The Nutter1 House -- all the more prominent dwellings2 in Rivermouth are named after somebody; for instance, there is the Walford House, the Venner House, the Trefethen House, etc., though it by no means follows that they are inhabited by the people whose names they bear -- the Nutter House, to resume, has been in our family nearly a hundred years, and is an honor to the builder (an ancestor of ours, I believe), supposing durability3 to be a merit. If our ancestor was a carpenter, he knew his trade. I wish I knew mine as well. Such timber and such workmanship don't often come together in houses built nowadays.
Imagine a low-studded structure, with a wide hall running through the middle. At your right band, as you enter, stands a tall black mahogany clock, looking like an Egyptian mummy set up on end. On each side of the hall are doors (whose knobs, it must be confessed, do not turn very easily), opening into large rooms wainscoted and rich in wood-carvings about the mantel-pieces and cornices. The walls are covered with pictured paper, representing landscapes and sea-views. In the parlor4, for example, this enlivening figure is repeated all over the room. A group of English peasants, wearing Italian hats, are dancing on a lawn that abruptly5 resolves itself into a sea-beach, upon which stands a flabby fisherman (nationality unknown), quietly hauling in what appears to be a small whale, and totally regardless of the dreadful naval6 combat going on just beyond the end of his fishing-rod. On the other side of the ships is the main-land again, with the same peasants dancing. Our ancestors were very worthy7 people, but their wall-papers were abominable8.
There are neither grates nor stoves in these quaint9 chambers10, but splendid open chimney-places, with room enough for the corpulent back-log to turn over comfortably on the polished andirons. A wide staircase leads from the hall to the second story, which is arranged much like the first. Over this is the garret. I needn't tell a New England boy what -- a museum of curiosities is the garret of a well-regulated New England house of fifty or sixty years' standing12. Here meet together, as if by some preconcerted arrangement, all the broken-down chairs of the household, all the spavined tables, all the seedy hats, all the intoxicated-looking boots, all the split walking-sticks that have retired13 from business, "weary with the march of life." The pots, the pans, the trunks, the bottles -- who may hope to make an inventory14 of the numberless odds15 and ends collected in this bewildering lumber-room? But what a place it is to sit of an afternoon with the rain pattering on the roof! What a place in which to read Gulliver's Travels, or the famous adventures of Rinaldo Rinaldini!
My grandfather's house stood a little back from the main street, in the shadow of two handsome elms, whose overgrown boughs16 would dash themselves against the gables whenever the wind blew hard. In the rear was a pleasant garden, covering perhaps a quarter of an acre, full of plum-trees and gooseberry bushes. These trees were old settlers, and are all dead now, excepting one, which bears a purple plum as big as an egg. This tree, as I remark, is still standing, and a more beautiful tree to tumble out of never grew anywhere. In the northwestern corner of the garden were the stables and carriage-house opening upon a narrow lane. You may imagine that I made an early visit to that locality to inspect Gypsy. Indeed, I paid her a visit every half-hour during the first day of my arrival. At the twenty-fourth visit she trod on my foot rather heavily, as a reminder17, probably, that I was wearing out my welcome. She was a knowing little pony18, that Gypsy, and I shall have much to say of her in the course of these pages.
Gypsy's quarters were all that could be wished, but nothing among my new surroundings gave me more satisfaction than the cosey sleeping apartment that had been prepared for myself. It was the hall room over the front door.
I had never had a chamber11 all to myself before, and this one, about twice the size of our state-room on board the Typhoon, was a marvel19 of neatness and comfort. Pretty chintz curtains hung at the window, and a patch quilt of more colors than were in Joseph's coat covered the little truckle-bed. The pattern of the wall-paper left nothing to be desired in that line. On a gray background were small bunches of leaves, unlike any that ever grew in this world; and on every other bunch perched a yellow-bird, pitted with crimson20 spots, as if it had just recovered from a severe attack of the small-pox. That no such bird ever existed did not detract from my admiration21 of each one. There were two hundred and sixty-eight of these birds in all, not counting those split in two where the paper was badly joined. I counted them once when I was laid up with a fine black eye, and falling asleep immediately dreamed that the whole flock suddenly took wing and flew out of the window. From that time I was never able to regard them as merely inanimate objects.
A wash-stand in the corner, a chest of carved mahogany drawers, a looking-glass in a filigreed22 frame, and a high-backed chair studded with brass23 nails like a coffin24, constituted the furniture. Over the head of the bed were two oak shelves, holding perhaps a dozen books -- among which were Theodore, or The Peruvians; Robinson Crusoe; an odd volume of Tristram Shandy; Baxter's Saints' Rest, and a fine English edition of the Arabian Nights, with six hundred wood-cuts by Harvey.
Shall I ever forget the hour when I first overhauled25 these books? I do not allude26 especially to Baxter's Saints' Rest, which is far from being a lively work for the young, but to the Arabian Nights, and particularly Robinson Crusoe. The thrill that ran into my fingers' ends then has not run out yet. Many a time did I steal up to this nest of a room, and, taking the dog's-eared volume from its shelf, glide27 off into an enchanted28 realm, where there were no lessons to get and no boys to smash my kite. In a lidless trunk in the garret I subsequently unearthed29 another motley collection of novels and romances, embracing the adventures of Baron30 Trenck, Jack31 Sheppard, Don Quixote, Gil Blas, and Charlotte Temple -- all of which I fed upon like a bookworm.
I never come across a copy of any of those works without feeling a certain tenderness for the yellow-haired little rascal32 who used to lean above the magic pages hour after hour, religiously believing every word he read, and no more doubting the reality of Sindbad the Sailor, or the Knight33 of the Sorrowful Countenance34, than he did the existence of his own grandfather.
Against the wall at the foot of the bed hung a single-barrel shot-gun -- placed there by Grandfather Nutter, who knew what a boy loved, if ever a grandfather did. As the trigger of the gun had been accidentally twisted off, it was not, perhaps, the most dangerous weapon that could be placed in the hands of youth. In this maimed condition its "bump of destructiveness" was much less than that of my small brass pocket-pistol, which I at once proceeded to suspend from one of the nails supporting the fowling-piece, for my vagaries35 concerning the red man had been entirely36 dispelled37.
Having introduced the reader to the Nutter House, a presentation to the Nutter family naturally follows. The family consisted of my grandfather; his sister, Miss Abigail Nutter; and Kitty Collins, the maid-of-all-work.
Grandfather Nutter was a hale, cheery old gentleman, as straight and as bald as an arrow. He had been a sailor in early life; that is to say, at the age of ten years he fled from the multiplication-table, and ran away to sea. A single voyage satisfied him. There never was but one of our family who didn't run away to sea, and this one died at his birth. My grandfather had also been a soldier -- a captain of militia38 in 1812. If I owe the British nation anything, I owe thanks to that particular British soldier who put a musket-ball into the fleshy part of Captain Nutter's leg, causing that noble warrior39 a slight permanent limp, but offsetting40 the injury by furnishing him with the material for a story which the old gentleman was never weary of telling and I never weary of listening to. The story, in brief, was as follows.
At the breaking out of the war, an English frigate41 lay for several days off the coast near Rivermouth. A strong fort defended the harbor, and a regiment42 of minute-men, scattered43 at various points along-shore, stood ready to repel44 the boats, should the enemy try to effect a landing. Captain Nutter had charge of a slight earthwork just outside the mouth of the river. Late one thick night the sound of oars45 was heard; the sentinel tried to fire off his gun at half-cock, and couldn't, when Captain Nutter sprung upon the parapet in the pitch darkness, and shouted, "Boat ahoyl" A musket-shot immediately embedded46 itself in the calf47 of his leg. The Captain tumbled into the fort and the boat, which had probably come in search of water, pulled back to the frigate.
This was my grandfather's only exploit during the war. That his prompt and bold conduct was instrumental in teaching the enemy the hopelessness of attempting to conquer such a people was among the firm beliefs of my boyhood.
At the time I came to Rivermouth my grandfather had retired from active pursuits, and was living at ease on his money, invested principally in shipping48. He had been a widower49 many years; a maiden50 sister, the aforesaid Miss Abigail, managing his household. Miss Abigail also managed her brother, and her brother's servant, and the visitor at her brother's gate -- not in a tyrannical spirit, but from a philanthropic desire to be useful to everybody. In person she was tall and angular; she had a gray complexion51, gray eyes, gray eyebrows52, and generally wore a gray dress. Her strongest weak point was a belief in the efficacy of "hot-drops" as a cure for all known diseases.
If there were ever two people who seemed to dislike each other, Miss Abigail and Kitty Collins were those people. If ever two people really loved each other, Miss Abigail and Kitty Collins were those people also. They were always either skirmishing or having a cup of tea lovingly together.
Miss Abigail was very fond of me, and so was Kitty; and in the course of their disagreements each let me into the private history of the other.
According to Kitty, it was not originally my grandfather's intention to have Miss Abigail at the head of his domestic establishment. She had swooped53 down on him (Kitty's own words), with a band-box in one hand and a faded blue cotton umbrella, still in existence, in the other. Clad in this singular garb54 -- I do not remember that Kitty alluded55 to -- any additional peculiarity56 of dress -- Miss Abigail had made her appearance at the door of the Nutter House on the morning of my grandmother's funeral. The small amount of baggage which the lady brought with her would have led the superficial observer to infer that Miss Abigail's visit was limited to a few days. I run ahead of my story in saying she remained seventeen years! How much longer she would have remained can never be definitely known now, as she died at the expiration57 of that period.
Whether or not my grandfather was quite pleased by this unlooked-for addition to his family is a problem. He was very kind always to Miss Abigail, and seldom opposed her; though I think she must have tried his patience sometimes, especially when she interfered58 with Kitty.
Kitty Collins, or Mrs. Catherine, as she preferred to be called, was descended59 in a direct line from an extensive family of kings who formerly60 ruled over Ireland. In consequence of various calamities61, among which the failure of the potato-crop may be mentioned, Miss Kitty Collins, in company with several hundred of her countrymen and countrywomen -- also descended from kings -- came over to America in an emigrant62 ship, in the year eighteen hundred and something.
I don't know what freak of fortune caused the royal exile to turn up at Rivermouth; but turn up she did, a few months after arriving in this country, and was hired by my grandmother to do "general housework" for the sum of four shillings and six-pence a week.
Kitty had been living about seven years in my grandfather's family when she unburdened her heart of a secret which had been weighing upon it all that time. It may be said of people, as it is said of nations, "Happy are they that have no history." Kitty had a history, and a pathetic one, I think.
On board the emigrant ship that brought her to America, she became acquainted with a sailor, who, being touched by Kitty's forlorn condition, was very good to her. Long before the end of the voyage, which had been tedious and perilous63, she was heartbroken at the thought of separating from her kindly64 protector; but they were not to part just yet, for the sailor returned Kitty's affection, and the two were married on their arrival at port. Kitty's husband -- she would never mention his name, but kept it locked in her bosom65 like some precious relic66 -- had a considerable sum of money when the crew were paid off; and the young couple -- for Kitty was young then -- lived very happily in a lodging-house on South Street, near the docks. This was in New York.
The days flew by like hours, and the stocking in which the little bride kept the funds shrunk and shrunk, until at last there were only three or four dollars left in the toe of it. Then Kitty was troubled; for she knew her sailor would have to go to sea again unless he could get employment on shore. This he endeavored to do, but not with much success. One morning as usual he kissed her good day, and set out in search of work.
"Kissed me goodby, and called me his little Irish lass," sobbed67 Kitty, telling the story, "kissed me goodby, and, Heaven help me, I niver set oi on him nor on the likes of him again!"
He never came back. Day after day dragged on, night after night, and then the weary weeks. What had become of him? Had he been murdered? Had he fallen into the docks? Had he -- deserted68 her? No! She could not believe that; he was too brave and tender and true. She couldn't believe that. He was dead, dead, or he'd come back to her.
Meanwhile the landlord of the lodging-house turned Kitty into the streets, now that "her man" was gone, and the payment of the rent doubtful. She got a place as a servant. The family she lived with shortly moved to Boston, and she accompanied them; then they went abroad, but Kitty would not leave America. Somehow she drifted to Rivermouth, and for seven long years never gave speech to her sorrow, until the kindness of strangers, who had become friends to her, unsealed the heroic lips.
Kitty's story, you may be sure, made my grandparents treat her more kindly than ever. In time she grew to be regarded less as a servant than as a friend in the home circle, sharing its joys and sorrows -- a faithful nurse, a willing slave, a happy spirit in spite of all. I fancy I hear her singing over her work in the kitchen, pausing from time to time to make some witty69 reply to Miss Abigail -- for Kitty, like all her race, had a vein70 of unconscious humor. Her bright honest face comes to me out from the past, the light and life of the Nutter House when I was a boy at Rivermouth.
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nutter
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| n.疯子 | |
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dwellings
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| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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durability
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| n.经久性，耐用性 | |
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parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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naval
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| adj.海军的，军舰的，船的 | |
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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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abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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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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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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inventory
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| n.详细目录，存货清单 | |
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odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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reminder
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| n.提醒物，纪念品；暗示，提示 | |
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pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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filigreed
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| adj.饰有金银丝细工的v.（用金丝等制成的）精工制品( filigree的过去式和过去分词 )；精致的物品 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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overhauled
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| v.彻底检查( overhaul的过去式和过去分词 )；大修；赶上；超越 | |
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allude
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| v.提及，暗指 | |
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glide
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| n./v.溜，滑行；(时间)消逝 | |
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enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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unearthed
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| 出土的（考古） | |
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baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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vagaries
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| n.奇想( vagary的名词复数 )；异想天开；异常行为；难以预测的情况 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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dispelled
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| v.驱散，赶跑( dispel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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militia
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| n.民兵，民兵组织 | |
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warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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offsetting
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| n.偏置法v.抵消( offset的现在分词 )；补偿；（为了比较的目的而）把…并列（或并置）；为（管道等）装支管 | |
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frigate
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| n.护航舰，大型驱逐舰 | |
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regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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repel
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| v.击退，抵制，拒绝，排斥 | |
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oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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embedded
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| a.扎牢的 | |
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calf
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| n.小牛，犊，幼仔，小牛皮 | |
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shipping
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| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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widower
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| n.鳏夫 | |
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maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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53
swooped
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| 俯冲，猛冲( swoop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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expiration
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| n.终结，期满，呼气，呼出物 | |
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interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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calamities
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| n.灾祸，灾难( calamity的名词复数 )；不幸之事 | |
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emigrant
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| adj.移居的，移民的；n.移居外国的人，移民 | |
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perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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relic
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| n.神圣的遗物，遗迹，纪念物 | |
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sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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