He desired to know what I had to say to
him. I stammered for some time, and became embarrassed in one of those
labyrinths of ambiguous phrases under which one conceals thoughts that
will and will not come to the point. I thought to gain courage by
gaining time; at last I unbuttoned my coat, drew out the little volume,
and presented it humbly with a trembling hand to M. Didot. I told him
that I had written these verses, and wished to have them
published,--not indeed to bring me fame (I had not that absurd
delusion), but in the hope of attracting the notice and good-will of
influential literary men; that my poverty would not permit of my going
to the expense of printing; and, therefore, I came to submit my work to
him, and request him to publish it, should he, after looking over it,
deem it worthy of the indulgence or favor of cultivated minds. M. Didot
nodded, smiled kindly, but somewhat ironically, took my manuscript
between two fingers, which seemed accustomed to crumple paper
contemptuously, and putting down my verses on the table, appointed me
to return in a week for an answer as to the object of my visit.
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