Once upon a time, so the story goes, a French publisher, planning an elaborate volume on the streets of Paris, went to Honore de Balzac, then at the height of his fame, to ask him to contribute the chapter on a particular thoroughfare—­let us say, the Rue Une Telle, or the Avenue Quelque-Chose.  The idea appealed to the fancy of the great man, and matters were going along swimmingly, until it came to the point of settling upon a price to be paid the novelist for his labour.  “And now, cher maitre, we must consider the painful triviality of emolument.”  Without hesitation Balzac mentioned a figure that was simply staggering.  It was a minute or two before the astonished publisher could gather his wits together sufficiently to protest and bargain.  But Balzac was not to be moved.  He explained that the sum named was not merely for the work but also for expenses that would be unavoidable in carrying on the work.  “It is this way, cher Monsieur.  To write about a street it is necessary to know it thoroughly.  It is not enough to glance at the etalage, one must investigate the shop behind.  Let us consider the street that you wish me to describe.  As I recall it, first on the right is the establishment of B., the gunsmith.  In studying his premises it will, of course, be necessary for me to purchase a rifle or a revolver and a box of cartridges.  Next door to B., as you may remember, is the business of X., the perfumer.  Luckily for you, Monsieur, a bottle of perfume is not expensive.  But beyond that shop there is the one of Y., the furrier, and furs just now, as you doubtless know, are rather high.  Of course, proceeding in my investigation, I shall be obliged to buy a ring at the jeweller’s, a chapeau de forme at the hatter’s, a pair of boots at the shoe-maker’s, and a waistcoat at least at the tailor’s.  In view of such a condition I protest that the price I name for writing the article is astonishingly reasonable.”  Needless to say, M. de Balzac did not write the paper desired.  The publisher managed to find another scribe who finished the task creditably without purchasing so much as a sheet of paper.  But imagine the expense account that would be presented by a writer engaged to describe the stretch of shopping Fifth Avenue from Thirty-fourth Street to Fiftieth who considered it necessary to follow the method suggested by the creator of the Comedie Humaine!

Paraphrasing the saying of Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes, three or four generations in the story of a New York store make an aristocrat of trade.  There are names of commerce that stand out in the imagination of the New Yorkers like the names of great soldiers and statesmen.  Solid, imposing, facing the Avenue at a corner that represents land value that is computed by the square inch, is the structure of Brown-Smith.  In some cases the passer-by will search in vain for any indication of the name—­the information being deemed wholly superfluous.  It matters not in the least whether the commodity upon which Brown-Smith has reared its history be hats, or groceries, or furs, or jewelry, or silverware, or boots, or men’s furnishings.  The story of the enterprise, its growth and its migrations, is, in epitome, the story of the city.