The Shaving of Shagpat - George Meredith (bookreader TXT) 📗

the people gazed at him with eagerness. Shibli Bagarag was astonished at them, thinking, “Hair! hair! There is might in hair; but there is greater might in the barber! Nevertheless here the barber is scorned, the grower of crops held in amazing reverence.” Then thought he, “ ’Tis truly wondrous the crop he groweth; not even King Shamshureen, after a thousand years, sported such mighty profusion! Him I sheared: it was a high task!⁠—why not this Shagpat?”

Now, long gazing on Shagpat awoke in Shibli Bagarag fierce desire to shear him, and it was scarce in his power to restrain himself from flying at the clothier, he saying, “What obstacle now? what protecteth him? Nay, why not trust to the old woman? Said she not I should first essay on Shagpat? and ’twas my folly in appealing to the King that brought on me that thwacking. ’Tis well! I’ll trust to her words. Wullahy! will it not lead me to great things?”

So it was, that as he thought this he continued to keep eye on Shagpat, and the hunger that was in him passed, and became a ravenous vulture that flew from him and singled forth Shagpat as prey; and there was no help for it but in he must go and state his case to Shagpat, and essay shearing him.

Now, when he was in the presence, he exclaimed, “Peace, O vendor of apparel, unto thee and unto thine!”

Shagpat answered, “That with thee!”

Said Shibli Bagarag, “I have heard of thee, O thou wonder! Wullahy! I am here to render homage to that I behold.”

Shagpat answered, “ ’Tis well!”

Then said Shibli Bagarag, “Praise my discretion! I have even this day entered the city, and it is to thee I offer the first shave, O tangle of glory!”

At these words Shagpat darkened, saying gruffly, “Thy jest is offensive, and it is unseasonable for staleness and lack of holiness.”

But Shibli Bagarag cried, “No jest, O purveyor to the outward of us! but a very excellent earnest.”

Thereat the face of Shagpat was as an exceeding red berry in a bush, and he said angrily, “Have done! no more of it! or haply my spleen will be awakened, and that of them who see with more eyes than two.”

Nevertheless Shibli Bagarag urged him, and he winked, and gesticulated, and pointed to his head, crying, “Fall not, O man of the nicety of measure, into the trap of error; for ’tis I that am a barber, and a rarity in this city, even Shibli Bagarag of Shiraz! Know me nephew of the renowned Baba Mustapha, chief barber to the Court of Persia. Languishest thou not for my art? Lo! with three sweeps I’ll give thee a clean poll, all save the Identical! and I can discern and save it; fear me not, nor distrust my skill and the cunning that is mine.”

When he had heard Shibli Bagarag to a close, the countenance of Shagpat waxed fiery, as it had been flame kindled by travellers at night in a thorny bramble-bush, and he ruffled, and heaved, and was as when dense jungle-growths are stirred violently by the near approach of a wild animal in his fury, shouting in short breaths, “A barber! a barber! Is’t so? can it be? To me? A barber! O thou, thou reptile! filthy thing! A barber! O dog! A barber? What? when I bid fair for the highest honours known? O sacrilegious wretch! monster! How? are the afreets jealous, that they send thee to jibe me?”

Thereupon he set up a cry for his wife, and that woman rushed to him from an inner room, and fell upon Shibli Bagarag, belabouring him.

So, when she was weary of this, she said, “O light of my eyes! O golden crop and adorable man! what hath he done to thee?”

Shagpat answered, “ ’Tis a barber! and he hath sworn to shave me, and leave me not save shorn!”

Hardly had Shagpat spoken this, when she became limp with the hearing of it. Then Shibli Bagarag slunk from the shop; but without the crowd had increased, seeing an altercation, and as he took to his heels they followed him, and there was uproar in the streets of the city and in the air above them, as of raging genii, he like a started quarry doubling this way and that, and at the corners of streets and open places, speeding on till there was no breath in his body, the cry still after him that he had bearded Shagpat. At last they came up with him, and belaboured him each and all; it was a storm of thwacks that fell on the back of Shibli Bagarag. When they had wearied themselves in this fashion, they took him as had he been a stray bundle or a damaged bale, and hurled him from the gates of the city into the wilderness once more.

Now, when he was alone, he staggered awhile and then flung himself to the earth, looking neither to the right nor to the left, nor above. All he could think was, “O accursed old woman!” and this he kept repeating to himself for solace; as the poet says:

“ ’Tis sure the special privilege of hate,
To curse the authors of our evil state.”

As he was thus complaining, behold the very old woman before him! And she wheezed, and croaked, and coughed, and shook herself, and screwed her face into a pleasing pucker, and assumed womanish airs, and swayed herself, like as do the full moons of the harem when the eye of the master is upon them. Having made an end of these prettinesses, she said, in a tone of soft insinuation, “O youth, nephew of the barber, look upon me.”

Shibli Bagarag knew her voice, and he would not look, thinking, “Oh, what a dreadful old woman is this! just calling on her name in detestation maketh her present to us.” So the old woman, seeing him resolute to shun her, leaned to him, and put one hand to