burlesque account of the confusion caused in the printing-offices by
Balzac's peculiar methods of composition. This is an extract from the
article:

"Let us sing, drink and embrace, like the chorus of an _opera
comique_. Let us stretch our calves, and turn on our toes like
ballet-dancers. Let us at last rejoice: the _Figaro_, without getting
the credit of it, has overcome the elements and all sublunary
cataclysms.

"Hercules is only a rascal, the apples of Hesperides only turnips, the
siege of Troy but a revolt of the national guard. The _Figaro_ has
just conquered 'Cesar Birotteau'!

"Never have the angry gods, never have Juno, Neptune, M. de Rambuteau,
or the Prefect of Police, opposed to Jason, Theseus, or walkers in
Paris, more obstacles, monsters, ruins, dragons, demolitions, than
these two unfortunate octavos have fought against.

"We have them at last, and we know what they have cost. The public
will only have the trouble of reading them. That will be a pleasure.
As to M. de Balzac--twenty days' work, two handfuls of paper, one more
beautiful book: that counts for nothing.

"However it may be, it is a typographical exploit, a literary and
industrial _tour de force_ worthy to be remembered. Writer, editor,
and printer have deserved more or less from their country. Posterity
will talk of the compositors, and our descendants will regret that
they do not know the names of the apprentices. I already, like them,
regret it; otherwise I would mention them.

"The _Figaro_ had promised the book on December 15th, and M. de Balzac
began it on November 17th. M. de Balzac and the _Figaro_ both have the
strange habit of keeping their word. The printing-office was ready,
and stamping its foot like a restive charger.

"M. de Balzac sends two hundred pages pencilled in five nights of
fever. One knows his way. It was a sketch, a chaos, an apocalypse, a
Hindoo poem.

"The printing-office paled. The delay is short, the writing unheard
of. They transform the monster; they translate it as much as possible
into known signs. The cleverest still understand nothing. They take it
to the author.

"The author sends back the first proofs, glued on to enormous pages,
posters, screens. It is now that you may shiver and feel pity. The
appearance of these sheets is monstrous. From each sign, from each
printed word, go pen lines, which radiate and meander like a Congreve
rocket, and spread themselves out at the margin in a luminous r