Once a Week (magazine)/Series 1/Volume 3/How I got shaved in Exeter
HOW I GOT SHAVED IN EXETER.
Leaving my rural home, with my wife, to seek in change of air and scene the restoration to health which a long course of medical treatment in the country had failed to bestow, we came to Exeter, and took a lodging. The following morning we met with an old friend, who seeing me unmistakeably out of condition, said:
“My good fellow! what’s the matter with you?”
“Very shaky,” I replied. “Can’t see, have pins and needles in my legs, and numbness—I’ve no appetite.”
“Have you had a doctor?” rejoined my friend.
“Yes, several; they can make nothing of it.”
“My dear fellow, go to Dr. B, he’s a clever fellow! One of nine brothers! All clever fellows! Five of ’em doctors; four of ’em senior wranglers! He’ll tell you what’s the matter.”
I followed my friend’s advice, and went forthwith to Dr. B, who amongst other things most seriously warned me to avoid all that could unpleasantly affect the nerves; all sudden shocks, all excitement, all fatigue of mind or body, &c.
Now, I would just remark, that I had lately become less expert at shaving myself than I used to be. My hand had a habit of shaking; and occasionally a slip of the razor and a slight cut had made me start, so as to cause me a degree of trepidation at attacking my beard, which was as unpleasant as it was new to me.
My wife, taking advantage of the doctor’s orders to strengthen her own argument (often repeated, but never before heeded by me), comes to me the next morning, just as my shaving-water was brought to me, and began with—
“Now, Harry! What is the use of your persisting in shaving yourself, ill and nervous as you are? While there are hundreds of barbers in this great town; fifty I dare say in the next street! Now do, there’s a sensible man, dress quickly—never mind your beard—go and get shaved at the nearest barber’s, and depend on it you’ll find it quite a treat to be shaved;” adding, sotto voce, as I left the room, “since you will not grow a beard and moustache like everybody else.”
Fortified by these assurances, I resolved on adopting the plan so eloquently suggested by my wife; although the only occasion on which I had ever previously subjected myself to the manipulation of a barber had been many years since, in a small village in Bavaria, when the operator used his finger for a shaving-brush, and almost flayed me with what appeared very like a portion of an old iron hoop! Thus, it may be supposed, I retained no particularly agreeable recollections of the operation to which I was now about to subject myself.
Reassuring myself, however, by the reflection that in these modern times, in the metropolis of the west, I need entertain no apprehension of undergoing an excoriation similar to that I had suffered at the hands of the Bavarian barber, I sallied forth into the High Street, anticipating rather pleasantly than otherwise what was about to follow, and with as resolute a heart as Sir Galahad in quest of the Sangreal.
Every one who knows Exeter will remember that the High Street forms the upper portion of the main street of the city, the lower part of which is called Fore Street, and terminates in a steep declivity leading towards the railway station; the whole forming a street of considerable length; the best part of a mile, I should say.
At the upper end of this street I commenced my peregrination.
I must here state, that one symptom of the complaint from which I was suffering was a great dimness of sight, making it difficult for me to distinguish the articles in the shop windows, or read the names of the owners of the shops; this, it will be obvious, formed one great difficulty in my quest.
But I consoled myself by remembering that so peculiar and striking an object as a barber’s pole, which I believed was the universal symbol of the craft, could scarcely escape even my purblind observation.
On, therefore, I went; down the High Street, filled with beautiful shops, looking narrowly at each successive window and door for the object of my anxious search; and scanning, to the best of my ability, the opposite as well as the near side of the way.
I traversed thus the whole length of High Street, and Fore Street, till I found myself at the top of the declivity near the railway station, without success. This puzzled me, for I had fully accepted the assurance of my wife, that I should find “hundreds of barbers” in Exeter.
Of course, I could only attribute my failure to my unfortunate dimness of sight; so perceiving a policeman approaching, it occurred to me to request that he would direct me to some respectable practitioner in the easy shaving line. The circumstance of this policeman having a very flourishing beard and immense whiskers, not to say moustache, entirely escaped me until I had committed myself by accosting him with—
“Policeman, have you got such a thing as a shaving shop in your neighbourhood?”
The manner of his reply seemed to indicate that he thought I was casting a reflection upon his own personal hirsute appendages.
He answered me somewhat shortly, advising me to go to South Street if I wanted shaving. This locality was entirely unknown to me; the policeman’s information, therefore, gave me but little assistance. I then resolved upon crossing the way, and retracing my steps on the opposite side, assuring myself that my search would soon be rewarded; and thus I proceeded for a considerable distance; still no barber’s pole, with its many-coloured stripes, presented itself. At last, just as I was beginning to despond, I arrived at a spot where a cab was drawn up by the pavement, and the driver stood holding his horse—(he was a good-natured looking man with a large pair of grey whiskers, and a very seedy coat)—to him I addressed myself, inquiring if he knew of any place in the neighbourhood where I could get shaved?
The driver evinced the most intense anxiety to give me the required information. His first movement was to gaze with much earnestness in the direction of High Street; but a moment’s reflection appearing to convince him of the inutility of searching in that direction, he turned sharply round towards the Fore Street, and peered with similar earnestness in that quarter. This being equally unsuccessful, he threw his eyes upwards, seeing apparently the barber’s pole amongst the constellations, and from thence fastened his eyes with great solicitude upon the pavement at his feet, remaining for some seconds in silent meditation, with the air of one who, in the attempt to measure the distance between heaven and earth, was at that moment engaged in the calculation of the problem. Finding this invocation to heaven and earth fruitless, he relieved himself from his perplexity by suddenly catching a very small boy who was passing, demanding of him if he knew where a gentleman could get shaved? The small boy, whose smooth face showed that shaving was not as yet at all in his line, replied in the negative, of course.
“Well, sir,” then said the cabman, “if you was to go down into South Street, you might find a barber there.”
Just then a bright thought seemed to flash upon him; for, pointing to the shop of one of the celebrated perfumers and hairdressers of the town which stood nearly opposite to us, he suggested that possibly I could get shaved there. I observed that no barber’s pole appeared to indicate this as a part of their calling. This remark appeared to stagger my cabman, but, after some reflection, he insisted that notwithstanding the want of a pole, he made no doubt I should find there razor and soap-suds at my service. With many misgivings I again crossed the street, and drew near to the splendid shop indicated by the cabman. Independently of the magnificently attired waxen figure which graced the window, with a coiffure of pearls and ringlets of silken texture and raven hue, surrounded by splendid glass-cases filled with perfumery and brushes, &c., I perceived, seated in the shop, an elegantly attired living lady! None of all this indicated the presence of the object of which I was in search, and only added to my trepidation. I made bold to open the glass-door and to enter the shop where the lady was seated; and I modestly inquired of her whether I could get shaved at her establishment?
I thought—but to my suspicious mind the thought might have been merely the suggestion of my nervous fancy—that her reply to my inquiry savoured somewhat of surprise:
“Shaved, sir?” But recovering herself she continued, in a confident tone, “Oh, certainly, sir; please to walk on through the next door,” indicating the direction with her finger.
Onward, therefore, I marched; much gratified that I had at length, after all my weary wanderings, reached the goal of my desires! Passing through several rooms, I arrived at a splendidly furnished apartment fitted up with mirrors; a large fire glowed in the grate; sofas, cushions, consoles, perfumes, surrounded me—in fact, every token of luxury and voluptuousness!
The apartment was vacant; but in a few moments another door was opened and a very smart gentleman entered. To him I made known my wish to be shaved.
With great politeness he placed a seat for me, and at once commenced getting together the necessary articles by means of which he proposed to perform the required operation.
Now, let me here remark that all this jarred excessively upon my preconceived notions of a barber’s shop. First, there was the want of a pole outside; next, there was the elegant female inside; then the various rooms and passages I had traversed, introducing me somewhat mysteriously to this Arabian Nights style of saloon! Lastly, the gentleman himself, attired in a costume infinitely more elegant than my own, without even the semblance of an apron!
Now, an apron had invariably been associated with my idea of a barber.
A most faultless moustache, exquisite whiskers, and beard of the first fashion, adorned this Adonis, and the rings which sparkled on his fingers suggested the possible bells which may have tinkled on his toes. Look whichever way I might, the repetition of his figure in the many mirrors by which I was surrounded gave the impression that I sat amidst a host of fashionable barbers, or elegant Adonises, each of them flourishing and sharpening the brightest of all conceivably bright razors. My shattered nerves certainly gained no tone by this display, and I heartily wished I had turned a deaf ear to my wife’s suggestion. Regrets, however, came too late! I was in for it now, and shaved I must be, at whatever cost!
Novice as I was, I ventured to inquire whether I should take my coat off.
This matter the operator assured me was one of “entire indifference” to him,
I suggested the displacement of my neckerchief and shirt-collar. To this he assented, after a little consideration; and I accordingly divested myself of these articles; thinking also that it must be most convenient to the Adonis, in spite of his professed indifference on the subject, I laid aside my coat also, and seated myself. I felt like a victim prepared for the sacrifice; or a wretch upon whom the dentist is about to exercise his professional skill, and my nervousness increased to an extreme degree. At this moment Adonis approached me, shaving brush in hand, and in a few seconds smothered my face in a white mixture, rendering it impossible for me to speak. This done, he planted himself opposite me in a fantastic attitude, surveying, as it seemed, his recent handiwork, and considering on what portion of the surface he should commence his next attack. He now seized the razor; and I could not avoid perceiving that the weapon was a perfectly new one, and had never before been used. I mention this because it created in my mind at the moment a slight suspicion of a terrific fact of which I was about to become the unhappy hearer.
He stood before me—legs apart, razor in hand—thrusting his arms to their full extent through the sleeves of his coat, in the attitude and with the gesture of a man who having to perform some deed requiring the exercise of great personal strength, wishes to ascertain beforehand that his powers are not to be impeded by the pressure of his garments! I thought—but further reflections were cut short by a powerful grasp on the top of my head, and a vigorous and awful sweep or scrape of the razor in a direction directly contrary to that in which I had been accustomed to operate upon my own face. The torture of this almost threw me into a state of coma!
He paused, and smiled, evidently much pleased at the success of his first move; and then, to heighten the value of the service he had just rendered me, he favoured me with the intelligence that it was really so long since he had handled a razor, he was quite out of practice.
Had one of the Sebastopol cannons presented to the city been fired off under my ear at that moment, I doubt whether I should have received a greater shock.
My first impulse was to leap up and rush away; but the lather, the want of shirt collar, and, added to these, the frightful quivering in my back, all put a negative on such a move. My only alternative was entire submission to the martyrdom I had to undergo, and I resigned myself. A second scrape in the same unusual direction assured me that the operator was again at his work; and, with closed eyes, I felt the razor tearing and travelling about in every direction but what appeared to me to be the right one.
Part the first—namely, the upper part of the face—being now finished, part the second was prepared by the brush and lather. In this interval the operator thought fit to favour me with a little conversation, and while stropping up the razor in front of me inquired,—
“Have you heard, sir, of the gentleman who had his throat cut here this morning!”
This put the finishing stroke to my already perturbed and excited fancy; and starting up from my chair, I shouted, “What! Here? In this very room? In this very chair?” half wild at the idea that I was occupying the place of the poor victim—barber-ously murdered through the incapacity, most probably, of the very man who who was now so coolly, nay, even so cheerfully, relating the circumstance as one of no uncommon occurrence!
What was there to protect me from a similar fate?
My Adonis, bursting into a fit of laughter, which, however, he took some pains to control, assured me that he had not meant “here” as indicating that room, but the city of Exeter. I subsided into the chair. My only other recollection of the ceremony, previous to its conclusion, is a request that I would keep my lips apart, lest my lower lip should be cut off! With this I complied, deeming the admission into my mouth of a tablespoonful or so of soapsuds a slight grievance in comparison of the threatened alternative. Words cannot express the relief I felt when a final wipe of the razor, accompanied with the welcome, welcome words, “That will do, sir,” satisfied me that the ordeal was concluded. After a comfortable ablution I inquired what I had to pay, when I was informed that a small and most reasonable charge would be received by the elegant lady as I passed through the outer shop.
Before separating, which we did with mutual goodwill and courtesy (he, doubtless, respecting me for the equanimity with which I had undergone his fearful and unwonted practice, and I grateful to him for having spared my life and taken only my beard), I learnt from my operator the following facts: that it was months since he had shaved any one; and that during his late apprenticeship of three years in London, in one of the most frequented hairdressers’ shops at the West End, he had only shaved four persons. He terminated this information with the following sage advice, to which I call the attention of my male readers: “If you want easy shaving, pick out the lowest barber’s shop you can find,—one, if possible, where they will shave you for one penny.”
Walking home with clean face and lightened heart, I met my wife, who, alarmed at my long absence, had come out in search of me. My first words were, “I’ll be my own barber henceforth;” and as we walked home together, I totally undeceived her as to her mistaken idea of the multiplicity of shaving-shops in Exeter, and gave her a good laugh over my adventures, in which I invite my readers to join.