Hawthorne, Nathaniel | The author's last letter

Hawthorne, Nathaniel, and Franklin Pierce

Note signed ("Sincerely yours, Nath’ Hawthorne") purportedly being his final autograph, subscribed to a note written by his friend and classmate Franklin Pierce

One page (127 x 94 mm) on a bifolium of wove paper, May 1864; significantly browned from its portfolio (as is the verso of the integral blank), tiny chip to upper right corner, the leaves separated at central fold. Housed in a black morocco portfolio gilt, black moiré silk linings, black ribbon tie.

Hawthorne’s final letter.

“Mr. Hawthorne is quite unable to write an autograph of any length, but he will sign his name to this note. Sincerely yours, Nath’ Hawthorne.”

By 1864, Nathaniel Hawthorne had achieved great success as a novelist, short story writer, and sometimes-biographer. Through Twice-Told Tales (1837), The Scarlet Letter (1850), The House of Seven Gables (1851), and a host of others, Hawthorne came to be regarded as one of the finest authors the United States had ever produced. 

Nathaniel Hawthorne was a shy freshman at Bowdoin College when he met Franklin Pierce, a popular and gregarious sophomore. Despite the differences in their temperaments—or, perhaps because of these—the two became fast and lifelong friends. So, when Pierce was nominated for president, Hawthorne was the obvious choice to pen his campaign biography. Hawthorne was more than happy to oblige, and dropped everything to write, The Life of Franklin Pierce (1852). When Pierce was elected, he appointed his friend Consul at Liverpool, then the most the most lucrative post in the American foreign service. Beyond such professional favors, Hawthorne and Pierce cultivated a deep and intimate connection. Hawthorne’s anagram for Pierce was “Princlie Frank,” a name intended to signal his unwavering kindness. Indeed, at the funeral of Pierce’s wife Jane in 1863, Pierce purportedly leaned over to Hawthorne and pulled up the collar of his coat, attempting to protect his ailing friend from the fierce wind.

Hawthorne’s healthy steadily declined, greatly impeding his writing. By 1864, he was complaining of chronic stomach pain, and believed a trip to the White Mountains with his good friend Pierce would be restorative. Bronson Alcott, Hawthorne’s neighbor (and father of Louisa May Alcott), thought such a scheme was ill-advised, and worried for the wellbeing of his friend who was decidedly frail. Still, Hawthorne and Pierce set off for the mountains. The two shared a hotel room, in Plymouth, New Hampshire, and on 19 May 1864, Pierce found Hawthorne had died in the middle of the night. In a moving letter to his sister, the former president described the event:

At about 9 o’clock Hawthorne retired, & soon fell into a quiet slumber. He changed his position in about half an hour, but continued to sleep. I retired before 11 thinking that he would have a quiet night, I awoke between 1 & 2 o[‘]clock and went to his bed side…I returned to my bed, but waking between 3 & 4 o’clock I was surprised to observe that his position was unchanged[,] and placing my hand upon his temple found that life was extinct.

Hawthorne’s death devastated Pierce. Indeed, he spent his remaining years drinking excessively while rereading Hawthorne’s books. The New York Time had a slightly more positive view on Hawthorne’s passing, in his obituary writing: “HAWTHORNE, in his sudden and comparatively early death, was saved the most awful of miseries that can befall the aspirant for permanent renown — that of seeing the honor and glory of youth extinguished in his own presence.”

The present letter stands as an extraordinary relic of a giant of American literature. It’s composition also bears witness to Hawthorne and Pierce’s deep and enduring friendship.

A remarkable survival.

REFERENCES: 

"Nathaniel Hawthorne," in The New York Times, 20 May 1864, p. 4

 


Provenance:Property from the Collection of Grace Phillips Johnson