Twice Told Tales

by Nathaniel Hawthorne

  THE SISTER-YEARS.

  Last night, between eleven and twelve o'clock, when the Old Year wasleaving her final footprints on the borders of Time's empire, shefound herself in possession of a few spare moments, and sat down--ofall places in the world--on the steps of our new city-hall. The wintrymoonlight showed that she looked weary of body and sad of heart, likemany another wayfarer of earth. Her garments, having been exposed tomuch foul weather and rough usage, were in very ill condition, and, asthe hurry of her journey had never before allowed her to take aninstant's rest, her shoes were so worn as to be scarcely worth themending. But after trudging only a little distance farther this poorOld Year was destined to enjoy a long, long sleep. I forgot to mentionthat when she seated herself on the steps she deposited by her side avery capacious bandbox in which, as is the custom among travellers ofher sex, she carried a great deal of valuable property. Besides thisluggage, there was a folio book under her arm very much resembling theannual volume of a newspaper. Placing this volume across her knees andresting her elbows upon it, with her forehead in her hands, the weary,bedraggled, world-worn Old Year heaved a heavy sigh and appeared to betaking no very pleasant retrospect of her past existence.

  While she thus awaited the midnight knell that was to summon her tothe innumerable sisterhood of departed years, there came a youngmaiden treading lightsomely on tip-toe along the street from thedirection of the railroad depot. She was evidently a stranger, andperhaps had come to town by the evening train of cars. There was asmiling cheerfulness in this fair maiden's face which bespoke herfully confident of a kind reception from the multitude of people withwhom she was soon to form acquaintance. Her dress was rather too airyfor the season, and was bedizened with fluttering ribbons and othervanities which were likely soon to be rent away by the fierce stormsor to fade in the hot sunshine amid which she was to pursue herchangeful course. But still she was a wonderfully pleasant-lookingfigure, and had so much promise and such an indescribable hopefulnessin her aspect that hardly anybody could meet her without anticipatingsome very desirable thing--the consummation of some long-soughtgood--from her kind offices. A few dismal characters there may be hereand there about the world who have so often been trifled with by youngmaidens as promising as she that they have now ceased to pin any faithupon the skirts of the New Year. But, for my own part, I have greatfaith in her, and, should I live to see fifty more such, still fromeach of those successive sisters I shall reckon upon receivingsomething that will be worth living for.

  The New Year--for this young maiden was no less a personage--carriedall her goods and chattels in a basket of no great size or weight,which hung upon her arm. She greeted the disconsolate Old Year withgreat affection, and sat down beside her on the steps of thecity-hall, waiting for the signal to begin her rambles through theworld. The two were own sisters, being both granddaughters of Time,and, though one looked so much older than the other, it was ratherowing to hardships and trouble than to age, since there was but atwelvemonth's difference between them.

  "Well, my dear sister," said the New Year, after the firstsalutations, "you look almost tired to death. What have you been aboutduring your sojourn in this part of infinite space?"

  "Oh, I have it all recorded here in my book of chronicles," answeredthe Old Year, in a heavy tone. "There is nothing that would amuse you,and you will soon get sufficient knowledge of such matters from yourown personal experience. It is but tiresome reading."

  Nevertheless, she turned over the leaves of the folio and glanced atthem by the light of the moon, feeling an irresistible spell ofinterest in her own biography, although its incidents were rememberedwithout pleasure. The volume, though she termed it her book ofchronicles, seemed to be neither more nor less than the Salem_Gazette_ for 1838; in the accuracy of which journal this sagaciousOld Year had so much confidence that she deemed it needless to recordher history with her own pen.

  "What have you been doing in the political way?" asked the New Year.

  "Why, my course here in the United States," said the Old Year--"thoughperhaps I ought to blush at the confession--my political course, Imust acknowledge, has been rather vacillatory, sometimes incliningtoward the Whigs, then causing the administration party to shout fortriumph, and now again uplifting what seemed the almost prostratebanner of the opposition; so that historians will hardly know what tomake of me in this respect. But the Loco-Focos--"

  "I do not like these party nicknames," interrupted her sister, whoseemed remarkably touchy about some points. "Perhaps we shall part inbetter humor if we avoid any political discussion."

  "With all my heart," replied the Old Year, who had already beentormented half to death with squabbles of this kind. "I care not ifthe name of Whig or Tory, with their interminable brawls about banksand the sub-treasury, abolition, Texas, the Florida war, and a millionof other topics which you will learn soon enough for your owncomfort,--I care not, I say, if no whisper of these matters everreaches my ears again. Yet they have occupied so large a share of myattention that I scarcely know what else to tell you. There has,indeed been a curious sort of war on the Canada border, where bloodhas streamed in the names of liberty and patriotism; but it mustremain for some future, perhaps far-distant, year to tell whether orno those holy names have been rightfully invoked. Nothing so muchdepresses me in my view of mortal affairs as to see high energieswasted and human life and happiness thrown away for ends that appearoftentimes unwise, and still oftener remain unaccomplished. But thewisest people and the best keep a steadfast faith that the progress ofmankind is onward and upward, and that the toil and anguish of thepath serve to wear away the imperfections of the immortal pilgrim, andwill be felt no more when they have done their office."

  "Perhaps," cried the hopeful New Year--"perhaps I shall see that happyday."

  "I doubt whether it be so close at hand," answered the Old Year,gravely smiling. "You will soon grow weary of looking for that blessedconsummation, and will turn for amusement--as has frequently been myown practice--to the affairs of some sober little city like this ofSalem. Here we sit on the steps of the new city-hall which has beencompleted under my administration, and it would make you laugh to seehow the game of politics of which the Capitol at Washington is thegreat chess-board is here played in miniature. Burning Ambition findsits fuel here; here patriotism speaks boldly in the people's behalfand virtuous economy demands retrenchment in the emoluments of alamplighter; here the aldermen range their senatorial dignity aroundthe mayor's chair of state and the common council feel that they haveliberty in charge. In short, human weakness and strength, passion andpolicy, man's tendencies, his aims and modes of pursuing them, hisindividual character and his character in the mass, may be studiedalmost as well here as on the theatre of nations, and with this greatadvantage--that, be the lesson ever so disastrous, its Liliputianscope still makes the beholder smile."

  "Have you done much for the improvement of the city?" asked the NewYear. "Judging from what little I have seen, it appears to be ancientand time-worn."

  "I have opened the railroad," said the elder Year, "and half a dozentimes a day you will hear the bell which once summoned the monks of aSpanish convent to their devotions announcing the arrival or departureof the cars. Old Salem now wears a much livelier expression than whenI first beheld her. Strangers rumble down from Boston by hundreds at atime. New faces throng in Essex street. Railroad-hacks and omnibusesrattle over the pavements. There is a perceptible increase ofoyster-shops and other establishments for the accommodation of atransitory diurnal multitude. But a more important change awaits thevenerable town. An immense accumulation of musty prejudices will becarried off by the free circulation of society. A peculiarity ofcharacter of which the inhabitants themselves are hardly sensible willbe rubbed down and worn away by the attrition of foreign substances.Much of the result will be good; there will likewise be a few thingsnot so good. Whether for better or worse, there will be a probablediminution of the moral influence of wealth, and the sway of anaristocratic class which f
rom an era far beyond my memory has heldfirmer dominion here than in any other New England town."

  The Old Year, having talked away nearly all of her little remainingbreath, now closed her book of chronicles, and was about to take herdeparture, but her sister detained her a while longer by inquiring thecontents of the huge bandbox which she was so painfully lugging alongwith her.

  "These are merely a few trifles," replied the Old Year, "which I havepicked up in my rambles and am going to deposit in the receptacle ofthings past and forgotten. We sisterhood of years never carry anythingreally valuable out of the world with us. Here are patterns of most ofthe fashions which I brought into vogue, and which have already livedout their allotted term; you will supply their place with othersequally ephemeral. Here, put up in little china pots, like rouge, is aconsiderable lot of beautiful women's bloom which the disconsolatefair ones owe me a bitter grudge for stealing. I have likewise aquantity of men's dark hair, instead of which I have left gray locksor none at all. The tears of widows and other afflicted mortals whohave received comfort during the last twelve months are preserved insome dozens of essence-bottles well corked and sealed. I have severalbundles of love-letters eloquently breathing an eternity of burningpassion which grew cold and perished almost before the ink was dry.Moreover, here is an assortment of many thousand broken promises andother broken ware, all very light and packed into little space. Theheaviest articles in my possession are a large parcel of disappointedhopes which a little while ago were buoyant enough to have inflatedMr. Lauriat's balloon."

  "I have a fine lot of hopes here in my basket," remarked the New Year."They are a sweet-smelling flower--a species of rose."

  "They soon lose their perfume," replied the sombre Old Year. "Whatelse have you brought to insure a welcome from the discontented raceof mortals?"

  "Why, to say the truth, little or nothing else," said her sister, witha smile, "save a few new _Annuals_ and almanacs, and some New Year'sgifts for the children. But I heartily wish well to poor mortals, andmean to do all I can for their improvement and happiness."

  "It is a good resolution," rejoined the Old Year. "And, by the way, Ihave a plentiful assortment of good resolutions which have now grownso stale and musty that I am ashamed to carry them any farther. Onlyfor fear that the city authorities would send Constable Mansfield witha warrant after me, I should toss them into the street at once. Manyother matters go to make up the contents of my bandbox, but the wholelot would not fetch a single bid even at an auction of worn-outfurniture; and as they are worth nothing either to you or anybodyelse, I need not trouble you with a longer catalogue."

  "And must I also pick up such worthless luggage in my travels?" askedthe New Year.

  "Most certainly, and well if you have no heavier load to bear,"replied the other. "And now, my dear sister, I must bid you farewell,earnestly advising and exhorting you to expect no gratitude norgood-will from this peevish, unreasonable, inconsiderate,ill-intending and worse-behaving world. However warmly its inhabitantsmay seem to welcome you, yet, do what you may and lavish on them whatmeans of happiness you please, they will still be complaining, stillcraving what it is not in your power to give, still looking forward tosome other year for the accomplishment of projects which ought neverto have been formed, and which, if successful, would only provide newoccasions of discontent. If these ridiculous people ever see anythingtolerable in you, it will be after you are gone for ever."

  "But I," cried the fresh-hearted New Year--"I shall try to leave menwiser than I find them. I will offer them freely whatever good giftsProvidence permits me to distribute, and will tell them to be thankfulfor what they have and humbly hopeful for more; and surely, if theyare not absolute fools, they will condescend to be happy, and willallow me to be a happy year. For my happiness must depend on them."

  "Alas for you, then, my poor sister!" said the Old Year, sighing, asshe uplifted her burden. "We grandchildren of Time are born totrouble. Happiness, they say, dwells in the mansions of eternity, butwe can only lead mortals thither step by step with reluctantmurmurings, and ourselves must perish on the threshold. But hark! mytask is done."

  The clock in the tall steeple of Dr. Emerson's church struck twelve;there was a response from Dr. Flint's, in the opposite quarter of thecity; and while the strokes were yet dropping into the air the OldYear either flitted or faded away, and not the wisdom and might ofangels, to say nothing of the remorseful yearnings of the millions whohad used her ill, could have prevailed with that departed year toreturn one step. But she, in the company of Time and all her kindred,must hereafter hold a reckoning with mankind. So shall it be,likewise, with the maidenly New Year, who, as the clock ceased tostrike, arose from the steps of the city-hall and set out rathertimorously on her earthly course.

  "A happy New Year!" cried a watchman, eying her figure veryquestionably, but without the least suspicion that he was addressingthe New Year in person.

  "Thank you kindly," said the New Year; and she gave the watchman oneof the roses of hope from her basket. "May this flower keep a sweetsmell long after I have bidden you good-bye!"

  Then she stepped on more briskly through the silent streets, and suchas were awake at the moment heard her footfall and said, "The New Yearis come!" Wherever there was a knot of midnight roisterers, theyquaffed her health. She sighed, however, to perceive that the air wastainted--as the atmosphere of this world must continually be--with thedying breaths of mortals who had lingered just long enough for her tobury them. But there were millions left alive to rejoice at hercoming, and so she pursued her way with confidence, strewingemblematic flowers on the doorstep of almost every dwelling, whichsome persons will gather up and wear in their bosoms, and others willtrample under foot. The carrier-boy can only say further that earlythis morning she filled his basket with New Year's addresses, assuringhim that the whole city, with our new mayor and the aldermen andcommon council at its head, would make a general rush to securecopies. Kind patrons, will not you redeem the pledge of the New Year?