were standing outside the Cafe Riche, and I knew Lurine by sight. Mery
introduced me to him. After a few preliminary remarks, Lurine told us
the following story. Of course, many years have elapsed since, but I
think I can trust to my memory in this instance.

"I had suggested," said Lurine, "that Balzac should do the Rue de
Richelieu, and we sent for him. I did not want more than half a sheet,
so imagine my surprise when Balzac named his conditions, viz., five
thousand francs, something over six hundred francs a page of about six
hundred words. Kugelmann began to yell; I simply smiled; seeing which,
Balzac said, as soberly as possible, 'You'll admit that, in order to
depict a landscape faithfully, one should study its every detail. Well,
how would you have me describe the Rue de Richelieu, convey an idea of
its commercial aspect, unless I visit, one after the other, the various
establishments it contains? Suppose I begin by the Boulevard des
Italiens: I'd be bound to take my dejeuner at the Cafe Cardinal, I would
have to buy a couple of scores at Brandus', a gun at the gunsmith's next
door, a breastpin at the next shop. Could I do less than order a coat at
the tailor's, a pair of boots at the bootmaker's?'

"I cut him short. 'Don't go any further,' I said, 'or else we'll have
you in at "Compagnie des Indes," and, as both lace and Indian shawls
have gone up in price, we'll be bankrupt before we know where we are.'

"Consequently," concluded Lurine, "the thing fell through, and we gave
the commission to Guenot-Lacointe, who has done the thing very well and
has written twice the pages Balzac was asked for, without buying as much
as a pair of gloves."

When Balzac was not being harassed by the officials of the Tribunal de
Commerce, he had to dodge the authorities of the National Guards, who
generally had a warrant against him for neglect of duty. Unlike his
great contemporary Dumas, Balzac had an invincible repugnance to play
the amateur warrior--a repugnance, by-the-way, to which we owe one of
the most masterly portraits of his wonderful gallery, that of the
self-satisfied, bumptious, detestable bourgeoise, who struts about in
his uniform; I am alluding to Crevel of "La Cousine Bette." But civil
discipline could take no cognizance of the novelist's likes and
dislikes, and, after repeated "notices" and "warnings," left at his
registered domicile, his incarceration was generally decided upon. As a
rule, this happened ab