Memories of Hawthorne Part 2

She exclaimed, "You blasphemer!" "Do you really think it blasphemy?"

said I. "Oh no," she replied. "It is the gospel according to you." Was not that a happy saying? While the maid was at Miss Hurley's on an errand, she saw Mr. Hawthorne enter, probably for a take-leave call.

He was here also, looking radiant. He said he took up my Journal [written in Cuba] to bring it back, but my "works were so voluminous that he concluded to send them!"

Elizabeth Peabody makes, upon her return to 'Salem for the winter, an heroic move towards gaining a still more affectionate advantage over the solitaries in Herbert Street. A little smile must have given her face its most piquant expression as she wrote:--

Sat.u.r.day, November 10, 1838.

DEAR LOUISA,--You know I want to knit those little stockings and shoes,--I think I will do it in the course of time at your house,--and would thank you to buy the materials for me, and I will pay you what they cost, when I know what it is. I suppose the four or five evenings which I shall antic.i.p.ate spending with you (in the course of the winter!) will complete the articles.

When Elizabeth wakes, please give her this note and rose and book; and when Nathaniel comes to dinner please give him the note I wrote to him. He said he was going to write to-day, and therefore I should prefer that he should not be interrupted on purpose to read it. We will not interrupt the bird in his song. I wonder what sort of a preparation he finds an evening of whist, for the company of the Muse!

Yours ever truly,

E. P. PEABODY.

It is delightful to picture the commotion in the fernlike seclusion which enveloped the women of the Hawthorne household when this note was opened and read. Squirrels aroused, owls awakened, foxes startled, would have sympathized. Louisa, the only really active member of the trio, wonderfully deft in finest sewing and embroidery, generously willing to labor for all the relatives when illness required, may not have felt faint or fierce. But Mrs. Hawthorne, even in the covert of her chamber, where she chiefly resided, no doubt drew back; and Elizabeth's beautiful eyes must have shone superbly. However, to prove that the trio among the ferns (guarding, as testimony proves, Hawthorne himself with unasked care) could serve the needs of others on occasion,

I will insert a little letter of a much earlier date, from Louisa.

TO MISS MARY MANNING, RAYMOND, MAINE, CARE OF RICHARD MANNING, ESQ.

SALEM, March 3, 1831.

MY DEAR AUNT,--Uncle Sammie has returned from Boston, and has taken up his abode for the present at uncle Robert's [his brother, who befriended Hawthorne in his early youth], and is much better than we expected to see him. We should have been glad to have him with us, and would have done everything in our power to make him happy. We are so near that he can at any time command our services and our company.

Nathaniel goes in to see him, and I am there a great part of the time.

Mother has kept about all winter. There have been worse storms than I ever remember; the roads were absolutely impa.s.sable, and the snow-banks almost as high as the house. I would write more, but my time is much taken up now. I remain yours, With much affection,

M. L. HATHORNE.

That the reluctance to be genial with very genial folk was bravely overcome (to some extent) the ensuing notes prove:--

DEAR ELIZABETH,--As you were out on Sat.u.r.day evening, I hope you will be able to come and spend to-morrow evening with us--will you not? I should be extremely happy to see Mary, though I despair of it; and though I cannot venture to ask Sophia, perhaps you can for me. Pray tell me particularly how your father is; we are all anxious to hear; and whether George is as he was when we heard last.

I am, in haste, E, M. H.

DEAR ELIZABETH,--Shall we go to the beach? If so, I propose that we set off instanter. I think a sea-breeze would be most refreshing this afternoon. Truly yours,

M. T. P.

Don't forget to ask your brother.

MY DEAR E.,--I am afraid I shall not be able to go and spend an evening with you while the girls are gone. To-morrow, you know, is the eclipse. I wish you would come here in the afternoon. The graveyard is an open place to see it from, and I should be very glad of your company. Yesterday I heard of Nathaniel. A gentleman was shut up with him on a rainy day in a tavern in Berkshire, and was perfectly charmed with his luck. In haste, yours,

E. P. P.

By and by Elizabeth Peabody returns to Boston, and Sophia goes on with letters:--

I do not think I am subject to my imagination; I can let an idea go to the grave that I see is false. When I am altogether true to the light I have, I shall be in the heaven where the angelic Very now is. I went to see dear Miss Burley, who sent for me to go to her room. She insisted upon accompanying me all the way downstairs, limping painfully, and would open the outer door for me, and bow me out with as much deference as if I had been Victoria, or Hawthorne himself! So much for the Word uttering itself through my fingers in the face of Ilbrahim. [She had just finished ill.u.s.trating "The Gentle Boy" by a drawing which was greatly praised.]

Jones Very came to tea that afternoon. He was troubled at first, but we comforted him with sympathy. His conversation with George was divine, and such level rays of celestial light as beamed from his face upon George, every time he looked up at him, were lovely to behold. We told him of our enjoyment of his sonnets. He smiled, and said that, unless we thought them beautiful because we also heard the Voice in reading them, they would be of no avail. "Since I have shown you my sonnets," said he to me, "I think you should show me your paintings,"

Mary brought my drawing-book and "AEschylus" [wonderfully perfect drawings from Flaxman's ill.u.s.trations]. He deeply enjoyed all. I told him of my Ilbrahim. He said he delighted in the "Twice-Told Tales."

Yesterday Mr. Hawthorne came in, and said, "I am going to Miss Hurley's, but you must not go. It is too cold. You certainly must not go." I a.s.sured him I should go, and was sorry I was not wanted. He laughed, and said I was not. But I persisted. He knew I should be made sick; that it was too cold. Meanwhile I put on an incalculable quant.i.ty of clothes. Father kept remonstrating, but not violently, and I gently imploring. When I was ready, Mr. Hawthorne said he was glad I was going. Mary was packed up safely, also. I was very animated, and felt much better than on either of the previous club nights. Mr.

Hawthorne declared it must be the spirit of contradiction that made me so; and I told him it was nothing but fact. We walked quite fast, for I seemed stepping on air. It was partly because I had not got tired during the day. It was splendid moonlight. I was not in the least cold, except my thumb and phiz. Mr. H. said he should have done admirably were it not for his nose. He did not believe but that it would moderate, "For G.o.d tempers the wind to the shorn lamb, and when you go out we may expect mild weather!" Was not that sweet? Mr. II.

and I went into the parlor together, and Miss Burley looked delighted.

He was exquisitely agreeable, and talked a great deal, and looked serene and happy and exceedingly beautiful. Miss Burley showed Mary and me some botanical specimens, and he came to the table and added much to the lights. But oh, we missed you so much; Miss Burley said so, and I felt it. They do not understand Very, there. When we were taking leave, Mr. Howes said to Mr. Hawthorne that he hoped nothing would prevent his coming next Sat.u.r.day.

"Oh no," replied he. "It is so much a custom, now, that I cannot do without it." Was not that delightful for Miss Burley's ears? I was so glad he said it. When we came out it was much more moderate, and we got home very comfortably. Mr. H. said he thought of coming for me to walk on Friday, but was afraid the walking was not good enough. I told him how we were all disappointed at his vanishing that night, and he laughed greatly. He said he should not be able to come this evening to meet Very, because he had something to read, for he was engaged Monday and Tuesday evening and could not read then. I am so sorry.

Yours affectionately, SOPHIE.

CHAPTER II

THE DAYS OF THE ENGAGEMENT

The engagement of Hawthorne to his future wife was now a fact, but it was not spoken of except to one or two persons. Sophia had slipped away for a visit to friends in Boston; but as Elizabeth was at present in Newton, her letters to the latter continued as follows:--

WEST STREET, BOSTON, May 19, 1839.

DEAREST LIZZIE,--Two days ago Mr. Hawthorne came. He said that there was nothing to which he could possibly compare his surprise, to find that the bird had flown when he went to our house. He said he sat for half an hour in the parlor before he knocked to announce his presence, feeling sure I would know he was there, and descend,--till at last he was 'tired of waiting. "Oh, it was terrible to find you gone," he said. And it was such a loss, to be sure, to me not to see him. I am glad you enjoyed his visit so much. He told me he should be at the picture-gallery the next morning [Sophia went very early to avoid the crowd], and there I found him at eight o'clock. He came home with me through a piercing east wind, which he was sure would 'make me ill for a week. In the evening he came to see if it had given me a cold, but it had not. Caroline [Tappan] was busy with her children, and did not come down for half an hour. When she did, she was very agreeable, and so was Mr. Hawthorne. She admired him greatly. He said he should be at the gallery this morning, if possible. I went before eight, and found the room empty, except for Mr. William Russell. Mr. IT. arrived at nine, for, as it was cloudy weather until then, he thought I would not be there, and he came with the sunshine. At ten it began to grow crowded, and we went out. He peremptorily declared I should ride.

Washington Allston had a great regard for Sophia's talent in art.

Elizabeth refers to it in a letter written while visiting the Emersons:--

CONCORD, Ma.s.s., June 23, 1839.

Here I am on the Mount of Transfiguration, but very much in the condition of the disciples when they were prostrate in the dust. I got terribly tired in Boston. I went to the Athenaeum Gallery on Monday morning, and in the evening Hawthorne came and said that he went to the Allston gallery on Sat.u.r.day afternoon. I went to Allston's on Tuesday evening. He was in delightful spirits, but soft as a summer evening. He seemed transported with delight on hearing of your freedom from pain, and was eager to know what you were going to paint.

I said you had several things a-going, but did not like to tell of your plans. He said, then you would be more likely to execute them, and that it was a good thing to have several paintings at once, because that would save time, as you could rest yourself by change. I carried to him a volume of "Twice-Told Tales," to exchange for mine.

He said he thirsted for imaginative writing, and all the family had read the book with great delight. I am really provoked that I did not bring "The Token" with me, so as to have "The Mermaid" and "The Haunted Mind" to read to people. I was hardly seated here, after tea yesterday, before Mr. Emerson asked me what I had to say of Hawthorne, and told me that Mr. Bancroft said that Hawthorne was the most efficient and best of the Custom House officers. Pray tell that down in Herbert Street. Mr. Emerson seemed all congenial about him, but has not yet read his writings. He is in a good mood to do so, however, and I intend to bring him to his knees in a day or two, so that he will read the book, and all that Hawthorne has written. He is in a delightful state of mind; not yet rested from last winter's undue labors, but keenly industrious. He has uttered no heresies about Mr.

Allston, but only beautiful things,--dwelling, however, on his highest merits least. He says Very forbids all correcting of his verses; but nevertheless he [Emerson] selects and combines with sovereign will, "and shall," he says, "make out quite a little gem of a volume."

"But," says he, "Hawthorne says he [Very] is always vain. I find I cannot forget that dictum which you repeated; but it is continually confirmed by himself, amidst all his sublimities." And then he repeated some of Very's speeches, and told how he dealt with him. I am very stupid. I have been awake for about two months! Mr. Emerson is very luminous, and wiser than ever. Oh, he is beautiful, and good, and great! Your sister, E.

Sophia, once more in Salem, replies:--

June 29, 1839.

I am very sorry you were disappointed by not meeting Mr. Hawthorne at the galleries. But I am delighted that you saw Mr. Allston. How kind and inspiring is his interest about my health. I am rejoiced that Mr.

Emerson has uttered no heresies about our High Priest of Nature. For him to think that because a man is born to-day instead of yesterday he cannot move the soul seems quite inconsistent with his proclamation that "the sun shines to-day, also!"

When some other callers had departed, came Mr. Hawthorne. It was a powerful east wind, and he would not let me go out; but we were both so virtuous that he went alone to Miss Burley's. You never can know what a sacrifice that was! If you could, you would never again accuse either of us of disregard of the claims of others. I told him what Mr. Bancroft said, and he blushed deeply, and replied, "What fame!"

After he went away, I read "Bettina von Arnim." She is not to be judged; she is to be received and believed. She is genius, life, love, inspiration. If anybody undertakes to criticise her before me, I intend to vanish, if it is from a precipice into the sea. Tuesday, my Demon called upon me to draw some of the Auxiliary Verbs. . . .

July 5. Yesterday was the great day, and this wretched town made no appropriations for celebrating it--not even for the ringing of bells.

So the people in wrath hung flags at half-mast, and declared they would toll the bells. Then it was granted that there should be joyful ringing at noon and sunset. They pealed forth jubilantly, and I heard the clash of cymbals in the afternoon. Every soul in America should thrill on the anniversary of the most ill.u.s.trious event in all history; and as some souls sleep, these should be stirred with bells, trumpets, and eloquence.

To-day the Demon demanded the completion of St. George and Una; and, alternating with my music, I drew all the morning. A horse has leaped out of my mind. I wonder what those learned in horses would say to him. George says he is superb. My idea was to have St. George's whole figure express the profoundest repose, command, and self-involvedness, while the horse should be in most vivid action and motion, the glory of his nostrils terrible, "as much disdaining to the curb to yield."