Bohemians of the Latin Quarter. Henri Murger

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СКАЧАТЬ deuce it will! My cousin talked of thirty francs."

      "It depends on the season. Colours are much dearer at some times of the year than at others."

      "Bless me! It's just like sugar!"

      "Precisely."

      "Fifty francs then be it."

      "You are wrong there; for ten francs more you will have your hands, and I will put in them your pamphlet on the sugar question, which will have a very good effect."

      "By Jove, you are right!"

      "Thunder and lightning!" said Schaunard to himself, "if he goes on so, I shall burst, and hurt him with one of the pieces."

      "Did you see?" whispered Marcel.

      "What?"

      "He has a black coat."

      "I take. Let me manage."

      "Well," quoth the delegate, "when do we begin? There is no time to lose, for I sail soon."

      "I have to take a little trip myself the day after tomorrow; so, if you please, we will begin at once. One good sitting will help us along some way."

      "But it will soon be night, and you can't paint by candle light."

      "My room is arranged so that we can work at all hours in it. If you will take off your coat, and put yourself in position, we will commence."

      "Take off my coat! What for?"

      "You told me that you intend this portrait for your family."

      "Certainly."

      "Well, then, you ought to be represented in your at-home dress—in your dressing gown. It is the custom to be so."

      "But I haven't any dressing gown here."

      "But I have. The case is provided for," quoth Schaunard, presenting to his sitter a very ragged garment, so ornamented with paint-marks that the honest provincial hesitated about setting into it.

      "A very odd dress," said he.

      "And very valuable. A Turkish vizier gave it to Horace Vernet, and he gave it to me when he had done with it. I am a pupil of his."

      "Are you a pupil of Vernet's?"

      "I am proud to be," said the artist. "Wretch that I am!" he muttered to himself, "I deny my gods and masters!"

      "You have reason to be proud, my young friend," replied the delegate donning the dressing-gown with the illustrious origin.

      "Hang up Monsieur Blancheron's coat in the wardrobe," said Schaunard to his friend, with a significant wink.

      "Ain't he too good?" whispered Marcel as he pounced on his prey, and nodded towards Blancheron. "If you could only keep a piece of him."

      "I'll try; but do you dress yourself, and cut. Come back by ten; I will keep him till then. Above all, bring me something in your pocket."

      "I'll bring you a pineapple," said Marcel as he evaporated.

      He dressed himself hastily; the dress-coat fit him like a glove. Then he went out by the second door of the studio.

      Schaunard set himself to work. When it was fairly night, Monsieur Blancheron heard the clock strike six, and remembered that he had not dined. He informed Schaunard of the fact.

      "I am in the same position," said the other, "but to oblige you, I will go without today, though I had an invitation in the Faubourg St. Germain. But we can't break off now, it might spoil the resemblance." And he painted away harder than ever. "By the way," said he, suddenly, "we can dine without breaking off. There is a capital restaurant downstairs, which will send us up anything we like." And Schaunard awaited the effect of his trial of plurals.

      "I accept your idea," said Blancheron, "an in return, I hope you will do me the honor of keeping me company at table."

      Schaunard bowed. "Really," said he to himself, "this is a fine fellow—a very god-send. Will you order the dinner?" he asked his Amphitryon.

      "You will oblige me by taking that trouble," replied the other, politely.

      "So much the worse for you, my boy," said the painter as he pitched down the stairs, four steps at a time. Marching up to the counter, he wrote out a bill of fare that made the Vatel of the establishment turn pale.

      "Claret! Who's to pay for it?"

      "Probably not I," said Schaunard, "but an uncle of mine that you will find up there, a very good judge. So, do your best, and let us have dinner in half an hour, served on your porcelain."

      At eight o'clock, Monsieur Blancheron felt the necessity of pouring into a friend's ear his idea on the sugar question, and accordingly recited his pamphlet to Schaunard, who accompanied him on the piano.

      At ten, they danced the galop together.

      At eleven, they swore never to separate, and to make wills in each other's favor.

      At twelve, Marcel returned, and found them locked in a mutual embrace, and dissolved in tears. The floor was half an inch deep in fluid—either from that cause or the liquor that had been spilt. He stumbled against the table, and remarked the splendid relics of the sumptuous feast. He tried the bottles, they were utterly empty. He attempted to rouse Schaunard, but the later menaced him with speedy death, if he tore him from his friend Blancheron, of whom he was making a pillow.

      "Ungrateful wretch!" said Marcel, taking out of his pocket a handful of nuts, "when I had brought him some dinner!"

CHAPTER III

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LENTEN LOVES

       Table of Contents

      One evening in Lent Rodolphe returned home early with the idea of working. But scarcely had he sat down at his table and dipped his pen in the ink than he was disturbed by a singular noise. Putting his ear to the treacherous partition that separated him from the next room, he listened, and plainly distinguished a dialogue broken by the sound of kisses and other amourous interruptions.

      "The deuce," thought Rodolphe, glancing at his clock, "it is still early, and my neighbor is a Juliet who usually keeps her Romeo till long after the lark has sung. I cannot work tonight."

      And taking his hat he went out. Handing in his key at the porter's lodge he found the porter's wife half clasped in the arms of a gallant. The poor woman was so flustered that it was five minutes before she could open the latch.

      "In point of fact," though Rodolphe, "there are times when porters grow human again."

      Passing СКАЧАТЬ