The House of the Seven Gables by Nathaniel Hawthorne Plot Summary
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But Judge Pyncheon was not the man to let himself be startled from aneasy-chair with haste ill-befitting either the dignity of his character or hisbroad personal basis, by the alarm of an hysteric woman. Yet, considering hisown interest in the matter, he might have bestirred himself with a little morealacrity. So sweetly cool was the atmosphere, after all the feverish day, that the summereve might be fancied as sprinkling dews and liquid moonlight, with a dash oficy temper in them, out of a silver vase. Here and there, a few drops of thisfreshness were scattered on a human heart, and gave it youth again, andsympathy with the eternal youth of nature. It made him feel—what he sometimes almostforgot, thrust so early as he had been into the rude struggle of man withman—how youthful he still was. With his mind full of imaginary magnificence, Mr. Pyncheon heard a half-utteredexclamation from his daughter.
October at The House of the Seven Gables - Destination Salem
October at The House of the Seven Gables.
Posted: Sat, 17 Sep 2016 07:00:00 GMT [source]
Brief Biography of Nathaniel Hawthorne
With these reflections, the old man was shutting the gate of the littleback-yard. Creaking on its hinges, however, like every other gate and doorabout the premises, the sound reached the ears of the occupant of the northerngable, one of the windows of which had a side-view towards the gate. Uncle Venner, trundling a wheelbarrow, was the earliest person stirring in theneighborhood the day after the storm. The family-party of the defunct Pyncheons,we presume, goes off in this wise.
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This sadaffair had chanced about thirty years before the action of our story commences.Latterly, there were rumors (which few believed, and only one or two feltgreatly interested in) that this long-buried man was likely, for some reason orother, to be summoned forth from his living tomb. A plain, but handsome, dark-green barouche had now drawn up in front of theruinous portal of the old mansion-house. The party came forth, and (with theexception of good Uncle Venner, who was to follow in a few days) proceeded totake their places. They were chatting and laughing very pleasantly together;and—as proves to be often the case, at moments when we ought to palpitatewith sensibility—Clifford and Hepzibah bade a final farewell to the abodeof their forefathers, with hardly more emotion than if they had made it theirarrangement to return thither at tea-time. Whencesoever originating, there now arose a theory that undertook so to accountfor these circumstances as to exclude the idea of Clifford’s agency.
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The sound of footsteps was not harsh, bold, decided,and intrusive, as the gait of strangers would naturally be, makingauthoritative entrance into a dwelling where they knew themselves unwelcome. Itwas feeble, as of persons either weak or weary; there was the mingled murmur oftwo voices, familiar to both the listeners. It did not yield to her hand; and the whitecurtain, drawn across the window which formed the upper section of the door,struck her quick perceptive faculty as something unusual.
So Alice put woman’smight against man’s might; a match not often equal on the part of woman. There were two objects that appeared rather out of place in this veryhandsomely furnished room. One was a large map, or surveyor’s plan, of atract of land, which looked as if it had been drawn a good many years ago, andwas now dingy with smoke, and soiled, here and there, with the touch offingers. The other was a portrait of a stern old man, in a Puritan garb,painted roughly, but with a bold effect, and a remarkably strong expression ofcharacter.
There is one other feature, very essential to be noticed, but which, we greatlyfear, may damage any picturesque and romantic impression which we have beenwilling to throw over our sketch of this respectable edifice. In the frontgable, under the impending brow of the second story, and contiguous to thestreet, was a shop-door, divided horizontally in the midst, and with a windowfor its upper segment, such as is often seen in dwellings of a somewhat ancientdate. This same shop-door had been a subject of no slight mortification to thepresent occupant of the august Pyncheon House, as well as to some of herpredecessors.
The House of the Seven Gables is one of the oldest surviving timber-framed mansion houses in continental North America, with 17 rooms and over 8,000 square feet (700 m2) including its large cellars. By clicking Contact I agree a Coldwell Banker Agent may contact me by phone or text message including by automated means and prerecorded messages about real estate services, and that I can access real estate services without providing my phone number. I acknowledge that I have read and agree to the Terms of Use and Privacy Policy. Please use and/or share my information with a Coldwell Banker agent to contact me about my real estate needs. In 2022 when she was still a member of Congress and running for mayor, two men broke into her Baldwin Vista home and stole a pair of handguns.
Clifford and Phœbe
The streetin which it upreared its venerable peaks has long ceased to be a fashionablequarter of the town; so that, though the old edifice was surrounded byhabitations of modern date, they were mostly small, built entirely of wood, andtypical of the most plodding uniformity of common life. Doubtless, however, thewhole story of human existence may be latent in each of them, but with nopicturesqueness, externally, that can attract the imagination or sympathy toseek it there. But as for the old structure of our story, its white-oak frame,and its boards, shingles, and crumbling plaster, and even the huge, clusteredchimney in the midst, seemed to constitute only the least and meanest part ofits reality. So much of mankind’s varied experience had passedthere,—so much had been suffered, and something, too, enjoyed,—thatthe very timbers were oozy, as with the moisture of a heart.
Hepzibah spread out her gaunt figure across the door, and seemed really toincrease in bulk; looking the more terrible, also, because there was so muchterror and agitation in her heart. But Judge Pyncheon’s evident purposeof forcing a passage was interrupted by a voice from the inner room; a weak,tremulous, wailing voice, indicating helpless alarm, with no more energy forself-defence than belongs to a frightened infant. She retired to her chamber, but did not soon fall asleep, nor then veryprofoundly. At some uncertain period in the depths of night, and, as it were,through the thin veil of a dream, she was conscious of a footstep mounting thestairs heavily, but not with force and decision. The voice of Hepzibah, with ahush through it, was going up along with the footsteps; and, again, responsiveto her cousin’s voice, Phœbe heard that strange, vague murmur, whichmight be likened to an indistinct shadow of human utterance.
Also called the Turner-Ingersoll Mansion, Seven Gables is located right on the water of Salem Harbor at the intersection of Derby and Turner Streets. The large house was built in 1668 and is uniquely constructed with many pointed gables, multiple chimneys, and a dark, foreboding exterior. When opened, the back leads to a secret staircase which leads up to the attic. After John Turner III lost the family fortune, the house was acquired by the Ingersolls, who remodeled it again. In the first half of the 18th century, John Turner II remodeled the house in the new Georgian style, adding wood paneling and sash windows. These alterations are preserved, very early examples of Georgian decor.
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.
Clifford, on several occasions, had seemed to enjoythe old man’s intercourse, for the sake of his mellow, cheerful vein,which was like the sweet flavor of a frost-bitten apple, such as one picks upunder the tree in December. A man at the very lowest point of the social scalewas easier and more agreeable for the fallen gentleman to encounter than aperson at any of the intermediate degrees; and, moreover, as Clifford’syoung manhood had been lost, he was fond of feeling himself comparativelyyouthful, now, in apposition with the patriarchal age of Uncle Venner. The second of Chanticleer’s two wives, ever since Phœbe’s arrival,had been in a state of heavy despondency, caused, as it afterwards appeared, byher inability to lay an egg. Shortlyafter, there was a prodigious cackling and gratulation of Chanticleer and allhis family, including the wizened chicken, who appeared to understand thematter quite as well as did his sire, his mother, or his aunt. That afternoonPhœbe found a diminutive egg,—not in the regular nest, it was far tooprecious to be trusted there,—but cunningly hidden under thecurrant-bushes, on some dry stalks of last year’s grass. Hepzibah, onlearning the fact, took possession of the egg and appropriated it toClifford’s breakfast, on account of a certain delicacy of flavor, forwhich, as she affirmed, these eggs had always been famous.
But there was something pitifully small inthis old Pyncheon’s mode of setting about his commercial operations; itwas whispered, that, with his own hands, all beruffled as they were, he used togive change for a shilling, and would turn a half-penny twice over, to makesure that it was a good one. Beyond all question, he had the blood of a pettyhuckster in his veins, through whatever channel it may have found its waythere. The aspect of the venerable mansion has always affected me like a humancountenance, bearing the traces not merely of outward storm and sunshine, butexpressive also, of the long lapse of mortal life, and accompanyingvicissitudes that have passed within.
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