Bohemians of the Latin Quarter. Henri Murger
I beg of you," he continued to the young man. "My porter will bring down to the cellar the furniture in the room of my defaulting tenant, and you may take possession in half an hour. Beside, your furniture has not come yet."
"But it has," answered the young man quietly.
Monsieur Bernard looked around, and saw only the large screens which had already mystified his porter.
"How is this?" he muttered. "I don't see anything."
"Behold!" replied the youth, unfolding the leaves of the frame, and displaying to the view of the astonished landlord a magnificent interior of a palace, with jasper columns, bas-reliefs, and paintings of old masters.
"But your furniture?" demanded Monsieur Bernard.
"Here it is," replied the young man, pointing to the splendid furniture painted in the palace, which he had bought at a sale of second-hand theatrical decorations.
"I hope you have some more serious furniture than this," said the landlord. "You know I must have security for my rent."
"The deuce! Is a palace not sufficient security for the rent of a garret?"
"No sir, I want real chairs and tables in solid mahogany."
"Alas! Neither gold nor mahogany makes us happy, as for the ancient poet well says. And I can't bear mahogany; it's too common a wood. Everybody has it."
"But surely sir, you must have some sort of furniture."
"No, it takes up too much room. You are stuck full of chairs, and have no place to sit down."
"But at any rate, you have a bed. What do you sleep on?"
"On a good conscience, sir."
"Excuse me, one more question," said the landlord, "What is your profession?"
At this very moment the young man's porter, returning on his second trip, entered the court. Among the articles with which his truck was loaded, an easel occupied a conspicuous position.
"Sir! Sir!!" shrieked old Durance, pointing out the easel to his landlord, "it's a painter!"
"I was sure he was an artist!" exclaimed the landlord in his turn, the hair of his wig standing up in affright, "a painter!! And you never inquired after this person," he continued to his porter, "you didn't know what he did!"
"He gave me five francs arrest," answered the poor fellow, "how could I suspect—"
"When you have finished," put in the stranger—
"Sir," replied Monsieur Bernard, mounting his spectacles with great decision, "since you have no furniture, you can't come in. The law authorizes me to refuse a tenant who brings no security."
"And my word, then?"
"Your word is not furniture, you must go somewhere else. Durance will give you back your earnest money."
"Oh dear!" exclaimed the porter, in consternation, "I've put it in the Savings' Bank."
"But consider sir," objected the young man. "I can't find another lodging in a moment! At least grant me hospitality for a day."
"Go to a hotel!" replied Monsieur Bernard. "By the way," added he, struck with a sudden idea, "if you like, I can let you a furnished room, the one you were to occupy, which has the furniture of my defaulting tenant in it. Only you know that when rooms are let this way, you pay in advance."
"Well," said the artist, finding he could do no better, "I should like to know what you are going to ask me for your hole."
"It is a very comfortable lodging, and the rent will be twenty-five francs a month, considering the circumstances, paid in advance."
"You have said that already, the expression does not deserve being repeated," said the young man, feeling in his pocket. "Have you change for five hundred francs?"
"I beg your pardon," quoth the astonished landlord.
"Five hundred, half a thousand; did you never see one before?" continued the artist, shaking the bank-note in the faces of the landlord and porter, who fairly lost their balance at the sight.
"You shall have it in a moment, sir," said the now respectful owner of the house, "there will only be twenty francs to take out, for Durand will return your deposit."
"He may keep it," replied the artist, "on condition of coming every morning to tell me the day of the week and month, the quarter of the moon, the weather it is going to be, and the form of government we are under."
Old Durand described an angle of ninety degrees forward.
"Yes, my good fellow, you shall serve me for almanac. Meanwhile, help my porter to bring the things in."
"I shall send you your receipt immediately," said the landlord, and that very night the painter Marcel was installed in the lodging of the fugitive Schaunard. During this time the aforesaid Schaunard was beating his roll-call, as he styled it, through the city.
Schaunard had carried the art of borrowing to the perfection of a science. Foreseeing the possible necessity of having to spoil the foreigners, he had learned how to ask for five francs in every language of the world. He had thoroughly studied all the stratagems which specie employs to escape those who are hunting for it, and knew, better than a pilot knows the hours of the tide, at what periods it was high or low water; that is to say, on what days his friends and acquaintances were accustomed to be in funds. Accordingly, there were houses where his appearance of a morning made people say, not "Here is Monsieur Schaunard," but "This is the first or the fifteenth." To facilitate, and at the same time equalize this species of tax which he was going to levy, when compelled by necessity, from those who were able to pay it to him, Schaunard had drawn up by districts and streets an alphabetical table containing the names of all his acquaintances. Opposite each name was inscribed the maximum of the sum which the party's finances authorized the artist to borrow of him, the time when he was flush, and his dinner hour, as well as his usual bill of fare. Beside this table, he kept a book, in perfect order, on which he entered the sums lent him, down to the smallest fraction; for he would never burden himself beyond a certain amount which was within the fortune of a country relative, whose heir-apparent he was. As soon as he owed one person twenty francs, he closed the account and paid him off, even if obliged to borrow for the purpose of those to whom he owed less. In this way he always kept up a certain credit which he called his floating debt, and as people knew that he was accustomed to repay as soon as his means permitted him, those who could accommodate him were very ready to do so.
But on the present occasion, from eleven in the morning, when he had started to try and collect the seventy-five francs requisite, up to six in the afternoon, he had only raised three francs, contributed by three letters (M., V., and R.) of his famous list. All the rest of the alphabet, having, like himself, their quarter to pay, had adjourned his claim indefinitely.
The clock of his stomach sounded the dinner-hour. He was then at the Maine barrier, where letter U lived. Schaunard mounted to letter U's room, where he had a knife and fork, when there were such articles on the premises.
"Where are you going, sir?" asked the porter, stopping him before he had completed his ascent.
"To Monsieur U," replied the artist.
"He's out."
"And madame?"
"Out too. They told me to say to a friend who was coming to see them this evening, that they were gone out to dine. In fact, if you are the gentleman they expected, this is the address they left." It was a scrap of paper on which his friend U. had written. "We are gone to dine with Schaunard, No.__, Rue de__. Come for us there."
"Well," said he, going away, "accident does make queer farces sometimes." Then remembering that there was a little tavern near by, where he had more than once procured a meal at a not unreasonable rate, he directed his steps to this establishment, situated in the adjoining road, and known among the lowest class of artistdom as "Mother Cadet's." It is a drinking-house which is also an eating-house, and its ordinary customers are carters of the Orleans