Chapter Nathaniel Hawthorne of Index by Simonds History of American Literature

of the sojourn at Brook Farm and some of its associations. The romance was not published until the following year (1852), when the Hawthornes were once more living in Concord, where the novelist had bought a cottage, -- it was the home of the Alcotts, -- to which the name of "The Wayside" was now given. Unhappily this house is not associated with the creation of any noteworthy work.

Consulship at Liverpool.

In 1852, the writer of romances took time to prepare a campaign biography -- a life of his old classmate and ever loyal friend, Franklin Pierce. Following Pierce's election as President, Hawthorne was formally appointed United States Consul at Liverpool, and in July, 1853, sailed with his family for England. There he remained until he resigned his office in 1857. No literary work marks this period of four years' English residence, except the usual minute record of observation and experience comprised in Hawthorne's interesting note-books.

Italy and The Marble Faun.

The next two years were passed in Italy, mainly in Rome. It was for the most part a pleasing and illuminating sojourn. The associations with American residents, notably with Story, the sculptor, were stimulating. The serious illness of the daughter, Una, cast a cloud upon the last few months of the stay in Rome, yet here Hawthorne collected the material for what was to prove his last and most popular romance. During a summer in Florence, the family occupied a romantic villa "with a moss-grown tower" which had the reputation of being haunted. "I mean to take it away bodily and clap it into a romance which I have in my head," Hawthorne wrote in his note-books; and thus was Hilda's airy nest in The Marble Faun projected. In the spring of 1859, the Hawthornes returned to England, where the new romance was completed. It was published in England in the early part of 1860, under the title Transformation, and simultaneously in America as The Marble Faun. The Hawthornes then came home.

The story of The Marble Faun, again, is psychological; it deals with the development of a soul under the influence of a committed sin. The central figure is that of Donatello, a youth whose resemblance to the sculptured faun of Praxiteles is so marked as to suggest that he himself is but half human, his free and apparently irresponsible nature confirming the suspicion. Through participation in a crime, the soul of Donatello appears to be awakened, and we infer that his humanity begins in the self-revelation which follows his sin. The effects of this act upon characters of contrasted types is subtly worked out: upon Miriam, the chief actor in the crime; upon Hilda, who is only a witness, but whose intensely moral soul -- puritan of the puritans that she is -- suffers most keenly of all. The pure-minded, sweet-souled Hilda, feeding the doves as they flock daily about her ancient tower, and in her hour of self-torture groping for relief from the sense of contamination which comes only from her knowledge of another's crime, -- this is, for most readers, the most attractive character in the book. There is much concerning Italian art in The Marble Faun, at least much concerning sculpture; this fact and also the circumstance that historic spots are picturesquely described, have made something of a glorified guide-book of the romance, and have enhanced its value in the eyes of many. But Hawthorne is not a sound critic of art. The Marble Faun should be read for its story and its characters, and the problems they present.

Closing Years.

Once more the romancer and his family occupied "The Wayside." Full recognition of Hawthorne's peculiar genius had been won; among American writers he was regarded essentially the foremost. Yet the four years of life remaining were not very happy ones. Various circumstances and events conspired to create depression and to recall the old spirit of aloofness and reserve. His daughter, Rose,¹ at this period ten or twelve years old, gives this description of her father:--

"I always felt a great awe of him, -- a tremendous sense of his power. His large eyes, liquid with blue and white light and deep with dark shadows, told me, even when I was very young, that he was in some respects different from other people. . . . We were usually a silent couple when off for a walk together, or when we met by chance in the household. . . . I longed myself to hear the splendidly grotesque