



Produced by Pat Castevans and David Widger





THE SHAVING OF SHAGPAT

By George Meredith

AN ARABIAN ENTERTAINMENT


1898/1909



     CONTENTS:

     THE THWACKINGS
     THE STORY OF BHANAVAR THE BEAUTIFUL
     THE BETROTHAL
     PUNISHMENT OF SHAHPESH, THE PERSIAN, ON KHIPIL, THE BUILDER
     THE GENIE KARAZ
     THE WELL OF PARAVID
     THE HORSE GARRAVEEN
     THE TALKING HAWK
     GOORELKA OF OOLB
     THE LILY OF THE ENCHANTED SEA
     STORY OF NOORNA BIN NOORKA, THE GENIE KARAZ, AND THE PRINCESS OF OOLB
     THE WILES OF RABESQURAT
     THE PALACE OF AKLIS
     THE SONS OF AKLIS
     THE SWORD OF AKLIS
     KOOROOKH
     THE VEILED FIGURE
     THE BOSOM OF NOORNA
     THE REVIVAL
     THE PLOT
     THE DISH OF POMEGRANATE GRAIN
     THE BURNING OF THE IDENTICAL
     THE FLASHES OF THE BLADE
     CONCLUSION




THE SHAVING OF SHAGPAT

BOOK I.

THE THWACKINGS
THE STORY OF BHANAVAR THE BEAUTIFUL




THE THWACKINGS

It was ordained that Shibli Bagarag, nephew to the renowned Baba
Mustapha, chief barber to the Court of Persia, should shave Shagpat, the
son of Shimpoor, the son of Shoolpi, the son of Shullum; and they had
been clothiers for generations, even to the time of Shagpat, the
illustrious.

Now, the story of Shibli Bagarag, and of the ball he followed, and of the
subterranean kingdom he came to, and of the enchanted palace he entered,
and of the sleeping king he shaved, and of the two princesses he
released, and of the Afrite held in subjection by the arts of one and
bottled by her, is it not known as 'twere written on the finger-nails of
men and traced in their corner-robes? As the poet says:

     Ripe with oft telling and old is the tale,
     But 'tis of the sort that can never grow stale.

Now, things were in that condition with Shibli Bagarag, that on a certain
day he was hungry and abject, and the city of Shagpat the clothier was
before him; so he made toward it, deliberating as to how he should
procure a meal, for he had not a dirhem in his girdle, and the
remembrance of great dishes and savoury ingredients were to him as the
illusion of rivers sheening on the sands to travellers gasping with
thirst.

And he considered his case, crying, 'Surely this comes of wandering, and
'tis the curse of the inquiring spirit! for in Shiraz, where my craft is
in favour, I should be sitting now with my uncle, Baba Mustapha, the
loquacious one, cross-legged, partaking of seasoned sweet dishes, dipping
my fingers in them, rejoicing my soul with scandal of the Court!'

Now, he came to a knoll of sand under a palm, from which the yellow domes
and mosques of the city of Shagpat, and its black cypresses, and marble
palace fronts, and shining pillars, and lofty carven arches that spanned
half-circles of the hot grey sky, were plainly visible. Then gazed he
awhile despondingly on the city of Shagpat, and groaned in contemplation
of his evil plight, as is said by the poet:

     The curse of sorrow is comparison!
        As the sun casteth shade, night showeth star,
     We, measuring what we were by what we are,
        Behold the depth to which we are undone.

Wherefore he counselleth:

     Look neither too much up, nor down at all,
     But, forward stepping, strive no more to fall.

And the advice is excellent; but, as is again said:

     The preacher preacheth, and the hearer heareth,
     But comfort first each function requireth.

And 'wisdom to a hungry stomach is thin pottage,' saith the shrewd reader
of men. Little comfort was there with Shibli Bagarag, as he looked on the
city of Shagpat the clothier! He cried aloud that his evil chance had got
the better of him, and rolled his body in the sand, beating his breast,
and conjuring up images of the profusion of dainties and the abundance of
provision in Shiraz, exclaiming, 'Well-a-way and woe's me! this it is to
be selected for the diversion of him that plotteth against man.' Truly is
it written:

     On different heads misfortunes come:
        One bears them firm, another faints,
     While this one hangs them like a drum
        Whereon to batter loud complaints.

And of the three kinds, they who bang the drum outnumber the silent ones
as do the billows of the sea the ships that swim, or the grains of sand
the trees that grow; a noisy multitude.

Now, he was in the pits of despondency, even as one that yieldeth without
further struggle to the waves of tempest at midnight, when he was ware of
one standing over him,--a woman, old, wrinkled, a very crone, with but
room for the drawing of a thread between her nose and her chin; she was,
as is cited of them who betray the doings of Time,

     Wrinkled at the rind, and overripe at the core,

and every part of her nodded and shook like a tree sapped by the waters,
and her joints were sharp as the hind-legs of a grasshopper; she was
indeed one close-wrecked upon the rocks of Time.

Now, when the old woman had scanned Shibli Bagarag, she called to him, 'O
thou! what is it with thee, that thou rollest as one reft of his wits?'

He answered her, 'I bewail my condition, which is beggary, and the lack
of that which filleth with pleasantness.'

So the old woman said, 'Tell me thy case.'

He answered her, 'O old woman, surely it was written at my birth that I
should take ruin from the readers of planets. Now, they proclaimed that I
was one day destined for great things, if I stood by my tackle, I, a
barber. Know then, that I have had many offers and bribes, seductive
ones, from the rich and the exalted in rank; and I heeded them not,
mindful of what was foretold of me. I stood by my tackle as a warrior
standeth by his arms, flourishing them. Now, when I found great things
came not to me, and 'twas the continuance of sameness and satiety with
Baba Mustapha, my uncle, in Shiraz,--the tongue-wagger, the endless
tattler,--surely I was advised by the words of the poet to go forth in
search of what was wanting, and he says:

        "Thou that dreamest an Event,
     While Circumstance is but a waste of sand,
     Arise, take up thy fortunes in thy hand,
        And daily forward pitch thy tent."

Now, I passed from city to city, proclaiming my science, holding aloft my
tackle. Wullahy! many adventures were mine, and if there's some day
propitiousness in fortune, O old woman, I'll tell thee of what befell me
in the kingdom of Shah Shamshureen: 'tis wondrous, a matter to draw down
the lower jaw with amazement! Now, so it was, that in the eyes of one
city I was honoured and in request, by reason of my calling, and I fared
sumptuously, even as a great officer of state surrounded by slaves,
lounging upon clouds of silk stuffs, circled by attentive ears: in
another city there was no beast so base as I. Wah! I was one hunted of
men and an abomination; no housing for me, nought to operate upon. I was
the lean dog that lieth in wait for offal. It seemeth certain, O old
woman, that a curse hath fallen on barbercraft in these days, because of
the Identical, whose might I know not. Everywhere it is growing in
disrepute; 'tis languishing! Nevertheless till now I have preserved my
tackle, and I would descend on yonder city to exercise it, even for a
livelihood, forgetting awhile great things, but that I dread men may have
changed there also,--and there's no stability in them, I call Allah
(whose name be praised!) to witness; so should I be a thing unsightly,
subject to hateful castigation; wherefore is it that I am in that state
described by the poet, when,

     "Dreading retreat, dreading advance to make,
     Round we revolve, like to the wounded snake."

Is not my case now a piteous one, one that toucheth the tender corner in
man and woman?'

When she that listened had heard him to an end, she shook her garments,
crying, 'O youth, son of my uncle, be comforted! for, if it is as I
think, the readers of planets were right, and thou art thus early within
reach of great things--nigh grasping them.'

Then she fell to mumbling and reciting jigs of verse, quaint measures;
and she pored along the sand to where a line had been drawn, and saw that
the footprints of the youth were traced along it. Lo, at that sight she
clapped her hands joyfully, and ran up to the youth, and peered in his
face, exclaiming, 'Great things indeed! and praise thou the readers of
planets, O nephew of the barber, they that sent thee searching the Event
thou art to master. Wullahy! have I not half a mind to call thee already
Master of the Event?'

Then she abated somewhat in her liveliness, and said to him, 'Know that
the city thou seest is the city of Shagpat, the clothier, and there's no
one living on the face of earth, nor a soul that requireth thy craft more
than he. Go therefore thou, bold of heart, brisk, full of the
sprightliness of the barber, and enter to him. Lo, thou'lt see him
lolling in his shop-front to be admired of this people--marvelled at. Oh!
no mistaking of Shagpat, and the mole might discern Shagpat among myriads
of our kind; and enter thou to him gaily, as to perform a friendly
office, one meriting thanks and gratulations, saying, ''I will preserve
thee the Identical!'' Now he'll at first feign not to understand thee,
dense of wit that he is! but mince not matters with him, perform well thy
operation, and thou wilt come to great things. What say I? 'tis certain
that when thou hast shaved Shagpat thou wilt have achieved the greatest
of things, and be most noteworthy of thy race, thou, Shibli Bagarag, even
thou! and thou wilt be Master of the Event, so named in anecdotes and
histories and records, to all succeeding generations.'

At her words the breast of Shibli Bagarag took in a great wind, and he
hung his head a moment to ponder them; and he thought, 'There's
provokingness in the speech of this old woman, and she's one that
instigateth keenly. She called me by my name! Heard I that? 'Tis a
mystery!' And he thought, 'Peradventure she is a Genie, one of an ill
tribe, and she's luring me to my perdition in this city! How if that be
so?' And again he thought, 'It cannot be! She's probably the Genie that
presided over my birth, and promised me dower of great things through the
mouths of the readers of planets.'

Now, when Shibli Bagarag had so deliberated, he lifted his sight, and lo,
the old woman was no longer before him! He stared, and rubbed his eyes,
but she was clean gone. Then ran he to the knolls and eminences that were
scattered about, to command a view, but she was nowhere visible. So he
thought, ''Twas a dream!' and he was composing himself to despair upon
the scant herbage of one of those knolls, when as he chanced to gaze down
the city below, he saw there a commotion and a crowd of people flocking
one way; he thought, ''Twas surely no dream? come not Genii, and go they
not, in the fashion of that old woman? I'll even descend on yonder city,
and try my tackle on Shagpat, inquiring for him, and if he is there, I
shall know I have had to do with a potent spirit. Allah protect me!'

So, having shut together the clasps of resolve, he arose and made for the
gates of the city, and entered it by the principal entrance. It was a
fair city, the fairest and chief of that country; prosperous, powerful; a
mart for numerous commodities, handicrafts, wares; round it a wild
country and a waste of sand, ruled by the lion in his wrath, and in it
the tiger, the camelopard, the antelope, and other animals. Hither, in
caravans, came the people of Oolb and the people of Damascus, and the
people of Vatz, and they of Bagdad, and the Ringheez, great traders, and
others, trading; and there was constant flow of intercourse between them
and the city of Shagpat. Now as Shibli Bagarag paced up one of the
streets of the city, he beheld a multitude in procession following one
that was crowned after the manner of kings, with a glittering crown, clad
in the yellow girdled robes, and he sporting a fine profusion of hair,
unequalled by all around him, save by one that was a little behind,
shadowed by his presence. So Shibli Bagarag thought, 'Is one of this
twain Shagpat? for never till now have I seen such rare growths, and
'twere indeed a bliss to slip the blade between them and those masses of
darkness that hang from them.' Then he stepped before the King, and made
himself prominent in his path, humbling himself; and it was as he
anticipated, the King prevented his removal by the slaves that would have
dragged him away, and desired a hearing as to his business, and what
brought him to the city, a stranger.

Thereupon Shibli Bagarag prostrated himself and cried, 'O great King,
Sovereign of the Time! surely I am one to be looked on with the eye of
grace; and I am nephew to Baba Mustapha, renowned in Shiraz, a barber;--I
a barber, and it is my prayer, O King of the Age, that thou take me under
thy protection and the shield of thy fair will, while I perform good work
in this city by operating on the unshorn.'

When he had spoken, the King made a point of his eyebrows, and exclaimed,
'Shiraz? So they hold out against Shagpat yet, aha? Shiraz! that nest of
them! that reptile's nest!' Then he turned to his Vizier beside him, and
said, 'What shall be done with this fellow?'

So the Vizier replied, ''Twere well, O King, he be summoned to a sense of
the loathsomeness of his craft by the agency of fifty stripes.'

The King said, ''Tis commanded!'

Then he passed forward in his majesty, and Shibli Bagarag was ware of the
power of five slaves upon him, and he was hurried at a quick pace through
the streets and before the eyes of the people, even to the common
receptacle of felons, and there received from each slave severally ten
thwacks with a thong: 'tis certain that at every thwack the thong took an
airing before it descended upon him. Then loosed they him, to wander
whither he listed; and disgust was strong in him by reason of the
disgrace and the severity of the administration of the blows. He strayed
along the streets in wretchedness, and hunger increased on him, assailing
him first as a wolf in his vitals, then as it had been a chasm yawning
betwixt his trunk and his lower members. And he thought, 'I have been
long in chase of great things, and the hope of attaining them is great;
yet, wullahy! would I barter all for one refreshing meal, and the sense
of fulness. 'Tis so, and sad is it!' And he was mindful of the poet's
words,--

     Who seeks the shadow to the substance sinneth,
     And daily craving what is not, he thinneth:
        His lean ambition how shall he attain?
     For with this constant foolishness he doeth,
     He, waxing liker to what he pursueth,
        Himself becometh what he chased in vain!

And again:

     Of honour half my fellows boast,--
        A thing that scorns and kills us:
     Methinks that honours us the most
        Which nourishes and fills us.

So he thought he would of a surety fling far away his tackle, discard
barbercraft, and be as other men, a mortal, forgotten with his
generation. And he cried aloud, 'O thou old woman! thou deceiver! what
halt thou obtained for me by thy deceits? and why put I faith in thee to
the purchase of a thwacking? Woe's me! I would thou hadst been but a
dream, thou crone! thou guileful parcel of belabouring bones!'

Now, while he lounged and strolled, and was abusing the old woman, he
looked before him, and lo, one lolling in his shop-front, and people
standing outside the shop, marking him with admiration and reverence, and
pointing him out to each other with approving gestures. He who lolled
there was indeed a miracle of hairiness, black with hair as he had been
muzzled with it