Another instance equally amusing was furnished at a dinner given in
honour of Balzac by Henri de Latouche, who had not then broken with
him. At dessert, the host sketched the plan of a novel he intended to
write, and Balzac, who had been drinking champagne, warmly applauded;
"The thing," he said, "is capital. Even summarily related, it is
charming. What will it be when the talent, style, and wit of the
author have enhanced it!" Next evening, at Madame de Girardin's, he
reproduced, with his native fire and power of description, the
narration he had heard the night before--reproduced it as his own
--persuaded it was his own. Every one was enthusiastic, and
complimented him. But the matter was bruited abroad. Latouche
recognized in Balzac's proposed new novel the creation he had
himself unfolded; and wrote a sharp protest which, for once, forced
its recipient to distinguish fact from fiction, and what was his
share, what another's, in the output of ideas. Yet he might be
excused for some of his frequent fits of forgetfulness, since he
sowed his own conceptions and discoveries broadcast, and often
encountered them again in the possession of lesser minds who had
utilized them before he could put them into execution.
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