The next day he spent a delightful morning in writing a certain number of letters, sending the publication to friends, and putting into paper covers some fifty copies, to which the sacramental phrase, “From the author,” imparted to his eyes an inestimable value.
But the third day of the sale brought a slight diminution of his happiness. He had chosen for his editor a young man, doing business at a breakneck pace, who had lately established himself in the Passage des Panoramas, where he was paying a ruinous rent. He was the nephew of Barbet the publisher, whom Brigitte had had as a tenant in the rue Saint-Dominique d’Enfer. This Barbet junior was a youth who flinched at nothing; and when he was presented to Thuillier by his uncle, he pledged himself, provided he was not shackled in his advertising, to sell off the first edition and print a second within a week.
Now, Thuillier had spent about fifteen hundred francs himself on costs of publication, such, for instance, as copies sent in great profusion to the newspapers; but at the close of the third day seven copies only had been sold, and three of those on credit. It might be believed that in revealing to the horror-stricken Thuillier this paltry result the young publisher would have lost at least something of his assurance. On the contrary, this Guzman of the book-trade hastened to say:—
“I am delighted at what has happened. If we had sold a hundred copies it would trouble me far more than the fifteen hundred now on our hands; that’s what I call hanging fire; whereas this insignificant sale only proves that the edition will go off like a rocket.”
“But when?” asked Thuillier, who thought this view paradoxical.
“Parbleu!” said Barbet, “when we get notices in the newspapers. Newspaper notices are only useful to arouse attention. ‘Dear me!’ says the public, ‘there’s a publication that must be interesting.’ The title is good,—‘Taxation and the Sliding-Scale,’—but I find that the more piquant a title is, the more buyers distrust it, they have been taken in so often; they wait for the notices. On the other hand, for books that are destined to have only a limited sale, a hundred ready-made purchasers will come in at once, but after that, good-bye to them; we don’t place another copy.”
“Then you don’t think,” said Thuillier, “that the sale is hopeless?”
“On the contrary, I think it is on the best track. When the ‘Debats,’ the ‘Constitutionnel,’ the ‘Siecle,’ and the ‘Presse’ have reviewed it, especially if the ‘Debats’ mauls it (they are ministerial, you know), it won’t be a week before the whole edition is snapped up.”
“You say that easily enough,” replied Thuillier; “but how are we to get hold of those gentlemen of the press?”
“Ah! I’ll take care of that,” said Barbet. “I am on the best of terms with the managing editors; they say the devil is in me, and that I remind them of Ladvocat in his best days.”