Booth Tarkington (18381918). The Magnificent Ambersons. 1918.
MAJOR AMBERSON had made a fortune in 1878, when other people were losing fortunes, and the magnificence of the Ambersons began then. Magnificence, like the size of a fortune, is always comparative, as even Magnificent Lorenzo may now perceive, if he has happened to haunt New York in 1916; and the Ambersons were magnificent in their day and place. Their splendour lasted throughout all the years that saw their Midland town spread and darken into a city, but reached its topmost during the period when every prosperous family with children kept a Newfoundland dog.
In that town, in those days, all the women who wore silk or velvet knew all the other women who wore silk or velvet, and when there was a new purchase of sealskin, sick people were got to windows to see it go by. Trotters were out, in the winter afternoons, racing light sleighs on National Avenue and Tennessee Street; everybody recognized both the trotters and the drivers; and again knew them as well on summer evenings, when slim buggies whizzed by in renewals of the snow-time rivalry. For that matter, everybody knew everybody elses family horse-and-carriage, could identify such a silhouette half a mile down the street, and thereby was sure who was going to market, or to a reception, or coming home from office or store to noon dinner or evening supper.
During the earlier years of this period, elegance of personal appearance was believed to rest more upon the texture of garments than upon their shaping. A silk dress needed no remodelling when it was a year or so old; it remained distinguished by merely remaining silk. Old men and governors wore broadcloth; full dress was broadcloth with doeskin trousers; and there were seen men of all ages to whom a hat meant only that rigid, tall silk thing known to impudence as a stove-pipe. In town and country these men would wear no other hat, and, without self-consciousness, they went rowing in such hats.
Shifting fashions of shape replaced aristocracy of texture: dressmakers, shoemakers, hatmakers, and tailors, increasing in cunning and in power, found means to make new clothes old. The long contagion of the Derby hat arrived: one season the crown of this hat would be a bucket; the next it would be a spoon. Every house still kept its bootjack, but high-topped boots gave way to shoes and congress gaiters; and these were played through fashions that shaped them now with toes like box-ends and now with toes like the prows of racing shells.
Trousers with a crease were considered plebeian; the crease proved that the garment had lain upon a shelf, and hence was ready-made; these betraying trousers were called hand-me-downs, in allusion to the shelf. In the early eighties, while bangs and bustles were having their way with women, that variation of dandy known as the dude was invented: he wore trousers as tight as stockings, dagger-pointed shoes, a spoon Derby, a single-breasted coat called a Chesterfield, with short flaring skirts, a torturing cylindrical collar, laundered to a polish and three inches high, while his other neckgear might be a heavy, puffed cravat or a tiny bow fit for a dolls braids. With evening dress he wore a tan overcoat so short that his black coat-tails hung visible, five inches below the overcoat; but after a season or two he lengthened his overcoat till it touched his heels, and he passed out of his tight trousers into trousers like great bags. Then, presently, he was seen no more, though the word that had been coined for him remained in the vocabularies of the impertinent.
It was a hairier day than this. Beards were to the wearers fancy, and things as strange as the Kaiserliche boar-tusk moustache were commonplace. Side-burns found nourishment upon childlike profiles; great Dundreary whiskers blew like tippets over young shoulders; moustaches were trained as lambrequins over forgotten mouths; and it was possible for a Senator of the United States to wear a mist of white whisker upon his throat only, not a newspaper in the land finding the ornament distinguished enough to warrant a lampoon. Surely no more is needed to prove that so short a time ago we were living in another age!
...At the beginning of the Ambersons great period most of the houses of the Midland town were of a pleasant architecture. They lacked style, but also lacked pretentiousness, and whatever does not pretend at all has style enough. They stood in commodious yards, well shaded by leftover forest trees, elm and walnut and beech, with here and there a line of tall sycamores where the land had been made by filling bayous from the creek. The house of a prominent resident, facing Military Square, or National Avenue, or Tennessee Street, was built of brick upon a stone foundation, or of wood upon a brick foundation. Usually it had a front porch and a back porch; often a side porch, too. There was a front hall; there was a side hall; and sometimes a back hall. From the front hall opened three rooms, the parlour, the sitting room, and the library; and the library could show warrant to its titlefor some reason these people bought books. Commonly, the family sat more in the library than in the sitting room, while callers, when they came formally, were kept to the parlour, a place of formidable polish and discomfort. The upholstery of the library furniture was a little shabby; but the hostile chairs and sofa of the parlour always looked new. For all the wear and tear they got they should have lasted a thousand years.
Upstairs were the bedrooms; mother-and-fathers room the largest; a smaller room for one or two sons, another for one or two daughters; each of these rooms containing a double bed, a washstand, a bureau, a wardrobe, a little table, a rocking-chair, and often a chair or two that had been slightly damaged downstairs, but not enough to justify either the expense of repair or decisive abandonment in the attic. And there was always a spare-room, for visitors (where the sewing-machine usually was kept), and during the seventies there developed an appreciation of the necessity for a bathroom. Therefore the architects placed bathrooms in the new houses, and the older houses tore out a cupboard or two, set up a boiler beside the kitchen stove, and sought a new godliness, each with its own bathroom. The great American plumber joke, that many-branched evergreen, was planted at this time.
At the rear of the house, upstairs, was a bleak little chamber, called the girls room, and in the stable there was another bedroom, adjoining the hayloft, and called the hired mans room. House and stable cost seven or eight thousand dollars to build, and people with that much money to invest in such comforts were classified as the Rich. They paid the inhabitant of the girls room two dollars a week, and, in the latter part of this period, two dollars and a half, and finally three dollars a week. She was Irish, ordinarily, or German, or it might be Scandinavian, but never native to the land unless she happened to be a person of colour. The man or youth who lived in the stable had like wages, and sometimes he, too, was lately a steerage voyager, but much oftener he was coloured.
After sunrise, on pleasant mornings, the alleys behind the stables were gay; laughter and shouting went up and down their dusty lengths, with a lively accompaniment of curry-combs knocking against back fences and stable walls, for the darkies loved to curry their horses in the alley. Darkies always prefer to gossip in shouts instead of whispers; and they feel that profanity, unless it be vociferous, is almost worthless. Horrible phrases were caught by early rising children and carried to older people for definition, sometimes at inopportune moments; while less investigative children would often merely repeat the phrases in some subsequent flurry of agitation, and yet bring about consequences so emphatic as to be recalled with ease in middle life.
...They have passed, those darky hired-men of the Midland town; and the introspective horses they curried and brushed and whacked and amiably cursedthose good old horses switch their tails at flies no more. For all their seeming permanence they might as well have been buffaloesor the buffalo laprobes that grew bald in patches and used to slide from the careless drivers knees and hang unconcerned, half way to the ground. The stables have been transformed into other likenesses, or swept away, like the woodsheds where were kept the stovewood and kindling that the girl and the hired-man always quarrelled over: who should fetch it. Horse and stable and woodshed, and the whole tribe of the hired-man, all are gone. They went quickly, yet so silently that we whom they served have not yet really noticed that they are vanished.
So with other vanishings. There were the little bunty street-cars on the long, single track that went its troubled way among the cobblestones. At the rear door of the car there was no platform, but a step where passengers clung in wet clumps when the weather was bad and the car crowded. The patronsif not too absent-mindedput their fares into a slot; and no conductor paced the heaving floor, but the driver would rap remindingly with his elbow upon the glass of the door to his little open platform if the nickels and the passengers did not appear to coincide in number. A lone mule drew the car, and sometimes drew it off the track, when the passengers would get out and push it on again. They really owed it courtesies like this, for the car was genially accommodating: a lady could whistle to it from an upstairs window, and the car would halt at once and wait for her while she shut the window, put on her hat and cloak, went downstairs, found an umbrella, told the girl what to have for dinner, and came forth from the house.
The previous passengers made little objection to such gallantry on the part of the car: they were wont to expect as much for themselves on like occasion. In good weather the mule pulled the car a mile in a little less than twenty minutes, unless the stops were too long; but when the trolley-car came, doing its mile in five minutes and better, it would wait for nobody. Nor could its passengers have endured such a thing, because the faster they were carried the less time they had to spare! In the days before deathly contrivances hustled them through their lives, and when they had no telephonesanother ancient vacancy profoundly responsible for leisurethey had time for everything: time to think, to talk, time to read, time to wait for a lady!
They even had time to dance square dances, quadrilles, and lancers; they also danced the racquette, and schottisches and polkas, and such whims as the Portland Fancy. They pushed back the sliding doors between the parlour and the sitting room, tacked down crash over the carpets, hired a few palms in green tubs, stationed three or four Italian musicians under the stairway in the front halland had great nights!
But these people were gayest on New Years Day; they made it a true festivalsomething no longer known. The women gathered to assist the hostesses who kept Open House; and the carefree men, dandified and perfumed, went about in sleighs, or in carriages and ponderous hacks, going from Open House to Open House, leaving fantastic cards in fancy baskets as they entered each doorway, and emerging a little later, more carefree than ever, if the punch had been to their liking. It always was, and, as the afternoon wore on, pedestrians saw great gesturing and waving of skin-tight lemon gloves, while ruinous fragments of song were dropped behind as the carriages rolled up and down the streets.
Keeping Open House was a merry custom; it has gone, like the all-day picnic in the woods, and like that prettiest of all vanished customs, the serenade. When a lively girl visited the town she did not long go unserenaded, though a visitor was not indeed needed to excuse a serenade. Of a summer night, young men would bring an orchestra under a pretty girls windowor, it might be, her fathers, or that of an ailing maiden auntand flute, harp, fiddle, cello, cornet, and bass viol would presently release to the dulcet stars such melodies as sing through Youll Remember Me, I Dreamt That I Dwelt in Marble Halls, Silver Threads Among the Gold, Kathleen Mavourneen, or The Soldiers Farewell.
They had other music to offer, too, for these were the happy days of Olivette and The Mascotte and The Chimes of Normandy and Giroflé-Girofla and Fra Diavola. Better than that, these were the days of Pinafore and The Pirates of Penzance and of Patience. This last was needed in the Midland town, as elsewhere, for the æsthetic movement had reached thus far from London, and terrible things were being done to honest old furniture. Maidens sawed what-nots in two, and gilded the remains. They took the rockers from rocking-chairs and gilded the inadequate legs; they gilded the easels that supported the crayon portraits of their deceased uncles. In the new spirit of art they sold old clocks for new, and threw wax flowers and wax fruit, and the protecting glass domes, out upon the trash-heap. They filled vases with peacock feathers, or cat-tails, or sumach, or sunflowers, and set the vases upon mantelpieces and marble-topped tables. They embroidered daisies (which they called marguerites) and sunflowers and sumach and cat-tails and owls and peacock feathers upon plush screens and upon heavy cushions, then strewed these cushions upon floors where fathers fell over them in the dark. In the teeth of sinful oratory, the daughters went on embroidering: they embroidered daisies and sunflowers and sumach and cat-tails and owls and peacock feathers upon throws which they had the courage to drape upon horsehair sofas; they painted owls and daisies and sunflowers and sumach and cat-tails and peacock feathers upon tambourines. They hung Chinese umbrellas of paper to the chandeliers; they nailed paper fans to the walls. They studied painting on china, these girls; they sang Tostis new songs; they sometimes still practised the old, genteel habit of lady-fainting, and were most charming of all when they drove forth, three or four in a basket phaeton, on a spring morning.
Croquet and the mildest archery ever known were the sports of people still young and active enough for so much exertion; middle-age played euchre. There was a theatre, next door to the Amberson Hotel, and when Edwin Booth came for a night, everybody who could afford to buy a ticket was there, and all the hacks in town were hired. The Black Crook also filled the theatre, but the audience then was almost entirely of men who looked uneasy as they left for home when the final curtain fell upon the shocking girls dressed as fairies. But the theatre did not often do so well; the people of the town were still too thrifty.
They were thrifty because they were the sons or grandsons of the early settlers, who had opened the wilderness and had reached it from the East and the South with wagons and axes and guns, but with no money at all. The pioneers were thrifty or they would have perished: they had to store away food for the winter, or goods to trade for food, and they often feared they had not stored enoughthey left traces of that fear in their sons and grandsons. In the minds of most of these, indeed, their thrift was next to their religion: to save, even for the sake of saving, was their earliest lesson and discipline. No matter how prosperous they were, they could not spend money either upon art, or upon mere luxury and entertainment, without a sense of sin.
Against so homespun a background the magnificence of the Ambersons was as conspicuous as a brass band at a funeral. Major Amberson bought two hundred acres of land at the end of National Avenue; and through this tract he built broad streets and cross-streets; paved them with cedar block, and curbed them with stone. He set up fountains, here and there, where the streets intersected, and at symmetrical intervals placed cast-iron statues, painted white, with their titles clear upon the pedestals: Minerva, Mercury, Hercules, Venus, Gladiator, Emperor Augustus, Fisher Boy, Stag-hound, Mastic, Greyhound, Fawn, Antelope, Wounded Doe, and Wounded Lion. Most of the forest trees had been left to flourish still, and, at some distance, or by moonlight, the place was in truth beautiful; but the ardent citizen, loving to see his city grow, wanted neither distance nor moonlight. He had not seen Versailles, but, standing before the Fountain of Neptune in Amberson Addition, at bright noon, and quoting the favourite comparison of the local newspapers, he declared Versailles outdone. All this Art showed a profit from the start, for the lots sold well and there was something like a rush to build in the new Addition. Its main thoroughfare, an oblique continuation of National Avenue, was called Amberson Boulevard, and here, at the juncture of the new Boulevard and the Avenue, Major Amberson reserved four acres for himself, and built his new housethe Amberson Mansion, of course.
This house was the pride of the town. Faced with stone as far back as the dining-room windows, it was a house of arches and turrets and girdling stone porches: it had the first porte-cochère seen in that town. There was a central front hall with a great black walnut stairway, and open to a green glass skylight called the dome, three stories above the ground floor. A ballroom occupied most of the third story; and at one end of it was a carved walnut gallery for the musicians. Citizens told strangers that the cost of all this black walnut and wood-carving was sixty thousand dollars. Sixty thousand dollars for the woodwork alone! Yes, sir, and hardwood floors all over the house! Turkish rugs and no carpets at all, except a Brussels carpet in the front parlourI hear they call it the reception-room. Hot and cold water upstairs and down, and stationary washstands in every last bedroom in the place! Their sideboards built right into the house and goes all the way across one end of the dining room. It isnt walnut, its solid mahogany! Not veneeringsolid mahogany! Well, sir, I presume the President of the United States would be tickled to swap the White House for the new Amberson Mansion, if the Majord give him the chancebut by the Almighty Dollar, you bet your sweet life the Major wouldnt!
The visitor to the town was certain to receive further enlightenment, for there was one form of entertainment never omitted: he was always patriotically taken for a little drive around our city, even if his host had to hire a hack, and the climax of the display was the Amberson Mansion. Look at that greenhouse theyve put up there in the side yard, the escort would continue. And look at that brick stable! Most folks would think that stable plenty big enough and good enough to live in; its got running water and four rooms upstairs for two hired men and one of ems family to live in. They keep one hired man loafin in the house, and they got a married hired man out in the stable, and his wife does the washing. They got box-stalls for four horses, and they keep a coupay, and some new kinds of fancy rigs you never saw the beat of! Carts they call two of emway up in the air they aretoo high for me! I guess they got every new kind of fancy rig in there thats been invented. And harnesswell, everybody in town can tell when Ambersons are out driving after dark, by the jingle. This town never did see so much style as Ambersons are putting on, these days; and I guess its going to be expensive, because a lot of other folksll try to keep up with em. The Majors wife and the daughters been to Europe, and my wife tells me since they got back they make tea there every afternoon about five oclock, and drink it. Seems to me it would go against a persons stomach, just before supper like that, and anyway tea isnt fit for muchnot unless youre sick or something. My wife says Ambersons dont make lettuce salad the way other people do; they dont chop it up with sugar and vinegar at all. They pour olive oil on it with their vinegar, and they have it separatenot along with the rest of the meal And they eat these olives, too: green things they are, something like a hard plum, but a friend of mine told me they tasted a good deal like a bad hickory-nut. My wife says shes going to buy some; you got to eat nine and then you get to like em, she says. Well, I wouldnt eat nine bad hickory-nuts to get to like them, and Im going to let these olives alone. Kind of a womans dish, anyway, I suspect, but most everybodyll be makin a stagger to worm through nine of em, now Ambersons brought em to town. Yes, sir, the restll eat em, whether they get sick or not! Looks to me like some people in this cityd be willing to go crazy if they thought that would help em to be as high-toned as Ambersons. Old Aleck Minaferhes about the closest old codger we gothe come in my office the other day, and he pretty near had a stroke tellin me about his daughter Fanny. Seems Miss Isabel Ambersons got some kind of a dogthey call it a Saint Bernardand Fanny was bound to have one, too. Well, old Aleck told her he didnt like dogs except rat-terriers, because a rat-terrier cleans up the mice, but she kept on at him, and finally he said all right she could have one. Then, by George! she says Ambersons bought their dog, and you cant get one without paying for it: they cost from fifty to a hundred dollars up! Old Aleck wanted to know if I ever heard of anybody buyin a dog before, because, of course, even a Newfoundland or a setter you can usually get somebody to give you one. He says he saw some sense in payin a nigger a dime, or even a quarter, to drown a dog for you, but to pay out fifty dollars and maybe morewell, sir, he like to choked himself to death, right there in my office! Of course everybody realizes that Major Amberson is a fine business man, but what with throwin money around for dogs, and every which and what, some think all this styles bound to break him up, if his family dont quit!
One citizen, having thus discoursed to a visitor, came to a thoughtful pause, and then added, Does seem pretty much like squandering, yet when you see that dog out walking with this Miss Isabel, he seems worth the money.