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TANGLEWOOD TALES
TANGLEWOOD TALES
by NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE
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TANGLEWOOD TALES
THE WAYSIDE。
INTRODUCTORY。
A short time ago； I was favored with a flying visit from my young
friend Eustace Bright； whom I had not before met with since quitting the
breezy mountains of Berkshire。 It being the winter vacation at his college；
Eustace was allowing himself a little relaxation； in the hope； he told me； of
repairing the inroads which severe application to study had made upon his
health； and I was happy to conclude； from the excellent physical condition
in which I saw him； that the remedy had already been attended with very
desirable success。 He had now run up from Boston by the noon train；
partly impelled by the friendly regard with which he is pleased to honor
me； and partly； as I soon found； on a matter of literary business。
It delighted me to receive Mr。 Bright； for the first time； under a roof；
though a very humble one； which I could really call my own。 Nor did I fail
（as is the custom of landed proprietors all about the world） to parade the
poor fellow up and down over my half a dozen acres； secretly rejoicing；
nevertheless； that the disarray of the inclement season； and particularly the
six inches of snow then upon the ground； prevented him from observing
the ragged neglect of soil and shrubbery into which the place had lapsed。 It
was idle； however； to imagine that an airy guest from Monument
Mountain； Bald Summit； and old Graylock； shaggy with primeval forests；
could see anything to admire in my poor little hillside； with its growth of
frail and insect…eaten locust trees。 Eustace very frankly called the view
from my hill top tame； and so； no doubt； it was； after rough； broken；
rugged； headlong Berkshire； and especially the northern parts of the
county； with which his college residence had made him familiar。 But to me
there is a peculiar； quiet charm in these broad meadows and gentle
eminences。 They are better than mountains； because they do not stamp and
stereotype themselves into the brain； and thus grow wearisome with the
same strong impression； repeated day after day。 A few summer weeks
among mountains； a lifetime among green meadows and placid slopes；
with outlines forever new； because continually fading out of the memory
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such would be my sober choice。
I doubt whether Eustace did not internally pronounce the whole thing a
bore； until I led him to my predecessor's little ruined； rustic summer house；
midway on the hillside。 It is a mere skeleton of slender； decaying tree
trunks； with neither walls nor a roof； nothing but a tracery of branches and
twigs； which the next wintry blast will be very likely to scatter in
fragments along the terrace。 It looks； and is； as evanescent as a dream； and
yet； in its rustic network of boughs； it has somehow enclosed a hint of
spiritual beauty； and has become a true emblem of the subtile and ethereal
mind that planned it。 I made Eustace Bright sit down on a snow bank；
which had heaped itself over the mossy seat； and gazing through the
arched windows opposite； he acknowledged that the scene at once grew
picturesque。
〃Simple as it looks；〃 said he； 〃this little edifice seems to be the work of
magic。 It is full of suggestiveness； and； in its way； is as good as a cathedral。
Ah； it would be just the spot for one to sit in； of a summer afternoon； and
tell the children some more of those wild stories from the classic myths！〃
〃It would； indeed；〃 answered I。 〃The summer house itself； so airy and
so broken； is like one of those old tales； imperfectly remembered； and
these living branches of the Baldwin apple tree； thrusting so rudely in； are
like your unwarrantable interpolations。 But； by the by； have you added any
more legends to the series； since the publication of the 'Wonder…Book'？〃
〃Many more；〃 said Eustace； 〃Primrose； Periwinkle； and the rest of
them； allow me no comfort of my life unless I tell them a story every day
or two。 I have run away from home partly to escape the importunity of
these little wretches！ But I have written out six of the new stories； and
have brought them for you to look over。〃
〃Are they as good as the first？〃 I inquired。
〃Better chosen； and better handled；〃 replied Eustace Bright。 〃You will
say so when you read them。〃
〃Possibly not；〃 I remarked。 〃I know from my own experience； that an
author's last work is always his best one； in his own estimate； until it quite
loses the red heat of composition。 After that； it falls into its true place；
quietly enough。 But let us adjourn to my study； and examine these new
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stories。 It would hardly be doing yourself justice； were you to bring me
acquainted with them； sitting here on this snow bank！〃
So we descended the hill to my small； old cottage； and shut ourselves
up in the south…eastern room； where the sunshine comes in； warmly and
brightly； through the better half of a winter's day。 Eustace put his bundle of
manuscript into my hands； and I skimmed through it pretty rapidly； trying
to find out its merits and demerits by the touch of my fingers； as a veteran
story…teller ought to know how to do。
It will be remembered that Mr。 Bright condescended to avail himself
of my literary experience by constituting me editor of the 〃Wonder…Book。〃
As he had no reason to complain of the reception of that erudite work by
the public； he was now disposed to retain me in a similar position with
respect to the present volume； which he entitled TANGLEWOOD TALES。
Not； as Eustace hinted； that there was any real necessity for my services as
introducer； inasmuch as his own name had become established in some
good degree of favor with the literary world。 But the connection with
myself； he was kind enough to say； had been highly agreeable； nor was he
by any means desirous； as most people are； of kicking away the ladder that
had perhaps helped him to reach his present elevation。 My young friend
was willing； in short； that the fresh verdure of his growing reputation
should spread over my straggling and half…naked boughs； even as I have
sometimes thought of training a vine； with its broad leafiness； and purple
fruitage； over the worm…eaten posts and rafters of the rustic summer house。
I was not insensible to the advantages of his proposal； and gladly assured
him of my acceptance。
Merely from the title of the stories I saw at once that the subjects were
not less rich than those of the former volume； nor did I at all doubt that Mr。
Bright's audacity （so far as that endowment might avail） had enabled him
to take full advantage of whatever capabilities they offered。 Yet； in spite of
my experience of his free way of handling them； I did not quite see； I
confess； how he could have obviated all the difficulties in the way of
rendering them presentable to children。 These old legends； so brimming
over with everything that is most abhorrent to our Christianized moral
sense some of them so hideous； others so melancholy and miserable； amid
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which the Greek tragedians sought their themes； and moulded them into
the sternest forms of grief that ever the world saw； was such material the
stuff that children's playthings should be made of！ How were they to be
purified？ How was the blessed sunshine to be thrown into them？
But Eustace told me that these myths were the most singular things in
the world； and that he was invariably astonished； whenever he began to
relate one； by the readiness with which it adapted itself to the childish
purity of his auditors。 The objectionable