Bohemia; or, La Bohème. Henry Murger
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As for me, I’m a pantheist. Everything is in everything. Have you read Spinoza?
Baptiste
Me!
Colline
Reread him! Also look at Descartes. (Musette and Phemie come to take the basket) (to Rodolphe) Monsieur, you have a very wise servant. I took him for an article in the Review of Two Worlds. (goes near Marcel)
Marcel
Where are you coming from?
Colline
By Jove! You are a rare featherbrain. You left our provisions in the midst of the country, where they would have become the prey of scavengers. I had to find them with the aid of Monsieur Baptiste.
Musette (looking in the basket)
But the bottles are empty.
Colline
In the midst of a serious discussion with this gentleman on the immortality of the soul, we became very exalted. We drank the bottles, but there are the corks.
Musette
Well, with what will we eat the duck which is in the pie?
(Phemie looks in the basket.)
Phemie
The duck flew off. All that’s left is the crust.
(Phemie and Musette throw it all over the balustrade with Marcel’s help.)
Baptiste
In the midst of a grave discussion with this gentleman on the objective and the subjective—(to Musette) The mine and the not—mine, if you prefer—as we were very exalted—we ate the duck.
Musette (to Rodolphe)
Your servant is sweet. Do you pay him much?
Rodolphe
Don’t trouble yourself. We are going to straighten all this out. Baptiste, you understand—(Baptist leaves by the rear) Now, allow me to offer you lunch.
Schaunard
Indeed, it’s the hour honest folks spend in the dining room. Let’s go.
Rodolphe
The dining room is here—in a moment we will be served and we will drink to Bohemia, my future country!
All
What!
Rodolphe
Listen to me. Here I am running the greatest dangers.
Marcel
You?
Rodolphe
They want to marry me.
Marcel
That’s horrible.
Rodolphe
It’s my Uncle Million who had that idea.
Musette
Your Uncle Million?
Phemie
What a pretty name!
Schaunard
Indeed, I’d like to have your uncle’s money.
Rodolphe
Me marry? Can you grasp that? Imprison my freedom in a contract? Throw my heart in the household potboiler, clip the wings of my youth—all that simply to provide for my uncle the pleasure of having little grand-nephews!
Schaunard
By Jove, if he wants ‘em—let him make ‘em himself.
Rodolphe
I’ve been meditating flight for a long while—but all alone, I wouldn’t know where to go. Now, it’s quite decided—I intend to lead, like you, the beautiful life of work and pleasure. I have a great heart and great courage—you will see me at work. So, if you will permit it, I will be your companion at first—until the day you really want to call me your friend!
(During this monologue, Baptiste has brought a cloth and placed lunch on the ground.)
Marcel
But you already are!
Musette and Phemie
Yes, monsieur, you are.
Baptiste
You are served.
Rodolphe
Baptiste, you will leave with us. You are a studious lad—you will make your way.
Baptiste
What an honor.
Phemie (aside)
He’s really quite nice, this Baptiste—if only he had a uniform.
Rodolphe
And now—to lunch.
All
To lunch!
(They sit on the bench and overturned chairs and attack the lunch.)
Chorus
To lunch, my friends.
Chance gaily unites us
On this flowered strand.
Already our places are set.
Marcel (holding a bottle)
Royal Champagne, I recognize him by his silver helmet. Stay away from it, it’s not wine!
Rodolphe (astonished)
What is it, then?
Marcel
Elegant cider.
Schaunard
Tasteless.
Marcel (throwing the bottle to Baptiste)
Offer it to the ladies. The first duty of wine is to be red. Baptiste, my friend, pass us some Burgundy.
(Marcel takes a bottle and pours.)
Baptiste
Do you want some water?
Marcel
Water in wine? That’s like Platonism in love.
Phemie
What is Platonism?
Musette
Stupidities—the disease of men who don’t dare to embrace women.
Phemie
Fie! The horror.
Musette (embracing Marcel)
Let’s drink our pure wine.
Marcel
And long live youth!
All (as they drink)
Long live youth.
Chorus (all)
Our future must shine
In the sun of our twenty years.
Let’s love and sing together,
Youth is too short.
Schaunard
Armed with patience
Against evil destiny,
Courage and hope,
We mould our bread.
Our careless attitude
To the fanfares of our song
Makes our misery happy,
Youth is too short.
Chorus
Our future must shine
In