Nevertheless, the note of Mr. Scribe, so strangely recalling the memory of my kinsman, very naturally chimed in with what had been mysterious, or at least unexplained, about him; vague flashings of ingots united in my mind with vague gleamings of skulls17. But the first cool thought soon dismissed such chimeras18; and, with a calm smile, I turned towards my wife, who, meantime, had been sitting nearby, impatient enough, I dare say, to know who could have taken it into his head to write me a letter.
“Well, old man,” said she, “who is it from, and what is it about?”
“Read it, wife,” said I, handing it.
Read it she did, and then—such an explosion! I will not pretend to describe her emotions, or repeat her expressions. Enough that my daughters were quickly called in to share the excitement. Although they had never dreamed of such a revelation as Mr. Scribe’s; yet upon the first suggestion they instinctively19 saw the extreme likelihood of it. In corroboration20, they cited first my kinsman, and second, my chimney; alleging21 that the profound mystery involving the former, and the equally profound masonry22 involving the latter, though both acknowledged facts, were alike preposterous23 on any other supposition than the secret closet.
But all this time I was quietly thinking to myself: Could it be hidden from me that my credulity in this instance would operate very favorably to a certain plan of theirs? How to get to the secret closet, or how to have any certainty about it at all, without making such fell work with my chimney as to render its set destruction superfluous24? That my wife wished to get rid of the chimney, it needed no reflection to show; and that Mr. Scribe, for all his pretended disinterestedness25, was not opposed to pocketing five hundred dollars by the operation, seemed equally evident. That my wife had, in secret, laid heads together with Mr. Scribe, I at present refrain from affirming. But when I consider her enmity against my chimney, and the steadiness with which at the last she is wont26 to carry out her schemes, if by hook or crook27 she can, especially after having been once baffled, why, I scarcely knew at what step of hers to be surprised.
In vain all protests. Next morning I went out into the road, where I had noticed a diabolical-looking old gander, that, for its doughty29 exploits in the way of scratching into forbidden enclosures, had been rewarded by its master with a portentous30, four-pronged, wooden decoration, in the shape of a collar of the Order of the Garotte. This gander I cornered and rummaging out its stiffest quill31, plucked it, took it home, and making a stiff pen, inscribed32 the following stiff note:
CHIMNEY SIDE, April 2.
MR. SCRIBE
compliments, and beg leave to assure you, that we shall remain,
Very faithfully,
The same,
I AND MY CHIMNEY.
Of course, for this epistle we had to endure some pretty sharp raps. But having at last explicitly35 understood from me that Mr. Scribe’s note had not altered my mind one jot36, my wife, to move me, among other things said, that if she remembered aright, there was a statute37 placing the keeping in private of secret closets on the same unlawful footing with the keeping of gunpowder38. But it had no effect.
It was nearly midnight, and all were in bed but ourselves, who sat up, one in each chimney-corner; she, needles in hand, indefatigably40 knitting a sock; I, pipe in mouth, indolently weaving my vapors41.
It was one of the first of the chill nights in autumn. There was a fire on the hearth42, burning low. The air without was torpid43 and heavy; the wood, by an oversight44, of the sort called soggy.
“Do look at the chimney,” she began; “can’t you see that something must be in it?”
“Yes, wife. Truly there is smoke in the chimney, as in Mr. Scribe’s note.”
“Smoke? Yes, indeed, and in my eyes, too. How you two wicked old sinners do smoke!—this wicked old chimney and you.”
“Wife,” said I, “I and my chimney like to have a quiet smoke together, it is true, but we don’t like to be called names.”
“Now, dear old man,” said she, softening45 down, and a little shifting the subject, “when you think of that old kinsman of yours, you KNOW there must be a secret closet in this chimney.”
“Secret ash-hole, wife, why don’t you have it? Yes, I dare say there is a secret ash-hole in the chimney; for where do all the ashes go to that drop down the queer hole yonder?”
“I know where they go to; I’ve been there almost as many times as the cat.”
“What devil, wife, prompted you to crawl into the ash-hole? Don’t you know that St. Dunstan’s devil emerged from the ash-hole? You will get your death one of these days, exploring all about as you do. But supposing there be a secret closet, what then?”
“What then? why what should be in a secret closet but—”
“Dry bones, wife,” broke in I with a puff46, while the sociable47 old chimney broke in with another.
“There again! Oh, how this wretched old chimney smokes,” wiping her eyes with her handkerchief. “I’ve no doubt the reason it smokes so is, because that secret closet interferes48 with the flue. Do see, too, how the jambs here keep settling; and it’s down hill all the way from the door to this hearth. This horrid49 old chimney will fall on our heads yet; depend upon it, old man.”
“Yes, wife, I do depend on it; yes indeed, I place every dependence50 on my chimney. As for its settling, I like it. I, too, am settling, you know, in my gait. I and my chimney are settling together, and shall keep settling, too, till, as in a great feather-bed, we shall both have settled away clean out of sight. But this secret oven; I mean, secret closet of yours, wife; where exactly do you suppose that secret closet is?”
“That is for Mr. Scribe to say.”
“But suppose he cannot say exactly; what, then?”
“Why then he can prove, I am sure, that it must be somewhere or other in this horrid old chimney.”
“And if he can’t prove that; what, then?”
“Why then, old man,” with a stately air, “I shall say little more about it.”
“Agreed, wife,” returned I, knocking my pipe-bowl against the jamb, “and now, to-morrow, I will for a third time send for Mr. Scribe. Wife, the sciatica takes me; be so good as to put this pipe on the mantel.”
“If you get the step-ladder for me, I will. This shocking old chimney, this abominable51 old-fashioned old chimney’s mantels are so high, I can’t reach them.”
No opportunity, however trivial, was overlooked for a subordinate fling at the pile.
Here, by way of introduction, it should be mentioned, that besides the fireplaces all round it, the chimney was, in the most haphazard52 way, excavated53 on each floor for certain curious out-of-the-way cupboards and closets, of all sorts and sizes, clinging here and there, like nests in the crotches of some old oak. On the second floor these closets were by far the most irregular and numerous. And yet this should hardly have been so, since the theory of the chimney was, that it pyramidically diminished as it ascended54. The abridgment55 of its square on the roof was obvious enough; and it was supposed that the reduction must be methodically graduated from bottom to top.
“Mr. Scribe,” said I when, the next day, with an eager aspect, that individual again came, “my object in sending for you this morning is, not to arrange for the demolition56 of my chimney, nor to have any particular conversation about it, but simply to allow you every reasonable facility for verifying, if you can, the conjecture communicated in your note.”
Though in secret not a little crestfallen57, it may be, by my phlegmatic58 reception, so different from what he had looked for; with much apparent alacrity59 he commenced the survey; throwing open the cupboards on the first floor, and peering into the closets on the second; measuring one within, and then comparing that measurement with the measurement without. Removing the fireboards, he would gaze up the flues. But no sign of the hidden work yet.
Now, on the second floor the rooms were the most rambling60 conceivable. They, as it were, dovetailed into each other. They were of all shapes; not one mathematically square room among them all—a peculiarity61 which by the master-mason had not been unobserved. With a significant, not to say portentous expression, he took a circuit of the chimney, measuring the area of each room around it; then going down stairs, and out of doors, he measured the entire ground area; then compared the sum total of the areas of all the rooms on the second floor with the ground area; then, returning to me in no small excitement, announced that there was a difference of no less than two hundred and odd square feet—room enough, in all conscience, for a secret closet.
“But, Mr. Scribe,” said I, stroking my chin, “have you allowed for the walls, both main and sectional? They take up some space, you know.”
“Ah, I had forgotten that,” tapping his forehead; “but,” still ciphering on his paper, “that will not make up the deficiency.”
“But, Mr. Scribe, have you allowed for the recesses62 of so many fireplaces on a floor, and for the fire-walls, and the flues; in short, Mr. Scribe, have you allowed for the legitimate63 chimney itself—some one hundred and forty-four square feet or thereabouts, Mr. Scribe?”
“How unaccountable. That slipped my mind, too.”
“Did it, indeed, Mr. Scribe?”
He faltered64 a little, and burst forth65 with, “But we must now allow one hundred and forty-four square feet for the legitimate chimney. My position is, that within those undue66 limits the secret closet is contained.”
“Your survey is concluded, Mr. Scribe; be so good now as to lay your finger upon the exact part of the chimney wall where you believe this secret closet to be; or would a witch-hazel wand assist you, Mr. Scribe?”
“No, Sir, but a crowbar would,” he, with temper, rejoined.
Here, now, thought I to myself, the cat leaps out of the bag. I looked at him with a calm glance, under which he seemed somewhat uneasy. More than ever now I suspected a plot. I remembered what my wife had said about abiding68 by the decision of Mr. Scribe. In a bland69 way, I resolved to buy up the decision of Mr. Scribe.
“Sir,” said I, “really, I am much obliged to you for this survey. It has quite set my mind at rest. And no doubt you, too, Mr. Scribe, must feel much relieved. Sir,” I added, “you have made three visits to the chimney. With a business man, time is money. Here are fifty dollars, Mr. Scribe. Nay70, take it. You have earned it. Your opinion is worth it. And by the way,”—as he modestly received the money—“have you any objections to give me a—a—little certificate—something, say, like a steamboat certificate, certifying71 that you, a competent surveyor, have surveyed my chimney, and found no reason to believe any unsoundness; in short, any—any secret closet in it. Would you be so kind, Mr. Scribe?”
“Here, here are pen and paper,” said I, with entire assurance.
Enough.
That evening I had the certificate framed and hung over the dining-room fireplace, trusting that the continual sight of it would forever put at rest at once the dreams and stratagems74 of my household.
But, no. Inveterately75 bent76 upon the extirpation77 of that noble old chimney, still to this day my wife goes about it, with my daughter Anna’s geological hammer, tapping the wall all over, and then holding her ear against it, as I have seen the physicians of life insurance companies tap a man’s chest, and then incline over for the echo. Sometimes of nights she almost frightens one, going about on this phantom78 errand, and still following the sepulchral79 response of the chimney, round and round, as if it were leading her to the threshold of the secret closet.
“How hollow it sounds,” she will hollowly cry. “Yes, I declare,” with an emphatic80 tap, “there is a secret closet here. Here, in this very spot. Hark! How hollow!”
“Psha! wife, of course it is hollow. Who ever heard of a solid chimney?” But nothing avails. And my daughters take after, not me, but their mother.
Sometimes all three abandon the theory of the secret closet and return to the genuine ground of attack—the unsightliness of so cumbrous a pile, with comments upon the great addition of room to be gained by its demolition, and the fine effect of the projected grand hall, and the convenience resulting from the collateral running in one direction and another of their various partitions. Not more ruthlessly did the Three Powers partition away poor Poland, than my wife and daughters would fain partition away my chimney.
But seeing that, despite all, I and my chimney still smoke our pipes, my wife reoccupies the ground of the secret closet, enlarging upon what wonders are there, and what a shame it is, not to seek it out and explore it.
“Wife,” said I, upon one of these occasions, “why speak more of that secret closet, when there before you hangs contrary testimony81 of a master mason, elected by yourself to decide. Besides, even if there were a secret closet, secret it should remain, and secret it shall. Yes, wife, here for once I must say my say. Infinite sad mischief82 has resulted from the profane83 bursting open of secret recesses. Though standing84 in the heart of this house, though hitherto we have all nestled about it, unsuspicious of aught hidden within, this chimney may or may not have a secret closet. But if it have, it is my kinsman’s. To break into that wall, would be to break into his breast. And that wall-breaking wish of Momus I account the wish of a churchrobbing gossip and knave85. Yes, wife, a vile86 eavesdropping87 varlet was Momus.”
The truth is, my wife, like all the rest of the world, cares not a fig89 for philosophical90 jabber91. In dearth92 of other philosophical companionship, I and my chimney have to smoke and philosophize together. And sitting up so late as we do at it, a mighty93 smoke it is that we two smoky old philosophers make.
But my spouse, who likes the smoke of my tobacco as little as she does that of the soot94, carries on her war against both. I live in continual dread95 lest, like the golden bowl, the pipes of me and my chimney shall yet be broken. To stay that mad project of my wife’s, naught96 answers. Or, rather, she herself is incessantly97 answering, incessantly besetting98 me with her terrible alacrity for improvement, which is a softer name for destruction. Scarce a day I do not find her with her tape-measure, measuring for her grand hall, while Anna holds a yardstick99 on one side, and Julia looks approvingly on from the other. Mysterious intimations appear in the nearest village paper, signed “Claude,” to the effect that a certain structure, standing on a certain hill, is a sad blemish100 to an otherwise lovely landscape. Anonymous101 letters arrive, threatening me with I know not what, unless I remove my chimney. Is it my wife, too, or who, that sets up the neighbors to badgering me on the same subject, and hinting to me that my chimney, like a huge elm, absorbs all moisture from my garden? At night, also, my wife will start as from sleep, professing102 to hear ghostly noises from the secret closet. Assailed103 on all sides, and in all ways, small peace have I and my chimney.
Were it not for the baggage, we would together pack up and remove from the country.
What narrow escapes have been ours! Once I found in a drawer a whole portfolio104 of plans and estimates. Another time, upon returning after a day’s absence, I discovered my wife standing before the chimney in earnest conversation with a person whom I at once recognized as a meddlesome105 architectural reformer, who, because he had no gift for putting up anything was ever intent upon pulling them down; in various parts of the country having prevailed upon half-witted old folks to destroy their old-fashioned houses, particularly the chimneys.
But worst of all was, that time I unexpectedly returned at early morning from a visit to the city, and upon approaching the house, narrowly escaped three brickbats which fell, from high aloft, at my feet. Glancing up, what was my horror to see three savages106, in blue jean overalls107 in the very act of commencing the long-threatened attack. Aye, indeed, thinking of those three brickbats, I and my chimney have had narrow escapes.
It is now some seven years since I have stirred from my home. My city friends all wonder why I don’t come to see them, as in former times. They think I am getting sour and unsocial. Some say that I have become a sort of mossy old misanthrope108, while all the time the fact is, I am simply standing guard over my mossy old chimney; for it is resolved between me and my chimney, that I and my chimney will never surrender.
The End
The End
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1
alleged
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| a.被指控的，嫌疑的 | |
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kinsman
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| n.男亲属 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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sedate
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| adj.沉着的，镇静的，安静的 | |
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slumbers
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| 睡眠，安眠( slumber的名词复数 ) | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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credence
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| n.信用，祭器台，供桌，凭证 | |
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collateral
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| adj.平行的；旁系的；n.担保品 | |
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whimsies
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| n.怪念头( whimsy的名词复数 )；异想天开；怪脾气；与众不同的幽默感 | |
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rumors
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| n.传闻( rumor的名词复数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷v.传闻( rumor的第三人称单数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷 | |
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rustic
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offense
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| n.犯规，违法行为；冒犯，得罪 | |
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scout
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| n.童子军，侦察员；v.侦察，搜索 | |
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concealed
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rummaging
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| 翻找，搜寻( rummage的现在分词 )； 海关检查 | |
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skulls
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| 颅骨( skull的名词复数 )； 脑袋； 脑子； 脑瓜 | |
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chimeras
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| n.（由几种动物的各部分构成的）假想的怪兽( chimera的名词复数 )；不可能实现的想法；幻想；妄想 | |
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instinctively
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corroboration
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| n.进一步的证实，进一步的证据 | |
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alleging
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| 断言，宣称，辩解( allege的现在分词 ) | |
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masonry
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| n.砖土建筑；砖石 | |
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preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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superfluous
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disinterestedness
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wont
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crook
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| v.使弯曲；n.小偷，骗子，贼；弯曲(处) | |
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budge
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doughty
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portentous
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| adj.不祥的，可怕的，装腔作势的 | |
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quill
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| n.羽毛管；v.给（织物或衣服）作皱褶 | |
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inscribed
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| v.写，刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；内接 | |
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conjecture
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joint
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explicitly
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jot
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statute
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gunpowder
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| n.火药 | |
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spouse
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| n.配偶(指夫或妻) | |
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indefatigably
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| adv.不厌倦地，不屈不挠地 | |
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vapors
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| n.水汽，水蒸气，无实质之物( vapor的名词复数 )；自夸者；幻想 [药]吸入剂 [古]忧郁（症）v.自夸，（使）蒸发( vapor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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torpid
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| adj.麻痹的，麻木的，迟钝的 | |
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oversight
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| n.勘漏，失察，疏忽 | |
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softening
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| 变软，软化 | |
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puff
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| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
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sociable
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| adj.好交际的，友好的，合群的 | |
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interferes
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| vi. 妨碍，冲突，干涉 | |
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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dependence
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| n.依靠，依赖；信任，信赖；隶属 | |
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abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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haphazard
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| adj.无计划的，随意的，杂乱无章的 | |
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excavated
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| v.挖掘( excavate的过去式和过去分词 )；开凿；挖出；发掘 | |
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ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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abridgment
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| n.删节，节本 | |
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demolition
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| n.破坏,毁坏,毁坏之遗迹 | |
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crestfallen
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| adj. 挫败的，失望的，沮丧的 | |
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phlegmatic
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| adj.冷静的，冷淡的，冷漠的，无活力的 | |
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alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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rambling
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| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
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peculiarity
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| n.独特性，特色；特殊的东西；怪癖 | |
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recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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undue
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| adj.过分的；不适当的；未到期的 | |
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67
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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abiding
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| adj.永久的，持久的，不变的 | |
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bland
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| adj.淡而无味的，温和的，无刺激性的 | |
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nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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certifying
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| （尤指书面）证明( certify的现在分词 )； 发证书给…； 证明（某人）患有精神病； 颁发（或授予）专业合格证书 | |
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72
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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stratagems
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| n.诡计，计谋( stratagem的名词复数 )；花招 | |
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inveterately
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| adv.根深蒂固地，积习地 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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extirpation
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| n.消灭，根除，毁灭；摘除 | |
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phantom
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| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
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sepulchral
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| adj.坟墓的，阴深的 | |
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emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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profane
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| adj.亵神的，亵渎的；vt.亵渎，玷污 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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knave
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| n.流氓；（纸牌中的）杰克 | |
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vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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eavesdropping
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| n. 偷听 | |
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mumps
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| n.腮腺炎 | |
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fig
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| n.无花果(树) | |
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philosophical
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| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
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jabber
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| v.快而不清楚地说；n.吱吱喳喳 | |
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dearth
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| n.缺乏，粮食不足，饥谨 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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soot
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| n.煤烟，烟尘；vt.熏以煤烟 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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besetting
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| adj.不断攻击的v.困扰( beset的现在分词 )；不断围攻；镶；嵌 | |
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99
yardstick
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| n.计算标准，尺度；评价标准 | |
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100
blemish
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| v.损害；玷污；瑕疵，缺点 | |
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anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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102
professing
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| 声称( profess的现在分词 )； 宣称； 公开表明； 信奉 | |
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103
assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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104
portfolio
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| n.公事包；文件夹；大臣及部长职位 | |
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105
meddlesome
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| adj.爱管闲事的 | |
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106
savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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107
overalls
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| n.（复）工装裤；长罩衣 | |
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108
misanthrope
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| n.恨人类的人；厌世者 | |
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