Outlines of English and American Literature Nathaniel Hawthorne byLong, William J.
Some great writers belong to humanity, others to their own land or people.
Hawthorne is in the latter class apparently, for ever since Lowell rashly
characterized him as "the greatest imaginative genius since Shakespeare"
our critics commonly speak of him in superlatives. Meanwhile most European
critics (who acclaim such unequal writers as Cooper and Poe, Whitman and
Mark Twain) either leave Hawthorne unread or else wonder what Americans
find in him to stir their enthusiasm.
The explanation is that Hawthorne's field was so intensely local that only
those who are familiar with it can appreciate him. Almost any reader can
enjoy Cooper, since he deals with adventurous men whom everybody
understands; but Hawthorne deals with the New England Puritan of the
seventeenth century, a very peculiar hero, and to enjoy the novelist one
must have some personal or historic interest in his subject. Moreover, he
alienates many readers by presenting only the darker side of Puritanism. He
is a man who never laughs and seldom smiles in his work; he passes over a
hundred normal and therefore cheerful homes to pitch upon some gloomy
habitation of sin or remorse, and makes that the burden of his tale. In no
other romancer do we find genius of such high order at work in so barren a
field.
Life
There is an air of reserve about Hawthorne which no biography
has ever penetrated. A schoolmate who met him daily once said, "I
love Hawthorne; I admire him; but I do not know him. He lives in a
mysterious world of thought and imagination which he never permits
me to enter." That characterization applies as well to-day as when
it was first spoken, almost a century ago. To his family and to a
very few friends Hawthorne was evidently a genial man, [Footnote:
Intimate but hardly trustworthy pictures of Hawthorne and his
family are presented by his son, Julian Hawthorne, in Nathaniel
Hawthorne and his Wife. A dozen other memoirs have appeared;
but Hawthorne did not want his biography written, and there are
many unanswered questions in the story of his life.] but from the
world and its affairs he always held aloof, wrapped in his mantle
of mystery.
A study of his childhood may help us to understand the somber
quality of all his work. He was descended from the Puritans who
came to Boston with John Winthrop, and was born in the seaport of
Salem, Massachusetts, in 1804. He was only four years old when his
father, a sea captain, died in a foreign port; whereupon the mother
draped herself in weeds, retired from the sight of neighbors, and
for the next forty years made life as funereal as possible. Besides
the little boy there were two sisters in the family, and the elder
took her meals in her own room, as did the mother. The others went
about the darkened house on tiptoe, or peeped out at the world
through closed shutters.
The shadow of that unnatural home was upon Hawthorne to the end of
his life; it accounts in part for his shyness, his fear of society,
his lack of interest in his own age or nation.
Seclusion at Salem
At seventeen Hawthorne went to Bowdoin College, where Longfellow
was his classmate and Franklin Pierce (later President of the
United States) one of his friends. His college life seems to have
been happy, even gay at times; but when he graduated (1825) and his
classmates scattered to find work in the world he returned to his
Salem home and secluded himself as if he had no interest in
humanity. It was doubtful, he said afterwards, whether a dozen
people knew of his existence in as many years.
All the while he was writing, gathering material for his romances
or patiently cultivating his fine style. For days he would brood
over a subject; then he would compose a story or parable for the
magazines. The stamp of originality was on all these works, but
they were seldom accepted. When they returned to him, having found
no appreciative editor, he was apt to burn them and complain that
he was neglected. Studying the man as he reveals himself at this
time in his Note-Books (published in a garbled edition by
the Hawthorne family), one has the impression that he was a shy,
sensitive genius, almost morbidly afraid of the world. From a
distance he sent out his stories as "feelers", when these were
ignored he shrank into himself more deeply than before.
Love brought him out of his retreat, as it has accomplished many
another miracle. When he became engaged his immediate thought was
to find work, and one of his friends secured a position for him in
the Boston customhouse, where he weighed coal until he was replaced
by a party spoilsman. [Footnote: Hawthorne profited three times by
the spoils system. When his Boston experience was repeated at Salem
he took his revenge in the opening chapter of The Scarlet
Letter, which ridicules those who received political jobs from
the other party.] There were no civil-service rules in those days.
Hoping to secure a home, he invested his savings in Brook Farm,
worked there for a time with the reformers, detested them, lost his
money and gained the experience which he used later in his
Blithedale Romance. Then he married, and lived in poverty
and great happiness for four years in the "Old Manse" at Concord.
Another friend obtained for him political appointment as surveyor
of the Salem customhouse; again he was replaced by a spoilsman, and
again he complained bitterly. The loss proved a blessing, however,
since it gave him leisure to write The Scarlet Letter, a
novel which immediately placed Hawthorne in the front rank of
American writers.
Farewell Greatness
He was now before an appreciative world, and in the flush of fine
feeling that followed his triumph he wrote The House of the
Seven Gables, A Wonder Book and The Snow Image.
Literature was calling him most hopefully when, at the very prime
of life, he turned his back on fortune. His friend Pierce had been
nominated by the Democrats (1852), and he was asked to write the
candidate's biography for campaign purposes. It was hardly a worthy
task, but he accepted it and did it well. When Pierce was elected
he "persuaded" Hawthorne to accept the office of consul at
Liverpool. The emoluments, some seven thousand dollars a year,
seemed enormous to one who had lived straitly, and in the four
years of Pierce's administration our novelist saved a sum which,
with the income from his books, placed him above the fear of want.
Then he went for a long vacation to Italy, where he collected the
material for his Marble Faun. But he wrote nothing more of
consequence.
The Unfinished Story
The remainder of his life was passed in a pleasant kind of
hermitage in Emerson's village of Concord. His habits of solitude
and idleness ("cursed habits," he called them) were again upon him;
though he began several romances--Dr. Grimshawe's Secret,
Septimius Felton, The Ancestral Footstep and The
Dolliver Romance--he never made an end of them. In his work he
was prone to use some symbol of human ambition, and the symbol of
his own later years might well have been the unfinished manuscript
which lay upon the coffin when his body was laid under the pines in
the old Concord burying ground (1864). His friend Longfellow has
described the scene in his beautiful poem "Hawthorne."
Short Stories and Sketches
Many young people become familiar with
Hawthorne as a teller of bedtime stories long before they meet him in the
role of famous novelist. In his earlier days he wrote Grandfather's
Chair (modeled on a similar work by Scott), dealing with Colonial
legends, and broadened his field in Biographical Stories for
Children. Other and better works belonging to the same juvenile class
are A Wonder Book (1851) and Tanglewood Tales (1853), which
are modern versions of the classic myths and stories that Greek mothers
used to tell their children long ago.
Pictures of the Past
The best of Hawthorne's original stories are collected in Twice-Told
Tales, Mosses from an Old Manse and The Snow Image and Other
Twice-Told Tales. As the bulk of this work is rather depressing we
select a few typical tales, arranging them in three groups. In the first
are certain sketches, as Hawthorne called them, which aim not to tell a
story but to give an impression of the past. "The Old Manse" (in Mosses
from an Old Manse) is an excellent introduction to this group. Others
in which the author comes out from the gloom to give his humor a glimpse of
pale sunshine are "A Rill from the Town Pump," "Main Street," "Little
Annie's Ramble," "Sights from a Steeple" and, as suggestive of Hawthorne's
solitary outings, "Footprints on the Seashore."
Allegories
In the second group are numerous allegories and symbolical stories. To
understand Hawthorne's method of allegory [Footnote: An allegory is a
figure of speech (in rhetoric) or a story (in literature) in which an
external object is described in such a way that we apply the description to
our own inner experience. Many proverbs, such as "People who live in glass
houses should not throw stones," are condensed allegories. So also are
fables and parables, such as the fable of the fox and the grapes, or the
parable of the lost sheep. Bunyan's famous allegory, The Pilgrim's
Progress, describes a journey from one city to another, but in reading it
we are supposed to think of a Christian's experience in passing through
this world to the next.] read "The Snow Image," which is the story of a
snowy figure that became warm, living and companionable to some children
until it was spoiled by a hard-headed person, without imagination or real
sense, who forgot that he was ever a child himself or that there is such a
beautiful and precious thing as a child-view of the universe.
In his constant symbolism (that is, in his use of an outward sign or token
to represent an idea) Hawthorne reflected a trait that is common to
humanity in all ages. Thus, every nation has its concrete symbol, its flag
or eagle or lion; a great religion is represented by a cross or a crescent;
in art and poetry the sword stands for war and the dove for peace; an
individual has his horseshoe or rabbit's foot or "mascot" as the simple
expression of an idea that may be too complex for words. Among primitive
people such symbols were associated with charms, magic, baleful or
benignant influences; and Hawthorne accepted this superstitious idea in
many of his works, though he was apt to hint, as in "Lady Eleanor's
Mantle," that the magic of his symbol might have a practical explanation.
In this story the lady's gorgeous mantle is a symbol of pride; its
blighting influence may be due to the fact that,--but to tell the
secret is to spoil the story, and that is not fair to Hawthorne or the
reader.
The Black Veil
Some of these symbolic tales are too vague or shadowy to be convincing; in
others the author makes artistic use of some simple object, such as a
flower or an ornament, to suggest the mystery that broods over every life.
In "The Minister's Black Veil," for example, a clergyman startles his
congregation by appearing with a dark veil over his face. The veil itself
is a familiar object; on a woman or a bonnet it would pass unnoticed; but
on the minister it becomes a portentous thing, at once fascinating and
repellent. Yesterday they knew the man as a familiar friend; to-day he is a
stranger, and they fear him with a vague, nameless fear. Forty years he
wears the mysterious thing, dies and is buried with it, and in all that
time they never have a glimpse of his face. Though there is a deal of
nonsense in the story, and a hocus-pocus instead of a mystery, we must
remember that veil as a striking symbol of the loneliness of life, of the
gulf that separates a human soul from every other.
Another and better symbolic tale is "The Great Stone Face," which appeals
strongly to younger readers, especially to those who have lived much out of
doors and who cherish the memory of some natural object, some noble tree or
mossy cliff or singing brook, that is forever associated with their
thoughts of childhood. To others the tale will have added interest in that
it is supposed to portray the character of Emerson as Hawthorne knew him.
Legendary Tales
In the third group are numerous stories dealing with Colonial history, and
of these "The Gray Champion" and "The Gentle Boy" are fairly typical.
Hawthorne has been highly praised in connection with these tales as "the
artist who created the Puritan in literature." Most readers will gladly
recognize the "artist," since every tale has its line or passage of beauty;
but some will murmur at the "creation." The trouble with Hawthorne was that
in creating his Puritan he took scant heed of the man whom the Almighty
created. He was not a scholar or even a reader; his custom was to brood
over an incident of the past (often a grotesque incident, such as he found
in Winthrop's old Journal), and from his brooding he produced an
imaginary character, some heartless fanatic or dismal wretch who had
nothing of the Puritan except the label. Of the real Puritan, who knew the
joy and courtesy as well as the stern discipline of life, our novelist had
only the haziest notion. In consequence his "Gentle Boy" and parts also of
his Scarlet Letter leave an unwarranted stain on the memory of his
ancestors. [Footnote: Occasionally, as in "The Gray Champion" and "Endicott
and the Red Cross," Hawthorne paints the stern courage of the Puritan, but
never his gentle or humane qualities. His typical tale presents the Puritan
in the most unlovely guise. In "The Maypole of Merrymount," for example,
Morton and his men are represented as inoffensive, art-loving people who
were terrorized by the "dismal wretches" of a near-by colony of Puritans.
Nothing could be farther from the truth. Morton's crew were a lawless set
and a scandal to New England; but they were tolerated until they put all
the settlements in danger by debauching the Indians and selling them rum,
muskets and gunpowder. The "dismal wretches" were the Pilgrims of
Plymouth,--gentle, heroic men, lovers of learning and liberty, who
profoundly influenced the whole subsequent history of America.]
The Four Romances
The romances of Hawthorne are all studies of the effects
of sin on human development. If but one of these romances is to be read,
let it be The House of the Seven Gables (1851), which is a
pleasanter story than Hawthorne commonly tells, and which portrays one
character that he knew by experience rather than by imagination. Many of
Hawthorne's stories run to a text, and the text here is, "The fathers have
eaten sour grapes, and the children's teeth are set on edge." The
characters are represented as "under a curse"; [Foonote: This is a
reflection of a family tradition. An ancestor of Hawthorne was judge at the
Salem witch trials, in 1692. One of the poor creatures condemned to death
is said to have left a curse on the judge's family. In his Note
Books Hawthorne makes mention of the traditional curse, and analyzes
its possible effect on his own character.] that is, they are bearing the
burden and sorrow of some old iniquity committed before they were born; but
the affliction is banished in a satisfactory way without leaving us in the
haze of mystery that envelops so much of Hawthorne's work. His humor is
also in evidence, his interest in life overcomes for a time his absorption
in shadowy symbols, and his whole story is brightened by his evident love
of Phoebe Pyncheon, the most natural and winsome of all his characters.
The other romances deal with the same general theme, the blighting effect
of sin, but vary greatly in their scenes and characters. The Marble
Faun (published in England as Transformation, 1860) is the most
popular, possibly because its scene is laid in Rome, a city to which all
travelers go, or aspire to go, before they die; but though it moves in "an
atmosphere of art," among the studios of "the eternal city," it is the
least artistic of all the author's works. [Footnote: The Marble Faun
ends in a fog, as if the author did not know what to do with his
characters. It has the amateurish fault of halting the narrative to talk
with the reader; and it moralizes to such an extent that the heroine (who
is pictured as of almost angelic virtue) eventually becomes a prig and a
preacher,--two things that a woman must never be. Nevertheless, the romance
has a host of enthusiastic readers, and to criticize it adversely is to
bring a storm about one's ears.] In The Blithedale Romance (1852)
Hawthorne deals with the present rather than the past and apparently makes
use of his observation, since his scenes and characters are strongly
suggestive of the Brook Farm community of reformers, among whom he spent
one critical and unhappy year. The Scarlet Letter (1850) is not only
the most original and powerful of the romances but is commonly ranked by
our critics at the head of American fiction. The scene is laid in Boston,
in the old Puritan days; the main characters are vividly drawn, and the
plot moves to its gloomy but impressive climax as if Wyrd or Fate were at
the bottom of it.
Characteristics of Hawthorne
Almost the first thing we notice in Hawthorne
is his style, a smooth, leisurely, "classic" style which moves along, like
a meadow brook, without hurry or exertion. Gradually as we read we become
conscious of the novelist's characters, whom he introduces with a veil of
mystery around them. They are interesting, as dreams and other mysterious
things always are, but they are seldom real or natural or lifelike. At
times we seem to be watching a pantomime of shadows, rather than a drama of
living men and women.
Method of Work
The explanation of these shadowy characters is found in Hawthorne's method
of work, as revealed by the Note-Books in which he stored his
material. Here is a typical record, which was occasioned, no doubt, by the
author's meeting with some old nurse, whom he straightway changed from her
real semblance to a walking allegory:
"Change from a gay young girl to an old woman. Melancholy events,
the effects of which have clustered around her character....
Becomes a lover of sick chambers, taking pleasure in receiving
dying breaths and laying out the dead. Having her mind full of
funeral reminiscences, and possessing more acquaintances beneath
the turf than above it."
This is enough of a story in itself; we need not read "Edward Fane's
Rosebud" to see how Hawthorne filled in the details. The strange thing is
that he never studied or questioned the poor woman to discover whether she
was anything like what he imagined her to be. On another page we read:
"A snake taken into a man's stomach and nourished there from
fifteen to thirty five years, tormenting him most horribly." [Then
follows the inevitable moral.] "Type of envy or some other evil
passion."
There are many such story-records in the Note-Books, but among them
you will find no indication that the story-teller ever examined the facts
with a purpose to discover whether a snake could survive thirty-five years,
or minutes, in the acids of a human stomach, or how long a Puritan church
would tolerate a minister who went about with a veil on his face, or
whether any other of his symbols had any vital connection with human
experience. In a word, Hawthorne was prone to make life conform to his
imagination, instead of making his imagination conform to life. Living as
he did in the twilight, between the day and the night, he seems to have
missed the chief lesson of each, the urge of the one and the repose of the
other; and especially did he miss the great fact of cheerfulness. The
deathless courage of man, his invincible hope that springs to life under
the most adverse circumstances, like the cyclamen abloom under the snows of
winter,--this primal and blessed fact seems to have escaped his notice. At
times he hints at it, but he never gives it its true place at the
beginning, middle and end of human life.
Artist and Moralist
Thus far our analysis has been largely negative, and Hawthorne was a very
positive character. He had the feeling of an artist for beauty; and he was
one of the few romancers who combine a strong sense of art with a puritanic
devotion to conscience and the moral law. Hence his stories all aim to be
both artistic and ethical, to satisfy our sense of beauty and our sense of
right. In his constant moralizing he was like George Eliot; or rather, to
give the figure its proper sequence, George Eliot was so exclusively a
moralist after the Hawthornesque manner that one suspects she must have
been familiar with his work when she began to write. Both novelists worked
on the assumption that the moral law is the basis of human life and that
every sin brings its inevitable retribution. The chief difference was that
Hawthorne started with a moral principle and invented characters to match
it, while George Eliot started with a human character in whose experience
she revealed the unfolding of a moral principle.
A Solitary Genius
The individuality of Hawthorne becomes apparent when we attempt to classify
him,--a vain attempt, since there is no other like him in literature. In
dealing with almost any other novelist we can name his models, or at least
point out the story-tellers whose methods influenced his work; but
Hawthorne seems to have had no predecessor. Subject, style and method were
all his own, developed during his long seclusion at Salem, and from them he
never varied. From his Twice-Told Tales to his unfinished
Dolliver Romance he held steadily to the purpose of portraying the
moral law against a background of Puritan history.
Such a field would have seemed very narrow to other American writers, who
then, as now, were busy with things too many or things too new; but to
Hawthorne it was a world in itself, a world that lured him as the Indies
lured Columbus. In imagination he dwelt in that somber Puritan world,
eating at its long-vanished tables or warming himself at its burnt-out
fires, until the impulse came to reproduce it in literature. And he did
reproduce it, powerfully, single-heartedly, as only genius could have done
it. That his portrayal was inaccurate is perhaps a minor consideration; for
one writer must depict life as he meets it on the street or in books, while
another is confined to what Ezekiel calls "the chambers of imagery."
Hawthorne's liberties with the facts may be pardoned on the ground that he
was not an historian but an artist. The historian tells what life has
accomplished, the artist what life means.
