ELLEN O’HARA was thirty-two years old, and, according to the standards of her day, she was amiddle-aged woman, one who had borne six children and buried three. She was a tall woman,standing1 a head higher than her fiery2 little husband, but she moved with such quiet grace in herswaying hoops4 that the height attracted no attention to itself. Her neck, rising from the black taffetasheath of her basque, was creamy-skinned, rounded and slender, and it seemed always tiltedslightly backward by the weight of her luxuriant hair in its net at the back of her head. From herFrench mother, whose parents had fled Haiti in the Revolution of 1791, had come her slanting5 darkeyes, shadowed by inky lashes7, and her black hair; and from her father, a soldier of Napoleon, she had her long straight nose and her square-cut jaw8 that was softened9 by the gentle curving of hercheeks. But only from life could Ellen’s face have acquired its look of pride that had nohaughtiness, its graciousness, its melancholy10 and its utter lack of humor.
She would have been a strikingly beautiful woman had there been any glow in her eyes, anyresponsive warmth in her smile or any spontaneity in her voice that fell with gentle melody on theears of her family and her servants. She spoke11 in the soft slurring12 voice of the coastal13 Georgian,liquid of vowels14, kind to consonants15 and with the barest trace of French accent. It was a voicenever raised in command to a servant or reproof16 to a child but a voice that was obeyed instantly atTara, where her husband’s blustering17 and roaring were quietly disregarded.
As far back as Scarlett could remember, her mother had always been the same, her voice softand sweet whether in praising or in reproving, her manner efficient and unruffled despite the dailyemergencies of Gerald’s turbulent household, her spirit always calm and her back unbowed, evenin the deaths of her three baby sons. Scarlett had never seen her mother’s back touch the back ofany chair on which she sat. Nor had she ever seen her sit down without a bit of needlework in herhands, except at mealtime, while attending the sick or while working at the bookkeeping of theplantation. It was delicate embroidery20 if company were present, but at other times her hands wereoccupied with Gerald’s ruffled18 shirts, the girls’ dresses or garments for the slaves. Scarlett couldnot imagine her mother’s hands without her gold thimble or her rustling21 figure unaccompanied bythe small negro girl whose sole function in life was to remove basting22 threads and carry therosewood sewing box from room to room, as Ellen moved about the house superintending thecooking, the cleaning and the wholesale23 clothes-making for the plantation19.
She had never seen her mother stirred from her austere24 placidity25, nor her personal appointmentsanything but perfect, no matter what the hour of day or night. When Ellen was dressing26 for a ballor for guests or even to go to Jonesboro for Court Day, it frequently required two hours, two maidsand Mammy to turn her out to her own satisfaction; but her swift toilets in times of emergencywere amazing.
Scarlett, whose room lay across the hall from her mother’s, knew from babyhood the soft soundof scurrying27 bare black feet on the hardwood floor in the hours of dawn, the urgent tappings on hermother’s door, and the muffled28, frightened negro voices that whispered of sickness and birth anddeath in the long row of whitewashed29 cabins in the quarters. As a child, she often had crept to thedoor and, peeping through the tiniest crack, had seen Ellen emerge from the dark room, whereGerald’s snores were rhythmic30 and untroubled, into the flickering31 light of an upheld candle, hermedicine case under her arm, her hair smoothed neatly32 place, and no button on her basqueunlooped.
It had always been so soothing33 to Scarlett to hear her mother whisper, firmly butcompassionately, as she tiptoed down the hall: “Hush, not so loudly. You will wake Mr. O’Hara.
They are not sick enough to die.”
Yes, it was good to creep back into bed and know that Ellen was abroad in the night andeverything was right.
In the mornings, after all-night sessions at births and deaths, when old Dr. Fontaine and youngDr. Fontaine were both out on calls and could not be found to help her, Ellen presided at the breakfast table as usual, her dark eyes circled with weariness but her voice and manner revealingnone of the strain. There was a steely quality under her stately gentleness that awed34 the wholehousehold, Gerald as well as the girls, though he would have died rather than admit it.
Sometimes when Scarlett tiptoed at night to kiss her tall mother’s cheek, she looked up at themouth with its too short, too tender upper lip, a mouth too easily hurt by the world, and wonderedif it had ever curved in silly girlish giggling35 or whispered secrets through long nights to intimategirl friends. But no, that wasn’t possible. Mother had always been just as she was, a pillar ofstrength, a fount of wisdom, the one person who knew the answers to everything.
But Scarlett wrong, for, years before, Ellen Robillard of Savannah had giggled36 as inexplicablyasany(was) fifteen-year-old in that charming coastal city and whispered the long nightsthrough with friends, exchanging confidences, telling all secrets but one. That was the year whenGerald O’Hara, twenty-eight years older than she, came into her life—the year, too, when youthand her black-eyed cousin, Philippe Robillard, went out of it. For when Philippe, with his snappingeyes and his wild ways, left Savannah forever, he took with him the glow that was in Ellen’s heartand left for the bandy-legged little Irishman who married her only a gentle shell.
But that was enough for Gerald, overwhelmed at his unbelievable luck in actually marrying her.
And if anything was gone from her, he never missed it. Shrewd man that he was, he knew that itwas no less than a miracle that he, an Irishman with nothing of family and wealth to recommendhim, should win the daughter of one of the wealthiest and proudest families on the Coast. ForGerald was a self-made man.
Gerald had come to America from Ireland when he was twenty-one. He had come hastily, asmany a better and worse Irishman before and since, with the clothes he had on his back, twoshillings above his passage money and a price on his head that he felt was larger than his misdeedwarranted. There was no Orangeman this side of hell worth a hundred pounds to the Britishgovernment or to the devil himself; but if the government felt so strongly about the death of anEnglish absentee landlord’s rent agent, it was time for Gerald O’Hara to be leaving and leavingsuddenly. True, he had called the rent agent “a bastard37 of an Orangeman,” but that, according toGerald’s way of looking at it, did not give the man any right to insult him by whistling the openingbars of “The Boyne Water.”
The Battle of the Boyne had been fought more than a hundred years before, but, to the O’Harasand their neighbors, it might have been yesterday when their hopes and their dreams, as well astheir lands and wealth, went off in the same cloud of dust that enveloped38 a frightened and fleeingStuart prince, leaving William of Orange and his hated troops with their orange cockades to cutdown the Irish adherents39 of the Stuarts.
For this and other reasons, Gerald’s family was not inclined to view the fatal outcome of thisquarrel as anything very serious, except for the fact that it was charged with serious consequences.
For years, the O’Haras had been in bad odor with the English constabulary on account of suspectedactivities against the government, and Gerald was not the first O’Hara to take his foot in his handand quit Ireland between dawn and morning. His two oldest brothers, James and Andrew, he hardlyremembered, save as close-lipped youths who came and went at odd hours of the night on mysterious errands or disappeared for weeks at a time, to their mother’s gnawing40 anxiety. They hadcome to America years before, after the discovery of a small arsenal41 of rifles buried under theO’Hara pigsty42. Now they were successful merchants in Savannah, “though the dear God aloneknows where that may be,” as their mother always interpolated when mentioning the two oldest ofher male brood, and it was to them that young Gerald was sent.
He left home with his mother’s hasty kiss on his cheek and her fervent43 Catholic blessing44 in hisears, and his father’s parting admonition, “Remember who ye are and don’t be taking nothing offno man.” His five tall brothers gave him good-by with admiring but slightly patronizing smiles, forGerald was the baby and the little one of a brawny45 family.
His five brothers and their father stood six feet and over and broad in proportion, but littleGerald, at twenty-one, knew that five feet four and a half inches was as much as the Lord in Hiswisdom was going to allow him. It was like Gerald that he never wasted regrets on his lack ofheight and never found it an obstacle to his acquisition of anything he wanted. Rather, it wasGerald’s compact smallness that made him what he was, for he had learned early that little peoplemust be hardy46 to survive among large ones. And Gerald was hardy.
His tall brothers were a grim, quiet lot, in whom the family tradition of past glories, lost forever,rankled in unspoken hate and crackled out in bitter humor. Had Gerald been brawny, he wouldhave gone the way of the other O’Haras and moved quietly and darkly among the rebels againstthe government But Gerald was “loud-mouthed and bullheaded,” as his mother fondly phrased it,hair trigger of temper, quick with his fists and possessed47 of a chip on his shoulder so large as to bealmost visible to the naked eye. He swaggered among the tall O’Haras like a strutting48 bantam in abarnyard of giant Cochin roosters, and they loved him, baited him affectionately to hear him roarand hammered on him with their large fists no more than was necessary to keep a baby brother inhis proper place.
If the educational equipment which Gerald brought to America was scant49, he did not even knowit. Nor would he have cared if he had been told. His mother had taught him to read and to write aclear hand. He was adept50 at ciphering. And there his book knowledge stopped. The only Latin heknew was the responses of the Mass and the only history the manifold wrongs of Ireland. He knewno poetry save that of Moore and no music except the songs of Ireland that had come downthrough the years. While he entertained the liveliest respect for those who had more book learningthan he, he never felt his own lack. And what need had he of these things in a new country wherethe most ignorant of bogtrotters had made great fortunes? in this country which asked only that aman be strong and unafraid of work?
Nor did James and Andrew, who took him into their store in Savannah, regret his lack ofeducation. His clear hand, his accurate figures and his shrewd ability in bargaining won theirrespect, where a knowledge of literature and a fine appreciation51 of music, had young Gerald possessedthem, would have moved them to snorts of contempt. America, in the early years of thecentury, had been kind to the Irish. James and Andrew, who had begun by hauling goods incovered wagons52 from Savannah to Georgia’s inland towns, had prospered53 into a store of their own,and Gerald prospered with them.
He liked the South, and he soon became, in his own opinion, a Southerner. There was much about the South—and Southerners—that he would never comprehend; but, with thewholeheartedness that was his nature, he adopted its ideas and customs, as he understood them, forhis own—poker54 and horse racing55, red-hot politics and the code duello, States’ Rights anddamnation to all Yankees, slavery and King Cotton, contempt for white trash and exaggeratedcourtesy to women. He even learned to chew tobacco. There was no need for him to acquire a goodhead for whisky, he had been born with one.
But Gerald remained Gerald. His habits of living and his ideas changed, but his manners hewould not change, even had he been able to change them. He admired the drawling elegance56 of thewealthy rice and cotton planters, who rode into Savannah from their moss57-hung kingdoms,mounted on thoroughbred horses and followed by the carriages of their equally elegant ladies andthe wagons of their slaves. But Gerald could never attain58 elegance. Their lazy, blurred59 voices fellpleasantly on his ears, but his own brisk brogue clung to his tongue. He liked the casual grace withwhich they conducted affairs of importance, risking a fortune, a plantation or a slave on the turn ofa card and writing off their losses with careless good humor and no more ado than when theyscattered pennies to pickaninnies. But Gerald had known poverty, and he could never learn to losemoney with good humor or good grace. They were a pleasant race, these coastal Georgians, withtheir soft-voiced, quick rages and their charming inconsistencies, and Gerald liked them. But therewas a brisk and restless vitality60 about the young Irishman, fresh from a country where winds blewwet and chill, where misty61 swamps held no fevers, that set him apart from these indolent gentlefolkof semi-tropical weather and malarial62 marshes63.
From them he learned what he found useful, and the rest he dismissed. He found poker the mostuseful of all Southern customs, poker and a steady head for whisky; and it was his natural aptitudefor cards and amber65 liquor that brought to Gerald two of his three most prized possessions, hisvalet and his plantation. The other was his wife, and he could only attribute her to the mysteriouskindness of God.
The, valet. Pork by name, shining black, dignified66 and trained in all the arts of sartorialelegance, was the result of an all-night poker game with a planter from St. Simons Island, whosecourage in a bluff67 equaled Gerald’s but whose head for New Orleans rum did not. Though Pork’sformer owner later offered to buy him back at twice his value, Gerald obstinately69 refused, for thepossession of his first slave, and that slave the “best damn valet on the Coast,” was the first stepupward toward his heart’s desire, Gerald wanted to be a slave owner and a landed gentleman.
His mind was made up that he was not going to spend all of his days, like Tames and Andrew, inbargaining, or all his nights, by candlelight, over long columns of figures. He felt keenly, as hisbrothers did not, the social stigma70 attached to those “in trade.” Gerald wanted to be a planter. Withthe deep hunger of an Irishman who has been a tenant71 on the lands his people once had owned andhunted, he wanted to see his own acres stretching green before his eyes. With a ruthless singlenessof purpose, he desired his own house, his own plantation, his own horse, his own slaves. And herein this new country, safe from the twin perils72 of the land he had left—taxation that ate up crops andbarns and the ever-present threat of sudden confiscation—he intended to have them. But havingthat ambition and bringing it to realization73 were two different matters, he discovered as time wentby. Coastal Georgia was too firmly held by an entrenched74 aristocracy for him ever to hope to winthe place he intended to have.
Then the hand of Fate and a hand of poker combined to give him the plantation which heafterwards called Tara, and at the same time moved him out of the Coast into the upland country ofnorth Georgia.
It was in a saloon in Savannah, on a hot night in spring, when the chance conversation of astranger sitting near by made Gerald prick75 up his ears. The stranger, a native of Savannah, had justreturned after twelve years in the inland country. He had been one of the winners in the land lotteryconducted by the State to divide up the vast area in middle Georgia, ceded76 by the Indians the yearbefore Gerald came to America. He had gone up there and established a plantation; but, now thehouse had burned down, he was tired of the “accursed place” and would be most happy to get it offhis hands.
Gerald, his mind never free of the thought of owning a plantation of his own, arranged anintroduction, and his interest grew as the stranger told how the northern section of the state wasfilling up with newcomers from the Carolinas and Virginia. Gerald had lived in Savannah longenough to acquire a viewpoint of the Coast—that all of the rest of the state was backwoods, withan Indian lurking78 in every thicket79. In transacting80 business for O’Hara Brothers, he had visitedAugusta, a hundred miles up the Savannah River, and he had traveled inland far enough to visit theold towns westward81 from that city. He knew that section to be as well settled as the Coast, but fromthe stranger’s description, his plantation was more than two hundred and fifty miles inland fromSavannah to the north and west, and not many miles south of the Chattahoochee River. Geraldknew that northward82 beyond that stream the land was still held by the Cherokees, so it was withamazement that he heard the stranger jeer83 at suggestions of trouble with the Indians and narratehow thriving towns were growing up and plantations84 prospering85 in the new country.
An hour later when the conversation began to lag, Gerald, with a guile86 that belied87 the wideinnocence of his bright blue eyes, proposed a game. As the night wore on and the drinks wentround, there came a time when all the others in the game laid down their hands and Gerald and thestranger were battling alone. The stranger shoved in all his chips and followed with the deed to hisplantation. Gerald shoved in all his chips and laid on top of them his wallet. If the money itcontained happened to belong to the firm of O’Hara Brothers, Gerald’s conscience was notsufficiently troubled to confess it before Mass the following morning. He knew what he wanted,and when Gerald wanted something he gained it by taking the most direct route. Moreover, suchwas his faith in his destiny and four deuces that he never for a moment wondered just how themoney would be paid back should a higher hand be laid down across the table.
“It’s no bargain you’re getting and I am glad not to have to pay more taxes on the place,” sighedthe possessor of an “ace full,” as he called for pen and ink. “The big house burned a year ago andthe fields are growing up in brush and seedling88 pine. But it’s yours.”
“Never mix cards and whisky unless you were weaned on Irish poteen,” Gerald told Porkgravely the same evening, as Pork assisted him to bed. And the valet, who had begun to attempt abrogue out of admiration89 for his new master, made requisite90 answer in a combination of Geecheeand County Meath that would have puzzled anyone except those two alone.
The muddy Flint River, running silently between walls of pine and water oak covered withtangled vines, wrapped about Gerald’s new land like a curving arm and embraced it on two sides.
To Gerald, standing on the small knoll92 where the house had been, this tall barrier of green was asvisible and pleasing an evidence of ownership as though it were a fence that he himself had built tomark his own. He stood on the blackened foundation stones of the burned building, looked downthe long avenue of trees leading toward the road and swore lustily, with a joy too deep for thankfulprayer. These twin lines of somber93 trees were his, his the abandoned lawn, waist high in weeds underwhite-starred young magnolia trees. The uncultivated fields, studded with tiny pines andunderbrush, that stretched their rolling red-clay surface away into the distance on four sidesbelonged to Gerald O’Hara—were all his because he had an unbefuddled Irish head and thecourage to stake everything on a hand of cards.
Gerald closed his eyes and, in the stillness of the unworked acres, he felt that he had comehome. Here under his feet would rise a house of whitewashed brick. Across the road would be newrail fences, inclosing fat cattle and blooded horses, and the red earth that rolled down the hillside tothe rich river bottom land would gleam white as eiderdown in the sun—cotton; acres and acres ofcotton! The fortunes of the O’Haras would rise again.
With his own small stake, what he could borrow from his unenthusiastic brothers and a neat sumfrom mortgaging the land, Gerald bought his first field hands and came to Tara to live in bachelorsolitude in the four-room overseer’s house, till such a time as the white walls of Tara should rise.
He cleared the fields and planted cotton and borrowed more money from James and Andrew tobuy more slaves. The O’Haras were a clannish94 tribe, clinging to one another in prosperity as wellas in adversity, not for any overweening family affection but because they had learned throughgrim years that to survive a family must present an unbroken front to the world. They lent Geraldthe money and, in the years that followed, the money came back to them with interest. Graduallythe plantation widened out, as Gerald bought more acres lying near him, and in time the whitehouse became a reality instead of a dream.
It was built by slave labor95, a clumsy sprawling96 building that crowned the rise of groundoverlooking the green incline of pasture land running down to the river; and it pleased Geraldgreatly, for, even when new, it wore a look of mellowed97 years. The old oaks, which had seenIndians pass under their limbs, hugged the house closely with their great trunks and towered theirbranches over the roof in dense98 shade. The lawn, reclaimed99 from weeds, grew thick with cloverand Bermuda grass, and Gerald saw to it that it was well kept. From the avenue of cedars100 to therow of white cabins in the slave quarters, there was an air of solidness, of stability and permanenceabout Tara, and whenever Gerald galloped101 around the bend in the road and saw his own roof risingthrough green branches, his heart swelled102 with pride as though each sight of it were the first sight.
He had done it all, little, hard-headed, blustering Gerald.
Gerald, was on excellent terms with all his neighbors in the County, except the MacIntoshswhose land adjoined his on the left and the Slatterys whose meager103 three acres stretched on hisright along the swamp bottoms between the river and John Wilkes’ plantation.
The MacIntoshs were Scotch104-Irish and Orangemen and, had they possessed all the saintlyqualities of the Catholic calendar, this ancestry105 would have damned them forever in Gerald’s eyes.
True, they had lived in Georgia for seventy years and, before that, had spent a generation in theCarolinas; but the first of the family who set foot on American shores had come from Ulster, and that was enough for Gerald.
They a close-mouthed and stiff-necked family, who kept strictly106 to themselves andintermarriedw(were) ith their Carolina relatives, and Gerald was not alone in disliking them, for theCounty people were neighborly and sociable108 and none too tolerant of anyone lacking in those samequalities. Rumors109 of Abolitionist sympathies did not enhance the popularity of the Macintoshes.
Old Angus had never manumitted a single slave and had committed the unpardonable social breachof selling some of his negroes to passing slave traders en route to the cane110 fields of Louisiana, butthe rumors persisted.
“He’s an Abolitionist, no doubt,” observed Gerald to John Wilkes. “But, in an Orangeman, whena principle comes up against Scotch tightness, the principle fares ill.”
The Slatterys were another affair. Being poor white, they were not even accorded the” grudgingrespect that Angus Macintosh’s dour111 independence wrung112 from neighboring families. Old Slattery,who clung persistently113 to his few acres, in spite of repeated offers from Gerald and John Wilkes,shiftless and whining114. His wife snarly-haired woman, sickly and washed-out of appe(was) arance,themotherofabroodofsulle(was) n(a) and rabbity-looking children—a brood which wasincreased regularly every year. Tom Slattery owned no slaves, and he and his two oldest boysspasmodically worked their few acres of cotton, while the wife and younger children tended whatwas supposed to be a vegetable garden. But, somehow, the cotton always failed, and the garden,due to Mrs. Slattery’s constant childbearing, seldom furnished enough to feed her flock.
The sight of Tom Slattery dawdling115 on his neighbors’ porches, begging cotton seed for plantingor a side of bacon to “tide him over,” was a familiar one. Slattery hated his neighbors with whatlittle energy he possessed, sensing their contempt beneath their courtesy, and especially did he hate“rich folks’ uppity niggers.” The house negroes of the County considered themselves superior towhite trash, and their unconcealed scorn stung him, while their more secure position in life stirredhis envy. By contrast with his own miserable117 existence, they were well-fed, well-clothed andlooked after in sickness and old age. They were proud of the good names of their owners and, forthe most part, proud to belong to people who were quality, while he was despised by all.
Tom Slattery could have sold his farm for three times its value to any of the planters in theCounty. They would have considered it money well spent to rid the community of an eyesore, buthe was well satisfied to remain and to subsist119 miserably120 on the proceeds of a bale of cotton a yearand the charity of his neighbors.
With all the rest of the County, Gerald was on terms of amity121 and some intimacy122. The Wilkeses,the Calverts, the Tarletons, the Fontaines, all smiled when the small figure on the big white horsegalloped up their driveways, smiled and signaled for tall glasses in which a pony123 of Bourbon hadbeen poured over a teaspoon124 of sugar and a sprig of crushed mint. Gerald was likable, and theneighbors learned in time what the children, negroes and dogs discovered at first sight, that a kindheart, a ready and sympathetic ear and an open pocketbook lurked125 just behind his. bawling126 voiceand his truculent127 manner.
His arrival was always amid a bedlam128 of hounds barking and small black children shouting asthey raced to meet him, quarreling for the privilege of holding his horse and squirming andgrinning under his good-natured insults. The white children clamored to sit on his knee and be trotted129, while he denounced to their elders the infamy130 of Yankee politicians; the daughters of hisfriends took him into their confidence about their love affairs, and the youths of the neighborhood,fearful of confessing debts of honor upon the carpets of their fathers, found him a friend in need.
“So, you’ve been owning this for a month, you young rascal131!” he would shout “And, in God’sname, why haven132’t you been asking me for the money before this?”
His rough manner of speech was too well known to give offense133, and it only made the youngmen grin sheepishly and reply: “Well, sir, I hated to trouble you, and my father—”
“Your father’s a good man, and no denying it, but strict, and so take this and let’s be hearing nomore of it”
The planters’ ladies were the last to capitulate. But, when Mrs. Wilkes, “a great lady and with arare gift for silence,” as Gerald characterized her, told her husband one evening, after Gerald’shorse had pounded down the driveway. “He has a rough tongue, but he is a gentleman,” Gerald haddefinitely arrived.
He did not know that he had taken nearly ten years to arrive, for it never occurred to him that hisneighbors had eyed him askance at first. In his own mind, there had never been any doubt that hebelonged, from the moment he first set foot on Tara.
When Gerald was forty-three, so thickset of body and florid of face that he looked like a huntingsquire out of a sporting print, it came to him that Tara, dear though it was, and the County folk,with their open hearts and open houses, were not enough. He wanted a wife.
Tara cried out for a mistress. The fat cook, a yard negro elevated by necessity to the kitchen,never had the meals on time, and the chambermaid, formerly134 a field hand, let dust accumulate onthe furniture and never seemed to have clean linen135 on hand, so that the arrival of guests was alwaysthe occasion of much stirring and to-do. Pork, the only trained house negro on the place, had generalsupervision over the other servants, but even he had grown slack and careless after severalyears of exposure to Gerald’s happy-go-lucky mode of living. As valet, he kept Gerald’s bedroomin order, and, as butler, he served the meals with dignity and style, but otherwise he pretty well letmatters follow their own course.
With unerring African instinct, the negroes had all discovered that Gerald had a loud bark andno bite at all, and they took shameless advantage of him. The air was always thick with threats ofselling slaves south and of direful whippings, but there never had been a slave sold from Tara andonly one whipping, and that administered for not grooming137 down Gerald’s pet horse after, a longday’s hunting.
Gerald’s sharp blue eyes noticed how efficiently138 his neighbors’ houses were run and with whatease the smooth-haired wives in rustling skirts managed their servants. He had no knowledge ofthe dawn-till-midnight activities of these women, chained to supervision136 of cooking, nursing,sewing and laundering139. He only saw the outward results, and those results impressed him.
The urgent need of a wife became clear to him one morning when he was dressing to ride totown for Court Day. Pork brought forth118 his favorite ruffled shirt, so inexpertly mended by thechambermaid as to be unwearable by anyone except his valet “Mist’ Gerald,” said Pork, gratefully rolling up the shirt as Gerald fumed140, “whut you needs is awife, and a wife whut has got plen’y of house niggers.”
Gerald upbraided141 Pork for his impertinence, hut he knew that he was right He wanted a wife andhe wanted children and, if he did not acquire them soon, it would be too late. But he was not goingto marry just anyone, as Mr. Calvert had done, taking to wife the Yankee governess of hismotherless children. His wife must be a lady and a lady of blood, with as many airs and graces asMrs. Wilkes and the ability to manage Tara as well as Mrs. Wilkes ordered her own domain142.
But there were two difficulties in the way of marriage into the County families. The first was thescarcity of girls of marriageable age. The second, and more serious one, was that Gerald was a“new man,” despite his nearly ten years’ residence, and a foreigner. No one knew anything abouthis family. While the society of up-country Georgia was not so impregnable as that of the Coastaristocrats, no family wanted a daughter to wed6 a man about whose grandfather nothing wasknown.
Gerald knew that despite the genuine liking107 of the County men with whom he hunted, drank andtalked politics there was hardly one whose daughter he could marry. And he did not intend to haveit gossiped about over supper tables that this, that or the other father had regretfully refused to letGerald O’Hara pay court to his daughter. This knowledge did not make Gerald feel inferior to hisneighbors: Nothing could ever make Gerald feel that he was inferior in any way to anyone. It wasmerely a quaint143 custom of the County that daughters only married into families who had lived inthe South much longer than twenty-two years, had owned land and slaves and been addicted144 onlyto the fashionable vices145 during that time.
“Pack up. We’re going to Savannah,” he told Pork. “And if I hear you say ‘Whist!’ or ‘Faith!’
but once, it’s selling you I’ll be doing, for they are words I seldom say meself.”
James and Andrew might have some advice to offer on this subject of marriage, and there mightbe daughters among their old friends who would both meet his requirements and find himacceptable as a husband. James and Andrew listened to his story patiently but they gave him littleencouragement. They had no Savannah relatives to whom they might look for assistance, for theyhad been married when they came to America. And the daughters of their old friends had longsince married and were raising small children of their own.
“You’re not a rich man and you haven’t a great family,” said James.
“I’ve made me money and I can make a great family. And I won’t be marrying just anyone.”
“You fly high,” observed Andrew, dryly.
But they did their best for Gerald. James and Andrew were old men and they stood well inSavannah. They had many friends, and for a month they carried Gerald from home to home, tosuppers, dances and picnics.
“There’s only one who takes me eye,” Gerald said finally. “And she not even born when Ilanded here.”
“And who is it takes your eye?”
“Miss Ellen Robillard,” said Gerald, trying to speak casually146, for the slightly tilting147 dark eyes of Ellen Robillard had taken more than his eye. Despite a mystifying listlessness of manner, sostrange in a girl of fifteen, she charmed him. Moreover, there was a haunting look of despair abouther that went to his heart and made him more gentle with her than he had ever been with any personin all the world.
“And you old enough to be her father!”
“And me in me prime!” cried Gerald stung.
James spoke gently.
“Jerry, there’s no girl in Savannah you’d have less chance of marrying. Her father is a Robillard,and those French are proud as Lucifer. And her mother—God rest her soul—was a very greatlady.”
“I care not,” said Gerald heatedly. “Besides, her mother is dead, and old man Robillard likesme.”
“As a man, yes, but as a son-in-law, no.”
“The girl wouldn’t have you anyway,” interposed Andrew. “She’s been in love with that wildbuck of a cousin of hers, Philippe Robillard, for a year now, despite her family being at hermorning and night to give him up.”
“He’s been gone to Louisiana this month now,” said Gerald.
“And how do you know?”
“I know,” answered Gerald, who did not care to disclose that Pork had supplied this valuable bitof information, or that Philippe had departed for the West at the express desire of his family. “AndI do not think she’s been so much in love with him that she won’t forget him. Fifteen is too youngto know much about love.”
“They’d rather have that breakneck cousin for her than you.”
So, James and Andrew were as startled as anyone when the news came out that the daughter ofPierre Robillard was to marry the little Irishman from up the country. Savannah buzzed behind itsdoors and speculated about Philippe Robillard, who had gone West, but the gossiping brought noanswer. Why the loveliest of the Robillard daughters should marry a loud-voiced, red-faced littleman who came hardly up to her ears remained a mystery to all.
Gerald himself never quite knew how it all came about. He only knew that a miracle hadhappened. And, for once in his life, he was utterly148 humble149 when Ellen, very white but very calm,put a light hand on his arm and said: “I will marry you, Mr. O’Hara.”
The thunderstruck Robillards knew the answer in part, but only Ellen and her mammy everknew the whole story of the night when the girl sobbed150 till the dawn like a broken-hearted childand rose up in the morning a woman with her mind made up.
With foreboding, Mammy had brought her young mistress a small package, addressed in astrange hand from New Orleans, a package containing a miniature of Ellen, which she flung to thefloor with a cry, four letters in her own handwriting to Philippe Robillard, and a brief letter from aNew Orleans priest, announcing the death of her cousin in a barroom brawl151.
“They drove him away. Father and Pauline and Eulalie. They drove him away. I hate them. Ihate them all. I never want to see them again. I want to get away. I will go away where I’ll neversee them again, or this town, or anyone who reminds me of—of—him.”
And when the night was nearly spent, Mammy, who had cried herself out over her mistress’ darkhead, protested, “But, honey, you kain do dat!”
“I will do it. He is a kind man. I will do it or go into the convent at Charleston.”
It was the threat of the convent that finally won the assent152 of bewildered and heart-strickenPierre Robillard. He was staunchly Presbyterian, even though his family were Catholic, and thethought of his daughter becoming a nun153 was even worse than that of her marrying Gerald O’Hara.
After all, the man had nothing against him but a lack of family.
So, Ellen, no longer Robillard, turned her back on Savannah, never to see it again, and with amiddle-aged husband, Mammy, and twenty “house niggers” journeyed toward Tara.
The next year, their first child was born and they named her Katie Scarlett, after Gerald’smother. Gerald was disappointed, for he had wanted a son, but he nevertheless was pleased enoughover his small black-haired daughter to serve rum to every slave at Tara and to get roaringly,happily drunk himself.
If Ellen had ever regretted her sudden decision to marry him, no one ever knew it, certainly notGerald, who almost burst with pride whenever he looked at her. She had put Savannah and itsmemories behind her when she left that gently mannered city by the sea, and, from the moment ofher arrival in the County, north Georgia was her home.
When she departed from her father’s house forever, she had left a home whose lines were asbeautiful and flowing as a woman’s body, as a ship in full sail; a pale pink stucco house built in theFrench colonial style, set high from the ground in a dainty manner, approached by swirling154 stairs,banistered with wrought155 iron as delicate as lace; a dim, rich house, gracious but aloof156.
She had left not only that graceful157 dwelling158 but also the entire civilization that was behind thebuilding of it, and she found herself in a world that was as strange and different as if she hadcrossed a continent.
Here in north Georgia was a rugged159 section held by a hardy people. High up on the plateau atthe foot of the Blue Ridge160 Mountains, she saw rolling red hills wherever she looked, with hugeoutcroppings of the underlying161 granite162 and gaunt pines towering somberly everywhere. It allseemed wild and untamed to her coast-bred eyes accustomed to the quiet jungle beauty of the seaislands draped in their gray moss and tangled91 green, the white stretches of beach hot beneath asemitropic sun, the long flat vistas163 of sandy land studded with palmetto and palm.
This was a section that knew the chill of winter, as well as the heat of summer, and there was avigor and energy in the people that was strange to her. They were a kindly164 people, courteous,generous, filled with abounding165 good nature, but sturdy, virile166, easy to anger. The people of theCoast which she had left might pride themselves on taking all their affairs, even their duels167 andtheir feuds168, with a careless air but these north Georgia people had a streak169 of violence in them. Onthe coast, life had mellowed—here it was young and lusty and new.
All the people Ellen had known in Savannah might have been cast from the same mold, sosimilar were their view points and traditions, but here was a variety of people. North Georgia’ssettlers were coming in from many different places, from other parts of Georgia, from theCarolinas and Virginia, from Europe and the North. Some of them, like Gerald, were new peopleseeking their fortunes. Some, like Ellen, were members of old families who had found lifeintolerable in their former homes and sought haven in a distant land. Many had moved for noreason at all, except that the restless blood of pioneering fathers still quickened in their veins170.
These people, drawn171 from many different places and with many different backgrounds, gave thewhole life of the County an informality that was new to Ellen, an informality to which she neverquite accustomed herself. She instinctively172 knew how Coast people would act in any circumstance.
There was never any telling what north Georgians would do.
And, quickening all of the affairs of the section, was the high tide of prosperity then rolling overthe South. All of the world was crying out for cotton, and the new land of the County, unworn andfertile, produced it abundantly. Cotton was the heartbeat of the section, the planting and thepicking were the diastole and systole of the red earth. Wealth came out of the curving furrows173, andarrogance came too—arrogance built on green bushes and the acres of fleecy white. If cotton couldmake them rich in one generation, how much richer they would be in the next!
This certainty of the morrow gave zest174 and enthusiasm to life, and the County people enjoyedlife with a heartiness175 that Ellen could never understand. They had money enough and slavesenough to give them time to play, and they liked to play. They seemed never too busy to drop workfor a fish fry, a hunt or a horse race, and scarcely a week went by without its barbecue or ball.
Ellen never would, or could, quite become one of them—she had left too much of herself inSavannah—but she respected them and, in time, learned to admire the frankness and forthrightnessof these people, who had few reticences and who valued a man for what he was.
She became the best-loved neighbor in the County. She was a thrifty176 and kind mistress, a goodmother and a devoted177 wife. The heartbreak and selflessness that she would have dedicated178 to theChurch were devoted instead to the service of her child, her household and the man who had takenher out of Savannah and its memories and had never asked any questions.
When Scarlett was a year old, and more healthy and vigorous than a girl baby had any right tobe, in Mammy’s opinion, Ellen’s second child, named Susan Elinor, but always called Suellen, wasborn, and in due time came Carreen, listed in the family Bible as Caroline Irene. Then followedthree little boys, each of whom died before he had learned to walk—three little boys who now layunder the twisted cedars in the burying ground a hundred yards from the house, beneath threestones, each bearing the name of “Gerald O’Hara, Jr.”
From the day when Ellen first came to Tara, the place had been transformed. If she was onlyfifteen years old, she was nevertheless ready for the responsibilities of the mistress of a plantation.
Before marriage, young girls must be, above all other things, sweet, gentle, beautiful and ornamental,but, after marriage, they were expected to manage households that numbered a hundredpeople or more, white and black, and they were trained with that in view.
Ellen had been given this preparation for marriage which any well-brought-up young lady received, and she also had Mammy, who could galvanize the most shiftless negro into energy. Shequickly brought order, dignity and grace into Gerald’s household, and she gave Tara a beauty it hadnever had before.
The house had been built according to no architectural plan whatever, with extra rooms addedwhere and when it seemed convenient, but, with Ellen’s care and attention, it gained a charm thatmade up for its lack of design. The avenue of cedars leading from the main road to the house—thatavenue of cedars without which no Georgia planter’s home could be complete—had a cool darkshadiness that gave a brighter tinge179, by contrast, to the green of the other trees. The wistariatumbling over the verandas180 showed bright against the whitewashed brick, and it joined with thepink crêpe myrtle bushes by the door and the white-blossomed magnolias in the yard to disguisesome of the awkward lines of the house.
In spring time and summer, the Bermuda grass and clover on the lawn became emerald, soenticing an emerald that it presented an irresistible181 temptation to the flocks of turkeys and whitegeese that were supposed to roam only the regions in the rear of the house. The elders of the flockscontinually led stealthy advances into the front yard, lured182 on by the green of the grass and theluscious promise of the cape183 jessamine buds and the zinnia beds. Against their depredations184, asmall black sentinel was stationed on the front porch. Armed with a ragged185 towel, the little negroboy sitting on the steps was part of the picture of Tara—and an unhappy one, for he was forbiddento chunk186 the fowls187 and could only flap the towel at them and shoo them.
Ellen set dozens of little black boys to this task, the first position of responsibility a male slavehad at Tara. After they had passed their tenth year, they were sent to old Daddy the plantationcobbler to learn his trade, or to Amos the wheelwright and carpenter, or Phillip the cow man, orCuffee the mule188 boy. If they showed no aptitude64 for any of these trades, they became field handsand, in the opinion of the negroes, they had lost their claim to any social standing at all.
Ellen’s life was not easy, nor was it happy, but she did not expect life to be easy, and, if it wasnot happy, that was woman’s lot. It was a man’s world, and she accepted it as such. The manowned the property, and the woman managed it. The man took the credit for the management, andthe woman praised his cleverness. The man roared like a bull when a splinter was in his finger, andthe woman muffled the moans of childbirth, lest she disturb him. Men were rough of speech andoften drunk. Women ignored the lapses189 of speech and put the drunkards to bed without bitterwords. Men were rude and outspoken190, women were always kind, gracious and forgiving.
She had been reared in the tradition of great ladies, which had taught her how to carry herburden and still retain her charm, and she intended that her three daughters should be great ladiesalso. With her younger daughters, she had success, for Suellen was so anxious to be attractive shelent an attentive191 and obedient ear to her mother’s teachings, and Carreen was shy and easily led.
But Scarlett, child of Gerald, found the road to ladyhood hard.
To Mammy’s indignation, her preferred playmates were not her demure192 sisters or the wellbrought-up Wilkes girls but the negro children on the plantation and the boys of the neighborhood,and she could climb a tree or throw a rock as well as any of them. Mammy was greatly perturbedthat Ellen’s daughter should display such traits and frequently adjured193 her to “ack lak a lil lady.”
But Ellen took a more tolerant and long-sighted view of the matter. She knew that from childhood playmates grew beaux in later years, and the first duty of a girl was to get married. She told herselfthat the child was merely full of life and there was still time in which to teach her the arts andgraces of being attractive to men.
To this end, Ellen and Mammy bent194 their efforts, and as Scarlett grew older she became an aptpupil in this subject, even though she learned little else. Despite a succession of governesses andtwo years at the near-by Fayetteville Female Academy, her education was sketchy195, but no girl inthe County danced more gracefully196 than she. She knew how to smile so that her dimples leaped,how to walk pigeon-toed so that her wide hoop3 skirts swayed entrancingly, how to look up into aman’s face and then drop her eyes and bat the lids rapidly so that she seemed a-tremble with gentleemotion. Most of all she learned how to conceal116 from men a sharp intelligence beneath a face assweet and bland197 as a baby’s.
Ellen, by soft-voiced admonition, and Mammy, by constant carping, labored198 to inculcate in herthe qualities that would make her truly desirable as a wife.
“You must be more gentle, dear, more sedate,” Ellen told her daughter. “You must not interruptgentlemen when they are speaking, even if you do think you know more about matters than theydo. Gentlemen do not like forward girls.”
“Young misses whut frowns an pushes out dey chins an’ says ‘Ah will’ and ‘Ah woan’ mos’
gener’ly doan ketch husbands,” prophesied199 Mammy gloomily. “Young misses should cas’ downdey eyes an’ say, Well, suh, Ah mout’ an’ ‘Jes’ as you say, suh.’ ”
Between them, they taught her all that a gentlewoman should know, but she learned only theoutward signs of gentility. The inner grace from which these signs should spring, she never learnednor did she see any reason for learning it. Appearances were enough, for the appearances ofladyhood won her popularity and that was all she wanted. Gerald bragged200 that she was the belle201 offive counties, and with some truth, for she had received proposals from nearly all the young men inthe neighborhood and many from places as far away as Atlanta and Savannah.
At sixteen, thanks to Mammy and Ellen, she looked sweet, charming and giddy, but she was, inreality, self-willed, vain and obstinate68. She had the easily stirred passions of her Irish father andnothing except the thinnest veneer202 of her mother’s unselfish and forbearing nature. Ellen neverfully realized that it was only a veneer, for Scarlett always showed her best face to her mother,concealing her escapades, curbing203 her temper and appearing as sweet-natured as she could inEllen’s presence, for her mother could shame her to tears with a reproachful glance.
But Mammy was under no illusions about her and was constantly alert for breaks in the veneer.
Mammy’s eyes were sharper than Ellen’s, and Scarlett could never recall in all her life havingfooled Mammy for long.
It was not that these two loving mentors204 deplored205 Scarlett’s high spirits, vivacity206 and charm.
These were traits of which Southern women were proud. It was Gerald’s headstrong and impetuousnature in her that gave them concern, and they sometimes feared they would not be able to concealher damaging qualities until she had made a good match. But Scarlett intended to marry—andmarry Ashley—and she was willing to appear demure, pliable207 and scatterbrained, if those were thequalities that attracted men. Just why men should be this way, she did not know. She only knew that such methods worked. It never interested her enough to try to think out the reason for it, forshe knew nothing of the inner workings of any human being’s mind, not even her own. She knewonly that if she did or said thus-and-so, men would unerringly respond with the complementarythus-and-so. It was like a mathematical formula and no more difficult, for mathematics was the onesubject that had come easy to Scarlett in her schooldays.
If she knew little about men’s minds, she knew even less about the minds of women, for theyinterested her less. She had never had a girl friend, and she never felt any lack on that account. Toher, all women, including her two sisters, were natural enemies in pursuit of the same prey—man.
All women with the one exception of her mother.
Ellen O’Hara was different, and Scarlett regarded her as something holy and apart from all therest of humankind. When Scarlett was a child, she had confused her mother with the Virgin77 Mary,and now that she was older she saw no reason for changing her opinion. To her, Ellen representedthe utter security that only Heaven or a mother can give. She knew that her mother was theembodiment of justice, truth, loving tenderness and profound wisdom—a great lady.
Scarlett wanted very much to be like her mother. The only difficulty was that by being just andtruthful and tender and unselfish, one missed most of the joys of life, and certainly many beaux.
And life was too short to miss such pleasant things. Some day when she was married to Ashley andold, some day when she had time for it, she intended to be like Ellen. But, until then …
爱伦·奥哈拉现年３２岁，依当时的标准已是个中年妇人，她生有六个孩子，但其中三个已经夭折。她高高的，比那位火爆性子的矮个儿丈夫高出一头，不过她的举止是那么文静，走起路来只见那条长裙子轻盈地摇摆，这样也就不显得怎么高了。她那奶酪色的脖颈圆圆的，细细的，从紧身上衣的黑绸圆领中端端正正地伸出来，但由于脑后那把戴着网套的丰盈秀发颇为浓重，便常常显得略后向仰。她母亲是法国人，是一对从1791年革命中逃亡到海地来的夫妇所生，她给爱伦遗传了这双在墨黑睫毛下略略倾斜的黑眼睛和这一头黑发。她父亲是拿破仑军队中的一名士兵，传给她一个长长的、笔直的鼻子和一个有棱有角的方颚，只不过后者在她两颊的柔美曲线的调和下显得不那么惹眼了。同时爱伦的脸也仅仅通过生活才养马了现在这副庄严而并不觉得傲慢的模样，这种优雅，这种忧郁而毫无幽默感的神态。
如果她的眼神中有一点焕发的光采，她的笑容中带有一点殷勤的温煦，她那使儿女和仆人听来感到轻柔的声音中有一点自然的韵味，那她便是一个非常漂亮的女人了。她说话用的是海滨佐治亚人那种柔和而有点含糊的口音，元音是流音，子音咬得不怎么准，略略带法语腔调。这是一种即使命令仆人或斥责儿女时也从不提高的声音，但也是在塔拉农场人人都随时服从的声音，而她的丈夫的大喊大叫在那里却经常被悄悄地忽略了。
从思嘉记得的最早时候起，她母亲便一直是这个样子，她的声音，无论在称赞或者责备别人时，总是那么柔和而甜蜜；她的态度，尽管杰拉尔德在纷纷扰扰的家事中经常要出点乱子，却始终是那么沉着，应付自如；她的精神总是平静的，脊背总是挺直的，甚至在她的三个幼儿夭折时也是这样。思嘉从没见过母亲坐着时将背靠在椅子背上，也从没见过她手里不拿点针线活儿便坐下来（除了吃饭），即使是陪伴病人或审核农场账目的时候。在有客人在场时，她手里是精巧的刺绣，别的时候则是缝制杰拉尔德的衬衫、女孩子的衣裳或农奴们的衣服。思嘉很难想象母亲手上不戴那个金顶针，或者她那一路啊啊啊啊的身影后面没有那个黑女孩，后者一生中唯一的任务是给她拆绷线，以及当爱伦为了检查烹饪、洗涤和大批的缝纫活儿而在满屋子四处乱跑动时，捧着那个红木针线拿儿从一个房间走到另一个房间。
思嘉从未见过母亲庄重安谦的神态被打扰的时候，她个人的衣着也总是那么整整嬷嬷，无论白天黑夜都毫无二致。每当爱伦为了参加舞会，接待客人或者到琼斯博罗去旁听法庭审判而梳妆时，那就得花上两个钟头的时间，让两位女仆和嬷嬷帮着打扮，直到自己满意为止；不过到了紧急时刻，她的梳妆功夫便惊人地加快了。
思嘉的房间在她母亲房间的对面，中间隔着个穿堂。她从小就熟悉了：在天亮前什么时候一个光着脚的黑人急促脚步在硬木地板上轻轻走过，接着是母亲房门上匆忙的叩击声，然后是黑人那低沉而带惊慌的耳语，报告本地区那长排白棚屋里有人生病了，死了，或者养了孩子。那时她还很小，常常爬到门口去，从狭窄的门缝里窥望，看到爱伦从黑暗的房间里出来，同时听到里面杰拉尔德平静而有节奏的鼾声；母亲让黑人手中的蜡烛照着，臂下挟着药品箱，头发已梳得熨熨贴贴，紧身上衣的钮扣也会扣好了。
思嘉听到母亲踮着脚尖轻轻走过厅堂，并坚定而怜悯地低声说：“嘘，别这么大声说话。会吵醒奥哈拉先生的。他们还不至于病得要死吧。"此时，她总有一种安慰的感觉。
是的，她知道爱伦已经摸黑外出，一切正常，便爬回去重新躺到床上睡了。
早晨，经过抢救产妇和婴儿的通宵忙乱----那时老方丹大夫和年轻的方丹大夫都已外出应诊，没法来帮她的忙----然后，爱伦又像通常那样作为主妇在餐桌旁出现了，她那黝黑的眼圆略有倦色，可是声音和神态都没有流露丝毫的紧张感。她那庄重的温柔下面有一种钢铁般的品性，它使包托杰拉尔德和姑娘们在内的全家无不感到敬畏，虽然杰拉尔德宁死也不愿承认这一点。
思嘉有时夜里轻轻走去亲吻高个子母亲的面颊，她仰望着那张上唇显得太短太柔嫩的嘴，那张太容易为世人所伤害的嘴，她不禁暗想它是否也曾像娇憨的姑娘那样格格地笑过，或者同知心的女友通宵达旦喁喁私语。可是，不，这是不可能的。母亲从来就是现在这个模样，是一根力量的支柱，一个智慧的源泉，一位对任何问题都能够解答的人。
但是思嘉错了，因为多年以前，萨凡纳州的爱伦·罗毕拉德也曾像那个迷个的海滨城市里的每一位１５岁的姑娘那样格格地笑过，也曾同朋友们通宵达旦喁喁私语，互谈理想，倾诉衷肠，只有一个秘密除外。就是在那一年，比她大２８岁的杰拉尔德·奥哈拉闯进了她的生活----也是那一年，青春和她那黑眼睛表兄菲利普·罗毕拉德从她的生活中消退了。
因为，当菲利普连同他那双闪闪发光的眼睛和那种放荡不羁的习性永远离开萨凡纳时，他把爱伦心中的光辉也带走了，只给后来娶她的这位罗圈腿矮个儿爱尔兰人留下了一个温驯的躯壳。
不过对杰拉尔德这也就够了，他还因为真正娶上了她这一难以相信的幸运而吓坏了呢。而且，如果她身上失掉了什么，他也从不觉得可惜。他是个精明人，懂得像他这样一个既无门第又无财产但好吹嘘的爱尔兰人，居然娶到海滨各洲中最富有最荣耀人家的女儿，也算得上是一个奇迹了。要知道，杰拉尔德是个白手起家的人。
２１岁那年杰拉尔德来到美国。他是匆匆而来像以前或以后许多好好坏坏的爱尔兰人那样，因为他只带着身上穿的衣服和买船票剩下的两个先令，以及悬赏捉拿他的那个身价，而且他觉得这个身价比他的罪行所应得的还高了一些。世界上还没有一个奥兰治派分子值得英国政府或魔鬼本身出一百镑的；但是如果政府对于一个英国的不在地主地租代理人的死会那么认真，那么杰拉尔德·奥哈拉的突然出走便是适时的了。的确，他曾经称呼过地租代理人为"奥兰治派野崽子"不过，按照杰拉尔德对此事的看法，这并不使那个人就有权哼着《博因河之歌》那开头几句来侮辱他。
博因河战役是一百多年以前的事了，但是在奥哈拉家族和他们的邻里看来，就像昨天发生的事，那时他们的希望和梦想，他们的土地和钱财，都在那团卷着一位惊惶逃路的斯图尔特王子的魔雾中消失了，只留下奥兰治王室的威廉和他那带着奥兰治帽徽的军队来屠杀斯图尔特王朝的爱尔兰依附者了。
由于这个以及别的原因，杰拉尔德的家庭并不想把这场争吵的毁灭结果看得十分严重，只把它看作是一桩有严重影响的事而已。多年来，奥哈拉家与英国警察部门的关系很不好，原因是被怀疑参与了反政府活动，而杰拉尔德并不是奥哈拉家族中头一个暗中离开爱尔兰的人。他几乎想不其他的两个哥哥詹姆斯和安德鲁，只记得两个闷声不响的年轻人，他们时常在深夜来来去去，干一些神秘的钩当，或者一走就是好几个星期，使母亲焦急万分。他们是许多年前人们在奥哈拉家猪圈里发现在一批理藏的来福枪之到美国的。现在他们已在萨凡纳作生意发了家，"虽然只有上帝才知道那地方究竟在哪里"----他们母亲提起这两个大儿子时老是这样说，年轻的杰拉尔德就是给送到两位哥哥这里来的。
离家出走时，母亲在他脸上匆匆吻了一下，并贴着耳朵说了一声天主教的祝福，父亲则给了临别赠言，"要记住自己是谁，不要学别人的样。"他的五位高个子兄弟羡慕而略带关注地微笑着向他道了声再见，因为杰拉尔德在强壮的一家人中是最小和最矮的一个。
他父亲和五个哥哥都身六英尺以上，其粗壮的程度也很相称，可是２１岁的小个子杰拉尔德懂得，五英尺四英寸半便是上帝所能赐给他的最大高度了。对杰拉尔德来说，他从不以自己身材矮小而自怨自艾，也从不认为这会阻碍他去获得自己所需要的一切。更确切些不如说，正是杰拉尔德的矮小精干使他成为现在这样，因为他早就明白矮小的人必须在高大者中间顽强地活下去。而杰拉尔德是顽强的。
他那些高个儿哥哥是些冷酷寡言的人，在他们身上，历史光荣的传统已经永远消失，沦落为默默的仇恨，爆裂出痛苦的幽默来了。要是杰拉尔德也生来强壮，他就会走上向奥哈拉家族中其他人的道路，在反政府的行列中悄悄地、神秘地干起来。可杰拉尔德像他母亲钟爱地形容的那样，是个"高嗓门，笨脑袋"，嬷嬷暴躁，动辄使拳头，并且盛气凌人，叫人见人怕。他在那些高大的奥哈拉家族的人中间，就像一只神气十足的矮脚鸡在满院子大个儿雄鸡中间那样，故意昂首阔步，而他们都爱护他，亲切地怂恿地高声喊叫，必要时也只伸出他们的大拳头敲他几下，让这位小弟弟不要太得意忘形了。
到美国来之前，杰拉尔德没有受过多少教育，可是他对此并不怎么有自知之明。其实，即使别人给他指出，他也不会在意。他母亲教过他读书写字。他很善于作算术题。他的书本知识就只这些。他唯一懂得的拉丁文是作弥撒时应答牧师的用语，唯一的历史知识则是爱尔兰的种种冤屈。他在诗歌方面，只知道穆尔的作品，音乐则限于历代流传下来的爱尔兰歌曲。他尽管对那些比他较有学问的人怀有敬意，可是从来也不感觉到自己的缺陷。而且，在一个新的国家，在一个连那些最愚昧的爱尔兰人也在此发了大财的
收听单词发音 |
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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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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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hoop
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| n.（篮球）篮圈，篮 | |
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hoops
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| n.箍( hoop的名词复数 )；（篮球）篮圈；（旧时儿童玩的）大环子；（两端埋在地里的）小铁弓 | |
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slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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wed
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| v.娶，嫁，与…结婚 | |
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lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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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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slurring
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| 含糊地说出( slur的现在分词 )； 含糊地发…的声； 侮辱； 连唱 | |
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coastal
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| adj.海岸的，沿海的，沿岸的 | |
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vowels
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| n.元音，元音字母( vowel的名词复数 ) | |
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consonants
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| n.辅音，子音( consonant的名词复数 )；辅音字母 | |
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reproof
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| n.斥责，责备 | |
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blustering
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| adj.狂风大作的，狂暴的v.外强中干的威吓( bluster的现在分词 )；咆哮；（风）呼啸；狂吹 | |
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ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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embroidery
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| n.绣花，刺绣；绣制品 | |
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rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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basting
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| n.疏缝；疏缝的针脚；疏缝用线；涂油v.打( baste的现在分词 )；粗缝；痛斥；（烤肉等时）往上抹[浇]油 | |
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wholesale
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| n.批发；adv.以批发方式；vt.批发，成批出售 | |
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austere
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| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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placidity
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| n.平静，安静，温和 | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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scurrying
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| v.急匆匆地走( scurry的现在分词 ) | |
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muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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whitewashed
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| 粉饰，美化，掩饰( whitewash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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rhythmic
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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giggling
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的现在分词 ) | |
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giggled
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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38
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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adherents
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| n.支持者，拥护者( adherent的名词复数 )；党羽；徒子徒孙 | |
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40
gnawing
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| a.痛苦的，折磨人的 | |
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41
arsenal
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| n.兵工厂，军械库 | |
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42
pigsty
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| n.猪圈，脏房间 | |
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43
fervent
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| adj.热的，热烈的，热情的 | |
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44
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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45
brawny
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| adj.强壮的 | |
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46
hardy
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| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
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47
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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48
strutting
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| 加固，支撑物 | |
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49
scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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50
adept
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| adj.老练的，精通的 | |
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51
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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52
wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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53
prospered
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| 成功，兴旺( prosper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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54
poker
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| n.扑克；vt.烙制 | |
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55
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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56
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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58
attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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59
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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60
vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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61
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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62
malarial
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| 患疟疾的，毒气的 | |
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marshes
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| n.沼泽，湿地( marsh的名词复数 ) | |
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64
aptitude
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| n.(学习方面的)才能，资质，天资 | |
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amber
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| n.琥珀；琥珀色；adj.琥珀制的 | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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69
obstinately
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| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
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stigma
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| n.耻辱，污名；(花的)柱头 | |
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71
tenant
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| n.承租人；房客；佃户；v.租借，租用 | |
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perils
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| 极大危险( peril的名词复数 )； 危险的事（或环境） | |
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realization
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| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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74
entrenched
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| adj.确立的，不容易改的(风俗习惯) | |
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75
prick
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| v.刺伤，刺痛，刺孔；n.刺伤，刺痛 | |
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76
ceded
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| v.让给，割让，放弃( cede的过去式 ) | |
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77
virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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79
thicket
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| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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transacting
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| v.办理（业务等）( transact的现在分词 )；交易，谈判 | |
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81
westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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82
northward
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| adv.向北；n.北方的地区 | |
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83
jeer
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| vi.嘲弄，揶揄；vt.奚落；n.嘲笑，讥评 | |
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plantations
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| n.种植园，大农场( plantation的名词复数 ) | |
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85
prospering
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| 成功，兴旺( prosper的现在分词 ) | |
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86
guile
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| n.诈术 | |
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87
belied
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| v.掩饰( belie的过去式和过去分词 )；证明（或显示）…为虚假；辜负；就…扯谎 | |
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88
seedling
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| n.秧苗，树苗 | |
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89
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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90
requisite
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| adj.需要的，必不可少的；n.必需品 | |
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91
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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knoll
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| n.小山，小丘 | |
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93
somber
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| adj.昏暗的，阴天的，阴森的，忧郁的 | |
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94
clannish
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| adj.排他的，门户之见的 | |
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95
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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96
sprawling
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| adj.蔓生的，不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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97
mellowed
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| （使）成熟( mellow的过去式和过去分词 )； 使色彩更加柔和，使酒更加醇香 | |
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98
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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99
reclaimed
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| adj.再生的；翻造的；收复的；回收的v.开拓( reclaim的过去式和过去分词 )；要求收回；从废料中回收（有用的材料）；挽救 | |
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100
cedars
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| 雪松，西洋杉( cedar的名词复数 ) | |
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101
galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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102
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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103
meager
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| adj.缺乏的，不足的，瘦的 | |
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104
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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105
ancestry
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| n.祖先，家世 | |
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106
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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107
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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108
sociable
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| adj.好交际的，友好的，合群的 | |
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109
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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110
cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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111
dour
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| adj.冷酷的，严厉的；（岩石）嶙峋的；顽强不屈 | |
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112
wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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113
persistently
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| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
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114
whining
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| n. 抱怨，牢骚 v. 哭诉，发牢骚 | |
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115
dawdling
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| adj.闲逛的，懒散的v.混（时间）( dawdle的现在分词 ) | |
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116
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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117
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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118
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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119
subsist
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| vi.生存，存在，供养 | |
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120
miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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121
amity
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| n.友好关系 | |
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122
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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123
pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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124
teaspoon
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| n.茶匙 | |
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125
lurked
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| vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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126
bawling
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的现在分词 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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127
truculent
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| adj.野蛮的，粗野的 | |
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128
bedlam
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| n.混乱，骚乱；疯人院 | |
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129
trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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130
infamy
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| n.声名狼藉，出丑，恶行 | |
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131
rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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132
haven
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| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
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133
offense
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| n.犯规，违法行为；冒犯，得罪 | |
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134
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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135
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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136
supervision
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| n.监督，管理 | |
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137
grooming
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| n. 修饰, 美容，（动物）梳理毛发 | |
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138
efficiently
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| adv.高效率地，有能力地 | |
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139
laundering
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| n.洗涤（衣等），洗烫（衣等）；洗（钱）v.洗（衣服等），洗烫（衣服等）( launder的现在分词 )；洗（黑钱）（把非法收入改头换面，变为貌似合法的收入） | |
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140
fumed
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| 愤怒( fume的过去式和过去分词 )； 大怒； 发怒； 冒烟 | |
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141
upbraided
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| v.责备，申斥，谴责( upbraid的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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142
domain
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| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
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143
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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144
addicted
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| adj.沉溺于....的，对...上瘾的 | |
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145
vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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146
casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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147
tilting
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| 倾斜，倾卸 | |
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148
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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149
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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150
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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151
brawl
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| n.大声争吵，喧嚷；v.吵架，对骂 | |
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152
assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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153
nun
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| n.修女，尼姑 | |
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154
swirling
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的现在分词 ) | |
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155
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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156
aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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157
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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158
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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159
rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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160
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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161
underlying
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| adj.在下面的，含蓄的，潜在的 | |
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162
granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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163
vistas
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| 长条形景色( vista的名词复数 )； 回顾； 展望； （未来可能发生的）一系列情景 | |
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164
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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165
abounding
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| adj.丰富的，大量的v.大量存在，充满，富于( abound的现在分词 ) | |
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166
virile
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| adj.男性的；有男性生殖力的；有男子气概的；强有力的 | |
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167
duels
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| n.两男子的决斗( duel的名词复数 )；竞争，斗争 | |
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168
feuds
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| n.长期不和，世仇( feud的名词复数 ) | |
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169
streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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170
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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171
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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172
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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173
furrows
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| n.犁沟( furrow的名词复数 )；（脸上的）皱纹v.犁田，开沟( furrow的第三人称单数 ) | |
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174
zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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175
heartiness
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| 诚实，热心 | |
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176
thrifty
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| adj.节俭的；兴旺的；健壮的 | |
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177
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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178
dedicated
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| adj.一心一意的；献身的；热诚的 | |
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179
tinge
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| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
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180
verandas
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| 阳台，走廊( veranda的名词复数 ) | |
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181
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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182
lured
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| 吸引，引诱（lure的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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183
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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184
depredations
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| n.劫掠，毁坏( depredation的名词复数 ) | |
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185
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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186
chunk
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| n.厚片，大块，相当大的部分（数量） | |
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187
fowls
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| 鸟( fowl的名词复数 )； 禽肉； 既不是这； 非驴非马 | |
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188
mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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189
lapses
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| n.失误，过失( lapse的名词复数 )；小毛病；行为失检；偏离正道v.退步( lapse的第三人称单数 )；陷入；倒退；丧失 | |
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190
outspoken
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| adj.直言无讳的，坦率的，坦白无隐的 | |
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191
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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192
demure
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| adj.严肃的；端庄的 | |
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193
adjured
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| v.（以起誓或诅咒等形式）命令要求( adjure的过去式和过去分词 )；祈求；恳求 | |
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194
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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195
sketchy
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| adj.写生的，写生风格的，概略的 | |
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196
gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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197
bland
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| adj.淡而无味的，温和的，无刺激性的 | |
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198
labored
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| adj.吃力的，谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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199
prophesied
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| v.预告，预言( prophesy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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200
bragged
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| v.自夸，吹嘘( brag的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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201
belle
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| n.靓女 | |
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202
veneer
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| n.(墙上的)饰面，虚饰 | |
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203
curbing
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| n.边石，边石的材料v.限制，克制，抑制( curb的现在分词 ) | |
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204
mentors
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| n.（无经验之人的）有经验可信赖的顾问( mentor的名词复数 )v.（无经验之人的）有经验可信赖的顾问( mentor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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205
deplored
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| v.悲叹，痛惜，强烈反对( deplore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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206
vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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207
pliable
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| adj.易受影响的；易弯的；柔顺的，易驾驭的 | |
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