THE HOUSE WARMING
This took place some time after the union of the poet Rodolphe and
Mademoiselle Mimi. For a week the whole of the Bohemian brotherhood
were grievously perturbed by the disappearance of Rodolphe, who had
suddenly become invisible. They had sought for him in all his customary
haunts, and had everywhere been met by the same reply--
"We have not seen him for a week."
Gustave Colline above all was very uneasy, and for the following reason.
A few days previously he had handed to Rodolphe a highly philosophical
article, which the latter was to insert in the columns of "The Beaver,"
the organ of the hat trade, of which he was editor. Had this
philosophical article burst upon the gaze of astonished Europe? Such
was the query put to himself by the astonished Colline, and this anxiety
will be understood when it is explained that the philosopher had never
yet had the honor of appearing in print, and that he was consumed by the
desire of seeing what effect would be produced by his prose in pica. To
procure himself this gratification he had already expended six francs in
visiting all the reading rooms of Paris without being able to find "The
Beaver" in any one of them. Not being able to stand it any longer,
Colline swore to himself that he would not take a moment's rest until he
had laid hands on the undiscoverable editor of this paper.
Aided by chances which it would take too long to tell in detail, the
philosopher was able to keep his word. Within two days he learned
Rodolphe's abiding place and called on him there at six in the morning.
Rodolphe was then residing in a lodging house in a deserted street
situated in the Faubourg Saint Germain, and was perched on the fifth
floor because there was not a sixth. When Colline came to his door there
was no key in the lock outside. He knocked for ten minutes without
obtaining any answer from within; the din he made at this early hour
attracted the attention of even the porter, who came to ask him to be
quiet.
"You see very well that the gentleman is asleep," said he.
"That is why I want to wake him up," replied Colline, knocking again.
"He does not want to answer then," replied the porter, placing before
Rodolphe's door a pair of patent leather boots and a pair of lady's
boots that he had just cleaned.
"Wait a bit though," observed Colline, examining the masculine and
feminine foot gear. "New patent leathers! I must have made a mistake; it
cannot be here."
"Yes, by the way," said the porter, "whom do you want?"
"A woman's boots!" continued Colline, speaking to himself, and thinking
of his friends austere manners, "Yes, certainly I must have made a
mistake. This is not Rodolphe's room."
"I beg your pardon, sir, it is."
"You must be making a mistake, my good man."
"What do you mean?"
"Decidedly you must be making a mistake," said Colline, pointing to the
patent leather boots. "What are those?"
"Those are Monsieur Rodolphe's boots. What is there to be wondered at in
that?"
"And these?" asked Colline, pointing to the lady's boots. "Are they
Monsieur Rodolphe's too?"
"Those are his wife's," said the porter.
"His wife's!" exclaimed Colline in a tone of stupefaction. "Ah! The
voluptuary, that is why he will not open the door."
"Well," said the porter, "he is free to do as he likes about that, sir.
If you will leave me your name I will let him know you called."
"No," said Colline. "Now that I know where to find him I will call
again."
And he at once went off to tell the important news to his friends.
Rodolphe's patent leathers were generally considered to be a fable due
to Colline's wealth of imagination, and it was unanimously declared that
his mistress was a paradox.
This paradox was, however, a truism, for that very evening Marcel
received a letter collectively addressed to the whole of the set. It was
as follows:--
"Monsieur and Madame Rodolphe, literati, beg you to favor them with your
company at dinner tomorrow evening at five o'clock sharp."
"N.B.--There will be plates."
"Gentlemen," said Marcel, when communicating the letter to his comrades,
"the news is confirmed, Rodolphe has really a mistress; further he
invites us to dinner, and the postscript promises crockery. I will not
conceal from you that this last paragraph seems to me a lyrical
exaggeration, but we shall see."
The following day at the hour named, Marcel, Gustave Colline, and
Alexander Schaunard, keen set as on the last day of Lent, went to
Rodolphe's, whom they found playing with a sandy haired cat, whilst a
young woman was laying the table.
"Gentlemen," said Rodolphe, shaking his friends' hands and indicating
the young lady, "allow me to introduce you to the mistress of the
household."
"You are the household, are you not?" said Colline, who had a mania for
this kind of joke.
"Mimi," replied Rodolphe, "I present my best friends; now go and get the
soup ready."
"Oh madame," said Alexander Schaunard, hastening towards Mimi, "you are
as fresh as a wild flower."
After having satisfied himself that there were really plates on the
table, Schaunard asked what they were going to have to eat. He even
carried his curiosity so far as to lift up the covers of the stewpans in
which the dinner was cooking. The presence of a lobster produced a
lively impression upon him.
As to Colline, he had drawn Rodolphe aside to ask about his
philosophical article.
"My dear fellow, it is at the printer's. 'The Beaver' appears next
Thursday."
We give up the task of depicting the philosopher's delight.
"Gentlemen," said Rodolphe to his friends. "I ask your pardon for
leaving you so long without any news of me, but I was spending my
honeymoon." And he narrated the story of his union with the charming
creature who had brought him as a dowry her eighteen years and a half,
two porcelain cups, and a sandy haired cat named Mimi, like herself.
"Come, gentlemen," said Rodolphe, "we are going to celebrate my house
warming. I forewarn you, though, that we are about to have merely a
family repast; truffles will be replaced by frank cordiality."
Indeed, that amiable goddess did not cease to reign amongst the guests,
who found, however, that the so-called frugal repast did not lack a
certain amplitude. Rodolphe, indeed, had spread himself out. Colline
called attention to the fact that the plates were changed, and declared
aloud that Mademoiselle Mimi was worthy of the azure scarf with which
the empresses of the cooking stove were adorned, a phrase which was
Greek to the young girl, and which Rodolphe translated by telling her
"that she would make a capital Cordon Bleu."
The appearance on the scene of the lobster caused universal admiration.
Under the pretext that he had studied natural history, Schaunard
suggested that he should carve it. He even profited by this circumstance
to break a knife and to take the largest helping for himself, which
excited general indignation. But Schaunard had no self respect, above
all in the matter of lobsters, and as there was still a portion left, he
had the audacity to put it on one side, saying that he would do for a
model for a still life piece he had on hand.
Indulgent friendship feigned to believe this fiction, but fruit of
immoderate gluttony.
As to Colline he reserved his sympathies for the dessert, and was even
obstinate enough to cruelly refuse the share of a tipsy cake against a
ticket of admission to the orangery of Versailles offered to him by
Schaunard.
At this point conversation began to get lively. To three bottles with
red seals succeeded three bottles with green seals, in the midst of
which shortly appeared one which by its neck topped with a silver
helmet, was recognized as belonging to the Royal Champagne Regiment--a
fantastic Champagne vintaged by Saint Ouen, and sold in Paris at two
francs the bottle as bankrupt's stock, so the vendor asserted.
But it is not the district that makes the wine, and our Bohemians
accepted as the authentic growth of Ai the liquor that was served out to
them in the appropriate glasses, and despite the scant degree of
vivacity shown by the cork in popping from its prison, went into
ecstacies over the excellence of the vintage on seeing the quality of
the froth. Schaunard summoned up all his remaining self-possession to
make a mistake as regards glasses, and help himself to that of Colline,
who kept gravely dipping his biscuit in the mustard pot as he explained
to Mademoiselle Mimi the philosophical article that was to appear in
"The Beaver." All at once he grew pale, and asked leave to go to the
window and look at the sunset, although it was ten o'clock at night, and
the sun had set long ago.
"It is a pity the Champagne is not iced," said Schaunard, again trying
to substitute his empty glass for the full one of his neighbor, an
attempt this time without success.
"Madame," observed Colline, who had ceased to take the fresh air, to
Mimi, "Champagne is iced with ice. Ice is formed by the condensation of
water, in Latin aqua. Water freezes at two degrees, and there are four
seasons, spring, summer, autumn, and winter, which was the cause of the
retreat from Moscow."
All at once Colline suddenly slapped Rodolphe on the shoulder, and in a
thick voice that seemed to mash all the syllables together, said to
him--
"Tomorrow is Thursday, is it not?"
"No," replied Rodolphe. "Tomorrow is Sunday."
"Thursday."
"No, I tell you. Tomorrow is Sunday."
"Sunday!" said Colline, wagging his head, "not a bit of it, it is
Thursday."
And he fell asleep, making a mold for a cast of his face in the cream
cheese that was before him in his plate.
"What is he harping about Thursday?" observed Marcel.
"Ah, I have it!" said Rodolphe, who began to understand the persistency
of the philosopher, tormented by a fixed idea, "it is on account of his
article in 'The Beaver.' Listen, he is dreaming of it aloud."
"Good," said Schaunard. "He shall not have any coffee, eh, madame?"
"By the way," said Rodolphe, "pour out the coffee, Mimi."
The latter was about to rise, when Colline, who had recovered a little
self possession, caught her around the waist and whispered
confidentially in her ear:
"Madame, the coffee plant is a native of Arabia, where it was discovered
by a goat. Its use expanded to Europe. Voltaire used to drink seventy
cups a day. I like mine without sugar, but very hot."
"Good heavens! What a learned man!" thought Mimi as she brought the
coffee and pipes.
However time was getting on, midnight had long since struck, and
Rodolphe sought to make his guests understand that it was time for them
to withdraw. Marcel, who retained all his senses, got up to go.
But Schaunard perceived that there was still some brandy in a bottle,
and declared that it could not be midnight so long as there was any
left. As to Colline, he was sitting astride his chair and murmuring in a
low voice:
"Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday."
"Hang it all," said Rodolphe, greatly embarrassed, "I cannot give them
quarters here tonight; formerly it was all very well, but now it is
another thing," he added, looking at Mimi, whose softly kindling eyes
seemed to appeal for solitude for their two selves. "What is to be
done? Give me a bit of advice, Marcel. Invent a trick to get rid of
them."
"No, I won't invent," replied Marcel, "but I will imitate. I remember a
play in which a sharp servant manages to get rid of three rascals as
drunk as Silenus who are at his master's."
"I recollect it," said Rodolphe, "it is in 'Kean.' Indeed, the situation
is the same."
"Well," said Marcel, "we will see if the stage holds the glass up to
human nature. Stop a bit, we will begin with Schaunard. Here, I say,
Schaunard."
"Eh? What is it?" replied the latter, who seemed to be floating in the
elysium of mild intoxication.
"There is nothing more to drink here, and we are all thirsty."
"Yes," said Schaunard, "bottles are so small."
"Well," continued Marcel, "Rodolphe has decided that we shall pass the
night here, but we must go and get something before the shops are
shut."
"My grocer lives at the corner of the street," said Rodolphe. "Do you
mind going there, Schaunard? You can fetch two bottles of rum, to be put
down to me."
"Oh! yes, certainly," said Schaunard, making a mistake in his greatcoat
and taking that of Colline, who was tracing figures on the table cloth
with his knife.
"One," said Marcel, when Schaunard had gone. "Now let us tackle Colline,
that will be a harder job. Ah! an idea. Hi, hi, Colline," he continued,
shaking the philosopher.
"What? what? what is it?"
"Schaunard has just gone, and has taken your hazel overcoat by mistake."
Colline glanced round again, and perceived indeed in the place of his
garment, Schaunard's little plaid overcoat. A sudden idea flashed across
his mind and filled him with uneasiness. Colline, according to his
custom, had been book-hunting during the day, and had bought for fifteen
sous a Finnish grammar and a little novel of Nisard's entitled "The
Milkwoman's Funeral." These two acquisitions were accompanied by seven
or eight volumes of philosophy that he had always about him as an
arsenal whence to draw reasons in case of an argument. The idea of this
library being in the hands of Schaunard threw him into a cold
perspiration.
"The wretch!" exclaimed Colline, "what did he take my greatcoat for?"
"It was by mistake."
"But my books. He may put them to some improper purpose."
"Do not be afraid, he will not read them," said Rodolphe.
"No, but I know him; he is capable of lighting his pipe with them."
"If you are uneasy you can catch him up," said Rodolphe. "He has only
just this moment gone out, you will overtake him at the street door."
"Certainly I will overtake him," replied Colline, putting on his hat,
the brim of which was so broad that tea for six people might have been
served upon it.
"Two," said Marcel to Rodolphe, "now you are free. I am off, and I will
tell the porter not to open the outer door if anyone knocks."
"Goodnight and thanks," said Rodolphe.
As he was showing his friend out Rodolphe heard on the staircase a
prolonged mew, to which his carroty cat replied by another, whilst
trying at the same time to slip out adroitly by the half-opened door.
"Poor Romeo!" said Rodolphe, "there is his Juliet calling him. Come, off
with you," he added opening the door to the enamored beast, who made a
single leap down the stairs into its lover's arms.
Left alone with his mistress, who standing before the glass was curling
her hair in a charmingly provocative attitude, Rodolphe approached Mimi
and passed his arms around her. Then, like a musician, who before
commencing a piece, strikes a series of notes to assure himself of the
capacity of the instrument, Rodolphe drew Mimi onto his knee, and
printed on her shoulder a long and sonorous kiss, which imparted a
sudden vibration to the frame of the youthful beauty.
The instrument was in tune.