The House of the Seven Gables
answer to her thoughts, had stepped towards the door, he used little or
no ceremony in putting her aside.
“No, no, Miss Phœbe!” said Judge Pyncheon in a voice as deep as a
thunder-growl, and with a frown as black as the cloud whence it issues.
“Stay you here! I know the house, and know my cousin Hepzibah, and know
her brother Clifford likewise.—nor need my little country cousin put
herself to the trouble of announcing me!”—in these latter words, by the
bye, there were symptoms of a change from his sudden harshness into his
previous benignity of manner. “I am at home here, Phœbe, you must
recollect, and you are the stranger. I will just step in, therefore,
and see for myself how Clifford is, and assure him and Hepzibah of my
kindly feelings and best wishes. It is right, at this juncture, that
they should both hear from my own lips how much I desire to serve them.
Ha! here is Hepzibah herself!”
Such was the case. The vibrations of the Judge’s voice had reached the
old gentlewoman in the parlor, where she sat, with face averted,
waiting on her brother’s slumber. She now issued forth, as would
appear, to defend the entrance, looking, we must needs say, amazingly
like the dragon which, in fairy tales, is wont to be the guardian over
an enchanted beauty. The habitual scowl of her brow was undeniably too
fierce, at this moment, to pass itself off on the innocent score of
near-sightedness; and it was bent on Judge Pyncheon in a way that
seemed to confound, if not alarm him, so inadequately had he estimated
the moral force of a deeply grounded antipathy. She made a repelling
gesture with her hand, and stood a perfect picture of prohibition, at
full length, in the dark frame of the doorway. But we must betray
Hepzibah’s secret, and confess that the native timorousness of her
character even now developed itself in a quick tremor, which, to her
own perception, set each of her joints at variance with its fellows.
Possibly, the Judge was aware how little true hardihood lay behind
Hepzibah’s formidable front. At any rate, being a gentleman of steady
nerves, he soon recovered himself, and failed not to approach his
cousin with outstretched hand; adopting the sensible precaution,
however, to cover his advance with a smile, so broad and sultry, that,
had it been only half as warm as it looked, a trellis of grapes might
at once have turned purple under its summer-like exposure. It may have
been his purpose, indeed, to melt poor Hepzibah on the spot, as if she
were a figure of yellow wax.
“Hepzibah, my beloved cousin, I am rejoiced!” exclaimed the Judge most
emphatically. “Now, at length, you have something to live for. Yes, and
all of us, let me say, your friends and kindred, have more to live for
than we had yesterday. I have lost no time in hastening to offer any
assistance in my power towards making Clifford comfortable. He belongs
to us all. I know how much he requires,—how much he used to
require,—with his delicate taste, and his love of the beautiful.
Anything in my house,—pictures, books, wine, luxuries of the table,—he
may command them all! It would afford me most heartfelt gratification
to see him! Shall I step in, this moment?”
“No,” replied Hepzibah, her voice quivering too painfully to allow of
many words. “He cannot see visitors!”
“A visitor, my dear cousin!—do you call me so?” cried the Judge, whose
sensibility, it seems, was hurt by the coldness of the phrase. “Nay,
then, let me be Clifford’s host, and your own likewise. Come at once to
my house. The country air, and all the conveniences,—I may say
luxuries,—that I have gathered about me, will do wonders for him. And
you and I, dear Hepzibah, will consult together, and watch together,
and labor together, to make our dear Clifford happy. Come! why should
we make more words about what is both a duty and a pleasure on my part?
Come to me at once!”
On hearing these so hospitable offers, and such generous recognition of
the claims of kindred, Phœbe felt very much in the mood of running up
to Judge Pyncheon, and giving him, of her own accord, the kiss from
which she had so recently shrunk away. It was quite otherwise with
Hepzibah; the Judge’s smile seemed to operate on her acerbity of heart
like sunshine upon vinegar, making it ten times sourer than ever.
“Clifford,” said she,—still too agitated to utter more than an abrupt
sentence,—“Clifford has a home here!”
“May Heaven forgive you, Hepzibah,” said Judge Pyncheon,—reverently
lifting his eyes towards that high court of equity to which he
appealed,—“if you suffer any ancient prejudice or animosity to weigh
with you in this matter. I stand here with an open heart, willing and
anxious to receive yourself and Clifford into it. Do not refuse my good
offices,—my earnest propositions for your welfare! They are such, in
all respects, as it behooves your nearest kinsman to make. It will be a
heavy responsibility, cousin, if you confine your brother to this
dismal house and stifled air, when the delightful freedom of my
country-seat is at his command.”
“It would never suit Clifford,” said Hepzibah, as briefly as before.
“Woman!” broke forth the Judge, giving way to his resentment, “what is
the meaning of all this? Have you other resources? Nay, I suspected as
much! Take care, Hepzibah, take care! Clifford is on the brink of as
black a ruin as ever befell him yet! But why do I talk with you, woman
as you are? Make way!—I must see Clifford!”
Hepzibah spread out her gaunt figure across the door, and seemed really
to increase in bulk; looking the more terrible, also, because there was
so much terror and agitation in her heart. But Judge Pyncheon’s evident
purpose of forcing a passage was interrupted by a voice from the inner
room; a weak, tremulous, wailing voice, indicating helpless alarm, with
no more energy for self-defence than belongs to a frightened infant.
“Hepzibah, Hepzibah!” cried the voice; “go down on your knees to him!
Kiss his feet! Entreat him not to come in! Oh, let him have mercy on
me! Mercy! mercy!”
For the instant, it appeared doubtful whether it were not the Judge’s
resolute purpose to set Hepzibah aside, and step across the threshold
into the parlor, whence issued that broken and miserable murmur of
entreaty. It was not pity that restrained him, for, at the first sound
of the enfeebled voice, a red fire kindled in his eyes, and he made a
quick pace forward, with something inexpressibly fierce and grim
darkening forth, as it were, out of the whole man. To know Judge
Pyncheon was to see him at that moment. After such a revelation, let
him smile with what sultriness he would, he could much sooner turn
grapes purple, or pumpkins yellow, than melt the iron-branded
impression out of the beholder’s memory. And it rendered his aspect not
the less, but more frightful, that it seemed not to express wrath or
hatred, but a certain hot fellness of purpose, which annihilated
everything but itself.
Yet, after all, are we not slandering an excellent and amiable man?
Look at the Judge now! He is apparently conscious of having erred, in
too energetically pressing his deeds of loving-kindness on persons
unable to appreciate them. He will await their better mood, and hold
himself as ready to assist them then as at this moment. As he draws
back from the door, an all-comprehensive benignity blazes from his
visage, indicating that he gathers Hepzibah, little Phœbe, and the
invisible Clifford, all three, together with the whole world besides,
into his immense heart, and gives them a warm bath in its flood of
affection.
“You do me great wrong, dear Cousin Hepzibah!” said he, first kindly
offering her his hand, and then drawing on his glove preparatory to
departure. “Very great wrong! But I forgive it, and will study to make
you think better of me. Of course, our poor Clifford being in so
unhappy a state of mind, I cannot think of urging an interview at
present. But I shall watch over his welfare as if he were my own
beloved brother; nor do I at all despair, my dear cousin, of
constraining both him and you to acknowledge your injustice. When that
shall happen, I desire no other revenge than your acceptance of the
best offices in my power to do you.”
With a bow to Hepzibah, and a degree of paternal benevolence in his
parting nod to Phœbe, the Judge left the shop, and went smiling along
the street. As is customary with the rich, when they aim at the honors
of a republic, he apologized, as it were, to the people, for his
wealth, prosperity, and elevated station, by a free and hearty manner
towards those who knew him; putting off the more of his dignity in due
proportion with the humbleness of the man whom he saluted, and thereby
proving a haughty consciousness of his advantages as irrefragably as if
he had marched forth preceded by a troop of lackeys to clear the way.
On this particular forenoon, so excessive was the warmth of Judge
Pyncheon’s kindly aspect, that (such, at least, was the rumor about
town) an extra passage of the water-carts was found essential, in order
to lay the dust occasioned by so much extra sunshine!
No sooner had he disappeared than Hepzibah grew deadly white, and,
staggering towards Phœbe, let her head fall on the young girl’s
shoulder.
“O Phœbe!” murmured she, “that man has been the horror of my life!
Shall I never, never have the courage,—will my voice never cease from
trembling long enough to let me tell him what he is?”
“Is he so very wicked?” asked Phœbe. “Yet his offers were surely kind!”
“Do not speak of them,—he has a heart of iron!” rejoined Hepzibah. “Go,
now, and talk to Clifford! Amuse and keep him quiet! It would disturb
him wretchedly to see me so agitated as I am. There, go, dear child,
and I will try to look after the shop.”
Phœbe went accordingly, but perplexed herself, meanwhile, with queries
as to the purport of the scene which she had just witnessed, and also
whether judges, clergymen, and other characters of that eminent stamp
and respectability, could really, in any single instance, be otherwise
than just and upright men. A doubt of this nature has a most disturbing
influence, and, if shown to be a fact, comes with fearful and startling
effect on minds of the trim, orderly, and limit-loving class, in which
we find our little country-girl. Dispositions more boldly speculative
may derive a stern enjoyment from the discovery, since there must be
evil in the world, that a high man is as likely to grasp his share of
it as a low one. A wider scope of view, and a deeper insight, may see
rank, dignity, and station, all proved illusory, so far as regards
their claim to human reverence, and yet not feel as if the universe
were thereby tumbled headlong into chaos. But Phœbe, in order to keep
the universe in its old place, was fain to smother, in some degree, her
own intuitions as to Judge Pyncheon’s character. And as for her
cousin’s testimony in disparagement of it, she concluded that
Hepzibah’s judgment was embittered by one of those family feuds which
render hatred the more deadly by the dead and corrupted love that they
intermingle with its native poison.
IX.
Clifford and Phœbe
Truly was there something high, generous, and noble in the native
composition of our poor old Hepzibah! Or else,—and it was quite as
probably the case,—she had been enriched by poverty, developed by
sorrow, elevated by the strong and solitary affection of her life, and
thus endowed with heroism, which never could have characterized her in
what are called happier circumstances. Through dreary years Hepzibah
had looked forward—for the most part despairingly, never with any
confidence of hope, but always with the feeling that it was her
brightest possibility—to the very position in which she now found