Rise and Fall of Cesar Birotteau [49]
the medical student; he told me that at school his comrades used nut oil to promote the growth of their whiskers and mustachios. All we need is the approval of Monsieur Vauquelin; enlightened by his science, we shall mislead the public. I was in the markets just now, talking to a seller of nuts, so as to get hold of the raw material, and now I am about to meet one of the greatest scientific men in France, to get at the quintessence of that commodity. Proverbs are no fools; extremes meet. Now see, my boy, commerce is the intermediary between the productions of the vegetable kingdom and science. Angelique Madou gathers, Monsieur Vauquelin extracts, we sell an essence. Nuts are worth five sous a pound, Monsieur Vauquelin will increase their value one hundredfold, and we shall, perhaps, do a service to humanity; for if vanity is the cause of the greatest torments of mankind, a good cosmetic becomes a benefaction."
The religious admiration with which Popinot listened to the father of Cesarine stimulated Birotteau's eloquence, who allowed himself to expatiate in phrases which certainly were extremely wild for a bourgeois.
"Be respectful, Anselme," he said, as they reached the street where Monsieur Vauquelin lived, "we are about to enter the sanctuary of science. Put the Virgin in full sight, but not ostentatiously, in the dining-room, on a chair. Pray heaven, I may not get mixed up in what I have to say!" cried Cesar, naively. "Popinot, this man has a chemical effect upon me; his voice heats my stomach, and even gives me a slight colic. He is my benefactor, and in a few moments he will be yours."
These words struck Popinot with a cold chill, and he began to step as if he were walking on eggs, looking nervously at the wall. Monsieur Vauquelin was in his study when Birotteau was announced. The academician knew that the perfumer and deputy-mayor was high in favor, and he admitted him.
"You do not forget me in the midst of your distinctions," he said, "there is only a hand's-breadth, however, between a chemist and a perfumer."
"Ah, monsieur! between your genius and the plainness of a man like me there is infinity. I owe to you what you call my distinctions: I shall never forget it in this world, nor in the next."
"Oh! in the next they say we shall be all alike, kings and cobblers."
"Provided kings and cobblers lead a holy life here below," said Birotteau.
"Is that your son?" asked Vauquelin, looking at little Popinot, who was amazed at not seeing anything extraordinary in the sanctum, where he expected to find monstrosities, gigantic engines, flying-machines, and material substances all alive.
"No, monsieur, but a young man whom I love, and who comes to ask a kindness equal to your genius,--and that is infinite," said Cesar with shrewd courtesy. "We have come to consult you, a second time, on an important matter, about which I am ignorant as a perfumer can be."
"Let me hear what it is."
"I know that hair has lately occupied all your vigils, and that you have given yourself up to analyzing it; while you have thought of glory, I have thought of commerce."
"Dear Monsieur Birotteau, what is it you want of me,--the analysis of hair?" He took up a little paper. "I am about to read before the Academy of Sciences a monograph on that subject. Hair is composed of a rather large quantity of mucus, a small quantity of white oil, a great deal of greenish oil, iron, a few atoms of oxide of manganese, some phosphate of lime, a tiny quantity of carbonate of lime, a little silica, and a good deal of sulphur. The differing proportions of these component parts cause the differences in the color of the hair. Red hair, for instance, has more greenish oil than any other."
Cesar and Popinot opened their eyes to a laughable extent.
"Nine things!" cried Birotteau. "What! are there metals and oils in hair? Unless I heard it from you, a man I venerate, I could not believe it. How amazing! God is great, Monsieur Vauquelin."
"Hair is produced by a follicular organ," resumed the great chemist,-- "a species of pocket,
The religious admiration with which Popinot listened to the father of Cesarine stimulated Birotteau's eloquence, who allowed himself to expatiate in phrases which certainly were extremely wild for a bourgeois.
"Be respectful, Anselme," he said, as they reached the street where Monsieur Vauquelin lived, "we are about to enter the sanctuary of science. Put the Virgin in full sight, but not ostentatiously, in the dining-room, on a chair. Pray heaven, I may not get mixed up in what I have to say!" cried Cesar, naively. "Popinot, this man has a chemical effect upon me; his voice heats my stomach, and even gives me a slight colic. He is my benefactor, and in a few moments he will be yours."
These words struck Popinot with a cold chill, and he began to step as if he were walking on eggs, looking nervously at the wall. Monsieur Vauquelin was in his study when Birotteau was announced. The academician knew that the perfumer and deputy-mayor was high in favor, and he admitted him.
"You do not forget me in the midst of your distinctions," he said, "there is only a hand's-breadth, however, between a chemist and a perfumer."
"Ah, monsieur! between your genius and the plainness of a man like me there is infinity. I owe to you what you call my distinctions: I shall never forget it in this world, nor in the next."
"Oh! in the next they say we shall be all alike, kings and cobblers."
"Provided kings and cobblers lead a holy life here below," said Birotteau.
"Is that your son?" asked Vauquelin, looking at little Popinot, who was amazed at not seeing anything extraordinary in the sanctum, where he expected to find monstrosities, gigantic engines, flying-machines, and material substances all alive.
"No, monsieur, but a young man whom I love, and who comes to ask a kindness equal to your genius,--and that is infinite," said Cesar with shrewd courtesy. "We have come to consult you, a second time, on an important matter, about which I am ignorant as a perfumer can be."
"Let me hear what it is."
"I know that hair has lately occupied all your vigils, and that you have given yourself up to analyzing it; while you have thought of glory, I have thought of commerce."
"Dear Monsieur Birotteau, what is it you want of me,--the analysis of hair?" He took up a little paper. "I am about to read before the Academy of Sciences a monograph on that subject. Hair is composed of a rather large quantity of mucus, a small quantity of white oil, a great deal of greenish oil, iron, a few atoms of oxide of manganese, some phosphate of lime, a tiny quantity of carbonate of lime, a little silica, and a good deal of sulphur. The differing proportions of these component parts cause the differences in the color of the hair. Red hair, for instance, has more greenish oil than any other."
Cesar and Popinot opened their eyes to a laughable extent.
"Nine things!" cried Birotteau. "What! are there metals and oils in hair? Unless I heard it from you, a man I venerate, I could not believe it. How amazing! God is great, Monsieur Vauquelin."
"Hair is produced by a follicular organ," resumed the great chemist,-- "a species of pocket,