HAWTHORNE IN ENGLAND: 1854-1858
Hawthorne’s life in England was too generally monotonous to afford many
salient points to his biographer. It was monotonous in his official
duties, in his pleasure-trips, and in his social experiences. He found
one good friend in Liverpool, Mr. Henry Bright, to whom he had already
been introduced in America, and he soon made another in Mr. Francis
Bennoch, who lived near the same city. They were both excellent men,
and belonged to that fine class of Englishmen who possess a comfortable
income, but live moderately, and prefer cultivating their minds and the
society of their friends, to clubs, yachting, horse-racing, and other
forms of external show. They were not distinguished, and were too
sensible to desire distinction. Henry Bright may have been the more
highly favored in Hawthorne’s esteem, but they both possessed that tact
and delicacy of feeling which is rare among Englishmen, and by accepting
Hawthorne simply as a man like themselves, instead of as a celebrity,
they won that place in his confidence from which so many had been
excluded.
Otherwise, Hawthorne contracted no friendships among distinguished
Englishmen of letters, like that between Emerson and Carlyle; and from
first to last he saw little of them. He had no sooner landed than he was
greeted with a number of epistles from sentimental ladies, or authors of
a single publication, who claimed a spiritual kinship with him, because
of their admiration for his writings. One of them even addressed him as
“My dear brother.” These he filed away with a mental reservation to
give the writers as wide a circuit as he possibly could. He attended a
respectable number of dinner parties in both Liverpool and London, at
which he remained for the most part a silent and unobtrusive guest. He
was not favored with an invitation to Holland House, although he met
Lady Holland on one occasion, and has left a description of her, not
more flattering than others that have been preserved for us. He also
met Macaulay and the Brownings at Lord Houghton’s; but for once Macaulay
would not talk. Mrs. Browning evidently pleased Hawthorne very much.
[Footnote: J. Hawthorne, ii. 129.]
The great lights of English literature besides these,--Tennyson,
Carlyle, Ruskin, Thackeray, Dickens,--he was never introduced to,
although he saw Tennyson in a picture-gallery at Manchester, and has
left a description of him, such as might endure to the end of time.
Neither did he make the acquaintance of those three luminaries, Froude,
Marian Evans, and Max Muller, who rose above the horizon, previous to
his return to America. That he was not presented at Court was a matter
of course. There was nothing which he could have cared for less.
After his return he published a volume of English sketches, which he
entitled “Our Old Home,” but he seems to have felt actually less at home
in England than in any other country that he visited. In that book, and
also in his diary, the even tenor of his discourse is interrupted here
and there by fits of irritability which disclose themselves in the use
of epithets such as one would hardly expect from the pen of Hawthorne.
If we apply to him the well-known proverb with respect to the Russians,
we can imagine that under similar conditions an inherited sailor-like
tendency in him came to the surface. We only remember one such instance
in his American Note-book, that in which he speaks of Thoreau’s having a
face “as homely as sin.”
[Footnote: The general effect of Thoreau’s face was by no means
unpleasant.]
Hawthorne did not carry with him to Europe that narrow provincialism,
which asserts itself in either condemning or ridiculing everything that
differs essentially from American ways and methods. On the contrary,
when he compares the old country with the new,--for instance, the
English scenery with that of New England,--Hawthorne is usually as fair,
discriminating, and dispassionate as any one could wish, and perhaps
more so than some would desire. His judgment cannot be questioned in
preferring the American elm, with its wine-glass shape, to the rotund
European species; but he admires the English lake country above anything
that he has seen like it in his own land. “Centuries of cultivation have
given the English oak a domestic character,” while American trees are
still to be classed with the wild flowers which bloom beneath their
outstretched arms.
Matthew Arnold spoke of his commentaries on England as the writing of
a man chagrined; but what could have chagrined Hawthorne there? The
socially ambitious man may become chagrined, if he finds that doors
are closed to him, and so may an unappreciated would-be genius. But
Hawthorne’s position as an author was already more firmly established
than Matthew Arnold’s ever could be; and as for social ambition,
no writer since Shakespeare has been so free from it. It seems more
probable that the difficulty with Hawthorne in this respect was due to
his old position on the slavery question, which now began to bear
bitter fruit for him. All Englishmen at that time, with the exception of
Carlyle, Froude, and the nobility, were very strongly anti-slavery,--the
more so, as it cost them nothing to have other men’s slaves
liberated,--and the English are particularly blunt, not to say _gauche_,
in introducing topics of conversation which are liable to become a
matter of controversy. At the first dinner-party I attended in London
some thirty-odd years ago, I had scarcely tasted the soup, before a
gentleman opposite asked me: “What progress are you making in the United
States toward free trade? Can you tell me, sir?” He might as well have
asked me what progress we were making in the direction of monarchy.
Fortunately for Hawthorne, his good taste prevented him from introducing
the slavery question in his publications, excepting in the life of
Pierce, but for this same reason his English acquaintances in various
places were obliged to discover his opinions at first hand, nor is it
very likely that they were slow to do this. Phillips and Garrison had
been to England and through England, and their dignified speeches had
made an excellent impression. Longfellow, Emerson, Lowell and Whittier
had spoken with no uncertain sound, protesting against what they
considered a great national evil. How did it happen that Hawthorne was
an exception?
Through his kind friend Mr. Bennoch, he fell in with a worthy whom it
would have been just as well to have avoided--the proverbial-philosophy
poet, Martin Farquhar Tupper; not a genuine poet, nor considered as such
by trustworthy critics, but such a good imitation, that he persuaded
himself and a large portion of the British public, including Queen
Victoria, that he was one. Hawthorne has given an account of his visit
to this man, [Footnote: J. Hawthorne, ii. 114.] second only in value
to his description of Tennyson; for it is quite as important for us
to recognize the deficiencies of the one, as it is to know the true
appearance of the other. It is an unsparing study of human nature, but
if a man places himself on a pedestal for all people to gaze at, it is
just this and nothing more that he has to expect. Hawthorne represents
him as a kindly, domestic, affectionate, bustling little man, who kept
on bustling with his hands and tongue, even while he was seated--a man
of no dignity of character or perception of his deficiency of it. This
all does well enough, but when Hawthorne says, “I liked him, and laughed
in my sleeve at him, and was utterly weary of him; for certainly he is
the ass of asses,” we feel that he has gone too far, and suspect that
there was some unpleasantness connected with the occasion, of which we
are not informed. The word “ass,” as applied to a human being, is
not current in good literature, unless low comedy be entitled to that
position, and coming from Hawthorne, of all writers, it seems like
an oath from the mouth of a woman. Tupper, who was quite proud of his
philanthropy, was also much of an abolitionist, and he may have trodden
on Hawthorne’s metaphysical toes half a dozen times, without being aware
of what he was doing. Altogether, it seems like rather an ill return
for Tupper’s hospitality; but Hawthorne himself did not intend it for
publication, and on the whole one does not regret that it has been given
to the public. We have been, however, anticipating the order of events.
During the summer of 1854, the Hawthorne family made a number of
unimportant expeditions, visiting mediaeval abbeys and ruinous
castles,--especially one to Chester and Eton Hall, which was not quite
worth the fees they paid to the janitors. An ancient walled city is much
of a novelty to an American for the first time, but, having seen one,
you have seen them all, and Chester Cathedral does not stand high in
English architecture. On September 14, O’Sullivan appeared again, and
they all went into the Welsh mountains, where they examined the old
fortresses of Rhyl and Conway, which were built by Edward Longshanks to
hold the Welshmen in check. Those relics of the feudal system are very
impressive, not only on account of their solidity and the great human
forces which they represent, but from a peculiar beauty of their own,
which modern fortifications do not possess at all. They seem to belong
to the ground they stand on, and the people who live about them look
upon them as cherished landmarks. They are the monuments of an heroic
age, and Hawthorne’s interest in them was characteristic of his nature.
O’Sullivan returned to Lisbon early in October, and on the 5th of
that month, Hawthorne found himself obliged to make a speech at an
entertainment on board a merchant vessel called the “James Barnes,”
which had been built in Boston for a Liverpool firm of ship-owners.
He considered this the most serious portion of his official duty,--the
necessity of making after-dinner speeches at the Mayor’s or other
public tables. He writes several pages on the subject in a humorously
complainant tone, congratulating himself that on the present occasion
he has succeeded admirably, for he has really said nothing, and that
is precisely what he intended to do. After-dinner speeches are like
soap-bubbles: they are made of nothing, signify nothing, float for a
moment in the air, attract a momentary attention, and then disappear.
But the difficulty is, to make an apparent something out of nothing, to
say nothing that will offend anybody, and to say something that will be
different from what others say. It is truly a hard situation in which to
place even a very talented man, and, as Longfellow once remarked, those
were most fortunate who made their speeches first, and could then enjoy
their dinner, while their successors were writhing in agony. However,
there are those who like it, and having practised it to perfection,
can do it better than anything else. Hawthorne analyzes his sensations,
after finishing his speech, with rare self-perception. “After sitting
down, I was conscious of an enjoyment in speaking to a public assembly,
and felt as if I should like to rise again. It is something like being
under fire,--a sort of excitement, not exactly pleasure, but more
piquant than most pleasures.” Was it President Jackson, or Senator
Benton, who said that fighting a duel was very much like making one’s
maiden speech?
Mrs. Hawthorne thus describes the residence of the President of the
Chamber of Commerce at Liverpool: [Footnote: Mrs. Lathrop, 238.] “We
were ushered into the drawing-room, which looked more like a brilliant
apartment in Versailles than what I had expected to see. The panels were
richly gilt, with mirrors in the centre, and hangings of gilded
paper; and the broad windows were hung with golden-colored damask; the
furniture was all of the same hue; with a carpet of superb flowers;
and vases of living flowers standing everywhere; and a chandelier of
diamonds (as to indefatigable and vivid shining), and candlesticks
of the same,--not the long prisms like those on Mary’s astral, but a
network of crystals diamond-cut.”
This was the coarse commercial taste of the time, previous to the
reforms of Ruskin and Eastlake. The same might be said of Versailles.
There is no true elegance in gilding and glass-work, including mirrors,
unless they be sparingly used.
The Hawthornes were equally overpowered by a dinner-party given by a
millionaire and country squire of Liscard Vale; “two enormous silver
dish-covers, with the gleam of Damascus blades, putting out all the
rest of the light;” and after the fish, these were replaced by two other
enormous dishes of equal brilliancy. The table was shortly covered
with an array of silver dishes, reflecting the lights above in dazzling
splendor. At one end of the table was a roast goose and at the other
a boiled turkey; while “cutlets, fricassees, ragouts, tongue,
chicken-pies,” and much else, filled the intermediate spaces, and the
sideboard groaned under a round of beef “like the dome of St. Peter’s.”
It was fortunate that the American consul came to this Herculean repast
with an excellent appetite.
Henry Bright was their chief refuge from this flummery, as Hawthorne
called it; “an extremely interesting, sincere, earnest, independent,
warm and generous hearted man; not at all dogmatic; full of questions,
and with ready answers. He is highly cultivated, and writes for the
_Westminster_,”--a man who respected formalities and could preserve
decorum in his own household, but liked a simple, unostentatious mode
of living--in brief, he was a true English gentleman. Mrs. Hawthorne has
drawn his portrait with only less skill than her husband:
“His eyes are large, bright, and prominent, rather indicating great
facility of language, which he has. He is an Oxford scholar, and
has decided literary tastes. He is delicately strung, and is as
transparent-minded and pure-hearted as a child, with great enthusiasm
and earnestness of character; and, though a Liberal, very loyal to his
Queen and very admiring of the aristocracy.”
He appears to have been engaged in the Australian carrying trade, and
owned the largest sailing vessel afloat.
Hawthorne went to an exhibition of English landscape paintings, and
he remarked that Turner’s seemed too ethereal to have been painted by
mortal hands,--the finest compliment that Turner could have received,
for in delicate effects of light and shade,--in painting the atmosphere
itself,--he has no rival.
In January, James Buchanan, who was then minister to England, came to
visit Hawthorne, and talked with him about the presidency,--for which he
considered himself altogether too old; but at the same time he did not
suggest the renomination of Franklin Pierce. This, of course, disclosed
his own ambition, and as Hawthorne’s impartial pen-and-ink sketch of him
may not be recognized by many readers, on account of the form in which
it appears in the note-books, we append it here, with the regret that
Hawthorne could not have treated his friend Pierce in an equally candid
manner.
“I like Mr.--. He cannot exactly be called gentlemanly in his manners,
there being a sort of rusticity about him; moreover, he has a habit of
squinting one eye, and an awkward carriage of his head; but, withal, a
dignity in his large person, and a consciousness of high position and
importance, which give him ease and freedom. Very simple and frank in
his address, he may be as crafty as other diplomatists are said to be;
but I see only good sense and plainness of speech,--appreciative, too,
and genial enough to make himself conversable. He talked very freely of
himself and of other public people, and of American and English affairs.
He returns to America, he says, next October, and then retires forever
from public life.”
A certain amount of rusticity would seem to have been essential to a
presidential candidate during the middle of the past century.
During this dismal winter Hawthorne was beset more than ever, by
nautical mendicants of all countries,--Hungarians, Poles, Cubans,
Spanish Americans, and French Republicans, who, unhappily for him, had
discovered that the American consul was a tender-hearted man. He had,
beside, to deal with a number of difficult cases of maltreated American
sailors,--the more difficult, because both parties to the suits were
greatly given to lying, even on occasions when it would have been more
expedient for them to tell the truth. He has recorded one such in his
diary, that deserves more than a superficial consideration.
An American bark was on the point of sailing, when the captain cast
ashore a bruised and battered-looking man, who made his way painfully
to the consulate, and begged Hawthorne for a permit to be placed in
the hospital. He called himself the son of a South Carolina farmer,
and stated that he had gone on board this vessel with a load of farm
products, but had been impressed by the captain for the voyage, and had
been so maltreated, that he thought he would die,--and so he did,
not long afterward, at the hospital. Letters were found upon him,
substantiating the statement concerning his father, but it was
discovered, from the same source, that he was a jail-bird, and the
tattooed figures upon his arms showed that he had been a sailor of many
years’ standing, although he had denied this to the consul. Hawthorne
speaks of him as an innocent man, the victim of criminal brutality
little less than murder; it is certainly difficult to account for such
severe ill-treatment, but the man was clearly a bad character, and it
is also true that sea-captains do not interfere with their deck-hands
without some kind of provocation. The man clung desperately to life up
to the last moment, and the letters he carried with him indicated that
he was more intelligent than the average of the nautical fraternity.
In June, Hawthorne went with his family to Leamington, of which he
afterward published an account in the _Atlantic Monthly_, criticised
at the time for the manner in which he referred to English ladies, as
“covering a large area of Nature’s foot-stool”; but this element in
Hawthorne’s English writing has already been considered. From Leamington
he went, early in July, to the English lakes, especially Windermere,
and fortunately found time to thoroughly enjoy them. He enjoyed them not
only for their scenery, which he preferred to that of New England,
but also as illustrations to many descriptive passages in Wordsworth’s
poetry, which serves the same purpose in the guidebook of that region,
as “Childe Harold” serves in the guidebooks for Italy and Greece.
Hawthorne also was interested in such places for the sake of their
associations. He describes Wordsworth’s house, the grounds about it, and
the cemetery where he lies, with the accuracy of a scientific report.
He finds the grass growing too high about the head-stone of Wordsworth’s
grave, and plucks it away with his own hands, reflecting that it may
have drawn its nourishment from his mortal remains. We may suppose
that he preserved this grass, and it is only from such incidental
circumstances that we discover who were Hawthorne’s favorites among
poets and other distinguished writers. He twice visited Wordsworth’s
grave.
Their first two winters in Liverpool had not proved favorable to Mrs.
Hawthorne’s health She had contracted a disorder in her throat from the
prevailing dampness, which threatened to become chronic, and her husband
felt that it would not be prudent for her to remain there another
winter. He thought of resigning and returning to America. Then he
thought of exchanging his consulship for one in southern Europe,
although the salaries of the more southern consulates were hardly
sufficient to support a married man. Then he thought of exchanging
places with O’Sullivan, but he hardly knew languages well enough for an
ambassador. The doctors, however, had advised Mrs. Hawthorne to spend a
winter at Madeira, and she courageously solved the problem by proposing
to go there alone with her daughters, for which Lisbon and O’Sullivan
would serve as a stepping-stone by the way. There are wives who would
prefer such an expedition to spending a winter in England with their
husbands, but Mrs. Hawthorne was not of that mould, and in her case it
was a brave thing to do.
Accordingly, on the second Monday in October, Mrs. Hawthorne and her
two daughters sailed for Lisbon. She was presented at court there;
concerning which occasion she wrote a lengthy and very interesting
account to her husband, published in her son’s biography. The King of
Portugal held a long conversation with her and Minister O’Sullivan, and
she describes him as dressed in a flamboyant manner,--a scarlet uniform,
lavishly ornamented with diamonds. With how much better taste did the
Empress of Austria receive the President of the French Republic,--in
a simple robe of black velvet, fastened at her throat with a diamond
brooch. One can envy Mrs. Hawthorne a winter at Madeira, for there is
no place in Europe pleasanter for that purpose, unless it be Rome.
Meanwhile, her husband spent the winter with his son (who was now old
enough to be trusted safely about the streets), at a sea-captains’
boarding-house in Liverpool. There, as in Salem, he felt himself most
companionable in such company, as he had been accustomed to it from
boyhood; and it appears that at this time he was in the habit of
composing fables for the entertainment of Julian, not unlike the yarns
which sailors often spin to beguile landsmen. [Footnote: J. Hawthorne,
ii. 75.]
Hawthorne found his third winter in Liverpool dismal enough without
his wife and the two little girls, and this feeling was considerably
increased by his dislike for the sea-captains’ boarding-house keeper,
[Footnote: English Note-book, November 28, 1855.]with whom he was
living, and concerning whom he remarks, that a woman in England “is
either decidedly a lady or decidedly not.” She would not have annoyed
him so much, had it not been for “her bustle, affectation, intensity,
and pretension of literary taste.” The race of landladies contains
curious specimens, although we have met with some who were real ladies
nevertheless. Thackeray’s description of a French boarding-house keeper
in “The Adventures of Philip” goes to every heart. Hawthorne writes
much in his diary, at this juncture, of his friend Francis Bennoch,
who clearly did the best he could, as a man and a brother, to make
life cheerful for his American friend; a true, sturdy, warm-hearted
Englishman.
Christmas was celebrated at Mrs. Blodgett’s, after the fashion of a
second-rate English house of entertainment. The servants hung mistletoe
about in various places, and woe to the unlucky wight that was caught
under it. Hawthorne presents an amusing picture of his boy Julian, nine
years old, struggling against the endearments of a chamber-maid, and
believes that he himself was the only male person in the house that
escaped. [Footnote: English Note-book, December, 1855.]If any man would
be sure to escape that benediction, he would have been the one; for no
one could be more averse to public demonstrations of affection.
Hawthorne was witness to a curious strategic manoeuvre between President
Pierce and Minister Buchanan, which, however, he was not sufficiently
familiar with practical politics to perceive the full meaning of. On the
way to Southampton with his wife in October, they called on Buchanan in
London, and were not only civilly but kindly received. Mrs. Hawthorne
wished to view the Houses of Parliament while they were in session,
and the ambassador made a knot in his handkerchief, so as to be sure to
remember his promise to her. He informed Hawthorne at that time of his
desire to return to America, but stated that the President had just
written to him, requesting him to remain until April, although he was
determined not to do so. He excused himself on the plea of old age, and
Hawthorne seems to have had a suspicion of the insincerity of this,
but concluded on reflection not to harbor it. Pierce knew already that
Buchanan was his most dangerous rival for renomination, and desired that
he should remain as far off as possible; while Buchanan was aware that,
if he intended to be on the ground, he must not return so late as to
attract public attention. There were so many presidential aspirants that
Pierce may have found it difficult to supply Buchanan’s place, for the
time being.
Buchanan delayed a respectful length of time, and then handed in his
resignation. His successor, George M. Dallas, arrived at Liverpool
during the second week of March, and Hawthorne who does not mention him
by name, called upon him at once, and gives us this valuable portrait of
him.
“The ambassador is a venerable old gentleman, with a full head of
perfectly white hair, looking not unlike an old-fashioned wig; and this,
together with his collarless white neckcloth and his brown coat, gave
him precisely such an aspect as one would expect in a respectable person
of pre-revolutionary days. There was a formal simplicity, too, in his
manners, that might have belonged to the same era. He must have been a
very handsome man in his youthful days, and is now comely, very erect,
moderately tall, not overburdened with flesh; of benign and agreeable
address, with a pleasant smile; but his eyes, which are not very large,
impressed me as sharp and cold. He did not at all stamp himself upon me
as a man of much intellectual or characteristic vigor. I found no such
matter in his conversation, nor did I feel it in the indefinable way
by which strength always makes itself acknowledged. Buchanan, though
somehow plain and uncouth, yet vindicates himself as a large man of the
world, able, experienced, fit to handle difficult circumstances of life,
dignified, too, and able to hold his own in any society.” [Footnote:
English Note-book, March, 1856.]
Morton McMichael, whose statue now stands in Fairmount Park,
once related this incident concerning Dallas, at a meeting of the
Philadelphia Hock Club. Somewhere about 1850 Dallas was invited to
deliver a 4th of July oration at Harrisburg, where McMichael was also
requested to read the Declaration of Independence. McMichael performed
his part of the ceremony, and sat down; then Dallas arose and thanked
the assembly for honoring him with such an invitation, but confessed to
some difficulty in considering what he should say, for an occasion which
had been celebrated by so many famous orators; but that a few nights
since, while he was lying awake, it occurred to him what he should say
to them. After this he proceeded to read his address from a newspaper
printed in 1841, which the audience could not see, but which McMichael,
from his position on the platform, could see perfectly well.
Hawthorne’s description suggests a man somewhat like this; but the
opinion of the Hock Club was that Dallas was not greatly to blame; for
how could any man make two distinct and original 4th of July orations?
The 1st of April 1856, Hawthorne and Bennoch set off on a bachelor
expedition of their own, first to visit Tupper at Albany, as has been
already related, and then going to view a muster of British troops at
Aldershot; thence to Battle Abbey, which Hawthorne greatly admired, and
the field of Hastings, where England’s greatness began in defeat.
He does not mention the battle, however, in his diary, and it may be
remarked that, generally, Hawthorne felt little interest in historical
subjects. After this, they went to London, where Bennoch introduced
Hawthorne at the Milton Club and the Reform Club. At the former, he
again encountered Martin F. Tupper, and became acquainted with Tom
Taylor, the editor of _Punch_, as well as other writers and editors, of
whom he had not previously heard. The Club was by no means Miltonic,
and one would suppose not exactly the place where Hawthorne would find
himself much at home. Neither were the proceedings altogether in good
taste. Bennoch opened the ball with a highly eulogistic speech about
Hawthorne, and was followed by some fifty others in a similar strain,
so that the unfortunate incumbent must have wished that the earth would
open and let him down to the shades of night below. On such an occasion,
even a feather weight becomes a burden. Oh, for a boy, with a tin horn!
Neither did Hawthorne apparently find his peers at the Reform Club.
Douglas Jerrold, who reminded him somewhat of Ellery Channing, was
the most notable writer he met there. There was, however, very little
speech-making, and plenty of good conversation. Unfortunately, he
offended Jerrold, by using the word “acrid” as applied to his writing,
instead of some other word, which he could not think of at the moment.
The difficulty, however, was made up over a fresh bottle of Burgundy,
and with the help of Hawthorne’s unlimited good-will, so that they
parted excellent friends, and much the better for having known each
other. Either Jerrold or some other present told Hawthorne that the
English aristocracy, for the most part hated, despised, and feared men
of literary genius. Is it not much the same in America?
After these two celebrations, and attending the Lord Mayor’s banquet,
where he admired the beautiful Jewess whom he has described as Miriam
in “The Marble Faun,” Hawthorne returned to Liverpool; and early in
May took another recess, with a Mr. Bowman, to York, Edinburgh, the
Trossachs, Abbotsford, and all the haunts of Scott and Burns; with
his account of which a large portion of the second volume of English
Note-books is filled; so that, if Scotland should sink into the sea, as
a portion is already supposed to have done in antediluvian times, all
those places could be reconstructed through Hawthorne’s description of
them.
This expedition lasted nearly three weeks, and on June 12 Hawthorne
received word that his wife, with Una and Rose, had already landed at
Southampton. He hastened at once to meet them, greatly rejoiced to find
Mrs. Hawthorne entirely restored to health. They had been separated for
more than seven months.
They first proceeded to Salisbury, to see the cathedral and
Stonehenge,--the former, very impressive externally, but not so
satisfactory within; and the latter, a work of man emerging out of
Nature. Then they went to London, to enjoy the June season, and see
the regular course of sights in that huge metropolis. They visited St.
Paul’s, the Tower, Guildhall, the National Gallery, the British Museum,
Westminster Abbey, and the Houses of Parliament, apparently finding as
much satisfaction in this conventional occupation as they did in the
social entertainments of London. At the house of Mr. S. C. Hall, a noted
entertainer of those days, Hawthorne became acquainted with the most
celebrated singer of her time, or perhaps of all time; namely, Jenny
Lind. No modern orator has held such a sway over the hearts of men and
women, as that Swedish nightingale,--for the purity of her voice seemed
no more than the emanation of her lofty nature. Hawthorne describes her
as a frank, sincere person, rather tall,--certainly no beauty, but with
sense and self-reliance in her aspect and manners. She immediately
gave Hawthorne an illustration of her frankness by complaining of the
unhealthy manner in which Americans, and especially American women,
lived. This seems like a prosaic subject for such a person, but it was
natural enough; for a concert singer has to live like a race-horse, and
this would be what would constantly strike her attention in a foreign
country. Hawthorne rallied to the support of his countrywomen, and
believed that they were, on the whole, as healthy and long-lived as
Europeans. This may be so now, but there has been great improvement in
the American mode of living, during the past fifty years, and we can
imagine that Jenny Lind often found it difficult to obtain such food as
she required.
That she should have requested an introduction to Hawthorne is
significant of her interest in American literature, and suggests a taste
as refined and elevated as her music.
It was on Hawthorne’s wedding-day this happened, and a few days later
he was invited to a select company at Monckton Milnes’s, which included
Macaulay, the Brownings, and Professor Ticknor. He found both the
Brownings exceedingly pleasant and accessible, but was somewhat startled
to find that Mrs. Browning was a believer in spiritism--not such a sound
and healthy intelligence as the author of “Middle-march,” and he might
have been still more so, if he had known that she and her husband were
ardent admirers of Louis Napoleon. That was something which an American
in those days could not quite understand. However, he found her an
exceedingly pleasant companion. After dinner they looked over several
volumes of autographs, in which Oliver Cromwell’s was the only one that
would to-day be more valuable than Hawthorne’s own.
A breakfast at Monckton Milnes’s usually included the reading of a copy
of verses of his own composition, but perhaps he had not yet reached
that stage on the present occasion.
Hawthorne heard such varied and conflicting accounts of Charles Dickens
that he hardly knew whether he would like to meet him or not. He wanted
to see Tennyson when he was at the Isle of Wight, but feared that his
visit might be looked on as an intrusion, by a person who lived so
retired a life,--judging perhaps from his own experience. While at
Windermere he paused for a moment in front of Harriet Martineau’s
cottage, but on second thought he concluded to leave the good deaf lady
in peace.
Conway speaks of Hawthorne’s social life in England as a failure; but
failure suggests an effort in some direction or other, and Hawthorne
made no social efforts. Being lionized was not his business. He had seen
enough of it during the London season of 1856, and after that he retired
into his domestic shell, cultivating the acquaintance of his wife and
children more assiduously than ever, so that even his two faithful
allies, Bright and Bennoch, found it difficult to withdraw him from it.
Watching the development of a fine child is much more satisfactory than
any course of fashionable entertainments--even than Lowell’s twenty-nine
dinner-parties in the month of June. Nothing becomes more tedious than
long-continued pleasure-seeking, with post-prandial speeches and a
constant effort to be agreeable.
Hawthorne remained in England fully seventeen months after this, and
made a number of excursions; especially one to Oxford, where he and his
family were dined by a former mayor of the city, and where he greatly
admired the broad verdant grounds and Gothic architecture of the
colleges; and also a second journey to Edinburgh and the Trossachs,
undertaken for the benefit of Mrs. Hawthorne and Una. But we hear no
more of him in London society, and it only remains for us to chronicle
his exceptional kindness to an unfortunate American woman.
It seems strange that the first doubt in regard to the authorship of
Shakespeare should have originated on this side of the Atlantic.
If Dante was a self-educated poet, there seems no good reason why
Shakespeare should not have been; and if the greatest of French writers
earned his living as an actor, why should not the greatest of English
writers have done the same? That would seem to be much more in
harmony with the central idea of American life--the principle of
self-helpfulness; but this is a skeptical epoch, and the tendency of our
political institutions is toward skepticism of character and distrust of
tradition. Hence we have Delia Bacon, Holmes, and Donnelly.
Hawthorne has given future generations an account of Delia Bacon, which
will endure as the portrait of a gifted and interesting woman, diverted
from the normal channels of feminine activity by the force of a single
idea; but he makes no mention of his efforts in her behalf. He found her
in the lodgings of a London tradesman, and although she received him in
a pleasant and lady-like manner, he quickly perceived that her mind
was in an abnormal condition, and that it was positively dangerous to
discuss her favorite topic in a rational manner. He had a feeling that
the least opposition on his part to the Baconian theory would result in
his expulsion from the room, yet he found her conversation interesting,
and recognized that if her conclusions were erroneous she had
nevertheless unearthed valuable historic material, which ought to be
given to the world. He loaned her money, which he did not expect to be
repaid, and exerted himself to find a publisher for her, recollecting
perhaps the vows he had made to the gods in the days of his own
obscurity. He mentions in his diary calling on the Rutledges for this
purpose--where he saw Charles Reade, a tall, strong-looking man, just
leaving the office. He also wrote to Ticknor & Fields, and finally did
get Miss Bacon’s volume brought out in London. The critics treated it
in a contemptuous manner, as a desecration of Shakespeare’s memory;
and Hawthorne was prepared for this, but it opened a new era in English
bibliography. Shortly after the publication of her book Miss Bacon
became insane.
To many this appeared like a Quixotic adventure, but now we can see that
it was not, and that it was necessary in its way to prove the generosity
of Hawthorne. We can readily infer from it what he might have done with
ampler means, and what he must often have wished to do. To be sure,
the truest kindness to Delia Bacon would have been to have purchased a
ticket on a Cunard steamer for her, after her own funds had given out,
and to have persuaded her to return to her own country; but those who
have dealt with persons whose whole vitality is absorbed in a single
idea, can testify how difficult, if not impossible, this would have
been. It redounds the more to Hawthorne’s credit that although Elizabeth
Peabody was converted to Delia Bacon’s theory, Hawthorne himself never
entertained misgivings as to the reality of Shakespeare as a poet and a
dramatist.
He had doubts, however, and I felt the same in regard to the
authenticity of the verses on Shakespeare’s marble slab. It is fortunate
that Miss Bacon’s purpose of opening the tomb at Stratford was not
carried out, but that is no reason why it should not be opened in a
properly conducted manner, for scientific purposes--in order to
discover all that is possible concerning so remarkable and mysterious
a personality. Raphael’s tomb has been opened, and why should not
Shakespeare’s be also?
At the Democratic convention in 1856 the Southern delegates wished to
renominate Franklin Pierce, but the Northern delegates refused their
agreement to this, because they knew that in such a case they would be
liable to defeat in their own districts. James Buchanan was accordingly
nominated, and Pierce’s fears in regard to him were fully realized. He
was elected in November, and the following June appointed Beverly Tucker
to succeed Hawthorne as consul at Liverpool. Hawthorne resigned his
office on July 1, 1857, and went with his family on a long tour in
Scotland. Two weeks earlier he had written a memorial to the Secretary
of State concerning the maltreatment of a special class of seamen, which
deserved more consideration than it received from the government at
Washington.
The gold discoveries in California had induced a large immigration to
America from the British Isles, and many who went thither in hopes of
bettering their fortunes became destitute from lack of employment, and
attempted to work their passage back to Liverpool in American sailing
vessels. It is likely that they often represented themselves as more
experienced mariners than they actually were, and there were also a good
many stowaways who might expect little mercy; but there was no court in
England that could take cognizance of their wrongs,--in order to obtain
justice they would have to return to America,--and it cannot be doubted
that the more brutal sort of officers took advantage of this fact.
The evil became so notorious that the British minister at Washington
requested Pierce’s administration to have legislation enacted that would
cover this class of cases, but the President declined to interfere. This
may have been prudent policy, but Hawthorne felt for the sufferers, and
the memorial that he submitted to our government on their account has a
dignity, a clearness and cogency of statement, worthy of Blackstone or
Marshall. It is in marked contrast to the evasive reply of Secretary
Cass, both for its fine English and for the directness of its logic. It
is published at length in Julian Hawthorne’s biography of his father,
and is unique for the insight which it affords as to Hawthorne’s mental
ability in this direction. We may infer from it that if he had made a
study of jurisprudence, he might have risen to the highest position as a
writer on law.
Hawthorne’s English Note-books are the least interesting of that series,
on account of the literal descriptions of castles, abbeys, scenery and
palaces, with which they abound. The perfectly cultivated condition of
England and Scotland, so far as he went in the latter country, is not
stimulating to the imagination; for, as he says somewhere, even the
trees seemed to be thoroughly domesticated. They are excellent reading
for Americans who have never been to England, or for those who wish to
renew their memories in regard to certain places there--perhaps better
for the latter than for the former; and there are fine passages in them,
especially his descriptions of the old abbeys and Gothic cathedrals,
which seem to have delighted him more than the gardens at Blenheim and
Eton, and to have brought to the surface a rare quality in his nature,
or otherwise hidden in its depths,--his enthusiasm. Never before did
words fail him until he attempted to describe the effect of a Gothic
cathedral,--the time-honored mystery of its arches, the sober radiance
of its stained windows, and the solemn aspiration of its lofty vault. As
Schiller says, they are the monuments of a mighty civilization of which
we know only too little.
Hawthorne’s object in writing these detailed accounts of his various
expeditions becomes apparent from a passage in his Note-book, of the
date of August 21, 1856, in which he says: “In my English romance,
an American might bring a certain tradition from over the sea, and so
discover the cross which had been long since forgotten.” It may have
been his intention from the first to write a romance based on English
soil, but that soil was no longer productive of such intellectual fruit,
except in the form in which Dickens dug it up, like peat, out of the
lower classes. We find Francis Bennoch writing to Hawthorne after his
return to America, [Footnote: Mrs. Lathrop, 310.] hoping to encourage
him in this direction, but without apparent effect. Instead of a
romance, he made a collection of essays from those portions of his diary
which were most closely connected together, enlarging them and rounding
them out, which he published after his return to America, in the volume
we have often referred to as “Our Old Home.” But as truthful studies
of English life and manners Mrs. Hawthorne’s letters, though not always
sensible, are much more interesting than her husband’s diary.
When Doctor Johnson was inquired of by a lady why he defined “pastern”
in his Dictionary as the knee of a horse, he replied, “Ignorance, madam,
pure ignorance;” and if Hawthorne had been asked a year afterwards why
he went to Scotland in the summer of 1857, instead of to the Rhine and
Switzerland, he might have given a similar excuse. In this way he missed
the grandest and some of the most beautiful scenery in Europe. He could
not, however, have been ignorant of the attractions of Paris, and yet he
lingered in England until the following January, and then went over to
that metropolis of fashion at a most unseasonable time. He had, indeed,
planned to leave England in October, [Footnote: English Note-book,
December, 1857.] and does not explain why he remained longer. He made
a last visit to London in November, where he became reconciled to his
fellow-townsmen of Salem, in the person of Edward Silsbee, of whom he
writes as “a man of great intelligence and true feeling, absolutely
brimming over with ideas.” Mr. Silsbee was an amateur art critic and
connoisseur, who often made himself serviceable to American travellers
in the way of a gentleman-cicerone. He went with the Hawthorne family to
the Crystal Palace, where there were casts of all famous statues, models
of architecture, and the like, and gave Hawthorne his first lesson in
art criticism. Hawthorne indicated a preference for Michel Angelo’s
statue of Giuliano dé Medici, called “Il Pensero;” also for the
“Perseus” of Cellini, and the Gates of the Florentine Baptistery by
Lorenzo Ghiberti. If we except the other statues of Michel Angelo, these
are the most distinguished works in sculpture of the modern world.