David Swan

From

Twice-Told Tales

,

,

1837

,

1851

By

Nathaniel Hawthorne

,

1804-1864

David Swan

A FANTASY

WE

CAN

BE

but

partially

acquainted

even

with

events

which

actually

influence

our

course

through

life,

and

our

final

destiny.

There

are

innumerable other events, if such they may be called, which come close upon

us, yet pass away without actual results, or even betraying their near approach,

by the reflection of any light or shadow across our minds. Could we know all

the

vicissitudes

of

our

fortunes,

life

would

be

too

full

of

hope

and

fear,

exultation or disappointment, to afford us a single hour of true serenity. This

idea may be illustrated by a page from the secret history of David Swan.

We have nothing to do with David, until we find him, at the age of twenty,

on the high road from his native place to the city of Boston, where his uncle, a

small

dealer

in

the

grocery

line,

was

to

take

him

behind

the

counter.

Be

it

enough

to

say,

that

he

was

a

native

of

New

Hampshire,

born

of

respectable

parents, and had received an ordinary school education, with a classic finish

by

a

year

at

Gilmanton

academy.

After

journeying

on

foot,

from

sunrise

till

nearly

noon

of

a

summer's

day,

his

weariness

and

the

increasing

heat

determined

him

to

sit

down

in

the

first

convenient

shade,

and

await

the

coming

up

of

the

stage

coach.

As

if

planted

on

purpose

for

him,

there

soon

appeared a little tuft of maples, with a delightful recess in the midst, and such

a fresh bubbling spring, that it seemed never to have sparkled for any wayfarer

but David Swan. Virgin or not, he kissed it with his thirsty lips, and then flung

himself

along

the

brink,

pillowing

his

head

upon

some

shirts

and

a

pair

of

pantaloons, tied up in a striped cotton handkerchief. The sunbeams could not

reach

him;

the

dust

did

not

yet

rise

from

the

road,

after

the

heavy

rain

of

yesterday; and his grassy lair suited the young man better than a bed of down.

The

spring

murmured

drowsily

beside

him;

the

branches

waved

dreamily

across

the

blue

sky,

overhead;

and

a

deep

sleep,

perchance

hiding

dreams

within its depths, fell upon David Swan. But we are to relate events which he

did not dream of.

While he lay sound asleep in the shade, other people were wide awake, and

passed to and fro, a-foot, on horseback, and in all sorts of vehicles, along the

sunny road by his bedchamber. Some looked neither to the right hand nor to

the

left,

and

knew

not

that

he

was

there;

some

merely

glanced

that

way,

without admitting the slumberer among their busy thoughts; some laughed to

see

how

soundly

he

slept;

and

several,

whose

hearts

were

brimming

full

of

scorn,

ejected

their

venomous

superfluity

on

David

Swan.

A

middle

aged

widow, when nobody else was near, thrust her head a little way into the recess,

and vowed that the young fellow looked charming in his sleep. A temperance

lecturer

saw

him,

and

wrought

poor

David

into

the

texture

of

his

evening's

discourse,

as

an

awful

instance

of

dead

drunkenness

by

the

road-side.

But,

censure, praise, merriment, scorn, and indifference, were all one, or rather all

nothing, to David Swan.

He

had

slept

only

a

few

moments,

when

a

brown

carriage,

drawn

by

a

handsome pair of horses, bowled easily along, and was brought to a stand-still,

nearly

in

front

of

David's

resting

place.

A

finch

pin

had

fallen

out,

and

permitted

one

of

the

wheels

to

slide

off.

The

damage

was

slight,

and

occasioned

merely

a

momentary

alarm

to

an

elderly

merchant

and

his

wife,

who

were

returning

to

Boston

in

the

carriage.

While

the

coachman

and

a

servant

were

replacing

the

wheel,

the

lady

and

gentleman

sheltered

themselves beneath the maple trees, and there espied the bubbling fountain,

and David Swan asleep beside it. Impressed with the awe which the humblest

sleeper

usually

sheds

around

him,

the

merchant

trod

as

lightly

as

the

gout

would allow; and his spouse took good heed not to rustle her silk gown, lest

David should start up, all of a sudden.

he draws that easy breath! Such sleep as that, brought on without an opiate,

would be worth more to me than half my income; for it would suppose health,

and an untroubled mind.

thus. Our slumber is no more like his, than our wakefulness.

The longer they looked, the more

did this elderly couple feel interested in

the

unknown

youth,

to

whom

the

way

side

and

the

maple

shade

were

as

a

secret

chamber,

with

the

rich

gloom

of

damask

curtains

brooding

over

him.

Perceiving

that

a

stray

sunbeam

glimmered

down

upon

his

face,

the

lady

contrived to twist a branch aside, so as to intercept it. And having done this

little act of kindness, she began to feel like a mother to him.

seems

to have

laid

him

here,

whispered

she

to

her

husband,

cousin's

son.

Methinks

I

can

see

a

likeness

to

our

departed

Henry.

Shall

we

waken him?

youth's character.

open

countenance!

replied

his

wife,

in

the

same

hushed

voice,

yet

earnestly.

While these whispers were passing, the sleeper's heart did not throb, nor his

breath

become

agitated,

nor

his

features

betray

the

least

token

of

interest.--Yet Fortune was bending over him, just ready to let fall a burthen of

gold. The old merchant had lost his only son, and had no heir to his wealth,

except a distant relative, with whose conduct he was dissatisfied. In such cases,

people sometimes do stranger things than to act the magician, and awaken a

young man to splendor, who fell asleep in poverty.

The

old

couple

started,

reddened,

and

hurried

away,

mutually

wondering,

that they should ever have dreamed of doing any thing so very ridiculous. The

merchant threw himself back in the carriage, and occupied his mind with the

plan

of

a

magnificent

asylum

for

unfortunate

men

of

business.

Meanwhile,

David Swan enjoyed his nap.

The carriage could not have gone above a mile or two, when a pretty young

girl

came

along,

with

a

tripping

pace,

which

showed

precisely

how

her

little

heart was dancing in her bosom. Perhaps it was this merry kind of motion that

caused--is there any harm in saying it? --her garter to slip its knot. Conscious

that the silken girth, if silk it were, was relaxing its hold, she turned aside into

the

shelter

of

the

maple

trees,

and

there

found

a

young

man

asleep

by

the

spring!

Blushing,

as

red

as

any

rose,

that

she

should

have

intruded

into

a

gentleman's bed-chamber, and for such a purpose too, she was about to make