I request of you a razor, and you present me with this implement! A
safety razor! One cannot gash oneself with your invention. Do you think
I rush to your apartment with the desire to barber myself? No, _milles
diables_, no! I 'ave embrace you for my friend, and you mock at my
despair. This tool may safely abolish the 'air from the lip of the
drummer when the train 'ave to wiggle, but it will not gash the jugular;
it will not release the bluest blood of France that courses through
one's veins.
_Oui,_ I will restrain myself. I will 'ave a drink. _Merci!_ I will make
myself of a calmness. I will explain.
Yes, it is a woman. What else? At the insides of all despair it is a
woman ever. That is always the--the--w'at you call 'im?--the one best
bet.
Listen. I love 'er. She own the 'ouse of which I am one of the lodgers,
in'abiting the chamber beneath the skylight. She is a widow, and I love
'er. Of such a roundness is she!--and she 'ave the restaurant beyond the
street. Of such a beauty!--and 'er 'usband, who was a Monsieur Flanagan,
'e leave 'er w'at you call well fix with life-insurance. So well fix,
so large, so brilliant of the complexion, so merry of the smile, so
competent of the ménage, of such a plumpness! 'Ow should it be that one
did not love 'er?
But she? Does she smile on the 'andsome Frenchman who in'abit 'er
skylight chamber and paint and paint and paint all day long, and sell,
oh, so little of 'is paintings? _Hélas!_ She scarcely know that 'e
exist! She 'ave scarcely notice 'im. 'Ow is genius of avail? W'at is
wit, w'at is gallantry, w'at is manner--w'at is all these things w'en
one does not possess the--the--w'at you call 'im?--the front? _Hélas!_
I love, but I 'ave not the front! My trousers are all of a fringe at the
bottom, and my collars are all of a frowsiness at the top. My sleeves
are of such a shine! And my 'at----
Ten thousand curses for the man that invented 'ats! You are my
friend--'ave you a pistol? Yes, I will be calm. I will 'ave a drink. I
will restrain myself. _Merci_, monsieur.
My sleeves are of a sleekness; and my 'at----My 'at, I look at 'im. 'E
is--w'at you call 'im?--on the boom! I contemplate 'im sadly. I regard
'im with reproach. 'E is ridiculous. 'E look like 'e been kicked.
With such a 'at, who can enact the lover? With such a 'at, who can win
'imself a widow? I fly into a rage. I tear from my 'air. I shake my fist
at the nose of fate. I become terrible. I dash my 'at upon the floor,
and jump upon 'im with fury. Then I look at 'im with 'atred. 'E look
back at me with sorrow in 'is wrinkles. And, _Voilà!_--as I look at 'im
I 'ave a thought. The 'at, 'e straighten out from my jump. W'en my feet
is off, 'e rise a little way from 'is wrinkles where I crush 'im. 'E
lift 'imself slowly like a jack-in-the-box up from 'is disgrace. And I
'ave an idea.
Monsieur, we Frenchmen are a people of resource!
I take my thought to an agent of the advertising profession. I say I
'ave come to the place where I am willing to degrade my genius for
gold. I wish to eat more often. I wish to marry the widow I love. I
will forget my art; I will make some dollars; I will degrade myself
temporarily. The agent of advertising 'e say 'e 'ave no need of any
degradation, to take 'im somewhere else. But I explain, and behold! I am
engaged to go to work. They furnish me with clothes of a design the most
fashionable, and with a 'at of which I am myself the architect, and I go
to work. I 'ate it, but I go to work.
The manner of my work is this. The 'at, 'e does it all. (_Accursed
'at!_) 'E is so built that on the outside 'e look like any other silk
'at. But 'e 'ave 'is secrets. 'E 'ave 'is surprises. On 'is inside there
is a clockwork and a spring. At intervals 'e separate 'imself in two in
the middle, and the top part of 'im go up in the air, slowly, one inch,
two inch, three inch, four inch, five inch, six inch--like a telescope
that open 'imself out. And w'at 'ave we then? _Voila!_ We 'ave a white
silk place, and on it is printed in grand letters: