A Virtuosos Collection

A Virtuoso's Collection

Project Gutenberg EBook, A Virtuoso's Collection, by Nathaniel
Hawthorne From "Mosses From An Old Manse" #62 in our series by
Nathaniel Hawthorne
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Title: A Virtuoso's Collection (From "Mosses From An Old Manse")
Author: Nathaniel Hawthorne
Release Date: Nov, 2005 [EBook #9235] [Yes, we are more than one
year ahead of schedule] [This file was first posted on September 6,
2003]
Edition: 10
Language: English

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VIRTUOSO'S COLLECTION ***

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MOSSES FROM AN OLD MANSE
By Nathaniel Hawthorne
A VIRTUOSO'S COLLECTION

The other day, having a leisure hour at my disposal, I stepped into a
new museum, to which my notice was casually drawn by a small and
unobtrusive sign: "TO BE SEEN HERE, A VIRTUOSO'S
COLLECTION." Such was the simple yet not altogether unpromising
announcement that turned my steps aside for a little while from the
sunny sidewalk of our principal thoroughfare. Mounting a sombre
staircase, I pushed open a door at its summit, and found myself in the
presence of a person, who mentioned the moderate sum that would
entitle me to admittance.
"Three shillings, Massachusetts tenor," said he. "No, I mean half a
dollar, as you reckon in these days."
While searching my pocket for the coin I glanced at the doorkeeper, the
marked character and individuality of whose aspect encouraged me to
expect something not quite in the ordinary way. He wore an old-
fashioned great-coat, much faded, within which his meagre person was
so completely enveloped that the rest of his attire was undistinguishable.
But his visage was remarkably wind-flushed, sunburnt, and
weather-worn, and had a most, unquiet, nervous, and apprehensive
expression. It seemed as if this man had some all- important object in
view, some point of deepest interest to be decided, some momentous
question to ask, might he but hope for a reply. As it was evident,
however, that I could have nothing to do with his private affairs, I
passed through an open doorway, which admitted me into the extensive
hall of the museum.
Directly in front of the portal was the bronze statue of a youth with

winged feet. He was represented in the act of flitting away from earth,
yet wore such a look of earnest invitation that it impressed me like a
summons to enter the hall.
"It is the original statue of Opportunity, by the ancient sculptor
Lysippus," said a gentleman who now approached me. "I place it at the
entrance of my museum, because it is not at all times that one can gain
admittance to such a collection."
The speaker was a middle-aged person, of whom it was not easy to
determine whether he had spent his life as a scholar or as a man of
action; in truth, all outward and obvious peculiarities had been worn
away by an extensive and promiscuous intercourse with the world.
There was no mark about him of profession, individual habits, or
scarcely of country; although his dark complexion and high features
made me conjecture that he was a native of some southern clime of
Europe. At all events, he was evidently the virtuoso in person.
"With your permission," said he, "as we have no descriptive catalogue,
I will accompany you through the museum and point out whatever may
be most worthy of attention. In the first place, here is a choice
collection of stuffed animals."
Nearest the door stood the outward semblance of a wolf, exquisitely
prepared, it is true, and showing a very wolfish fierceness in the large
glass eyes which were inserted into its wild and crafty head. Still it was
merely the skin of a wolf, with nothing to distinguish it from other
individuals of that unlovely breed.
"How does this animal deserve a place in your collection?" inquired I.
"It is the wolf that devoured Little Red Riding Hood,"