Henrich of Barcelona paid me
two thousand pesetas for it. I invested the two thousand pesetas in a
speculation upon the Bourse, and they disappeared in two weeks.
The money which I have received for my other books, I have employed to
better purpose.
BOHEMIA
I have never been a believer in the absurd myth called Bohemia. The idea
of living gaily and irresponsibly in Madrid, or in any other Spanish
city, without taking thought for the morrow, is so preposterous that it
passes comprehension. Bohemia is utterly false in Paris and London, but
in Spain, where life is difficult, it is even more of a cheat.
Bohemia is not only false, it is contemptible. It suggests to me a minor
Christian sect, of the most inconsequential degree, nicely calculated
for the convenience of hangers on at cafes.
Henri Murger was the son of the wife of a _concierge_.
Of course, this would not have mattered had his outlook upon life not
been that of the son of the wife of a _concierge_.
OUR OWN GENERATION
The beginner in letters makes his way up, as a rule, amid a literary
environment which is distinguished by reputations and hierarchies,
all respected by him. But this was not the case with the young writers
of my day. During the years 1898 to 1900, a number of young men suddenly
found themselves thrown together in Madrid, whose only rule was the
principle that the immediate past did not exist for them.
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