A Paganini? No, he's not great enough. A
hair-dresser, monsieur, a man who divines your soul and your habits,
in order to dress your hair conformably with your being, that man has
all that constitutes a philosopher--and such he is. See the women!
Women appreciate us; they know our value; our value to them is the
conquest they make when they have placed their heads in our hands to
attain a triumph. I say to you that a hair-dresser--the world does not
know what he is. I who speak to you, I am very nearly all that there
is of--without boasting I may say I am known--Still, I think more
might be done--The execution, that is everything! Ah! if women would
only give me carte blanche!--if I might only execute the ideas that
come to me! I have, you see, a hell of imagination!--but the women
don't fall in with it; they have their own plans; they'll stick their
fingers or combs, as soon as my back is turned, through the most
delicious edifices--which ought to be engraved and perpetuated; for
our works, monsieur, last unfortunately but a few hours. A great
hair-dresser, hey! he's like Careme and Vestris in their careers.
(Head a little this way, if you please, SO; I attend particularly to
front faces!) Our profession is ruined by bunglers who understand
neither the epoch nor their art.
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