In "Hawthorne and His Wife" and "Memories of Hawthorne" both Julian
Hawthorne and his sister, Rose Hawthorne Lathrop, have given citations
from the letters written by Nathaniel Hawthorne to Miss Sophia Peabody
during their years of courtship. These excerpts were free and
irregular, often, and evidently with specific intent, taken out of
order and run together as if for the purpose of illustrating a point
or emphasizing a particular phase of character. While the extracts
were sufficiently numerous for the object desired, and while they gave
an agreeable glimpse of an interesting period of Hawthorne's life,
they were necessarily too fragmentary, too lacking in continuity, to
convey any adequate idea of the simplicity, beauty, humor and
tenderness of the letters, even considered in the matter of a literary
style.
The original letters were acquired by Mr. William K. Bixby of St.
Louis, and, at the urgent request of the Society of the Dofobs, of
which he is a highly esteemed and honored member, turned over to the
society with the understanding that they should be published for
presentation to members only. It was specified also that great care
should be exercised in going over the letters, that no apparent
confidences should be violated and that all private and personal
references, which might wound the feelings of the living or seem to
speak ill of the dead, should be eliminated. It is indeed remarkable
that in the large number of letters presented there was practically
nothing which called for elision, nothing in the lighter mood which
breathed a spirit beyond the innocent limits of good-natured banter.
The work of the editors was consequently easy and grateful, and the
task one of delight.
It is not claimed that these love letters, so-called, comprise the
entire correspondence on Hawthorne's part between Miss Peabody and
himself during the three-and-one-half years of courtship. Naturally
a series of letters begun sixty-eight years ago, with all the
vicissitudes of a shifting life, would not be preserved intact. But
while some letters have been lost or destroyed, and others may not
have been permitted for one reason or another to leave the possession
of the family, the continuity here preserved is practically as
complete as could be desired and fully illustrative of the qualities
which make them so worthy of publication. In giving these letters to
its members the society has conformed strictly to the exactions of the
manuscript save in a few cases perhaps where haste on the part of the
writer omitted a word, slightly obscuring the sense. It has been
deemed advisible also to omit all notes or paragraphs of explanation.
Happily the letters are sufficiently intelligible without such notes,
and the conclusion has been reached that no needed purpose can be
served by minor explanatory details relating to individuals mentioned
or incidents suggested. It has been thought best as well to add a few
letters extending beyond the period of courtship. No defence is
necessary, for to the last they are "love letters" in the purest and
truest sense of the words. This will be vindicated in the perusal.
In selecting two letters for facsimile reproduction the choice has
fallen upon the letter from Brook Farm under date of April 13, 1841,
and that from Salem written in the following year. Both illustrate the
quiet, quaint humor of Hawthorne. In the Brook Farm letter he sketches
drily his thinly veiled impressions of the community, and herein will
be found the famous reference to "Miss Fuller's transcendental heifer"
which has fallen little short of immortality. Writing from the old
home in Salem he makes his letter conspicuous by the fact that he
prophesies banteringly--doubtless he little knew how truly--his own
coming fame and the public craze to inspect his belongings. This
humorous tribute to himself, in its mock, self-satisfied strain,
suggests not so much the mental state of Horace predicting his
metamorphosis and immortality as the good-natured prophecy of Burns
that "you may expect henceforth to see my birthday inscribed among the
wonderful events in the Poor Robin and Aberdeen Almanacks, along
with the Black Monday and the Battle of Bothwell Bridge." Horace,
Burns, Hawthorne--how all exceeded their predictions, whether gravely
or lightly made!
It is true that to many persons of sensibility the thought of
publishing the love letters of men and women however distinguished or
in the public mind is repugnant. It seems to them a violation of a
sacred confidence, a wanton exposure of a tenderness not intended for
the world as a part of its literary diversion. The objection in many
instances is a fair one, and too often the obligation of delicacy has
been violated and the dictates of gentle consideration have been
unheeded. Of recent years more persons have been shocked than
gratified by the exploitation of love letters of famous women or men,
and by the ruthless tearing away of the veil which has concealed their
happy love life, and this emotion of disapprobation has not been
lessened by the apparent fact that a sordid motive inspired the
publication. At the outset such impulse of disinclination possessed
the gentleman who owns the Hawthorne manuscript and the members of
the society with whom he conversed with reference to its appearance in
type. It was only after the letters had been carefully read, the
motive governing their publication seriously analyzed, and the
respectful limits of their circulation considered, that this doubting
impulse vanished.
That any one can read these letters without a warmer, closer feeling
for the "shy, grave Hawthorne" seems impossible. To one who has
perused them in manuscript, transcription and proof sheets there comes
almost a conviction that he wrote them not merely for the woman
waiting for the day when pledges should be sanctified, but with the
half wish that all sympathetic spirits might see him and know him as
he was. For gaily he speaks of his own bashfulness and reserve;
hopefully he passes beyond the drudgery and disappointments of his
position in life to the future which allures him; bravely he fights
anxiety and care; with quaint humor and lightness of touch he pictures
the scenes around that amuse and interest him. And when in loving
remembrance he calls for the "Dove," or with mock seriousness chides
the "naughty Sophie Hawthorne," a strong affection is breathed in
gentleness, a manly tenderness delights in every line.
And whether toiling with the measurer in the vessel's hold, or chafing
with him in the somberness of the custom house, sharing now his relief
from distasteful tasks and now his dreams for a happier day, the
reader feels the spirit of the past. And above all the shadowy
ghostliness of the threescore years seems to come the perfume of the
apple blossoms that fell around the Wayside, with the gentle
graciousness of a time well known to all, when youth and love and hope
are young.