THE CARLOVINGIAN COIN
Towards the end of December the messengers of Bidault's agency were
entrusted with the distribution of about a hundred copies of a letter of
invitation, of which we certify that the following to be a true and
genuine copy:--
-----
_M.M. Rodolphe and Marcel request the honor of your company on
Saturday next, Christmas Eve. Fun!_
_P.S. Life is short!_
_PROGRAM OF THE ENTERTAINMENT_
_PART I_
_7 o'clock--Opening of the saloons. Brisk and witty conversation._
_8.--Appearance of the talented authors of "The Mountain in Labor,"
comedy refused at the Odeon Theater._
_8:30.--M. Alexander Schaunard, the eminent virtuoso, will play
his imitative symphony, "The Influence of Blue in Art," on the
piano._
_9.--First reading of the essay on the "Abolition of the penalty of
tragedy."_
_9:30.--Philosophical and metaphysical argument between M. Colline,
hyperphysical philosopher, and M. Schaunard. To avoid any collision
between the two antagonists, they will both be securely fastened._
_10.--M. Tristan, master of literature, will narrate his early
loves, accompanied on the piano by M. Alexander Schaunard._
_10:30.--Second reading of the essay on the "Abolition of the
penalty of tragedy."_
_11.--Narration of a cassowary hunt by a foreign prince._
_PART II_
_Midnight.--M. Marcel, historical painter, will execute with his
eyes bandaged an impromptu sketch in chalk of the meeting of
Voltaire and Napolean in the Elyssian Fields. M. Rodolphe will also
improvise a parallel between the author of Zaire, and the victor of
Austerlitz._
_12:30.--M. Gustave Colline, in a decent undress, will give an
imitation of the athletic games of the 4th Olympiad._
_1.--Third reading of the essay on the "Abolition of the penalty of
tragedy," and subscription on behalf of tragic authors who will one
day find themselves out of employment._
_2.--Commencement of games and organization of quadrilles to last
until morning._
_6.--Sunrise and final chorus._
_During the whole of entertainment ventilators will be in action._
_N.B. Anyone attempting to read or recite poetry will be summarily
ejected and handed over to the police. The guests are equally
requested not to help themselves to the candle ends._
Two days later, copies of this invitation were circulating among the
lower depths of art and literature, and created a profound sensation.
There were, however, amongst the invited guests, some who cast doubt
upon the splendor of the promises made by the two friends.
"I am very skeptical about it," said one of them. "I have sometimes gone
to Rodolphe's Thursdays in the Rue de la Tour d'Auvergne, when one could
only sit on anything morally, and where all one had to drink was a
little filtered water in eclectic pottery."
"This time," said another, "it is really serious. Marcel has shown me
the program of the fete, and the effect will be magical."
"Will there be any ladies?"
"Yes. Phemie Teinturiere has asked to be queen of the fete and Schaunard
is to bring some ladies of position."
This is in brief the origin of this fete which caused such stupefaction
in the Bohemian world across the water. For about a year past, Marcel
and Rodolphe had announced this sumptuous gala which was always to take
place "next Saturday," but painful circumstances had obliged their
promise to extend over fifty-two weeks, so that they had come to pass of
not being able to take a step without encountering some ironical remark
from one of their friends, amongst whom there were some indiscreet
enough to put forward energetic demand for its fulfillment. The matter
beginning to assume the character of a plague, the two friends resolved
to put an end to it by liquidating the undertaking into which they had
entered. It was thus that they sent out the invitation given above.
"Now," said Rodolphe, "there is no drawing back. We have burnt our
ships, and we have before us just a week to find the hundred francs that
are indispensable to do the thing properly."
"Since we must have them, we shall," replied Marcel.
And with the insolent confidence which they had in luck, the two friends
went to sleep, convinced that their hundred francs were already on the
way, the way of impossibility.
However, as on the day before that appointed for the party, nothing as
of yet had turned up, Rodolphe thought perhaps, be safer to give luck a
helping hand, unless he were to be discredited forever, when the time
came to light up. To facilitate matters the two friends progressively
modified the sumptuosity of the program they had imposed upon
themselves.
And proceeding from modification to modification, after having seriously
reduced the item "cakes," and carefully revised and pruned down the item
"liquors," the total cost was reduced to fifteen francs.
The problem was simplified, but not yet solved.
"Come, come," said Rodolphe, "we must now have recourse to strong
measures, we cannot cry off this time."
"No, that is impossible," replied Marcel.
"How long is it since I have heard the story of the Battle of
Studzianka?"
"About two months."
"Two months, good, that is a decent interval; my uncle will have no
ground for grumbling. I will go tomorrow and hear his account of that
engagement, that will be five francs for certain."
"I," said Marcel, "will go and sell a deserted manor house to old
Medicis. That will make another five francs. If I have time enough to
put in three towers and a mill, it will perhaps run to ten francs, and
our budget will be complete."
And the two friends fell asleep dreaming that the Princess Belgiojoso
begged them to change their reception day, in order not to rob her of
her customary guests.
Awake at dawn, Marcel took a canvas and rapidly set to work to build up
a deserted manor house, an article which he was in the habit of
supplying to a broker of the Place de Carrousel. On his side, Rodolphe
went to pay a visit to his Uncle Monetti, who shone in the story of the
Retreat from Moscow, and to whom Rodolphe accorded five or six times in
course of the year, when matters were really serious, the satisfaction
of narrating his campaigns, in return for a small loan which the veteran
stove maker did not refuse too obstinately when due enthusiasm was
displayed in listening to his narrations.
About two o'clock, Marcel with hanging head and a canvas under his arm,
met on the Place de Carrousel Rodolphe, who was returning from his
uncle's, and whose bearing also presaged ill news.
"Well," asked Marcel, "did you succeed?"
"No, my uncle has gone to Versailles. And you?"
"That beast of a Medicis does not want any more ruined manor houses. He
wants me to do him a Bombardment of Tangiers."
"Our reputations are ruined forever if we do not give this party,"
murmured Rodolphe. "What will my friend, the influential critic, think
if I make him put on a white tie and yellow kids for nothing."
And both went back to the studio, a prey to great uneasiness.
At that moment the clock of a neighbor struck four.
"We have only three hours before us," said Rodolphe despondingly.
"But," said Marcel, going up to his friend, "are you quite sure, certain
sure, that we have no money left anywhere hereabout? Eh?"
"Neither here, nor elsewhere. Where do you suppose it could come from?"
"If we looked under the furniture, in the stuffing of the arm chairs?
They say that the emigrant noblemen used to hide their treasures in the
days of Robespierre. Who can tell? Perhaps our arm chair belonged to an
emigrant nobleman, and besides, it is so hard that the idea has often
occurred to me that it must be stuffed with metal. Will you dissect it?"
"This is mere comedy," replied Rodolphe, in a tone in which severity was
mingled with indulgence.
Suddenly Marcel, who had gone on rummaging in every corner of the
studio, uttered a loud cry of triumph.
"We are saved!" he exclaimed. "I was sure that there was money here.
Behold!" and he showed Rodolphe a coin as large as a crown piece, and
half eaten away by rust and verdigris.
It was a Carlovingian coin of some artistic value. The legend, happily
intact, showed the date of Charlemagne's reign.
"That, that's worth thirty sous," said Rodolphe, with a contemptuous
glance at his friend's find.
"Thirty sous well employed will go a great way," replied Marcel. "With
twelve hundred men Bonaparte made ten thousand Austrians lay down their
arms. Skill can replace numbers. I will go and swap the Carlovingian
crown at Daddy Medicis'. Is there not anything else saleable here?
Suppose I take the plaster cast of the tibia of Jaconowski, the Russian
drum major."
"Take the tibia. But it is a nuisance, there will not be a single
ornament left here."
During Marcel's absence, Rodolphe, his mind made up that that party
should be given in any case, went in search of his friend Colline, the
hyperphysical philosopher, who lived hard by.
"I have come," said he, "to ask you to do me a favor. As host I must
positively have a black swallow-tail, and I have not got one; lend me
yours."
"But," said Colline hesitating, "as a guest I shall want my black
swallow-tail too."
"I will allow you to come in a frock coat."
"That won't do. You know very well I have never had a frock coat."
"Well, then, it can be settled in another way. If needs be, you need not
come to my party, and can lend me your swallow-tail."
"That would be unpleasant. I am on the program, and must not be
lacking."
"There are plenty of other things that will be lacking," said Rodolphe.
"Lend me your black swallow-tail, and if you will come, come as you
like; in your shirt sleeves, you will pass for a faithful servant."
"Oh no!" said Colline, blushing. "I will wear my great coat. But all the
same, it is very unpleasant." And as he saw Rodolphe had already seized
on the famous black swallow-tail, he called out to him, "Stop a bit.
There are some odds and ends in the pockets."
Colline's swallow-tail deserves a word or two. In the first place it was
of a decided blue, and it was from habit that Colline spoke of it as "my
black swallow-tail." And as he was the only one of the band owning a
dress coat, his friends were likewise in the habit of saying, when
speaking of the philosopher's official garment, "Colline's black
swallow-tail." In addition to this, this famous garment had a special
cut, the oddest imaginable. The tails, very long, and attached to a very
short waist, had two pockets, positive gulfs, in which Colline was
accustomed to store some thirty of the volumes which he eternally
carried about with him. This caused his friends to remark that during
the time that the public libraries were closed, savants and literary men
could go and refer to the skirts of Colline's swallow-tail--a library
always open.
That day, extraordinary to relate, Colline's swallow-tail only contained
a quarto volume of Bayle, a treatise on the hyperphysical faculties in
three volumes, a volume of Condillac, two of Swedenborg and Pope's
"Essay on Man." When he had cleared his bookcase-garment, he allowed
Rodolphe to clothe himself in it.
"Hallo!" said the latter, "the left pocket still feels very heavy; you
have left something in it."
"Ah!" exclaimed Colline, "that is so. I forgot to empty the foreign
languages pocket."
And he took out from this two Arabic grammars, a Malay dictionary, and a
stock breeder's manual in Chinese, his favorite reading.
When Rodolphe returned home he found Marcel playing pitch-and-toss with
three five franc pieces. At first Rodolphe refused his friend's
proferred hand--he thought some crime had been committed.
"Let us make haste, let us make haste," said Marcel, "we have the
fifteen francs required. This is how it happened. I met an antiquary at
Medicis'. When he saw the coin he was almost taken ill; it was the only
one wanting in his cabinet. He had sent everywhere to get this vacancy
filled up, and had lost all hope. Thus, when he had thoroughly examined
my Carlovingian crown piece, he did not hesitate for a moment to offer
me five francs for it. Medicis nudged me with his elbow; a look from
him completed the business. He meant, 'share the profits of the sale,
and I will bid against him.' We ran it up to thirty francs. I gave the
Jew fifteen, and here are the rest. Now our guests may come; we are in a
position to dazzle them. Hallo! You have got a swallow-tail!"
"Yes," said Rodolphe, "Colline's swallow-tail." And as he was feeling
for his handkerchief, Rodolphe pulled out a small volume in a Tartar
dialect, overlooked in the foreign literature pocket.
The two friends at once proceeded to make their preparations. The studio
was set in order, a fire kindled in the stove, the stretcher of a
picture, garnished with composite candles, suspended from the ceiling
as a chandelier, and a writing table placed in the middle of the studio
to serve as a rostrum for the orators. The solitary armchair, which was
to be reserved for the influential critic, was placed in front of it,
and upon a table were arranged all the books, romances, poems,
pamphlets, &c., the authors of which were to honor the company with
their presence.
In order to avoid any collision between members of the different schools
of literature, the studio had been, moreover, divided into four
compartments, at the entrance to each of which could be read, on four
hurriedly manufactured placards, the inscriptions--"Poets," "Prose
Writers," "Classic School," and "Romantic School."
The ladies were to occupy a space reserved in the middle of the studio.
"Humph! Chairs are lacking," said Rodolphe.
"Oh!" remarked Marcel, "there are several on the landing, fastened along
the wall. Suppose we were to gather them."
"Certainly, let us gather them by all means," said Rodolphe, starting
off to seize on the chairs, which belonged to some neighbor.
Six o'clock struck: the two friends went off to a hasty dinner, and
returned to light up the saloons. They were themselves dazzled by the
result. At seven o'clock Schaunard arrived, accompanied by three ladies,
who had forgotten their diamonds and their bonnets. One of them wore a
red shawl with black spots. Schaunard pointed out this lady particularly
to Rodolphe.
"She is a woman accustomed to the best society," said he, "an
Englishwoman whom the fall of the Stuarts has driven into exile, she
lives in a modest way by giving lessons in English. Her father was Lord
Chancellor under Cromwell, she told me, so we must be polite with her.
Don't be too familiar."
Numerous footsteps were heard on the stairs. It was the guests arriving.
They seemed astonished to see a fire burning in the stove.
Rodolphe's swallow-tail went to greet the ladies, and kissed their hands
with a grace worthy of the Regency. When there was a score of persons
present, Schaunard asked whether it was not time for a round of drinks.
"Presently," said Marcel. "We are waiting for the arrival of the
influential critic to set fire to the punch."
At eight o'clock the whole of the guests had arrived, and the execution
of the program commenced. Each item was alternated with a round of drink
of some kind, no one ever knew what.
Towards ten o'clock the white waistcoat of the influential critic made
its appearance. He only stayed an hour, and was very sober in the
consumption of refreshments.
At midnight, as there was no more wood, and it was very cold, the guests
who were seated drew lots as to who should cast his chair into the fire.
By one o'clock every one was standing.
Amiable gaiety did not cease to reign amongst the guests. There were no
accidents to be regretted, with the exception of a rent in the foreign
languages pocket of Colline's swallow-tail and a smack in the face given
by Schaunard to the daughter of Cromwell's Lord Chancellor.
This memorable evening was for a week the staple subject of gossip in
the district, and Phemie Teinturiere, who had been the queen of the
fete, was accustomed to remark, when talking it over with her friends,--
"It was awfully fine. There were composite candles, my dear."