A Boston merchant whose word
had been as good as his note for thirty years was gibbetted soon after
his death by a high-minded journalist, as the type of mendacious
duplicity.
But why multiply these unpleasant examples of misrepresentation? Hardly
a great and good man has ever lived without suffering from it at one
time or another. They originate in bad temper, in partisan malice, and
those believe them who have no just criterion to distinguish truth from
falsehood.
After all, what other American has accomplished a literary work equal to
Hawthorne's. He was an artist, purely an artist, and of the finest
quality. The raw material may be in us, but to develop it requires pains
and labor. The greater the talent the more difficult is its fruition.
Hawthorne's life was absorbed in this. His habitual mood was a dreamy,
brooding observation. When Englishmen say that no great work of art has
been produced in America; that Allston's magnificent pictures remain
half-finished; that neither Emerson or Lowell has been able to write a
book, but only essays; that we have no historian as good as Macaulay,
and that the best of our poetry consists of ballads and other short
pieces; my reply is, "The Scarlet Letter" and "The Marble Faun." These
are great works of art. The most unique and original, perhaps, of the
present century; and if they have not the lyrical form they are
exquisitely written, and none the less poetic.
Pages:
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69