- end_line
- 10118
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:47:57.726Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 10048
- text
- 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?
"What, sir, to say nothing more, can one be forever dealing in macassar
oil, hair dyes, cosmetics, false moustaches, wigs, and toupees, and
still believe that men are wholly what they look to be? What think you,
sir, are a thoughtful barber's reflections, when, behind a careful
curtain, he shaves the thin, dead stubble off a head, and then dismisses
it to the world, radiant in curling auburn? To contrast the shamefaced
air behind the curtain, the fearful looking forward to being possibly
discovered there by a prying acquaintance, with the cheerful assurance
and challenging pride with which the same man steps forth again, a gay
deception, into the street, while some honest, shock-headed fellow
humbly gives him the wall! Ah, sir, they may talk of the courage of
truth, but my trade teaches me that truth sometimes is sheepish. Lies,
lies, sir, brave lies are the lions!"
"You twist the moral, barber; you sadly twist it. Look, now; take it
this way: A modest man thrust out naked into the street, would he not be
abashed? Take him in and clothe him; would not his confidence be
restored? And in either case, is any reproach involved? Now, what is
true of the whole, holds proportionably true of the part. The bald head
is a nakedness which the wig is a coat to. To feel uneasy at the
possibility of the exposure of one's nakedness at top, and to feel
comforted by the consciousness of having it clothed--these feelings,
instead of being dishonorable to a bold man, do, in fact, but attest a
proper respect for himself and his fellows. And as for the deception,
you may as well call the fine roof of a fine chateau a deception, since,
like a fine wig, it also is an artificial cover to the head, and
equally, in the common eye, decorates the wearer.--I have confuted you,
my dear barber; I have confounded you."
"Pardon," said the barber, "but I do not see that you have. His coat and
his roof no man pretends to palm off as a part of himself, but the bald
man palms off hair, not his, for his own."
"Not _his_, barber? If he have fairly purchased his hair, the law will
protect him in its ownership, even against the claims of the head on
which it grew. But it cannot be that you believe what you say, barber;
you talk merely for the humor. I could not think so of you as to suppose
that you would contentedly deal in the impostures you condemn."
"Ah, sir, I must live."
"And can't you do that without sinning against your conscience, as you
believe? Take up some other calling."
"Wouldn't mend the matter much, sir."
"Do you think, then, barber, that, in a certain point, all the trades
and callings of men are much on a par? Fatal, indeed," raising his hand,
"inexpressibly dreadful, the trade of the barber, if to such conclusions
it necessarily leads. Barber," eying him not without emotion, "you
appear to me not so much a misbeliever, as a man misled. Now, let me set
you on the right track; let me restore you to trust in human nature, and
by no other means than the very trade that has brought you to suspect
it."
"You mean, sir, you would have me try the experiment of taking down that
notification," again pointing to it with his brush; "but, dear me, while
I sit chatting here, the water boils over."
With which words, and such a well-pleased, sly, snug, expression, as
they say some men have when they think their little stratagem has
succeeded, he hurried to the copper vessel, and soon had his cup foaming
up with white bubbles, as if it were a mug of new ale.
- title
- Chunk 2