed a fault deserves more interest than she who, remaining
ignorant, lies open to the misfortunes of the future. I am at this
present time a bachelor, and if I should marry later in life, it
will only be to a widow."

Thus was begun the correspondence, and the Duchess ended by lifting
her mask and inviting the writer to visit her; he gladly accepted her
gracious offer to come, not as a literary man nor as an artist, but as
himself. It is a striking coincidence that Balzac accepted this
invitation the very day, February 28, 1832, that he received the first
letter from _l'Etrangere_.

What must have been Balzac's surprise, and how flattered he must have
felt, on learning that his unknown correspondent belonged to the
highest aristocracy of the Faubourg Saint-Germain, and that her
husband was a peer of France under Charles X!

"Madame de Castries was a coquettish, vain, delicate, clever woman,
with a touch of sensibility, piety and _chaleur de salon_; a true
Parisian with all her brilliant exterior accomplishments,
qualities refined by education, luxury and aristocratic
surroundings, but also with all her coldness and faults; in a
word, one of those women of whom one must never ask friendship,
love or devotion beyond a light veneer, because nature had created
some women morally poor."

At first, Balzac was too enraptured to judge her accurately, but after
frequenting her salon for several months, he says of her:

"It is necessary that I go and climb about at Aix, in Savoy, to run
after some one who, perhaps, will laugh at me--one of those
aristocratic women of whom you no doubt have a horror; one of
those angelic beauties to whom one ascribes a soul; a true
duchess, very disdainful, very loving, subtle, witty, a