Rise and Fall of Cesar Birotteau. Оноре де Бальзак

the latin word coma, which signifies ‘hair,’ as Monsieur Alibert, the King’s physician, says. The word is found in the tragedy of Berenice, where Racine introduces a king of Comagene, lover of the queen so celebrated for the beauty of her hair; the king—no doubt as a delicate flattery—gave the name to his country. What wit and intellect there is in genius! it condescends to the minutest details.”

      Little Popinot kept his countenance as he listened to this absurd flourish, evidently said for his benefit as an educated young man.

      “Anselme, I have cast my eyes upon you as the one to found a commercial house in the high-class druggist line, Rue des Lombards. I will be your secret partner, and supply the funds to start with. After the Oil Comagene, we will try an essence of vanilla and the spirit of peppermint. We’ll tackle the drug-trade by revolutionizing it, by selling its products concentrated instead of selling them raw. Ambitious young man, are you satisfied?”

      Anselme could not answer, his heart was full; but his eyes, filled with tears, answered for him. The offer seemed prompted by indulgent fatherhood, saying to him: “Deserve Cesarine by becoming rich and respected.”

      “Monsieur,” he answered at last, “I will succeed!”

      “That’s what I said at your age,” cried the perfumer; “that was my motto. If you don’t win my daughter, at least you will win your fortune. Eh, boy! what is it?”

      “Let me hope that in acquiring the one I may obtain the other.”

      “I can’t prevent you from hoping, my friend,” said Birotteau, touched by Anselme’s tone.

      “Well, then, monsieur, can I begin to-day to look for a shop, so as to start at once?”

      “Yes, my son. To-morrow we will shut ourselves up in the workshop, you and I. Before you go to the Rue des Lombards, call at Livingston’s and see if my hydraulic press will be ready to use to-morrow morning. To-night we will go, about dinner-time, to the good and illustrious Monsieur Vauquelin and consult him. He has lately been employed in studying the composition of hair; he has discovered the nature of the coloring matter and whence it comes; also the structure of the hair itself. The secret is just there, Popinot, and you shall know it; all we have to do is to work it out cleverly. Before you go to Livingston’s, just stop at Pieri Berard’s. My lad, the disinterested kindness of Monsieur Vauquelin is one of the sorrows of my life. I cannot make him accept any return. Happily, I found out from Chiffreville that he wished for the Dresden Madonna, engraved by a man named Muller. After two years correspondence with Germany, Berard has at last found one on Chinese paper before lettering. It cost fifteen hundred francs, my boy. To-day, my benefactor will see it in his antechamber when he bows us out; it is to be all framed, and I want you to see about it. We—that is, my wife and I—shall thus recall ourselves to his mind; as for gratitude, we have prayed to God for him daily for sixteen years. I can never forget him; but you see, Popinot, men buried in the depths of science do forget everything—wives, friends, and those they have benefited. As for us plain people, our lack of mind keeps our hearts warm at any rate. That’s the consolation for not being a great man. Look at those gentlemen of the Institute—all brain; you will never meet one of them in a church. Monsieur Vauquelin is tied to his study or his laboratory; but I like to believe he thinks of God in analyzing the works of His hands.—Now, then, it is understood; I give you the money and put you in possession of my secret; we will go shares, and there’s no need for any papers between us. Hurrah for success! we’ll act in concert. Off with you, my boy! As for me, I’ve got my part to attend to. One minute, Popinot. I give a great ball three weeks hence; get yourself a dress-coat, and look like a merchant already launched.”