MOSSES FROM AN OLD MANSE

 By Nathaniel Hawthorne

 THE HALL OF FANTASY

It has happened to me, on various occasions, to find myselfin a certain edifice which would appear to have some of thecharacteristics of a public exchange. Its interior is a spacioushall, with a pavement of white marble. Overhead is a lofty dome, supported by long rows of pillars of fantastic architecture, theidea of which was probably taken from the Moorish ruins of theAlhambra, or perhaps from some enchanted edifice in the Arabiantales. The windows of this hall have a breadth and grandeur ofdesign and an elaborateness of workmanship that have nowhere beenequalled, except in the Gothic cathedrals of the Old World. Liketheir prototypes, too, they admit the light of heaven only throughstained and pictured glass, thus filling the hall with many-coloredradiance and painting its marble floor with beautiful or grotesquedesigns; so that its inmates breathe, as it were, a visionaryatmosphere, and tread upon the fantasies of poetic minds. Thesepeculiarities, combining a wilder mixture of styles than even anAmerican architect usually recognizes as allowable, --Grecian, Gothic, Oriental, and nondescript, --cause the whole edifice to givethe impression of a dream, which might be dissipated and shatteredto fragments by merely stamping the foot upon the pavement. Yet, with such modifications and repairs as successive ages demand, theHall of Fantasy is likely to endure longer than the most substantialstructure that ever cumbered the earth. 

It is not at all times that one can gain admittance into thisedifice, although most persons enter it at some period or other oftheir lives; if not in their waking moments, then by the universalpassport of a dream. At my last visit I wandered thither unawareswhile my mind was busy with an idle tale, and was startled by thethrong of people who seemed suddenly to rise up around me. 

"Bless me! Where am I?" cried I, with but a dim recognition of theplace. 

"You are in a spot, " said a friend who chanced to be near at hand, "which occupies in the world of fancy the same position which theBourse, the Rialto, and the Exchange do in the commercial world. All who have affairs in that mystic region, which lies above, below, or beyond the actual, may here meet and talk over the business oftheir dreams. "

"It is a noble hall, " observed I. 

"Yes, " he replied. "Yet we see but a small portion of the edifice. In its upper stories are said to be apartments where the inhabitantsof earth may hold converse with those of the moon; and beneath ourfeet are gloomy cells, which communicate with the infernal regions, and where monsters and chimeras are kept in confinement and fed withall unwholesomeness. "

In niches and on pedestals around about the hall stood the statuesor busts of men who in every age have been rulers and demigods inthe realms of imagination and its kindred regions. The grand oldcountenance of Homer; the shrunken and decrepit form but vivid faceof AEsop; the dark presence of Dante; the wild Ariosto; Rabelais'ssmile of deep-wrought mirth, the profound, pathetic humor ofCervantes; the all-glorious Shakespeare; Spenser, meet guest for anallegoric structure; the severe divinity of Milton; and Bunyan, moulded of homeliest clay, but instinct with celestial fire, --werethose that chiefly attracted my eye. Fielding, Richardson, andScott occupied conspicuous pedestals. In an obscure and shadowyniche was deposited the bust of our countryman, the author of ArthurMervyn. 

"Besides these indestructible memorials of real genius, " remarked mycompanion, "each century has erected statues of its own ephemeralfavorites in wood. "

"I observe a few crumbling relics of such, " said I. "But ever andanon, I suppose, Oblivion comes with her huge broom and sweeps themall from the marble floor. But such will never be the fate of thisfine statue of Goethe. "

"Nor of that next to it, --Emanuel Swedenborg, " said he. "Were evertwo men of transcendent imagination more unlike?"

In the centre of the hall springs an ornamental fountain, the waterof which continually throws itself into new shapes and snatches themost diversified lines from the stained atmosphere around. It isimpossible to conceive what a strange vivacity is imparted to thescene by the magic dance of this fountain, with its endlesstransformations, in which the imaginative beholder may discern whatform he will. The water is supposed by some to flow from the samesource as the Castalian spring, and is extolled by others as unitingthe virtues of the Fountain of Youth with those of many otherenchanted wells long celebrated in tale and song. Having nevertasted it, I can bear no testimony to its quality. 

"Did you ever drink this water?" I inquired of my friend. 

"A few sips now and then, " answered he. "But there are men here whomake it their constant beverage, --or, at least, have the credit ofdoing so. In some instances it is known to have intoxicatingqualities. "

"Pray let us look at these water-drinkers, " said I. 

So we passed among the fantastic pillars till we came to a spotwhere a number of persons were clustered together in the light ofone of the great stained windows, which seemed to glorify the wholegroup as well as the marble that they trod on. Most of them weremen of broad foreheads, meditative countenances, and thoughtful, inward eyes; yet it required but a trifle to summon up mirth, peeping out from the very midst of grave and lofty musings. Somestrode about, or leaned against the pillars of the hall, alone andin silence; their faces wore a rapt expression, as if sweet musicwere in the air around them, or as if their inmost souls were aboutto float away in song. One or two, perhaps, stole a glance at thebystanders, to watch if their poetic absorption were observed. Others stood talking in groups, with a liveliness of expression, aready smile, and a light, intellectual laughter, which showed howrapidly the shafts of wit were glancing to and fro among them. 

A few held higher converse, which caused their calm and melancholysouls to beam moonlight from their eyes. As I lingered near them, --for I felt an inward attraction towards these men, as if thesympathy of feeling, if not of genius, had united me to theirorder, --my friend mentioned several of their names. The world haslikewise heard those names; with some it has been familiar foryears; and others are daily making their way deeper into theuniversal heart. 

"Thank Heaven, " observed I to my companion, as we passed to anotherpart of the hall, "we have done with this techy, wayward, shy, proudunreasonable set of laurel-gatherers. I love them in their works, but have little desire to meet them elsewhere. "

"You have adopted all old prejudice, I see, " replied my friend, whowas familiar with most of these worthies, being himself a student ofpoetry, and not without the poetic flame. "But, so far as myexperience goes, men of genius are fairly gifted with the socialqualities; and in this age there appears to be a fellow-feelingamong them which had not heretofore been developed. As men, theyask nothing better than to be on equal terms with their fellow-men;and as authors, they have thrown aside their proverbial jealousy, and acknowledge a generous brotherhood. "

"The world does not think so, " answered I. "An author is receivedin general society pretty much as we honest citizens are in the Hallof Fantasy. We gaze at him as if he had no business among us, andquestion whether he is fit for any of our pursuits. "

"Then it is a very foolish question, " said he. "Now, here are aclass of men whom we may daily meet on 'Change. Yet what poet inthe hall is more a fool of fancy than the sagest of them?"

He pointed to a number of persons, who, manifest as the fact was, would have deemed it an insult to be told that they stood in theHall of Fantasy. Their visages were traced into wrinkles andfurrows, each of which seemed the record of some actual experiencein life. Their eyes had the shrewd, calculating glance whichdetects so quickly and so surely all that it concerns a man ofbusiness to know about the characters and purposes of his fellow-men. Judging them as they stood, they might be honored and trustedmembers of the Chamber of Commerce, who had found the genuine secretof wealth and whose sagacity gave them the command of fortune. 

There was a character of detail and matter of fact in their talkwhich concealed the extravagance of its purport, insomuch that thewildest schemes had the aspect of everyday realities. Thus thelistener was not startled at the idea of cities to be built, as ifby magic, in the heart of pathless forests; and of streets to belaid out where now the sea was tossing; and of mighty rivers to bestayed in their courses in order to turn the machinery of a cotton-mill. It was only by an effort, and scarcely then, that the mindconvinced itself that such speculations were as much matter offantasy as the old dream of Eldorado, or as Mammon's Cave, or anyother vision of gold ever conjured up by the imagination of needypoet or romantic adventurer. 

"Upon my word, " said I, "it is dangerous to listen to such dreamersas these. Their madness is contagious. "

"Yes, " said my friend, "because they mistake the Hall of Fantasyfor actual brick and mortar, and its purple atmosphere forunsophisticated sunshine. But the poet knows his whereabout, andtherefore is less likely to make a fool of himself in real life. "

"Here again, " observed I, as we advanced a little farther, "we seeanother order of dreamers, peculiarly characteristic, too, of thegenius of our country. "

These were the inventors of fantastic machines. Models of theircontrivances were placed against some of the pillars of the hall, and afforded good emblems of the result generally to be anticipatedfrom an attempt to reduce day-dreams to practice. The analogy mayhold in morals as well as physics; for instance, here was the modelof a railroad through the air and a tunnel under the sea. Here wasa machine--stolen, I believe--for the distillation of heat frommoonshine; and another for the condensation of morning mist intosquare blocks of granite, wherewith it was proposed to rebuild theentire Hall of Fantasy. One man exhibited a sort of lens whereby hehad succeeded in making sunshine out of a lady's smile; and it washis purpose wholly to irradiate the earth by means of this wonderfulinvention. 

"It is nothing new, " said I; "for most of our sunshine comes fromwoman's smile already. "

"True, " answered the inventor; "but my machine will secure aconstant supply for domestic use; whereas hitherto it has been veryprecarious. "

Another person had a scheme for fixing the reflections of objects ina pool of water, and thus taking the most life-like portraitsimaginable; and the same gentleman demonstrated the practicabilityof giving a permanent dye to ladies' dresses, in the gorgeous cloudsof sunset. There were at least fifty kinds of perpetual motion, oneof which was applicable to the wits of newspaper editors and writersof every description. Professor Espy was here, with a tremendousstorm in a gum-elastic bag. I could enumerate many more of theseUtopian inventions; but, after all, a more imaginative collection isto be found in the Patent Office at Washington. 

Turning from the inventors we took a more general survey of theinmates of the hall. Many persons were present whose right ofentrance appeared to consist in some crotchet of the brain, which, so long as it might operate, produced a change in their relation tothe actual world. It is singular how very few there are who do notoccasionally gain admittance on such a score, either in abstractedmusings, or momentary thoughts, or bright anticipations, or vividremembrances; for even the actual becomes ideal, whether in hope ormemory, and beguiles the dreamer into the Hall of Fantasy. Someunfortunates make their whole abode and business here, and contracthabits which unfit them for all the real employments of life. Others--but these are few--possess the faculty, in their occasionalvisits, of discovering a purer truth than the world call impartamong the lights and shadows of these pictured windows. 

And with all its dangerous influences, we have reason to thank Godthat there is such a place of refuge from the gloom and chillness ofactual life. Hither may come the prisoner, escaping from his darkand narrow cell and cankerous chain, to breathe free air in thisenchanted atmosphere. The sick man leaves his weary pillow, andfinds strength to wander hither, though his wasted limbs might notsupport him even to the threshold of his chamber. The exile passesthrough the Hall of Fantasy to revisit his native soil. The burdenof years rolls down from the old man's shoulders the moment that thedoor uncloses. Mourners leave their heavy sorrows at the entrance, and here rejoin the lost ones whose faces would else be seen nomore, until thought shall have become the only fact. It may besaid, in truth, that there is but half a life--the meaner andearthier half--for those who never find their way into the hall. Nor must I fail to mention that in the observatory of the edifice iskept that wonderful perspective-glass, through which the shepherdsof the Delectable Mountains showed Christian the far-off gleam ofthe Celestial City. The eye of Faith still loves to gaze throughit. 

"I observe some men here, " said I to my friend, "who might set up astrong claim to be reckoned among the most real personages of theday. "

"Certainly, " he replied. "If a man be in advance of his age, hemust be content to make his abode in this hall until the lingeringgenerations of his fellow-men come up with him. He can find noother shelter in the universe. But the fantasies of one day are thedeepest realities of a future one. "

"It is difficult to distinguish them apart amid the gorgeous andbewildering light of this ball, " rejoined I. "The white sunshine ofactual life is necessary in order to test them. I am rather apt todoubt both men and their reasonings till I meet them in thattruthful medium. "

"Perhaps your faith in the ideal is deeper than you are aware, " saidmy friend. "You are at least a democrat; and methinks no scantyshare of such faith is essential to the adoption of that creed. "

Among the characters who had elicited these remarks were most of thenoted reformers of the day, whether in physics, politics, morals, orreligion. There is no surer method of arriving at the Hall ofFantasy than to throw one's-self into the current of a theory; for, whatever landmarks of fact may be set up along the stream, there isa law of nature that impels it thither. And let it be so; for herethe wise head and capacious heart may do their work; and what isgood and true becomes gradually hardened into fact, while errormelts away and vanishes among the shadows of the ball. Thereforemay none who believe and rejoice in the progress of mankind be angrywith me because I recognized their apostles and leaders amid thefantastic radiance of those pictured windows. I love and honor suchmen as well as they. 

It would be endless to describe the herd of real or self styledreformers that peopled this place of refuge. They were therepresentatives of an unquiet period, when mankind is seeking tocast off the whole tissue of ancient custom like a tattered garment. Many of then had got possession of some crystal fragment of truth, the brightness of which so dazzled them that they could see nothingelse in the wide universe. Here were men whose faith had embodieditself in the form of a potato; and others whose long beards had adeep spiritual significance. Here was the abolitionist, brandishinghis one idea like an iron flail. In a word, there were a thousandshapes of good and evil, faith and infidelity, wisdom and nonsense, --a most incongruous throng. 

Yet, withal, the heart of the stanchest conservative, unless heabjured his fellowship with man, could hardly have helped throbbingin sympathy with the spirit that pervaded these innumerabletheorists. It was good for the man of unquickened heart to listeneven to their folly. Far down beyond the fathom of the intellectthe soul acknowledged that all these varying and conflictingdevelopments of humanity were united in one sentiment. Be theindividual theory as wild as fancy could make it, still the wiserspirit would recognize the struggle of the race after a better andpurer life than had yet been realized on earth. My faith revivedeven while I rejected all their schemes. It could not be that theworld should continue forever what it has been; a soil whereHappiness is so rare a flower and Virtue so often a blighted fruit;a battle-field where the good principle, with its shield flung aboveits head, can hardly save itself amid the rush of adverseinfluences. In the enthusiasm of such thoughts I gazed through oneof the pictured windows, and, behold! the whole external world wastinged with the dimly glorious aspect that is peculiar to the Hallof Fantasy, insomuch that it seemed practicable at that very instantto realize some plan for the perfection of mankind. But, alas! ifreformers would understand the sphere in which their lot is castthey must cease to look through pictured windows. Yet they not onlyuse this medium, but mistake it for the whitest sunshine. 

"Come, " said I to my friend, starting from a deep revery, "let ushasten hence, or I shall be tempted to make a theory, after whichthere is little hope of any man. "

"Come hither, then, " answered he. "Here is one theory that swallowsup and annihilates all others. "

He led me to a distant part of the hall where a crowd of deeplyattentive auditors were assembled round an elderly man of plain, honest, trustworthy aspect. With an earnestness that betokened thesincerest faith in his own doctrine, he announced that thedestruction of the world was close at hand. 

"It is Father Miller himself!" exclaimed I. 

"No less a man, " said my friend; "and observe how picturesque acontrast between his dogma and those of the reformers whom we havejust glanced at. They look for the earthly perfection of mankind, and are forming schemes which imply that the immortal spirit will beconnected with a physical nature for innumerable ages of futurity. On the other hand, here comes good Father Miller, and with one puffof his relentless theory scatters all their dreams like so manywithered leaves upon the blast. "

"It is, perhaps, the only method of getting mankind out of thevarious perplexities into which they have fallen, " I replied. "Yet Icould wish that the world might be permitted to endure until somegreat moral shall have been evolved. A riddle is propounded. Whereis the solution? The sphinx did not slay herself until her riddlehad been guessed. Will it not be so with the world? Now, if itshould be burned to-morrow morning, I am at a loss to know whatpurpose will have been accomplished, or how the universe will bewiser or better for our existence and destruction. "

"We cannot tell what mighty truths may have been embodied in actthrough the existence of the globe and its inhabitants, " rejoined mycompanion. "Perhaps it may be revealed to us after the fall of thecurtain over our catastrophe; or not impossibly, the whole drama, inwhich we are involuntary actors, may have been performed for theinstruction of another set of spectators. I cannot perceive thatour own comprehension of it is at all essential to the matter. Atany rate, while our view is so ridiculously narrow and superficialit would be absurd to argue the continuance of the world from thefact that it seems to have existed hitherto in vain. "

"The poor old earth, " murmured I. "She has faults enough, in allconscience, but I cannot hear to have her perish. "

"It is no great matter, " said my friend. "The happiest of us hasbeen weary of her many a time and oft. "

"I doubt it, " answered I, pertinaciously; "the root of human naturestrikes down deep into this earthly soil, and it is but reluctantlythat we submit to be transplanted, even for a higher cultivation inheaven. I query whether the destruction of the earth would gratifyany one individual, except perhaps some embarrassed man of businesswhose notes fall due a day after the day of doom. "

Then methought I heard the expostulating cry of a multitude againstthe consummation prophesied by Father Miller. The lover wrestledwith Providence for his foreshadowed bliss. Parents entreated thatthe earth's span of endurance might be prolonged by some seventyyears, so that their new-born infant should not be defrauded of hislifetime. A youthful poet murmured because there would be noposterity to recognize the inspiration of his song. The reformers, one and all, demanded a few thousand years to test their theories, after which the universe might go to wreck. A mechanician, who wasbusied with an improvement of the steam-engine, asked merely time toperfect his model. A miser insisted that the world's destructionwould be a personal wrong to himself, unless he should first bepermitted to add a specified sum to his enormous heap of gold. Alittle boy made dolorous inquiry whether the last day would comebefore Christmas, and thus deprive him of his anticipated dainties. In short, nobody seemed satisfied that this mortal scene of thingsshould have its close just now. Yet, it must be confessed, themotives of the crowd for desiring its continuance were mostly soabsurd, that unless infinite Wisdom had been aware of much betterreasons, the solid earth must have melted away at once. 

For my own part, not to speak of a few private and personal ends, Ireally desired our old mother's prolonged existence for her own dearsake. 

"The poor old earth!" I repeated. "What I should chiefly regret inher destruction would be that very earthliness which no other sphereor state of existence can renew or compensate. The fragrance offlowers and of new-mown hay; the genial warmth of sunshine, and thebeauty of a sunset among clouds; the comfort and cheerful glow ofthe fireside; the deliciousness of fruits and of all good cheer; themagnificence of mountains, and seas, and cataracts, and the softercharm of rural scenery; even the fast-falling snow and the grayatmosphere through which it descends, --all these and innumerableother enjoyable things of earth must perish with her. Then thecountry frolics; the homely humor; the broad, open-mouthed roar oflaughter, in which body and soul conjoin so heartily! I fear thatno other world call show its anything just like this. As for purelymoral enjoyments, the good will find them in every state of being. But where the material and the moral exist together, what is tohappen then? And then our mute four-footed friends and the wingedsongsters of our woods! Might it not be lawful to regret them, evenin the hallowed groves of paradise?"

"You speak like the very spirit of earth, imbued with a scent offreshly turned soil, " exclaimed my friend. 

"It is not that I so much object to giving up these enjoyments on myown account, " continued I, "but I hate to think that they will havebeen eternally annihilated from the list of joys. "

"Nor need they be, " he replied. "I see no real force in what yousay. Standing in this Hall of Fantasy, we perceive what even theearth-clogged intellect of man can do in creating circumstanceswhich, though we call them shadowy and visionary, are scarcely moreso than those that surround us in actual life. Doubt not then thatman's disembodied spirit may recreate time and the world for itself, with all their peculiar enjoyments, should there still be humanyearnings amid life eternal and infinite. But I doubt whether weshall be inclined to play such a poor scene over again. "

"O, you are ungrateful to our mother earth!" rejoined I. "Come whatmay, I never will forget her! Neither will it satisfy me to haveher exist merely in idea. I want her great, round, solid self toendure interminably, and still to be peopled with the kindly race ofman, whom I uphold to be much better than he thinks himself. Nevertheless, I confide the whole matter to Providence, and shallendeavor so to live that the world may come to an end at any momentwithout leaving me at a loss to find foothold somewhere else. "

"It is an excellent resolve, " said my companion, looking at hiswatch. "But come; it is the dinner-hour. Will you partake of myvegetable diet?"

A thing so matter of fact as an invitation to dinner, even when thefare was to be nothing more substantial than vegetables and fruit, compelled us forthwith to remove from the Hall of Fantasy. As wepassed out of the portal we met the spirits of several persons whohad been sent thither in magnetic sleep. I looked back among thesculptured pillars and at the transformations of the gleamingfountain, and almost desired that the whole of life might be spentin that visionary scene where the actual world, with its hardangles, should never rub against me, and only be viewed through themedium of pictured windows. But for those who waste all their daysin the Hall of Fantasy, good Father Miller's prophecy is alreadyaccomplished, and the solid earth has come to an untimely end. Letus be content, therefore, with merely an occasional visit, for thesake of spiritualizing the grossness of this actual life, andprefiguring to ourselves a state in which the Idea shall be all inall.