Table Of Content
But Phœbe, in order to keep the universe in its oldplace, was fain to smother, in some degree, her own intuitions as to JudgePyncheon’s character. And as for her cousin’s testimony indisparagement of it, she concluded that Hepzibah’s judgment wasembittered by one of those family feuds which render hatred the more deadly bythe dead and corrupted love that they intermingle with its native poison. The vibrations of the Judge’s voice had reached theold gentlewoman in the parlor, where she sat, with face averted, waiting on herbrother’s slumber. She now issued forth, as would appear, to defend theentrance, looking, we must needs say, amazingly like the dragon which, in fairytales, is wont to be the guardian over an enchanted beauty. The habitual scowlof her brow was undeniably too fierce, at this moment, to pass itself off onthe innocent score of near-sightedness; and it was bent on Judge Pyncheon in away that seemed to confound, if not alarm him, so inadequately had he estimatedthe moral force of a deeply grounded antipathy.
IV: A Day Behind the Counter
It pleased him more, and was better for his inward welfare, that Phœbe shouldtalk, and make passing occurrences vivid to his mind by her accompanyingdescription and remarks. The life of the garden offered topics enough for suchdiscourse as suited Clifford best. His feeling for flowers was very exquisite, and seemednot so much a taste as an emotion; he was fond of sitting with one in his hand,intently observing it, and looking from its petals into Phœbe’s face, asif the garden flower were the sister of the household maiden.
What Do I Read Next?
A deeper philosopher thanPhœbe might have found something very terrible in this idea. It implied thatthe weaknesses and defects, the bad passions, the mean tendencies, and themoral diseases which lead to crime are handed down from one generation toanother, by a far surer process of transmission than human law has been able toestablish in respect to the riches and honors which it seeks to entail uponposterity. But the several moods of feeling, faintly as they were marked, through which hehad passed, occurring in so brief an interval of time, had evidently weariedthe stranger. If aught ofinterest or beauty—even ruined beauty—had heretofore been visiblein this man, the beholder might now begin to doubt it, and to accuse his ownimagination of deluding him with whatever grace had flickered over that visage,and whatever exquisite lustre had gleamed in those filmy eyes.
Other Books Related to The House of the Seven Gables
Possibly, the Judge was aware how little true hardihood lay behindHepzibah’s formidable front. It may have been his purpose, indeed, to melt poorHepzibah on the spot, as if she were a figure of yellow wax. Then, all at once, it struck Phœbe that this very Judge Pyncheon was theoriginal of the miniature which the daguerreotypist had shown her in thegarden, and that the hard, stern, relentless look, now on his face, was thesame that the sun had so inflexibly persisted in bringing out. Was it,therefore, no momentary mood, but, however skilfully concealed, the settledtemper of his life? And not merely so, but was it hereditary in him, andtransmitted down, as a precious heirloom, from that bearded ancestor, in whosepicture both the expression and, to a singular degree, the features of themodern Judge were shown as by a kind of prophecy?
X: The Pyncheon-Garden
The one heretofore hisfavorite stumbled, this very morning, on the road to town, and must be at oncediscarded. Judge Pyncheon’s neck is too precious to be risked on such acontingency as a stumbling steed. Should all the above business be seasonablygot through with, he might attend the meeting of a charitable society; the veryname of which, however, in the multiplicity of his benevolence, is quiteforgotten; so that this engagement may pass unfulfilled, and no great harmdone. And if he have time, amid the press of more urgent matters, he must takemeasures for the renewal of Mrs. Pyncheon’s tombstone, which, the sextontells him, has fallen on its marble face, and is cracked quite in twain. Shewas a praiseworthy woman enough, thinks the Judge, in spite of her nervousness,and the tears that she was so oozy with, and her foolish behavior about thecoffee; and as she took her departure so seasonably, he will not grudge thesecond tombstone.
Brief Biography of Nathaniel Hawthorne
In its centre was agrass-plat, surrounding a ruinous little structure, which showed just enough ofits original design to indicate that it had once been a summer-house. Ahop-vine, springing from last year’s root, was beginning to clamber overit, but would be long in covering the roof with its green mantle. Three of theseven gables either fronted or looked sideways, with a dark solemnity ofaspect, down into the garden.
She wondered how it came to pass,that her life of a few weeks, here in this heavy-hearted old mansion, had takensuch hold of her, and so melted into her associations, as now to seem a moreimportant centre-point of remembrance than all which had gone before. How hadHepzibah—grim, silent, and irresponsive to her overflow of cordialsentiment—contrived to win so much love? And Clifford,—in hisabortive decay, with the mystery of fearful crime upon him, and the closeprison-atmosphere yet lurking in his breath,—how had he transformedhimself into the simplest child, whom Phœbe felt bound to watch over, and be,as it were, the providence of his unconsidered hours! Everything, at thatinstant of farewell, stood out prominently to her view. Look where she would,lay her hand on what she might, the object responded to her consciousness, asif a moist human heart were in it. A portrait of this young lady,painted by a Venetian artist, and left by her father in England, is said tohave fallen into the hands of the present Duke of Devonshire, and to be nowpreserved at Chatsworth; not on account of any associations with the original,but for its value as a picture, and the high character of beauty in thecountenance.
Alice’s Posies
The image of awful Death, which filled the house, held them united byhis stiffened grasp. The artist looked paler than ordinary; there was a thoughtful and severecontraction of his forehead, tracing a deep, vertical line between theeyebrows. His smile, however, was full of genuine warmth, and had in it a joy,by far the most vivid expression that Phœbe had ever witnessed, shining out ofthe New England reserve with which Holgrave habitually masked whatever lay nearhis heart. It was the look wherewith a man, brooding alone over some fearfulobject, in a dreary forest or illimitable desert, would recognize the familiaraspect of his dearest friend, bringing up all the peaceful ideas that belong tohome, and the gentle current of every-day affairs. And yet, as he felt thenecessity of responding to her look of inquiry, the smile disappeared.
Old homes in the Hudson Valley - Times Union
Old homes in the Hudson Valley.
Posted: Fri, 23 Jun 2023 07:00:00 GMT [source]
Clifford’s Chamber
Hepzibah discovers that Holgrave is making these noises, and evicts him from the house despite the protests of Phoebe (who is in love with him). A worried Hepzibah then searches Holgrave's room and discovers he is really Matthew Maule. She warns Clifford, who admits that he has known all along who Holgrave is and that Holgrave is part of his plan to clear his name. Although she lacks the aristocratic upbringing of her cousins Hepzibah and Clifford, Phoebe Pyncheon is a young, vibrant, and beautiful young woman who brings a note of cheer to the gloomy Pyncheon house. The only person capable of consoling Clifford, Phoebe’s presence brightens the whole mansion. He tells her that he has been collecting information in order to a publish a story on the Pyncheon family history, and details to her the story of Alice Pyncheon.
The gloomy and desolate old house,deserted of life, and with awful Death sitting sternly in its solitude, was theemblem of many a human heart, which, nevertheless, is compelled to hear thethrill and echo of the world’s gayety around it. And is there no potent and exhilarating cordial in a certainty like this? Now, when thereneeds little more than to signify your acceptance, why do you sit so lumpishlyin your great-great-grandfather’s oaken chair, as if preferring it to thegubernatorial one? We have all heard of King Log; but, in these jostling times,one of that royal kindred will hardly win the race for an electivechief-magistracy. Clifford’s countenance glowed, as he divulged this theory; a youthfulcharacter shone out from within, converting the wrinkles and pallid duskinessof age into an almost transparent mask. The merry girls let their ball dropupon the floor, and gazed at him.
At about this time, Hepzibah's brother Clifford arrives to make his home there. Phoebe then takes over, and Clifford seems to respond to the young girl's care. The old mansion reverts to its gloom, however, when Phoebe ends her visit and returns to her farm home. No sooner had the cruel and grasping Colonel Pyncheon completed his beautiful and imposing House of the Seven Gables than he died of a strange death on the very day the townspeople had been invited to its opening. Hitherto, the lifeblood has been gradually chilling in your veins, as you sat aloof, within your circle of gentility, while the rest of the world was fighting out its battle with one kind o necessity or another. Henceforth, you will at least have the sense of healthy and natural effort for a purpose.
This oldreprobate was one of the sufferers when Cotton Mather, and his brotherministers, and the learned judges, and other wise men, and Sir William Phipps,the sagacious governor, made such laudable efforts to weaken the great enemy ofsouls, by sending a multitude of his adherents up the rocky pathway of GallowsHill. Since those days, no doubt, it had grown to be suspected that, inconsequence of an unfortunate overdoing of a work praiseworthy in itself, theproceedings against the witches had proved far less acceptable to theBeneficent Father than to that very Arch Enemy whom they were intended todistress and utterly overwhelm. It is not the less certain, however, that aweand terror brooded over the memories of those who died for this horrible crimeof witchcraft. This pestilentwizard (in whom his just punishment seemed to have wrought no manner ofamendment) had an inveterate habit of haunting a certain mansion, styled theHouse of the Seven Gables, against the owner of which he pretended to hold anunsettled claim for ground-rent. The ghost, it appears,—with thepertinacity which was one of his distinguishing characteristics whilealive,—insisted that he was the rightful proprietor of the site uponwhich the house stood.
There being no answer to several repetitions of the summons, Ned began to growimpatient; and his little pot of passion quickly boiling over, he picked up astone, with a naughty purpose to fling it through the window; at the same timeblubbering and sputtering with wrath. A man—one of two who happened to bepassing by—caught the urchin’s arm. Mrs. Gubbins took her departure, still brimming over with hot wrath against theabsent Hepzibah. For another half-hour, or, perhaps, considerably more, therewas almost as much quiet on the outside of the house as within. After hours like these latter ones, throughwhich we have borne our heavy tale, it is good to be made sensible that thereis a living world, and that even this old, lonely mansion retains some mannerof connection with it.
Clifford is not suspected in the Judge’s death, and it is rumored that the Judge himself framed Clifford for the crime for which he served thirty years in prison. News arrives that the Judge’s estranged son has died in Europe, so the Judge’s inheritance goes to Clifford. Clifford, Hepzibah, Phoebe, Holgrave, and Uncle Venner all move to the Judge’s country estate, leaving the house of the seven gables to continue rotting away.
He sometimes told Phœbe and Hepzibahhis dreams, in which he invariably played the part of a child, or a very youngman. It would have causedan acute agony to thrill from the morning twilight, all the day through, untilbedtime; and even then would have mingled a dull, inscrutable pain and pallidhue of misfortune with the visionary bloom and adolescence of his slumber. Butthe nightly moonshine interwove itself with the morning mist, and enveloped himas in a robe, which he hugged about his person, and seldom let realities piercethrough; he was not often quite awake, but slept open-eyed, and perhaps fanciedhimself most dreaming then. If once he were fairly seated at the window, even Pyncheon Street would hardlybe so dull and lonely but that, somewhere or other along its extent, Cliffordmight discover matter to occupy his eye, and titillate, if not engross, hisobservation. Things familiar to the youngest child that had begun its outlookat existence seemed strange to him.
