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diff --git a/9214-h/9214-h.htm b/9214-h/9214-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..faed437 --- /dev/null +++ b/9214-h/9214-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,903 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg E-text of The White Old Maid, by Nathaniel Hawthorne + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The White Old Maid (From "Twice Told Tales"), by +Nathaniel Hawthorne + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The White Old Maid (From "Twice Told Tales") + +Author: Nathaniel Hawthorne + +Release Date: November, 2005 [EBook #9214] +First Posted: August 23, 2003 +Last Updated: December 14, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WHITE OLD MAID *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger and Al Haines. + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h3> + TWICE TOLD TALES<br /> + </h3> + <h2> + </h2> + <h3> + By Nathaniel Hawthorne<br /> + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + The moonbeams came through two deep and narrow windows, and showed a + spacious chamber, richly furnished in an antique fashion. From one + lattice, the shadow of the diamond panes was thrown upon the floor; the + ghostly light, through the other, slept upon a bed, falling between the + heavy silken curtains, and illuminating the face of a young man. But, how + quietly the slumberer lay! how pale his features! and how like a shroud + the sheet was wound about his frame! Yes; it was a corpse, in its + burial-clothes. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly, the fixed features seemed to move, with dark emotion. Strange + fantasy! It was but the shadow of the fringed curtain, waving betwixt the + dead face and the moonlight, as the door of the chamber opened, and a girl + stole softly to the bedside. Was there delusion in the moonbeams, or did + her gesture and her eye betray a gleam of triumph, as she bent over the + pale corpse-pale as itself—and pressed her living lips to the cold + ones of the dead? As she drew back from that long kiss, her features + writhed, as if a proud heart were fighting with its anguish. Again it + seemed that the features of the corpse had moved responsive to her own. + Still an illusion! The silken curtain had waved, a second time, betwixt + the dead face and the moonlight, as another fair young girl unclosed the + door, and glided, ghost-like, to the bedside. There the two maidens stood, + both beautiful, with the pale beauty of the dead between them. But she, + who had first entered, was proud and stately; and the other, a soft and + fragile thing. + </p> + <p> + “Away!” cried the lofty one. “Thou hadst him living! The dead is mine!” + </p> + <p> + “Thine!” returned the other, shuddering. “Well hast thou spoken! The dead + is thine!” + </p> + <p> + The proud girl started, and stared into her face, with a ghastly look. But + a wild and mournful expression passed across the features of the gentle + one; and, weak and helpless, she sank down on the bed, her head pillowed + beside that of the corpse, and her hair mingling with his dark locks. A + creature of hope and joy, the first draught of sorrow had bewildered her. + </p> + <p> + “Edith!” cried her rival. + </p> + <p> + Edith groaned, as with a sudden compression of the heart; and removing her + cheek from the dead youth’s pillow, she stood upright, fearfully + encountering the eyes of the lofty girl. + </p> + <p> + “Wilt thou betray me?” said the latter, calmly. + </p> + <p> + “Till the dead bid me speak, I will be silent,” answered Edith. “Leave us + alone together! Go, and live many years, and then return, and tell me of + thy life. He, too, will be here! Then, if thou tellest of sufferings more + than death, we will both forgive thee.” + </p> + <p> + “And what shall be the token?” asked the proud girl, as if her heart + acknowledged a meaning in these wild words. + </p> + <p> + “This lock of hair,” said Edith, lifting one of the dark, clustering + curls, that lay heavily on the dead man’s brow. + </p> + <p> + The two maidens joined their hands over the bosom of the corpse, and + appointed a day and hour, far, far in time to come, for their next meeting + in that chamber. The statelier girl gave one deep look at the motionless + countenance, and departed,—yet turned again and trembled, ere she + closed the door, almost believing that her dead lover frowned upon her. + And Edith, too! Was not her white form fading into the moonlight? Scorning + her own weakness, she went forth, and perceived that a negro slave was + waiting in the passage, with a wax light, which he held between her face + and his own, and regarded her, as she thought, with an ugly expression of + merriment. Lifting his torch on high, the slave lighted her down the + staircase, and undid the portal of the mansion. The young clergyman of the + town had just ascended the steps, and bowing to the lady, passed in + without a word. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Years, many years rolled on; the world seemed new again, so much older was + it grown, since the night when those pale girls had clasped their hands + across the bosom of the corpse. In the interval, a lonely woman had passed + from youth to extreme age, and was known by all the town, as the “Old Maid + in the Winding-Sheet.” A taint of insanity had affected her whole life, + but so quiet, sad, and gentle, so utterly free from violence, that she was + suffered to pursue her harmless fantasies, unmolested by the world, with + whose business or pleasures she had naught to do. She dwelt alone, and + never came into the daylight, except to follow funerals. Whenever a corpse + was borne along the street, in sunshine, rain, or snow, whether a pompous + train, of the rich and proud, thronged after it, or few and humble were + the mourners, behind them came the lonely woman, in a long, white garment, + which the people called her shroud. She took no place among the kindred or + the friends, but stood at the door to hear the funeral prayer, and walked + in the rear of the procession, as one whose earthly charge it was to haunt + the house of mourning, and be the shadow of affliction, and see that the + dead were duly buried. So long had this been her custom, that the + inhabitants of the town deemed her a part of every funeral, as much as the + coffin pall, or the very corpse itself, and augured ill of the sinner’s + destiny, unless the “Old Maid in the Winding-Sheet” came gliding, like a + ghost, behind. Once, it is said, she affrighted a bridal party, with her + pale presence, appearing suddenly in the illuminated hall, just as the + priest was uniting a false maid to a wealthy man, before her lover had + been dead a year. Evil was the omen to that marriage! Sometimes she stole + forth by moonlight, and visited the graves of venerable Integrity, and + wedded Love, and virgin Innocence, and every spot where the ashes of a + kind and faithful heart were mouldering. Over the hillocks of those + favored dead would she stretch out her arms, with a gesture, as if she + were scattering seeds; and many believed that she brought them from the + garden of Paradise; for the graves, which she had visited, were green + beneath the snow, and covered with sweet flowers from April to November. + Her blessing was better than a holy verse upon the tombstone. Thus wore + away her long, sad, peaceful, and fantastic life, till few were so old as + she, and the people of later generations wondered how the dead had ever + been buried, or mourners had endured their grief, without the “Old Maid in + the Winding Sheet.” + </p> + <p> + Still, years went on, and still she followed funerals, and was not yet + summoned to her own festival of death. One afternoon, the great street of + the town was all alive with business and bustle, though the sun now gilded + only the upper half of the church-spire, having left the housetops and + loftiest trees in shadow. The scene was cheerful and animated, in spite of + the sombre shade between the high brick buildings. Here were pompous + merchants, in white wigs and laced velvet; the bronzed faces of + sea-captains; the foreign garb and air of Spanish creoles; and the + disdainful port of natives of Old England; all contrasted with the rough + aspect of one or two hack settlers, negotiating sales of timber, from + forests where axe had never sounded. Sometimes a lady passed, swelling + roundly forth in an embroidered petticoat, balancing her steps in + high-heeled shoes, and courtesying, with lofty grace, to the punctilious + obeisances of the gentlemen. The life of the town seemed to have its very + centre not far from an old mansion, that stood somewhat back from the + pavement, surrounded by neglected grass, with a strange air of loneliness, + rather deepened than dispelled by the throng so near it. Its site would + have been suitably occupied by a magnificent Exchange, or a brick block, + lettered all over with various signs; or the large house itself might have + made a noble tavern, with the “King’s Arms” swinging before it, and guests + in every chamber, instead of the present solitude. But, owing to some + dispute about the right of inheritance, the mansion had been long without + a tenant, decaying from year to year, and throwing the stately gloom of + its shadow over the busiest part of the town. Such was the scene, and such + the time, when a figure, unlike any that have been described, was observed + at a distance down the street. + </p> + <p> + “I espy a strange sail, yonder,” remarked a Liverpool captain; “that woman + in the long, white garment!” + </p> + <p> + The sailor seemed much struck by the object, as were several others, who, + at the same moment, caught a glimpse of the figure that had attracted his + notice. Almost immediately, the various topics of conversation gave place + to speculations, in an undertone, on this unwonted occurrence. + </p> + <p> + “Can there be a funeral, so late this afternoon?” inquired some. + </p> + <p> + They looked for the signs of death at every door,—the sexton, the + hearse, the assemblage of black-clad relatives,—all that makes up + the woeful pomp of funerals. They raised their eyes, also, to the sun-gilt + spire of the church, and wondered that no clang proceeded from its bell, + which had always tolled till now, when this figure appeared in the light + of day. But none had heard that a corpse was to be borne to its home that + afternoon, nor was there any token of a funeral, except the apparition of + the “Old Maid in the Winding-Sheet.” + </p> + <p> + “What may this portend?” asked each man of his neighbor. + </p> + <p> + All smiled as they put the question, yet with a certain trouble in their + eyes, as if pestilence, or some other wide calamity, were prognosticated + by the untimely intrusion among the living, of one whose presence had + always been associated with death and woe. What a comet is to the earth, + was that sad woman to the town. Still she moved on, while the hum of + surprise was hushed at her approach, and the proud and the humble stood + aside, that her white garment might not wave against them. It was a long, + loose robe, of spotless purity. Its wearer appeared very old, pale, + emaciated, and feeble, yet glided onward, without the unsteady pace of + extreme age. At one point of her course, a littly rosy boy burst forth + from a door, and ran, with open arms, towards the ghostly woman, seeming + to expect a kiss from her bloodless lips. She made a slight pause, fixing + her eye upon him with an expression of no earthly sweetness, so that the + child shivered and stood awe-struck, rather than affrighted, while the Old + Maid passed on. Perhaps her garment might have been polluted even by an + infant’s touch; perhaps her kiss would have been death to the sweet boy, + within a year. + </p> + <p> + “She is but a shadow,” whispered the superstitious. “The child put forth + his arms and could not grasp her robe!” + </p> + <p> + The wonder was increased, when the Old Maid passed beneath the porch of + the deserted mansion, ascended the moss-covered steps, lifted the iron + knocker, and gave three raps. The people could only conjecture, that some + old remembrance, troubling her bewildered brain, had impelled the poor + woman hither to visit the friends of her youth; all gone from their home, + long since and forever, unless their ghosts still haunted it,—fit + company for the “Old Maid in the Winding-Sheet.” An elderly man approached + the steps, and reverently uncovering his gray locks, essayed to explain + the matter. + </p> + <p> + “None, Madam,” said he, “have dwelt in this house these fifteen years + agone,—no, not since the death of old Colonel Fenwicke, whose + funeral you may remember to have followed. His heirs being ill-agreed + among themselves, have let the mansion-house go to ruin.” + </p> + <p> + The Old Maid looked slowly round, with a slight gesture of one hand, and a + finger of the other upon her lip, appearing more shadow-like than ever, in + the obscurity of the porch. But again she lifted the hammer, and gave, + this time, a single rap. Could it be that a footstep was now heard, coming + down the staircase of the old mansion, which all conceived to have been so + long untenanted? Slowly, feebly, yet heavily, like the pace of an aged and + infirm person, the step approached, more distinct on every downward stair, + till it reached the portal. The bar fell on the inside; the door was + opened. One upward glance, towards the church-spire, whence the sunshine + had just faded, was the last that the people saw of the “Old Maid in the + Winding-Sheet.” + </p> + <p> + “Who undid the door?” asked many. + </p> + <p> + This question, owing to the depth of shadow beneath the porch, no one + could satisfactorily answer. Two or three aged men, while protesting + against an inference, which might be drawn, affirmed that the person + within was a negro, and bore a singular resemblance to old Caesar, + formerly a slave in the house, but freed by death some thirty years + before. + </p> + <p> + “Her summons has waked up a servant of the old family,” said one, half + seriously. + </p> + <p> + “Let us wait here,” replied another. “More guests will knock at the door, + anon. But the gate of the graveyard should be thrown open!” + </p> + <p> + Twilight had overspread the town, before the crowd began to separate, or + the comments on this incident were exhausted. One after another was + wending his way homeward, when a coach—no common spectacle in those + days—drove slowly into the street. It was an old-fashioned equipage, + hanging close to the ground, with arms on the panels, a footman behind, + and a grave, corpulent coachman seated high in front,—the whole + giving an idea of solemn state and dignity. There was something awful, in + the heavy rumbling of the wheels. The coach rolled down the street, till, + coming to the gateway of the deserted mansion, it drew up, and the footman + sprang to the ground. + </p> + <p> + “Whose grand coach is this?” asked a very inquisitive body. + </p> + <p> + The footman made no reply, but ascended the steps of the old house, gave + three raps with the iron hammer, and returned to open the coach-door. An + old man possessed of the heraldic lore so common in that day examined the + shield of arms on the panel. + </p> + <p> + “Azure, a lion’s head erased, between three flower-deluces,” said he; then + whispered the name of the family to whom these bearings belonged. The last + inheritor of its honors was recently dead, after a long residence amid the + splendor of the British court, where his birth and wealth had given him no + mean station. “He left no child,” continued the herald, “and these arms, + being in a lozenge, betoken that the coach appertains to his widow.” + </p> + <p> + Further disclosures, perhaps, might have been made, had not the speaker + suddenly been struck dumb, by the stern eye of an ancient lady, who thrust + forth her head from the coach, preparing to descend. As she emerged, the + people saw that her dress was magnificent, and her figure dignified, in + spite of age and infirmity,—a stately ruin, but with a look, at + once, of pride and wretchedness. Her strong and rigid features had an awe + about them, unlike that of the white Old Maid, but as of something evil. + She passed up the steps, leaning on a gold-headed cane; the door swung + open, as she ascended,—and the light of a torch glittered on the + embroidery of her dress, and gleamed on the pillars of the porch. After a + momentary pause—a glance backwards—and then a desperate effort—she + went in. The decipherer of the coat of arms had ventured up the lowest + step, and shrinking back immediately, pale and tremulous, affirmed that + the torch was held by the very image of old Caesar. + </p> + <p> + “But, such a hideous grin,” added he, “was never seen on the face of + mortal man, black or white! It will haunt me till my dying day.” + </p> + <p> + Meantime, the coach had wheeled round, with a prodigious clatter on the + pavement, and rumbled up the street, disappearing in the twilight, while + the ear still tracked its course. Scarcely was it gone, when the people + began to question whether the coach and attendants, the ancient lady, the + spectre of old Caesar, and the Old Maid herself, were not all a strangely + combined delusion, with some dark purport in its mystery. The whole town + was astir, so that, instead of dispersing, the crowd continually + increased, and stood gazing up at the windows of the mansion, now silvered + by the brightening moon. The elders, glad to indulge the narrative + propensity of age, told of the long-faded splendor of the family, the + entertainments they had given, and the guests, the greatest of the land, + and even titled and noble ones from abroad, who had passed beneath that + portal. These graphic reminiscences seemed to call up the ghosts of those + to whom they referred. So strong was the impression, on some of the more + imaginative hearers, that two or three were seized with trembling fits, at + one and the same moment, protesting that they had distinctly heard three + other raps of the iron knocker. + </p> + <p> + “Impossible!” exclaimed others. “See! The moon shines beneath the porch, + and shows every part of it, except in the narrow shade of that pillar. + There is no one there!” + </p> + <p> + “Did not the door open?” whispered one of these fanciful persons. + </p> + <p> + “Didst thou see it, too?” said his companion, in a startled tone. + </p> + <p> + But the general sentiment was opposed to the idea, that a third visitant + had made application at the door of the deserted house. A few, however, + adhered to this new marvel, and even declared that a red gleam, like that + of a torch, had shone through the great front window, as if the negro were + lighting a guest up the staircase. This, too, was pronounced a mere + fantasy. But, at once, the whole multitude started, and each man beheld + his own terror painted in the faces of all the rest. + </p> + <p> + “What an awful thing is this!” cried they. + </p> + <p> + A shriek, too fearfully distinct for doubt, had been heard within the + mansion, breaking forth suddenly, and succeeded by a deep stillness, as if + a heart had burst in giving it utterance. The people knew not whether to + fly from the very sight of the house, or to rush trembling in, and search + out the strange mystery. Amid their confusion and affright, they were + somewhat reassured by the appearance of their clergyman, a venerable + patriarch, and equally a saint, who had taught them and their fathers the + way to heaven, for more than the space of an ordinary lifetime. He was a + reverend figure, with long, white hair upon his shoulders, a white beard + upon his breast, and a back so bent over his staff, that he seemed to be + looking downward, continually, as if to choose a proper grave for his + weary frame. It was some time before the good old man, being deaf, and of + impaired intellect, could be made to comprehend such portions of the + affair as were comprehensible at all. But, when possessed of the facts, + his energies assumed unexpected vigor. + </p> + <p> + “Verily,” said the old gentleman, “it will be fitting that I enter the + mansion-house of the worthy Colonel Fenwicke, lest any harm should have + befallen that true Christian woman, whom ye call the ‘Old Maid in the + Winding-Sheet.’” + </p> + <p> + Behold, then, the venerable clergyman ascending the steps of the mansion, + with a torch-bearer behind him. It was the elderly man, who had spoken to + the Old Maid, and the same who had afterwards explained the shield of + arms, and recognized the features of the negro. Like their predecessors, + they gave three raps, with the iron hammer. + </p> + <p> + “Old Caesar cometh not,” observed the priest. “Well, I wot, he no longer + doth service in this mansion.” + </p> + <p> + “Assuredly, then, it was something worse, in old Caesar’s likeness!” said + the other adventurer. + </p> + <p> + “Be it as God wills,” answered the clergyman. “See! my strength, though it + be much decayed, hath sufficed to open this heavy door. Let us enter, and + pass up the staircase.” + </p> + <p> + Here occurred a singular exemplification of the dreamy state of a very old + man’s mind. As they ascended the wide flight of stairs, the aged clergyman + appeared to move with caution, occasionally standing aside, and oftener + bending his head, as it were in salutation, thus practising all the + gestures of one who makes his way through a throng. Reaching the head of + the staircase, he looked around, with sad and solemn benignity, laid aside + his staff, bared his hoary locks, and was evidently on the point of + commencing a prayer. + </p> + <p> + “Reverend Sir,” said his attendant, who conceived this a very suitable + prelude to their further search, “would it not be well, that the people + join with us in prayer?” + </p> + <p> + “Well-a-day!” cried the old clergyman, staring strangely around him. “Art + thou here with me, and none other? Verily, past times were present to me, + and I deemed that I was to make a funeral prayer, as many a time + heretofore, from the head of this staircase. + </p> + <p> + “Of a truth, I saw the shades of many that are gone. Yea, I have prayed at + their burials, one after another, and the ‘Old Maid in the Winding-Sheet’ + hath seen them to their graves!” + </p> + <p> + Being now more thoroughly awake to their present purpose, he took his + staff, and struck forcibly on the floor, till there came an echo from each + deserted chamber, but no menial, to answer their summons. They therefore + walked along the passage, and again paused, opposite to the great front + window, through which was seen the crowd, in the shadow and partial + moonlight of the street beneath. On their right hand was the open door of + a chamber, and a closed one on their left. The clergyman pointed his cane + to the carved oak panel of the latter. + </p> + <p> + “Within that chamber,” observed he, “a whole lifetime since, did I sit by + the death-bed of a goodly young man, who, being now at the last gasp—” + </p> + <p> + Apparently, there was some powerful excitement in the ideas which had now + flashed across his mind. He snatched the torch from his companion’s hand, + and threw open the door with such sudden violence, that the flame was + extinguished, leaving them no other light than the moonbeams, which fell + through two windows into the spacious chamber. It was sufficient to + discover all that could be known. In a high-backed oaken arm-chair, + upright, with her hands clasped across her breast, and her head thrown + back, sat the “Old Maid in the Winding-Sheet.” The stately dame had fallen + on her knees, with her forehead on the holy knees of the Old Maid, one + hand upon the floor, and the other pressed convulsively against her heart. + It clutched a lock of hair, once sable, now discolored with a greenish + mould. As the priest and layman advanced into the chamber, the Old Maid’s + features assumed such a resemblance of shifting expression, that they + trusted to hear the whole mystery explained, by a single word. But it was + only the shadow of a tattered curtain, waving betwixt the dead face and + the moonlight. + </p> + <p> + “Both dead!” said the venerable man. “Then who shall divulge the secret? + Methinks it glimmers to and fro in my mind, like the light and shadow + across the Old Maid’s face. And now’t is gone!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The White Old Maid (From “Twice Told +Tales”), by Nathaniel Hawthorne + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WHITE OLD MAID *** + +***** This file should be named 9214-h.htm or 9214-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/9/2/1/9214/ + +Produced by David Widger and Al Haines. + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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