Magnificence , like the size of a fortune , is always comparative , as even
Magnificent Lorenzo 3
may now perceive , if he 3
has happened to haunt New York 4
in 1916 ; and the Ambersons 2
were magnificent in their 2
day and place .
Their 2
splendour lasted throughout all the years that saw spread and darken into a city 6
, but reached its topmost during the period when every prosperous family with
children 8
7 kept a Newfoundland dog .
In that town 5
, in those days , all the women who wore silk or velvet 9
knew all the other women who wore silk or velvet 10
, and when there was a new purchase of sealskin , sick people 11
were got to windows to see it go by .
Trotters were out , in the winter afternoons , racing light sleighs on National Avenue 12
and Tennessee Street 13
; everybody 14
recognized both the trotters and the drivers 15
; and again knew them 16
as well on summer evenings , when slim buggies 17
whizzed by in renewals of the snow-time rivalry .
For that matter , everybody 18
knew everybody else 20
's family horse-and-carriage
19 , could identify such a silhouette half a mile down the street 21
, and thereby was sure who was going to market 22
, or to a reception , or coming home 23
from office 24
or store 25
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 26
and governors 27
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 . ” 28
In town 5
and country 29
these men 30
would wear no other hat , and , without self-consciousness , they 30
went rowing in such hats .
Shifting fashions of shape replaced aristocracy of texture : dressmakers 31
, shoemakers 32
, hatmakers 33
, and tailors 34
, 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 35
still kept its 35
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 36
.
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 37
, that variation of
dandy 39
known as
the “ dude ” 39
38 was invented : he 39
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 39
other neckgear might be a heavy , puffed cravat or a tiny bow fit for a doll 's braids .
With evening dress he 39
wore a tan overcoat so short that his 39
black coat-tails hung visible , five inches below the over-coat ; but after a season or two he 39
lengthened his 39
overcoat till it touched his 39
heels , and he 39
passed out of his 39
tight trousers into trousers like great bags .
Then , presently , he 39
was seen no more , though the word that had been coined for him 39
remained in the vocabularies of the impertinent .
It was a hairier day than this .
Beards were to the wearers 40
' 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 42
41 to wear a mist of white whisker upon his 41
throat only , not a newspaper in the land 42
finding the ornament distinguished enough to warrant a lampoon .
Surely no more is needed to prove that so short a time ago we 43
were living in another age !
At the beginning of the Ambersons 2
' great period most of
the houses of
the Midland town 5
45 44 were of a pleasant architecture .
They 45
lacked style , but also lacked pretentiousness , and whatever does not pretend at all has style enough .
They 45
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 47
had been made by filling
bayous 48
from
the creek 49
46 .
The house of
a “ prominent resident , ” 51
facing
Military Square 52
, or
National Avenue 53
, or
Tennessee Street 54
50 , was built of brick upon a stone foundation , or of wood upon a brick foundation .
Usually it 50
had a “ front porch ” 55
and a “ back porch ” 56
; often a “ side porch , ” 57
too .
There was a “ front hall ” 58
; there was a “ side hall ” 59
; and sometimes a “ back hall . ” 60
From the “ front hall ” 58
opened three rooms 61
, the “ parlour , ” 62
the “ sitting room , ” 63
and the “ library ” 64
; and the library 64
could show warrant to its 64
title -- for some reason these people 2
bought books .
Commonly , the family 2
sat more in the library 64
than in the “ sitting room , ” 63
while callers 65
, when they 65
came formally , were kept to the “ parlour , ” 62
a place of formidable polish and discomfort 124
.
The upholstery of the library 64
furniture was a little shabby ; but the hostile chairs and sofa of the “ parlour 62
” always looked new .
For all the wear and tear they got they should have lasted a thousand years .
Upstairs 66
were the bedrooms 67
; “ mother-and-father 69
's room
68 ” the largest ; a smaller room for
one or two sons 71
70 another for
one or two daughters 73
72 ; 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 75
, but not enough to justify either the expense of repair or decisive abandonment in
the attic 76
74 .
And there was always a “ spare-room , ” for
visitors 78
77 ( where the sewing-machine usually was kept ) , and during the ' seventies there developed an appreciation of the necessity for a bathroom 79
.
Therefore the architects 80
placed bathrooms 81
in the new houses 82
, and the older houses 83
tore out a cupboard or two , set up a boiler beside the kitchen stove , and sought a new godliness , each with its own bathroom 84
.
The great American 85
plumber 86
joke , that many-branched evergreen , was planted at this time .
At the rear of the house 87
, upstairs 66
was a bleak little chamber 88
, called “ , ” and in the stable 90
there was another bedroom , adjoining
the hayloft 92
91 , and called “ the hired man 94
's room
93 . ”
House 87
and stable 90
cost seven or eight thousand dollars to build , and people with that much money to invest in such comforts 95
were classified as the Rich 96
.
They 96
paid the inhabitant of
“
the girl 89
's room ”
88 97 two dollars a week , and , in the latter part of this period , two dollars and a half , and finally three dollars a week .
She 89
was Irish , ordinarily , or German or it might be Scandinavian , but never native to the land 42
unless she 89
happened to be a person of colour 125
.
The
man 98
or
youth 99
who lived in
the stable 90
100 had like wages , and sometimes he 99
, too , was lately a steerage voyager 126
, but much oftener he 99
was coloured .
After sunrise , on pleasant mornings , the alleys behind
the stables 90
were gay
101 ; laughter and shouting went up and down their 101
dusty lengths , with a lively accompaniment of curry-combs knocking against back fences and stable 90
walls , for the darkies 102
loved to curry their 102
horses in the alley 101
.
Darkies 102
always prefer to gossip in shouts instead of whispers ; and they 102
feel that profanity , unless it be vociferous , is almost worthless .
Horrible phrases were caught by early rising children 103
and carried to older people 104
for definition , sometimes at inopportune moments ; while less investigative children 105
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 102
have passed , those darky hired-men of
the Midland town 5
102 ; and the introspective horses they 102
curried and brushed and whacked and amiably cursed -- those good old horses switch their tails at flies no more .
For all their seeming permanence they 1
might as well have been buffaloes -- or the buffalo laprobes that grew bald in patches and used to slide from the careless drivers 106
' knees and hang unconcerned , half way to the ground .
The stables 90
have been transformed into other likenesses , or swept away , like the woodsheds where were kept the stove-wood and kindling that the “ girl ” 89
and the “ hired-man ” 99
always quarrelled over : who should fetch it .
Horse and stable 90
and woodshed 107
, and the whole tribe of
the “ hired-man , ” 99
108 all are gone .
They 99
went quickly , yet so silently that we 109
whom they 99
served have not yet really noticed that they 99
are vanished .
So with other vanishings .
There were the little bunty street-cars 110
on the long , single track that went
its 111
troubled way among the cobblestones
111 .
At the rear door of the car 110
there was no platform , but a step where passengers 112
clung in wet clumps when the weather was bad and the car 110
crowded .
The patrons 112
-- if not too absent-minded -- put their 113
fares into a slot ; and no conductor 114
paced the heaving floor , but the driver 115
would rap remindingly with his 115
elbow upon the glass of the door to his 115
little open platform if the nickels and the passengers 112
did not appear to coincide in number .
A lone mule drew the car 110
, and sometimes drew it 110
off the track , when the passengers 112
would get out and push it 110
on again .
They 112
really owed it 110
courtesies like this , for the car 110
was genially accommodating : a lady 116
could whistle to it 110
from an upstairs 117
window , and the car 110
would halt at once and wait for her 116
while she 116
shut the window , put on her 116
hat and cloak , went downstairs 118
, found an umbrella , told the “ girl ” 89
what to have for dinner , and came forth from the house 119
.
The previous passengers 120
made little objection to such gallantry on the part of the car 110
: they 120
were wont to expect as much for themselves 120
on like occasion .
In good weather the mule pulled the car 110
a mile in a little less than twenty minutes , unless the stops were too long ; but when the trolley-car 121
came , doing its 121
mile in five minutes and better , it 121
would wait for nobody 122
.
Nor could have endured such a thing , because the faster they 123
were carried the less time they 123
had to spare !
In the days before deathly contrivances hustled them 123
through their 123
lives , and when they 123
had no telephones -- another ancient vacancy profoundly responsible for leisure -- they 123
had time for everything : time to think , to talk , time to read , time to wait for a lady 116
!