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It is an attempt to set the struggle between Catholics and Calvinists in its true light; the Catholics were supporters of absolute monarchy, and the Protestants for a republic." "M. Vidal!" shouted an assistant. Vidal fled. "I don't say, sir, that your book is not a masterpiece," replied Porchon, with scanty civility, "but we only deal in books that are ready printed.
Vidal and Porchon only take them of us on conditions that grow harder and harder day by day. You have only your time to lose, while I am obliged to disburse two thousand francs. If we fail, habent sua fata libelli, I lose two thousand francs; while, as for you, you simply hurl an ode at the thick-headed public.
Vidal and Porchon only take them of us on conditions that grow harder and harder day by day. You have only your time to lose, while I am obliged to disburse two thousand francs. If we fail, habent sua fata libelli, I lose two thousand francs; while, as for you, you simply hurl an ode at the thick-headed public.
We have been promised twenty per cent on the published price to make the thing a success." "Very well, at twelve months," the publisher answered in a piteous voice, thunderstruck by Vidal's confidential remark. "Is it an offer?" Porchon inquired curtly. "Yes." The stranger went out. After he had gone, Lucien heard Porchon say to Vidal: "We have three hundred copies on order now.
The old man's head was bare, and ornamented with a fringe of grizzled locks, quite poetically scanty. "Old Doguereau," as Porchon styled him, was dressed half like a professor of belles-lettres as to his trousers and shoes, half like a tradesman with respect to the variegated waistcoat, the stockings, and the watch; and the same odd mixture appeared in the man himself.
"Four francs four sous?" said Vidal or Porchon, whichever it was. "Yes," said the vendor. "Credit your account?" inquired the purchaser. "Old humbug! you would settle with me in eighteen months' time, with bills at a twelvemonth." "No. Settled at once," returned Vidal or Porchon. "Bills at nine months?" asked the publisher or author, who evidently was selling his book.
It is an attempt to set the struggle between Catholics and Calvinists in its true light; the Catholics were supporters of absolute monarchy, and the Protestants for a republic." "M. Vidal!" shouted an assistant. Vidal fled. "I don't say, sir, that your book is not a masterpiece," replied Porchon, with scanty civility, "but we only deal in books that are ready printed.
Anxiety sent the blood surging to Lucien's heart, as he who had been so great at Angouleme, so insignificant of late in Paris, slipped past the other houses, summoned up all his courage, and at last entered the shop thronged with assistants, customers, and booksellers "And authors too, perhaps!" thought Lucien. "I want to speak with M. Vidal or M. Porchon," he said, addressing a shopman.
At last, as he stood leaning against a window, he heard voices, and suspecting that the green curtains hid either Vidal or Porchon, he listened to the conversation. "Will you take five hundred copies of me? If you will, I will let you have them at five francs, and give fourteen to the dozen." "What does that bring them in at?" "Sixteen sous less."
Go and see somebody that buys manuscripts. There is old Doguereau in the Rue du Coq, near the Louvre, he is in the romance line. If you had only spoken sooner, you might have seen Pollet, a competitor of Doguereau and of the publisher in the Wooden Galleries." "I have a volume of poetry " "M. Porchon!" somebody shouted. "Poetry!" Porchon exclaimed angrily.
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