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Show HUGO AND HIS BARBER. The following story of a barber who became the fellow workman of Victor Hugo, the French poet, is told in Scribner's Magazine, by Mr. Boyesen: In the year 1847 Victor Hugo lived in the Place Royale, and was in the habit of patronizing a barber named Brassier, who had his shop in the vicinity. One morning a gentleman, whom for convenience's sake I shall name H----, entered the barber's shop, seated himself in a chair, and elevated his chin to a proper angle, while Brassier stood sharpening his razor. "Well, Brassier, how is business?" "Excellent sir, excellent! I should say it is even too good, for I don't see how I and my boys are to get through with all the engagements which we have today. Balls and parties everywhere! We have to dress the hair of no less than thirty ladies for to night. Look, here is a list of their addresses." A few days later Mr. H---- was seated again in Brassier's chair. "How about your thirty ladies, Brassier?" "Don't speak of it, sir. I didn't get around to more than half of them; and in the end I shall lose a dozen or more good customers and it's all the fault of M. Victor Hugo." "How the fault of M. Hugo? What has he to do with your clients?" "It is just as I say, sir, and you will easily comprehend it. A few moments after you left, M. Victor Hugo entered and seated himself in this very chair." I put the napkin around his neck, seized a shaving-brush, and was about to approach him, when he cried, "Wait!" He pulled a pencil from his pocket, and began to fumble impatiently in his coat-tails and in his breast-pocket, without finding what he sought. At last, he discovered a piece of paper on that stand, seized it and began to write. Although I was pressed for time, I waited until he should have finished. But he why, he paid no more attention than if I had never existed, but scribbled away, and only stopped occasionally to bite his pencil. "Well, go on, scribble away," I said to myself; "if you can read it yourself, you are lucky." Such terrible scrawl! And people call him a fine writer! "If you are at liberty, sir," I said. "One moment, and I shall have done," he answered. But the moment passed, and I was still standing there, with my soap-dish in my hand and my brush full of lather, and fuming with impatience. [Unreadable] "He still ????? scribbling away, stopping, and raising his eyes to the ceiling." "Pardon me, sir," I ventured to say, "I am very much pressed"--- "Ah! you are in a hurry," he replied; "so am I;" and then he made for the door and went. "Your hat, sir," I cried after him. "You are right," he answered, smiling. "I did not think of that." "And off he went, without even allowing me to shave him." "Gentlemen, you have not a moment to lose," I shouted to my assistants. "You will each go to the address which I shall give you. Here is the list well, where is the list? Wait a minute! I declare where is that list? What have you done with that list, you rascals?" "Sir, It was there on that stand a little while ago." "There? Are you sure of that?" "Indeed, I am sir." "It was on my list that M. Victor Hugo had just been writing. It was my list, sir, that he had carried away with him, after having covered it all with his scrawl. Do you understand now how he made me lose my customers?" "Compose yourself, my dear Brassier," said Mr. H---. "If this scrap of paper had not been found to receive the inspiration of the poet, French literature would have lost some very fine verses. You have been the collaborateur of Victor Hugo, and that is no small honor." |
