Memories of Hawthorne

by Rose Hawthorne Lathrop

The Chamber of Commerce wished to pay their respects to Mr. Hawthorne; but Mr. Hawthorne could not receive a cloud of gentlemen at our parlor there, unless they had all "stood upon their dignity," as the witty Miss Lynch suggested that Mr. Hawthorne should. The President of the Chamber was a Mr. Barber, and, behold, when we came out to Rockferry he called again, and invited us to dine at Poulton Hall, his country-seat at Bebbington, on this side of the Mersey, where he resides with his two maiden sisters. He came for us in his beautiful carriage,—a chariot it was, with a coachman as straight as a lightning-rod,—and off we bowled to Poulton Hall. [My mother's inexperience concerning splendid effects in luxurious life led her to look upon them in a naive, though perfectly composed manner. One is reminded of the New Adam and Eve, and one is glad that the patient objects of time-honored beauty had found surprise at last.] It is four hundred years old; and there we came upon unspoiled nature, as well as elaborate art. It is an enchanting spot, with a lawn shaded by ancient oaks and other forest trees; but green fields beyond and around that had never been trimmed and repressed into thick velvet. The Hall had belonged to the Greens, and the history of it is full of ghost stories and awful tragedies. We entered a hall, and by the ancient oaken staircase reposed upon the carpet a fox, in a fine attitude, with erect head and brilliant eyes,—really a splendid specimen of a creature. I was surprised at the quiet manner in which he reposed, undisturbed by our entrance; but I was much more astonished to find it was a dead fox stuffed. I could scarcely believe it after I was told. Mr. Barber is a lover of sport, and is going with his family to-morrow to Scotland to hunt grouse. He says that at this season the hills of Scotland are gorgeous with heath flowers, like a carpet of rich dyes. 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. The two ladies were in embroidered white muslin dresses over rose-colored silk, and black velvet jackets, basque-shaped, with a dozen bracelets on their arms, which were bare, with flowing sleeves. They received us with that whole-hearted cordiality we meet everywhere. They told us some terrible stories about the haunted house, and about a lady who was imprisoned and tortured in one of the attic chambers on account of her faith, and how she resisted to the end, and was starved to death. The room bore the name of the "Martyr's Chamber." ["Dr. Grimshawe's Secret" refers to this mansion.] We went up there, and saw the window in the roof,—so high that the wretched lady could not look out; and the door of solid oak, which was ruthlessly barred. We saw the spot where one of the gentlemen of the former family cut his throat, and was found dead; and Miss Marianne said children had been murdered in the house, and uneasy spirits revisited the "glimpses of the moon." We went all over the house, in which are twenty-five sleeping apartments. One room contains a library in black letter, but that we could only peep at through a great keyhole, because it was barred and padlocked. I think Mr. Hawthorne would like to examine that. The ladies said that, if we wished to go to church, we could tell the beadle of the old Bebbington church to guide us to their pew. We passed this venerable church on our way. Its tower is very fine, and has ivy and golden flowers far up near its summit, and is built of reddish stone. Both ladies spoke of "The Scarlet Letter" with admiration and wonder. They said it had the loftiest moral of any book they had ever read. . . . On Friday, Mr. Hawthorne dined with his worship the Mayor, the Judges, the Grand Jury, the leading members of the bar, and some other gentlemen, at the Town Hall. Mr. Hawthorne said the room was the most stately and handsomest he ever saw. The city plate was superb, and the city livery of the footmen was very splendid, and the footmen themselves very handsome. His worship wore his robes of state, as did the worshipful Judges, with their wigs. Speeches were made, and Mr. Hawthorne made his third speech! Oh, how I wish I could have heard it! . . . This morning the ferry steamers brought over two or three thousand children—boys and girls of the Industrial School—to have a good time. I hope they are kindly treated; but it makes me shudder, and actually weep, to look upon the assemblage of young creatures, not one of them able to call upon a mother; each with a distinct character, each with a human heart. Poor little motherless children!

On Sunday afternoon we took a delightful walk. I think we made a circuit of five miles, if not more. We went over Dacre Hill, from which a sweet, tranquil landscape is seen; and onwards, down a lovely lane. These lanes are all bordered with hedges of hawthorn, ivy, and holly; and one of them abounded in lovely harebells, with stems so delicate that I found it very difficult to see and seize them, so as to pluck them. These hedges had not walls before them, and were not too high, so that we could look over into the fields. A well-worn path led from the harebell lane along the edge of a field; and very convenient stone steps led over the walls. When we got to the street, it seemed a very ancient place. This region was once the kingdom of Mercia. The road seemed hewn out of stone. I cannot tell you how much the cottages seemed like the first dwellings that ever were made. . . . When I called on Mrs. Squarey, we found her a pleasant lady, and Una thought she looked like Miss Maria Mitchell, and therefore Una liked her. Our call was extremely agreeable. Mr. Hawthorne insists upon calling her Mrs. Roundey. When Mr. Hawthorne came home this afternoon, he said he met on the other side the children of the Industrial School just landed. He saw them face to face, and he said their faces were uncomely to the last degree. He said he never imagined such faces,—so irredeemably stupid and homely. I do not think I have realized the sin of the Old World in any way so much as in a few faces I saw in Liverpool. It made me shiver and contract to look at them,—so haggard, so without hope or faith, or any sign of humanity. . . . Mr. Hawthorne had a letter from Kossuth to-day.

August 26.

MY DEAR FATHER,—I am just as stupid as an owl at noonday, but it is a shame that a steamer should go without a letter from me to you, and it shall not. Mr. Hawthorne wishes to escape from too constant invitations to dinner in Liverpool, and by living in Rockferry will always have a good excuse for refusing when there is really no reason or rhyme in accepting, for the last steamer leaves Liverpool at ten in the evening; and I shall have a fair cause for keeping out of all company which I do not very much covet. I have no particular fancy for Liverpool society, except the Rathbones' and Brights'.

Mr. Hawthorne was obliged the other day to bury an American captain who died at his boarding-house. He paid for the funeral out of his private purse, though I believe he expects some brother captains will subscribe a part of the amount. Mr. Hawthorne was the whole funeral, and in one of those plumed carriages he followed the friendless captain. The children are delighted with the aspect of things, and with the house, which they think very stately and elegant. I have been racing round the lawn and shrubberies with them. The flowers rejoice. The scarlet geraniums, the crimson and rose-colored fuchsias, the deep garnet carnations, the roses, and the enormous variously colored pansies (pensees) look radiantly in the sun. There are many other kinds of flowers besides; and the beautiful light green, smooth-shaven lawn is a rest to the eyes.

There is a vast amount of latent force and energy here, but it takes a cannon to put it in action. Of course there are exceptions enough. Our friend Henry Bright is a slender, diaphanous young gentleman, of a nervous temperament, with no beer or roast beef apparent in his mind or person; and there are doubtless many like him. The English are unfortunate in noses. Their noses are unspiritual, thick at the end; and there is an expression about the mouth of enormous self-complacency. The specimens of this amount to superb sometimes, when the curves of the mouth are Apollo-like. Unfortunately there is too often a deep stain of wine in the cheeks, or a general suffusion; and unless the face is quite pale, one can find no other hue,—no healthy bloom either in man or woman.

A young American was found in a deranged state, and taken before a magistrate. There was one of two things to do,—either to put him in the workhouse, or pay his board at the insane hospital. Mr. Hawthorne, of course, chose the latter. It was just like him to choose it. The young man's mother had lately married a second time, and was in Naples. When Mrs. Blodget came to see me, a day or two since, she exclaimed that she knew his mother, and that she was a lady of fortune. . . .

September 30. Mr. Hawthorne and Mr. Ticknor had a fine excursion to Old Chester, and were so occupied with it that no time was left for Eaton Hall. Julian has been parading round the garden this morning, blowing a trumpet which papa brought him from Chester, and dragging after him a portentous wooden cannon, which would not help to gain the smallest battle. It is actually a sunny day! . . . A very great joy it is to Rosebud to see the lovely little English robins come to pick up crumbs. They excite a peculiar love. They have great faith in man, and come close to the window without fear. They have told the linnets and thrushes of our hospitality, and the linnets actually come, though with dread and trembling; and they carry off the largest crumbs for their families and neighbors. The English robin is very dear. . . .

Mr. Ticknor has been to see De Quincey, and says he is a noble old man and eloquent, and wins hearts in personal intercourse. His three daughters, Margaret, Florence, and Emily, are also very attractive and cultivated, and they are all most impatient to see Mr. Hawthorne. . . .

We are all going to Chester first on a Sunday, to attend the Cathedral service with the children. How very singular that this dream of mine, like so many other dreams, is coming true! For I always wished earnestly that the children might go to church first in a grand old cathedral, so that their impression of social worship might be commensurate with its real sublimity. And, behold, it will be so,—for they never yet have been to church. The echoes of those lofty vaults are scarcely ever silent, for an anthem is sung there every day. Afterwards we shall go on a week-day to examine the old town, said to be older than Rome itself!