Part 28 (1/2)

”Yes,” said Marcel, ”what does he play on?”

”Literature and mixed philosophy. He calls art a priesthood.”

”A priesthood!” cried Rodolphe, in terror.

”So he says.”

”And what is his road in literature?”

”He goes after 'Telemachus'.”

”Very good,” said Schaunard, eating the seed of his artichoke.

”Very good! You dummy!” broke our Marcel. ”I advise you not to say that in the street.”

Schaunard relieved his annoyance at this reproof by kicking Phemie under the table for taking some of his sauce.

”Once more,” said Rodolphe. ”What is his condition in the world? What does he live on, and where does he live? And what is his name?”

”His station is honorable. He is professor of everything in a rich family. His name is Carolus Barbemuche. He spends his income in luxurious living and dwells in the Rue Royale.”

”Furnished lodging?”

”No, there is real furniture.”

”I claim the floor,” said Marcel. ”To me it is evident that Colline has been corrupted. He has already sold his vote for so many drinks. Don't interrupt me! (Colline was rising to protest.) You shall have your turn. Colline, mercenary soul that he is, has presented to you this stranger under an aspect too favorable to be true. I told you before; I see through this person's designs. He wants to speculate on us. He says to himself, 'Here are some chaps making their way. I must get into their pockets. I shall arrive with them at the goal of fame.'”

”Bravo!” quoth Schaunard, ”have you any more sauce there?”

”No,” replied Rodolphe, ”the edition is out of print.”

”Looking at the question from another point of view,” continued Marcel, ”this insidious mortal whom Colline patronizes, perhaps aspires to our intimacy only from the most culpable motives. Gentlemen, we are not alone here!” continued the orator, with an eloquent look at the women.

”And Colline's client, smuggling himself into our circle under the cloak of literature, may perchance be but a vile seducer. Reflect! For one, I vote against his reception.”

”I demand the floor,” said Rodolphe, ”only for a correction. In his remarkable extemporary speech, Marcel has said that this Carolus, with the view of dishonoring us, wished to introduce himself under the cloak of literature.”

”A Parliamentary figure.”

”A very bad figure; literature has no cloak!”

”Having made a report, as chairman of committee,” resumed Colline, rising, ”I maintain the conclusions therein embodied. The jealousy which consumes him disturbs the reason of our friend Marcel; the great artist is beside himself.”

”Order!” cried Marcel.

”So much so, that, able designer as he is, he has just introduced into his speech a figure the incorrectness of which has been ably pointed out by the talented orator who preceded me.”

”Colline is an a.s.s!” shouted Marcel, with a bang of his fist on the table that caused a lively sensation among the plates. ”Colline knows nothing in an affair of sentiment; he is incompetent to judge of such matters; he has an old book in place of a heart.”

Prolonged laughter from Schaunard. During the row, Colline kept gravely adjusting the folds of his white cravat as if to make way for the torrents of eloquence contained beneath them. When silence was reestablished, he thus continued:

”Gentlemen, I intend with one word to banish from your minds the chimerical apprehensions which the suspicions of Marcel may have engendered in them respecting Carolus.”

”Oh, yes!” said Marcel ironically.