THE GREAT STONE FACE AND OTHER TALES OF THE WHITE(奇妙的石脸)

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THE GREAT STONE FACE AND OTHER TALES OF THE WHITE MOUNTAINS

THE GREAT STONE

FACE AND OTHER

TALES OF THE WHITE

MOUNTAINS

BY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE

THE GREAT STONE FACE AND OTHER TALES OF THE WHITE MOUNTAINS

INTRODUCTION

THE first three numbers in this collection are tales of the White Hills

in New Hampshire. The passages from Sketches from Memory show

that Hawthorne had visited the mountains in one of his occasional

rambles from home, but there are no entries in his Note Books which

give accounts of such a visit. There is, however, among these notes the

following interesting paragraph, written in 1840 and clearly

foreshadowing The Great Stone Face:

'The semblance of a human face to be formed on the side of a

mountain, or in the fracture of a small stone, by a lusus naturae [freak of

nature]. The face is an object of curiosity for years or centuries, and by

and by a boy is born whose features gradually assume the aspect of that

portrait. At some critical juncture the resemblance is found to be perfect.

A prophecy may be connected.'

It is not impossible that this conceit occurred to Hawthorne before he

had himself seen the Old Man of the Mountain, or the Profile, in the

Franconia Notch which is generally associated in the minds of readers

with The Great Stone Face.

In The Ambitious Guest he has made use of the incident still told to

travellers through the Notch, of the destruction of the Willey family in

August, 1826. The house occupied by the family was on the slope of a

mountain, and after a long drought there was a terrible tempest which

not only raised the river to a great height but loosened the surface of the

mountain so that a great landslide took place. The house was in the track

of the slide, and the family rushed out of doors. Had they remained

within they would have been safe, for a ledge above the house parted the

avalanche so that it was diverted into two paths and swept past the house

on either side. Mr. and Mrs. Willey, their five children, and two hired

men were crushed under the weight of earth, rocks, and trees.

In the Sketches from Memory Hawthorne gives an intimation of the

tale which he might write and did afterward write of The Great

Carbuncle. The paper is interesting as showing what were the actual

experiences out of which he formed his imaginative stories.

THE GREAT STONE FACE AND OTHER TALES OF THE WHITE MOUNTAINS

THE GREAT STONE FACE and Other Tales OF THE WHITE

MOUNTAINS

THE GREAT STONE FACE AND OTHER TALES OF THE WHITE MOUNTAINS

THE GREAT STONE FACE

One afternoon, when the sun was going down, a mother and her little

boy sat at the door of their cottage, talking about the Great Stone Face.

They had but to lift their eyes, and there it was plainly to be seen, though

miles away, with the sunshine brightening all its features. And what was

the Great Stone Face? Embosomed amongst a family of lofty mountains,

there was a valley so spacious that it con- tained many thousand

inhabitants. Some of these good people dwelt in log-huts, with the black

forest all around them, on the steep and difficult hillsides. Others had

their homes in comfortable farm- houses, and cultivated the rich soil on

the gentle slopes or level surfaces of the valley. Others, again, were

congregated into populous villages, where some wild, highland rivulet,

tumbling down from its birthplace in the upper mountain region, had

been caught and tamed by human cunning, and compelled to turn the

machinery of cotton- factories. The inhabitants of this valley, in short,

were numerous, and of many modes of life. But all of them, grown

people and children, had a kind of familiarity with the Great Stone Face,

although some possessed the gift of distinguishing this grand natural

phenomenon more perfectly than many of their neighbors.

The Great Stone Face, then, was a work of Nature in her mood of

majestie playfulness, formed on the perpendicular side of a mountain by

some immense rocks, which had been thrown together in such a position

as, when viewed at a proper distance, precisely to resemble the features

of the human countenance. It seemed as if an enormous giant, or a Titan,

had sculptured his own likeness on the precipice. There was the broad

arch of the forehead, a hundred feet in height; the nose, with its long

bridge; and the vast lips, which, if they could have spoken, would have

rolled their thunder accents from one end of the valley to the other. True

it is, that if the spectator approached too near, he lost the outline of the

gigantic visage, and could discern only a heap of ponderous and gigantic

rocks, piled in chaotic ruin one upon another. Retracing his steps,

however, the wondrous features would again be seen; and the farther he

withdrew from them, the more like a human face, with all its original

THE GREAT STONE FACE AND OTHER TALES OF THE WHITE MOUNTAINS

divinity intact, did they appear; until, as it grew dim in the distance, with

the clouds and glorified vapor of the mountains clustering about it, the

Great Stone Face seemed positively to be alive.

It was a happy lot for children to grow up to manhood or womanhood

with the Great Stone Face before their eyes, for all the features were

noble, and the expression was at once grand and sweet, as if it were the

glow of a vast, warm heart, that embraced all mankind in its affections,

and had room for more. It was an education only to look at it. According

to the belief of many people, the valley owed much of its fertility to this

benign aspect that was continually beaming over it, illuminating the

clouds, and infusing its tenderness into the sunshine.

As we began with saying, a mother and her little boy sat at their

cottage-door, gazing at the Great Stone Face, and talking about it. The

child's name was Ernest.

'Mother,' said he, while the Titanic visage miled on him, 'I wish that it

could speak, for it looks so very kindly that its voice must needs be

pleasant. If I were to See a man with such a face, I should love him

dearly.' 'If an old prophecy should come to pass,' answered his mother,

'we may see a man, some time for other, with exactly such a face as that.'

'What prophecy do you mean, dear mother?' eagerly inquired Ernest.

'Pray tell me all about it!' So his mother told him a story that her own

mother had told to her, when she herself was younger than little Ernest; a

story, not of things that were past, but of what was yet to come; a story,

nevertheless, so very old, that even the Indians, who formerly inhabited

this valley, had heard it from their forefathers, to whom, as they affirmed,

it had been murmured by the mountain streams, and whispered by the

wind among the tree-tops. The purport was, that, at some future day, a

child should be born hereabouts, who was destined to become the

greatest and noblest personage of his time, and whose countenance, in

manhood, should bear an exact resemblance to the Great Stone Face.

Not a few old-fashioned people, and young ones likewise, in the ardor of

their hopes, still cherished an enduring faith in this old prophecy. But

others, who had seen more of the world, had watched and waited till

they were weary, and had beheld no man with such a face, nor any man

THE GREAT STONE FACE AND OTHER TALES OF THE WHITE MOUNTAINS

that proved to be much greater or nobler than his neighbors, concluded it

to be nothing but an idle tale. At all events, the great man of the

prophecy had not yet appeared."

O mother, dear mother!' cried Ernest, clapping his hands above his

head, 'I do hope that I shall live to see him!

His mother was an affectionate and thoughtful woman, and felt that it

was wisest not to discourage the generous hopes of her little boy. So she

only said to him, 'Perhaps you may.'

And Ernest never forgot the story that his mother told him. It was

always in his mind, whenever he looked upon the Great Stone Face. He

spent his childhood in the log-cottage where he was born, and was

dutiful to his mother, and helpful to her in many things, assisting her

much with his little hands, and more with his loving heart. In this

manner, from a happy yet often pensive child, he grew up to be a mild,

quiet, unobtrusive boy, and sun-browned with labor in the fields, but

with more intelligence brightening his aspect than is seen in many lads

who have been taught at famous schools. Yet Ernest had had no teacher,

save only that the Great Stone Face became one to him. When the toil of

the day was over, he would gaze at it for hours, until he began to

imagine that those vast features recognized him, and gave him a smile of

kindness and encouragement, responsive to his own look of veneration.

We must not take upon us to affirm that this was a mistake, although the

Face may have looked no more kindly at Ernest than at all the world

besides. But the secret was that the boy's tender and confiding simplicity

discerned what other people could not see; and thus the love, which was

meant for all, became his peculiar portion.

About this time there went a rumor throughout the valley, that the

great man, foretold from ages long ago, who was to bear a resemblance

to the Great Stone Face, had appeared at last. It seems that, many years

before, a young man had migrated from the valley and settled at a distant

seaport, where, after getting together a little money, he had set up as a

shopkeeper. His name but I could never learn whether it was his real one,

or a nickname that had grown out of his habits and success in life--was

Gathergold.

THE GREAT STONE FACE AND OTHER TALES OF THE WHITE MOUNTAINS

Being shrewd and active, and endowed by Providence with that

inscrutable faculty which develops itself in what the world calls luck, he

became an exceedingly rich merchant, and owner of a whole fleet of

bulky-bottomed ships. All the countries of the globe appeared to join

hands for the mere purpose of adding heap after heap to the mountainous

accumulation of this one man's wealth. The cold regions of the north,

almost within the gloom and shadow of the Arctic Circle, sent him their

tribute in the shape of furs; hot Africa sifted for him the golden sands of

her rivers, and gathered up the ivory tusks of her great elephants out of

the forests; the east came bringing him the rich shawls, and spices, and

teas, and the effulgence of diamonds, and the gleaming purity of large

pearls. The ocean, not to be behindhand with the earth, yielded up her

mighty whales, that Mr. Gathergold might sell their oil, and make a

profit on it. Be the original commodity what it might, it was gold within

his grasp. It might be said of him, as of Midas, in the fable, that

whatever he touched with his finger immediately glistened, and grew

yellow, and was changed at once into sterling metal, or, which suited

him still better, into piles of coin. And, when Mr. Gathergold had

become so very rich that it would have taken him a hundred years only

to count his wealth, he bethought himself of his native valley, and

resolved to go back thither, and end his days where he was born. With

this purpose in view, he sent a skilful architect to build him such a palace

as should be fit for a man of his vast wealth to live in.

As I have said above, it had already been rumored in the' valley that

Mr. Gathergold had turned out to be the prophetic personage so long and

vainly looked for, and that his visage was the perfect and undeniable

similitude of the Great Stone Face. People were the more ready to

believe that this must needs be the fact, when they beheld the splendid

edifice that rose, as if by enchantment, on the site of his father's old

weather-beaten farmhouse. The exterior was of marble, so dazzlingly

white that it seemed as though the whole structure might melt away in

the sunshine, like those humbler ones which Mr. Gathergold, in his

young play-days, before his fingers were gifted with the touch of

transmutation, had been accustomed to build of snow. It had a richly

THE GREAT STONE FACE AND OTHER TALES OF THE WHITE MOUNTAINS

ornamented portico supported by tall pillars, beneath which was a lofty

door, studded with silver knobs, and made of a kind of variegated wood

that had been brought from beyond the sea. The windows, from the floor

to the ceiling of each stately apartment, were composed, respectively' of

but one enormous pane of glass, so transparently pure that it was said to

be a finer medium than even the vacant atmosphere. Hardly anybody

had been permitted to see the interior of this palace; but it was reported,

and with good semblance of truth, to be far more gorgeous than the

outside, insomuch that whatever was iron or brass in other houses was

silver or gold in this; and Mr. Gathergold's bedchamber, especially, made

such a glittering appearance that no ordinary man would have been able

to close his eyes there. But, on the other hand, Mr. Gathergold was now

so inured to wealth, that perhaps he could not have closed his eyes

unless where the gleam of it was certain to find its way beneath his

eyelids.

In due time, the mansion was finished; next came the upholsterers,

with magnificent furniture; then, a whole troop of black and white

servants, the haringers of Mr. Gathergold, who, in his own majestic

person, was expected to arrive at sunset. Our friend Ernest, meanwhile,

had been deeply stirred by the idea that the great man, the noble man,

the man of prophecy, after so many ages of delay, was at length to be

made manifest to his native valley. He knew, boy as he was, that there

were a thousand ways in which Mr. Gathergold, with his vast wealth,

might transform himself into an angel of beneficence, and assume a

control over human affairs as wide and benignant as the smile of the

Great Stone Face. Full of faith and hope, Ernest doubted not that what

the people said was true, and that now he was to behold the living

likeness of those wondrous features on the mountainside. While the boy

was still gazing up the valley, and fancying, as he always did, that the

Great Stone Face returned his gaze and looked kindly at him, the

rumbling of wheels was heard, approaching swiftly along the winding

road.

'Here he comes!' cried a group of people who were assembled to

witness the arrival. 'Here comes the great Mr. Gathergold!'

THE GREAT STONE FACE AND OTHER TALES OF THE WHITE MOUNTAINS

A carriage, drawn by four horses, dashed round the turn of the road.

Within it, thrust partly out of the window, appeared the physiognomy of

the old man, with a skin as yellow as if his own Midas-hand had

transmuted it. He had a low forehead, small, sharp eyes, puckered about

with innumerable wrinkles, and very thin lips, which he made still

thinner by pressing them forcibly together.

The very image or the Great Stone Face!' shouted the people. 'Sure

enough, the old prophecy is true; and here we have the great man come,

at last!'

And, what greatly perplexed Ernest, they seemed actually to believe

that here was the likeness which they spoke of. By the roadside there

chanced to be an old beggar woman and two little beggar-children,

stragglers from some far-off region, who, as the carriage rolled onward,

held out their hands and lifted up their doleful voices, most piteously

beseeching charity. A yellow claw the very same that had dawed

together so much wealth- poked itself out of the coach- window, and dropt

some copper coins upon the ground; so that, though the great man's

name seems to have been Gathergold, he might just as suitably have

been nicknamed Scattercopper. Still, nevertheless, with an earnest shout,

and evidently with as much good faith as ever, the people bellowed 'He

is the very image of the Great Stone Face!' But Ernest turned sadly from

the wrinkled shrewdness of that sordid visage, and gazed up the valley,

where, amid a gathering mist, gilded by the last sunbeams, he could still

distinguish those glorious features which had impressed themselves into

his soul. Their aspect cheered him. What did the benign lips seem to

say?

'He will come! Fear not, Ernest; the man will come! '

The years went on, and Ernest ceased to be a boy. He had grown to be

a young man now. He attracted little notice from the other inhabitants of

the valley; for they saw nothing remarkable in his way of life, save that,

when the labor of the day was over, he still loved to go apart and gaze

and meditate upon the Great Stone Face. According to their idea of the

matter, it was a folly, indeed, but pardonable, inasmuch as Ernest was

industrious, kind, and neighborly, and neglected no duty for the sake of

THE GREAT STONE FACE AND OTHER TALES OF THE WHITE MOUNTAINS

indulging this idle habit. They knew not that the Great Stone Face had

become a teacher to him, and that the sentiment which was expressed in

it would enlarge the young man's heart, and fill it with wider and deeper

sympathies than other hearts. They knew not that thence would come a

better wisdom than could be learned from books, and a better life than

could be moulded on the defaced example of other human lives. Neither

did Ernest know that the thoughts and affections which came to him so

naturally, in the fields and at the fireside, and wherever he communed

with himself, were of a higher tone than those which all men shared with

him. A simple soul -- simple as when his mother first taught him the old

prophecy-- he beheld the marvellous features beaming adown the valley,

and still wondered that their human counterpart was so long in making

his appearance.

By this time poor Mr. Gathergold was dead and buried; and the

oddest part of the matter was, that his wealth, which was the body and

spirit of his existence, had disappeared before his death, leaving nothing

of him but a living skeleton, covered over with a wrinkled, yellow skin.

Since the melting away of his gold, it had been very generally conceded

that there was no such striking resemblance, after all, betwixt the ignoble

features of the ruined merchant and that majestic face upon the

mountainside. So the people ceased to honor him during his lifetime, and

quietly consigned him to forgetfulness after his decease. Once in a while,

it is true, his memory was brought up in connection with the magnificent

palace which he had built, and which had long ago been turned into a hotel

for the accommodation of strangers, multitudes of whom came, every

summer, to visit that famous natural curiosity, the Great Stone Face.

Thus, Mr. Gathergold being discredited and thrown into the shade, the

man of prophecy was yet to come.

It so happened that a native-born son of the valley, many years

before, had enlisted as a soldier, and, after a great deal of hard fighting,

had now become an illustrious commander. Whatever he may be called

in history, he was known in camps and on the battlefield under the

nickname of Old Blood-and-Thunder. This war- worn veteran, being now

infirm with age and wounds, and weary of the turmoil of a military life,

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