



Produced by David Widger.  HTML version by Al Haines.









                     MOSSES FROM AN OLD MANSE

                      By Nathaniel Hawthorne

                      A VIRTUOSO'S COLLECTION



The other day, having a leisure hour at my disposal, I stepped into
a new museum, to which my notice was casually drawn by a small and
unobtrusive sign: "TO BE SEEN HERE, A VIRTUOSO'S COLLECTION."  Such
was the simple yet not altogether unpromising announcement that
turned my steps aside for a little while from the sunny sidewalk of
our principal thoroughfare.  Mounting a sombre staircase, I pushed
open a door at its summit, and found myself in the presence of a
person, who mentioned the moderate sum that would entitle me to
admittance.

"Three shillings, Massachusetts tenor," said he.  "No, I mean half a
dollar, as you reckon in these days."

While searching my pocket for the coin I glanced at the doorkeeper,
the marked character and individuality of whose aspect encouraged me
to expect something not quite in the ordinary way.  He wore an
old-fashioned great-coat, much faded, within which his meagre person
was so completely enveloped that the rest of his attire was
undistinguishable.  But his visage was remarkably wind-flushed,
sunburnt, and weather-worn, and had a most, unquiet, nervous, and
apprehensive expression.  It seemed as if this man had some
all-important object in view, some point of deepest interest to be
decided, some momentous question to ask, might he but hope for a
reply.  As it was evident, however, that I could have nothing to do
with his private affairs, I passed through an open doorway, which
admitted me into the extensive hall of the museum.

Directly in front of the portal was the bronze statue of a youth
with winged feet.  He was represented in the act of flitting away
from earth, yet wore such a look of earnest invitation that it
impressed me like a summons to enter the hall.

"It is the original statue of Opportunity, by the ancient sculptor
Lysippus," said a gentleman who now approached me.  "I place it at
the entrance of my museum, because it is not at all times that one
can gain admittance to such a collection."

The speaker was a middle-aged person, of whom it was not easy to
determine whether he had spent his life as a scholar or as a man of
action; in truth, all outward and obvious peculiarities had been
worn away by an extensive and promiscuous intercourse with the
world.  There was no mark about him of profession, individual
habits, or scarcely of country; although his dark complexion and
high features made me conjecture that he was a native of some
southern clime of Europe. At all events, he was evidently the
virtuoso in person.

"With your permission," said he, "as we have no descriptive
catalogue, I will accompany you through the museum and point out
whatever may be most worthy of attention.  In the first place, here
is a choice collection of stuffed animals."

Nearest the door stood the outward semblance of a wolf, exquisitely
prepared, it is true, and showing a very wolfish fierceness in the
large glass eyes which were inserted into its wild and crafty head.
Still it was merely the skin of a wolf, with nothing to distinguish
it from other individuals of that unlovely breed.

"How does this animal deserve a place in your collection?" inquired
I.

"It is the wolf that devoured Little Red Riding Hood," answered the
virtuoso; "and by his side--with a milder and more matronly look, as
you perceive--stands the she-wolf that suckled Romulus and Remus."

"Ah, indeed!" exclaimed I.  "And what lovely lamb is this with the
snow-white fleece, which seems to be of as delicate a texture as
innocence itself?"

"Methinks you have but carelessly read Spenser," replied my guide,
"or you would at once recognize the'milk-white lamb' which Una led.
But I set no great value upon the lamb.  The next specimen is better
worth our notice."

"What!" cried I, "this strange animal, with the black head of an ox
upon the body of a white horse?  Were it possible to suppose it, I
should say that this was Alexander's steed Bucephalus."

"The same," said the virtuoso.  "And can you likewise give a name to
the famous charger that stands beside him?"

Next to the renowned Bucephalus stood the mere skeleton of a horse,
with the white bones peeping through his ill-conditioned hide; but,
if my heart had not warmed towards that pitiful anatomy, I might as
well have quitted the museum at once.  Its rarities had not been
collected with pain and toil from the four quarters of the earth,
and from the depths of the sea, and from the palaces and sepulchres
of ages, for those who could mistake this illustrious steed.

"It, is Rosinante!" exclaimed I, with enthusiasm.

And so it proved.  My admiration for the noble and gallant horse
caused me to glance with less interest at the other animals,
although many of them might have deserved the notice of Cuvier
himself.  There was the donkey which Peter Bell cudgelled so
soundly, and a brother of the same species who had suffered a
similar infliction from the ancient prophet Balaam.  Some doubts
were entertained, however, as to the authenticity of the latter
beast.  My guide pointed out the venerable Argus, that faithful dog
of Ulysses, and also another dog (for so the skin bespoke it),
which, though imperfectly preserved, seemed once to have had three
heads.  It was Cerberus.  I was considerably amused at detecting in
an obscure corner the fox that became so famous by the loss of his
tail.  There were several stuffed cats, which, as a dear lover of
that comfortable beast, attracted my affectionate regards.  One was
Dr. Johnson's cat Hodge; and in the same row stood the favorite cats
of Mahomet, Gray, and Walter Scott, together with Puss in Boots, and
a cat of very noble aspect--who had once been a deity of ancient
Egypt.  Byron's tame bear came next.  I must not forget to mention
the Eryruanthean boar, the skin of St. George's dragon, and that of
the serpent Python; and another skin with beautifully variegated
hues, supposed to have been the garment of the "spirited sly snake,"
which tempted Eve. Against the walls were suspended the horns of the
stag that Shakespeare shot; and on the floor lay the ponderous shell
of the tortoise which fell upon the head of Aeschylus.  In one row,
as natural as life, stood the sacred bull Apis, the "cow with the
crumpled horn," and a very wild-looking young heifer, which I guessed
to be the cow that jumped over the moon.  She was probably killed by
the rapidity of her descent.  As I turned away, my eyes fell upon an
indescribable monster, which proved to be a griffin.

"I look in vain," observed I, "for the skin of an animal which might
well deserve the closest study of a naturalist,--the winged horse,
Pegasus."

"He is not yet dead," replied the virtuoso; "but he is so hard
ridden by many young gentlemen of the day that I hope soon to add
his skin and skeleton to my collection."

We now passed to the next alcove of the hall, in which was a
multitude of stuffed birds.  They were very prettily arranged, some
upon the branches of trees, others brooding upon nests, and others
suspended by wires so artificially that they seemed in the very act
of flight.  Among them was a white dove, with a withered branch of
olive-leaves in her mouth.

"Can this be the very dove," inquired I, "that brought the message
of peace and hope to the tempest-beaten passengers of the ark?"

"Even so," said my companion.

"And this raven, I suppose," continued I, "is the same that fed
Elijah in the wilderness."

"The raven?  No," said the virtuoso; "it is a bird of modern date.
He belonged to one Barnaby Rudge, and many people fancied that the
Devil himself was disguised under his sable plumage. But poor Grip
has drawn his last cork, and has been forced to'say die' at last.
This other raven, hardly less curious, is that in which the soul of
King George I.  revisited his lady-love, the Duchess of Kendall."

My guide next pointed out Minerva's owl and the vulture that preyed
upon the liver of Prometheus.  There was likewise the sacred ibis of
Egypt, and one of the Stymphalides which Hercules shot in his sixth
labor.  Shelley's skylark, Bryant's water-fowl, and a pigeon from
the belfry of the Old South Church, preserved by N. P. Willis, were
placed on the same perch.  I could not but shudder on beholding
Coleridge's albatross, transfixed with the Ancient Mariner's
crossbow shaft.  Beside this bird of awful poesy stood a gray goose
of very ordinary aspect.

"Stuffed goose is no such rarity," observed I.  "Why do you preserve
such a specimen in your museum?"

"It is one of the flock whose cackling saved the Roman Capitol,"
answered the virtuoso.  "Many geese have cackled and hissed both
before and since; but none, like those, have clamored themselves
into immortality."

There seemed to be little else that demanded notice in this
department of the museum, unless we except Robinson Crusoe's parrot,
a live phoenix, a footless bird of paradise, and a splendid peacock,
supposed to be the same that once contained the soul of Pythagoras.
I therefore passed to the next alcove, the shelves of which were
covered with a miscellaneous collection of curiosities such as are
usually found in similar establishments. One of the first things
that took my eye was a strange-looking cap, woven of some substance
that appeared to be neither woollen, cotton, nor linen.

"Is this a magician's cap?" I asked.

"No," replied the virtuoso; "it is merely Dr. Franklin's cap of
asbestos.  But here is one which, perhaps, may suit you better. It
is the wishing-cap of Fortunatus.  Will you try it on?"

"By no means," answered I, putting it aside with my hand.  "The day
of wild wishes is past with me.  I desire nothing that may not come
in the ordinary course of Providence."

"Then probably," returned the virtuoso, "you will not be tempted to
rub this lamp?"

While speaking, he took from the shelf an antique brass lamp,
curiously wrought with embossed figures, but so covered with
verdigris that the sculpture was almost eaten away.

"It is a thousand years," said he, "since the genius of this lamp
constructed Aladdin's palace in a single night.  But he still
retains his power; and the man who rubs Aladdin's lamp has but to
desire either a palace or a cottage."

"I might desire a cottage," replied I; "but I would have it founded
on sure and stable truth, not on dreams and fantasies.  I have
learned to look for the real and the true."

My guide next showed me Prospero's magic wand, broken into three
fragments by the hand of its mighty master.  On the same shelf lay
the gold ring of ancient Gyges, which enabled the wearer to walk
invisible.  On the other side of the alcove was a tall looking-glass
in a frame of ebony, but veiled with a curtain of purple silk,
through the rents of which the gleam of the mirror was perceptible.

"This is Cornelius Agrippa's magic glass," observed the virtuoso.
"Draw aside the curtain, and picture any human form within your
mind, and it will be reflected in the mirror."

"It is enough if I can picture it within my mind," answered I. "Why
should I wish it to be repeated in the mirror?  But, indeed, these
works of magic have grown wearisome to me.  There are so many
greater wonders in the world, to those who keep their eyes open and
their sight undimmed by custom, that all the delusions of the old
sorcerers seem flat and stale.  Unless you can show me something
really curious, I care not to look further into your museum."

"Ah, well, then," said the virtuoso, composedly, "perhaps you may
deem some of my antiquarian rarities deserving of a glance."

He pointed out the iron mask, now corroded with rust; and my heart
grew sick at the sight of this dreadful relic, which had shut out a
human being from sympathy with his race.  There was nothing half so
terrible in the axe that beheaded King Charles, nor in the dagger
that slew Henry of Navarre, nor in the arrow that pierced the heart
of William Rufus,--all of which were shown to me.  Many of the
articles derived their interest, such as it was, from having been
formerly in the possession of royalty.  For instance, here was
Charlemagne's sheepskin cloak, the flowing wig of Louis Quatorze,
the spinning-wheel of Sardanapalus, and King Stephen's famous
breeches which cost him but a crown.  The heart of the Bloody Mary,
with the word "Calais" worn into its diseased substance, was
preserved in a bottle of spirits; and near it lay the golden case in
which the queen of Gustavus Adolphus treasured up that hero's heart.
Among these relics and heirlooms of kings I must not forget the
long, hairy ears of Midas, and a piece of bread which had been
changed to gold by the touch of that unlucky monarch.  And as
Grecian Helen was a queen, it may here be mentioned that I was
permitted to take into my hand a lock of her golden hair and the
bowl which a sculptor modelled from the curve of her perfect breast.
Here, likewise, was the robe that smothered Agamemnon, Nero's
fiddle, the Czar Peter's brandy-bottle, the crown of Semiramis, and
Canute's sceptre which he extended over the sea.  That my own land
may not deem itself neglected, let me add that I was favored with a
sight of the skull of King Philip, the famous Indian chief, whose
head the Puritans smote off and exhibited upon a pole.

"Show me something else," said I to the virtuoso.  "Kings are in
such an artificial position that people in the ordinary walks of
life cannot feel an interest in their relics.  If you could show me
the straw hat of sweet little Nell, I would far rather see it than a
king's golden crown."

"There it is," said my guide, pointing carelessly with his staff to
the straw hat in question.  "But, indeed, you are hard to please.
Here are the seven-league boots.  Will you try them on?"

"Our modern railroads have superseded their use," answered I; "and
as to these cowhide boots, I could show you quite as curious a pair
at the Transcendental community in Roxbury."

We next examined a collection of swords and other weapons, belonging
to different epochs, but thrown together without much attempt at
arrangement.  Here Was Arthur's sword Excalibar, and that of the Cid
Campeader, and the sword of Brutus rusted with Caesar's blood and
his own, and the sword of Joan of Arc, and that of Horatius, and
that with which Virginius slew his daughter, and the one which
Dionysius suspended over the head of Damocles. Here also was Arria's
sword, which she plunged into her own breast, in order to taste of
death before her husband.  The crooked blade of Saladin's cimeter
next attracted my notice.  I know not by what chance, but so it
happened, that the sword of one of our own militia generals was
suspended between Don Quixote's lance and the brown blade of
Hudibras.  My heart throbbed high at the sight of the helmet of
Miltiades and the spear that was broken in the breast of
Epaminondas.  I recognized the shield of Achilles by its resemblance
to the admirable cast in the possession of Professor Felton.
Nothing in this apartment interested me more than Major Pitcairn's
pistol, the discharge of which, at Lexington, began the war of the
Revolution, and was reverberated in thunder around the land for
seven long years. The bow of Ulysses, though unstrung for ages, was
placed against the wall, together with a sheaf of Robin Hood's
arrows and the rifle of Daniel Boone.

"Enough of weapons," said I, at length; "although I would gladly
have seen the sacred shield which fell from heaven in the time of
Numa.  And surely you should obtain the sword which Washington
unsheathed at Cambridge.  But the collection does you much credit.
Let us pass on."

In the next alcove we saw the golden thigh of Pythagoras, which had
so divine a meaning; and, by one of the queer analogies to which the
virtuoso seemed to be addicted, this ancient emblem lay on the same
shelf with Peter Stuyvesant's wooden leg, that was fabled to be of
silver.  Here was a remnant of the Golden Fleece, and a sprig of
yellow leaves that resembled the foliage of a frost-bitten elm, but
was duly authenticated as a portion of the golden branch by which
AEneas gained admittance to the realm of Pluto.  Atalanta's golden
apple and one of the apples of discord were wrapped in the napkin of
gold which Rampsinitus brought from Hades; and the whole were
deposited in the golden vase of Bias, with its inscription: "TO THE
