wild, mysterious Borrow--Her skeleton, huddled, dry, and awful--"Ma'am, you expose yourself!"--Plane, spokeshave, gouge, and chisel--"I-passed-the-Lightning"--Parallel-O-grams--A graduate of Antioch--"Continual cursing"--A catastrophe--"Troubles are a sociable sisterhood"--"In truth I was very sorry"--He had dreamed wide-awake of these things--A friend of Emerson and Henry James--Embarked at Folkestone for France

XIII

Old-Homesickness--The Ideal and the Real--A beautiful but perilous woman with a past--The Garden of Eden a Montreal ice-palace--Confused mountain of family luggage--Poplars for lances--Miraculous crimson comforters--Rivers of human gore--Curling mustachios and nothing to do--Odd behavior of grown people--Venus, the populace, and the MacDaniels--The happiness to die in Paris--Lived alone with her constellations--"O'Brien's Belt"--A hotel of peregrinations--Sitting up late--Attempted assassination--My murderer--An old passion reawakened--Italian shells and mediaeval sea-anemones--If you were in the Garden of Eden--An umbrella full of napoleons--Was Byron an Esquimau?

XIV

Our unpalatial palace--"Cephas Giovanni"--She and George Combe turned out to be right--A rousing temper--Bright Titian hair--"All that's left of him"--The pyramidal man of destiny--The thoughts of a boy are long, long thoughts--Clausilia Bubigunia--Jabez Hogg and the microscope--A stupendous surprise--A lifetime in fourteen months--My father's jeremiades--Thank Heaven, there is such a thing as whitewash!"--"Terrible lack of variety in the old masters"--"The brazen trollop that she is!"--Several distinct phases of feeling--Springs of creative imagination roused--The Roman fever--A sad book--Effects of the death-blow--The rest is silence

XV

The Roman carnival in three moods--Apples of Sodom--Poor, battered, wilted, stained hearts--A living protest and scourge--Dulce est desipere in loco--A rollicking world of happy fools--Endless sunshine of some sort--Greenwich Fair was worth a hundred of it--They thundered past, never drawing rein--"Senza moccolo!"--Nothing more charming and strange could be imagined--Girls surprised in the midst of dressing themselves--A Unitarian clergyman with his fat wife--Apparent license under courteous restraint--He laughed and pelted and was pelted--William Story, as vivid as when I saw him last--A too facile power--A deadly shadow gliding close behind--Set afire by his own sallies--"Thy face is like thy mother's, my fair child!"--Cleopatra in the clay--"Wer nie sein Brod mit thranen ass."

XVI

Drilled in Roman history--Lovely figures made of light and morning--What superb figures!--The breath and strength of immeasurable antiquity--Treasures coming direct from dead hands into mine--A pleasant sound of coolness and refreshment--Receptacles of death now dedicated to life--The Borghese is a forest of Ardennes--Profound and important communings--A smiling deceiver--Of an early-rising habit--Hauling in on my slack--A miniature cabinet magically made Titanic--"If I had a murder on my conscience"--None can tell the secret origin of his thoughts--A singularly beautiful young woman--She actually ripped the man open--No leagues of chivalry needed in Rome--A resident army--Five foot six--Corsets and padding--She was wounded in the house of her friends

XVII

Miss Lander makes a bust--The twang of his native place--Wholly unlike anybody else--Wise, humorous Sarah Clarke--Back to the Gods and the Fleas--Horace Mann's statue--Miss Bremer and the Tarpeian Rock--"I was in a state of some little tremor"--Mrs. Jameson and Ruskin--Most thorough-going of the classic tragedies--A well-grown calf--An adventure in Monte Testaccio--A vision of death--A fantastic and saturnine genius--A pitch-black place--Illuminations and fireworks--The Faun--Enjoying Rome--First impressions--Lalla's curses

XVIII

In Othello's predicament--Gaetano--Crystals and snail-shells--Broad, flagstone pavements--Fishing-rods and blow-pipes--Ghostly yarns--Conservative effects of genius--An ideal bust and a living one--The enigma of spiritualism--A difficult combination to overthrow--The dream-child and the Philistine--Dashing and plunging this way and that--Teresa screamed for mercy--Grapes and figs and ghostly voices--My father would have settled there--Kirkup the necromancer--A miraculous birth--A four-year-old medium--The mysterious touch--An indescribable horror--Not even a bone of her was left--Providence takes very long views

XIX

Burnt Sienna--The Aquila Nera--A grand, noble, gentle creature--The most beautiful woman in the world--Better friends than ever--A shadow brooded--Boys are whole-souled creatures--Franklin Pierce--Miriam, Hilda, Kenyon, Donatello--The historian of the Netherlands--When New England makes a man--The spell of Trevi--An accession of mishaps--My father's mustache--Three steps of stone, the fourth, death--Havre, Redcar, Bath, London, Liverpool

ILLUSTRATIONS

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE (From a crayon drawing by Samuel Rowse)

BIRTHPLACE OF NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE AT SALEM, MASSACHUSETTS

HERMAN MELVILLE

JAMES T. FIELDS

THE WAYSIDE (Showing Nathaniel Hawthorne and his wife)

EDWIN P. WHIPPLE

JAMES T. FIELDS, NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE, AND WILLIAM D. TICKNOR

RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES

ROBERT BROWNING

FRANCIS BANNOCH

REV. WILLIAM HENRY CHANNING, 1855

MARIA MITCHELL

WILLIAM WETMORE STORY

PENCIL SKETCHES IN ITALY, BY MRS. NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE

THE MARBLE FAUN

HIRAM POWERS

INTRODUCTION

Inheritance of friendships--Gracious giants--My own good fortune--My father the central figure--What did his gift to me cost him?--A revelation in Colorado--Privileges make difficulties--Lights and shadows of memory--An informal narrative--Contrast between my father's life and mine.

The best use we can make of good fortune is to share it with our fellows. Those to whom good things come by way of inheritance, however, are often among the latest to comprehend their own advantage; they suppose it to be the common condition. And no doubt I had nearly arrived at man's estate before it occurred to me that the lines of few fishers of men were cast in places so pleasant as mine. I was the son of a man of high desert, who had such friends as he deserved; and these companions and admirers of his gave to me in the beginning of my days a kindly welcome and encouragement generated from their affection and reverence for him. Without doing a stroke of work for it, I found myself early in the enjoyment of a principality of good will and fellowship--a species of freemasonry, I might call it, though the secret was patent enough--for the rights in which, unaided, I might have contended my lifetime long in vain. Men and women whose names are consecrated apart in the dearest thoughts of thousands were familiars and playmates of my childhood; they supported my youth and bade my manhood godspeed. But to me, for a long while, the favor of these gracious giants of mind and character seemed agreeable indeed, but nothing out of the ordinary; my tacit presumption was that other children as well as I could if they would walk hand in hand with Emerson along the village street, seek in the meadows for arrow-heads with Thoreau, watch Powers thump the brown clay of the "Greek Slave," or listen to the voice of Charlotte Cushman, which could sway assembled thousands, modulate itself to tell stories to the urchin who leaned, rapt, against her knees. Were human felicity so omnipresent as a happy child imagines it, what a world would this be!

In time, my misapprehension was corrected, rather, I think, through the application to it of cold logic than by any rude awakening. I learned of my riches not by losing them--the giants did not withdraw their graciousness--but by comparing the lot of others with my own. And yet, to tell the truth--perhaps I might better leave it untold; only in these chapters, especially, I will not begin with reserves--to say truth, then, my world, during my father's lifetime, and afterwards for I will not say how long, was divided into two natural parts, my father being one of them, and everybody else the other. Hence I was led to regard the parties of the latter part, rich or poor, giants or pygmies, as being, after all, of much the same stature and value. The brightness (in the boy's estimation) of the paternal figure rendered distinctions between other brightnesses unimportant. The upshot was, in short, that I inclined to the opinion that while compassion was unquestionably due to other children for not having a father like mine, yet in other respects my condition was not egregiously superior to theirs. They might not know the Brownings or the Julia Ward Howes; but then, very likely, the Smiths and the Joneses, whom they did know, were nearly as good.

After fifty years, of course, such prepossessions yield to experience. My father was the best friend I ever had, and he will always stand in