th of
Messalina_, but the _Salon_ Committee had refused it.

In music his preferences were as eclectic as in pictures. Liszt, whom
he thought ridiculous as a man, he considered superb as a musician
--the Paganini of the piano, yet inferior to Chopin, since he had not
the genius of composition. And, in singing, Rubini was his idol
--Rubini who triumphed in the role of Othello, giving the suspicion
_air_ in a manner no one could equal. It intoxicated him to hear this
tenor with Tamburini, Lablache, and Madame Grisi; while Nourrit's
song, _Ce Rameau qui donne la Puissance et l'Immortalite_ in _Robert
le Diable_ made his flesh creep. It yielded a glimpse of life with all
its dreams satisfied.

Originally intending to start for St. Petersburg early in June, Balzac
was not able to leave Paris until a month later. As usual, filthy
lucre had to do with his tarrying. In spite of a loan of 11,500 francs
from lawyer Gavault--his guardian, the novelist called him--who for
the privilege of the great man's friendship had been endeavouring
during the two years past to introduce a little order into his
affairs, he had not available cash enough for a trip so far, and
stayed on, hoping to finish his _David Sechard_,* which was running as
a serial in the _Etat_, and his _Esther_,[*] appearing similarly in
the _Parisien_. June he spent at Lagny, where his manuscripts were
being printed, in order to correct the proofs and get his money. But
the _Etat_ ceased issue while he was there; and the _Parisien_, being
in parlous condition, refused likewise to pay up, so that he had to go
off with a thinner-lined pocket than he had expected. Otherwise, he
was in a fitting state of grace to meet his fair tyrant, whose
envelope lectures had brought him into fear of her and at least
outward obedience.

[*] Part of the _Lost Illusions_.

The torrents of coffee by the aid of which he had forced his last
pen-work through, had been reduced to minimum doses; the occasional
mustard foot-baths that cured his cerebral inflammations were replaced
by entire ablutions every other day; he liked hot baths well enough;
but, in the spells of composition, they were often indefinitely
adjourned, so that this season of purification had its _raison
d'etre_. And now, with his gaze turned to the east, he wondered how
long he was going to remain there. His reply to a person who asked him
to pledge himself for some novels on his return reads much as though
he were cou