The Lesser Bourgeoisie, Honoré de Balzac [pdf e book reader TXT] 📗

must admit," said la Peyrade, craftily, "that she has told you a great deal of harm of me."

"Naturally she has; these fine ladies are all that way; they expect the whole world to adore them, and she sees that you are thinking only of Celeste; but all she has said to me against you runs off my mind like water from varnished cloth."

"So, then, little aunt, I may continue to count on you?" persisted la Peyrade.

"Yes; provided you are not tormenting, and will let me manage this affair."

"Tell me how you are going to do it?" asked la Peyrade, with an air of great good-humor.

"In the first place, I shall signify to Felix that he is not to set foot in this house again."

"Is that possible?" said the barrister; "I mean can it be done civilly?"

"Very possible; I shall make Phellion himself tell him. He's a man who is always astride of principles, and he'll be the first to see that if his son will not do what is necessary to obtain Celeste's hand he ought to deprive us of his presence."

"What next?" asked la Peyrade.

"Next, I shall signify to Celeste that she was left at liberty to choose one husband or the other, and as she did not choose Felix she must make up her mind to take you, a pious fellow, such as she wants. You needn't be uneasy; I'll sing your praises, especially your generosity in not profiting by the arrangement she agreed to make to-day. But all that will take a week at least, and if Thuillier's pamphlet isn't out before then, I don't know but what we shall have to put him in a lunatic asylum."

"The pamphlet can be out in two days. But is it very certain, little aunt, that we are playing above-board? Mountains, as they say, never meet, but men do; and certainly, when the time comes to promote the election, I can do Thuillier either good or bad service. Do you know, the other day I was terribly frightened. I had a letter from him in my pocket, in which he spoke of the pamphlet as being written by me. I fancied for a moment that I had dropped it in the Luxembourg. If I had, what a scandal it would have caused in the quarter."

"Who would dare to play tricks with such a wily one as you?" said Brigitte, fully comprehending the comminatory nature of la Peyrade's last words, interpolated into the conversation without rhyme or reason. "But really," she added, "why should you complain of us? It is you who are behindhand in your promises. That cross which was to have been granted within 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 me. 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