A Night Adventure
From the French of Gozlan
About half-past seven in the evening, toward the Fall of the year 1844, two men were seated at table—Balzac the host, Vidocq the guest.
Said the latter: “M. de Balzac, why do you tax your imagination for fiction when you can get reality, before your eyes, close to your ears, under your hand?”
“You believe in reality? I’m delighted. I did not imagine you so innocent. ’Tis only we novelists who create reality and make it visible. Whenever any one comes to me with ‘M. de Balzac, I’ve got a splendid subject for you,’ I know before hearing it that it’s worthless. If the subject is good there are no details; if the details are excellent there is no subject. No reality—only half a fact.”
“But I can give you one.”
“Complete?”
“Complete.”
“Ah!”
And Vidocq commenced: “On the 11th of December, 1834 or 35, a fearfully cold night, I was on duty at the Prefecture de Police. The room in which my colleagues and myself were stationed opened on to the staircase leading to the offices of Monsieur le Préfet. The glass in the upper part of the door was rendered almost opaque by the condensed moisture which had settled on it; but about 1 o’clock I noticed two shadows flit past, and opening the door I saw two women, a lady and her servant, the former dressed in full evening costume. This puzzled me. What could a lady want, one hour after midnight, with the Prefect of Police? Strangely dressed, too; the flowers in her hair put in at hap-hazard; her hair hardly even looked as if it had been combed, and beneath her rouge (for she had used some, although she was very young and marvelously beautiful) her face was ghastly pale. But what struck me as being the most extraordinary in this… Read More