The Lesser Bourgeoisie by Honore de Balzac (freenovel24 TXT) 📖

a week, and that pamphlet, which ought to have

appeared a long time ago--"

 

"The pamphlet and the cross will both appear in good time; the one

will bring the other," said la Peyrade, rising. "Tell Thuillier to

come and see me to-morrow evening, and I think we can then correct the

last sheet. But, above all, don't listen to the spitefulness of Madame

de Godollo; I have an idea that in order to make herself completely

mistress of this house she wants to alienate all your old friends, and

also that she is casting her net for Thuillier."

 

"Well, in point of fact," said the old maid, whom the parting shot of

the infernal barrister had touched on the ever-sensitive point of her

authority, "I must look into that matter you speak of there; she is

rather coquettish, that little woman."

 

La Peyrade gained a second benefit out of that speech so adroitly

flung out; he saw by Brigitte's answer to it that the countess had not

mentioned to her the visit he had paid her during the day. This

reticence might have a serious meaning.

 

Four days later, the printer, the stitcher, the paper glazier having

fulfilled their offices, Thuillier had the inexpressible happiness of

beginning on the boulevards a promenade, which he continued through

the Passages, and even to the Palais-Royal, pausing before all the

book-shops where he saw, shining in black letters on a yellow poster,

the famous title:--

 

              TAXATION AND THE SLIDING-SCALE

                     by J. Thuillier,

       Member of the Council-General of the Seine.

 

Having reached the point of persuading himself that the care he had

bestowed upon the correction of proofs made the merit of the work his

own, his paternal heart, like that of Maitre Corbeau, could not

contain itself for joy. We ought to add that he held in very low

esteem those booksellers who did not announce the sale of the new

work, destined to become, as he believed, a European event. Without

actually deciding the manner in which he would punish their

indifference, he nevertheless made a list of these rebellious persons,

and wished them as much evil as if they had offered him a personal

affront.

 

The next day he spent a delightful morning in writing a certain number

of letters, sending the publication to friends, and putting into paper

covers some fifty copies, to which the sacramental phrase, "From the

author," imparted to his eyes an inestimable value.

 

But the third day of the sale brought a slight diminution of his

happiness. He had chosen for his editor a young man, doing business at

a breakneck pace, who had lately established himself in the Passage

des Panoramas, where he was paying a ruinous rent. He was the nephew

of Barbet the publisher, whom Brigitte had had as a tenant in the rue

Saint-Dominique d'Enfer. This Barbet junior was a youth who flinched

at nothing; and when he was presented to Thuillier by his uncle, he

pledged himself, provided he was not shackled in his advertising, to

sell off the first edition and print a second within a week.

 

Now, Thuillier had spent about fifteen hundred francs himself on costs

of publication, such, for instance, as copies sent in great profusion

to the newspapers; but at the close of the third day _seven_ copies only

had been sold, and three of those on credit. It might be believed that

in revealing to the horror-stricken Thuillier this paltry result the

young publisher would have lost at least something of his assurance.

On the contrary, this Guzman of the book-trade hastened to say:--

 

"I am delighted at what has happened. If we had sold a hundred copies

it would trouble me far more than the fifteen hundred now on our

hands; that's what I call hanging fire; whereas this insignificant

sale only proves that the edition will go off like a rocket."

 

"But when?" asked Thuillier, who thought this view paradoxical.

 

"Parbleu!" said Barbet, "when we get notices in the newspapers.

Newspaper notices are only useful to arouse attention. 'Dear me!' says

the public, 'there's a publication that must be interesting.' The

title is good,--'Taxation and the Sliding-Scale,'--but I find that the

more piquant a title is, the more buyers distrust it, they have been

taken in so often; they wait for the notices. On the other hand, for

books that are destined to have only a limited sale, a hundred

ready-made purchasers will come in at once, but after that, good-bye

to them; we don't place another copy."

 

"Then you don't think," said Thuillier, "that the sale is hopeless?"

 

"On the contrary, I think it is on the best track. When the 'Debats,'

the 'Constitutionnel,' the 'Siecle,' and the 'Presse' have reviewed

it, especially if the 'Debats' mauls it (they are ministerial, you

know), it won't be a week before the whole edition is snapped up."

 

"You say that easily enough," replied Thuillier; "but how are we to

get hold of those gentlemen of the press?"

 

"Ah! I'll take care of that," said Barbet. "I am on the best of terms

with the managing editors; they say the devil is in me, and that I

remind them of Ladvocat in his best days."

 

"But then, my dear fellow, you ought to have seen to this earlier."

 

"Ah! excuse me, papa Thuillier; there's only one way of seeing to the

journalists; but as you grumbled about the fifteen hundred francs for

the advertisements, I did not venture to propose to you another extra

expense."

 

"What expense?" asked Thuillier, anxiously.

 

"When you were nominated to the municipal council, where was the plan

mooted?" asked the publisher.

 

"Parbleu! in my own house," replied Thuillier.

 

"Yes, of course, in your own house, but at a dinner, followed by a

ball, and the ball itself crowned by a supper. Well, my dear master,

there are no two ways to do this business; Boileau says:--

 

"'All is done through the palate, and not through the mind;

And it is by our dinners we govern mankind.'"

 

"Then you think I ought to give a dinner to those journalists?"

 

"Yes; but not at your own house; for these journalists, you see, if

women are present, get stupid; they have to behave themselves. And,

besides, it isn't dinner they want, but a breakfast--that suits them

best. In the evening these gentlemen have to go to first

representations, and make up their papers, not to speak of their own

little private doings; whereas in the mornings they have nothing to

think about. As for me, it is always breakfasts that I give."

 

"But that costs money, breakfasts like that," said Thuillier;

"journalists are gourmands."

 

"Bah! twenty francs a head, without wine. Say you have ten of them;

three hundred francs will see you handsomely through the whole thing.

In fact, as a matter of economy, breakfasts are preferable; for a

dinner you wouldn't get off under five hundred francs."

 

"How you talk, young man!" said Thuillier.

 

"Oh, hang it! everybody knows it costs dear to get elected to the

Chamber; and all this favors your nomination."

 

"But how can I invite those gentlemen? Must I go and see them myself?"

 

"Certainly not; send them your pamphlet and appoint them to meet you

at Philippe's or Vefour's--they'll understand perfectly."

 

"Ten guests," said Thuillier, beginning to enter into the idea. "I did

not know there were so many leading journals."

 

"There are not," said the publisher; "but we must have the little dogs

as well, for they bark loudest. This breakfast is certain to make a

noise, and if you don't ask them they'll think you pick and choose,

and everyone excluded will be your enemy."

 

"Then you think it is enough merely to send the invitations?"

 

"Yes; I'll make the list, and you can write the notes and send them to

I'll see that they are delivered; some of them I shall take in

person."

 

"If I were sure," said Thuillier, undecidedly, "that this expense

would have the desired effect--"

 

"_If I were sure_,--that's a queer thing to say," said Barbet. "My dear

master, this is money placed on mortgage; for it, I will guarantee the

sale of fifteen hundred copies,--say at forty sous apiece; allowing

the discounts, that makes three thousand francs. You see that your

costs and extra costs are covered, and more than covered."

 

"Well," said Thuillier, turning to go, "I'll talk to la Peyrade about

it."

 

"As you please, my dear master; but decide soon, for nothing gets

mouldy so fast as a book; write hot, serve hot, and buy hot,--that's

the rule for authors, publishers, and public; all is bosh outside of

it, and no good to touch."

 

When la Peyrade was consulted, he did not think in his heart that the

remedy was heroic, but he had now come to feel the bitterest animosity

against Thuillier, so that he was well pleased to see this new tax

levied on his self-important inexperience and pompous silliness.

 

As for Thuillier, the mania for posing as a publicist and getting

himself talked about so possessed him that although he moaned over

this fresh bleeding of his purse, he had decided on the sacrifice

before he even spoke to la Peyrade. The reserved and conditional

approval of the latter was, therefore, more than enough to settle his

determination, and the same evening he returned to Barbet junior and

asked for the list of guests whom he ought to invite.

 

Barbet gaily produced his little catalogue. Instead of the ten guests

originally mentioned, there proved to be fifteen, not counting himself

or la Peyrade, whom Thuillier wanted to second him in this encounter

with a set of men among whom he himself felt he should be a little out

of place. Casting his eyes over the list, he exclaimed, vehemently:--

 

"Heavens! my dear fellow, here are names of papers nobody ever heard

Where's the 'Moralisateur,' the 'Lanterne de Diogene,' the

'Pelican,' the 'Echo de la Bievre'?"

 

"You'd better be careful how you scorn the 'Echo de la Bievre,'" said

Barbet; "why, that's the paper of the 12th arrondissement, from which

you expect to be elected; its patrons are those big tanners of the

Mouffetard quarter!"

 

"Well, let that go--but the 'Pelican'?"

 

"The 'Pelican'? that's a paper you'll find in every dentist's

waiting-room; dentists are the first _puffists_ in the world! How

many teeth do you suppose are daily pulled in Paris?"

 

"Come, come, nonsense," said Thuillier, who proceeded to mark out

certain names, reducing the whole number present to fourteen.

 

"If one falls off we shall be thirteen," remarked Barbet.

 

"Pooh!" said Thuillier, the free-thinker, "do you suppose I give in to

that superstition?"

 

The list being finally closed and settled at fourteen, Thuillier

seated himself at the publisher's desk and wrote the invitations,

naming, in view of the urgency of the purpose, the next day but one

for the meeting, Barbet having assured him that no journalist would

object to the shortness of the invitation. The meeting was appointed

at Vefour's, the restaurant par excellence of the bourgeoisie and all

provincials.

 

Barbet arrived on the day named before Thuillier, who appeared in a

cravat which alone was enough to create a stir in the satirical circle

in which he was about to produce himself. The publisher, on his own

authority, had changed various articles on the bill of fare as

selected by his patron, more especially directing that the champagne,

ordered in true bourgeois fashion to be served with the dessert,

should be placed on the table at the beginning of breakfast, with

several dishes of shrimps, a necessity which had not occurred to the

amphitryon.

 

Thuillier, who gave a lip-approval to these amendments, was followed

by la Peyrade; and then came a long delay in the arrival of the

guests. Breakfast was ordered at eleven o'clock; at a quarter to

twelve not a journalist had appeared. Barbet, who was never at a loss,

made the consoling remark that breakfasts at restaurants were like

funerals, where, as every one knew, eleven o'clock meant mid-day.

 

Sure enough, shortly before that hour, two gentlemen, with pointed

beards, exhaling a strong odor of tobacco, made their appearance.

Thuillier thanked them effusively for the "honor" they had done him;

after which came another long period of waiting, of which we shall not

relate the tortures. At one o'clock the assembled contingent comprised

five of the invited guests, Barbet and la Peyrade not included. It is

scarcely necessary to say that none of the self-respecting journalists

of the better papers had taken any notice of the absurd invitation.

 

Breakfast now had to be served to this reduced number. A few polite

phrases that reached Thuillier's ears about the "immense" interest of

his publication, failed to blind him to the bitterness of his

discomfiture; and without the gaiety of the publisher, who had taken

in hand the reins his patron, gloomy as Hippolytus on the road to

Mycenae, let fall, nothing could have surpassed the glum and glacial

coldness of the meeting.

 

After the oysters were removed, the champagne and chablis which had

washed them down had begun, nevertheless, to raise the thermometer,

when, rushing into the room where the banquet was