Unconscious Comedians Part 5

"Then you refuse me positively?" asked Bixiou.

"I have twenty francs, and no more," said the young usurer.

"I'm sorry for you," said the joker. "I thought I was worth a thousand francs."

"You are worth two hundred thousand francs," replied Vauvinet, "and sometimes you are worth your weight in gold, or at least your tongue is; but I tell you I haven't a penny."

"Very good," replied Bixiou; "then we won't say anything more about it. I had arranged for this evening, at Carabine's, the thing you most wanted--you know?"

Vauvinet winked an eye at Bixiou; the wink that two jockeys give each other when they want to say: "Don't try trickery."

"Don't you remember catching me round the waist as if I were a pretty woman," said Bixiou, "and coaxing me with look and speech, and saying, 'I'll do anything for you if you'll only get me shares at par in that railroad du Tillet and Nucingen have made an offer for?' Well, old fellow, du Tillet and Nucingen are coming to Carabine's to-night, where they will meet a number of political characters. You've lost a fine opportunity. Good-bye to you, old carrot."

Bixiou rose, leaving Vauvinet apparently indifferent, but inwardly annoyed by the sense that he had committed a folly.

"One moment, my dear fellow," said the money-lender. "Though I haven't the money, I have credit. If your notes are worth nothing, I can keep them and give you notes in exchange. If we can come to an agreement about that railway stock we could share the profits, of course in due proportion and I'll allow you that on--"

"No, no," said Bixiou, "I want money in hand, and I must get those notes of Ravenouillet's cashed."

"Ravenouillet is sound," said Vauvinet. "He puts money into the savings-bank; he is good security."

"Better than you," interposed Leon, "for HE doesn't stipend lorettes; he hasn't any rent to pay; and he never rushes into speculations which keep him dreading either a rise or fall."

"You think you can laugh at me, great man," returned Vauvinet, once more jovial and caressing; "you've turned La Fontaine's fable of 'Le Chene et le Roseau' into an elixir--Come, Gubetta, my old accomplice," he continued, seizing Bixiou round the waist, "you want money; well, I can borrow three thousand francs from my friend Cerizet instead of two; 'Let us be friends, Cinna!' hand over your colossal cabbages,--made to trick the public like a gardener's catalogue. If I refused you it was because it is pretty hard on a man who can only do his poor little business by turning over his money, to have to keep your Ravenouillet notes in the drawer of his desk. Hard, hard, very hard!"

"What discount do you want?" asked Bixiou.

"Next to nothing," returned Vauvinet. "It will cost you a miserable fifty francs at the end of the quarter."

"As Emile Blondet used to say, you shall be my benefactor," replied Bixiou.

"Twenty per cent!" whispered Gazonal to Bixiou, who replied by a punch of his elbow in the provincial's oesophagus.

"Bless me!" said Vauvinet opening a drawer in his desk as if to put away the Ravenouillet notes, "here's an old bill of five hundred francs stuck in the drawer! I didn't know I was so rich. And here's a note payable at the end of the month for four hundred and fifty; Cerizet will take it without much diminution, and there's your sum in hand. But no nonsense, Bixiou! Hein? to-night, at Carabine's, will you swear to me--"

"Haven't we _re_-friended?" said Bixiou, pocketing the five-hundred-franc bill and the note for four hundred and fifty. "I give you my word of honor that you shall see du Tillet, and many other men who want to make their way--their railway--to-night at Carabine's."

Vauvinet conducted the three friends to the landing of the staircase, cajoling Bixiou on the way. Bixiou kept a grave face till he reached the outer door, listening to Gazonal, who tried to enlighten him on his late operation, and to prove to him that if Vauvinet's follower, Cerizet, took another twenty francs out of his four hundred and fifty, he was getting money at forty per cent.

When they reached the asphalt Bixiou frightened Gazonal by the laugh of a Parisian hoaxer,--that cold, mute laugh, a sort of l.a.b.i.al north wind.

"The a.s.signment of the contract for that railway is adjourned, positively, by the Chamber; I heard this yesterday from that marcheuse whom we smiled at just now. If I win five or six thousand francs at lansquenet to-night, why should I grudge sixty-five francs for the power to stake, hey?"

"Lansquenet is another of the thousand facets of Paris as it is," said Leon. "And therefore, cousin, I intend to present you to-night in the salon of a d.u.c.h.ess,--a d.u.c.h.ess of the rue Saint-Georges, where you will see the aristocracy of the lorettes, and probably be able to win your lawsuit. But it is quite impossible to present you anywhere with that mop of Pyrenean hair; you look like a porcupine; and therefore we'll take you close by, Place de la Bourse, to Marius, another of our comedians--"

"Who is he?"

"I'll tell you his tale," said Bixiou. "In the year 1800 a Toulousian named Cabot, a young wig-maker devoured by ambition, came to Paris, and set up a shop (I use your slang). This man of genius,--he now has an income of twenty-four thousand francs a year, and lives, retired from business, at Libourne,--well, he saw that so vulgar and ign.o.ble a name as Cabot could never attain celebrity. Monsieur de Parny, whose hair he cut, gave him the name of Marius, infinitely superior, you perceive, to the Christian names of Armand and Hippolyte, behind which patronymics attacked by the Cabot evil are wont to hide. All the successors of Cabot have called themselves Marius. The present Marius is Marius V.; his real name is Mongin. This occurs in various other trades; for 'Botot water,'

and for 'Little-Virtue' ink. Names become commercial property in Paris, and have ended by const.i.tuting a sort of ensign of n.o.bility. The present Marius, who takes pupils, has created, he says, the leading school of hair-dressing in the world.

"I've seen, in coming through France," said Gazonal, "a great many signs bearing the words: 'Such a one, pupil of Marius.'"

"His pupils have to wash their hands after every head," said Bixiou; "but Marius does not take them indifferently; they must have nice hands, and not be ill-looking. The most remarkable for manners, appearance, and elocution are sent out to dress heads; and they come back tired to death. Marius himself never turns out except for t.i.tled women; he drives his cabriolet and has a groom."

"But, after all, he is nothing but a barber!" cried Gazonal, somewhat shocked.

"Barber!" exclaimed Bixiou; "please remember that he is captain in the National Guard, and is decorated for being the first to spring into a barricade in 1832."

"And take care what you say to him: he is neither barber, hair-dresser, nor wig-maker; he is a director of salons for hair-dressing," said Leon, as they went up a staircase with crystal bal.u.s.ters and mahogany rail, the steps of which were covered with a sumptuous carpet.

"Ah ca! mind you don't compromise us," said Bixiou. "In the antechamber you'll see lacqueys who will take off your coat, and seize your hat, to brush them; and they'll accompany you to the door of the salons to open and shut it. I mention this, friend Gazonal," added Bixiou, slyly, "lest you might think they were after your property, and cry 'Stop thief!'"

"These salons," said Leon, "are three boudoirs where the director has collected all the inventions of modern luxury: lambrequins to the windows, jardinieres everywhere, downy divans where each customer can wait his turn and read the newspapers. You might suppose, when you first go in, that five francs would be the least they'd get out of your waistcoat pocket; but nothing is ever extracted beyond ten sous for combing and frizzing your hair, or twenty sous for cutting and frizzing.

Elegant dressing-tables stand about among the jardinieres; water is laid on to the washstands; enormous mirrors reproduce the whole figure.

Therefore don't look astonished. When the client (that's the elegant word subst.i.tuted by Marius for the ign.o.ble word customer),--when the client appears at the door, Marius gives him a glance which appraises him: to Marius you are a _head_, more or less susceptible of occupying his mind. To him there's no mankind; there are only heads."

"We let you hear Marius on all the notes of his scale," said Bixiou, "and you know how to follow our lead."

As soon as Gazonal showed himself, the glance was given, and was evidently favourable, for Marius exclaimed: "Regulus! yours this head!

Prepare it first with the little scissors."

"Excuse me," said Gazonal to the pupil, at a sign from Bixiou. "I prefer to have my head dressed by Monsieur Marius himself."

Marius, much flattered by this demand, advanced, leaving the head on which he was engaged.

"I am with you in a moment; I am just finishing. Pray have no uneasiness, my pupil will prepare you; I alone will decide the cut."

Marius, a slim little man, his hair frizzed like that of Rubini, and jet black, dressed also in black, with long white cuffs, and the frill of his shirt adorned with a diamond, now saw Bixiou, to whom he bowed as to a power the equal of his own.

"That is only an ordinary head," he said to Leon, pointing to the person on whom he was operating,--"a grocer, or something of that kind. But if we devoted ourselves to art only, we should lie in Bicetre, mad!" and he turned back with an inimitable gesture to his client, after saying to Regulus, "Prepare monsieur, he is evidently an artist."

"A journalist," said Bixiou.

Hearing that word, Marius gave two or three strokes of the comb to the ordinary head and flung himself upon Gazonal, taking Regulus by the arm at the instant that the pupil was about to begin the operation of the little scissors.

"I will take charge of monsieur. Look, monsieur," he said to the grocer, "reflect yourself in the great mirror--if the mirror permits. Ossian!"

A lacquey entered, and took hold of the client to dress him.

"You pay at the desk, monsieur," said Marius to the stupefied grocer, who was pulling out his purse.

"Is there any use, my dear fellow," said Bixiou, "in going through this operation of the little scissors?"

"No head ever comes to me uncleansed," replied the ill.u.s.trious 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!"