Chapter 4

IN WHICH IS INTRODUCED ONE OF THE PLEASANTEST BARBERS THAT WAS EVER RECORDED IN HISTORY, THE BARBER OF BAGDAD, OR HE IN DON QUIXOTE, NOT EXCEPTED

The clock had now struck five when Jones awaked from a nap of seven hours, so much refreshed, and in such perfect health and spirits, that he resolved to get up and dress himself; for which purpose he unlocked his portmanteau, and took out clean linen, and a suit of cloaths; but first he slipt on a frock, and went down into the kitchen to bespeak something that might pacify certain tumults he found rising within his stomach.

Meeting the landlady, he accosted her with great civility, and asked, “What he could have for dinner?”—“For dinner!” says she; “it is an odd time a day to think about dinner. There is nothing drest in the house, and the fire is almost out.”—“Well, but,” says he, “I must have something to eat, and it is almost indifferent to me what; for, to tell you the truth, I was never more hungry in my life.”—“Then,” says she, “I believe there is a piece of cold buttock and carrot, which will fit you.”—“Nothing better,” answered Jones; “but I should be obliged to you, if you would let it be fried.” To which the landlady consented, and said, smiling, “she was glad to see him so well recovered;” for the sweetness of our heroe’s temper was almost irresistible; besides, she was really no ill-humoured woman at the bottom; but she loved money so much, that she hated everything which had the semblance of poverty.

Jones now returned in order to dress himself, while his dinner was preparing, and was, according to his orders, attended by the barber.

This barber, who went by the name of Little Benjamin, was a fellow of great oddity and humour, which had frequently let him into small inconveniencies, such as slaps in the face, kicks in the breech, broken bones, &c. For every one doth not understand a jest; and those who do are often displeased with being themselves the subjects of it. This vice was, however, incurable in him; and though he had often smarted for it, yet if ever he conceived a joke, he was certain to be delivered of it, without the least respect of persons, time, or place.

He had a great many other particularities in his character, which I shall not mention, as the reader will himself very easily perceive them, on his farther acquaintance with this extraordinary person.

Jones being impatient to be drest, for a reason which may be easily imagined, thought the shaver was very tedious in preparing his suds, and begged him to make haste; to which the other answered with much gravity, for he never discomposed his muscles on any account, “Festina lentè, is a proverb which I learned long before I ever touched a razor.”—“I find, friend, you are a scholar,” replied Jones. “A poor one,” said the barber, “non omnia possumus omnes.”—“Again!” said Jones; “I fancy you are good at capping verses.”—“Excuse me, sir,” said the barber, “non tanto me dignor honore.” And then proceeding to his operation, “Sir,” said he, “since I have dealt in suds, I could never discover more than two reasons for shaving; the one is to get a beard, and the other to get rid of one. I conjecture, sir, it may not be long since you shaved from the former of these motives. Upon my word, you have had good success; for one may say of your beard, that it is tondenti gravior.”—“I conjecture,” says Jones, “that thou art a very comical fellow.”—“You mistake me widely, sir,” said the barber: “I am too much addicted to the study of philosophy; hinc illæ lacrymæ, sir; that’s my misfortune. Too much learning hath been my ruin.”—“Indeed,” says Jones, “I confess, friend, you have more learning than generally belongs to your trade; but I can’t see how it can have injured you.”—“Alas! sir,” answered the shaver, “my father disinherited me for it. He was a dancing-master; and because I could read before I could dance, he took an aversion to me, and left every farthing among his other children.—Will you please to have your temples—O la! I ask your pardon, I fancy there is hiatus in manuscriptis. I heard you was going to the wars; but I find it was a mistake.”—“Why do you conclude so?” says Jones. “Sure, sir,” answered the barber, “you are too wise a man to carry a broken head thither; for that would be carrying coals to Newcastle.”


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