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Updated: May 29, 2025
Once upon a time, so the story goes, a French publisher, planning an elaborate volume on the streets of Paris, went to Honoré de Balzac, then at the height of his fame, to ask him to contribute the chapter on a particular thoroughfare let us say, the Rue Une Telle, or the Avenue Quelque-Chose.
Down on the quay there were no custom-house officers to inspect the baggage of the few travellers who had come across the Channel and now landed on the deserted siding, bewildered because there were no porters to clamour for their trunks and no douane to utter the familiar ritual of "Avez-vous quelque-chose a declarer? Tabac? Cigarettes?"
His office was just without the walls of the fort, and it was much the fashion among the officers to lounge in there of a morning, to find sport for an idle hour, and to take a glass of brandy-and-water with the old gentleman, which he called "taking a little quelque-chose."
"Come in," cried Old Boilvin, rising and walking toward the door. Bell, Here, sir, I have brought Fry to you, as you ordered. Justice Fry, you great rascal! What for you kill M. Rolette's calf? Fry, I did not kill M. Rolette's calf. You lie, you great rascal! Bell, take him to jail. Come, gentlemen, come, let us take a leetle quelque-chose.
And the involved reply, spoken with lips against the earth, the head but slightly turned as he knelt, again smothered the words. Only the curious phrase came to him "de l'ancien monde quelque-chose " The Irishman took him by the shoulders.
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