CHAPTER XIV.
THE HONORABLE SOCIETY OF LES CHICARDS.
"When a set of men find themselves agree in any particular, though never so trivial, they establish themselves into a kind of fraternity, and meet once or twice a week."--_Spectator_.
It was a long, low room lighted by gas, with a table reaching from endto end. Round about this table, in various stages of conviviality andconversation, were seated some thirty or forty men, capped, bearded, andeccentric-looking, with all kinds of queer blouses and wonderful headsof hair. Dropping into a couple of vacant chairs at the lower end ofthis table, we called for a bottle of Chablis, lit our cigars, and fellin with the general business of the evening. At the top, dimly visiblethrough a dense fog of tobacco smoke, sat a stout man in a green coatfastened by a belt round the waist. He was evidently the President, and,instead of a hammer, had a small bugle lying by his side, which he blewfrom time to time to enforce silence.
Somewhat perplexed by the general aspect of the club, I turned to mycompanion for an explanation.
"Is it possible," I asked, "that these amazing individuals are allartists and gentlemen?"
"Artists, every one," replied Dalrymple; "but as to their claim to begentlemen, I won't undertake to establish it. After all, the _Chicards_are not first-rate men."
"What are they, then?"
"Oh, the Helots of the profession--hewers of wood engravings, anddrawers of water-colors, with a sprinkling of daguerreotypists, andacademy students. But hush--somebody is going to sing!"
And now, heralded by a convulsive flourish from the President's bugle, ayoung _Chicard_, whose dilapidated outer man sufficiently contradictedthe burthen of his song, shouted with better will than skill, a_chanson_ of Beranger's, every verse of which ended with:--
"J'ai cinquante ecus, J'ai cinquante ecus, J'ai cinquante ecus de rente!"
Having brought this performance to a satisfactory conclusion, the singersat down amid great clapping of hands and clattering of glasses, and thePresident, with another flourish on the bugle, called upon one MonsieurTourterelle. Monsieur Tourterelle was a tall, gaunt, swarthy personage,who appeared to have cultivated his beard at the expense of his head,since the former reached nearly to his waist, while the latter was asbare as a billiard-ball. Preparing himself for the effort with awine-glass full of raw cognac, this gentleman leaned back in his chair,stuck his thumbs into the armholes of his waistcoat, fixed his eyes onthe ceiling, and plunged at once into a doleful ballad about oneMademoiselle Rosine, and a certain village _aupres de la mer_, whichseemed to be in an indefinite number of verses, and amused no one buthimself. In the midst of this ditty, just as the audience had begun totestify their impatience by much whispering and shuffling of feet, anelderly _Chicard_, with a very bald and shiny head, was discovered tohave fallen asleep in the seat next but one to my own; whereupon mynearest neighbor, a merry-looking young fellow with a profusion of roughlight hair surmounted by a cap of scarlet cloth, forthwith charred acork in one of the candles, and decorated the bald head of the sleeperwith a comic countenance and a pair of huge mustachios. An uproariousburst of laughter was the immediate result, and the singer, interruptedsomewhere about his 18th verse, subsided into offended silence.
"Monsieur Mueller is requested to favor the honorable society with asong," cried the President, as soon as the tumult had somewhat subsided.
My red-capped neighbor, answering to that name, begged to be excused, onthe score of having pledged his _ut de poitrine_ a week since at theMont de Piete, without yet having been able to redeem it. This apologywas received with laughter, hisses, and general incredulity.
"But," he added, "I am willing to relate an adventure that happened tomyself in Rome two winters ago, if my honorable brother _Chicards_ willbe pleased to hear it."
An immense burst of approbation from all but Monsieur Tourterelle andthe bald sleeper, followed this announcement; and so, after apreliminary _grog au vin_, and another explosive demonstration on thepart of the chairman, Monsieur Mueller thus began:--
In the Days of My Youth: A Novel Page 10