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One of the authors whose writings were often quoted from in the Voleur, loudly remonstrated against the injustice of the procedure, and gaining no satisfaction, he fought a duel with Girardin, who was wounded in the shoulder, but the wound was not dangerous. It was not his first duel he had fought with pistols in 1825.
This was a failure, but Balzac was associated with Emile de Girardin in several other literary enterprises; and it was through the agency of this energetic editor that he wrote his letters on Paris in the Voleur, which, extending from September 26th, 1830, to March 29th, 1831, would form a volume in themselves.
Rickerl cast one swift glance at the savage faces, turned his head like a trapped wolf in a pit, hesitated, and started to run. A chorus of howls greeted him: "À mort!" "À mort le voleur!" "À la lanterne les Uhlans!" Scarcely conscious of what he was doing, Jack sprang from his tree and ran parallel to Rickerl. "Ricky!" he called in English "follow me! Hurry! hurry!"
Rameau would often, after some more than ordinarily outrageous attack, contemptuously fling Goujon a shilling, which the little Frenchman, although wanting a shilling badly enough, would hurl back in his face, almost weeping with impotent rage. "Pig! Canaille!" he would scream. "Dirty pig of Africa! Take your sheelin' to vere you 'ave stole it! Voleur! Pig!"
He is apprehended by a gendarme who sees the act. 'Voleur, he cries to the gendarme, 'do you want to rob me of my property? 'That door your property? I saw you take it away. 'You confess, cries the citizen, triumphantly 'you confess that it is my property; for you saw me appropriate it. Thus you see how imperishable is the instinct of property.
To no avail I called the planton a menteur, a voleur, a fils d'un chien, and various other names. But again like an inconsolable child who weeps his heart out when no human comfort avails and wakes the next day without an apparent trace of the recent grief Jean le Negre, in the course of the next twenty-four hours, had completely recovered his normal buoyancy of spirit.
I did not touch the letters, but finding a box full of certain preservative sheaths against the fatal and dreaded plumpness, I emptied it, and I placed in it the following lines instead of the stolen goods: 'Enfants de L'Amitie, ministres de la Peur, Je suis l'Amour, tremblez, respectez le voleur! Et toi, femme de Dieu, ne crains pas d'etre mere; Car si to le deviens, Dieu seal sera le pere.
Comprends-tu, Cupidon, c'est une sottise que tu as fait?" Cupidon made no reply; his head was hung down a little lower, and his lips extended a little further out. "Sache que tu es un petite voleur!" continued his mistress. Cupidon did not condescend to answer. "Allez, monsieur; ne m'approchez pas."
Being now alone, he drew the card from his bosom, and, as if to convince himself that what he saw was truth and no cruel dream, he read aloud, but with a trembling voice: "On remarque, pour l'ordinaire, Qu'un songe eat analoque a notre caractere, On heros peut rever, qu'il a passe le Rhin, Un chien qu'il aboie a la lune; Un joueur, qu'il a fait fortune, Un voleur, qu'il a fait butin.
He withdrew from the conductorship of the Voleur, and under the patronage of the duchess de Berri, started a new journal, called la Mode. It had a great success, but as it waxed more and more liberal, the duchess repented her patronage, and finally withdrew it. The act gave the journal three thousand new subscribers.
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