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Unconscious Comedians-Part6_Honore de Balzac(1799-1850)_Translated Works(翻译文学)-第2页

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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




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