That is all, and on that straight,
sustained movement the book must remain throughout, reiterating one
effect with growing intensity--always at the pitch of high hope and
sharp disappointment, always prepared to heighten and sharpen it a
little further. There can be no development through any variety of
incident; it is the same suspense and the same shock, again and again,
constantly more disastrous than before.
Here, too, Balzac amasses in his opening picture the reserve of effect
that he needs. He recognizes the ample resource of the dignity, the
opulence, the worth, the tradition inherited by families like that of
Claes--merchant-princes of honourable line, rulers of rich cities,
patrons of great art. The house of Claes, with its fine architecture,
its portraits, its dark furniture and gleaming silver, its garden of
rare tulips--Balzac's imagination is poured into the scene, it is
exactly the kind of opportunity that he welcomes. He knows the place
by heart; his description of it is in his most methodical style.
Steadily it all comes out, a Holbein-picture with every orderly detail
duly arranged, the expression of good manners, sound taste and a solid
position. On such a world, created as he knows how to create it, he
may draw without hesitation for the repeated demands of the story; the
protracted havoc wrought by the man's infatuation is represented, step
by step, as the visible scene is denuded and destroyed.
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