- description
- # Inconveniences and the Wife's Proposition
## Overview
This segment, titled "Inconveniences and the Wife's Proposition," is a portion of the short story "I and My Chimney." It details the narrator's family's complaints about the inconveniences caused by their large chimney and his wife's radical suggestion to remove it entirely. The segment spans lines 556 to 599 of the original text.
## Context
This segment is part of the short story "[I and My Chimney](arke:01KG6YFYGCYAYC9GHGT2Z086S9)," a work by Herman Melville, collected within the "[Melville](arke:01KG6YCG626JN4FCG8QK17CQCF)" collection. The text was extracted from the file "[i_and_my_chimney.txt](arke:01KG6YDDFE1YJ2Q37Q9JT1AJVB)". This segment follows the section detailing various guests' misadventures with the house's layout and precedes the discussion about consulting a master-mason.
## Contents
The segment begins by recounting an anecdote about a stylish young gentleman who, while attempting to leave, accidentally backs into a dark pantry, mistaking it for an entryway. He emerges flustered, having inadvertently placed his gloves in a drawer of sugar. The narrator then generalizes this type of inconvenience, noting how guests can become bewildered navigating the house to find their rooms, likening it to a royal guest knocking at every door. The narrative culminates with the narrator's wife proposing the complete abolition of the chimney. The narrator vehemently rejects this idea, comparing the chimney to the "backbone" of the house and a monument that will outlast the structure itself.
- description_generated_at
- 2026-01-30T07:57:50.584Z
- description_model
- gemini-2.5-flash-lite
- description_title
- Inconveniences and the Wife's Proposition
- end_line
- 599
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T07:57:24.702Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 556
- text
- and be aghast at the cellar yawning at his feet. Trying a third, he
surprises the housemaid at her work. In the end, no more relying on his
own unaided efforts, he procures a trusty guide in some passing person,
and in good time successfully emerges. Perhaps as curious a blunder as
any, was that of a certain stylish young gentleman, a great exquisite,
in whose judicious eyes my daughter Anna had found especial favor. He
called upon the young lady one evening, and found her alone in the
dining-room at her needlework. He stayed rather late; and after
abundance of superfine discourse, all the while retaining his hat and
cane, made his profuse adieus, and with repeated graceful bows
proceeded to depart, after the fashion of courtiers from the Queen, and
by so doing, opening a door at random, with one hand placed behind,
very effectually succeeded in backing himself into a dark pantry, where
he carefully shut himself up, wondering there was no light in the
entry. After several strange noises as of a cat among the crockery, he
reappeared through the same door, looking uncommonly crestfallen, and,
with a deeply embarrassed air, requested my daughter to designate at
which of the nine he should find exit. When the mischievous Anna told
me the story, she said it was surprising how unaffected and
matter-of-fact the young gentleman’s manner was after his reappearance.
He was more candid than ever, to be sure; having inadvertently thrust
his white kids into an open drawer of Havana sugar, under the
impression, probably, that being what they call “a sweet fellow,” his
route might possibly lie in that direction.
Another inconvenience resulting from the chimney is, the bewilderment
of a guest in gaining his chamber, many strange doors lying between him
and it. To direct him by finger-posts would look rather queer; and just
as queer in him to be knocking at every door on his route, like
London’s city guest, the king, at Temple-Bar.
Now, of all these things and many, many more, my family continually
complained. At last my wife came out with her sweeping proposition—in
toto to abolish the chimney.
“What!” said I, “abolish the chimney? To take out the backbone of
anything, wife, is a hazardous affair. Spines out of backs, and
chimneys out of houses, are not to be taken like frosted lead pipes
from the ground. Besides,” added I, “the chimney is the one grand
permanence of this abode. If undisturbed by innovators, then in future
ages, when all the house shall have crumbled from it, this chimney will
still survive—a Bunker Hill monument. No, no, wife, I can’t abolish my
backbone.”
- title
- Inconveniences and the Wife's Proposition