No More Learning

Mrs. Har-
rison could only fold her idle hands, and dread the heavy penalty
that must surely follow so terrible a crime.
It certainly had not the gay and lightsome aspect supposed
to be characteristic of such a scene of sin: the awkward young
mountaineers clogged heavily about in their uncouth clothes and
rough shoes, with the stolid-looking, lack-lustre maids of the
hill, to the violin's monotonous iteration of The Chicken in the
(


## p. 10462 (#290) ##########################################

10462
MARY NOAILLES MURFREE
Bread-Trough,' or 'The Rabbit in the Pea-Patch,'- all their
grave faces as grave as ever. The music now and then changed
suddenly to one of those wild, melancholy strains sometimes heard
in old-fashioned dancing tunes, and the strange pathetic cadences
seemed more attuned to the rhythmical dash of the waters rush-
ing over their stone barricades out in the moonlight yonder, or
to the plaintive sighs of the winds among the great dark arches
of the primeval forests, than to the movement of the heavy,
coarse feet dancing a solemn measure in the little log cabin in
Harrison's Cove. The elders, sitting in rush-bottomed chairs close
to the walls, and looking on at the merriment, well pleased despite
their religious doubts, were somewhat more lively; every now
and then a guffaw mingled with the violin's resonant strains and
the dancers' well-marked pace; the women talked to each other
with somewhat more animation than was their wont, under the
stress of the unusual excitement of a dancing party; and from
out the shed-room adjoining came an anticipative odor of more
substantial sin than the fiddle or the grave jiggling up and down
the rough floor. A little more cider too, and a very bad article
of illegally distilled whisky, were ever and anon circulated among
the pious abstainers from the dance; but the sinful votaries of
Terpsichore could brook no pause nor delay, and jogged up and
down quite intoxicated with the mirthfulness of the plaintive old
airs, and the pleasure of other motion than following the plow or
hoeing the corn.
And the moon smiled right royally on her dominion: on the
long dark ranges of mountains, and mist-filled valleys between;
on the woods and streams, and on all the half-dormant creatures
either amongst the shadow-flecked foliage or under the crystal
waters; on the long white sandy road winding in and out
through the forest; on the frowning crags of the wild ravine;
on the little bridge at the entrance of the gorge, across which a
party of eight men, heavily armed and gallantly mounted, rode
swiftly and disappeared amid the gloom of the shadows.
The sound of the galloping of horses broke suddenly on the
music and the noise of the dancing; a moment's interval, and
the door gently opened, and the gigantic form of Rick Pearson
appeared in the aperture. He was dressed, like the other mount-
aineers, in a coarse suit of brown jeans somewhat the worse for
wear, the trousers stuffed in the legs of his heavy boots; he
wore an old soft felt hat, which he did not remove immediately


## p. 10463 (#291) ##########################################

MARY NOAILLES MURFREE
10463
on entering, and a pair of formidable pistols at his belt conspicu-
ously challenged attention. He had auburn hair, and a long full
beard of a lighter tint reaching almost to his waist; his com-
plexion was much tanned by the sun, and roughened by exposure
to the inclement mountain weather; his eyes were brown, deep-
set, and from under his heavy brows they looked out with quick,
sharp glances, and occasionally with a roguish twinkle; the ex-
pression of his countenance was rather good-humored: a sort of
imperious good-humor, however, the expression of a man accus-
tomed to have his own way and not to be trifled with, but able
to afford some amiability since his power is undisputed.
He stepped slowly into the apartment, placed his gun against
the wall, turned, and solemnly gazed at the dancing, while his
followers trooped in and obeyed his example. As the eight
guns, one by one, rattled against the wall, there was a startled
silence among the pious elders of the assemblage, and a sudden
disappearance of the animation that had characterized their inter-
course during the evening. Mrs. Harrison, who by reason of
flurry, and a housewifely pride in the still unrevealed treasures
of the shed-room, had well-nigh forgotten her fears, felt that the
anticipated judgment had even now descended; and in what
terrible and unexpected guise! The men turned the quids of
tobacco in their cheeks, and looked at each other in uncertainty:
but the dancers bestowed not a glance upon the new-comers; and
the musician in the corner, with his eyes half closed, his head
bent low upon the instrument, his hard, horny hand moving the
bow back and forth over the strings of the crazy old fiddle, was
utterly rapt by his own melody. At the supreme moment when
the great red beard had appeared portentously in the doorway,
and fear had frozen the heart of Mrs. Harrison within her at
the ill-omened apparition, the host was in the shed-room, filling
a broken-nosed pitcher from the cider barrel. When he re-
entered, and caught sight of the grave sunburned face with its
long red beard and sharp brown eyes, he too was dismayed for
an instant, and stood silent at the opposite door with the pitcher
in his hand. The pleasure and the possible profit of the dancing
party, for which he had expended so much of his scanty store
of this world's goods and risked the eternal treasures laid up in
heaven, were a mere phantasm; for with Rick Pearson among
them, in an ill frame of mind and at odds with half the men in
the room, there would certainly be a fight, and in all probability


## p. 10464 (#292) ##########################################

10464
MARY NOAILLES MURFREE
one would be killed, and the dancing party at Harrison's Cove
would be a text for the bloody-minded sermons of the circuit-
rider for all time to come. However, the father of four mar-
riageable daughters is apt to become crafty and worldly-wise:
only for a moment did he stand in indecision; then catching
suddenly the small brown eyes, he held up the pitcher with a
grin of invitation. "Rick! " he called out above the scraping of
the violin and the clatter of the dancing feet, "slip round hyar
ef ye kin, I've got somethin' for ye;" and he shook the pitcher
significantly.
Not that Mr. Harrison would for a moment have thought of
Rick Pearson in a matrimonial point of view, for even the sophis-
tication of the Cross-Roads had not yet brought him to the state
of mind to consider such a half-loaf as this better than no bread;
but he felt it imperative from every point of view to keep that
set of young mountaineers dancing in peace and quiet, and their
guns idle and out of mischief against the wall. The great red
beard disappeared and reappeared at intervals, as Rick Pearson
slipped along the gun-lined wall to join his host and the cider
pitcher; and after he had disposed of the refreshment, in which
the gang shared, he relapsed into silently watching the dancing,
and meditating a participation in that festivity.
Now it so happened that the only young girl unprovided with
a partner was "that thar Mandy Tyler," of Wilkins settlement
renown: the young men had rigidly adhered to their resolution
to ignore her in their invitations to dance, and she had been sit-
ting since the beginning of the festivities, quite neglected, among
the married people, looking on at the amusement which she had
been debarred sharing by that unpopular bit of coquetry at Wil-
kins settlement. Nothing of disappointment or mortification was
expressed in her countenance. She felt the slight, of course,—
even a "mounting" woman is susceptible of the sting of wounded
pride; all her long-anticipated enjoyment had come to naught by
this infliction of penance for her ill-timed jest at the expense of
those five young fellows dancing with their triumphant partners,
and bestowing upon her not even a glance: but she looked the
express image of immobility as she sat in her clean pink cal-
ico, so carefully gotten up for the occasion, her short black hair
curling about her ears, and watched the unending reel with slow
dark eyes.
Rick's glance fell upon her, and without further hesi-
tation he strode over to where she was sitting, and proffered


## p. 10465 (#293) ##########################################

MARY NOAILLES MURFREE
10465
his hand for the dance. She did not reply immediately, but
looked timidly about her at the shocked pious ones on either side,
who were ready but for mortal fear to aver that "dancin' any-
how air bad enough, the Lord knows, but dancin' with a horse
thief air jest scandalous! " Then for there is something of
defiance to established law and prejudice in the born flirt every-
where- with a sudden daring spirit shining in her brightening
eyes, she responded, "Don't keer ef I do," with a dimpling half-
laugh; and the next minute the two outlaws were flying down
the middle together.
While Rick was according grave attention to the intricacies
of the mazy dance, and keeping punctilious time to the scrap-
ing of the old fiddle finding it all a much more difficult feat
than galloping from the Cross-Roads to the "Snake's Mouth" on
some other man's horse with the sheriff hard at his heels,- the
solitary figure of a tall gaunt man had followed the long wind-
ing path leading deep into the woods, and now began the steep
descent to Harrison's Cove. Of what was old Mr. Kenyon think-
ing, as he walked on in the mingled shadow and sheen? Of St.
Augustine and his Forty Monks, probably, and what they found
in Britain. The young men of his acquaintance would gladly
have laid you any odds that he could think of nothing but his
antique hobby, the ancient Church. Mr. Kenyon was the most
prominent man in St. Martin's Church in the city of B, not
excepting the rector. He was a lay-reader, and officiated upon
occasions of "clerical sore-throat," as the profane denominate the
ministerial summer exodus from heated cities.
This summer,
however, Mr. Kenyon's own health had succumbed, and he was
having a little "sore-throat" in the mountains on his own account.
Very devout was Mr. Kenyon. Many people wondered that
he had never taken orders. Many people warmly congratulated
themselves that he never had; for drier sermons than those he
selected were surely never heard, and a shuddering imagination
shrinks appalled from the problematic mental drought of his
ideal original discourse. But he was an integrant part of St.
Martin's; much of his piety, materialized into contributions, was
built up in its walls, and shone before men in the costliness of
its decorations. Indeed, the ancient name had been conferred
upon the building as a sort of tribute to Mr. Kenyon's well-
known enthusiasm concerning apostolic succession and kindred
doctrines.
XVIII-655
-


## p. 10466 (#294) ##########################################

10466
MARY NOAILLES MURFREE
Dull and dismal was Mr. Kenyon, and therefore it may be
considered a little strange that he should be a notable favorite
with men. They were of many different types, but with one
invariable bond of union: they had all at one time served as
soldiers; for the war, now ten years passed by, its bitterness
almost forgotten, had left some traces that time can never oblit-
erate. What a friend was the droning old churchman in those
days of battle and bloodshed and suffering and death! Not a
man sat within the walls of St. Martin's who had not received
some signal benefit from the hand stretched forth to impress
the claims of certain ante-Augustine British clergy to considera-
tion and credibility; not a man who did not remember stricken
fields where a good Samaritan went about under shot and shell,
succoring the wounded and comforting the dying; not a man
who did not applaud the indomitable spirit and courage that
cut his way from surrender and safety, through solid barriers of
enemies, to deliver the orders on which the fate of an army
depended; not a man whose memory did not harbor fatiguing
recollections of long, dull sermons read for the souls' health of
the soldiery. And through it all-by the camp-fires at night,
on the long white country roads in the sunshiny mornings; in
the mountains and the morasses; in hilarious advance and in
cheerless retreat; in the heats of summer and by the side of
frozen rivers-the ancient British clergy went through it all.
And whether the old churchman's premises and reasoning were
false, whether his tracings of the succession were faulty, whether
he dropped a link here or took in one there, he had caught the
spirit of those stanch old martyrs, if not their falling churchly
mantle.
The mountaineers about the New Helvetia Springs supposed
that Mr. Kenyon was a regularly ordained preacher, and that the
sermons which they had heard him read were, to use the ver-
nacular, out of his own head. For many of them were accus-
tomed on Sunday mornings to occupy humble back benches in
the ball-room, where on week-day evenings the butterflies sojourn-
ing at New Helvetia danced, and on the Sabbath metaphorically
beat their breasts, and literally avowed that they were "miser-
able sinners," following Mr. Kenyon's lugubrious lead.
The conclusion of the mountaineers was not unnatural, there-
fore; and when the door of Mr. Harrison's house opened and
another uninvited guest entered, the music suddenly ceased. The


## p. 10467 (#295) ##########################################

MARY NOAILLES MURFREE
10467
half-closed eyes of the fiddler had fallen upon Mr. Kenyon at
the threshold; and supposing him a clergyman, he immediately
imagined that the man of God had come all the way from New
Helvetia Springs to stop the dancing and snatch the revelers
from the jaws of hell. The rapturous bow paused shuddering
on the string, the dancing feet were palsied, the pious about the
walls were racking their slow brains to excuse their apparent
conniving at sin and bargaining with Satan; and Mr. Harrison
felt that this was indeed an unlucky party, and it would un-
doubtedly be dispersed by the direct interposition of Providence
before the shed-room was opened and the supper eaten. As to
his soul-poor man! these constantly recurring social anxieties
were making him callous to immortality: this life was about to
prove too much for him, for the fortitude and tact even of a
father of four marriageable young ladies has a limit. Mr. Ken-
yon too seemed dumb as he hesitated in the doorway; but when
the host, partially recovering himself, came forward and offered.
a chair, he said with one of his dismal smiles, that he hoped
Mr. Harrison had no objection to his coming in and looking at
the dancing for a while. "Don't let me interrupt the young
people, I beg," he added as he seated himself.
The astounded silence was unbroken for a few moments. To
be sure he was not a circuit-rider, but even the sophistication of
Cheatham's Cross-Roads had never heard of a preacher who did
not object to dancing. Mr. Harrison could not believe his ears,
and asked for a more explicit expression of opinion.
"Ye say ye
don't keer ef the boys an' gals dance? " he
inquired. "Ye don't think it's sinful? »
And after Mr. Kenyon's reply, in which the astonished
"mounting folks" caught only the surprising statement that
dancing if properly conducted was an innocent, cheerful, and
healthful amusement, supplemented by something about dancing
in the fear of the Lord, and that in all charity he was disposed.
to consider objections to such harmless recreations a tithing of
mint and anise and cummin, whereby might ensue a neglect of
weightier matters of the law; that clean hands and clean hearts,
- hands clean of blood and ill-gotten goods, and hearts free
from falsehood and cruel intention,- these were the things well
pleasing to God: after his somewhat prolix reply, the gayety
recommenced. The fiddle quavered tremulously at first, but
soon resounded with its former vigorous tones, and the joy of


## p. 10468 (#296) ##########################################

10468
MARY NOAILLES MURFREE
the dance was again exemplified in the grave joggling back and
forth.
Meanwhile Mr. Harrison sat beside this strange new guest,
and asked him questions concerning his church; being instantly,
it is needless to say, informed of its great antiquity, of the
journeying of St. Augustine and his Forty Monks to Britain, of
the church they found already planted there, of its retreat to the
hills of Wales under its oppressors' tyranny; of many cognate
themes, side issues of the main branch of the subject, into which
the talk naturally drifted, -the like of which Mr. Harrison had
never heard in all his days. And as he watched the figures dan-
cing to the violin's strains, and beheld as in a mental vision the
solemn gyrations of those renowned Forty Monks to the monotone
of old Mr. Kenyon's voice, he abstractedly hoped that the double
dance would continue without interference till a peaceable dawn.
His hopes were vain. It so chanced that Kossuth Johns, who
had by no means relinquished all idea of dancing at Harrison's
Cove and defying Rick Pearson, had hitherto been detained by
his mother's persistent entreaties, some necessary attentions to his
father, and the many trials which beset a man dressing for a
party who has very few clothes, and those very old and worn.
Jule, his sister-in-law, had been most kind and complaisant, put-
ting on a button here, sewing up a slit there, darning a refrac-
tory elbow, and lending him the one bright ribbon she possessed
as a neck-tie. But all these things take time; and the moon did
not light Kossuth down the gorge until she was shining almost
vertically from the sky, and the Harrison's Cove people and the
Forty Monks were dancing together in high feather. The eccle-
siastic dance halted suddenly, and a watchful light gleamed in
old Mr. Kenyon's eyes, as he became silent, and the boy stepped
into the room. The moonlight and the lamplight fell mingled
on the calm, inexpressive features and tall, slender form of the
young mountaineer. "Hy're, Kossute! " a cheerful greeting from
many voices met him. The next moment the music ceased once
again, and the dancing came to a standstill; for as the name fell
on Pearson's ear he turned, glanced sharply toward the door,
and drawing one of his pistols from his belt, advanced to the
middle of the room. The men fell back; so did the frightened
women, without screaming, however, for that indication of femi-
nine sensibility had not yet penetrated to Cheatham's Cross-Roads,
to say nothing of the mountains.
――――――――


## p. 10469 (#297) ##########################################

MARY NOAILLES MURFREE
10469
"I told ye that ye warn't ter come hyar," said Rick Pearson
imperiously; "and ye've got ter go home ter yer mammy, right
off, or ye'll never git thar no more, youngster. "
"I've come hyar ter put you out, ye cussed red-headed horse
thief! " retorted Kossuth angrily: "ye hed better tell me whar
that thar bay filly is, or light out, one. "
It is not the habit in the mountains to parley long on these
occasions. Kossuth had raised his gun to his shoulder as Rick,
with his pistol cocked, advanced a step nearer. The outlaw's
weapon was struck upward by a quick, strong hand; the little log
cabin was filled with flash, roar, and smoke; and the stars looked
in through a hole in the roof from which Rick's bullet had sent
the shingles flying. He turned in mortal terror and caught the
hand that had struck his pistol; in mortal terror, for Kossuth
was the crack shot of the mountains, and he felt he was a dead
man. The room was somewhat obscured by smoke; but as he
turned upon the man who had disarmed him,- for the force of
the blow had thrown the pistol to the floor, he saw that the
other hand was over the muzzle of young Johns's gun, and Kos-
suth was swearing loudly that by the Lord Almighty if he didn't
take it off he would shoot it off.
"My young friend," Mr. Kenyon began, with the calmness
appropriate to a devout member of the one catholic and apostolic
church; but then, the old Adam suddenly getting the upper
hand, he shouted out in irate tones, "If you don't stop that noise
I'll break your head! - Well, Mr. Pearson," he continued, as he
stood between the combatants, one hand still over the muzzle of
young Johns's gun, the other, lean and sinewy, holding Pearson's
powerful right arm with a vise-like grip,-"Well, Mr. Pearson,
you are not so good a soldier as you used to be: you didn't fight
boys in the old times. "
Rick Pearson's enraged expression suddenly gave way to a
surprised recognition. "Ye may drag me through hell an' beat.
me with a soot-bag ef hyar ain't the old fightin' preacher agin! "
he cried.
"I have only one thing to say to you," said Mr. Kenyon.
"You must go: I will not have you here shooting boys and break-
ing up a party. '
>>
Rick demurred. "See hyar, now," he said, "ye've got no
business meddlin'. "
"You must go," Mr. Kenyon reiterated.


## p. 10470 (#298) ##########################################

MARY NOAILLES MURFREE
10470
"Preachin's yer business," Rick continued: "'pears like ye
don't 'tend to it, though. "
"You must go. "
"S'pose I say I won't," said Rick good-humoredly: "I s'pose
ye'd say ye'd make me. "
"You must go," repeated Mr. Kenyon. "I am going to take
the boy home with me, but I intend to see you off first. ”
Mr. Kenyon had prevented the hot-headed Kossuth from firing
by keeping his hand persistently over the muzzle of the gun; and
young Johns had feared to try to wrench it away lest it should.
discharge in the effort. Had it done so, Mr. Kenyon would have
been in sweet converse with the Forty Monks in about a min-
ute and a quarter. Kossuth had finally let go the gun, and made
frantic efforts to borrow a weapon from some of his friends, but
the stern authoritative mandate of the belligerent peace-maker had
prevented them from gratifying him; and he now stood empty-
handed beside Mr. Kenyon, who had shouldered the old rifle in
an absent-minded manner, although still retaining his powerful
grasp on the arm of the outlaw.
"Waal, parson," said Rick at length, "I'll go, jest ter pleas-
ure you-uns. Ye see, I ain't forgot Shiloh. "
« You
"I am not talking about Shiloh now," said the old man.
must get off at once-all of you," indicating the gang, who
had been so whelmed in astonishment that they had not lifted
a finger to aid their chief.
"Ye say ye'll take that-that- Rick looked hard at Kos-
suth while he racked his brains for an injurious epithet" that
sassy child home ter his mammy? "
"Come, I am tired of this talk," said Mr. Kenyon: "you
must go. "
--
>>
Rick walked heavily to the door and out into the moonlight.
"Them was good old times," he said to Mr. Kenyon, with a
regretful cadence in his peculiar drawl; "good old times, them
War days.
I wish they was back agin,-I wish they was back
agin. I ain't forgot Shiloh yit, though, and I ain't a-goin' ter.
But I'll tell ye one thing, parson," he added, his mind reverting
from ten years ago to the scene just past, as he unhitched his
horse and carefully examined the saddle-girth and stirrups, "ye're
a mighty queer preacher, ye air, a-sittin' up an' lookin' at sin-
ners dance, an' then gittin' in a fight that don't consarn ye-
ye're a mighty queer preacher! Ye ought ter be in my gang,


## p. 10471 (#299) ##########################################

MARY NOAILLES MURFREE
10471
that's whar ye ought ter be," he exclaimed with a guffaw, as he
put his foot in the stirrup; "ye've got a damned deal too much
grit fur a preacher. But I ain't forgot Shiloh yit, an' I don't
mean ter, nuther. "
A shout of laughter from the gang, an oath or two, the quick
tread of horses' hoofs pressing into a gallop, and the outlaw's
troop were speeding along the narrow paths that led deep into
the vistas of the moonlit summer woods.
As the old churchman, with the boy at his side and the gun
still on his shoulder, ascended the rocky, precipitous slope on the
opposite side of the ravine above the foaming waters of the wild
mountain stream, he said but little of admonition to his com-
panion: with the disappearance of the flame and smoke and the
dangerous ruffian, his martial spirit had cooled; the last words of
the outlaw, the highest praise Rick Pearson could accord to the
highest qualities Rick Pearson could imagine,- he had grit enough
to belong to the gang,-had smitten a tender conscience. He, at
his age, using none of the means rightfully at his command,—
the gentle suasion of religion,- must needs rush between armed
men, wrench their weapons from their hands, threatening with
such violence that an outlaw and desperado, recognizing a paral-
lel of his own belligerent and lawless spirit, should say that he
ought to belong to the gang! And the heaviest scourge of the
sin-laden conscience was the perception that so far as the unsub-
dued old Adam went, he ought indeed.
He was not so tortured, though, that he did not think of
others. He paused on reaching the summit of the ascent, and
looked back at the little house nestling in the ravine, the lamp-
light streaming through its open doors and windows across the
path among the laurel bushes, where Rick's gang had hitched
their horses.
"I wonder," said the old man, "if they are quiet and peace-
able again: can you hear the music and dancing? "
"Not now," said Kossuth. Then, after a moment, "Now I
kin," he added, as the wind brought to their ears the oft-told
tale of the rabbit's gallopade in the pea-patch. "They're a-dan-
cin' now, and all right agin. "
As they walked along, Mr. Kenyon's racked conscience might
have been in a slight degree comforted had he known that he
was in some sort a revelation to the impressible lad at his side;
that Kossuth had begun dimly to comprehend that a Christian


## p. 10472 (#300) ##########################################

10472
MARY NOAILLES MURFREE
may be a man of spirit also, and that bravado does not constitute
bravery. Now that the heat of anger was over, the young fellow
was glad that the fearless interposition of the warlike peace-
maker had prevented any killing, "'kase ef the old man hedn't
hung on ter my gun like he done, I'd have been a murderer like
he said, an' Rick would hev been dead. An' the bay filly ain't
sech a killin' matter nohow: ef it war the roan three-year-old
now, 'twould be different »


## p. 10473 (#301) ##########################################

10473
HENRI MURGER
(1822-1861)
AKING into account a strange and persistent conception which
has been afloat for many generations, the genius of artistic
passion might well be represented as a haloed vagabond,
with immortal longings in his eyes, and out at the elbows.
In his Bohemians of the Latin Quarter,' Henri Murger, seizing
upon this conception, has prefaced his story of the gay, sad, wild, half-
starved, half-surfeited life led by four followers of art in Paris, with a
history of the world's Bohemians. He christens the picturesque clan by
this name, now in general use; but he does
not attempt to explain why the pursuit of
art in painting or literature has been so
often identified, in the past at least, with
worthlessness as a citizen. He merely calls
the long roll of those who have lived by
poetry rather than bread. He does not hesi-
tate to include the wanderer Homer, nor
Shakespeare, nor Molière, in this fellowship.
The inspired rascal Villon he claims as his
soul's own brother; Gringoire,-"friend to
vagrants and foe to fasting, "- Marot, Rous-
seau, Chatterton, are of his kin. For Mur-
ger himself was a prince of Bohemians.
Born in Paris in 1822, his father, a tailor,
arranged that he should study law; but Murger chose literature and
starvation. His 'Bohemians,' which was published in 1848, and which
made his fame, is the record of his own life and of the lives of some
boon friends in the Latin Quarter. It is the story of those spirits in
the untamed twenties, who like Omar desire only-

HENRI MURGER
"A book of verses underneath the bough,
A jug of wine, a loaf of bread, and thou
Beside me singing in the wilderness. "
What does it matter that the wilderness is that of the Paris roofs,
and the bread at least wanting, perhaps, and the beloved a little
working-girl in chintz, happy with a few sous' worth of violets or an


## p. 10474 (#302) ##########################################

10474
HENRI MURGER
afternoon at Versailles? The Bohemians of Paris are linked by the
chains of vagabondage, and of possible genius, to all those in every
age and clime who have found stimulus for their powers in love and
wine and song; and who in serving this trinity have forgotten the
obligation to earn more than they spend.
Murger himself did not long survive his translation, from that
quarter of Paris where he lived in the fifth story of a cheap lodging-
house because there was no sixth, to the realm of respectability. He
was, however, still enough of a Bohemian to prefer a cottage in the
Forest of Fontainebleau to the smug quarters of Paris, whose inhabit-
ants know nothing of the excitement of chasing "that wild beast
called a five-franc piece. " Murger died in 1861; and there were
those who questioned, in reviewing his life, whether he had been
really at heart a Bohemian. His book, at least, shows the subtlest
penetration into that irregular form of human nature known as the
artistic temperament. The reader regrets that the possessor of such
insight — a man who could discern a brother Bohemian across many
centuries and under the strangest disguises of mediæval rags should
not have explained why the world instinctively feels that the poet
or the artist is not likely to be normal in his habits of living. Had
he attempted to answer this question, he might have said that the
man who sees visions and dreams dreams, knows the true value of
bread and meat and gold pieces better than the Philistine; and can
therefore accept their services irregularly, and with the nonchalance
of the inspired.
The world, before whom the bread and meat and
gold pieces loom large as fate itself, translates this nonchalance into
shiftless ignorance of the duties and obligations of life. As poets and
artists are as a rule visionaries, this reputation is therefore fastened
upon them.
-
The world is not without its justification. Even Murger himself
says, "Bohemia is a stage in the artistic life: it is the preface to the
Academy, the Hôtel Dieu - or the Morgue. "


## p. 10475 (#303) ##########################################

HENRI MURGER
10475
A BOHEMIAN EVENING PARTY
From The Humor of France,' in International Humor Series>
OWARDS the end of December the messengers of Bidault's
Tagency were commissioned to distribute about a hundred
copies of an invitation, of which the following is a faithful
reproduction:-
M.
MM. Rodolphe and Marcel request the honor of your company on
Saturday evening next, Christmas Eve.
There will be fine fun.
PROGRAMME OF THE ENTERTAINMENT
At 7 P. M. , opening of the reception rooms; lively and animated
conversation.
At 8 P. M. , entrance and walk through the rooms of the talented
authors of the Mountain in Labor,' comedy refused at the Odéon
Théâtre.
At 8:30 P. M. , M. Alexandre Schaunard, the celebrated virtuoso, will
perform on the piano 'The Influence of Blue in the Arts,' descript-
ive symphony.
At 9 P. M. , first reading of the paper on The Abolition of the Pen-
alty in Tragedy. '
At 9:30 P. M. , M. Gustave Colline, hyperphysical philosopher, and
Monsieur Schaunard, will hold a debate comparing dephilosophy and
metapolitics. In order to avoid any collision between the antagonists,
they will each be securely fastened.
At 10
P. M. , M. Tristan, man of letters, will relate his early
amours. M. Alexandre Schaunard will accompany him on the piano.
At 10:30 P. M. , second reading of the paper on 'The Abolition of
the Penalty in Tragedy. '
At 11 P. M. , a foreign Prince will describe a Cassowary hunt.
PART II
AT MIDNIGHT, Monsieur Marcel, historical painter, blindfolded, will
improvise in chalk the meeting of Napoleon and Voltaire in the Elys-
ian Fields. Monsieur Rodolphe will improvise a comparison between
the author of 'Zaïre' and the author of Austerlitz.
At 12:30 P. M. , M. Gustave, in a decent undress, will imitate the
athletic games of the fourth Olympiad.
At A. M. , third reading of the paper on The Abolition of the
Penalty in Tragedy,' and collection for the tragic authors who will
one day be out of work.


## p. 10476 (#304) ##########################################

10476
HENRI MURGER
At 2 A. M. , beginning of the games and organization of the dances,
which will be continued until morning.
At 6 A. M. , sunrise and final chorus.
During the whole of the entertainment the ventilators will play.
N. B. -Any person wishing to read or recite verses will be imme-
diately turned out and delivered up to the police. You are requested
not to take away the candle ends.
Let me tell you briefly the origin of the entertainment that
so vastly dazzled the Bohemian world of Paris. For about a
year, Marcel and Rodolphe had gone on announcing this magnifi-
cent entertainment to take place always next Saturday. But un-
toward circumstances had forced them to let the promise extend
over fifty-two weeks. In consequence, they could scarcely move
a step without having to endure the jeers of their friends, some
of whom were actually unfeeling enough to formulate loud com-
plaints. The affair began to get tiresome; and the two friends
determined to put an end to it by liquidating the engagements
they had made. And the invitation quoted above was the out-
come of that decision.
"Now," said Rodolphe, "there's no possibility of retreat; we've
burnt our ships, and we've just a week in which to find the hun-
dred francs indispensable for doing the thing well. "
"As they are so absolutely necessary," said Marcel, "of course
they'll be forthcoming. "
And with an insolent confidence in luck, the two friends went
to sleep, convinced that the hundred francs were already on the
road-the road of the impossible.
However, two days before the evening appointed for the party,
as nothing had arrived, Rodolphe thought that if he did not
wish to be disgraced when the time came for the guests to arrive,
it would probably be safer to assist luck. In order to facilitate
matters, the two friends, by degrees, modified the sumptuous
programme on which they had at first determined. And from
modification to modification, after greatly curtailing the item
cakes, and carefully revising and diminishing that of drinks, the
total expense was reduced to fifteen francs. The problem was
thus simplified but not solved.
"Well," said Rodolphe,
«< we must take strong measures: we
can't postpone it again this time. "
"Impossible," said Marcel.
"How long is it since I heard the story of Studzianka ? »


## p. 10477 (#305) ##########################################

HENRI MURGER
10477
"Almost two months. "
"Two months? good! that's a respectable interval. My uncle
shall have no cause for complaint. To-morrow I'll go and see
him, and ask for the battle of Studzianka. That will mean five
francs. "
"And," said Marcel, "I'll sell old Medicis 'A Deserted Manor':
that will be another five francs. If I've time to put in three
towers and a mill, it will very likely be ten francs, and then we
shall have just the sum required. "
The two friends went to sleep, and dreamed that the Princess
Belgioso asked them to change their reception days, in order not
to deprive her of her habitual guests.
Marcel got up very early, took a canvas, and diligently pro-
ceeded to construct 'A Deserted Castle,'— an article in great
demand by a broker in the Place du Carrousel. Rodolphe went
to call on his uncle Monetti, who excelled in narrating the retreat
from Moscow. Rodolphe, when things went badly with him,
procured his uncle the satisfaction of fighting his campaigns
over again some five or six times a year, in consideration for a
loan. If you showed a proper enthusiasm for his stories, the
veteran stove-maker and chimney-doctor was not unwilling to
make it.
About two o'clock, Marcel, with downcast look, carrying a
canvas under his arm, met Rodolphe in the Place du Carrou-
sel coming from his uncle's; his appearance also betokened ill
news.
"Well," asked Marcel, "what luck? "
"None. My uncle had gone to the Versailles Museum. And
you ? »
"That wretch of a Medicis doesn't want any more 'Ruined
Castles. ' He asked for a Bombardment of Tangiers. ""
"Our reputation's gone if we don't give the entertainment,'
grumbled Rodolphe. "What will my friend the influential critic
think, if I make him put on a white tie and light gloves for
nothing? "
They returned to the studio, a prey to the liveliest anxiety.
At that moment a neighbor's clock struck four.
"We've only three hours left," said Rodolphe.
"Well," exclaimed Marcel, going up to his friend, "are you
perfectly sure there's no money to be found here? "


## p. 10478 (#306) ##########################################

10478
HENRI MURGER
"Neither here nor elsewhere. Where could we have left any? "
"Let us search in the stuffing of the chairs. It is said that
the émigrés hid their treasure in Robespierre's time. Our arm-
chair may have belonged to an émigré. It's so hard that I've
often thought it must be metal inside. Will you make an autopsy
of it? "
"This is a mere farce," replied Rodolphe in a tone at once
severe and indulgent.
Suddenly Marcel, who had been prosecuting his search in
every corner of the studio, gave a loud shout of triumph.
"We are saved! " he exclaimed: "I felt sure there was some-
thing of value here. Look! " and he held up for Rodolphe's in-
spection a coin the size of a crown, half smothered in rust and
verdigris.
It was a Carlovingian coin of some artistic value.
"That's only worth thirty sous," said Rodolphe, throwing a
contemptuous glance at his friend's findings.
"Thirty sous well laid out will go a long way," said Marcel.
"I'll sell this Charlemagne crown to old Father Medicis. Isn't
there anything else here I could sell? Yes, suppose I take the
Russian drum-major's tibia. That will add to the collection. "
"Away with the tibia. But it's exceedingly annoying: there
won't be a single object of art left. "
During Marcel's absence, Rodolphe, feeling certain that his
party would come off somehow, went in search of his friend
Colline, who lived quite near.
"I want you," he said, "to do me a favor. As master of the
house, I must wear a dress coat, and I haven't got one. Lend
me yours. "
"But," objected Colline, "as a guest I must wear my dress
coat myself. "
"I'll allow you to come in a frock coat. "
"You know I've never had a frock coat. "
"Well, then, the matter can be arranged like this: You need-
n't come to the party, and you can lend me your dress coat. "
"But that'll never do. I'm on the programme.
I can't stay
>>>>
away. "
«< There'll be plenty of other things lacking," said Rodolphe.
"Lend me the dress coat; and if you want to come, come as you
are, in your shirt-sleeves. "


## p. 10479 (#307) ##########################################

HENRI MURGER
10479
«
"Oh, no,” said Colline, getting red. "I'll put on my great-
coat. But it's all exceedingly annoying " And perceiving that
Rodolphe had already laid hold of the dress coat, he exclaimed:
"Stay-there are one or two little things in the pockets. ”
Colline's coat deserves mention. First, it was blue, and it
was purely from habit that Colline talked about his black coat;
and as he was the only member of the band who possessed such
a garment, his friends were likewise accustomed to say when
speaking of the philosopher, Colline's black coat. Further, that
celebrated article of apparel had a particular shape of its own,
the most eccentric that can be imagined. The abnormally long
tails fastened to a very short waist possessed two pockets, verita-
ble abysses, in which Colline was accustomed to put about thirty
books he everlastingly carried about him, Thus it was said that
when the libraries were closed, scholars and literary men looked
up their references in the tails of Colline's coat, a library always
open to readers.
•
When Rodolphe returned he found Marcel playing quoits with
five-franc pieces, to the number of three.
He had sold the coin for fifteen francs.
The two friends immediately began their preparations. They
put the studio tidy, and lighted a fire in the stove. A canvas
frame, ornamented with candles, was suspended from the ceiling,
and did duty as a chandelier. A desk was placed in the middle
of the studio, to serve as a tribune for the speakers. In front
they put the one arm-chair, which was to be occupied by the
influential critic; and laid out on a table the books, novels,
feuilletons of the authors who were to honor the entertainment
with their presence. To avoid any collision between the differ-
ent parties of men of letters, they divided the studio into four
compartments; at the entrance were four hastily manufactured
placards inscribed -
POETS
PROSE-WRITERS
ROMANTIC
CLASSICAL
The ladies were to occupy a space reserved in the middle.
"Oh! " said Rodolphe, "there are no chairs. "
« Suppose
"There are plenty on the landing," replied Marcel.
we take those. "
"Of course," said Rodolphe, and proceeded calmly to take
possession of his neighbors' property.


## p. 10480 (#308) ##########################################

10480
HENRI MURGER
Six o'clock struck. The two friends went out for a hasty
dinner, and on their return proceeded to light up the rooms.
They could not help feeling dazzled themselves. At seven
o'clock Schaunard arrived, accompanied by three ladies, who had
forgotten their diamonds and their bonnets. Numerous steps
were heard on the staircase. The guests were arriving, and they
seemed surprised to find a fire in the stove.
Rodolphe's dress-coat went to meet the ladies, and kissed
their hands with a grace worthy of the Regency. When there
were about twenty persons present, Schaunard asked if they
couldn't have something to drink.
"Presently," said Marcel: "we are waiting for the influential
critic before we begin on the punch. "
By eight o'clock all the guests had come, and they began the
programme. Between each number came a round of some sort
of drink; but what it exactly was, has never transpired.
About ten o'clock the white waistcoat of the influential critic
appeared. He only stayed an hour, and was very sparing of
praise. At midnight, as it was very cold and there was no more
fuel, the guests who were seated drew lots for throwing their
chairs into the fire.
At one o'clock everybody was standing.
The greatest merriment held sway among the guests, and the
memorable evening was the talk of the neighborhood for a week.
THE WHITE VIOLETS
>
From The Bohemians of the Latin Quarter ›
A
BOUT this time Rodolphe was very much in love with his
cousin Angela, who couldn't bear him; and the thermome-
ter was twelve degrees below freezing-point.
―――――
Mademoiselle Angela was the daughter of Monsieur Monetti,
the chimney-doctor, of whom we have already had occasion to
speak. She was eighteen years old, and had just come from
Burgundy, where she had lived five years with a relative who
was to leave her all her property. This relative was an old lady
who had never been young, apparently,- certainly never hand-
some, but had always been very ill-natured, although-or per-
haps because-very superstitious. Angela, who at her departure
was a charming child, and promised to be a charming girl,


## p. 10481 (#309) ##########################################

HENRI MURGER
10481
came back at the end of the five years a pretty enough young
lady, but cold, dry, and uninteresting. Her secluded provincial
life, and the narrow and bigoted education she had received, had
filled her mind with vulgar prejudices, shrunk her imagination,
and converted her heart into a sort of organ limited to fulfilling
its function of physical balance-wheel. You might say that she
had holy water in her veins instead of blood. She received her
cousin with an icy reserve; and he lost his time whenever he
attempted to touch the chord of her recollections - recollections
of the time when they had sketched out that flirtation, in the
Paul-and-Virginia style, which is traditional between cousins of
different sexes. Still Rodolphe was very much in love with his
cousin Angela, who couldn't bear him; and learning one day
that the young lady was going shortly to the wedding-ball of
one of her friends, he made bold to promise Angela a bouquet
of violets for the ball. And after asking permission of her
father, Angela accepted her cousin's gallant offer-always on
condition that the violets should be white.
Overjoyed at his cousin's amiability, Rodolphe danced and
sang his way back to Mount St. Bernard, as he called his lodg
ing-why, will be seen presently. As he passed by a florist's in
crossing the Palais Royal, he saw some white violets in the show-
case, and was curious enough to ask their price. A presentable
bouquet could not be had for less than ten francs; there were
some that cost more.
"The deuce! " exclaimed Rodolphe; "ten francs! and only
eight days to find this fortune! It will be a hard pull, but never
mind; my cousin shall have her flowers. "
This happened in the time of Rodolphe's literary genesis, as
the transcendentalists would say. His only income at that period
was an allowance of fifteen francs a month, made him by a
friend, who after living a long while in Paris as a poet, had by
the help of influential acquaintances gained the mastership of
a provincial school. Rodolphe, who was the child of prodigality,
always spent his allowance in four days; and not choosing to
abandon his holy but not very profitable profession of elegiac poet,
lived for the rest of the month on the rare droppings from the
basket of Providence. This long Lent had no terrors for him;
he passed through it gayly, thanks to his stoical temperament,
and to the imaginary treasures which he expended every day
while waiting for the first of the month,- that Easter which
XVIII-656


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