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Updated: May 18, 2025
"The Officer commanding the leading company appears to be trying to hide," commented General Murger. Captain Trebizondi uncovered his face a face of great promise but no performance. "Will you march your company off, sir," shouted Colonel Dearman, "the battalion is waiting for you."
No, but there was here, and this is the reason I speak of it, the trade-mark of that literary living-by-the wits which had taken entire possession of Henry Murger, against which he had struggled in vain all his life long, and which at last crushed him in its feverish grasp.
Why, you read about them in Murger, in Musset, in Balzac, and in Flaubert; and the fact of your having read about them is, I may add, their chief importance. So rambled my after-dinner reflections as I sat that evening smoking and sipping, sipping and smoking, at the Cafe de la Paix.
"Well," said I to Henry Murger, after we were once more seated in our carriage, "are you pleased with Monsieur Buloz?" "Yes and no. The most difficult step is taken. He allows me to contribute my masterpieces to the 'Revue des Deux Mondes, and I shall never forget the immense service you have done me. Although you and I do not serve the same literary gods, I am henceforward yours to the death!
That the artist must get drunk is, indeed, the belief of certain schools of young men even to-day; but is it not based on the old eternal false-logic, that because some artists have got drunk, therefore to get drunk is to be artistic? It was Murger who invented the Bohemian artist, poor and gay and of an easy morality. "Musette and Mimi!" says Sarcey.
But the corps, though not particularly British, was neither French nor Japanese and was very glad of the rest while the General talked. He would have his own back, cost what it might, or his name was not Dearman and he was going Home on leave immediately after the Volunteer Annual Camp of Exercise, just before General Murger retired....
Men already at attention again stood at ease, while men already at ease again stood at attention. Disregarding these minor contretemps, Colonel Dearman clearly and emphatically bellowed: "The battalion will advance. In succession, advance in fours from the left of companies " "Why not tell off the battalion just for luck?" suggested General Murger.
Sing of youth, O Murger! "Well, there I was in Montmartre Cemetery, and was all at once filled with sadness, a sadness that is not all pain, a kind of sadness that makes you think when you are in good health, 'This place is not amusing, but my time has not come yet.
This question produced on my missionary's enthusiasm the same effect a tub of cold water would have upon an excited poodle-dog. "Monsieur Murger," I replied, without being too much disconcerted, "you will arrange those details with Monsieur Buloz. All I can do is to introduce you." We reached the office.
It is the Bohemia of Murger, with the workhouse at the end, terror of children, boon of parents, Red Riding-Hood eaten by the wolf. It was worn out a long time ago, that story. Nowadays, you know well that artists are the most regular people in their habits on earth, that they earn money, pay their debts, and contrive to look like the first man you may meet on the street.
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