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"But in Montmartre one can yet admire Baudin's monument, which has a degree of grandeur; that of Gautier, of Murger, on which I saw the other day a simple, paltry wreath of immortelles, yellow immortelles, brought thither by whom? Possibly by the last grisette, very old and now janitress in the neighborhood. It is a pretty little statue by Millet, but ruined by dirt and neglect.
We went out together; but we had scarcely passed three doors, when Murger said hurriedly to me, "I beg your pardon, I have forgotten something!" and he went back to the office. I afterwards found out that this "something" was an advance of money which he asked for upon a novel whose first syllable he had not yet written.
Then came General Miltiades Murger and Mr. John Robin Ross-Ellison to be saved. During intervals in the salvation process, Mr. John Robin Ross-Ellison vainly endeavoured to induce Mr.
I took his hand in mine, and said to him, "See here, Murger, I must confess to you I was a little angry with you; but your arithmetic is more literary than you think it. You have given me a lesson of contemporary literature; and I say to you, as the 'Revue des Deux Mondes' would say, 'Murger, we are even!"
But your Uncle Chauvin does not approve and your Uncle Chauvin is responsible to your Uncle Don." "Don't call him that!" Flamby had cried, with one of her swift changes of mood. "It sounds damned silly!" Thereupon Chauvin had laughed until he had had to polish his spectacles, for Chauvin was a cheery soul and the embodiment of all that Mürger meant when he spoke of a Bohemian.
When, after that dinner, General Miltiades Murger made love to Mrs. Dearman on the verandah, he also made an enemy, a bitter, cruel, and vindictive enemy of Mr. Nor did his subsequent victory at the Horse Show lessen the enmity, inasmuch as Mrs. For the General had succumbed at a glance, and confided to his Brigade-Major that Mrs.
Surely it was a gracious inspiration that selected this shady park as the “Poets’ Corner” of great, new Paris. Henri Murger, Leconte de Lisle, Théodore de Banville, Paul Verlaine, are here, and now Sainte-Beuve has come back to his favorite haunt.
They go by the riders' faces and figures entirely.... Hullo! Class XIX wanted. That's me and Zuleika. Come and tie the labels on my arms like a good dog." "Right O. But you haven't the ghost of a little look in," opined the Nut. "Old Murger has got a real corking English hunter in. A General will win as usual but he'll win with by far the best horse, for once in the history of horse-shows."
But beyond this natural unwillingness, the whole difficulty of the case springs from a highly virtuous ignorance of life. Paris now is not so different from the Paris of then; and the whole of the doings of Bohemia are not written in the sugar-candy pastorals of Mürger.
A few days afterwards I heard, on the best authority, that Henry Murger was the author of these articles. I felt a deep chagrin at this discovery.