



Produced by David Widger.  HTML version by Al Haines.









                     MOSSES FROM AN OLD MANSE

                      By Nathaniel Hawthorne

                         A SELECT PARTY



The man of fancy made an entertainment at one of his castles in the
air, and invited a select number of distinguished personages to
favor him with their presence.  The mansion, though less splendid
than many that have been situated in the same region, was
nevertheless of a magnificence such as is seldom witnessed by those
acquainted only with terrestrial architecture.  Its strong
foundations and massive walls were quarried out of a ledge of heavy
and sombre clouds which had hung brooding over the earth, apparently
as dense and ponderous as its own granite, throughout a whole
autumnal day.  Perceiving that the general effect was gloomy,--so
that the airy castle looked like a feudal fortress, or a monastery
of the Middle Ages, or a state prison of our own times, rather than
the home of pleasure and repose which he intended it to be,--the
owner, regardless of expense, resolved to gild the exterior from top
to bottom.  Fortunately, there was just then a flood of evening
sunshine in the air.  This being gathered up and poured abundantly
upon the roof and walls, imbued them with a kind of solemn
cheerfulness; while the cupolas and pinnacles were made to glitter
with the purest gold, and all the hundred windows gleamed with a
glad light, as if the edifice itself were rejoicing in its heart.

And now, if the people of the lower world chanced to be looking
upward out of the turmoil of their petty perplexities, they probably
mistook the castle in the air for a heap of sunset clouds, to which
the magic of light and shade had imparted the aspect of a
fantastically constructed mansion.  To such beholders it was unreal,
because they lacked the imaginative faith.  Had they been worthy to
pass within its portal, they would have recognized the truth, that
the dominions which the spirit conquers for itself among unrealities
become a thousand times more real than the earth whereon they stamp
their feet, saying, "This is solid and substantial; this may be
called a fact."

At the appointed hour, the host stood in his great saloon to receive
the company.  It was a vast and noble room, the vaulted ceiling of
which was supported by double rows of gigantic pillars that had been
hewn entire out of masses of variegated clouds.  So brilliantly were
they polished, and so exquisitely wrought by the sculptor's skill,
as to resemble the finest specimens of emerald, porphyry, opal, and
chrysolite, thus producing a delicate richness of effect which their
immense size rendered not incompatible with grandeur.  To each of
these pillars a meteor was suspended.  Thousands of these ethereal
lustres are continually wandering about the firmament, burning out
to waste, yet capable of imparting a useful radiance to any person
who has the art of converting them to domestic purposes.  As managed
in the saloon, they are far more economical than ordinary lamplight.
Such, however, was the intensity of their blaze that it had been
found expedient to cover each meteor with a globe of evening mist,
thereby muffling the too potent glow and soothing it into a mild and
comfortable splendor.  It was like the brilliancy of a powerful yet
chastened imagination,--a light which seemed to hide whatever was
unworthy to be noticed and give effect to every beautiful and noble
attribute.  The guests, therefore, as they advanced up the centre of
the saloon, appeared to better advantage than ever before in their
lives.

The first that entered, with old-fashioned punctuality, was a
venerable figure in the costume of bygone days, with his white hair
flowing down over his shoulders and a reverend beard upon his
breast.  He leaned upon a staff, the tremulous stroke of which, as
he set it carefully upon the floor, re-echoed through the saloon at
every footstep.  Recognizing at once this celebrated personage, whom
it had cost him a vast deal of trouble and research to discover, the
host advanced nearly three fourths of the distance down between the
pillars to meet and welcome him.

"Venerable sir," said the Man of Fancy, bending to the floor, "the
honor of this visit would never be forgotten were my term of
existence to be as happily prolonged as your own."

The old gentleman received the compliment with gracious
condescension.  He then thrust up his spectacles over his forehead
and appeared to take a critical survey of the saloon.

"Never within my recollection," observed he, "have I entered a more
spacious and noble hall.  But are you sure that it is built of solid
materials and that the structure will be permanent?"

"O, never fear, my venerable friend," replied the host.  "In
reference to a lifetime like your own, it is true my castle may well
be called a temporary edifice.  But it will endure long enough to
answer all the purposes for which it was erected."

But we forget that the reader has not yet been made acquainted with
the guest.  It was no other than that universally accredited
character so constantly referred to in all seasons of intense cold
or heat; he that, remembers the hot Sunday and the cold Friday; the
witness of a past age whose negative reminiscences find their way
into every newspaper, yet whose antiquated and dusky abode is so
overshadowed by accumulated years and crowded back by modern
edifices that none but the Man of Fancy could have discovered it;
it was, in short, that twin brother of Time, and great-grandsire of
mankind, and hand-and-glove associate of all forgotten men and
things,--the Oldest Inhabitant.  The host would willingly have drawn
him into conversation, but succeeded only in eliciting a few remarks
as to the oppressive atmosphere of this present summer evening
compared with one which the guest had experienced about fourscore
years ago.  The old gentleman, in fact, was a good deal overcome by
his journey among the clouds, which, to a frame so earth-incrusted
by long continuance in a lower region, was unavoidably more
fatiguing than to younger spirits.  He was therefore conducted to an
easy-chair, well cushioned and stuffed with vaporous softness, and
left to take a little repose.

The Man of Fancy now discerned another guest, who stood so quietly
in the shadow of one of the pillars that he might easily have been
overlooked.

"My dear sir," exclaimed the host, grasping him warmly by the hand,
"allow me to greet you as the hero of the evening.  Pray do not take
it as an empty compliment; for, if there were not another guest in
my castle, it would be entirely pervaded with your presence."

"I thank you," answered the unpretending stranger; "but, though you
happened to overlook me, I have not just arrived.  I came very
early; and, with your permission, shall remain after the rest of the
company have retired."

And who does the reader imagine was this unobtrusive guest?  It was
the famous performer of acknowledged impossibilities,--a character
of superhuman capacity and virtue, and, if his enemies are to be
credited, of no less remarkable weaknesses and defects. With a
generosity with which he alone sets us an example, we will glance
merely at his nobler attributes.  He it is, then, who prefers the
interests of others to his own and a humble station to an exalted
one.  Careless of fashion, custom, the opinions of men, and the
influence of the press, he assimilates his life to the standard of
ideal rectitude, and thus proves himself the one independent citizen
of our free country.  In point of ability, many people declare him
to be the only mathematician capable of squaring the circle; the
only mechanic acquainted with the principle of perpetual motion; the
only scientific philosopher who can compel water to run up hill; the
only writer of the age whose genius is equal to the production of an
epic poem; and, finally, so various are his accomplishments, the
only professor of gymnastics who has succeeded in jumping down his
own throat. With all these talents, however, he is so far from being
considered a member of good society, that it is the severest censure
of any fashionable assemblage to affirm that this remarkable
individual was present.  Public orators, lecturers, and theatrical
performers particularly eschew his company.  For especial reasons,
we are not at liberty to disclose his name, and shall mention only
one other trait,--a most singular phenomenon in natural
philosophy,--that, when he happens to cast his eyes upon a
looking-glass, he beholds Nobody reflected there!

Several other guests now made their appearance; and among them,
chattering with immense volubility, a brisk little gentleman of
universal vogue in private society, and not unknown in the public
journals under the title of Monsieur On-Dit.  The name would seem to
indicate a Frenchman; but, whatever be his country, he is thoroughly
versed in all the languages of the day, and can express himself
quite as much to the purpose in English as in any other tongue.  No
sooner were the ceremonies of salutation over than this talkative
little person put his mouth to the host's ear and whispered three
secrets of state, an important piece of commercial intelligence, and
a rich item of fashionable scandal. He then assured the Man of Fancy
that he would not fail to circulate in the society of the lower
world a minute description of this magnificent castle in the air and
of the festivities at which he had the honor to be a guest.  So
saying, Monsieur On-Dit made his bow and hurried from one to another
of the company, with all of whom he seemed to be acquainted and to
possess some topic of interest or amusement for every individual.
Coming at last to the Oldest Inhabitant, who was slumbering
comfortably in the easy-chair, he applied his mouth to that
venerable ear.

"What do you say?" cried the old gentleman, starting from his nap
and putting up his hand to serve the purpose of an ear-trumpet.

Monsieur On-Dit bent forward again and repeated his communication.

"Never within my memory," exclaimed the Oldest Inhabitant, lifting
his hands in astonishment, "has so remarkable an incident been heard
of."

Now came in the Clerk of the Weather, who had been invited out of
deference to his official station, although the host was well aware
that his conversation was likely to contribute but little to the
general enjoyment.  He soon, indeed, got into a corner with his
acqu