Chapter Nathaniel Hawthorne of Index by Simonds History of American Literature

the locked door of his room, from which he issued chiefly at night. However there were days when he paced, solitary, the breezy pastures of Salem Neck, which juts forth a mile or two out upon the island- strewn bay; sometimes he turned toward the western suburbs, where he might stray for miles, uninterrupted and alone, over pasture roads bordered with sumach and barberry, or follow the upland ridge to the spot associated with gloomy memories of the fanatical severity of old Judge Hathorne and his associates in the witchcraft period, -- the low eminence of Gallows Hill. We must not think, however, that it was Hawthorne's desire to shun all human society. He trod the narrow winding streets of the ancient town with no slight stirrings of affection for the associations of the present and the past. He joined the groups of fishermen loafing around their drying nets or sun-bleached lobster traps; he mingled with sailor-men in their lounging-places, listening with an appreciative ear to their salty conversation. Of course Hawthorne had his acquaintance in the city; but he was strangely diffident, reserved, and silent; many thought him morose. It was a dreary ten years in his existence. "We do not even live at our house," he once exclaimed pathetically.

Yet Hawthorne was not idle. Shut in his chamber, he studied regularly if not systematically, and read widely. It was a period of reflection and experiment. In his lonely chamber he pondered and brooded. "Here my mind and character were formed," he wrote in 1840. "And here I sat a long, long time, waiting patiently for the world to know me, and sometimes wondering why it did not know me sooner, or whether it would ever know me at all, -- at least till I were in my grave. . . . By and by the world found me out in my lonely chamber, and called me forth."¹

He wrote -- wrote much; and burned much of what he wrote. His first venture in print was a novel, crude and not especially suggestive of the works that followed. This was Fanshawe, published anonymously in 1828. It is a product of the first graduate years; its scene is laid at "Harley College" and its characters are reminiscent of academic days. The book was suppressed by its author afterward, but, in 1879, was republished.

The Tales.

With his sketches and short stories, the young author had better success. In these the note of originality was clearly struck, and their style, wonderfully delicate and refined, speedily commanded attention and praise, although their audience was limited. They were published in the annuals (several appeared in the Boston Token, edited by S. G. Goodrich, far-famed in that day under the pen name of "Peter Parley," as the author and compiler of books for children), in the Salem Gazette, and in the New England Magazine. In 1837, by the kindly interest, unknown to Hawthorne, of his classmate, Horatio Bridge, the first collection was published under the title Twice-Told Tales. Here were gathered the historical sketches, The Gray Champion and The May-Pole of Merrymount; the strange study of Wakefield, the man who could not enter his own home; the delightful and now familiar Rill from the Town Pump; the allegories, Fancy's Show Box, The Great Carbuncle, and The Prophetic Pictures, -- so suggestive of Hawthorne's fondness for symbolism; as a boy he had counted The Faerie Queene and Pilgrim's Progress among his favorite books. Here also was the pathetic story of The Gentle Boy, and, with others, the characteristic tale, Dr. Heidegger's Experiment. The future work of the romancer was fairly foreshadowed in this representative collection.

Correspondence with Longfellow.

The Twice-Told Tales attracted favorable notice and sold to the extent of six or seven hundred copies. Longfellow made the volume the basis of an appreciative article in the North American Review; and a friendly correspondence followed. Writing to Longfellow in June, 1837, Hawthorne speaks with strong feeling of his hermit-like existence during the past ten years.

"I have secluded myself from society; and yet I never meant any such thing, nor dreamed what sort of life I was going to lead. I have made a captive of myself, and put me into a dungeon and now I cannot