Socrate cited the example of Lionsot, the Prix-de-Rome man, the sculptor of “Light-footed Achilles.” “He had the Prix de Rome—he has turned out badly! Yet there was good in him: to pay a wretched debt for food with an artistic autograph—that was noble!”
Most of them, in fact, acted like the famous Lionsot—for example, whenever Mère Michel demanded her money.
Caracal, who was not so deep but more brilliant, enjoyed a different prestige.
First of all, he lived in the Grands Quartiers, in a house with an elevator! so it was said. And while the others ate at Mère Michel’s, Caracal would be supping at Montmartre—suprême élégance!
Besides, he wrote in the newspapers. For a little article, for one’s name cited in the “Tocsin”—how low would not one stoop to obtain such a favor!
“‘Oysters and Melons,’ still life by X——,” or else “‘Old Tree-trunk,’ landscape by Z——”; and Z—— and X—— would march off together into immortality.
Caracal, behind his monocle, observed the different bands, in his heart deriding every one. He cross-questioned the comrades, and composed his newspaper chroniques on the café table.
“Eh bien! anything for my paper? A nice little scandal? Something strong?”
“I’ve got something new,” the good-natured Poufaille would say; “at my house, in the courtyard, a woman has been found dead.”
“Bravo! Young? pretty?”