"No head ever comes to me uncleansed," replied the illustrious hair-dresser; "but for your sake, I will do that of monsieur myself, wholly. My pupils sketch out the scheme, or my strength would not hold out. Every one says as you do: 'Dressed by Marius!' Therefore, I can give only the finishing strokes. What journal is monsieur on?"
"If I were you, I should keep three or four Mariuses," said Gazonal.
"Ah! monsieur, I see, is a feuilletonist," said Marius. "Alas! in dressing heads which expose us to notice it is impossible. Excuse me!"
He left Gazonal to overlook Regulus, who was "preparing" a newly arrived head. Tapping his tongue against his palate, he made a disapproving noise, which may perhaps be written down as "titt, titt, titt."
"There, there! good heavens! that cut is not square; your scissors are hacking it. Here! see there! Regulus, you are not clipping poodles; these are men--who have a character; if you continue to look at the ceiling instead of looking only between the glass and the head, you will dishonor my house."
"You are stern, Monsieur Marius."
"I owe them the secrets of my art."
"Then it is an art?" said Gazonal.
Marius, affronted, looked at Gazonal in the glass, and stopped short, the scissors in one hand, the comb in the other.
"Monsieur, you speak like a--child! and yet, from your accent, I judge you are from the South, the birthplace of men of genius."
"Yes, I know that hair-dressing requires some taste," replied Gazonal.
"Hush, monsieur, hush! I expected better things of YOU. Let me tell you that a hair-dresser,--I don't say a good hair-dresser, for a man is, or he is not, a hair-dresser,--a hair-dresser, I repeat, is more difficult to find than--what shall I say? than--I don't know what--a minister?--(Sit still!) No, for you can't judge by ministers, the streets are full of them. A Paganini? No, he's not great enough. A hair-dresser, monsieur, a man who divines your soul and your habits, in order to dress your hair conformably with your being, that man has all that constitutes a philosopher--and such he is. See the women!
Women appreciate us; they know our value; our value to them is the conquest they make when they have placed their heads in our hands to attain a triumph. I say to you that a hair-dresser--the world does not know what he is. I who speak to you, I am very nearly all that there is of--without boasting I may say I am known--Still, I think more might be done--The execution, that is everything! Ah! if women would only give me carte blanche!--if I might only execute the ideas that come to me! I have, you see, a hell of imagination!--but the women don't fall in with it; they have their own plans; they'll stick their fingers or combs, as soon as my back is turned, through the most delicious edifices--which ought to be engraved and perpetuated; for our works, monsieur, last unfortunately but a few hours. A great hair-dresser, hey! he's like Careme and Vestris in their careers.
(Head a little this way, if you please, SO; I attend particularly to front faces!) Our profession is ruined by bunglers who understand neither the epoch nor their art. There are dealers in wigs and essences who are enough to make one's hair stand on end; they care only to sell you bottles. It is pitiable! But that's business. Such poor wretches cut hair and dress it as they can. I, when I arrived in Paris from Toulouse, my ambition was to succeed the great Marius, to be a true Marius, to make that name illustrious. I alone, more than all the four others, I said to myself, 'I will conquer, or die.'
(There! now sit straight, I am going to finish you.) I was the first to introduce ELEGANCE; I made my salons the object of curiosity. I disdain advertisements; what advertisements would have cost, monsieur, I put into elegance, charm, comfort. Next year I shall have a quartette in one of the salons to discourse music, and of the best.
Yes, we ought to charm away the ennui of those whose heads we dress. I do not conceal from myself the annoyances to a client. (Look at yourself!) To have one's hair dressed is fatiguing, perhaps as much so as posing for one's portrait. Monsieur knows perhaps that the famous Monsieur Humbolt (I did the best I could with the few hairs America left him--science has this in common with savages, that she scalps her men clean), that illustrious savant, said that next to the suffering of going to be hanged was that of going to be painted; but I place the trial of having your head dressed before that of being painted, and so do certain women. Well, monsieur, my object is to make those who come here to have their hair cut or frizzed enjoy themselves. (Hold still, you have a tuft which MUST be conquered.) A Jew proposed to supply me with Italian cantatrices who, during the interludes, were to depilate the young men of forty; but they proved to be girls from the Conservatoire, and music-teachers from the Rue Montmartre. There you are, monsieur; your head is dressed as that of a man of talent ought to be. Ossian," he said to the lacquey in livery, "dress monsieur and show him out. Whose turn next?" he added proudly, gazing round upon the persons who awaited him.
"Don't laugh, Gazonal," said Leon as they reached the foot of the staircase, whence his eye could take in the whole of the Place de la Bourse. "I see over there one of our great men, and you shall compare his language with that of the barber, and tell me which of the two you think the most original."
"Don't laugh, Gazonal," said Bixiou, mimicking Leon's intonation.
"What do you suppose is Marius's business?"
"Hair-dressing."