Chapter I
Major Amberson 0
had “ made a fortune ” in 1873 , when
other people 1
were losing fortunes , and the magnificence of
the Ambersons 2
began then .
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
their 2
Midland town 5
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 “
the girl 89
's room 88
, ” 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
its 121
passengers 123
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
!