Libretto: La Boheme Part 18

MAR. (_flinging away his brush_) This infamous paint-brus.h.!.+

(_Stares at his canvas, and then without RUDOLPH observing it, he takes from his pocket a bunch of ribbons and kisses it._)

RUD. Ah! Mimi! false, fickle-hearted!

Ah! beauteous days departed!

Those hands so dainty!

Oh! fragrant, s.h.i.+ning tresses!

Ah! snow-white bosom!

Ah! Mimi! those brief, glad, golden days!

MAR. (_putting away his ribbons and staring anew at his canvas_) How is it that my brush With speed mechanical keeps moving, And plasters on the colors Quite against my will?

And though I would be painting landscapes, Meadows, woodlands fair in Spring-tide, My brush refuses to perform its office; But paints dark eyes, and two red, smiling lips; The features of Musetta haunt me still!

RUD. (_taking_ Mimi's _old bonnet from the table drawer_) And thou, O! rose-pink bonnet, That 'neath her pillow lay, That in her hour of parting she forgot--Thou wert the witness of our joy!

Come to my heart, ah! come!

Lie close against my heart, since my love is dead!

(_clasps the bonnet to his heart_)

MAR. Ah! frivolous Musetta! thee can I ne'er forget!

My grief affords her pleasure, And yet my weak heart is fain To call her to my fond arms again.

RUD. (_endeavoring to conceal his emotion from_ Marcel, _carelessly questions him_) What time is it now?

MAR. (_roused from his reverie, gaily replies_) Time for our yesterday's dinner.

RUD. But Schaunard's not back yet. (_Enter Schaunard_ _and_ Colline; _the former carries four rolls, and the latter a paper bag._)

SCH. Here we are!

RUD. How now?

MAR. How now?

(SCHAUNARD _places the rolls on the table._)

MAR. (_disdainfully_) Some bread!

COL. (_taking a herring out of the bag, and putting it on the table_) A dish that's worthy of Demosthenes: 'Tis a herring!

SCH. 'Tis salted!

COL. 'Our dinner is ready!

(_Seating themselves at the table, they pretend to be having a sumptuous meal._)

MAR. This is a food that the G.o.ds might envy.

SCH. (_placing Colline's hat on the table, and thrusting a bottle of water into it_) Now the champagne in the ice must go.

RUD. (_to_ MARCEL, _offering him some bread_) Choose, my lord marquis--salmon or turbot?

(_His offer is accepted, when, turning to _SCHAUNARD, _he proffers another crust of bread._) Now, duke, here's a choice vol-au-vent with mushrooms. (_He politely declines, and pours out a gla.s.s of water, which he hands to_ Marcel.)

SCH. Thank you, I dare not, this evening I'm dancing! (_The one and only tumbler is handed about._ Colline, _after voraciously devouring his roll, rises._)

RUD. (_to_ Colline) What? sated?

COL. (_with an air of great importance_) To business! The king awaits me.

MAR. (_eagerly_) What plot is brewing?

RUD. What's in the wind?

SCH. (_rises and approaches_ Colline, _observing with droll inquisitiveness_) What's in the wind?

MAR. What's in the wind?

(COLLINE _struts up and down, full of self-importance._)

COL. The king requires my services.

(_The others surround_ COLLINE, _bowing low to him._)

SCH. Bravo!

MAR. Bravo!

RUD. Bravo!

COL. (_with a patronizing air_) And then I've got to see Guizot!

SCH. Give me a goblet.

MAR. (_giving him the only gla.s.s_) Aye, quaff now a b.u.mper!

SCH. (_solemnly gets on to a chair and raises his gla.s.s_) Have I permission, oh! my most n.o.ble courtier?

RUD. and COL. (_interrupting_) Stop that.

COL. No more fooling.

MAR. Stop that. No more nonsense.

COL. Give me that tumbler. (_taking the gla.s.s from_ SCHAUNARD)

SCH. (_motioning his friends to let him speak_) With ardor irresistible Poetry fills my spirit.

COL. and MAR. (_yelling_) No.

SCH. (_complacently_) Then something ch.o.r.eographic may suit you!