His first impulse, however, was to escape from Salem. Although his removal from office had been a foregone conclusion, Hawthorne felt a certain degree of chagrin3 connected with it, and also imagined a certain amount of animosity toward himself which made the place uncomfortable to him. He was informed that the old Sparhawk mansion4, close to the Portsmouth Navy Yard, was for sale or to rent, and the first of May, Hawthorne went thither5 to consider whether it would serve him for a home. {Footnote: Lathrop, 225.} One would suppose that sedate6 old Portsmouth, with its courteous7 society and its dash of military life, would have suited Hawthorne even better than Concord8; but he decided9 differently, and he returned to meet his family in Boston, where he made the acquaintance of Professor Ticknor, who introduced him at the Athenaeum Library. He saw Hildreth at the Athen?um working on his history of the United States; sat for his portrait to C. E. Thompson; went to the theatre; studied human nature in the smoking-room at Parker’s; and relaxed himself generally. He must have stayed with his family at Doctor Peabody’s on West Street, for he speaks of the incessant10 noise from Washington Street, and of looking out from the back windows on Temple Place. This locates the house very nearly.
Two months later, July 5, 1850, he was at Lenox, in the Berkshire Mountains. Mrs. Caroline Sturgis Tappan, a brilliant Boston lady, equally poetic11 and sensible, owned a small red cottage there, which she was ready to lease to Hawthorne for a nominal12 rent. Lowell was going there on account of his wife, a delicate flower-like nature already beginning to droop13. Doctor Holmes was going on account of Lowell, and perhaps with the expectation of seeing a rattlesnake; Fields was going on account of Lowell and Holmes. Mrs. Frances Kemble, already the most distinguished14 of Shakespearian readers, had a summer cottage there; and it was hoped that in such company Hawthorne would at last find the element to which he properly belonged.
Unfortunately Hawthorne took to raising chickens, and that seems to have interested him more than anything else at Lenox. He fell in cordially with the plans of his friends; ascended15 Monument Mountain, and went on other excursions with them; but it may be more than suspected that Lowell and Holmes did most of the talking. He assimilated himself more to Holmes perhaps than to any of the others. His meeting with Mrs. Kemble must have been like a collision of the centrifugal and centripetal16 forces; and for once, Hawthorne may be said to have met his antipodes. They could sincerely admire one another as we all do, in their respective spheres; but such a chasm17 as yawned between them in difference of temperament18, character, and mode of living, could not have been bridged over by Captain Eads.
Fannie Kemble, as she was universally called, had by long and sympathetic reading of Shakespeare transformed herself into a woman of the Elizabethan era, and could barely be said to belong to the nineteenth century. Among other Elizabethan traits she had acquired an unconsciousness of self, together with an enormous self-confidence, and no idea of what people thought of her in polite society ever seems to have occurred to her. She had the heart of a woman, but mentally she was like a composite picture of Shakespeare’s dramatis personae, and that Emerson should have spoken of her as “a great exaggerated creature” is not to be wondered at. In her own department she was marvellous.
The severity of a mountain winter and the disagreeableness of its thawing20 out in spring, is atoned21 for by its summer,—that fine exhilarating ether, which seems to bring elevated thoughts, by virtue22 of its own nature. Hawthorne enjoyed this with his children and his chickens; and his wife enjoyed it with him. It is evident from her letters that she had not been so happy since their first year at the Old Manse. She had now an opportunity to indulge her love of artistic23 decoration, in adorning24 the walls of their little red cottage, which has since unfortunately been destroyed by fire. She even began to give her daughter, who was only six years old, some instruction in drawing. The following extract concerning her husband, from a letter written to her mother, is charmingly significant of her state of mind at this time.
“Beauty and the love of it, in him, are the true culmination26 of the good and true, and there is no beauty to him without these bases. He has perfect dominion27 over himself in every respect, so that to do the highest, wisest, loveliest thing is not the least effort to him, any more than it is to a baby to be innocent. It is his spontaneous act, and a baby is not more unconscious in its innocence28. I never knew such loftiness, so simply borne. I have never known him to stoop from it in the most trivial household matter, any more than in a larger or more public one.” {Footnote: J. Hawthorne, i. 373.}
Truly this gives us a beautiful insight into their home-life, and Hawthorne himself could not have written a more accurate eulogium. As intimated in the last chapter, we all make our way through life by correcting our daily trespasses29, and Hawthorne was no exception to it; but as a mental analysis of this man at his best Mrs. Hawthorne’s statement deserves a lasting30 recognition.
“THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES”
It was not until early frosts and shortening days drove Hawthorne within doors that he again took up his writing, but who can tell how long he had been dreaming over his subject? Within five months, or by the last week of January, “The House of the Seven Gables” was ready for the press. There is no such house in Salem, exactly as he describes it; but an odd, antiquated-looking structure at No. 54 Turner Street is supposed to have served him for the suggestion of it. The name is picturesque31 and well suited to introduce the reader to a homely32 suburban33 romance.
The subject of the story goes back to the witchcraft34 period, and its active principle is a wizard’s curse, which descends35 from one generation to another, until it is finally removed by the marriage of a descendant of the injured party to a descendant of the guilty one. Woven together with this, there is an exposition of mesmerism, or, as it is now called, Christian36 Science, with its good and evil features.
Each of Hawthorne’s larger romances has a distinct style and quality of its own, apart from the fine individualized style of the author. Lathrop makes an excellent remark in regard to “The House of the Seven Gables,” that the perfection of its art seems to stand between the reader and his subject. It resembles in this respect those Dutch paintings whose enamelled surface seems like a barrier to prevent the spectator from entering the scenes which they represent. It would be a mistake to consider this a fault, but one cannot help noticing the accuracy with which the subordinate details of the plot are elaborated. Is it possible that this is connected in a way with the rarefied atmosphere of Lenox, in which distant objects appear so sharply defined?
“The House of the Seven Gables” might be symbolized37 by two paintings, in the first of which Hepzibah Pyncheon stands as the central figure, her face turned upward in a silent prayer for justice, her brother Clifford, with his head bowed helplessly, at one side, and the judge, with his chronic38 smile of satisfaction, behind Clifford; on the other side the keen-eyed Holgrave would appear, sympathetically watching the progress of events, with Phoebe Pyncheon at his left hand. Old Uncle Banner and little Ned Higgins might fill in the background. In the second picture the stricken judge would be found in a large old-fashioned arm-chair, with Clifford and Hepzibah flying through a doorway39 to the right, while Phoebe and Holgrave, the one happy and the other startled, enter on the left.
Hepzibah, not Phoebe, is the true heroine of the romance,—or at least its central figure. Nowhere do we look more deeply into Hawthorne’s nature than through this sympathetic portrait of the cross-looking old maid, whose only inheritance is the House of the Seven Gables, in which she has lived many years, poor, solitary40, friendless, with a disgrace upon her family, only sustained by the hope that she may yet be a help and comfort to her unfortunate brother. The jury before whom Clifford was tried believed him to be guilty, but his sister never would believe it. She lives for him and suffers with him. Hawthorne does not mitigate41 the unpleasantness of her appearance, but he instructs us that there is a divine spark glowing within. Very pitiful is her attempt to support the enfeebled brother by keeping a candy store; but noble and heroic is her resistance to the designs of her tyrannical cousin. It is her intrepidity42 that effects the crisis of the drama.
Both Hepzibah and Clifford Pyncheon are examples of what fine portraiture43 Hawthorne could accomplish in exceptional or abnormal personalities44, without ever descending45 to caricature. Judge Pyncheon has been criticised as being too much of a stage villain46, but the same might be alleged47 of Shakespeare’s (or Fletcher’s) Richard III. What is he, in effect, but a Richard III. reduced to private life? Moreover, his habit of smiling is an individual trait which gives him a certain distinction of his own. Usually,
But Judge Pyncheon is a candidate for the governorship, and among the more mercenary class of politicians smiling often becomes a habit for the sake of popularity. Hawthorne might have added something to the judge’s personale by representing him with a droll50 wit, like James Fiske, Jr., or some others that we have known, and he might have exposed more of his internal reflections; but he serves as a fair example of the hard, grasping, hypocritical type of Yankee. We see only one side of him, but there are men, and women too, who only have one side to their characters.
It has been affirmed that Hawthorne made use of the Honorable Mr. Upham, the excellent historian of Salem witchcraft, as a model for Judge Pyncheon, and that this was done in revenge for Mr. Upham’s inimical influence in regard to the Salem surveyorship. It is impossible, at this date, to disentangle the snarl52 of Hawthorne’s political relations in regard to that office, but Upham had been a member of Congress and was perhaps as influential53 a Whig as any in the city. If Hawthorne was removed through his instrumentality, he performed our author a service, which neither of them could have realized at the time. Hawthorne, however, had a strong precedent54 in his favor in this instance; namely, Shakespeare’s caricature of Sir Thomas Luce, as Justice Shallow in “The Merry Wives of Windsor”; but there is no reason why we should think better or worse of Mr. Upham on this account.
Phoebe Pyncheon is an ideal character, the type of youthful New England womanhood, and the most charming of all Hawthorne’s feminine creations. Protected by the shield of her own innocence, she leaves her country home from the same undefined impulse by which birds fly north in spring, and accomplishes her destiny where she might have least expected to meet with it. She fills the whole book with her sunny brightness, and like many a young woman at her age she seems more like a spirit than a character. Her maidenly55 dignity repels56 analysis, and Hawthorne himself extends a wise deference57 to his own creation.
The future of a great nation depends more on its young women than upon its laws or its statesmen.
In regard to Holgrave, we have already said somewhat; but he is so lifelike that it seems as if he must have been studied from one of the younger members of the Brook58 Farm association; perhaps the one of whom Emerson tells us, {Footnote: Lecture on Brook Farm.} that he spent his leisure hours in playing with the children, but had “so subtle a mind” that he was always consulted whenever important business was on foot. He is visible to our mental perspective as a rather slender man, above medium height, with keen hazel eyes, a long nose, and long legs, and quick and lively in his movements. Phoebe has a more symmetrical figure, bluish-gray eyes, a complexion59 slightly browned from going without her hat, luxuriant chestnut-brown hair, always quiet and graceful60. We have no doubt that Holgrave made a worthy61 husband for her, and that he occasionally took a hand in public affairs.
Judge Pyncheon’s duplicity is revealed to Holgrave by the medium of a daguerreotype62. Men or women who are actors in real life should avoid being photographed, for the camera is pretty sure to penetrate63 their hypocrisy64, and expose them to the world as they actually are. Every photograph album is to a certain extent a rogues’ gallery, in which our faults, peculiarities65, and perhaps vices66 are ruthlessly portrayed67 for the student of human nature. If a merchant were to have all his customers photographed, he would soon learn to distinguish those who were not much to be trusted.
Notice also Hawthorne’s eye for color. When Clifford, Hepzibah, and Phoebe are about to leave the seven-gabled house for the last time, “A plain, but handsome dark-green barouche” is drawn68 to the door. This is evidently his idea of a fine equipage; and it happens that the background of Raphael’s “Pope Julius” is of this same half-invisible green, and harmonizes so well with the Pope’s figure that few realize its coloring.
The plot of this picturesque story is the most ingenious of Hawthorne’s life, but sufficiently69 probable throughout to answer the purpose of a romance, and it is the only one of Hawthorne’s larger works which ends happily. It was brought out by Ticknor & Company at Easter 1850,—less than ten weeks after it was finished; but we think of the House of the Seven Gables as standing70 empty, deserted71 and forlorn.
In December Emerson had written to Hawthorne concerning a new magazine in which he and Lowell were interested, and if Hawthorne would only give it his support its success could not be questioned. What Hawthorne replied to this invitation has never been discovered, but he had seen too many such periodicals go to wreck72 to feel much confidence in this enterprise. {Footnote: J. Hawthorne, i. 381.} It is of more importance now that Emerson should have addressed him as “My dear Hawthorne,” for such cordial friendliness73 was rare in “the poet of the pines.” Mrs. Alcott once remarked that Emerson never spoke19 to her husband otherwise than as “Mr. Alcott,” and it is far from likely that he ever spoke to Hawthorne differently from this. The conventionalities of letter-writing run back to a period when gentlemen addressed one another—and perhaps felt so too—in a more friendly manner than they do at present.
Works of fiction and sentimental74 poetry stir up a class of readers which no other literature seems to reach, and Hawthorne was soon inundated75 with letters from unknown, and perhaps unknowable, admirers; but the most remarkable76 came from a man named Pyncheon, who asserted that his grandfather had been a judge in Salem, and who was highly indignant at the use which Hawthorne had made of his name. {Footnote: Conway, 135.} This shows how difficult it is for a writer of fiction or a biographer to escape giving offence. The lightning is sure to strike somewhere.
“THE SNOW IMAGE”
The question now was, what next? As it happened, the next important event in the Hawthorne family was the advent77 of their younger daughter, born like Agassiz, “in the lovely month of May,” and amid scenery as beautiful as the Pays de Vaud. Her father named her Rose, in defiance78 of Hillard’s objection to idyllic79 nomenclature; and as a child she seemed much like the spirit of that almost fabulous80 flower, the wild orange-rose. Ten years later, she was the most graceful girl in the Concord dancing-school, and resembled her elder sister so closely that they could not have been mistaken for anything but sisters. As she grew older she came more and more to resemble her mother.
It was said that Hawthorne’s “Wonder Book” originated in his telling free versions of the Greek myths to his children on winter evenings; and also that Horace Mann’s boys, who were almost exactly of the same age as Una and Julian, participated in the entertainment. This may have happened the following winter at Newton, but could hardly have taken place at Lenox; and otherwise it is quite impossible to identify all the children with botanical names in Hawthorne’s introduction. Julian once remarked, at school, that he believed that he was the original of Squash-blossom, and that is as near as we can get to it. Some of them may have been as imaginary as the ingenious Mr. Eustace Bright, and might serve as well to represent one group of children as another.
The book was written very rapidly, at an average of ten pages a day, and it has Hawthorne’s grace and purity of style, but it does not belong to the legitimate81 series of his works. It is an excellent book for the young, for they learn from it much that every one ought to know; but to mature minds the original fables83, even in a translation, are more satisfactory than these Anglo-Saxon versions in the “Wonder Book.”
The collection of tales which passes by the name of “The Snow Image” is a much more serious work. “The Great Stone Face” and one or two others in the collection were prepared at Salem for the same volume as “The Scarlet Letter,” but judiciously84 excluded by Mr. Fields. “The Snow Image” itself, however, is plainly derived85 from Hawthorne’s own experience during the winter at Lenox. The common-sensible farmer and his poetic wife could not be mistaken for Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorne, but the two sportive children are easily identified as Una and Julian. They are not only of the same age, but the “slight graceful girl” and “chubby red-cheeked boy” describes them exactly. The idea has been derived from the fable82 of the Greek sculptor86 Pygmalion whose statue came to life. That seems far enough off to be pleasantly credible87, but to have such a transubstantiation take place in the front yard of a white-fenced American residence, is rather startling. Yet Hawthorne, with the help of the twilight88, carries us through on the broad wings of his imagination, even to the melting of the little snow-sister before an airtight stove in a close New England parlor89. The moral that Hawthorne draws from this fable might be summed up in the old adage90, “What is one man’s meat is another man’s poison”; but it has a deeper significance, which the author does not seem to have perceived. The key-note of the fable is the same as that in Goethe’s celebrated91 ballad92, “The Erl King”; namely, that those things which children imagine, are as real to them as the facts of the external world. Nor do we altogether escape from this so long as we live.
The origin of “The Great Stone Face” is readily traced to the profile face in the Franconia Mountains,—which has not only a strangely human appearance, but a grave dignified93 expression, and, as a natural phenomenon, ranks next to Niagara Falls. The value of the fable, however, has perhaps been over-estimated. It is an old story in a modern garb94, the saying so often repeated in the Book of Isaiah: “The last shall be first, and the first shall be last.” The man Ernest, who is much in his ways like Hawthorne himself, spends his leisure in contemplating95 the Great Stone Face, and thus acquires a similar expression in his own. The wealthy merchant, the famous general, the great party leader, and the popular poet, all come upon the scene; but not one of them appears to advantage before the tranquil96 countenance97 of the Great Stone Face. Finally, Ernest in his old age carries off the laurel; and in this Hawthorne hits the mark, for it is only through earnestness that man becomes immortal98. Yet, one would suppose that constantly gazing at a face of stone, would give one a rather stony99 expression; as sculptors100 are liable to become statuesque from their occupation.
Another Dantean allegory, and fully101 equal in power to any Canto102 in Dante’s “Inferno,” is the story of “Ethan Brandt,” or “The Unpardonable Sin.” We have a clew to its origin in the statement that it was part of an unfinished romance; presumably commenced at Concord, but afterward103 discarded, owing to the author’s dissatisfaction with his work—an illustration of Hawthorne’s severe criticism of his own writing. The scene is laid at a limekiln in a dark and gloomy wood, where a lime-burner, far from human habitations, is watching his fires at night. To him Ethan Brandt appears, a strange personage, long known for his quest after the unpardonable sin, and the solitude105 echoes back the gloominess of their conversation. Finally, the lime-burner fixes his fires for the night, rolls himself up in his blanket, and goes to sleep. When he awakes in the morning, the stranger is gone, but, on ascending106 the kiln104 to look at his caldron, he finds there the skeleton of a man, and between its ribs107 a heart of white marble. This is the unpardonable sin, for which there is neither dispensation nor repentance108. Ethan Brandt has committed suicide because life had become intolerable on such conditions.
The summer of 1851 in Lenox was by no means brilliant. It had not yet become the tip end of fashion, and Hawthorne’s chief entertainment seems to have been the congratulatory letters he received from distinguished people. Mrs. Frances Kemble wrote to him from England, announcing the success of his book there, and offering him the use of her cottage, a more palatial109 affair than Mrs. Tappan’s, for the ensuing winter. Mrs. Hawthorne, however, felt the distance between herself and her relatives, and perhaps they both felt it. Mrs. Hawthorne’s sister Mary, now Mrs. Horace Mann, was living in West Newton, and the last of June Mrs. Hawthorne went to her for a long summer visit, taking her two daughters with her and leaving Julian in charge of his father, with whom it may be affirmed he was sufficiently safe. It rarely happens that a father and son are so much together as these two were, and they must have become very strongly attached.
For older company he had Hermann Melville, and G. P. R. James, whose society he may have found as interesting as that of more distinguished writers, and also Mr. Tappan, whom Hawthorne had learned to respect for his good sense and conciliatory disposition—a true peace-maker among men and women. Burill Curtis, the amateur brother of George W. Curtis, came to sketch110 the lake from Hawthorne’s porch, and Doctor Holmes turned up once or twice. On July 24 Hawthorne wrote to his friend Pike at Salem: {Footnote: Mrs. Lathrop, 151.}
“By the way, if I continue to prosper111 as heretofore in the literary line, I shall soon be in a condition to buy a place; and if you should hear of one, say worth from $1500 to $2000, I wish you would keep your eye on it for me. I should wish it to be on the seacoast, or at all events with easy access to the sea.”
The evident meaning of this is that the Hawthornes had no desire to spend a second winter in the Berkshire hills. The world was large, but he knew not where to rest his head. Mrs. Hawthorne solved the problem on her return to Lenox, and it was decided to remove to West Newton when cold weather came. Thither they went November 21 in a driving storm of snow and sleet,—a parting salute112 from old Berkshire,—and reached Horace Mann’s house the same evening.
Nobody knows where the Hawthornes lived in Newton. The oldest survivors113 of both families were only five years of age at that time. Mrs. Hawthorne’s father also resided in Newton that winter, and it is more than likely that they made their residence with him. Julian Hawthorne has a distinct recollection of the long freight-trains with their clouds of black smoke blowing across his father’s ground during the winter; so they could not have lived very far from the Worcester railroad. Horace Mann’s house is still standing, opposite a school-house on the road from the station, where a by-way meets it at an acute angle. The freight-trains and their anthracite smoke must have had a disturbing influence on Hawthorne’s sensibility.
The long-extended town of Newton, which is now a populous114 city, has much the best situation of any of the Boston suburbs—on a moderately high range of hills, skirted by the Charles River, both healthful and picturesque. It is not as hot in summer nor so chilly115 at other seasons as Concord, and enjoys the advantage of a closer proximity116 to the city. Its society is, and always has been, more liberal and progressive than Salem society in Hawthorne’s time. Its citizens, mainly professional and mercantile men, are active, intelligent, and sensible, without being too fastidious. It was a healthful change for Hawthorne, and we are not surprised to find that his literary work was affected117 by it. Mrs. L. Maria Child lived there at the time, and so did Celia Thaxter, although not yet known to fame. The sound, penetrating118 intelligence of Horace Mann may have also had its salutary effect.
“THE BLITHEDALE ROMANCE”
Hawthorne’s “Wonder Book” and “The Snow Image” were expressed to Ticknor & Company before leaving Lenox, and “The Blithedale Romance” may also have been commenced before that change of base. We only know, from his diary, that it was finished on the last day of April, 1852, and that he received the first proof-sheets of it two weeks later—which shows what expedition publishers can make, when they feel inclined.
The name itself is somewhat satirical, for Hawthorne did not find the life at Brook Farm very blithesome119, and in the story, with the exception of the sylvan120 masquerade, there is much more rue25 than heart’s-ease, as commonly happens in his stories. The tale ends tragically122, and without the gleam of distant happiness which lights up the last scenes of “The Scarlet Letter.” It commences with a severe April snowstorm, an unfavorable omen51; the same in which Hawthorne set out to join the West Roxbury community.
And yet the name is not without a serious meaning—a stern, sad moral significance. The earth is not naturally beautiful, for rank Nature ever runs to an excess. It is only beautiful when man controls and remodels123 it; but what man makes physically124, he can unmake spiritually. We pass by a handsome estate, a grand arcade125 of elms over its avenue, spacious126 lawns, an elegant mansion, a luxurious127 flower-garden; but we are informed that happiness does not dwell there, that its owner is a misanthropic128 person, whose nature has been perverted130 by the selfishness of luxury; that there are no pleasant parties on the lawn, no happy wooing in that garden, no marriage festivals in those halls; and those possessions, which might have proved a blessing131 to generations yet unborn, are no better than a curse and a whited sepulchre. How many such instances could be named.
It may have occurred to Hawthorne, that, if George Ripley, instead of following after a will-o’-the-wisp notion, which could only lead him into a bog132, had used the means at his disposal to cultivate Brook Farm in a rational manner, and had made it a hospitable133 rendezvous134 for intellectual and progressive people,—an oasis135 of culture amid the wide waste of commercialism,—the place might well have been called Blithedale, and Mr. Ripley would have inaugurated a movement as rare as it was beneficial. It was only at a city like Boston, whose suburbs were pleasant and easily accessible, that such a plan could be carried out; and it was only a man of Mr. Ripley’s scholarship and intellectual acumen136 who could have drawn together the requisite137 elements for it. It looks as if he missed an opportunity.
We should avoid, however, confounding George Ripley with Hawthorne’s Hollingsworth. It is quite possible that Hawthorne made use of certain traits in Ripley’s character for this purpose, and also that he may have had some slight collision with him, such as he represents in “The Blithedale Romance;” but Ripley was an essentially138 veracious139 nature, who, as already remarked, carried out his experiment to its logical conclusion. Hollingsworth, on the contrary, proposes to pervert129 the trust confided140 to him, in order to establish at Blithedale an institution for the reformation of criminals, by which proceeding141 he would, after a fashion, become a criminal himself. At the same time, he plays fast and loose with the affections of Zenobia and Priscilla, who are both in love with him, designing to marry the one who would make the most favorable match for his purpose. It is through the junction142 of these two streams of evil that the catastrophe143 is brought about.
Priscilla is evidently taken from the little seamstress whom Hawthorne mentions in his diary for October 9, 1841, and if she ever discovered this, she could hardly have been displeased144, for she is one of his most lovable creations; not so much of an ideal as Phoebe Pyncheon, for she is older and has already seen hard fortune. Her quiet, almost submissive ways at first excite pity rather than admiration145, but at length we discover that there is a spirit within her, which shines through its earthly envelope, like the twinkling of a star.
Zenobia has a larger nature and a more gifted mind than Priscilla, but also a more mixed character. Her name suggests a queenly presence and she is fully conscious of this. She does not acquire an equal influence over the other sex, for she is evidently in love with herself. She is described as handsome and attractive, but no sooner had “Blithedale” been published than people said, “Margaret Fuller” {Footnote: the name of Zenobia is not very remotely significant of Margaret Fuller. Palmyra was the centre of Greek philosophy in Zenobia’s time, and she also resembled Margaret in her tragical121 fate.}—although Margaret Fuller was rather plain looking, and never joined the Brook Farm association.
If this surmise146 be correct, it leads to a curious consideration. After painting a portrait of Zenobia in Chapter VI of “Blithedale,” quite worthy of Rubens or Titian, he remarks, through the incognito147 of Miles Coverdale, in the first part of Chapter VII, that Priscilla reminds him of Margaret Fuller, and says this to Priscilla herself. Now it proves in the sequel that Priscilla and Zenobia are half-sisters, but it would be as difficult to imagine this from anything that is said in the story about them, as it is to understand how the shy, undemonstrative Priscilla could have reminded Coverdale of the brilliant and aggressive leader of the Transcendentalists.
The introduction of Margaret Fuller’s name in that place comes abruptly148 on the reader, and momentarily dispels149 the illusion of the tale. Was Hawthorne conscious of the undercurrent of relationship, which he had already formulated150 in his mind, between Priscilla and Zenobia; or what is more likely, did he make the comparison in order to lead his readers away from any conceptions they might have formed in regard to the original of his heroine? If the latter supposition be true, he certainly was not very successful, for in either case it is evident that Margaret Fuller was prominent in his thoughts at the time he wrote those two chapters.
Hawthorne’s idea of her, however, should not be accepted as a finality. What Emerson and other friends have said concerning her should also be considered in order to obtain a just impression of a woman who combined more varied151 qualities than perhaps any other person of that time. Hawthorne says of Zenobia, that she was naturally a stump152 oratoress,—rather an awkward expression for him—and that “her mind was full of weeds.” Margaret Fuller was a natural orator153, and her mind was full of many subjects in which Hawthorne could take little interest. She was a revolutionary character, a sort of female Garibaldi, who attacked old Puritan traditions with a two-edged sword; she won victories for liberalism, but left confusion behind her. Like all such characters, she made friends and enemies wherever she went. She sometimes gave offence by hasty impulsive154 utterances155, but more frequently by keenly penetrating arguments for the various causes which she espoused156. Only a woman could deliver such telling shots.
Lowell, who was fond of an argument himself, did not like her better than Hawthorne did. There may be some truth in what he says in “The Fable for Critics,” that the expression of her face seemed to suggest a life-long familiarity with the “infinite soul”; but Margaret Fuller was sound at heart, and when she talked on those subjects which interested her, no one could be more self-forgetful or thoroughly157 in earnest. At times, she seemed like an inspired prophetess, and if she had lived two thousand years earlier, she might have been remembered as a sibyl. {Footnote: See Appendix B.}
“The Blithedale Romance” is written with a freer pen and less carefully than “The House of the Seven Gables,” and is so much the better; for the author’s state of mind in which he is writing will always affect the reader more or less, and if the former feels under a slight constraint158 the latter will also. A writer cannot be too exact in ascertaining159 the truth,—Macaulay to the contrary,—but he can trouble himself too much as to the expression of it. At the same time, “The Blithedale Romance” is the least poetic of Hawthorne’s more serious works (which is the same as saying that it is more like a novel), for the reason that Hawthorne in this instance was closer to his subject. It is also more of a personal reminiscence, and less an effort of the imagination. He has included in it a number of descriptive passages taken from his Brook Farm diary; most notably160 the account of that sylvan masquerade, in which Coverdale finds his former associates engaged on his return to Blithedale in the autumn. Perhaps this is the reason why the book has so pleasant a flavor—a mellow161 after-thought of old associations.
An air of mystery adds an enchantment162 to a work of art, whether in poetry, painting, or sculpture,—perhaps also in music; but there is a difference in kind between mystery and uncertainty163. We do not like to be left half in the dark, in regard to things which we think we ought to know. There is a break in Hawthorne’s chain of evidence against Hollingsworth and Zenobia, which might possibly have been filled to advantage. He would certainly have been non-suited, if his case had been carried into court. We are permitted to suppose that Zenobia, in order to clear her path of a successful rival, assists the mountebank164, Westervelt, to entrap165 Priscilla, over whom he possesses a kind hypnotic power, and to carry her off for the benefit of his mountebank exhibitions; but it remains166 a supposition and nothing more. We cannot but feel rejoiced, when Hollingsworth steps onto the platform and releases Priscilla from the psychological net-work in which she is involved, and from which she has not sufficient will-power to free herself. He certainly deserves her hand and fortune; but, as to his condemnatory167 charges against Zenobia, which led directly to her suicide,—what could they have been? Was there nothing more than the trick she had attempted upon Priscilla? And if he accused her of that only, why should he suffer perpetual remorse168 on account of her death? Surely there was need of further explanation here, for the catastrophe and its consequences are out of all proportion to the apparent cause.
His account of the recovery of Zenobia’s body is a close transcript169 of the search for that unfortunate school-mistress, who drowned herself in Concord River; and it is possible that, if Hawthorne had not been present on that occasion, the plot might have terminated in some other manner.
The story closes without a ray of hope for Hollingsworth; but the reader can perceive one in the generous devotion of his single-minded wife, even if Hawthorne did not.
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1
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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outlet
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| n.出口/路；销路；批发商店；通风口；发泄 | |
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chagrin
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| n.懊恼；气愤；委屈 | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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sedate
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| adj.沉着的，镇静的，安静的 | |
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courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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concord
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| n.和谐；协调 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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nominal
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| adj.名义上的；(金额、租金)微不足道的 | |
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droop
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| v.低垂，下垂；凋萎，萎靡 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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centripetal
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| adj.向心的 | |
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chasm
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| n.深坑，断层，裂口，大分岐，利害冲突 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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19
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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20
thawing
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| n.熔化，融化v.（气候）解冻( thaw的现在分词 )；（态度、感情等）缓和；（冰、雪及冷冻食物）溶化；软化 | |
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21
atoned
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| v.补偿，赎（罪）( atone的过去式和过去分词 )；补偿，弥补，赎回 | |
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22
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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adorning
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| 修饰，装饰物 | |
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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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culmination
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| n.顶点；最高潮 | |
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dominion
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| n.统治，管辖，支配权；领土，版图 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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trespasses
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| 罪过( trespass的名词复数 )； 非法进入 | |
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30
lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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32
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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suburban
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| adj.城郊的，在郊区的 | |
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witchcraft
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| n.魔法，巫术 | |
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35
descends
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| v.下来( descend的第三人称单数 )；下去；下降；下斜 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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symbolized
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| v.象征，作为…的象征( symbolize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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chronic
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| adj.(疾病)长期未愈的，慢性的；极坏的 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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40
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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41
mitigate
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| vt.（使）减轻，（使）缓和 | |
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42
intrepidity
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| n.大胆，刚勇；大胆的行为 | |
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43
portraiture
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| n.肖像画法 | |
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44
personalities
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| n. 诽谤，（对某人容貌、性格等所进行的）人身攻击； 人身攻击；人格, 个性, 名人( personality的名词复数 ) | |
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45
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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alleged
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| a.被指控的，嫌疑的 | |
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48
blandly
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| adv.温和地，殷勤地 | |
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49
beguiling
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| adj.欺骗的，诱人的v.欺骗( beguile的现在分词 )；使陶醉；使高兴；消磨（时间等） | |
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50
droll
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| adj.古怪的，好笑的 | |
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51
omen
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| n.征兆，预兆；vt.预示 | |
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52
snarl
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| v.吼叫，怒骂，纠缠，混乱；n.混乱，缠结，咆哮 | |
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53
influential
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| adj.有影响的，有权势的 | |
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54
precedent
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| n.先例，前例；惯例；adj.在前的，在先的 | |
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55
maidenly
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| adj. 像处女的, 谨慎的, 稳静的 | |
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56
repels
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| v.击退( repel的第三人称单数 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
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57
deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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58
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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59
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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60
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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61
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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62
daguerreotype
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| n.银板照相 | |
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63
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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hypocrisy
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| n.伪善，虚伪 | |
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65
peculiarities
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| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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66
vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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67
portrayed
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| v.画像( portray的过去式和过去分词 )；描述；描绘；描画 | |
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68
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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69
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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70
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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71
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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72
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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73
friendliness
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| n.友谊，亲切，亲密 | |
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74
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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75
inundated
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| v.淹没( inundate的过去式和过去分词 )；（洪水般地）涌来；充满；给予或交予（太多事物）使难以应付 | |
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76
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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77
advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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78
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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79
idyllic
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| adj.质朴宜人的，田园风光的 | |
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80
fabulous
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| adj.极好的；极为巨大的；寓言中的，传说中的 | |
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81
legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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82
fable
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| n.寓言；童话；神话 | |
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83
fables
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| n.寓言( fable的名词复数 )；神话，传说 | |
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84
judiciously
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| adv.明断地，明智而审慎地 | |
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85
derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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86
sculptor
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| n.雕刻家，雕刻家 | |
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credible
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| adj.可信任的，可靠的 | |
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88
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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89
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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adage
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| n.格言，古训 | |
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91
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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92
ballad
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| n.歌谣，民谣，流行爱情歌曲 | |
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93
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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95
contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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96
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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sculptors
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| 雕刻家，雕塑家( sculptor的名词复数 )； [天]玉夫座 | |
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101
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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canto
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| n.长篇诗的章 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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104
kiln
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| n.（砖、石灰等）窑，炉；v.烧窑 | |
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105
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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108
repentance
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| n.懊悔 | |
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109
palatial
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| adj.宫殿般的，宏伟的 | |
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110
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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111
prosper
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| v.成功，兴隆，昌盛；使成功，使昌隆，繁荣 | |
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112
salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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113
survivors
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| 幸存者，残存者，生还者( survivor的名词复数 ) | |
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114
populous
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| adj.人口稠密的，人口众多的 | |
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115
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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proximity
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| n.接近，邻近 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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118
penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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119
blithesome
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| adj.欢乐的，愉快的 | |
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sylvan
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| adj.森林的 | |
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tragical
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| adj. 悲剧的, 悲剧性的 | |
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tragically
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| adv. 悲剧地，悲惨地 | |
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123
remodels
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| v.改变…的结构[形状]( remodel的第三人称单数 ) | |
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physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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arcade
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| n.拱廊；(一侧或两侧有商店的)通道 | |
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spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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misanthropic
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| adj.厌恶人类的，憎恶（或蔑视）世人的；愤世嫉俗 | |
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pervert
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| n.堕落者，反常者；vt.误用，滥用；使人堕落，使入邪路 | |
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perverted
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| adj.不正当的v.滥用( pervert的过去式和过去分词 )；腐蚀；败坏；使堕落 | |
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blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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bog
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| n.沼泽；室...陷入泥淖 | |
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hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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rendezvous
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| n.约会，约会地点，汇合点；vi.汇合，集合；vt.使汇合，使在汇合地点相遇 | |
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oasis
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| n.（沙漠中的）绿洲，宜人的地方 | |
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acumen
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| n.敏锐，聪明 | |
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requisite
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| adj.需要的，必不可少的；n.必需品 | |
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essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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veracious
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| adj.诚实可靠的 | |
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confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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junction
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| n.连接，接合；交叉点，接合处，枢纽站 | |
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catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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surmise
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| v./n.猜想，推测 | |
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incognito
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| adv.匿名地；n.隐姓埋名；adj.化装的，用假名的，隐匿姓名身份的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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dispels
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| v.驱散，赶跑( dispel的第三人称单数 ) | |
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formulated
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| v.构想出( formulate的过去式和过去分词 )；规划；确切地阐述；用公式表示 | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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orator
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| n.演说者，演讲者，雄辩家 | |
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impulsive
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| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
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utterances
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| n.发声( utterance的名词复数 )；说话方式；语调；言论 | |
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espoused
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| v.（决定）支持，拥护（目标、主张等）( espouse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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constraint
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| n.(on)约束，限制；限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
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ascertaining
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的现在分词 ) | |
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notably
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| adv.值得注意地，显著地，尤其地，特别地 | |
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mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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mountebank
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| n.江湖郎中；骗子 | |
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165
entrap
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| v.以网或陷阱捕捉，使陷入圈套 | |
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166
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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167
condemnatory
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| adj. 非难的，处罚的 | |
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168
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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169
transcript
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| n.抄本，誊本，副本，肄业证书 | |
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