Bohemia Village Voice

(11/24)

How the Bohemian Club was Founded

     “Very well, come down,” said M. Bernard. “Bless me!” he went on, addressing the young man, “I beg you to be patient for a moment. My janitor will take all the objects to be found in my insolvent tenant’s room down to the cellar, and in half an hour you shall have possession. In any case, your furniture has not arrived.”

     “I beg your pardon, sir,” said the young man coolly …

     M. Bernard looked round him, and saw only the big screens which had already awakened the mistrust of the janitor.

     “Eh, beg my pardon? But … “ he muttered, “but I don’t see anything.”

     “Behold!” said the young man, opening up the folded frames and displaying to the astounded landlord a magnificent palace interior, with jasper columns, bas-reliefs and paintings by the great masters.

     “But your furniture?”

     “This is it.” The young man waved his hand at the sumptuous equipment of the palace. He had bought it at the Hôtel Bullion, where he had attended a sale of the stage scenery of a private theatre.

     “Sir, I prefer to believe that you have some more serious furniture than this …”

     “What, pure Boule!”

     “You will understand that I will require some security for my rent.”

     “Pish! Is a palace not sufficient guarantee for the rent of a garret?”

     “No, sir, I require furniture – real mahogany furniture.”

     “Dear me, sir, neither gold nor mahogany has ever made us happy – I quote from one of the ancient writers. Besides, for my part, I abominate the stuff, it’s a stupid wood, everybody has it.”

     “But, after all, sir, I take it that you have furniture, of some sort or another?”

     “No. It occupies too much room in a lodging. As soon as one has a chair, one doesn’t know where to sit down.”

     “But at least you have a bed! On what do you sleep?”

     “On the bosom of Providence, sir!”

     “Excuse me, still another question: what is your profession, if you please?”

     At this moment, the young man’s porter re-entered the yard, having completed his second trip. Part of his load was an easel.

     “Look, sir!” said old Durand, horrified. “He’s a painter.”

     “An artist! I knew it!” exclaimed M. Bernard, whilst the hairs of his wig rose in horror. “A painter!! So you made no enquiries about this gentleman?” he said to the janitor. “You did not know his occupation!”

     “So help me,” said the poor fellow, “He gave me five francs’ earnest money. How could I suspect …?”

     “When you have finished …” said the young man.

     “Sir,” resumed M. Bernard, resolutely adjusting his spectacles on his nose, “since you have no furniture, you cannot move in. The law allows a landlord to refuse a tenant who offers no security.”

     To be continued …

[Vie de Bohème by Henry Mürger, a vivid portrait of the ‘Bohemian’ life of the artistic quarter of Paris in the nineteenth century was originally published (by Michel Lévy) in 1851. The extract above is taken from a translation by Norman Cameron, published by Hamish Hamilton. The illustration is by Dodi Masterman.]