Patents for Invention and Improvements.
“No cosmetic can make the hair grow, and no chemical preparation
can dye it without peril to the seat of intelligence. Science has
recently made known the fact that hair is a dead substance, and
that no agent can prevent it from falling off or whitening. To
prevent Baldness and Dandruff, it is necessary to protect the bulb
from which the hair issues from all deteriorating atmospheric
influences, and to maintain the temperature of the head at its
right medium. CEPHALIC OIL, based upon principles laid down by the
Academy of Sciences, produces this important result, sought by the
ancients,--the Greeks, the Romans, and all Northern nations,--to
whom the preservation of the hair was peculiarly precious. Certain
scientific researches have demonstrated that nobles, formerly
distinguished for the length of their hair, used no other remedy
than this; their method of preparation, which had been lost in the
lapse of ages, has been intelligently re-discovered by A. Popinot,
the inventor of CEPHALIC OIL.
“To _preserve_, rather than provoke a useless and injurious
stimulation of the instrument which contains the bulbs, is the
mission of CEPHALIC OIL. In short, this oil, which counteracts the
exfoliation of pellicular atoms, which exhales a soothing perfume,
and arrests, by means of the substances of which it is composed
(among them more especially the oil of nuts), the action of the
outer air upon the scalp, also prevents influenzas, colds in the
head, and other painful cephalic afflictions, by maintaining the
normal temperature of the cranium. Consequently, the bulbs, which
contain the generating fluids, are neither chilled by cold nor
parched by heat. The hair of the head, that magnificent product,
priceless alike to man and woman, will be preserved even to
advanced age, in all the brilliancy and lustre which bestow their
charm upon the heads of infancy, by those who make use of CEPHALIC
OIL.
“DIRECTIONS FOR USE are furnished with each bottle, and serve as a
wrapper.
“METHOD OF USING CEPHALIC OIL.--It is quite useless to oil the
hair; this is not only a vulgar and foolish prejudice, but an
untidy habit, for the reason that all cosmetics leave their trace.
It suffices to wet a little sponge in the oil, and after parting
the hair with the comb, to apply it at the roots in such a manner
that the whole skin of the head may be enabled to imbibe it, after
the scalp has received a preliminary cleansing with brush and
comb.
“The oil is sold in bottles bearing the signature of the inventor,
to prevent counterfeits. Price, THREE FRANCS. A. POPINOT, Rue des
Cinq-Diamants, quartier des Lombards, Paris.
“_It is requested that all letters be prepaid._
“N.B. The house of A. Popinot supplies all oils and essences
appertaining to druggists: lavender, oil of almonds, sweet and
bitter, orange oil, cocoa-nut oil, castor oil, and others.”
“My dear friend,” said the illustrious Gaudissart to Finot, “it is
admirably written. Thunder and lightning! we are in the upper regions
of science. We shirk nothing; we go straight to the point. That’s useful
literature; I congratulate you.”
“A noble prospectus!” cried Popinot, enthusiastically.
“A prospectus which slays Macassar at the first word,” continued
Gaudissart, rising with a magisterial air to deliver the following
speech, which he divided by gestures and pauses in his most
parliamentary manner.
“No--hair--can be made--to grow! Hair cannot be dyed without--danger!
Ha! ha! success is there. Modern science is in union with the customs
of the ancients. We can deal with young and old alike. We can say to
the old man, ‘Ha, monsieur! the ancients, the Greeks and Romans, knew a
thing or two, and were not so stupid as some would have us believe’; and
we can say to the young man, ‘My dear boy, here’s another discovery
due to progress and the lights of science. We advance; what may we not
obtain from steam and telegraphy, and other things! This oil is based
on the scientific treatise of Monsieur Vauquelin!’ Suppose we print an
extract from Monsieur Vauquelin’s report to the Academy of Sciences,
confirming our statement, hein? Famous! Come, Finot, sit down; attack
the viands! Soak up the champagne! let us drink to the success of my
young friend, here present!”
“I felt,” said the author modestly, “that the epoch of flimsy and
frivolous prospectuses had gone by; we are entering upon an era of
science; we need an academical tone,--a tone of authority, which imposes
upon the public.”
“We’ll boil that oil; my feet itch, and my tongue too. I’ve got
commissions from all the rival hair people; none of them give more
than thirty per cent discount; we must manage forty on every hundred
remitted, and I’ll answer for a hundred thousand bottles in six months.
I’ll attack apothecaries, grocers, perfumers! Give ‘em forty per cent,
and they’ll bamboozle the public.”
The three young fellows devoured their dinner like lions, and drank like
lords to the future success of Cephalic Oil.
“The oil is getting into my head,” said Finot.
Gaudissart poured out a series of jokes and puns upon hats and heads,
and hair and hair-oil, etc. In the midst of Homeric laughter a knock
resounded, and was heard, in spite of an uproar of toasts and reciprocal
congratulations.
“It is my uncle!” cried Popinot. “He has actually come to see me.”
“An uncle!” said Finot, “and we haven’t got a glass!”
“The uncle of my friend Popinot is a judge,” said Gaudissart to Finot,
“and he is not to be hoaxed; he saved my life. Ha! when one gets to the
pass where I was, under the scaffold--_Qou-ick_, and good-by to
your hair,”--imitating the fatal knife with voice and gesture. “One
recollects gratefully the virtuous magistrate who saved the gutter where
the champagne flows down. Recollect?--I’d recollect him dead-drunk! You
don’t know what it is, Finot, unless you have stood in need of Monsieur
Popinot. Huzza! we ought to fire a salute--from six pounders, too!”
The virtuous magistrate was now asking for his nephew at the door.
Recognizing his voice, Anselme went down, candlestick in hand, to light
him up.
“I wish you good evening, gentlemen,” said the judge.
The illustrious Gaudissart bowed profoundly. Finot examined the
magistrate with a tipsy eye, and thought him a bit of a blockhead.
“You have not much luxury here,” said the judge, gravely, looking round
the room. “Well, my son, if we wish to be something great, we must begin
by being nothing.”
“What profound wisdom!” said Gaudissart to Finot.
“Text for an article,” said the journalist.
“Ah! you here, monsieur?” said the judge, recognizing the commercial
traveller; “and what are you doing now?”
“Monsieur, I am contributing to the best of my small ability to the
success of your dear nephew. We have just been studying a prospectus for
his oil; you see before you the author of that prospectus, which seems
to us the finest essay in the literature of wigs.” The judge looked at
Finot. “Monsieur,” said Gaudissart, “is Monsieur Andoche Finot, a young
man distinguished in literature, who does high-class politics and the
little theatres in the government newspapers,--I may say a statesman on
the high-road to becoming an author.”
Finot pulled Gaudissart by the coat-tails.
“Well, well, my sons,” said the judge, to whom these words explained the
aspect of the table, where there stilled remained the tokens of a very
excusable feast. “Anselme,” said the old gentleman to his nephew, “dress
yourself, and come with me to Monsieur Birotteau’s, where I have a visit
to pay. You shall sign the deed of partnership, which I have carefully
examined. As you mean to have the manufactory for your oil on the
grounds in the Faubourg du Temple, I think you had better take a formal
lease of them. Monsieur Birotteau might have others in partnership with
him, and it is better to settle everything legally at once; then there
can be no discussion. These walls seem to me very damp, my dear boy;
take up the straw matting near your bed.”
“Permit me, monsieur,” said Gaudissart, with an ingratiating air, “to
explain to you that we have just pasted up the paper ourselves, and
that’s the--reason why--the walls--are not--dry.”
“Economy? quite right,” said the judge.
“Look here,” said Gaudissart in Finot’s ear, “my friend Popinot is a
virtuous young man; he is going with his uncle; let’s you and I go and
finish the evening with our cousins.”
The journalist showed the empty lining of his pockets. Popinot saw the
gesture, and slipped his twenty-franc piece into the palm of the author
of the prospectus.
The judge had a coach at the end of the street, in which he carried off
his nephew to the Birotteaus.