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"E~ngJ.i:;h_
TABI.B OF CONTENTS
J.v ABSTRACT ········~·d~·····6···-·
., 1. INTRODUCTION L HAWTHORNE'S NATURAL PR?OCCUPATION WITH FIR£~: AU'i'OBIOGP..APHICAL MUSXNGS _,' 2. HEARTH-fiRE IN THE SXETCHES AND TAUS COMPLEX IMAGES OF HEARTH-FIRE CONCWSJON
3. 11\'f.AGFS o.r.; !·H?L;. -FTRJ:.
MYTHlC HELL- FI\~E THE 30NI'IRJ: AS A HELL-FIRE
CON'CLU.SlDN
4. BI3LICA'~ I-JE.LL-Fl'W Al:D TEE IMAGL Cit' SATAN 4(i
BE:~L··i--:Il:.:F i\.{f·r: SA'fAN AS i\N.Ai~OGI~~S OF EYJt · A STUlf( Cil-' T11/0 \.'iOF..KS . . .
!>''·'-. t:k~Af]Vb ~X1·~~jLJ~S OF lHE HELl,-FI~I ~ '\, .• J..• SAT/\>;; i"\ S'i'UDI C:F THREE ·r.~\L.. [S ABSTRACT
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE'S JivL~GES OF FIRE: f,N ARCHETYPAL
ANAL ..,{SIS OF SELECTET.l S!.CETC:Hl~S A.ND TALES
by Doroth·! Sargent Ra11k:ir1 MasteY of A1·ts in Engli.sh
May, 10?5
ti.0u t<.' :-!a,.vthOTT!\:;'s uniqt~e utJ.liz.:;.·~:.:tJn cf a-r·chctyp;~::-;~ espe··
J. v Irli.tlally, it seemed appropriate to recall, th·rot1gl1
fiaw·thorne 1 s autobiographical musings, hi.s personal fascina-
tion with the phe11omenon of fire itself and to reveal 1~is awarer1ess of it as a source for crea·tivity. To do thj.s
inc-reases the subsequent ple.D.:3ure cf seeing·' in his sketches and tales, the ·LransforiD£ttion of fi.re images int.o universal
archetypes withj.n the tr:tdi·ti01l of literatttr~. In some of his sketches and tales HaFthorne has used the hearth-fire as an archetypal image of man's paten-
tial goodness. Dcspit~ his persortal ~reference for th1.s
.~ kind 0 .L fire, l1is creativity has not seemed as brilliant when he has utilized the wholesome image of the hearth-fire as when he i1as ascrj.bed n~gat·~ve coDnotations to images of
:f1.re. These negative in~ages: ·cu be: called hell-,fJre, occur
i.n man.:~.r of the works~ The;,. occur :J.s creativ~~ simile3 of mythic fire, of bonfires, artd of the Chris·tian t!ell··fiJ·e~ the latter accompanied ~y orte o1· more s~tan figures. As dramati.cally co~plex o1·chetypes, these images do, indeed,
,, INTRODUCTION
A literary archetype is a symbol "which recurs often e.-i.ough in literature. t(J lH~ -~eccgnizab:le as an elemr::rtt 1 of onels .!.itc~·a:ry expe1:·ience.u it may be 3pat.ial or ternpo:r6.l or a. corn·~,inat.ior;: of both. lt may occur as an obviotts simile of rn~rth &nd ritual, .and it 111ay be an exten- sion within the literary tr.?\dition of uthc:cs' usc o:C myth and ritual. A poet's ~tilj_zatiort of the archetjpaJ. image iJ.luminates the J.J.terar11re j_tself as well as relates it (the litexatuTe) tc
reveal his con~;isten·c :..1se of .the aTc.l;e·'.:ypc as a cTeative
h1.:.man !:.~:_t:{tation.. The p~in~ary purpo~e of +hi.s study, then 1
l p!e;...,~-~-1-J ~ o·-, {;; r'- r,, u_ .... ''I ... :lr-:y ,, .f~ ('-·.- ·i 1·: r i ('F' ' F .... lll~ F c:: s 'l \J•"! ( P-.r ince to~ ~ .. '"}: -:- j :;_c :~~ -:·:. ~) ~-~ ~ u;:l .. ~~~·-f.-~·-.:-_-ry--~~-_p:f.·~~~;~-; --~:rf\··:~;'7;--~-~~-:-·--3·f~·~-~:-~L::. Sl'.i)C,:-.,()'lf!'l"!'"'- "V',r.,ff-:.-;~c;·;"\_.-,'2. '·r· 1·(1';S \l[o-~--k- i-rl -'•(-')~t '- .l. -·'-'··,.'J, ...-,,~.L .L•-•---·· .,...,_, ..- . I '-' ~"• • ', .,_.-i"1l>V ... -••. ']..)/':".cited ~ • - -~ -t·}-:n~ ,.,. L..-.-.... as }\C, follo\ ....-ed ty t.l:·-~"'- ou~·.-::. .L.imi tat ions bcc.orr.c apparent ·;Jccau~;e the nu.mb~r of images is endless, 1'hcxofore, ·t]tose -sketcl1es 2nd tales wtich contaj_n significan·t fire imag0ry will become the
J.imit ing factor. Fire does~ iL fact, occur frequently in
Ha·t..,rthorne's 1·:ritings. Over two dozen references appe~r in
th· ._e en t r:.tes. are c.a·ccl . d 1n. tl· 1e sum.mer montns.. :5 Also many of the sketches generally considered to be autobiographical contain 1nore than casual attention to fire imagery. And, of thr:: :mo1:e than seventy i!fi·cti.onal 11 sketches and tales, over forty contain notable fire imagery. Seventeen of tlt,~se sketc1le3 and tales have been selected for a·ttention, tL~~ze v:ork:; to be discussed g0ne:ralJ.y· as t'.re11 as with regard to itna.ges of fires.
A li.miting factor also becomes apparent w.i·tll ~egard to the unalysis, Ha1vthorne' s· 1·VTi tings in:~.i~·.:atc two d:irec ·· tiu!lS f0r archetypal nnalysls. One d:irecti0tl is prescrip- tive~ ~~ili.zing the critical a];paT~tttls of Northrop Frye and examining some of Hawthorr1e=s works as thsy fit i.IltO thj.s
Tl~.(.: othe·.r: r:_i.i'.l .. eci:.i.on Js d;~·:scriptive, ut:ilizing
rccur·ring images becomes it~clf i:he cOJltent of ·the analysls.
Ce-rt,.:t.i.n vf Hawt.})_oroe:::~ wr:Ltj_ng ...... i!lV"ite t~be direct ·.~Onl.'l T!l.e !\nH·;1·ican Notebooks ·tv·i11. be c:ited. Tt .·:· <· ·.·:!! :-: c... -::·t (; : t.h ~~:...... T.:i~.~:F·;·,-·.-f()·-·<:;TTf;··-:r·J:Cl1·;; .. ~·:!\ o i~ c b c1 c1 k:5 d.:::~ t c c1 ~.~ ..!: t c t '.. ,;.·' 3 her method. Still others invite aspects of both Frye's and Bodkin 1 3 critical approaches, Attention to Hawthorne's preoccupation wjth fire generally and to its spedf.ic use in selected sketches and tales reveals a dichotomy. The fires are not neutral. Either they appear as the warm, positive hearth~·fire, or they take on hot~ negative characteristics, these to be termed hell-fire. Despite his personal preference for the hea1·th··fire llS an archetypal imi.tge of sublimity and virtue, .he is not as complex g~enerally· in utilizing j_t as when he COJ1.cent1·ates on the negativ0 connotations o:F a 0 hotter" HAWTHORNE'S l'iXfUPAT. PI:!iOCCUPATION WITH FIRE:: AUT013 IOGRl\PHTCAL i•iU'~~iJ:~GS That Hawthorne h::ic.1 a ·natul'al cn:ciosity fnT fire wa.s . I) wh en there was :l f 1 rt:. '' And Malcolm Cowl8y JJOtes: o:t- h~ lS• £.avcrJ.t:e • a.nr.usem.c~nts In• ;:::ar•. lnY..... n 7o'''.~~-~· ·:" t\...·-'~ngJ·"\.:: --r .._,~,t.·~ .1.J.~..e.~,.C · ·~· · •.: liS :;)~-1c:J.c.o:lr;: Co~·,; ley, hJ t:: H::n-..rthc r·.1c C;cw ~(-:.::-:-k: groat blazing oue"·-J.t was pJ.e~1sat1t to have thls Jay of bleak Nove1n."beT we&.ther, and checrfvl fireside. taJ.kJ artd. wet gar .. :ments sn·oki'n.g in the fi1·cside he2.t ~ still in the sv.mme:r.., ' . ,,6 TJme~· 'This jour.aey, one of many surmHC1' t1~1ps~ also included a visit to a local lime kiln 11f1ose ·burning fire~ do nut 01~dinariJ.y connote cheer. Yet HawttLOI'nc :r.used:o A hard~·rood fire >,Vas burning merrilY beneath the superincumbent marble--·the kiln being heaped fu·!.l . . He [tJ1e watclter] talked veiy sociably with US- wbe.ing clou'btless glad to have tV.-"0 ViS:i.tOTS to vary his soli.·tary nigl1t watch. Here a poe·t might make verses, '~i~h . . a gl.ean1 (J:f fi.erce fire1ig1tt :f:'lickeTing t}rroug:h them (C.t VIII, p. 145)-~ There is little hint of the llemonisni o·f 11 Ethan BTancil( here, certainly a St(lry germ for that deinonlc tnl.e. Bu~h these Notcbcck 2il·tr~cs ilJ.~sLTate a peacl.! fLl.~ lnto focus t~y a hearth-like fir~. Afte:t tf1.i3 su.mme1· jour:n.ey Ha~vt.h.c·L'ne returne-d t.o SalcN and fell in love wt·t11 Sophia Peabody. Thf; Havit:h.orne family k.n.c~-.,· of the Peabody:::;) lJ~.tt it N:i.~·; not until the fail 6 Na-ch8.n·i.e1 H:;t"vthoTne, The i\mcr.Lra.r~ Notebooks~ ed. C1 au ch.: M. S .lHt p s o !:t ~ () l, i o S t c1 t i~ tlli"i :,: c ~~ s~·.:;:-:c\r··-·-c·~~·rl·T ~-~·-~··i·f)7- -E-d i t i c n of the Work:·; of N;:ltllc:.niv1 F·[Ci\,ltiirr(~1t: ~ Vol. --~~--· .. ·rc-Ll'TUTit'Fit_S ...~-·- .. ·-----·-·· ?5Eio ..:··--··¥(5h--t 0 ---s· (.'~:i_·-Ec:··· .. ·cfn:T~;{:)·y~3l... :F}'- T) r t~- s:~--~... .1 9 3? -~ 9 6 1912) , 7 o , ? , 11S. ~:;~_t.f-.::s·~~'"~.-~.lCl'tt -refc-.r8nc~~- in th(; t\~s.t to Ha\-!tho·I.·n:;:; · ~:; ·w'ork.s, "i.-.;_h,,.. :l~t c~LtnJ oHly by vv_:_ttl!1{·: ~l~-t(l p;;:.,~~c .. 'l-1t:i.:tl ~-m~.ly the: t:~ ~~ :,~- ~~: -~~; .. ~~_;:: ~~ ~ n. ~~ ~; \~\ ~· /;;i: ~;·~: \!, .~; d i:~ ~~ :~: ~ ~ t~ 3 r~·.!cz--e+~i:~~:;~~-:: -~: .. :f: -':~ ---~~Z-.i ~·~~~-·--~c·/h;~~~E4F~-~-~.)_:·~~ an i·: ·yt) ..,·.i,· i ..',.1!·r· .. E·r·on \·l'J J.,.?fJ1,) ~--1~.·{· ('n l :;:Q) ... t gq·l). ·vo·tu·t:-t,> o.nc: ''r;;i_::.~-rc!~<.~e, 'r:;··t·h.; (~:.~~-;.i:;,;;;(-t .. ·-i~;~l:;:~-.x(~n · ~·:LJ 1 be iJ-.r·.:~ccd(~~i ... )· !:~ .l.ettt·~T r:. she ·vlas immediately impt·essed by Hawthorne~ n 1·Whax a '1 beautif11l sntile he has! He has tL celestial expTessJ.on~'n Reminiscent of the love between Elizabeth Barrett and Robert Browning, their!" was an idylli.c courtship and an idyllic marriage. Descriptions of domestic warmth occur frequent 1 y in the fiot:)_ _\;,~o k~. after the i :r marriage ;omd tl,e i 1' subsequent ntovo to the Old Manse at Concotd. For }Iawthorne hearth-fire syrttbolized dontestj.c warmth, thus recalling the goddess of household fire, Hestia, and the ritual from which she was conceived. Th8 Greek woi·J flestia means the he;1rth, the place in the house wl1"B~re-f1ie fire was rna.inta·0.11ed ~ The difficuJ.ty which primj.tive rnan experie11ced in p·ro·· curi11g fire easily cxpJ.ain~; why 11e tended it ,~ith care and a:lso vener~ted it. Moreov·er i·t wa~ around the hearth tl1at the fantily gatl1ered. When one of its mcml;ors c1c.pa....-·tcC. ·c~.) foHnd a nevJ fa11~·i.ly h~~· t(;uk with him a parcel_ of fire 1:1·otn his par·entsl hear·th,,. "~"Nhich thus symboliz-::cl the CO"i'..tinuity of tho fv:nti1y. 8 from the Notebooks i.s a .loving ex~cension. of this ritual; 11 }\11 t.h~c\.n~gh the winte-r· I had w:~shed to sit j_Jl i.he d~sk c·E evening, by the flick- 7 s·-· .. ,,., .. r··· ., '- t.. ..- ,•, d. L ~ .t- o Sl. tinge through the ·room~ ~ ~ -~ [It] diffuses a mild, heart-warm influence through the room, I hate to leu.ve such a scene; and \'/hen retiring to bed, after closing the si·tting~ room door, I re-open it, again and again, to peep back at the warm, cheerful, solemn repose (C, VIII, p. 284). Hearth-fire, closely associated with Hawthorne's we1.1-being, ])oCJ.l!W an analogy for him during a fi~;hi11g tr-ip on tho Assabeth River with Ellery Channing, which he rec.orde.i in the sketch, "The Old. Manse." OuT fire·' red gleaming among the trees 1 and we beside it, bttsy witl1 culinary rj.tes. Our mirth did not seem to disturb the propriety of the solemn woods. We ,.nne so free today. . . • [And late:·] when 1;-e crossed the threshold of the house . . still the leaves of tl1e trees that overhang the Assabeth were whispering t Partly autobiographical, p~J.rtJ.y imaginative, "The Custom House,n also calling attention to "The 01d Manse, 11 i..s Hawtl1orne 1 s way of establishing a camara2crie with l1is It is a little :celila.rkablc, that---though di.sinclined to talk ov(.~:T.tn.uch nf myself and my af-fCJ.irs at: the fireside, a.nd tG my pex·sonaJ. .f:c·lends·--an autob:l.o··· Q"T'' n·~..;r.-:>1 .' i""l"''l. <.·p. 1 ·h~·:.-• ..:; , I( ·t .• f~ h.-,-- 1:>.._2.11~.\..,_.(.L.-..l.f.tt-·'-'· ~ ... ,)rh .. QU.l(..., _,l;~>.....e .l.n m.; .lJ... v ~.o\le 1 11 ·t·c)cr:·rta ...... roSs"s~·:-L'c•·r·; ·~'...-~~'· .;.i Ole Jn·~l.._. .·,..l..t.\ ao.~-.• U. ·t~=rc.:.:i-·,c-l>)v.~l4 1·r'.. l e jl .. ~u;,lir·. .•. ._~ - 1 .,, 0 (c"" l) J?~ .._,). ,, ..t:F:i.::es on fi.shing t:rips :::.-re a.lsc r(-;_c.ordeJ .l.ri ·!:1te Notebooks. p~. :l73-174. 7 mus i.ngs reveal somethirtg else besides a natural affinity for this simple ritual of hearth-fire. Fi.rc becomes a source for creating original myths and rituals. Hawthorne playfully created his own fire "myth": "A per~; em to catch fi.refl.i.es, and to try to kindle his honseholc fire h'ith them" (C, VIII, p. 180). And he created his oun ritual: "A bonfi:ce to be made of the gallows and of all symbols of evil" (C, VIII, p. 180), which h.;; later modific~d, "When the reformation o£ the 't.'orld js complt>te, a fire shall be made of the gallows" "1' 10 VIII, p. 23 ' ) . Hawthorne creAted an imaginative germ whici1 also recaJ1s archetvpal jmages of his literary predecessors: To ccnt:cive r;. stoi·y· of a ·~~tan bu·:.1Gir1['. a house, and. 1 cca.-~·ir Images of the Groe~· Hede~- and t:he Biblical and Medieval Hell are present. Demonic persoP?ges and their antitheses are present. Eut. this shurt p~ssage also literary conVGiltion of ·Eire J.taages as they wouJ.d have appeared irl Gothic IlOVels, RoniantJ.c fictir1n~ and, of course, t~e great ~ellgious ~·c1·ks of Dar1te, ~J.itOii, and Bu~yan. ~ n ···see N1:·tcbooks for other recer0rtres to l1ot1fj.res~ p p ~ ::: 9 , _·i_ 1 3 - 1 7 ·T·~-----·------··--- took 5hape by the interaction of h1s temperament and his reading, 11 \Vhi~:h included Monk Le·:;is, the Gorman Romantics~ .S 1r· 1".va 1 t er .)co~r +t , ana' th. e re.~glOtlSJ' ' wr1~ers· ~ · c1't~d ~ a b ove. ll Iia·wthorne hir.1self in a letter to Delia Bacon sa?.d, ;~We find thoughts in a11 great ·wri~e-r~; (and even in small ones) that strike their ~oots far beneath the surface and intertwine themselves with the rocts of otl.1e7_· writeT~3 ~ thought-s_ 30 that "\Vhen we pul.i up one, vJc stir the whole. 11 12 Finally, these autobiographical thoughts reveal images of fire as focus for the development of the creative process, One <:olorful example begins as <: !'l.Cl..~.C.l?().CJ.)i. passo.ge. Hawthorne lamented, "We have had three stoves put up; and henceforth, no light of a cheerful h.re w.i.U gladden ns at that they keep us perfectly comfortable" (C, VIII, p. 364). This he developed into the sketch, "fire-WoTship," l.n 11hich he mourned th'8 11 pas sing" of the ~'srr.. i 1 ing11 hea1·th- fi Te, no-~d replaced by the confining "iron prison~ 11 He Tdminated about t:hc 11 easy gossip; the merry yet unarnbitious jest; the lifeJ.i:~c, p~actica1 ~iscus~lcn of real ll!atters in a cns·ua1 11 · Neal FrKnk Doubleday, flaw·thornu~s Early 'fal.es, A Cdticai Study (Durh;;m, N.C.: n>>Fe-un""i.ve·r,iTfy.. 15r-e.ss;19T2), Ji-:·;n·.·-----···- "· ] 0 -~.J2ne Ltlnblad, Nat}lJniel Hawt1to·rne and European ·1· -i ·t "' 1~ ·::; ·rv T l"l ··1 _: ·r ·i 0 n r; c.· <: '1 y·---S ·;;·:-0·-J··--··c_;··t··-1~-c-J··:::·-;-~---()··:r·l------,,\·l·l-:;~-;_-:r··-:l'·c-· ...., '"l----r;;-;~-(J1 ·1·-· ~J. r;- 0 .J.l. V .;:;<.. / .o. (, ...... l.. •..•. ---~ Lo-.'~( ~ :A.l .. 0.<...<,-.L,_,,_ ., l AnotheT, more tf.loughtfu.l · heaTth" fire image from "The Custom Hous8" has Teceived careful attention from critics. Richa.nl Harter Fogle terms it Hawthorne's "most comprehensive i11aage of artistic creation, or rather tl1e most favorable condition for art1st1c. . creat1on. . "14 Late at night, I sat in the deserted parlour, lighted only by thE glimmc:ciug coal·-fire and the moon, striving to picture forth imaginary scenes, which, the next day, might flow out on the bright ening page irt m&Iiy·-hucd descriptiorl. The someHhctt cJim. coal-firE: has a.n c~ss.!.:~nt:ia1 influence in producing the effect which I would describe. It thr·ows its unobtrtlsive tinge th~ough out tlte room, with a faint rltddiness upon t!1e walJ.s and ceiling, and <-J r:cflecr.ed gleam from the polish of the furnitu-c-e. TlH"· 1\'8.Y:me:- light mingles .it::;•;.lf with t~e co1d Sl!i·~~i_tuaJ 1 ty r:"~f t:h.P. noonbeam:_.~. a~cl .. commun1cates, as lt ·~vere ~ a. heart 1-1nd :-;enslbll:ttJcs of human texvierne.s~:.. t:o the fornLs vJhich fancy sum·· mons up. It conver·ts them from snow-images to men and women. At such an hour, nnd witl1 thj.s scene befol'r:: 'him, if a man, sitting all e_lone., cannot dream strange tl1i11gs, arld make ·thent look like truth, he need never try to write romances ('v',.. I ' pp. ''"~~ J ''").. , v • 13 Mi.llicer~.:.: Be'il: 11 Ha.wthol·.r::.ers 'fire-Worship!~ 11 Int.el'pret~~"f:j"on ar1.d Svu.r-r:e, America.n T.itoLatui'C .. ~~4 (1~S2) :> 3 :l·· 3 9 :l disc ('Vc r s P1.t r it a·1.i. r:.(lnJIO t-;; t··-:::~~::J·ls·----:L1--t-:-E·:,.:;---s·I-(:·::..c ~l , See also R<)Y l\1aJ.e ~ ·~c·l'i tJ.cisn: cf MilJ. i,~:t;r.:.t B.:..:ll r s 1 Fire··· WOl'Sh~.p' _,'' (~:15~~~-:-~-~~-!.?:_:~:~.:~;_~!~.?-~:.~-~-?:_S:~ ZS (10~5), 85-87. .10 But there is a thiTd realm.which lies between the extremes4 This is the mysteriotiS centTG of Ha.wthorne' s Art. In "The C:us to:n Hot:se" it is a combinat:ton o£ i•larm hearthlight a.nd clear moon-light . . a blend of the two worlds whtch is the ideal atmosphere for artistic creatlon.lS It seems appropriate at this point to turn to the hearthlight and to sea if, indeed, its presence combines with the moonligh~ of imagination to form a third realm, th'Ol ";o.tmosphc:re for artistic creation." Chapter 2 HEARTH··FIRE IN THE SKETCHES AND TALES Hearth-fire as a comforting 7 positive image occurs in many of the sketches and tales. ~0 recail F1·ye~s defi~ nition, it, as archetype, ~hould typify those recurring images in literature which are recognizable as pa~t of our literary experience. Jn additiOJI, according to Maud Bodkin, it should illuminate literature as it relates to our common experience. Regardless of tl1e j_ntent of the sketch or tale, the hearth-fire:; when it :is the only fi:re :irr:age in the ~~.-c.rk) 16 remains realistic ;:1nd warH!. Some random sx2.r.1plss of t.his kind (If hea·rth-f:l:re 11 include those in the wTy tale, Wakefi:·~ld. H 1~a·kef.ieJ.J. ''mysteriously" leaves his 1-•.d.fe for a pex5.CJd of twc:n.ty yeD-es, moving only to the next st:r.Bet ·w-hex-e he is "comfortably established hy the firesi.de of a smalJ ap~-:!.TLHtentn '9· ."LS6). lJ.tcvitabJ.v he returns nomE;. ~-v'ny shotl.ld ne remain hi:"J ov;n wife l·ril1 :cu.n to fetch the . small-clothes_, wh~cb, doubtless, she has kept carefrJlJ.y irt the closet of ·t·'1f'l··-.L:;. _., ·b~·d, ~:;; .. -....1r·'l"n•b~·l·'l" n . v , , (~L·; ~ ~}'1 ·trJ·. l. •'') .J ~ Despite the dour tone of :t6.,-l:'.·,··~l\, o::· ]·,.,-~.•. :,-_,·· • .. ·.·1·.-·.·.','.·,·.·=,··:··: • __ ·• .t.~~. nne v.·.f :::cV81't;.i. - ~::t:·c1.. lW.::tgc<>). it.<:- :,ya:cmti·1 is often sul.~·.;cr'Lt.:rl~ S:.~e fol:tcw.i.ng c.h.:pters . .11 1 '/ ,I., 1..- 0 " Tht:~ IVi.ves of tl.te Deu.J. 1 onE: of t.he two w:ld.ov-rs of the t9.le "''r~c...,·~·i..- 1 0 P~•• ,~., ·1,,',-l~~'~''O J...... _...l...... ~> ...\...l.<~ t.,e ·h."IJ-,.....::c.r•,:~.,.1:'_;_..;:. d"y·~a ... s of--- ...l.~t~ h-:. P'.!1··::·t·~ .~J.- ~H• r;;o;.J.,"''- .. ~--1, M·a·"y~ .1. and herself had exercised in love a po1ver tlw.t love had ·won. Tho cheerful radic.nce of the f:i.re had shone upon the h appy Cl"fC_I)·• 1 q l_.i.:1,'''T'' p. 01'00) .• And listc~ners of the sombre nLegends of Province Housen are comforteJ by the hearth·~ I' q~ ·t·l~'r• ~.;~·r,~ '] •~-~ ~ :fire :>ctting, "seated l.'-'"-' "'""/ ...... '--'; ...... special good fire .c r" -·-l -::1 ·i+~t! O.L allCilT(.~c ...... c. i..rr , .p. 292), often characterized by its °Cheerful glo-~.,r" (I~ p. ::'i28). In several of the sketches the hear·th·-fire is th~ doinina~Lt :'un~s.ge, Tn effect p-.rov i.d ing a f:rar!Le for the sketch, One of these is "The Village Uncle," LntrudEced by 2. nar" ciC1.lly here; wt-u:;:.te th(~ old man sits in hi~; old arm-·c.hair; but on Th;;.l.nksgi---v ln.g 1J.ight the blaze should da:nce hi.ght.;r up the chimn.;.~y 11 (I, p. '549). The point t.;f v:i.e1·1 changes, and. the village ur1cle assulnes this 1 i ,.. 7 ·r·cJu-,,,,.._1~!!•) -;~1' ' ·v.. ,:-.-"'r--r·>:.J~'_;(;l.,_,,,-;,l.~·~,t_.:31)1"' .;::·rcm·"n \.,_,n.... ~'•'.)~ o·- ·;) lA-L'fe ·r·en·,r·mh~rs-·- his P~ ?•""),;:..:o. 1... ~)" hearth, Now I behold you ill.llWinated froM head to foot, ln your clea.n cap and decent gown" (I, p. 350), At first glance we might wonder if Hawthorne is attempting parody or gentl.e satire because of this elevated language. Yet as Da~iel Hoffman points out Hawthorne was n·naturally a1var0 of the Yankee as a type) or ste-l'eotype :r and . [seemed] pleased at his opportunities of observing live originals of that famous b•eed.~ ,,17 Terming the effort sincere, Hoffman calls the sketch a failure, however, because H St.ewart C.8.lls it too obYiously ~:.utobicgrar>hicaJ. 1 differing on~Ly slightly frcJ1:! a letter· -~o Longfellow in v.:}Li..ch _Hawthorne stated, "For the Iast ten years [1827-1837], I have not 1.9 about living. '11 Stewart des~ribes the old uncl(:; as a qman [like Hawthorne] ~~"'ho had wandered troHbles, joys a.nd. vJcissi.tudes vlere of such sl:ight stuff 17 Daniel H0f£ma1i, Fur~ an1 F~_l)Je j_rt American Fic- tion (Ne~'l York; OxfoTd Ur.. J1i2l~·s··_rry--ep·r·cs·s--;.·-·-rg 6 5~1-;··--:p--- ·1 trr:- !.1)2-lO:J, ,-..'-l·1 ·' that he hardly knew where he lived, or only dreamed of 1.lV ' i ng., \'·· 2 0 Perhaps we might also add that while Ha11thorne adhered to the characteristics of the sketch, a perfectly permissible mode .of expression for his day, he nevertheless not only stereotyped the old man himself, but also the implication of the hearth-fire. Maud Bodkin provides a useful definition of Stereotypes, They are, she says, those "'pictures in our heads'" which, while complex at a particular time, cannot maintain "at once a universal and an individual character" (APP, p. lSln). In "The Villag Uncle" the hearth··fire, though in itself a convincing .im~'ge, nc:ve:rtheless emerges as a stereotype, an.d thereby tlus skct(.h be:.:;(Hll.GS foT u::: a sent.irnenta:i pictc.I.'C. Thanksgiving hearth-fire bccJmes the dominant image for a.no-::her .sketch, 1'John Inglefield 1 s Thanksgiving.'~ John IngJefiel.d, the blacksmith, sat in his elbct~,.,rchair, among those Hho had been keeping fes·· tival at th1s board. Being the central figure of the domestic circle, the fire threw ~.ts strong light on J·1is rnassiva and sturdy frame. ~eddening his rough vis~ga, so tltat it looked l:ke the head Of 8.Jl .iJ.."'Ofl. Std."t:""tlE' :- alJ. A.g·I.Olli f:"·t'0~":l "hj S OY..:r! !~OJ.'f!:' ~ and with its fratures rudely fashio~ed on h·is own anvil (III, p. S84). The tc..1.e ~vith its ~rythic beg5.nrdng recalls Hephaest.us, th8 ~, ciivine blacksmith, a personificatio)1 of terrestial fires. 1 ·~ ~c 8. ·.r.· ·.-: '· D '1 X: ,:, • :.:~J t.• ~.' ~,,.. ·~ • 1- • 1. ''( ... ' lS Tltis heightened imago collapses into a picture of ste"t."eotyped rael<).ncholy ~ however~ where the solcrnn £~1.mlly group of four sits around the nc~heerful flresid"~?H w.ith an extra chair empty as a reminder of Inglefield's recently deceased wife. 11 A light footstep 11 co:mes along the passage. It is Prudence, one of the "painted boauties at the theatre of a neighboring city'' (III, p. 590), who has returned, perhaps to ntend her ways, the image of the fire coloring her, suffusing her cheek "with a healthful bloom." The group by morning "might have looked at he:r with altl';red eyes, but by the Thanksgiving fireside they felt only that their own Prudence had come back to them" (III, p. 588). After a short stay she sudd0nl.y prepares to leave. "Sin ~ l T Y \. .• o. -- ' p. :189); yRt :'foT an instant P~cud.e:r1ce lingered and looked back into thr::: fire-lighted room . . [before she] vanished into the outer cl..~rkness" to return to her life of sin (III, p. 590). liere as before Hrtw~llo:·ne has creatsd an i1nage of human nattE·e and has made J. moral point, beth characte-r is- ti~ of t}te sketch. But hi~ cha~a=·ts;~ ~~d the lmpl.ic&ticn of the h2a:rt:b.-·Eire Lta.ve once agEin Oecc:ne stei·eotyves. HThc Ambitious c;uest '!! baseC.. on n legend of the 11ih.it0 Hi.lls, tells of a La.ppy family who, 1-vhile living under the b~aw of a dangerc11s mo11nta:in, never fail to wsl~ come pas3eTs·by to their warm h~arth~ One nighl: a you11g 1 \) sole desire, tf1ey soon firtd outt is tu achieve his destiny, "'Then, let Death come!' [he cries] 'I shaJ.1 have build tnY monument!"' (I, p. 368). !Juring the night a mountain slide crashes toward the cottage. Its occupants, leaving the protection of the hearthside, rush outside presumably to safety. Ironically, however, they are all buried, but the house stancL;_; untouched} "the light smoke steaming from the cottage chimney up the mo11nta!.n side" (I, p, 374) _ Like the other sketches, "The Ambitious Guc;st" ]JiC· tures a glowing hearth-fire. Unlike the others, it becomes a more complex archetype, contrasting believably with an alien outside world and emphasizing the contrast between the sa·tisfied and seentingly secure family and ths ambitious 11 You .la.ug:D. at rrte," said he [the guest], taking tho oldest daughter's ban~, and J.aughing himself. "You think my ambition . nonsensir:::J.J.. '' a~t•~• "It is better to sj_t her<" by this fire," ar:.sw·ered the gi·r1 1 blushing, "and be co1nfortdblc anq contented, though nobody thinks about u.s 11 (I, p, :568). nprcud, yet gentle spi:r:i.t'! of the guest "!.·tho is -ready to "be J :i.1 (I, p, 36'7); the young g:!.rl who '"shiver~; by a ·~.varm hea-rth'n with ~aldenly simplicity (I, p. 371); and the fwnlly as a 1 ' a scene :-.~f pe::.cc~ ::1..tlct. 1-.~um(;le happincs~~r' (I! f), :5'72). As a sketch "The Ambitious Guest" :J.s succe:;sf.ul, deP.l ing effectively with th.e human heaJ:'t, ce:ctainly a Hawthorne preoccupation, But the sketch by its very nature limits dramatic development, complexity of purpose, and a complexity of images. It limits the artist's level of creativity. Cm1.DLEX IMAGES OF HIJARTH··Fl.R.E Hearth-fire as archetypal image serves an important function in two of Hawthorne's more successful tales, "The Gentle Boy" and "Roger Malvin's BuriaJ.." At this point relevant ideas of Northrop Frye and Maud Bodkin can facili- tate and enricl1 the discussion of tl1esc tales, which are psychologically ca~plex ar1d dramatic rentind?rs of Hawthorne's preoccupation w1th both good and evil in tho nature of man. Frye and Bodkin see archetypes no~ only as spatial symbols or images, bv.t a.Lso as t •. ::mpo-ral :intages ~ which FTye calls temporr.d. me des. F:tye! s "Theory of J;;cdes, 11 .in part~ structures beginn.iag with the mythic mod A a.ud Irtoving· forM Wf'~rd. in time to the lo\<.'~mirrretic mode, Tou.ghJy characteTized by nineteen·tll-century li.terature, and tlte i1·onic mode, charact~riz1ng twert·tieth-centu~y works. Hle!·.·:.ents o£ a] 1 mode~; may overiap and inte.cchange ',','.'l~L. '.'1.'1.11.1 , i;::l.,.JlV ·'/ 'll•••.. t·'--''Tr-;1··-y·~'" _.o;,,. .,.(\1"1--W •.• )\. ;...l<.:~.·-~·. TIJa·, y_ 7-i-,,-:-,,Jlv t:..·+··r'1(''[·~~'"(-'':..>~ •. •- ..... \,.0. d'·' ()"[. i'T'::J_Upd,V, ... '·t:•·?', u.:n~~- comedy. 't':hesr;: mod.c:s are both ho-rizontal an.d cy:.:"l.i.caJ.:; ,, 1 " the iror1ic modo often returning to myth, Frye different!. ates between the narrative str11ctures as follows; tragedy, tho isolation of the hero from society; comedy, the inte- gration of the hero into society. If \VB accept Frye's definition of tragedy as simply the hero's isolation from society, then "The Gentle Boy" may fall into this structure. Ilbrahim, the gentle boy, is a Quaker whose father has been executed by the Puritans and whose mother has been exiled by them. A gentle boy in every sense of the word, he is taken in by a compassionate Puritan couple, who because cf l1im'are themse:Lves made out" casts. His one hearti·ending at·tempt. to integrate himself into [his mother's] face, and :eadir,g i·ts agony, said with feeble ea-rn~stne:~s) 1 Mcurn ·:1.ct, d8are:;t r;tother~ I am (I, p. 125). Ilbrahim as her·s 0f l~;~-m:~~~tic c~ do~ssti~ tra20dy is ":i.solated by a weak1J·ss rrt.is gent.lt~I!CSS "J 1.. \f~·l'J.. ch appeals to o~r sympathy because i.·t is ~11 o~r 0w~ level of experi- CXiC0. He 1s SOJi:80!l0 r0C(l!~~z~tle 1ik0 ourselvas . "trrokcn by ,.~. coriflict bet·~·;'2c:n ·r:.};;:; i.n.o;.:.or :::tnd <)ltt87' woJ·l-d't 19 greate-r thc.n hi:; sint And he is guilty because he is incv ... itably a ;,;ember· of the society which ptwishes him, He, following the cyclical pattern of the modes, also assumes the BibLical archetype of the Christ figure and mythical archetype of the Dying King. Maud Bodkin, whi 1.•? not her:oelf constructing an elaborate theory of modes, would agree with Frye on the tra.gic connotations of "The Gentle Boy." lvlos·c mnrative or temporal structures for her tTansr:encl history, appearing a:; broad support for the Christian story of .Jesus, which she calls the Rebirth archetype. If the pattern were complete, that is,. "from life to desolate death~ t~J life rene;.:edn P.ut the pattern stops at "the: ritual shedding of blood" l'lhich Jl I,...;~;;'"Gl'thnl ~.-;;; .... v~~..:..>n~-- pres_..·, L,;..'~vos '-' ·,.J...l. ·' f·e ~ l1brahi.TI1-- --- r~.1·,d.- Chr'J·.~,t-).... _ g'·i·v'Ll1f'.·.,- . ._ his life "that the 11fe of the community rnight be Tenewed" (APP, p. 122). Hawthorne's first image of hea.rth··flre occurs at his father. Together they approach TobJ.as's ho!ne. He ['robins] soon beheJ~ th8 fire Tays fTom the wi.n 7 dows cf the cottage whi.ch he, 2. native of tl1e At rhe end of tha tale J1enrtl1~fira provides the S8tting for the death of Ilbrahim who lies in an adjoining room, A winter evening, a night of storm, had dark~ ened over Pearson's habitation, and there were no cheerful faces to drive the gloom from its broad hearth. The fire, it is true, sent forth a glow· ing heat and a ruddy light, and large logs, drip· ping with half-melted snow, lay ready to be cast upon the embers. [Out~ide) the snow drifted against the windows, or eddied in at the crevices of the door, while a blast kept laughing in the chimney, gnd the blaze leaped fiercely up to seek it (I, pp. 11 S -116) . As temporal im~ges the hearth-fires form the narra~ tive frame for the tragedy of the tale~ Presented unsenti- mentally, they have the potential quality of comfort, but they also indicate an alien world of nature and an alien society. They have the potential quality to embrace Ilbrahim, but we never see him wit}ii.ll their warming grasp. They apparently emerge as ambigt;ous images, potentially conlfcrting, yet isolating, re~indcrs of both the good and the evii in tLo human situ:Hion. Frye also pro·ifides a means to expartd thesa obser~ vat ions. In his ''Theory of Archetypal Meaning," in part a spa.tial ans~ysis of im~gery) he rrganjzes tl1e materj.aJ. tn modt~s: apocalyptic imageTy at one extvell1c 11 appropTiate to th..:~ n1.ytL.ic:al mode" and demonic i~na.gcry at the other appro·8 priate to ·the ironic mode~ ·u,,rh.:lch it [the imagery] -returns to myt::." (AC, p. 151). Apocz~lyptic and demonic imagery are 21 1 '-'··,;·•nor• .... ,·.~,..J y>J1"1C.. --· 1.fliPDeT·)r.u.C>. ' ...f()l" a•arnnla>v~to .. \,1.\-~ J..~O}lQ\•/~ ·-- ,; ·t·hp·'"'" •1•~dJ."l'i01'~1L.~1. ... __ ..,._, .u, scheme of the Great Chain of Being for classlfyj_ng sense data: Vegetable--the tree of life, the garden. Animal--the lamb, the sheepfold. Min('ral- ··the temple, the city. Human--man, a fulfilling society. Divine--God. This imagery presents "the categories of reality in the form of human desire"; it also implies "the Biblical apocalypse [as a] grammal" of apocalyptic imagery. [In addition], the conception 'Christ' unites al1 these categorjes" (1\C, p. 141). But, Frye continues, nA.pocaJ.yptic: symbo1isrn . cannot so~fi~~ 1n2n onJ.y r0 hJ.s natural. elements a£ earth and air ... [Symbolism m~1st ;·his world, and water just below it" (AC, p. J.45l. Fil·e becomes "purga- ( ·~ (" tcrial or cleansi:1g" \, J- •. ·.... ' p. 150); it beco,i,CS the fire cf the a1ta:r; i.t he.cO"rr:es :rthe fiery quintes::;0·n.tial gold of fi:re in !\'The l~e:ntle Boy'' belongs to thl.S midway betwee;1 the heaven ancl the divine" (AC, p. ]45). As a.r.. apocc:.ly·ptic :i.ntago it ~juppcrts and intensifies the tragedy of Ilbra.him's tale and~ 1n effect, raj_ses hj.m to mythic j_mpoTto.nc.e as an a·.rchetypa:t he~ro .. Living, he c:ouid ps.J.·t of ·::h-.-: :l.r'JngE-:1' ambiguou<> but a dcfit1itive statement~ in this taJ.c ~rt ' 22 least, of the potential goodness of man, Like "The Gentle Boy," Roger Malvin's Bur.irtl" also falls into the category of domestic tragedy. The hero, Reuben Bourne, has for eighteen years suffered extreme guilt. During the Indian wars he left a gravely wounded Roger Malvin to die. Malvj_n urged Reuben to leave him, only specifying that Reube11 return, if possible, to bury him, thereby perpetuating the ritual code of a wilderness death. But Reuben did not return. His s~bsequent guilt arose not, however, from inattion but from his concealment of :i.t. Isolated because of this, he is estranged from the community, from his wife (Malvin's daughter), but not from hi.s yc:.::.ng sen, , . now arrived at the age o£ fifteen years, beautiful in youti1, and giving p·romise of a glori- ous manhood. The boy was loved by his father with a deep and sjlen·t strength, as if whatever was good a.nd happy in his own nature hacl heen transferred to his child, carrying his affection with it" (II, p. 396). When the f<:udly mvves into the wildr·crness, their at tl1e very spot wl1ere Reuben had left Rage:~ Malvin. Befora their evening meal Father and Son hunt for food ln separate diJ·ections. Shor·t}y afterwdrd Reuben , • 1 was aro~sed by a rustJ.j,ng in the forest a·t some distance from tl1e spot to'which he wartdered, ,... ,.., i.t..~JJ::'-ttd Bc~dkin dous ·.no!~ deal hsr cl1lef apoc:lly[)tic in,Age 23 fercEd.vi·;tg the motion of sc,D,e ob ect b<,}dnd a thick veil of undergrowth, he fired, w th the instinct of a hunter and the aim of a practiced marksman, A low moan, which told his succes~, , , , was unheeded by Reuben Bourne" (II, p, 402). Yet Cyrus, his son, lies dead, The tale at this point moves into ironic tragedy, Cyrus, a "hero" now, assuming the role of scapegoat, a more undispla.ced inw.gc of Christ than I:lbrahim in "The Gentle Boy." Reuben also remains a hero in this mode through his sacrifice, killing the person he loves most, his son and surrogate self. Fire imagery cJ.osely parallels that .of "The Gentle Boy," a hearth-fire as naTrative frame for the powerful final scene. In a hollow, ~ a \'d.lcl o.nd romantic: spot:. had the faw-ily reared their hut and kindled thei.r fi~e. There is sonething chill.ing, and yet heart··l~Jrming, ir1 tile thought of these three, Ufti1~cll by str(;n.g bands of love and insulated [rom all that breathe beside (II, p. 399) . .Father nnd Son, havin;:; left the hearth A raptu1·ous scene of domesticiry follows. Her .:>y1van table was the moss- cove1·ed trunk of a fallen tree. Her voice danced tJ1rough the g1corn~7 f~rest ·~ ThP 1·u(l.e Int-:1od.y ~ • • was descr:pt:s.vc of a winter c_ve1:ing i~ ~ :f~o?-t:Ler . cottage, t{hen , the f:an~2ly ):'8J oJ.ccd by the1r own .Ci.r~si~le. [Into tho ~ords] tl1e pcc~t had i.nstill.ed the very essence of domestic love ~nd }~~ttsc11olJ happiness (II, p. 404). Finally, after hearing the report of the gun, she, too, leaves th~ hearth~fire. As in "The Gentle Boy''· the hearth-fire i:; comfort- ing, even more so as Dorcas prepares the meal, Elevated, but strikingly unsentimental,. it, too, contrasts with the wilderness. And like those of ''The Gent]e Boy" the fires ~-~o-Q~Jt: .._ ;u..-,.. ·::..•por•Jvr.t'l~ ~',4. ··;;:: ------~ Tl1e hearth-fire also foreshadows the last passage of the tale, paradoxically not containing realistic fire. Dorcas finding Reuben standing over Cyrus sin.ks "insensible at the side of her dead boy." At that moment the withered topmost hough of the oak loosened itself in the stilly air, and fell ir: S•Jft, light fragment.s upon the rock, upon the leaves, upon Reuben, upon hjs wife and child, :1nd upon Roger MCllvin's boneo:;. Then Reuben's heart was stricken, qnd tAal'S z·Jsl1ed ''J~ ltke water fro1n a rock. The vow that the wound.ed youth had made the blighted man had come to redeem. His sin was axpiated,--the curse was gone ·from hint, and in the hour when he had shed b'lood deao.·e:r to him than hi.s 0\"l'll, a prayer, the first for years, went up to Heaven from the lips of Reuben Bourne (II, p. 406). Hawthorne in this final scene shoHs profound per ception of the ritual pattern of sacrifice as well as C:U:C.SU11lnate artistry J.n recreating i·t. Bodkin ntakes this rtppropriate comment. In the rJ.ttl~l sl1cddi.ng cf hlood, i.t is not the takiGg of life tl1at is fundamental, but the gi.virtg •')r:"\. ,1.- 1.l.o ··l.r.r, ,,L.; t,... ' -r;·i'O'"T'l•)t-_. .. .!od ~-'V'' ','l'1<1 p·1~~~.c:p. , '~••-'"V-•.. ·,q~E' V' 1-~J., f,-., ~' C-.,;;1-r.,d • to est_, _ _,t 'ih• • ... lish union bctweeil ·the individ11al and unseen fo7ces th2:L surround h. .lin. Whether the p.;;.Lt ~:.c ipat: ion o-f the individuo1. j_n the rJ~te of sRcrifi.cc be .. ~ 1,y pas,::;io11c1tc coete:np'i.at:it1n of- (1 sac-red cLcanc:1 . 1• ·) f• '·')"~' .._ (-,·),--' ac·;"ll...- - C-"'!] DP.;. ,_,. ~."' •· .. c·~- ·!-- ·•D':1 <.- t . ."i. On . 1.J .? . the sau1e e.s~;en.t:iaJ 25 element is the identification realized by the par·· ticipant between his own life and that stronger life, ntysteriously purifying and :renewing :itself, which pertains to the sacred object (APP, p. 285), In a sense Reuben Bourne and his son become both partici· pant and vict:i.m. And here, a.lso, Hawthorne has created an apocalyp~e of fire. Continuing the tradition of Classical mythology with Prometheus and Zeus, the Bible with the Pentecostal fires, Dante's ring of fire and the river of Eden, ho creates, in Frye's words, a nheaven in the sense of the sky, containing tlte fiery bodies of surt, moon, and stars. [·In this respect, tl1en], all other categories [besides fire] can be identified with fire or thought of as burning" (AC, p. 145). The oak, the rock, Reuben Bourne, .his tea:rs) hi~ wife e~.nd son--'~thc fiery bodies o£ heaven ... are all inside. t+w universal divine a~d human body [aml mcture]" (AC, p. 146). CONCLUSION Seve1·El observa·tions ·emel·ge from this discussion of tive fo·rce. Wh011 they appedr as thE-" dominant imag(~ in the ske·tches, ·ctey do r1ot illustrate Iiawt}loYne 1 s imagination at its b0st.* Yet when they appear in tl1e tales, they become corap.!.~..:x archet.ypal images, crucial focuses for tiu; 26 ~orne o£ the observations of Northrop Frye and Maud Bodkin, In this case literature and criticisJn reinforce~ complement~ need one anc•ther, The result is to the advantage of both, Finally, these images of hearth-fire, whether totally sat· isfying or not, present an image of the potential goodness of man, answering those critics who see only gloom and doom 1n Hawthorne's works~ Che.pter 3 Ilv!J\GES OF HELL·FIRE Fire as the warm, redeeming, positive image of the hearth-fire is not the only kind of fire Hawthorne utilizes in his works. He also pictures fire negatively to illumi nate varying degrees of man's darker side. Two of thr::se kinds of fire are the mythic fire and the r.i tual boafi:re, which, while not like the hearth-fire, are ncvertheless positive end which in Hawthorne's hands become a hell-fire. Hephaestus as pTE:V:iJnlsly .;:it:8d \"1-it:h Tegard to ",John Inglefie1cl' s Thanksgiving" 1-1as the Greek god of fiTe, the divine blacksmith who permitted n:an to wo:rf.: mctal and thereby to he1p foster civil5.~atLOn. His forge firc was a pos.i.tive fire, he a beneficerLt artist* Wh--.:rr I-fat4thorr~e recalled the myth in the J"c1hn ln.<.(!~efield sketch, it darke:r t2les~ appropri~ttely about artists, ·tho~gh of a diffeTent sort from Hepli.C.Bstus, ·<~\1.~ mythic :Fire imagery, whi1·9 stili :ceca.lJ.int, ·~.11.8 myth, becomes an a:n.tithes:is of sensitive and committed tu tlte timeless wonder of beauty~ is an arti.st who seeks to create a physical 1nanifes1:ation of perpetual motion, a "spiritual:lzed mechanism." Despite taunts by persons of "utilitarian coarseness" and despit8 the frailty of his own purpose, he succeeds, The butterfly he has created flutters forth: Nature's ideal butterfly . in a11 its perfec· tion; not in the pattern of such ftLded i11sects as flit a.rnong ea-rthly flowcJrs, but of those which hover across the meads of paradise for child angels and the spirits of departed infants to dis· port themselves with (II, p. 529). Inevitably, however, earthly coarseness destroys it, and it ,. becomes "~·- small heap OT glittering fragments, whence the mystel-'Y of beauty had fled forever 11 (II' p, s .)5) . The dichotomy o·l:: the spiritlla1 and thro earthly is J.mme. d..:La·te ..1 y app1.ren t Fl. tne. ta .•., e, ·t'ne eart.h" 1y rn. th.• e f.·o:rm of a blacksmith's forge, recalling in elevated language the origj.na1. forge of Iiephaestu~. [The forge fire was] nm·: blazi.ng up and illumi nating the high and dusky r0of, and now confining its lustre to a rta:rrow precinct of ·t}te coal-strewn floor~ acc0rding as the-brea·th of tho bc~·tlows was puffed. fo1'th or again inha.lcd. i_l!.to itJ ·-...ra.3t leathern J.un)~S ••. ~ In. th.e n;.nl;tenta.i·y \~.l 01JTI!. thr:; f.:.. re seemr:;d r.·f-" 1 t•)--'· 'fJn..... ~::..·'··t.,!.,..e·l ~n'mPl'-i7~(r ·''~·· ,.,!.--.•·-~~'-:!]')·ir·l~t .r]"l(-' __ .,. y·O(JI~'..,npr,_·c~.:,·''-''·'·>·.J ,., '"nC·f)(~u .. ~.--..L-;:,~,_..,-·l'"(:-.'~ space. Mo~irtg ahottt .l.n ·tl1is red glare artd alter llate dttsk was the figure of ·the blacksmith, well wor·tily to be viewed in so pict11resqt1e an aspect of light and sha~le, where the brJ.gl1t blaze strug~ glf;d. with t_l)_(-.~ b1ac·.k night~ a.s lf each would have ~,,,-,-harl··'·'-'-L•~ .. ·~·'-'~ '1·1"~_L.- • ('('JTI>a'y• ,.,~.l .)....,.~"'•+~mngt'h .. . f··r()Jl\. . t.!JP-..- Ot.hr•r.•~. c·rr ' r n- -, p ! .) •) ~) ) • Rchert .D~nfor·th~ the bJ.acksmi.th~ i.s repe11.ent to co:nfuses the ~~p:i·ritua'l 8:.!:;m.eLt J.n. n·~·:;tn (IT, _9. 505). And 29 when Robert is to marry Ann:i.e Ho;renden, o~ven' s orte human love, Owen has . the sense that the angel of his ll.fe had been snatched away and given to a rude man o£ earth and iron, who could neither need nor appreciate her ministrations,--this was the very perversity of fate that makes human existence appear . absurd (II, p. 523). The heat and the energy of both forge fire and blacksmith become an anatJ1cma to Owe11; t:hey become like an iJnage of hell-fire, the earthly as evil, opposed to his spiritual heaven of beauty. Some years after their nterriage, Owen decides to give the couple, as his wedding gift, the finally completed butterfly. "Behold the artist, on a winter evening, seoki.n.g admittance l:o Robert Danforth's fires ide circle. There he found the man of iron, with his massive substance thor- oughly warmed and attempered.by &omestic influences'' (II, p. 52'7) Pe·rhaps, we nti.ght say, the imag~ of hell-fire has been superseded~ IT,deed the "firelight gli:mmered around 1 f1·...... JJelI ··c·nri;:.··rw .. ·----~~-L-t. r·c-1- t·)ln.. ~- 'ol!';..f-,~··L,_,,_.;,.J,_. ... rJy]--t-hP. ·~---- c·~~-n,4]r:···<--.1.'...... :::. i.:--~VC~-.1~<.,(''lr:..~'JrlC.d u~on. tt~ b1_1.t J.t tJ.istenrd app.:t.rcntly by its own -ro.d.i?.n.c.e" (II, p. s:~O). As it f'U.es, "the gie::!m of starlight, which was its most etheriRl attribute, formed a hs.lo 8.round it" (II, p. S34). J..nd as it soars upward, "its lustre gleamed spon the c·eil.lng; the exqllisite texture of i1:s wing~ brusi1e~ 8gainst that ea!··thly 1nedium; artd a sparkl8 on the cacpet" (II, p. 5.55). Reminiscent of Frye's descrip- ~J·on·~ . n('-"... ap"ra·l·~J'tJ"c... •.,...: . J l - - imagery, tl1e butterfly, as an apocalypse of fire, is nevertheless destroyed. "While it still hovered in i:he air, the li.ttie child of strength [Robert 1 s son], with his grandfather's sharp and shrewd expression in his face, made a snatch at the marvellous insect and compressed it in h::.s hand" (I I, p. 53 5) . This earthly act has crushed the radiant light of the butterfly, disturbed the serenity of the hearth-fire, and, by association, recalled the coarseness of the forge fire. Also by association Hepl1aes- tus, Father, and Son evoke an image of destroyer. Yet this isn't quite all there is tc the tale. Owen Warland himself is not the victim. It is the butter- sacrifice. Before tl1e child has CJ~11shed the it1sect, it flutters toward· O"en' c; hand. Waving it awa.y, he c~·ies, '''Thou has gone forth nut o£ thy master's heart. The~e is no J:eturn fen· thee"' (II, p. 5:55). HaHthorne, often suspi- cious of th·::~ a·rtist) -~vho.se pc:rception Clnd intelligenc.e is8- •') ·- 1~-te l;i'111 -r_:rorn ~=_::::·~aid. ty, r. ••) closed Nit.. h t:h_::;;_:;8 commPt!ts. He had ca1:ght a far other butter.fly than this. When the artist r·ose h:igh. enough to ac.hie·ve the beautiful, the syntbol by vrh:i.ch he nwde it pe:rcepti.ble to mortal r·· --~-\"! L.-:'1 '")l' C "1-~·<-•-1""' -,·r··lt·· 1•'\ ~--J·S ~-~o.g" \'r}-~1"' }-.-jc- .:!>\;ltl~-,\':):J IJ~-Cr.1.l. (; UJ. J. . .i..LC..L'-· vd l d --l- tt .. ..:.}.;:.. 'i.,lJ. <.:; .1 ... .:.:> spirit possessed itseJ.f in tl1e e\ljnyment of the re&lity (II, p. 536) p::em5_~-:c. 31 The artist himself, "coarse" in his denial of his creation, ironically becomes associated with those whom he despises. Ife, like the others, becomes a negative Hephaes- tus. The tale, a series of spatial images, rather like an artist's palette, becomes, in part, a comp:Cex and dra-· matic archetype~ a mixture between apocalyptic images of fire and Hawthorne's negative use of mythic fire, and a mixture of the potential good in man and his distortion of that good. The apocalypse of fire died because of a false premise. The myth of forge fire and the Titual of hearth- fire blurred because of mist.Jse, really by all conceTned, the Danforths' insensitivity as well as Owen's prideful pr c su!np t io:1 ~ Like "The /\.rtis·c. of ·;:.he Beautiful, 11 "The Birthmark11 1s one of Ha-wthorne's 8rtist tales.. Here the artist, a scie11tist, presumj.ng on I1is own ~enius, vio1.ates the human- ity of another and isolates hims~lf henceforth from her love and warmth. to the care of an assistant, cl.:a.red hi.s fine comttenance f~om the furnace smoke, washed the stain of acids from his fingexs, and veTsuacled a b;:;autiful ~·ron:a.n to become his wJfc11 '· (I:[, p. 47). Sl1e is pei·fection, except for a tiny birt}t- .flcvr of fJ.u.m.:1ni·~:y \''hich l\!,:_:ttl."J"fe~ .i.;-1 one s.l-l;;_pe Ol' D.n<::t.l\el', 32 stamps incffacebly on all l1er productions'' (II, p. SO). As a scientist, Aylmer strives for perfection in his work. Georgiana, his wife, is soon to become part of that work. '''Has it never occurred to you that the mark upon your cheek might be removed? ... You came so nearly perfect from the hand of Nature that this slightest possible defect shocks me'" (II, p. ~.3), Aylmer's aversion to the J:i.rthmark grows, and finally Georgiana agrees to its removal. After several failures, Aylmer concocts a potion he's sure will succeed. Like Owen Wv.rland, he achieves his pu.rpose. And like Owen's, his success is destroyed. Georgiana dies, now the perfect woman. In this tala the tua1tl1 fi1·c glows on the crintson mark: 11 When they sat togetheT· at the evening hearth his [Ayl.mer's] eyes wande1·ed stealtl1ily to her cheek, and beheld, flickering with the blaze of the wood fire, the spectral hand that wrote mortalily where he would fain l1aVe worshipped" (II, pp. 50·· 51). The birthw.ark is Aylmer's becon1es a hell-fire. ,., . . i\\ 1 IJ.YE- 1rnages in the tale become connotations of h<:ll-.EL-r:. Among his pursuits "Aylmer had satisfied himself of th~ ~ausc~ that kindleC and kept alive tl1e fires of tl1e 33 Hephaestus to the volcano and also cites volcanoes as the entrance to Hell (Hades)\ Aylmer's laboratory fire becomes a negative simile of Hephaestus' forge f1re. It becomes a hell-fire where 1 1 -··insteacl • • o-~'~ terr·per•• ' ~ ~ 11g• me+a'' 0 J. t"v ",ene.fJ,, .. t. ntan K.·t"•ld_,• 1"t "tempe·r.s" chemicals to destroy :it. And Aylmer becomes a negative co 1' c Heph.aestus. These are Georgiana's ..>,.; r·•n--e1,.1. J. ;;) oJ on.._ o::J as she enters the laboratory for the first time: The f:L1·st thing that struck her eye was the furnace, that hot ancl feverish worker, with the intense glow of its fire, which by the quantities of soot clustered above it seemed to have been burning for ages. . . [Aylmer] pale as death, anxious ancl absorbed, ... hung over the furnace as if it depended upon his utmost watchfulness whether the liquid which it was distilling should be the draught of immortal happiness or misery (II, p. 63). Richard ha.TU'r !'ogle i;J. discussing Hawthorne's symbols makes this appropriate co1:nnent: "The flames of hell, strangely m1ng.te. ' , . with the forge fire of Vul.can's [Hephaestus'] hearth, ,Z4 This tale, rather like "The A-ctist of the Beau-· tiful;" becomes 1 in pa·rt, a. series of spatial ilnages, begin· ning with the glc11ing crimson JnnTk on Ceorgi.ana's cheek artd end~.ng with t1le furnqre fire, all images of hell·-firc~ Maud Bodkin's rationale for tracing archetypes pro- v:i.des a capstone :For this discus.sicn of "Th'i: Birthmark," as well as, indlrectly, for "The Artisc of the Beauti:hd." a!td Hawthorne's mythic liell-fiTe, One of her pleasures in viewing poetry is recallir1g the origins of the images as well as the poet's own use of the images as simile. So it is here when viewing the hearth-fire, the fire of the volcano, and t:.he furnace fiTe of "The Birthmark." She also notes that the poet's images often :form a Paradise-Hades or Heavetl-Holl archetype. This bnage pat- tern is apparent .i.n "The Bi.I·thmark," and, we may recall, in "The Artist of the Beautiful." l'iith regard to "The BiTthmark" especially there is a poignant significance between Georgiana's heavenly beauty and Aylmer's hellish destruction of that beauty, between her spiritual love for him and his hellish love for science. "'You are fit :for is no taint o:f imporfectio!l ::m thy :'pirit'" (II, p. 66). Yet he destroys her. The fatal. hand had grappled with the mystery of life, and was the bond Ly which <.m angelic spirit kept its--lf in union with '' ·,nortal frame. As ·the last c:rimson tint of the bi1"thl1lcirk ... faded from her cheek, the parting breath of the now ;erfcc·t woman p:1::<.:.:cd Lnto the atmosp!v.::ro::;, anl 1)er ::;;.1ul, lingering a r:H)rnen•: neD-.!' hL~'r hush~J.n.d.~ took _·its :!•er-1.venward fl :1.£~.ht .. [_t>-.y~:_me~ had l f:::1.i l ~~J. to look l~eycr..d. the shadowy scope ot t~fite, anci~ l1v1ng ortce for all :in eternity 1 to fin_d the perfect futu·.ce in the ~r~~sent (II, p. 69), DraHing c·=~ttentl.O}l to Hat'rthorne' s use of mythic fire as a ncg~~·ti.ve ~;ymbol in these tales not only provides a 1 ~--·~~~~~.l. -~. ~~- . 1 _ ·;_~-.~-~p-J"C~ V."" _,_ l c-. . 1 J. ~o'-· J-)·l·\·+. '· v ~,..l l''·r·ne'~~ 1 ~ .. ..> concern with. good and evil, "in eli vidual expres .s i(X!l: tfH~ beauty of form~ to a body of common sentiments and thoughts Vihich he [the poet] shares with his audience." [These mythic elements] , are examples of images socially constructed and accepted, objectifying common thoughts and :coenti.ments . l_wh:Lch are] universally valid (APP, p. 115). THE BONFIRE AS A HELL-FIRE That hot, potentially uncont:rollab1.e fLre whi(:h ',;j,:~ thi.nk of as a bonfire l1as been described in both Classical 25 26 m'y--t'.lo1, __ o,u_:y• anct·· t!le· B"10 1 e. Frazer in his classic work explored medieval (and modern) fire festivals as images of bonfires whose powers ensured fertility and warded off . 27 pestilance and VJ1tches ~ Bonfires can consume extraneous matter, becoming fu.nera.1 pyres as well as general reposi·- tories for was·te ~Lat~er. Tl1ough oft2n destructive they do not i~ply psy~hological torment. Like the pure hearth- fire3, they are real, simpJ.istic~ rustic, ev·en, and essen-· tially nositive. While Hawthorne's use of the botl:fire never llecomes a .stereotype.~ sin;p1y "!y:;cause of its unio_ue ftE1Ction i11 the works, it, a:> a.n i'llage, doe~ not a.lways evoke complex archetyp&l response necessitating involved scholarly 2 5 ~ . Ct-u.Tand, p, 1:56. discourse. Its characteristics imply the big and the dramatic, but its ch«:racteristics may also limit its possi. bilities for poetic significance. The bonfire in Haw thorne's sketches and tales provides ironic, even humorous, contrast, to the thematic focus, a focus which nevertheless points up man's darker side. In this way, then, the bon fire does become an archetypal hell-fire. "The Maypole of Me-rry Mount," based on historical fact, recalls a group of early American settlers at Mount Wolla,;to:~. or Jvle1·ry Mount. "Discountenanced by the rapid growth of Puritanism" in England, this group of "mirth· makers cf eve-ry sort" emigrated to Amel'ica (I, p, 76). Continui.ng their hedonistic v~'ays, they reveled year round, :md Lady of May. !n the present time of the sketch the Lord and L;..1.dy have just bee:n crov~ned and also married, They become the only symbols of purity In this ser..suaJ. setting. Then John Endicott, that fierce Puritan, appea1s on the scene with :3evera1 of his foilowero;. "With his keen symbol of tl1e. t:evelsrs' evil~ He inrp·r.i.s(:J!.S the group;. yet tc the yotJng couple he grants gntce because they will accept Puritanism_, 7YTbey went hcavenviard, supporting ea.cn other aJ.ong tJ1e d5.fficull patl1 which it \Ias their lot to tT<.:.:ad._~ and ne1.rer \'ra.st.cd on.e regrt:::tful thv:.:.:gLt c::.r. the V[~I~it~ies of "iV!e:rTy Mou.nt 11 cr, PA 84) ~ Th;i,s :;ho1;t sketch evokes the t~·adHJ.onal j_mages of the c.mrctly Jttasque of !vlil ton 1 s f.?niu--2_ (The HexTy !Viount revelers are called "the crew of Comus'' I, p, 80) and of the expulsion of Adam and Eve from Milton's Paradise. The images become archetypes, recalling man's fallen state and his hope. And the tale becomes a recognition of the exist- ence of both good and evil within each of two opposing spheres, in this case the "evil" revelers and the "good" Puritans. It also becomes something else. The central image is the ritual of the fire festival. First, there is the bonfire, around which the revelers parade not for purgation nor for aid but for sensual del:i.ght. "On the Eve of .John., the;,. fel3.ed ·~~·llo:Lc acres of the: forest to make bonfires, and danced b~ the blaze all night, crowned with gar 1 an d s, <:\n d. t.1row1.ng.. . fl.owcrs lnto. ~j•.. J.e "1... arne " (1 ,·p,. -6)1 • This "orgiastic" picture connotes a hell-like bonfire. Second, there is one t.mburn.c,d, "venera ted emblem • . a pine-tree, which had preserved the slender grace of youth, ~~1ile it eqtlall.8J the loft.iest beigh1: of th0 old wood mon&rchs" (I, p, 7ll). This tn~e become.3 their m.aypole, their unburned symbol of sensual promise, Together the images recall tile psychological origin of the fire festi 28 vals., which for Ju.:ng ar·e: symhoJ.ic of the sex act .. Gaston 33 Bache1.a:cd in refuting Fraze-r's ''utili tarianll discussion of • . f . ] t1re .~est1va .. s ~ays they ;ue better expla.ined as ''primitive ··ev,Ja·L·; ·•"t·l· ,·,n ~'l ·"-' .. ...~..~u ··'-' • ,zg This psychological aspect of the revelers' rite, probably unknmm to Ha.wthorne, is not a far-fetched expla- nation foo· today' s readers. Within the context of the tftle the bonfire hnage as a whole becomes an antithetical arche- type, moving backward and forward in ~irne, reflecting in this case a darker side of the human situation. The traditional concept of the bonfire as fire fes- t·ival aJ.;;o occurs in "Es.rth's Holocaust." PTeswnably it i5 a purifying fire; yet in. Hawthorne's hands it, inevita· biy, becomes a hell-fi.re. we becom.e one with an °0bjective 11 observer 1vho 1,vatches groups of re:fonnc-rs bring all visi·ble remnant·s of "eVil'' to a mammotl1 bonfire and then feed its flames with the matter. First, plebiens feed -royal armor, c-rests, robes, crowns, and S•) on~· to the fJ.ames. Becoming vestiges of the of te:)l:tpercJ.ncc'' cause a '-'fieTce · firr~" a.s fine wines and the B h . 1 29~.:-·~:.:~tox) ·.~·tc ,c 1.arc:.> c:. ~~. Ross (Basten: 39 "vile fluids o:C the comm,on pothou.se" ;;n·e ccnsuwod OI, pp. 435-436), Pacifists watch weapons of war melt away like "playthings of wax" (II, p. 440). Tol.erant citizens watch tr In this sketch HawthoTne has effectively turned the cleansing aspect of the bonfire iLto a hell-fire, reflecting the dark side of the humar, si1;uation. As "observer" we may have agrGed with -:::he destruction of th8 aris1:ocnttic yoke and the burning of alcohol. We m3y have agreed \lLt11 the destruction of the ·too1:s of de~t~. nut w~at Gf literactzrG, symbols of the churcl1, and the Bible'? I-Jg~-~--~·.h.orne, as saspj_ ... cicus of the reformer as he wa6 of tl1e a~·tist, has used. tlLG bonfire to mirror iro~ic~lly the ovc1·-zeaJ.O\lS, often--c~ratjc beJ1avior of tl1e reformer. Aad also. wit:hin the context of 41) st-ranger." He prov:icles a c>ombr.e cl.iJnax 1•ihen he says that no fire can ever purify tl1e human heaTt: "Unless they [the refor.mers] hit upon some method of purifying that foul cavern, forth from it will reissue 211 the shapes of wrong and misery--the same old ~;hapes or worse ones--which th0y have taken such a vast deal of trouble to consume to aSh.Oc·. c" (II. , p. 45c)-' . Fortunately Hawthorne's bonfi-res don't always paint such a bleak picture. Sometimes, perhaps because they are extensions of the pure hearth-fire, they mirror gray instead of black, eccentricity instead of evil. They rehlain ironic hell-fires, but the evil of the images is p:dmarily seen through the eyes of the "peculiar" heToes. To them the heal'th-fire, bonfire also becomes a Hell-fire worthy of the !:~fe_T_!l.o. The resuJ. t is two very funny works, "Peter Goldthwaite's Treasure'~ End "The Devil in ManLl- script," complete with comic <:annotations of Devils and witches. Peter Goldth•mite, "gaur.<., grizzled, and thread- bare" (I, p. 428), has ,1Gt earned an honest doll ill' for a long time. lfaving feci hJ.ntself with delusion~ of wealth htddcr! ~-;;)mc"\vh':~Te j_T;. h:~-~; ''ru::.;ty, rn.cs:..;---g·!~C:~·;n, bcf.~tle-·brcv:red'r mansion (I, p. LJ:~O), he i.s now dete;:mi.ned to fi_nd it. llis only assoc::i.ate .i.n this v€ntu·re is his· nlittle oldtt hOLJ.Se·· r.· ·'' ( ,j ·) ·t·J" l C• cl-~lllLUl-- ,,._ (''',, ; ·· -•-··... 0 .,.....,,_ 1l ,:~ t 1.. ...T , p . ~r ,;~, -~.L. • Appropriately named Tab:ithc: ~ :d.t.c: :C<::J>".:::tlJ.s the superstition that dcv:ils and thf~ 41 local J.ore that "the ancient Peter had made the [hidden] gold by o.lchomy , , that he h~d conjured it out of people's pockets by the black a~t •. • t [or] that the devil had given him free access to the old p~ovincial treasury" (I, p. 433). He is going to disassemble the house plank by plank. And, furthe-rmore, he is gc>ing to bu·.rn it on his own hearth. ·"Crack-brained simpleton as . . he was, [he] might have cut a very brilliant figure in the world, had he employed his imagination in the airy business of poetry, instead of making it a demon of mischief in merchantile pursuitsH (I, p. 431). And so his "scant household fire" becomes the dev:il's bonfi-re. "The whole house might be said to have the great black flue of the kitchen chimney" (I, p. 448). "Always heaped plentifully," the fire coatained as founcla- tion, T0d-oak and large sticks, "sound, Llack, and heavy" (I, p. 't:l9). And while the "dry pine Has flaming and cn.J.cKllng, like 1m .in·,ogular discharge of f2.iry musketry, PetP:r sat 1uok5n[~ ~nd listening~ in a plessart st~te of - •• ('1' .. ~~.x.C.lteme:nt· .--~ 1}· '·-·1"9' ..'I .. J. One day, busy in one of the front chambers on the .secon.d floor, Pet<;;:- come:3 acToss a sketch. []. .•·'-" ynr·ra•ar:t~ac·[·Ct:-'·<;,,_,,;,4 ... G C'l'j -"crD"~LO-bi:>C•.,. ffi'lJIJ( ~ .jl'JTt'y.. <. __ !._ .:>..<•l•p·pr)rtJ"na __ -· -li:, him3,:;;l{ !Jn a space, and her1Jing h.is lean hody over &. ho:~:0 .ln ·;;h_r-~ earth, with cnc ha.nd ext;.')ncled to g~~3p sometlting that he ha.J foun.d. But close b~Jtj.:~d ~tim, wi.th a fiendish J.au£h on his features, appeared a figure with horns, a tufted tail, and a cloven hoof, "Avaunt, Sctto.n!" c-ried PeteT. "'fhe man shall have hi.s gold!" Uplifting his a.xe, he hit the horned gentleman ... on the head .... and the treasure,seeker · also. [The ax] broke quite through the plaster and laths (I, pp. 442-443). And so these, too, feed the fire. Soon the house is a shell, "like the perfect rind of a great cheese, in which a mouse had dwelt and nibbled till it ·wa.s a cheese no mor,~. And Peter ~;-as the mouse" (I, p. 448). Suffice it to say that Peter through these humorous nmeti-cious actions finds a tTeasure chest--full of worth- '· les!; currency. If Peter himself lSn' t a "comic Devil" turning his hearth-fire into a hellish bonfire, the Devil himself :i.s certc!inly looking over his shoctlder telling him vhah t t o co.'[ 30 Like "Peter G0ldthwaite's Treasure,t' "The Devil in Hanuscript" has a hearth-fire become hellish bonfire, tho sn.me hint of a Dantean He11-fire, a11d the sa.m0 kl:nd <)£ Devil now mul.tiplied by thrcs~ T!1e sk0tch also cl1aracter- it~(~S an ~:.cc:entric iuagination, in ·chl.s c:ase a -.E·.ru:;t_rat&d writer's. Because it is a fanciful parody of Hawthorne's Dwn ini t ia 1 frus tro.ti-ons as unac(:laimed writer.} the sketch First o£ all ''The Devil in Hanuscriptt> abounds with Devils. The Devil appears as narrator, On a bitter evening of December, I arrived by mail in a large town which was then the residence of an intimate friend, one of those gifted youths who cultivate poetry and the belles-lettres .. , After this picture of an inclement night, behold us seated by a great blazing fire, which looked so comfortable and delicio·us that I felt incli11ed to lie down and roll among the hot coals (II, p. 574). Then the Devj.l appears as personification o.f the frustrated autho1~' ~3 artistic endeavors: n' I could be1 icve, if I chose, that there is a devil in this pile of blotted papers. I endeavored to embody the charctcter of a fier1d, as represented lr1 our traditions and the written records of l>itchcra:ft"' (III, p. 575). And the writer him- self becomes a Devil as the narra·toT observes hi1n: His eyes fla.shing fire . . . [he] now thre·w sticks of wood and dry chips upon the fire, and seeing it blaze like Nehtlchadnezza.t· 1 s furnace~ seized the champagne-· bottle, c.nd clrank t\v·o or f.lrree brinwting bumpers, successi.ve1y. The heady liquor ccmbinecl with l1is agitatJ.o11 to throw him into a species of nge (III, pp. 5'79·580) .. Hell·· fire com1ot8.t"ions a-r(~ e.lrcady apparont. Then th1s hearth-tire, Hell-fire becomes a devilish bonfire when the writer Oberon tl1rows his ttnpublished manuscripts into 31 the Eir·e ~ "Ring 011t the bells! A city :i.s on .Fire. See!-· the des~~ucti.cn roars through 1ny dark forests, while ·the lakes b~i1. up ix1 steami.ng billows, and ., "] ,J_.Hct.lVthurne often c~1.11eU. himself Oberor1, pe1:haps after th0 w211dering traveler of 1nedieval fol.k!r,re. 44 the mountains are volcanoes, and the sky kindles with a lurid brightness! All elements are but one prevadi.ng flame! Hal The fiend!" (III, p. 581). Hawthorne runs the gamut cf demonic imagery! Just as the last of th~ burning tales turns to ashes, they throw "forth a broad sheet of fire [flicker] with laughter. making the whole room dance in its brightness, and then [roar]_ portentously up the chimney'' (III, p. 581). The bonfire takes on new dimension as it sets the town on fire! "Oberon started to his feet in fresh excitement. 'A fire on such a night' .. In an hour, this wooden town will be one great bonfire! 1 Each of those work~; playfully r·oints up man's ecc:en- tricitl.es, his dax·ker sj_de, but not an evil side. ITon:i- cf course, the purposeful stereotype or caricature oi the ue·vils, humorously }Jurged of their evil, intensifie~ the psychoJ.ogical ·validity of the driven ~reamer and tl1e -- ... "" • ···1--.~--: ·· ,.r- .c:.". o .: ~· ··~r r• ~..... - •1' ..,-~ · Ot 1 '1K(;) ~-~.,,...., r'\1•:-tc~i?, d.Cl..-lLH!U.J...n,.. _L()f). C.\. .L.lr,_.. Lr.l(.;.f;<.;.:.;.l ·-8J.t-::~J.L. .y n. ...t.J . . · 1,. ).(.- i" .. c .. . ,,,.,t 1~earth-fire 1 bec8mes a psychological hell"fire, yet not mirroring evil at its worst, CONCLUSION When Hawthorne utilizes the hearth"fire as a single image, it :remains pure, il.lumi.nating man's virtue, When he uses mythic fire an4 the bonfire l1e reverses the positive connot;Hion of the :images to reflect man 1 s darker side. Both the mythic fire and the bonfire emerge as effective archetypes. Yet the perifersion of the mythic fire emerges as the more powerful tool because, unlike the ritual bon- fire, it is "purely poetic." Northrop Frye provides a useful analogy for this a.ssu.mpt1.on ~ It ltus long been no·ciced .that tho Ptole1naic U11iverse proves a better framework of symbolism, with all the idcntiti8s, ~ssociations, and correspondences that symbolisr;l demands, than the Copern:i.can one does. Perhaps it not only provides a framework of poetic symbo:~s but is one ... just as Classical 1r1ythology became purel)rpceti.c after jts oraclss had ceased (AC, p. lGl), This analor;y ~d.so pTov:Ld.es D. u:;efu1 e'i-.;:amplc ~o:· t.he d.iscu~;::.;.ion .J:f the imag.e·s of Biblical H:;ll-.C:lrc and its attendant image of Satan which follows. Fcrr E:.nrthoxne these :i~J~ages weTe "purely poct.ic:: 11 th0 litE::ral notions of He'll-fii·e a~d Satan having lest their wiiespread j_mpact by the ninctet~nth century. Chapter 4 BIBLICAL HELL-FIRE AND THE IMAGE OF SATAN The hearth-fire and the bonfire because of their basic reality have poetic limitations as complicated images. Only by contrast with complex human situations do they bec'Jme themselves the richly textured archetypes thRt we saw in ''The Gentle Boy" and "Roger Malvin's Burial." Mythi.c i.mages because of thei:c poetic basis offer compli- cated possibilities. And like mythic fire, the medieval attention to a Hell-fire and a Satan figure has produced two potentla.li.y complex .symbols of imaginative experience, ' psychological and poetic archetyp~s connotative of s1n. ana. pain and torment ill uminat].. ng man's darker side. The fi-re of Hell with its red flame and burning sulphur is a medieval phenomenon popularized by Gregory, A11gustine, and Be de. y~· Up to the:tl' ti.me the Biblical He.ll and the <:lassical. Bades had_been a cav·ern··like pit ,Jf noth- ·_;_ag:.:~;~~-ss:· J.nlt1.a.LJ· · · ··..... )'" not t=.·.·cr;_ ·,·,__ ,.,j_'/:' '"'·.;::a···,_:'>. o .1::- i.-'--l..';.;>-,-~"·!·· ~ ···',Ir'·,en··~- .. ·· ..... ~)~~ .c.: -·~r ,,~- · 1 .. ., • .,:::.d ,.. c (" ·1· .L.L.'- ,:: ...... CL .. ll.'-·· ...:1.:;, )Jr.t1- of the Biblical Hell it nevertheless '~ J~Every, pp. 111-113. ~-'L·veTy,~· pp. 105-1.06. 46 47 was metapnor1ca' ' ..1 34 After it had been given its literal status, lt also complemented tl1e picture of Hell as a cavern in such o;1orks as the In.f Lateran Council where he became recognizable as tempter, destroyer, half-man, half-animal, reminiscent of the Etrus- c:rtn o,.vJ~--·.1 u'l.:.~ ·, 3 7 Althoug-.1I Lncre ha·d h... een devils and. evil ones, t:1e word Satan is prl.m2rily a New Testament phenomenon, where even there the references are sparce. By the Renais- sance Satan or the Devil (the words by now interchangeable) rye ~JThe cavern as Hell i.s utili.zed creatively by Hawthc:rne in :'The lvian of Adamant" and "Egotism; or the B0~;om St)Htpent. !i 48 h a d assume c.. HumRn' f- orm. 38 As he was developing i11to a cr<;oat i ve metaphor, he became both hel'o and villa in, And although his "prestige and magic wel'e gone'' by the nine- teentn' cen·cury," 39 .h e, ].l "l HELL-PlRE A.ND SATAN AS ANALOGIES OF EVIL: A 3TU,JY OF TWO WORKS In "The Celestial Railroad" Halvtho-rne has fashior,ed a satirical allegory on modernism cl:i.Tectly f:rorn :Ihe P_!_l- While all litora·ture- can. be generally i.~terpreted as ~llegory, accordir~g to f~·ye, t1~e tradi·tiona:l ticn of thoughi: and so restricts the reader's freedorrt of 38 . . Rud1o.n, p . 4 5 , 40 r;a.v.id E, Sr!J.it}t:, ,Jottn BuJtyan i1) .Ame1·ica (B:~cr:m·Lnfr.- t~:;n ~ I:tld.i.u:Ga Univ'ers:Lt·r r:r·6·~;:.;-~·-··--rg·()6~r;··- ... iffj'":····:rx·.:.-s·-;, shO\v~; }l()W Htinya.tl 1 s work 1r:.f1ilenced H'-i.Vithor-r1e ~ 49 interpretation (AC, p. 90). And perhaps this is the case with "The Celestial Railroad" which describes the journey of a Bunyanesque Ignorance, no longer a Christian, from the City of Destruction to the Celestial City. Although Haw- thorne .bas modernized the journey, which the pilgrims take by train, and he has modernized the allegorical figures, who now represent "modern" unreal:iti.es, such as, Mr. Smooth- it-away, Mr. Take-it-easy, Mr. Stumble-at-truth, he never- theless, like Bunya.n, prescribes the direction of thought. Bu~ Hawthorne has not restricted the freedom of thought. FoT example, the allcgo~tical figures_, as representational archetypes of errant human behavior, move back and forth J.n time. And thoiT ritual quest for a Celestial City, by whatever name, can never Ge Teal1.zed ';i thout a firm recog- nition of both the good and the evil in the human situation. Yet it is the images of Hell-fire as archetype that offer a more complex basis for illuminating that dark part of human nature tliat refuses to perceive tl1e complexities of existen.cP. R;.:ilrou.d," all of which recall Dante' !o red sinister glow of :f:i.re~ Spenser's i'lsmoakc and sulphur2 hiding a11 the placs,"41 and Milton's "fiery Deluge, fed wii:h Sulphur 50 [:? unconsum'd,"'~ The first of these is Hawthorne's initial description of the train ... looking [the narrator says] much more like a sort of mechanical demon that would hurry up to the infernal regions than a laudable contrivance for smoothing our way to the Celestial City, On its top sat a personage almost enveloped in smoke and slime, which . . appeared to gush from his oHn mouth and stomach as well as from the engine's brazen abdomen (II, p. 216). The attribution of Hell-fire to the steam engine and the engineer, and the general irony of the description certainly foreshadow some sort of unsettling situation for the traveler. Yet he need not have worried, because even in the Vall"'Y of the Shadow of Death "much care had been taken to dispel the everlasting gloom and supply tho defect of chee~ fu1 sunshine" (II, fl. 220). A quadruple row [of gas l·ights provides) walls of fire on both sides of the track [to light the pil grims' way]. Thus a radiance has been created even out of the fiery and sulphurous curse that rests forever upon the valley. In this respect, as compared with natural daylignt, there is ths same difference between truth and falsehood; but if the reader has ever travelled through the dark Valley, he wi.ll have lcarneJ to be tiumkfu1 for any light 1·-h~-lt' h~~ r-'""~1-j.--1 rrr-..1-·- ---i-t:: Y1·""1- ~:-i~.-,'1~ -!·hn ,,·1~-•·r ~-1..__..,~·-.-. i·h,-.~- ~---'~-- ··~· -.\; ...... ,:;.,··- J •.•• ~v .. .. .__,_ ~ ...... ·'-~'•; ""v•.J.v, -•1..-~-- .£: . .,...... 1.-,f.._") ·.-; .. , ... ,:~.' •.• ·-1 b-•)":.>'-:.', {fT ~-- Z?•'• ?2.1\ .l..lOllL L.u..., D .... ~s~vd ::-01 ... el.;.t.,.,Cl-L.i~ .._ .... J., pp.. ""u'"' ...... ; • To light Death with gas light, to apply Hel.i.-fire to the Valley of the Shadow of Death, to profess thanks for false- hood create, indeed, a torment of Hell-fire of cowardice .for the ignorar1.t 11 r:lodern 11 of any era. S:i. Mr, Smooth··it-away, the pilgrims' guide: euphemisti cally describes the "mouth of the infernal region" as "the crater of a half··extinct volcano" now containing forges "for the manu:fact<.ll'e of railroad iron" (II, p. 221). Com forted by this explanation, the narrator isn't disturbed, then, by the "hu.ge tongues of dusky flame , , . the strange, half-shaped monsters . faces horribly grotesque the awful mETmurs, and shrieks" (II, pp. 221-222). And he fa:i.ls to see himself as one of "the idlers about the train, most of whom ;;ere puffing cigars which they had lighted at tb.e flanlC of the crater" (II, p. 222). As the pilgrims rattle on through the Valley, he fails "in the dark of the intense brightnessn to Tecognize himself as one of "the grint faces, tl1at bore the ~spBct . of individual sins, .... a.nd l'•hi.ch seemed to thrust themselves thTongh the veil of light" (II, p. 223). Within a gorge of the Delectable Mountains, Mr. Smooth-lt-away discounts a by-way to Hell, a ''rusty iron smoke~ issuing from its crev'ices,n as n'the rJ:ooT n:.tion of •nutton hc:.m'" (II, p. 231). Finally, ou.r Ignorartce, · on beard ~he ferry for the Celestial CitY, .looks back to see Hr __ Smooth- it:- away, now c1eaT1y the Devil, laughing mAJ.1.iaca1l_y. ;'i\ .smoke-·'0.rreath issued from his mouth and nos- trils, ~t1I~~ u ·twinkle o.E J.urid flame darted out of either H~s l1eart was u:Ll of a red blaze, The impudent F'.. leu~ ,.,;" ..... (T'" J.,~.~ -, '"34) _,,;ays .. th e h apessnarraor, 1 t ,",,S ·11e realizes Satan has perpetrated this intrigue. What we have in this work is not a simple, satiric of archetypal images, both spatial and temporal, each one recalli.ng easily the Hell-fire images of the great religious allegorists, each image frighteningly reminiscent of all man, especially modern man, who, as Ignorant, is unable to face the darker side of the human situation, and who, in his inability and his ignorance, has created,. then, in him- self a dark si.de. He has created for himself psychological torment as great as that of any of the sinners at the heart of Dante's Inferno. At this point we can, once again, turn to Maud Bodkin for a posj_tl.ve judgment not only of Hawthorne's creativity, but also for the pleasure derived from per- ceiving archetypes in the tradition of literature. She wonders that if "we find certain detaiJed image-patterns once genera~J.y accepted as representations of relig~ous then~ fir:.d nin the thought u.nd imagery a satisfying expres- sit)n of some actual phase 01~ element of life" (APP, p. 152)~ She ClSkS this question wi til regard to the Di vi n ~___g_~ r~e d_;~. w·e may ask i.t D.Ct only \.\ri tit. rega.Td tc Dante's effort, but also \,::i.th rc;;.-ard to Hawthor:n.e'•'s~ She answexs it, as we may, ;;,_;;;di.fy.l.ng i-r:. sl:\.g.htJy tc> fit Hal<'ftbo.rJ\~:) 1 ~; ~vork: 55 What the poem gives us "is not the system of Cath· olic theology, but the individual passion of expe· rience in which, by means of that system, a man feels he understands .. , the inmost reality of things 1 n ? • As such a communicated experience the .. , Hell pattern has become poetry (APP, p. 151). Thus, in "The Celestial Railroad" Hawthorne has created a gloomy picture of the human situation, The Chris- ti.an lkll-fh·e for hi.m becomes a horrifying metaphor, unre- deemable. "Ethan Brand," diffenmt from "The Celestial Railroad," nev,c)rtheless presents the trc.tditional vision of Hell-fire. It also becomes a terrifying, unredeemable 1:1etaphor of another Y:ind of human evi 1, Hawthorne's grea.t- est evil) the sin of i.ntellectual pride. Although it is considered to be a toile, "Ethan Br&nJt' ~s better descriLeci as a series of vistlal images whose ccnte·r is a blazi~g J.ine-kiln, , . a rude, round, tower-like stru~ture about twenty feet high, l1eavily built of rough stones, and witl1 a hillock of earth heaped about the laTger part -of its circumference; so that the blocks and fragments of marble might be drawn by cart··load'o, and thrown in at. the top" (I II, p. 473). thiq kiln at rtight.fall when tl1ey are staJ'tled by loud laugl1tcr~ 'fhe source of the :laughter soon appears) a stranger whose 11 deeply sunken ey-es .. ~ gleamed like fires within ::h" Iit:han ·Brand soon ident-.Lfi<:-~s himself as t.h<~ rnan who had left orcler to se These three are joined first by a. group from the village tavern, The group, fo:nnerly town "worthies," are now ntbrute beasts ~ [their souls shrivelled] with fiery liquors!'" (III, p. 488). An old man appetns, a wanderer, \'lho still looks for the d8.ughter who "had gone off witl: a company of circus-performers" (III, p, 438). Ethan Br3.nd quails before him, because it is this man's daughter whose soul "Ethan Brand had made the subject of a psychological. experiment," a.nd whom he had "was ted, absorbed, a.,ld perhaps annihi:i aced .... in the process" \ri~ .. ..1.1~ • po 4"9)·o • A group of merry ma~ers, the youth of the village, arrive to see Ethan BTand, "the hero of so many a legend fa:miliar to their childhood" (III, p, 489). Then an "oid G~r1nan trav~llittg with -a diorama [of evil possib1.1it1.es] ilnv". r.~; (l·r·r. . . ) Finally, an old dog, apparently possessed: chases and chases its own tail. Eventually ~he passers-by, a rather motley micro- co:Jiil of Jifc) ~vander homcT,~Jarcl., leaving the oTiginal three·· sonle. E:·:,.·_r: t.:ra:;r~ and h.i:; son retreat to the \1/~crm.th of theLr h~).t) a::1d E ~-!-~a... ::.. ·2.:ez\.nd s'.;ats l1imself up~Jll a log t·Il1creupvn :!~.{~· 5 ·~ traCBS dispas.';ionatt:ly his journey toward evil, "converting man and woman to be his puppets, and pulU.ng the ivh"es that moved them to such degrees of crime as were demanded for his study" (III, p. 495). Then Ethan Brand rises and ascends the hill of the kiln. At the top l1e . stood erect, and raised ltis arms on high. The blue flames played upon his face, and imparted the vlild and ghastly light which alone could have suited its expression; it was that of a fiend. "Come, deadly element of Fire,--henceforth my familiaoc friend! En:bxaco me, as I do thee!'' (III, p. 496). Because Ethan Bxand has assumed the powers of God, he has also become Satan~ The next morning the lime-buTner and his son find only a ske1et~)n and 11 the sh&.p8 of a human hear~tn on the suTf2.ce of thro "perfect, sn,Jw·white li.me" (III, p. 498). When the "xudf'., lime-burner Lifted his pole, . letting it fall upon the skeleton, the relics of Ethan Brand were crumbled i.nto f:cagmGnts" (III, p. 498). It is already appaxent that the vision of Hell-fire people, mot!ey b~;t not necessa~ily evil. The vision se01ns <:ontinnous .ftil_d n.n.encu.:ng: "smoke and jets of flame . . . 1.ns1Jffe·rabl0 gJ.are , lur:i_d blaze . great spouts of b1ue f'l ;-?.. ::nc ., blasting heat" (III, pp. 4'78 .. 496). And when the.~;e :~_mages of Hell·· :Ei1·o aTB a~,_:companied by Satanic even more oppressive. In addition to the fearful end of the work, "Ethan Brand, it was said had conversed with Satan himself. He had been accustomed to evoke a fiend from the hot furnace of the lime"kiln, night after nigbt. He himse1f became a fiend" (III, pp. 48:', 495)" If we recall at this point the playful Satans of "Peter Goldthwa:i. te' s Treasure" and "The Devil in Manuscript" and even the satiric images of "The Celestial Railroad," can we also suspend di.sbelief in "Ethan Brand" which, unlike the others, approaches a reality of sorts? Can we accept these undisplaced traditional images of evil as dramatic and complex archetypes in a more realistic setting? Lac 11s return once again to Maud Bodkin's anal.ysis of the archetype of Paradise-Hades, or of Heaven and !!ell. If ~e imitatA her proce~ses, perhaps these questions can be answered. Maud Bodkin would first of all link Ethan Brand's crisi.s to the crisis 0£ Dante's pilgrim's t~perience in the T~fer~o~ ~2rming the ~illiiJ.e c~e of archEtypal significauc~. This vision "which matter-o:f--.fact judgement thus belittles remains in memory, and escapes the re·pression of· the intel" ... t . - . . ] .ec t t .o f ~nu ~ .se1r agaln J.n the communicated imag 1)£ an iitlO.Einatlv-:; 57 us as readers (APP, p. 114), The image of Hell-fire and the attendant Satan image would also a.ppea1· as a "passage in ti.me, from life to desolate death" (APP, p. 122), Ethan Brand's and ours,. Perhaps this narrative pattern would also recall Aeneas' underworld journey to Tartarus, In generalizing from Aeneas' journey, Maud Bodkin makes the following statement: Before any great task that begins a new life and calls upon untried resources 6f ~haracter, the need seems to arise for some introversion of the mind upon itself and upon its past--a plunging into the depths, to gain knowledge and power over self and destiny (APP, p. 122). Certainly Ethan Brand's after-thoughts support this obser- vation~ "Deep within his mind ht~ was revieHing the gra.durll but marvellous change that had been wrought upon him by the search to which he had devote'd himself" (III, p. 494). First he prayed that the Unpardo11able Sin never be revealed to him. nThen ensued ·that vnst intellectua.l dcvelo·_pme·nt, \./hich, in :its progress, disturbed the count.erpo:ise between his ~Lind and heJ.l't" (:OI, p. 494L Unlike Aeneas (and. Dante's lji:tg·r1r1), f.thants kno~vledge crad pu·IY"eT never take him to ~he Happy Groves and the seats of the Blest. He is forever da1nned and acceptive of it. In these contexts Ethan as Satan surrounded by Hell-fi~e becomes a believable and a poworft1l archet:ype of 1nan•s evil side. the discussion of '1 T}le ·:;~nt:~e i3oy 11 t.0 l\~a.ud Bodk:J_n 1 s Rebirth a:rchetype ., a.fte:c 58 nde~:olat~~ death ~ . ~ life renewed. u Once again this One supp··Jses L1tat i·t: lHlS because Ha;.vthoTne 1 s at ten-· tion was focused on truths his geJJel·ation was deny ing that he deals 30 e~-cclusi.vely wich hu.n;an peril, not human possibility, an'd that the pattern~of sin and salvation in his work is not complete.4~ Yet the last image of Hawthorne's 0ork is a posi- tive one. The lime-burner cries, 11 1 · Than.k Heaven, the i.1.ight is gone, at last~! ~ o ~ Trie early SLlt,shine was already pottring it~ gold upon t\'8 ~:ron.::-1 Ls ir:.tc~ps., ::tncl tho~.1gh ·LL.~J valleys w·ere still in shado~'..-, they ~~:m:iled. -.:hecr£>.;.1J.y :i.n the prcuise of the brigl1t dsy that wa~ l1astening· onward, . . . Earth 1·1as so mingled with sky that it was a day-dream to l<>ok at i~ (III, pp. 496-497). We cr.n only sa.y .• t:hen, that Hnwthor::J.e, exploTing beth tho good axH.l the bad in the human situation, offers a 59 choice. If we believe that Ethan Brand's chronicle was a nightmare that passed, we n1ay see, like Maud Bodkin, a Rebirth. But if the fires of Hell are too strong, the essence of Satan too vivid, and if Ethan is himself the epitome of unregonerated Fallen Man and his journey a vision of unrelenting Hell-fire, we may see him as our· selves, his journey as ours. Regardless of this problem, the Satan image and the Hell-fire image in both "The Celestial Railroad" and "Ethan Braud" are believable, poweTful, and relevant aTchetypa.l images mirror~ng man's darkest side. UtiJ.izing tl1e cri·ti- cal procedures of Maud Bodkin illuminates not only the archetypal process, but also defends its validity and Hawthorne' :s .imo.ges as mirrors of the human s.i.tuation. CREATIVE EXTENSIONS OF THE HELL-FIRE AND SATAN: A STUDY OF THREE TALES If Hawthorne has successfully utilized the undi~- placed demortic images of Ilel1·-fire and S&tan, wl1ich Frye calls the woT1d "of l:otal m':tapho-r:Lcal identif:ication° (AC, p. !39), l1c has al~o 0xtet1d0d these same 1mages to .soro.etimcs sug_g:: ..~st "implicit mythlcal patterns in a 1!'/0l"ld r.tGTe closely assoc.iate 140), that is, ir1 romanc~ and realism. The COlnbirlatioil of 11 tV·lO t:ncJ.i.spl~Jced T'lorlds, the apocalyptic and the demonic s n 60 become "structures of imagery in movement'' which Frye calls his "Theory of Mythos" (AC, p. 140). To apply this theory to three tales, "My Kinsman, Major Molineux," "Feathertop: A Moralized Legend," and "Young Goodman Brown," and to observe the images of Satan and Hell-fire, once again justifies archetypal. analysis as a valid method for intensifying appreciatl.on of all litera- ture and also reinforces the versatility of Hawthorne's creativity. First of all, the "Theory of Mythos" contains four archetypal narrative patterns: comedy, romance, tragedy, and irony or satire. They are cyclical within each pattern, and as a group they form a cyclical process to which Frye gives seasonal metaphors. These seasonal metaphors are roughly equivalent to Maud Bodkin's Rebirth cycle. In each theory the Heaven (Apocalyptic)--Hell (Demonic) imagery remains "eterna.lly unchanging" (AC, p. 158), Each of Frye's patterns is an episode in a total quest-myth, "moving into the apocalyptic world above" (AC, p. 162); each of th.em ble~ds adjacently one ir1to tl1e otl~c1·; each of rhem contras·ts with opposite, Following is a simplified diagram of Frye's Mythos: APOCALYPTIC IMAGERY: lJnchang ing RONJ\NCE: 5unune r (Age) -TRAGEDY: .Autumn COMEDY: :3pring (Maturity) (Youth) IRONY !\ND SATJRE: Wiater (Death) :OF.MON iC H\,\GSRY: Unch:mging Before discussing ·~he three tales of tl1is section, complete eye I e. Buth tal cls, for Frye, a ne sat .i Tes, o-r what he also calls 11 milj.ta.nt i·rony 11 ~:i1ose moral norms a:n:~ 11 rela- tiveJy clear'' (i\C, P~ !~2:'5) ~ Satire PJ.ema.n.d.s at :least a is ,4it o-" hu.mor founGccl o_rl fantasy ["The Celestial Rail- "O"J. (J... c·:" .1 11 i-~ ,, 11 d· " ,<">. ') -1 ~-, <>]"' .: :::: ,.J a J ,. ·•··1;1.1.·.- ., __ '- ;... \, ..L,. p o 2 2 5) ~ in 62 it may move toward tragedy which "presents hum.an life in terms of . . , unrelieved bondage" (AC, p. 238) like "Ethan Brand." In the latter case the work may reach tho point of what F-cye calls "demonic epiphany, '· 1 which he; i1_lustrates with a vision of the Inferno. At the bottonl of Dante's Hell, .. Dante sees Satan standing upright. . . . Tragedy and tragic irony [or satire] take us into a hell of narrowing circles and culminate in. some such vision of the source of all evil in a personal form (AC, p. 239), This final image is not only appropriate to "Ethan Brand," but also to "The Celestial Railroad." It is difficult to believe that Frye did not use these tales containing Hell- :fir-e and Satan as models for his theory, or that Hawthorne was unaware of Fr·ye 1 s theory. In the "Mythos of Sp1·ing," the !'movement of comedy 1 :ls usually [the hero :;]. movemenl: fi:om one society to anotb.er. Jlt the beginning of tlv'! ... [work] the obsturc- ting ch~rac·ters are in charge of the society'' (i\C, P.o 163)~ By the end of t_h:::; actj.on 2. comic resolution occurs whereby tht} hero overco1rrcs these obstacl~s to produc8 a frequently si7nalizcd by some kind of In comedy thi:; get:~: ·rj.d of some i-cre:.;.onci1<1ble characte-rt' (AC, P~ 165) who has nc bt:t:.1_~n.ess in thi:-; .flC; 1,v societye "The society emerging at tl~0 con~l11sjon of comedy represents, by COJltrast, a kind 1 cf r.-:.oraJ. ..n.Vi'Hi ' (AC, p. 169). 63 "My Kinsman, Major Molineux,'' a tale of pre- Revolutionary America, tells of Robin Molineux's typical quest of youth, the country bumpkin's big venture to the big city where an illustrious relative has promised sponsor- ship. The movement, his initiation into "life," is at first obstructed by riotous taverners, uninterested members of society, a foreboding man of eviJ, a "scarlet" lady of the night. Then, und.0r the protectoTship of a benevolent guardian he witnesses the expulsion of a scapegoat, in this case his illustrious uncle who as a Royalist official is unceremoniously tarred and feathered by certain of the local citizenry. At first Robin is an observer of the "festivities," but he,, like the general lot of tc:wnspeople, s?on joins the contagion nf laughter, his shouts the loudest there. After the multitude has gone, however, l1e hesitates to rernain in the city until his benevolent guide observes: '''If you prefer to remain with us, perhaps, as you are a shrewd youth, you may rise in the world without the help of your kinsman, Major Moiineux"' (III, p. 641). Robin p1·e- :;·;;matly signc:J.inr, a HEN society helps to provide a moTal norm. 44 In this tale, blending toward irony, the interest falls on what Frye calls "blockj.ng characters, the hero r;ot very intenc.sting" as a character (AC, pp. 166··167). --'--.----·------·---··-- 44 ec·fcn•a·nLl -·- ·. ' ·pr-t'. ']3_(.. -- 1'"~~ J' ..s•·••os· c.~ ·c'"··.Ae t"·l~.(;!. t;; 'lS( ~- o"II .. ~ at•·a•·'·l- -1\. ,·nL (iptimisrr:. n.nd. sclf-reJ iancc placed in c~pposition to the l'ittlal of ·!:he depositio11 of _tt1e scapegoat ki.ng. 64 The latter is essentially true, Robin, in effect, constantly reacting wide-eyed to thes~ blocking characters who obstruct him. Among them 2.re the alazo.':!:., the ''heavy father," who is often demonic, and the buffoon who increases the mood of festivity, in this case the tavern keeper. Another of the blocking character-s is the §:.g.:;~ikos, "the straight man, the solen1.n or i..n.articuJ.atc cha:ra.cter who allcn.r.s the humor to bounce off him, so to speak" (AC, p. 176), in this case Hajor Molineux himselL The ~iron, who has many manifesta- tions, being "neutral and unformed in character," may include the hero himself (AC, p. 173). Finally, there 1s a "character generally an older man, 11ho begins the action of the play l>y withdrawing from it, ancl ends the play by ·r···'--1""'--~-<..l.IL-~-·~ in r" (AC.-·) [l-• 1·'·')f'+,• This char-acter has a .unique counterpart in the talz. Often Hawthorne begins his tales with a storyteller who relates the tale OT legend and "ho Slibseqw:mtly appears ln the tale as clwracter,. oft•cn a mo.ra.l:i.zor, a "norm." So it is in thi.s tale which begins wi.th ·thE~ stoTyteller and ends w·ith hj.s fJ.ction8.l counterpart~ in tl:is c~se Robin's 0 -.ln·- a." •alat~ ..... Of ~hi~-· ... ..:> t-••p<'·} ~-, ·~~n c~nJecly~····'· b'"n~'!llOJ_l . ..;..;_ ....~---· 0 ... 0'"ard·~ :i.Tony ol· .sa.ti-x.·r:;, which '1moves to\~~ard a deli 1_.re-.rance from some~hing \~hi.cl1l if abSLLr~~ l.s by no 1neans ·invariably-harm- 1·ecall the categories of apocaJ_yptic inlaze!; introduced t~2th :.... egard to 11 The Gentle Boy. 11 Their demonic counterparts are as fellows: Vegetable--the tree of death, the sinister forest. Animal-··the monster, the serpent. Mineral--the prison, labyrint~ian cities, Human--man in a society of egos, Divine--demanding and mRnacing gods. Instead ,Jf cleansing fires, ''the world of fire is a world of malignant demons. The world of water is the water of death, often identified with spilled blood" (AC, p. 150). We have seen Satan and Hell-fire as undisplaced demonic images in other works. In "My Kinsmc.n, Major MoL.neux" the hints of similar demonic images support the n·onic side of the :oe\i society hldch Robin will presumably be part of. They work as a ".mora:l" force. The city Rob in enters is labyrinthian and prison-like. Some of its streets are "of mean appearance, on either side of which [are] row[s] of ill-built houses .. . straggling to\·!a,·rds the h::;,rbor" (III, 1L 525).. Th\:; se>c:iety he enconnt- el'·:.; is ~ suciety vf 0gos, with its 1 'dev·i.i" -tigu.re who re~alls a displaced Satan. (We will meet this figure la.teT ~) The fire is like Frye's '~·world Qf fire .. ~ a world of maJign:.ont dentons," but these images are not Now let cts look specifically at Hr~J.l-fire and Satan in the tale. First of all, the fire images are always secondary fires, that is, lanterns or torches, and they are almost always c-:.ccompaniecl by moonlight. These :images are, 45 1n. f :act, ouT on.1 y souTce o f" 1"11 .um1nat1on. . . T. oget h er t h ey allow '1othel'-V>;·ox·ldlyn imagination or fantasy to become acceptable and believable. The presence of tl1e moonligl1t as a softer fire (Frye categorizes the J.unar cycle as part of the "fi 1·e-world of heavenly bodies" AC, p. 159) tempers the "den1onic" development of the :Eire imagery, And our porcepti::Jns, blurred as they are by the uncerta:Ln light, never allow the Satan figure to become completely Satanic, he remaiuing merely ambiguous. As soon as Robin gets off the ferry, the fire imagery begir;s, t(,e ferryman lifting a lantern to see bette:c, despite the newly risen moon. There is ;10 hint of trouble. In town. "the light fro:n the open door m1d windows of a. barber's shop" does not foreshad•JW any me-taphor of detnonic fir0 entil the men from tho shop respon.d to Tiobin's quescion concerning his uncle 1n_rith "an 5.11-1nan~~ercd roar of laughter" (III, pp. 618-61.9). As Robi.n continu-:cs his quest, the shoJ.lS :::n:-e empty, ligt1t~~ visible nonly in the s·econ.d stoTi.G~~ of a few dwelling-iwuses" (III, p, 620), The 67 l.onely maze of the streets tends to become unsettling, as does the sporadic light. Then Robin enters the tavern. It is here that he meets the Satan figure, first mentioned as the alazo~. [Robin's] eyes wen: attracteC. ... to a person who stood near the door, holding •,-rhispered con versation with a group of ill--dressed associates~ His features were separa~ely striking almost to grotesqu.eness. . , The forehead bulged , , . ; the nose came boldly forth in an irregular curve ... ; the eyebrows were deep and shaggy, and the eyes glowed beneath them like fire in a cave (III, p. 621). This image is extremely significant for many reasons: it seems to t·urn the previous fir& itnagery to a Hell~fire espe- cially because of the man's eyes; it evokes the feeling that among these psople perhaps Robin has found himself in Hell itself; and we feel that possibly Robin has met Satan hirn- self, f1orribly personified as the shRggy beast of medieval religion. Robin trudges en, "the light of the moon, and lamps from the numerous sl1op-windows, disc:overed people prome- 1 nadjng 1· (IT,_ -. 1· ] P"P • 623-624). Gay_, jaun.ty, well-dTessed, they a nsc~-t.:tlet petticoat11 is ready to lure our young innocent throug:lJ the half··opeli dooT of an "ill-bui.lt" house, ~~to.rtl.-;::cl by a nois0, howe·ver 51 she leaves him. When he comes t\) the ~.,rails and steps cf a ch~n~c:h and. onc:e again asks some ... one the whereabouts of his kins1nan, lte fi11alJ.y gets an _:·,_n__ c.. ,,_r;,c;~r.·•, 11 ~1~.i~J1·,~h )r'•·r~e <:In! hOll·r· ~J-.1·1 -~.;l'J'irJ·r- -,'\~,·r;1·l·n{..l!'•X" .,_,r·i~j-1 na~,~, ~c ::->• -- "' -~;...... <~ - ,,.. ..., r_.. ' '" J.- ,. '·.. .. ->- . '"''"" "~ ·•- .1: .•;. 68 b-i'" (III, p. 629), Robin is astonished and dismayed, because tl1e speaker is the Satanic man that he saw in the tavern. The man's complexion had undergone a . , , change, One side of the face blazed an intense red, while the other was black as midnight. . . . A mouth which seemed to extend from ear to ear was black or red, in contrast to the color of the cheek. The effect was as if two individual devils, a fiend of fire and a fiend of darkness, had united them~elves to form this infernal visage (III, p, 629).46 Hell-fire and Satan seem to combine into one image. Even the proximity of the church offers no consolation, because as he looks 1:hrough a wir.dow into the church "the scene makes Robin's heart shiver with a sensation of lone- liness stronger than he ha.d ever felt" (III, p. 6:H). It is here thCJ.t the guardian enters, "a gentlemen in his prime, of open, intelligent, cheerful, and altogether preposs party bursts uvon tl1e scene, is not 011e set of demonic images replaced by anothe1·? "A dcns.o multitude of torches shone along the street, concealing: by their glare, whatever 46 ·schubert, p. 107, attaches structural signifi- ca.nc(-; o this image which 11 prefi.gu:re [s] the outcor1e and 'D0.~}J . 1 LS' 1:o.;):L(~ tbc .. ~ pa.:rts of ti1.(-~ st·:.'t/ together." 69 object they illuminated"· (III, p,. 637). A single h quoth he> ~the old earth is frolicsome to-night! 1 " (III, p. 640), The comedy resumes, and tho hen ~elcomes Robin to his new society. What, th~n. can we conclude.from the analysis of this richly-1vrought tale? In this iron:i.c-comer'ly Hawthorne t·J e£fecti-v··,~ly v j_suall:.e the inl tiatio:1 rite of innocence .ir:.t:.: ma:1hood. He has neitheT t·Ihitewashed man nor his socieTy. RobJ.ri 1 S big city is a metaphor of man's world ~nd his potetttial for good or evil. And the fire and the Satan figure emerge as senti-demonic archetype~ within the struc- -;~·;'11''(' o-F r~rullf·''~J-,i' c~·):·l·rD-1'.-, (11·:· c;<'·r,r1 ''e·t '''"I'J'tiJ•O c··.J.:' ~~-,-,..~·~· ·--~~ ....· __ .... ~-- .... ~./, o} _ .. v ... 0 ;.;...,...,_ 1 , ~~c~. -·· .o. 0 ·'· ... Y ...... ~ 70 Frye's "structure of imagery in m.ovement" now brings us to the "t>lythos of Summer; Romance" and Hawthorne t s "Feathertop: A Moralized Legend." Romance, a blend of the mvthic and the Teal, manifests itself in every age, "No matter how grent a change may take place in society, romance will turn up again, as hungry as ever, looking for new hopes and desires to feed on" (AC, p. 186), Hawthorne's attention to the characteristics of traditional romance result in a unique and highly complex treatment of arche typal images which do not assuage those hungry hopes and desires of the human situation but, rather, become plaintive reminders of personal loneliness and despair. Romance, says Frye, is "perennially child-like," the "nearest to the wish-fulfilment dream" (AC, p. 186). Its esse11ti.al element is adventure: the perilous qucs·t for "t-reasure"; a crucial "dragon-killing" struggle "in which the hero or hi!> foe, or both, must die; ·and the exaltation of thE: he1·o" (AC, p. 187). The hero and his enemy may be si.mi1.3.1' to the (}_~_:r:-on_ and tlH; -~.1~Jl cZ comedy, and "the divinity wiLl c:1 ing to the her:) and the more the enemy will take on demonic mythic qualities" (AC, p. 187). Frye co:n .. tinu~s,) "the conflict howevc1~ takes place in . our , ..,..orldn (..~.c ~ p. 187) ~ 0 ·~~Fec.lthertop takes place .in our world 1 but he is a .sr:a:.l.'eCTOh' btought t1) 1iie l;y :Mqther Rigby~ who· t-r (as 'll everybody must have heard) was one of the most cunning and potent witches in New England" (II, pp. 253,254). Her "life's blood" is smoke from her pipe, "Dickon," cried Mother Rigby, "a coal for my pipe!" . . . . . ·~••t•t and legs, his stuffed "meal ~ag" r::arca.ss, his pumpkin head, and his faded garments, said to have once "belonged to the Black Han's wardrobe" (II, p. zssr, develop a '·'fantastic ha1::e_, as it were, o:f human 1ikenessn (II, p. 259) ~ He becomes a magnificent figu.re ·Of culture and aristocracy. Then Mother Rigby tel.ls "the scarecrow that it must go and play it~ pa.rt in the great world, where not one man in a hundred, she c..f£irmed, ·~·.ra::; gifted with more real substance than it::elfl! (II 1 ~:r. 263)" He an3~·.rers naively, n' I \-.:·ill -~hr:tve, if an hvnest u12.n and a gcJ1tJ.ero.~•.n rr:.ay!'n (II, p~- 267). The birtl: of the hero is followed by the romantic quest of the i.rmocent. "tmd, issuing from the cottage, Feathertop s trCtdt": manfully to\\'2.rds town·. . The sunbeams gli:-'r.c:aed on hi.mJ as if nl"J h·Ls magn:ificE:nce were real, and .ho\..: d.Ll:Lgent:Ly and lovingly- he smoked his [o~vn1 pi;H:~ 11 (II, ')1 267). Li.tt.le does he realize that life is niCL;:ntical. 72 with the vapor of the pipe, [and] it would termina.te s~mul taneously with the reduction of tile tob:1cco to ashes" (II, p. 266). The townspeople admire this handsome figure. With his "letter of introduction" (a devil.ish password, TJO doubt) to the "worshipful Justice Gookin," Feathertop's hope for success seems one without conflict. The eminent man's daughter, "Pretty Polly Gookin," devotes herself on sight to "Chevalier Feathertop." Then puffed with mutual pride, they chm;ce to g-lance at themselves in the "full-length looking-glass" in tl1e parlor. 1'It wa!5 one of the true:.:t plates in the world and incapable of flattery" (II, p, 276). And there·they l:lehold, "not the glittering mockery of his outside show, but a. picture of the sordid patchwork of his real composHion, stripped of aE witchcraft" (II, p, 276). Feathertop's "dragon" is reality, and it defeats him. Returning home, he tells ~iother Rigby, "'I've seen myself for the wt'etched, ragged, empty thing I ami 1 " (II, p. 277). And so, fli.ngir.g his pipc; agains~ the hearth, he relu:cu.s ·co a Pme0.ley of strav; and ~cattel·ed gal"1i1ents .. [and] the rudely-carved gap, that just before had been-a mouth, still seemed to twist itself into a despairing grin, and was so fa:r human" (II, p. 278). Mo~her Rigby pities his fate. Deciding to use him ns he was o·riginally inteJ1ded, ~~.s a scarecrow, she then 73 cried she, in her high, sharp tone, 'another coal for my pipe!'" (II, p. 278). Hawthorne's tale points up a dismal picture of the hur.1e Feathertop "was hurled by Sa.tan" (AC, p. 189), Yet the l<:egend as romance, also tends toward comedy- \•rhere, according to Frye, it is in "quotation marks," that is, told by a storyteller; it is presented "through a I'elaxed and con- ! . templctive haze as something that ente-rtains us ·.vithout, so to speak, confronting us, as direct tragedy confronts us" (AC, pp. 202-203). The narrator with a good deal o£ wit and even humor does _n,omentaTi1y relax us. There L' a c:ontempiative haze, and the haze tends ta provoke a dialectica.L .problem: wha.t is illusion and what is reality? Tentative answers to these questions may appear during the discussion of the Satan figures and the Hell-:fi·cc imagery, hers scntewhat displaced a far different aTchetypal meaning, oue which ma.y not be tragic but is not lightly enterta·Lning c:ither. There are two levels of Satanism ana two levels of Hell-fire in the work; both images, in fact, dominate it. O:ne is at tlti.'~ I.evel of fancy~ the otheT at the level of ···c··:·,··t-·~y ·,...~~~··1·-,_ ··•\7 ("'0''1'<:.•:>. f.l''l'll'O"I'L·,_:~+·~ '"1!11\;Jllf" ..:). D.t l ,,__ ! .... {, ' u .... L . -1 L . . • \..:. v \,• ~ .... t .L j;' • 0- !,... \.. tn• ... ._ · •- ~ '-" t n. t.'11e 74 level of fancy are Dickon (!Ji~-~.en.~. is a New England euphe- mism for Devil), Mother Rigby, and Feathertop, who are connotative of Satan, but more like "elemental spirits" (AC, p. 153). In addition, there is the "party of little demons, each duly provided with horns and a tail . , which dance round the circumference of . . [Feathertop's} pipe bowl" (I I, p. 2 7 3). The coal of fire in both Feather- top's and Mother Rigby's pipes becomes a "romanticized" miniature Hell--fire. The star which blazes on Feathertop's breast lS also connotative of Hell-fire, but hardly demonic~ At the level of reality, our reality and the reality of the society to which Feathertop journeys, these fanciful images somehow evoke an emotional response whereby the members c.f society become hypocrites and their world a Hell-fire world of illusion, The fanciful images, then, become a psycho- logical reality of man's mischief, while the presumed reality of society becomes an illusion of humanity, We can take this observation further. The fanciful figures of Satan, already displaced because they lack the :,.....!"((' "li" ItT.::.<- f.. ,·;·- 11 1 "-'"'-'·---,:'JJ.~.• -:"".~r.· .. ,~.i :.·. "'...~'- ~..- 0~:.1...,;~-"l L;.,Jlv-LlD.L:::t.·,n~~'"'-Jld· ~_,,,l··o-·..;_..!,,., 1 :(~· ...... <'':'Ul'-'r-.... L.'-'._Li.L-lJ'_.._.....,·.-::"!·r ..:!-~ s··-··J·~,~·,-:.--: ..J. a:o th0y a:;sume positive qualitios of humanity. l'·lother Rigby, rather than malevolent, emerges as perceptive and eve11 sympathetic; these are certainly reelistic and, in this case: humane characteristics. Although she creates Feathertop--after all she l.s a witch--she pities his fate and lo.-?.t.~ h.i.~n die as J. "-m.c:n ~" choosing to let hl.m become~ 75 once again, a scarecrow rather than "'give him another chance and send him forth againt" (II, p, 278), And Feathertop, despite his "demonic conception," and despite his vanity, which, of course, led to his downfall, becomes a mythic innocent, almost di1rine in his loneliness and despair at the realization of society's hypocrisy and his own as a "man" in society. These two characters, then, emerge as romantic, though complex, archetypes, "virtuous" in contrast with the "real" world. The Hell-fire image can also be expanded. It becomes a temporal image, occurring throughout the narra· tive. Progressively becoming more "demonic" or active as its flames are fanned by the pomp and circumstance of the supe:rfic j.al society, it belies i.1; s origii1s and seems ratheT :like a "mor-alizer." We have a pic tun~ of Fectthe.rtop' s pipe, its vapo-rs lifegiving, its demons quiet, when he begins his journey. But i~ smokes vigorously when in town. FeatheTtop smoking in excitement because of the admiring glances he receives, the hypocrites inhaling the vapors of in diabolic2.l rrLerrimentn II, p~ 273). The star on hi:3 b-reast merely glistens as he begins his journey. After he is adn:i.reci and petted by the townspeople, it "is all ablaze" (Il, p. 271) . .And. i-1:'. nscintlllated actual flames, and threw a .flickel·ing gleafu ttpon the wall, tl1e ceilj.ng, and Feathertop becomes "aggressive" in his suit, "his star, his embroidery, his buckles glowed at that instant with unut- terable splendor" (II, p. 276). After his disaster and his return home, the coal is still aflame, and the star still blazes. Both still blaze for us as displaced symbols emphasizing man's hypocrisy, but for Feathertop they go out; he rejects them. Frye says that, in part, "the quest··romance is the search of the libido or desiring self for a fulfilment that will deliver it from tlw anxiety of reality but will contain that Teal:Lty" (AC, p. 193). Feathertop is not delivered from the anxiety of reality. He does not see that, in compari- son to the people he has met, he is not a scarecrow, whereas they are. He doesn't see that his claim to manhood ,is no Jr,ore an illusion than theirs. He does not see that hi.s is a mo1·e "real'' reality, not :i.n the sense that he saw himself as a 3carecrow, but in the ·sense that he is percop- tive and aware of the human sitt.t~t!.on. l!e has a soul. An inveterate love of allegory . LS apt ~.o invest " .. a \VTit.er's plots anJ cl'iaracters 14it:h 4 !--·);·~.ld ··o::;·"'pc··tc:... t>-:• '·'-~,....(:: ,,~r·a· . .._..~,~1<;; .... nt')' C:L"nr't ,,, p~cJp.le~- _- .. · -<. n t·he., r··toJtd.--.>.• ,,.,:>' and to steal a.way the human wa:cmth out of h.i.s conceptior;s. But occasiorJally a breath of Nature. a raindrop of pa·t11os 9nd tenderness, or a gleam_o.f hut~or, wi.Jl f)nd its Kay i.nto the ntidst ~ I ' ,. · · " " 1 · 1 r ·] · .C: o·~ .. J.LS ...:,ii.ntastlc J.mage1.·y ?1~tc.. m!.lKC ':ls. Tee_ ,.as 1.1: ~ 1 atter al1.~ we were yet w1.tn1n tne lsn11ts o~ ou1· native earth (II, pp. lO'i-108). 7~ ' I And so it :i.s with Feathertop. VulneTable and sensitive, he arouses our compassion as 8 believable human being. While we leave the tale with images of Satans and Hell·fiTe, we also leave the tale with a vision of a scarecrow who pre· sumed to become a man, And was. Our cycle has come full circle, We complete it w.i. th the ~~~'lythos of Autumn: Tra.gedy, 11 And •1e also come to "Young Goodman Brown, 11 a fn:i tful co inc ;_donee, because, of Hawthorne's has been as widely praised as this. Con- taining a multitude of complex archetypal images, it power· fully and convincingly presents a bleak picture, indeed, oi the human :>ituation. In this tale the carth does become r. in the words O .c the Dr-\ri 1 "one mighty blood spot" (II, pp. 103-104). "Young Goodman Brown came forti! c' shadow che l:l'o.getly t.i"Htt follows. firye say:~, ttThe rf.1.etox ic of tragedy recp.-t.Lces the fl-ObJ. est d·:.ction that the greatest: poets can produce, and while catastrophe is the normal end of tragedy, this is_balanced by ~n equall.y significant ori?inal g1'eatness :- a paradise J ost" (AC,. p. 210), in t.his case the nat1Jral. love of l1is wi.fe Faj.th. His purposeful determination to seek evil is eased several times as he journeys along the ''dreary l'oad, dark, ened by all the gloomiest trees of the forest, which barely stood aside to let the narrow path creep through'' (II, p, 90), but with the Devil as guide and his covert obser" ;rations of the "good" Chr.istians of Salem, including the mystic presence of his own Fed th, also bent on the same journey, he does not desist for long. Maniacally and relentlessly he pursues the evil end. Maddened and :full of despair at the defection of his wife, he rushes onward, "rushing . Wlt. h t h e 1nst1nct . . t h at gu1ues . ":1 -man to ev1.- "10 (II, p. 99), In the deepest reaches of the forest he hea·rs vo.!.c.es ~ singing to th.e tune o:C a fa.miliar hymn, and he sees a red l;i.ght. S·tcaling toward ·the sou~ds ar1d the light, Goodman Brown comes upon his fellow townspeople, both pious and ungodly, arcd no>'l '"a grave and dark-clad company'" (II, p. 109). And he watches. Ver·se aftcz· verse was ~u~g; and still t~e chor~s of the clo~;e rt S',~Jellecl bf;tV~rsetl like th,:; tiee-pes t l-J11e :d_' a mlgh ty oTgan.; l.~nr.::l -v-.:ith -~.he ·::~1.n;;;.l {:(.<1.~t of tl1at l:~ccad.l:v.l a.nLhci1\ th~;:To carr.o :"t .'..;ound 1 as :i£ th-J Toa.ring ·1,;ind!> the ·rushing s"i.:Te~tm:::>, the howling beasts, and eve·ry other voi(;c of ·the uncc•n.ceTted wiJ.derness were .mingling and accoTd ing with ·the voice of gui1.ty n1an i11 homage to the Frince of all (II, p. 102). 'fhe P1·i.nJ::c o£ Darkness appears.. " 1 Bring fo-rth the con ... VeJ.'t~;!) r;ried 8. voice thclt echoed. th1·ough th.e ficl(t and 79 Young Goodman Brown and Faith, his wife, stand before the evil congregation, "the only pair, as it seemed, who were yet hesitating on the verge of wickedness in this dark world'' (II, p. 104). At the moment of their baptism whereby they would become aware of the "mystery of sin," Go•Jdman BTown cries out: '"Faith! Faith! . , , Look up to heaven, and resist the wicked one''' (II, pp. 104-105). This horTific scene ends suddenly, and Goodman BrO\vn finds himself in the chill and the damp, his "cheek [bespYinkled] with the coldest Jew" (II, p, 105). Has it all bee!! a dream? No matter. Goodman Brown returns home gloomy and depressed, seeing only the evil in man, hence- forth shrinking from all humanity, "his dying hour gloom" (II, p. 206), his pai"adlse lost. Neal Doubleday ve~y succinctly analyzes Young Goodman Bra>~~.' s situation: "Brown thought he could embrace evil and then escape from it. But we know . . , that the pe:rson who discovers only a part r!f his potentiality for e·vJ.l loses i.n proporti.on his assurance of the virtue of 47 but te had listened and tl1at was enough." How, then, docs this sombre tale fit into the "lllythas ·)f Autuiitr,''? First o:f aU., Frye's discussion of tf ry 'Doubleday, Ilawti!OTnP-';, E;::rly Talc'S, pp, 200-210. ------__...,.------. - -~_;'2.e also Hvffwan, pp, 14fl-1C>8, LOJ.' exce11ent eval.natlon ()f the tale. 8('1 tTagic <1ct:Lon includes comparison with Aristotle's 0-Y_t}l__o_~.· Th.is, 1)f course:, immediately b[ing::; to mind the tragic hero, larger than life, bringing about his own downfall. Frye's theory allows for modification, however, he defining tragic st.ructu"l'<-) as an "original act," provoking revenge, which sets up ''an antithetical or counterbalancing movement," the completi.on of which is the resolution (AC, p. 209). In other words the tragic hero, albeit a man with nearly "divine destiny almost w.ith:i.n his grasp" (AC, p. 210), may also be any man who disturbs a balance in nature, "a bal- an.ce ·',.;l~ich sooner OT l~t.er ~~:.t_st right itselfn (AC, p, 209), this ·righting of the balance termed ~emesi~. While tho action Gf: "Young Goodman .Brown" is ambiguous ("Ua.d Goodm~n Brmrn. fa..!.len asle('P in the l'll:c·est o.ncJ only ilreamed a 11iJ.d dream. of a witch··meeting?'" II, p. 1.05), the point of the tale is not-··a man of lEJ.Usual psyc:hological resources takes a jo•.Irney t01•W.rd evil, upsetting a baJance in nature, the right"i.r,g o.f: 1vhich is his exile fJ·om society and a.ll a.ffec- t.ion. InteTe::;t:.LJgly e_;:.ough Frye would interpTet Brown's er .cc :c ...l...L.I. b_cing, not n c~t:s~ of be com i..ng, n B.tcHvn existing in a world ''in which existence itself is n·agic" (AC, p. 2U). With regard to the char~cters in tragedy, Frye says th.at tt1.cy al'<·.! Hvery like . . those of comedy in ·reverse. 81 (AC, p. 216), in Brown 1 s case the innn· voice vrhich impels him to tr3nscend divine providence, Unlike comedy, the heTo belongs to the ~_lazon group, "an imposter in the sense that he is self-d,-lceived or made dizzy by hybris" (AC, p. 217), this certainly characteristic of Brown, The buffoon takes the form in tragedy of the "suppliant," often fema:Le, who prc~ents a picture of "helplessness" and "pathos" (AC, p. 217), Such a figure is Faith, Goodman .B·r01m's wife, who begs him, '"Pray tarr-y with me th.is night, dear hu:c;band, of all nights in the year"' (II, p. 89). The ~gro.~!£~ or "comic refuser of festivity>n a 0 social norm" which Frye links to the Greek cho;~us, is best represented by the narrator, 1:opresentins: the "society from which the Within the phases Brut·J"n'! is 2.t the irunic ex.tTeme of t-ragedy, •. · . a woTJ:d of shock and hurTo:c. In such trage dies tl1e hero is in too great ugony . . . to gain the privll2ge of a J,e-roic pn~~(;, hence it is. usually easier to make hi.m a .,~·i11.aJ.nous hero. At tt1e e11d of thl.s phase [as in irony) we reach a pci.nt 1)F dr:r:H.1n:.c ~~r~i.phany·, ld1.r:~rr:~ 1,·-; .c:e8 o-r ~Ji~·n.s.)~;;t~ 1 1 ·•l~.-:-(.~ ...... '''1GU.> l. -~.tJ.lo.,-~···· ":'le .. \.~...v:,.-~ <·lP-rr··;r\.lf'... "··· ... .,. -~,.-~J.~"1 .···1'·1·1 .. 1..> .' tl'-'_,_L ·,;;v j_,J ·~·l·(lf. .,. 1 Or.o.. ·'"lle·\.-. 1~~:_~ __£nr) (AC:: .f''· 223). In nMy Kin.::.man, r.·lajor .Molineux,r' we described semi .. c.emon:.:.c.I • imD.ge:: as disflaced images which belonged at tl1e also blc~ding toward irony~ cor1tains these sa;ne kinds of d.i_~:;p.1.~1.ccd -~.:.1:aGE~-~-; ~ th~-::o sir.:i.stcr: fo-rc::.t; the Jtho...,vJ.i:ng bc;.~_sts'' 82 and the Devil' s staff which "wr.iggle:ln and is serpent-like; the society of egos led by a menacing Satan-like personage; and the vision of a Hell-fire which evokes all liell-fires as it encircles the congregation. At one extremity of an open space, hemmed in by the dark wall of the forest, arose a rock, bearing some rude, natural resemblance either to an altar or a pulpit, and surrounded by four blazing pines, their tops aflame, their stems untouched, like candles at an evening meeting. The mass of foli age that had overgrown the summit of the rock was all on fire, blazing high into the night and fit fully illuminating the \'/hole field. Each pendant twig and leafy festoon was in a blaze. As the red light arose and fell, a numerous congregation alternately shone forth, then disappeared in shadow, and again grew, as it were, out of the darkness, peopling the heart of the solitary woods at once (II, pp. 100-101), Whe::J Goodman Brown looks for his wife among the throng, he hopes not to find·her, But she appears, and together as proselytes the;r st.and "beneath the canopy of fire •. flashing forth, as it were, in a sheet of flame" (II, p. 103). They look toward each other. By the blaze of the hell-kindled torches, the wretched man beheld his Faith, and the wife her husband, tr.er:tbling before that unhaJ.lowed altar~ , .. A basin was hollowed, naturally, in the rock~ Did it contain \•l&ter, rcd8.eneJ by the lurid Jigh~? or was it blood1 or, perchance, a liquid flame? (II, p. 104). ~Ve not only have here the effect of demonic imagery, we also have the effect of what Frye calls "demonic J<\Odu- lation,'' in this case the attribution of apocalyptic imagery to the scene, which doubly increases the effect. Of cour~e, 1:his is not a Hell-fire emerging fran\ the boweJ.s Q 'l. •..) ~' of the earth; the fires are torches, like candles. This ' l T .C • • •" h ~ • 48 1s not t.1e ~n£erno; 1t 1s a w1~c ~meeLlng. Perhaps, it's all a dream. None of this matters, however, because the vision transcends the definition of the imagery. We have an aYJful reminder of man':; preswnption to exceed his natu- ral position. We also have a vision of man's annihilation by evil. "The fiend in his own shape is less hideous than when he rages in the breast of man" (II, p. 100). To fight against his lure is to be hopelessly hypnotized by his allure. Young Goodman Brown's trials are not new. His ccmpact with the Devil or Satan is an eternal archetype. Let us look now at Hawthorne's amazing display of Satan figures, all of which accumulate into one picture of a malignqnt evil in man. First, there are the witches ·and t.eh p1cture. o.·f t1eJ w1tc• h -meet1ng. . 49 The~e wi.tches, with the i.T supernatural powers, a.l so recall tradi t.:i.o·nal sorcery. In i:he "grave d.i._vin:o," the leader of the meeting, we have the picture of the De·vil, a wuilo~k, a~d even a.n heToic sicie of Milton's Satan s.o aware. of his tr~gic dcsLlaj. 1 ~· Lo, tf11.~Te ye stand 9 my child-ren,' ~-iald the figure, in a deep and solemn ton9, almost sad with its despairing ;:q·- AL1 Ul. Turner, "Hav;t h,orne ' s LJ - tt;rary B'oi·ro1nngs, . " PMLA 4 (1936), 543·-562, discusses the histo~ical basis for iii.'t~--·-lNitchcs i:I.J.. ld witchcrc:~.ft j_n tl1e taJ.e. 8'+' awfulness, as if his once angelic nature could yet mourn for our miserable race" (11, p. 104), And we also have the figure of Young Goodman Brown. The juxtaposition of Brown and the Devil of the tale deserves closer attention. The simplest way to begin is to call this juxtapo- 50 $ltion an example of the Faust-Mephistopheles archetype, once again, a valuable precess for analytical discovery. In her essay "The Images of the Devil, of the Hero, and of God," she considers the heTo-man primarily as an expression of self in relation to "forces" like the Devil or Satan (APP, p, 217). And one "lilocie of representing a factor of human experience" is through "a figure man-like yet not concretely human--the Devil in the form of a man" (APP, p. 217). She uses excnnples of Faust z.nd Othello for her heroes, o..s we can use Goodman Brown .. She uses Mephistopheles and Iago for the Devil in the form of a man, as l-ie can use the Devi.l in "You·ag Goodman Brown." The results of this process not only fit the tale firmly into archetypal tr?.d.i.tion, hut also I;:r·ov.ide a :nevi 1ook at this mL!Ch-discussed tale. To begin, Bodkin terms f';:;ust (oT Othello) a "living m·an ~ th.ough at tl1e same time an heroic typ·e figure, 11 while she terms Mephistopheles (or Iago) as both symbolic and "i) ~ Stein, pp. 65,66, Stein's thesis is that th~ Faust {":L2:urE~ d.ominates Ha1•/tho:rne;s works, He traces its d0v0lup1r~nt cl1·ronologlcally. re r:'l't - , "a• nJ"I'.,.l;ng·•• ·'· ~s ..... J. o".L. n·'... .1 BJ1eS"· • l-.'APP , p • 21')J.. , The same descr:i.ptions, of cou.rse, apply to Goodman Bro1m and the Devil, Iago, she says, "is cynicism incarnate. He stands for a 'devil-world,' unlimited, formless, negative. He is the spirit of denial of all romantic values. His hatred . is something intrinsic to his JlatJtre, needing no external motive" (1\PP, p. 200-221). The Devil in "Young Goodman Brown" says, "'Depending upon one another's hearts, ye had still hoped that virtue were not all a draa~. Now ye are undeceived. Evil is the nature of mankind. Evil must be your only happiness" (II, p. 104). "Othello's world is v.nd-ermi.ned by him [Iago], poi~oned, ::lis integrated" (APP, p. 221), as is Brown's by the Devil: n 'Come ~-vitch, cornt; wiz::tTd., , <:ome devil himself, and here c If ·w·e atteJr,-pt to· define the d.evil in. psychological ternts, regard1ng him a.s an archetype= a persistant or recu·rrent 1aode of apprel1ension, ~2 may say that -che d.evil j s ot;:r teiidcncv i~.o :r:epr\;sen.t in person.al form the forces within a~d withbut us that thrc~tan our supreme values (APP, p. 223). [If] those aspects of social experience that a n:an's thought ignoxe::; lecn.re t:heir secret imtJX'<:'SS on his mind . . from this impress spring feeli~gs and i~npulscs that Hork their -~vav towaJ:d consc1ou.s~ ne·~~~t .:. ...;, ..__,_uan' 'J'J_ •. ·r·~fltc•d ~--- .;;.t,:;.:_ '-~.t-J.Q...Uj'T-•r•c·e tl~tar•n~ ,~, '·· ]JToie~r. _, ..__., ~-1·\~rr-l,.._ ,_,, selves into the wo~ds, looks, and gestures of ·cho 0 s.r~)l11Hl) aTmi'l.g these ·1·-1ith a te'.t'ribls 1)0·~-.·er 0 r.;t,•.a·~,.. ·l-:'.__.',~ ··~0'---t--...- ,,,,1··1<•cl• .~.. .)....' . ••e·,·cc•rt-l~·~y.1:- .;._.o. . !.... - •,tt•c~11 ~~S~-- •i0c1]~ ~'---~---~- (\PU-"·• ~ ~· 23, p~ior tc previous quo·te). Iago then becomes a ~rejection of Othello 1 s mind, and the Devil. becomes a projection of Bro·vm. 1 s; these projections appear as the embodiment of forces that threaten the ideals of i:he heroes. For Brown, these forces become a conflict between his self-assertion and his religious loyalty, between his curiosity to know and his satisfaction with his society as it seems, and eventually between his rigid intolerance of man as evil and his acceptance of man as containing both good and evil. These forces not only assume the poetic shape of Devil, but on a more realistic level they become many devils, that is, to Goodman Brown (and to Othello), everyone becomes a Devil. Othello and ihn:st anci Hrown reject the "vital. sen·· sibility that links man i11 in~i.mate joyful contact with all arour.d" (.'I.PP; p. 225). And once this rejection has become appa.nmt, then" is a "fierce impatience :for the fulfilment o:t.. ru1n·, ., c·;--.. PP.. , p. 228). We are reminded of Brown's demonic ravings· in. the .fv.t~:st. Tt'J'he sense of demonic possession t.~.t..:crs itseJ.~:,J' Sd.fS Bcdkiil, ni::llrvugh the imag...::ry o:Z thG 1coml>Ulsive course' of vy·ind or 1,vater [or fire]n (AP.P, p. 228-229). We are reminded of the howling wind, the ·r·\·r-:. · .,.,.,·c •t 1 ~1 ·l ····· ·[:·cr' ·-· ...... ,. ,~ po·~ d -·~-~_:, d ..' '--ilC .y1Jcl. lC::ro-. J.~:>1.lle St,n.no.s .. J . .:·e be·t~recn hei.ght and depth, between the Divi.nc and the De·vi1.i.sh, swung forward and upwa1·d in refJ.ec ("r.t: 1 ·:--.r,,r,•• ~- ,_,_.., ,i !. ..l·._,,a-c~·lna··tioJ- hi•• •';J ·- -· 1 .:;.... -~··nl·'-'r::.Y·,·ald ~. v v ~ .) ·- T'·l'lac-...... J ~:> v} hnrlod. • . v B7 back and downward in expression of individual limitation ~nd the restraining censure of the whole upon the part (APP, p. 245). Swung downward, Goodman Bro,,m 1 s journey ends in tragedy. He finds "deep within himself, devilish enmity and betrayal, and .. [is) 'hurled hea.dlong' to individual ruin" (APP, p. 245). In this tale we get, a tra'.>ec1v0 ., of the human situa- tion. The hero falls off the f!.rchetypal "wheel··of-fortune:• He allows himself to see only the darker side of the human situation--he himself also personifies that dark side. Perha?S in Frye 1 s My1;hos the Devil fi.gure may appeaT to be a pure metaphoric correspondence of Satan. But he is also a displacement o.f the evil within Goodman BrO\m, And Brmm htm.self become-:; a displac:cd. .5atan. He becomes both Faust and Mephistopheles, Othello and Iago, Milton's Satan as hero and as Devil. Hawthorne's Brown provides a composite picture within the tradition of literature of the Fallen Man, a man for whom there is no Rebi:rt}l. 1 We· have seen in. Frye~ s l Theo:cy oi Mythosn a struc- tllre :..:[~le.·.:; in a. Lot a 1 c0r1cept of literature. The str·!Jsture has enabJ.ed tls to see the va~.·ic·ty of Hawthorne's c;·eativity witl1in several narra·· tive arcl1ctypal patte~ns. No matter what pattern Hawthorne 1 t J\i-::..,, "'")""'·~··t:~·rn<::l- (,1,,_ \:;:. <• ._ -~l'--~~-'i"J.ll~·t'tl,_ \, ~ ~ .$-0\,.. t'-··n~~l•v 'llllc"h·':'!J·lu·i--·t:r, .-.!,~~ ._-,·-11~ '\V(Jt'".Let Of demOltiC 88 and Satan we~e not always totally demoni~, they somehow pointed up man's da~ker side, The addition of Maud Bodkin's observations on the Satan figure so important in "Young Goodman Brown" complemented Frye's theory of tragedy, because Frye himself seldom refers to Satan as an archetype, emphasizing, rather, types of characters as defined by Aristotle. CONCLUSION We have seen that despite Hawthorne's predilection for hearth-fire, his negative uses of fire have been gen- erally mere original and more complex. These negative fires, called hell-fire have occurred as creative similes and of Biblical Hell-fire, the latter accompani,"d by a Satan figure. D.i.scussion of these kinds of fi7P as literary Rrchetypes have not only illuminated Ha~~horne's wcrks a~ they appear within our literary tradition, but have also related the works to our 1 common s:i.tuation, a .reward.ir.g., · ~f of·cen unsett.ling 1 ex~erience. SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY Arvin, Newton. American Pantheon. Eels. , Danie J. Aaron and Sylvan Schen(Her:---r~elv-York: Delacorte Press, 1966. Asi.mov, Isaac. Ac:im.ov's Guide to the Bible. 2 vols. ::::arden City, --[\f~·:-r--:-i5oubleCfay an2l-co-:-~-Inc., 1969. Bachelard, Gastor1. The Psychoanalysi-s of Fire. Trans., Alan c. M. Ross .--J)os1:o'i'1:-Beacon Pres·s-;1964, Baym, Nina. "The Head, the Heart, and. the Unpardonable Sin." ~~ew Er~gland Quart~rly:, 40 (1967), :n--47. Bell, .Millicent. "Ha>"thorne' s 'Fire-Worship': Interpreta Brown, Herbert Ross. The Sentimental Novel in America -~ 7 ~2__::.J s CQ. Durham·,-·;r:-·c-:-:--Duke-:ui:iTver 5 ity,--·Pre s s ,--194 o. 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London: The Hanlyn Publishing G1~oup·;--:c:ca·:·;-T1l'rlf~--- Fogle, Richard Harter. Hawthorne's Fiction: The Light and 6 ''" t" h~<,;' LD• 1' •,.t~, 1.N',-l 1·m···1"<.-~. ,_, orr:;--;·--·Jn·t'1'\, .• \l.t, l .. •re-r~::--l··ct-c:-;-·-rl\ ;::. )' . l'· ·QT--1A a- 1.\.o,lu;!<1~--;:-;-:;·- Pres s~--T9 52. Univexsity Frazerj Sir Ja1nes George .. The Myths of the Origin of F~re. London: Macmillan and c:-o--:;-r.t:c:r:--;--rfr30-.----- . The New Golden Bough: A New Abridgment of the ------.Classic . ------·;r-·------"------,------Work. Ea., Theodor H. Gaster, New York; .,----,,--- · ur;--:;·1----1--.-~ - - T 1 o 59 ,':). L1. ,_'fl .....l}•~, LllC~, ..---., fJ·.r:y<;_~ 1 ~lor+:hr.t'p. -I'1.'1nce ton: f-I<-H-I t.horhe) Nathar. ie 1.. Tilt") ~.entena ry EJ.i tion of the Works o :f N a. than i E' 1 l·ta 1-vt. h o rTlC-:---·If(fS.-~---yv:r~·C[f[lffi-l:11il.iVa t-;--e-~1 . 3-voTi-i:-----c:o~Lu]iihu~s-,--75T1To: Ohio University Press, 19:5?., 19(i0, l972. The Complet~.:: ~'-'"ctks of Nar:};_ani(:_1_ Hal.-:_r-Ci·lo·rne. [j., .... --cer_:,-y.-t~ c Fa:c:: c·rl·s-- r-;~--fE l~~1-()-~----·---~c3·-----~-C5I·s·:- ---;~- o s·:co·;:l· ·~:J.ri·~rl·Te:~r Yo-rk : Bought)'\, :vt:i.Li'J in .rnd Co., 1882-18,11. i-{offriJ..a, D:l.n~~---l.. I\n:'rr; and Fable in I\nt2::·i~:c~n Ficti,)n. New v__ ·'"'- ·"f" k • '1 ;r -f {"\ :-ct r;-:,=;--~-~·r;_:: ..r-- Z.: ~· -t·.;:;;---·"Tf.:..--e-s.... -~ --- · ··L--iJ h ' .... · ------· · ··· -· · ·---· -~·'••" \.•... "' -... ,\,_, •.-•---••/ I,J . .r•-.J . .-.,:;. }c-hn. 91 Kaufmann, U. iVIi:Lo. TlJ.~:.._Pl1gri_J_I!~s Progres~ An_d Trad}.tion::;_ ir. Puritan Meditation. New Haven Rnd London; Yale Dnivers1ty.,.Press, T96.6. Kluger, Rivkah Scharf. Satan i~ the Old Testament, Trans., Hildegard ND.ge l Evanston: Northwestern U:iiTveTs i ty Press, 1967. Knight, G. Wilson. The Christian Renaissance: With Inter pretations of Dant·e-;-s!liiKespeare and -Goetl1e and New- Discussl:ons·- oi~ ·-oscar Wilde an:cltl18Gosne·:ror-Tfhemes. ire..;-~'{or:k7 ----w.--·w-:--Norton ana Co,, Inc-.--;-·nro2~----- Lunblad, Jane, t'~tha~_iel_HawtlJ.orn~__ ,l_!J.d_~~_::-opean Litera:rY. Tradition. Essays and Studies on Americau Language and rFt':oraT\)re, VoL VI. Cambridge; Harvard University Press, 19'1-'7. Mac!'herson, Hvgo. Ha~·;thorr,~ as Myth-r•!aker: -~tudz_in Im.o.g:ination~ Toronto: Urnversity of Toronto Press, 1969.-.------ Martin, Terence, Nathaniel Hawthorne. New York: Twane Publishers, 19~------ Morgan, EdmundS. Thc Puritan Family: Religion and Domes tic Relations in-SevenfE,eri"th-Ceritury Ne·w E·nft;:1u;r:--·si"d -_,------::;-,·_------·-·-c--··-·----·----- 8(1, NeH Yor.": Harper and Row, 1966, M•1rdock, Kenneth B. Literature and Theology in Colonial New Eng 1 a:n. Ct ,. c c.mFr'ICil,;e:·---rrar' v a r d 1J .u veTSity-1)n;-5 s , -· 194.-g-_ ·~-- Rlppo- P:r.-az, Mario. The Rom::m t: ic Agony. Trans,. , Angus Davidson. Cleveland :G-i:G--i'!f;w-Yor:'i<::-·rhe World Publishing Co. , 195 6 .. Rudwin~ _Maximilian. Tbe Dev'il in Legend and Literature. :'·,--_("Jl P. -~ 19 7 1' r~-~-t--... - ?\•. 1o8 1'r \T0_y."'"'f:-"·~--)\-~:-~,·~'-··r)7);-t:.~-_:--·T;'""C--_,-()'"'/ (! ...,~~ ... u.!' .J? r-~ v~ 1 ~·K • .~,t'•.) 1.·.,,-:.>~~ ..~ . .~..!. • .,, ...~..~ v. Smith, D8.Vi.d E, John Bunyan iE America, Bloomington: Indiana University-P':res-s-;-1966-.---- Stein, Wi 11 iam Bys she. Hm·:thorne 's Faust: A Study of the Devil Ar.chetype_. [n~e:-;-r:-An:hon Booh-;-nrii~ •. Ste1vard Randal.l, ed, "Introduction," The American Note Books, by Nathaniel Hawthorne. NewHaveii:--'l'ale-Unf vei·sJ.ty Press, 1932. Ne11· Haven; Tromp, Nicb.olas J. E.£im.:i!i_"-.(O c~.r~cc_q:I_ions_0.:...f'.'C. Turner, Arlin. "Hawthorne's Literary Borr-ow:i.ngs." _!'MI,A, 4 (1936), 543-62 0 Wagenknecht, Edward. Nathania I Flawthox·ne; Man and Writer. New YoTic OxfoTd Univnsity Pross·-,1951.-----·------ Zi:Ff, Larze:r. Pur.itanism in America: Net·: Culture in a Ne1-r world. -I'Tew-York::--vn<:-fr!if'-P':i·es·s-;---I9T:r~------