Chapter I.

From: Grandfather’s Chair (1841)
Author: Nathaniel Hawthorne
Published: E. P. Peabody 1841 Boston


  GRANDFATHER had been sitting in his old arm-chair, all that pleasant afternoon, while the children were pursuing their various sports far off or near at hand. Sometimes you would have said, “Grandfather is asleep!” but still, even when his eyes were closed, his thoughts were with the young people, playing among the flowers and shrubbery of the garden.

  He heard the voice of Laurence, who had taken possession of a heap of decayed branches, which the gardener had lopped from the fruit trees, and was building a little hut for his cousin Clara and himself. He heard Clara’s gladsome voice, too, as she weeded and watered the flower-bed which had been given her for her own. He could have counted every footstep that Charley took, as he trundled his wheelbarrow along the gravel walk. And though Grandfather was old and gray-haired, yet his heart leaped with joy, whenever little Alice came fluttering like a butterfly into the room. She had made each of the children her playmate in turn, and now made Grandfather her playmate too, and thought him the merriest of them all.

  At last the children grew weary of their sports, because a summer afternoon is like a long life-time to the young. So, they came into the room together, and clustered round Grandfather’s great chair. Little Alice, who was hardly five years old, took the privilege of the youngest, and climbed his knee. It was a pleasant thing to behold that fair and golden-haired child in the lap of the old man, and to think that, different as they were, the hearts of both could be gladdened with the same joys.

  “Grandfather,” said little Alice, laying her head back upon his arm, “I am very tired now. You must tell me a story to make me go to sleep.”

  “That is not what story-tellers like,” answered Grandfather, smiling. “They are better satisfied when they can keep their auditors awake.”

  “But here are Laurence, and Charley, and I,” cried cousin Clara, who was twice as old as little Alice. “We will all three keep wide awake. And pray, Grandfather, tell us a story about this strange looking old chair.”

  Now the chair, in which Grandfather sat, was made of oak, which had grown dark with age, but had been rubbed and polished till it shone as bright as mahogany. It was very large and heavy, and had a back that rose high above Grandfather’s white head. This back was curiously carved in open work, so as to represent flowers and foliage, and other devices, which the children had often gazed at, but could never understand what they meant. On the very tiptop of the chair, over the head of Grandfather himself, was the likeness of a lion’s head, which had such a savage grin, that you would almost expect to hear it growl and snarl.

  The children had seen Grandfather sitting in this chair, ever since they could remember anything. Perhaps the younger of them supposed that he and the chair had come into the world together, and that both had always been as old as they were now. At this time, however, it happened to be the fashion for ladies to adorn their drawing-rooms with the oldest and oddest chairs that could be found. It seemed to cousin Clara, that if these ladies could have seen Grandfather’s old chair, they would have thought it worth all the rest together. She wondered if it were not even older than Grandfather himself, and longed to know all about its history.

  “Do, Grandfather, talk to us about this chair,” she repeated.

  “Well, child,” said Grandfather, patting Clara’s cheek, “I can tell you n great many stories of my chair. Perhaps your cousin Laurence would like to hear them too. They will teach him something about the history and distinguished people of his country, which he has never read in any of his school books.”

  Cousin Laurence was a boy of twelve, a bright scholar, in whom an early thoughtfulness and sensibility began to show themselves. His young fancy kindled at the idea of knowing all the adventures of this venerable chair. He looked eagerly in Grandfather’s face; and even Charley, a bold, brisk, restless little fellow of nine, sat himself down on the carpet, and resolved to be quiet for at least ten minutes, should the story last so long.

  Meantime, little Alice was already asleep; so Grandfather, being much pleased with such an attentive audience, began to talk about matters that had happened long ago.

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