The Passage of the Red Sea
For five or six years Marcel had worked at the famous painting which (he
said) represented the Passage of the Red Sea; and for five or six years,
this masterpiece of color had been obstinately refused by the jury. In
fact, by dint of going and returning so many times from the artist's
study to the Exhibition, and from the Exhibition to the study, the
picture knew the road to the Louvre well enough to have gone thither of
itself, if it had been put on wheels. Marcel, who had repainted the
canvas ten times over, from top to bottom, attributed to personal
hostility on the part of the jury the ostracism which annually repulsed
him from the large saloon; nevertheless he was not totally discouraged
by the obstinate rejection which greeted him at every Exhibition. He was
comfortably established in the persuasion that his picture was, on a
somewhat smaller scale, the pendant required by "The Marriage of Cana,"
that gigantic masterpiece whose astonishing brilliancy the dust of three
centuries has not been able to tarnish. Accordingly, every year at the
epoch of the Exhibition, Marcel sent his great work to the jury of
examiners; only, to deceive them, he would change some details of his
picture, and the title of it, without disturbing the general
composition.
Thus, it came before the jury once, under the name of "The Passage of
the Rubicon," but Pharaoh, badly disguised under the mantle of Caeser,
was recognized and rejected with all the honors due him. Next year,
Marcel threw a coat of white over the foreground, to imitate snow,
planted a fir tree in one corner, and dressing an Egyptian like a
grenadier of the Imperial Guard, christened his picture, "The Passage
of the Beresina."
But the jury had wiped its glasses that day, and were not to be duped by
this new stratagem. It recognized the pertinacious picture by a
thundering big pie-bald horse that was prancing on top of a wave of the
Red Sea. The skin of this horse served Marcel for all his experiments in
coloring; he used to call it, familiarly, his "synoptic table of fine
tones," because it reproduced the most varied combinations of color,
with the different plays of light and shade. Once again, however, the
jury could not find black balls enough to refuse "The Passage of
Beresina."
"Very well," said Marcel, "I thought so! Next year, I shall send it
under the title of 'The Passage of the Panoramas.'"
"They're going to be jolly caught--caught!"
sang Schaunard to a new air of his own composition; a terrible air, like
a gamut of thunder-claps, the accompaniment whereof was a terror to all
pianos within hearing.
"How can they refuse it, without all the vermilion of my Red Sea
mounting to their cheeks, and covering them with the blush of shame?"
ejaculated the artist, as he gazed on his picture. "When I think that
there is five hundred francs' worth of color there, and at least a
million of genius, without counting my lovely youth, now as bald as my
old hat! But they shan't get the better of me! Till my dying day, I will
send them my picture. It shall be engraved on their memories."
"The surest way of ever having it engraved," said Colline, in a
plaintive tone, and then added to himself, "very neat, that; I shall
repeat it in society!"
Marcel continued his imprecations, which Schaunard continued to put to
music.
"Ah they won't admit me! The government pays them, lodges them, and
gives them decorations, on purpose to refuse me once a year; every first
of March! I see their idea! I see it clearly! They want to make me burn
my brushes. They hope that when my Red Sea is refused, I will throw
myself out of the window of despair. But they little know the heart of
man, if they think to take me thus. I will not wait for the opening of
the Exhibition. From today, my work shall be a picture of Damocles,
eternally suspended over their existence. I will send it once a week to
each of them, at his home in the bosom of his family; in the very heart
of his private life. It shall trouble their domestic joys; they shall
find their roasts burnt, their wines sour, and their wives bitter! They
will grow mad rapidly, and go to the Institute in strait-waistcoats. Ha!
Ha! The thought consoles me."
Some days later, when Marcel had already forgotten his terrible plans of
vengeance against his persecutors, he received a visit from Father
Medicis. So the club called a Jew, named Salomon, who at that time was
well known to all the vagabond of art and literature, and had continual
transactions with them. Father Medicis traded in all sorts of trumpery.
He sold complete sets of furniture from twelve francs up to five
thousand; he bought everything, and knew how to dispose of it again, at
a profit. Proudhon's bank of exchange was nothing in comparison with the
system practiced by Medicis, who possessed the genius of traffic to a
degree at which the ablest of his religion had never before arrived. His
shop was a fairy region where you found anything you wished for. Every
product of nature, every creation of art; whatever issued from the
bowels of the earth or the head of man, was an object of commerce for
him. His business included everything; literally everything that exists;
he even trafficked in the ideal. He bought ideas to sell or speculate in
them. Known to all literary men and all artists, intimate with the
palette and familiar with the desk, he was the very Asmodeus of the
arts. He would sell you cigars for a column of your newspaper, slippers
for a sonnet, fresh fish for paradoxes; he would talk, for so much an
hour, with the people who furnished fashionable gossip to the journals.
He would procure you places for the debates in the Chambers, and
invitations to parties. He lodged wandering artistlings by the day,
week, or month, taking for pay, copies of the pictures in the Louvre.
The green room had no mysteries for him. He would get your pieces into
the theater, or yourself into the boudoir of an actress. He had a copy
of the "Almanac of Twenty Five Thousand Addresses" in his head, and knew
the names, residences, and secrets of all celebrities, even those who
were not celebrated.
A few pages copied from his waste book, will give a better idea of the
universality of his operations than the most copious explanation could.
"March 20, 184--."
"Sold to M. L----, antiquary, the compass which Archimedes used at the
siege of Syracuse. 75 fr.
Bought of M. V----, journalist, the entire works, uncut, of M. X----,
Member of the Academy. 10 fr.
Sold to the same, a criticism of the complete works of M. X----, of the
Academy. 30 fr.
Bought of M. R----, literary man, a critical article on the complete
works of M. Y----, of the Academy. 10 fr., plus half a cwt. of charcoal
and 4 lbs. of coffee.
Sold to M. Y----, of the Academy, a laudatory review (twelve columns) of
his complete works. 250 fr.
Sold to M. G----, a porcelain vase which had belonged to Madame Dubarry.
18 fr.
Bought of little D----, her hair. 15 fr.
Bought of M. B----, a lot of articles on Society, and the last three
mistakes in spelling made by the Prefect of the Seine. 6 fr, plus a pair
of Naples shoes.
Sold to Mdlle. O----, a flaxen head of hair. 120 fr.
Bought of M. M----, historical painter, a series of humorous designs. 25
fr.
Informed M. Ferdinand the time when Mme. la Baronne de T---- goes to
mass, and let him for the day the little room in the Faubourg
Montmartre: together 30 fr.
Bought of M. J----, artist, a portrait of M. Isidore as Apollo. 6 fr.
Sold to Mdlle R---- a pair of lobsters and six pair of gloves. 36 fr.
Received 3 fr.
For the same, procured a credit of six months with Mme. Z----,
dressmaker. (Price not settled.)
Procured for Mme. Z----, dressmaker, the custom of Mdlle. R----.
Received for this three yards of velvet, and three yards of lace.
Bought of M. R----, literary man, a claim of 120 fr. against
the----newspaper. 5 fr., plus 2 lbs. of tobacco.
Sold M. Ferdinand two love letters. 12 fr.
Sold M. Isidore his portrait as Apollo. 30 fr.
Bought of M. M----, a cwt. and a half of his work, entitled 'Submarine
Revolutions.' 15 fr.
Lent Mme la Comtesse de G---- a service of Dresden china. 20 fr.
Bought of M. G----, journalist, fifty-two lines in his article of town
talk. 100 fr., plus a set of chimney ornaments.
Sold to Messrs. O---- and Co., fifty-two lines in the town talk of
the----. 300 fr., plus two sets of chimney ornaments.
Let to Mdlle. S. G---- a bed and a brougham for the day (nothing). See
Mdlle. S. G----'s account in private ledger, folios 26 and 27.
Bought of M. Gustave C--- a treatise on the flax and linen trade. 50
fr., and a rare edition of Josephus.
Sold Mdlle. S. G---- a complete set of new furniture. 5000 fr.
For the same, paid an apothecary's bill. 75 fr.
For the same, paid a milkman's bill. 3 fr. 85 c."
Those quotations show what an extensive range the operations of the Jew
Medici covered. It may be added, that although some articles of his
commerce were decidedly illicit, he had never got himself into any
trouble.
The Jew comprehended, on his entrance, that he had come at a favorable
time. In fact, the four friends were at that moment in council, under
the auspices of a ferocious appetite, discussing the grave question of
meat and drink. It was a Sunday at the end of the month--sinister day.
The arrival of Medicis was therefore hailed by a joyous chorus, for they
knew that he was too saving of his time to spend it in visits of polite
ceremony; his presence announced business.
"Good evening, gentlemen!" said the Jew. "How are you all?"
"Colline!" said Rodolphe, who was studying the horizontal line at full
length on his bed. "Do the hospitable. Give our guest a chair; a guest
is sacred. I salute Abraham in you," added he.
Colline took an arm chair about as soft as iron, and shoved it towards
the Jew, saying:
"Suppose, for once, you were Cinna, (you _are_ a great sinner, you
know), and take this seat."
"Oh, oh, oh!" shouted the others, looking at the floor to see if it
would not open and swallow up the philosopher. Meanwhile the Jew let
himself fall into the arm chair, and was just going to cry out at its
hardness, when he remembered that it was one which he himself had sold
to Colline for a deputy's speech. As the Jew sat down, his pockets
re-echoed with a silvery sound; melodious symphony, which threw the four
friends into a reverie of delight.
"The accompaniment seems pretty," said Rodolphe aside to Marcel. "Now
for the air!"
"Monsieur Marcel," said Medicis, "I have merely come to make your
fortune; that is to say, I offer you a superb opportunity of making your
entry into the artistic world. Art, you know, is a barren route, of
which glory is the oasis."
"Father Medicis," cried Marcel, on the tenter-hooks of impatience, "in
the name of your revered patron, St. Fifty-percent, be brief!"
"Here it is," continued Medicis, "a rich amateur, who is collecting a
gallery destined to make the tour of Europe, has charged me to procure
him a series of remarkable works. I come to offer you admission into
this museum--in a word, to buy your 'Passage of the Red Sea.'"
"Money down?" asked Marcel.
"Specie," replied the Jew, making the orchestra pockets strike up.
"Do you accept this serious offer?" asked Colline.
"Of course I do!" shouted Rodolphe, "don't you see, you wretch, that he
is talking of 'tin'? Is there nothing sacred for you, atheist that you
are?"
Colline mounted on a table and assumed the attitude of Harpocrates, the
God of Silence.
"Push on, Medicis!" said Marcel, exhibiting his picture. "I wish to
leave you the honor of fixing the price of this work, which is above all
price."
The Jew placed on the table a hundred and fifty francs in new coin.
"Well, what more?" said Marcel, "that's only the prologue."
"Monsieur Marcel," replied the Jew, "you know that my first offer is my
last. I shall add nothing. Reflect, a hundred and fifty francs; that is
a sum, it is!"
"A very small sum," said the artist. "There is that much worth of cobalt
in my Pharaoh's robe. Make it a round sum, at any rate! Square it off;
say two hundred!"
"I won't add a sou!" said Medicis. "But I stand dinner for the company,
wine to any extent."
"Going, going, going!" shouted Colline, with three blows of his fist on
the table, "no one speaks?--gone!"
"Well it's a bargain!" said Marcel.
"I will send for the picture tomorrow," said the Jew, "and now,
gentlemen, to dinner!"
The four friends descended the staircase, singing the chorus of "The
Huguenots"--"_A table! A table!_"
Medicis treated the Bohemians in a really magnificent way, and gave them
their choice of a number of dishes, which until then were completely
unknown to them. Henceforward hot lobster ceased to be a myth with
Schaunard, who contracted a passion for it that bordered on delirium.
The four friends departed from the gorgeous banquet as drunk as a
vintage-day. Marcel's intoxication was near having the most deplorable
consequences. In passing by his tailor's, at two in the morning, he
absolutely wanted to wake up his creditor, and pay him the hundred and
fifty francs on account. A ray of reason which flashed across the mind
of Colline, stopped the artist on the border of this precipice.
A week after, Marcel discovered in what gallery his picture had been
placed. While passing through the Faubourg St. Honore, he stopped in the
midst of a group which seemed to regard with curiosity a sign that was
being put up over a shop door. The sign was neither more nor less than
Marcel's picture, which Medicis had sold to a grocer. Only "the Passage
of the Red Sea" had undergone one more alteration, and been given one
more new name. It had received the addition of a steamboat and was
called "the Harbor of Marseilles." The curious bystanders were bestowing
on it a flattering ovation. Marcel returned home in ecstacy at his
triumph, muttering to himself, _Vox populi, voz Dei_.