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- 9983
- text
- CHAPTER XLIII
VERY CHARMING.
"So you are a philanthropist, sir," added the barber with an illuminated
look; "that accounts, then, for all. Very odd sort of man the
philanthropist. You are the second one, sir, I have seen. Very odd sort
of man, indeed, the philanthropist. Ah, sir," again meditatively
stirring in the shaving-cup, "I sadly fear, lest you philanthropists
know better what goodness is, than what men are." Then, eying him as if
he were some strange creature behind cage-bars, "So you are a
philanthropist, sir."
"I am Philanthropos, and love mankind. And, what is more than you do,
barber, I trust them."
Here the barber, casually recalled to his business, would have
replenished his shaving-cup, but finding now that on his last visit to
the water-vessel he had not replaced it over the lamp, he did so now;
and, while waiting for it to heat again, became almost as sociable as if
the heating water were meant for whisky-punch; and almost as pleasantly
garrulous as the pleasant barbers in romances.
"Sir," said he, taking a throne beside his customer (for in a row there
were three thrones on the dais, as for the three kings of Cologne, those
patron saints of the barber), "sir, you say you trust men. Well, I
suppose I might share some of your trust, were it not for this trade,
that I follow, too much letting me in behind the scenes."
"I think I understand," with a saddened look; "and much the same thing I
have heard from persons in pursuits different from yours--from the
lawyer, from the congressman, from the editor, not to mention others,
each, with a strange kind of melancholy vanity, claiming for his
vocation the distinction of affording the surest inlets to the
conviction that man is no better than he should be. All of which
testimony, if reliable, would, by mutual corroboration, justify some
disturbance in a good man's mind. But no, no; it is a mistake--all a
mistake."
"True, sir, very true," assented the barber.
"Glad to hear that," brightening up.
"Not so fast, sir," said the barber; "I agree with you in thinking that
the lawyer, and the congressman, and the editor, are in error, but only
in so far as each claims peculiar facilities for the sort of knowledge
in question; because, you see, sir, the truth is, that every trade or
pursuit which brings one into contact with the facts, sir, such trade or
pursuit is equally an avenue to those facts."
"_How_ exactly is that?"
"Why, sir, in my opinion--and for the last twenty years I have, at odd
times, turned the matter over some in my mind--he who comes to know
man, will not remain in ignorance of man. I think I am not rash in
saying that; am I, sir?"
"Barber, you talk like an oracle--obscurely, barber, obscurely."
"Well, sir," with some self-complacency, "the barber has always been
held an oracle, but as for the obscurity, that I don't admit."
"But pray, now, by your account, what precisely may be this mysterious
knowledge gained in your trade? I grant you, indeed, as before hinted,
that your trade, imposing on you the necessity of functionally tweaking
the noses of mankind, is, in that respect, unfortunate, very much so;
nevertheless, a well-regulated imagination should be proof even to such
a provocation to improper conceits. But what I want to learn from you,
barber, is, how does the mere handling of the outside of men's heads
lead you to distrust the inside of their hearts?
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