Concord Rebel: A Life of Henry D. Thoreau

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Text originally published in 1962 under the same title.

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Publisher’s Note

Although in most cases we have retained the Author’s original spelling and grammar to authentically reproduce the work of the Author and the original intent of such material, some additional notes and clarifications have been added for the modern reader’s benefit.

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CONCORD REBEL

A LIFE OF HENRY D. THOREAU

BY

AUGUST DERLETH

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Contents

TABLE OF CONTENTS 3

MAP 4

DEDICATION 7

FOREWORD 8

ACKNOWLEDGMENT 9

CHAPTER 1—If I Knew How It Began... 10

CHAPTER 2—First Love 17

CHAPTER 3—A Singular Character 26

CHAPTER 4—A Place of His Own 37

CHAPTER 5—Journey to Maine 45

CHAPTER 6—Cape Cod and Concord 55

CHAPTER 7—Action from Principle 63

CHAPTER 8—Walden 73

CHAPTER 9—Surveyor of Concord 81

CHAPTER 10—The Language of the Fields 92

CHAPTER 11—Conformity Is Death 101

CHAPTER 12—...I Would Know Better How It Would End 110

AFTERWORD 118

BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 119

ABOUT THE AUTHOR 120

REQUEST FROM THE PUBLISHER 122

MAP

DEDICATION

For

WALTER HARDING

who has earned the gratitude of Thoreauvians

throughout the world...

FOREWORD

The single business of Henry Thoreau, during forty-odd years of eager activity, was to discover an economy calculated to provide a satisfying life.

VERNON L. PARRINGTON

Main Currents in American Thought

IT is seldom in the history of mankind that a writer, generally ignored in his lifetime—one whose work has been dismissed by critics and largely gone unread by the public in his own time—should achieve many years after his death an eminent place among the leading writers of his country and among the most influential writers in the world.

Henry David Thoreau was such a writer.

Yet Thoreau was a rebel against the commonly held social credos of his time, a profoundly religious man who; had signed off, as he put it, from his church, a rigid disciplinarian and believer in order who had denied the authority of the state, a poet whose preferred medium of expression was prose, an exponent of freedom of thought in a society which followed the contemporary patterns in popular thought—and valued what Thoreau scorned—material success.

His work is the testament of his rebellion, from Walden, which has become the companion of thousands, to Civil Disobedience, which was the inspiration of Mahatma Gandhi and other liberal leaders throughout the world.

His life was not one of physical action, but of adventure in the domain of his mind. He found his occasions in himself, as he said, and in so doing he achieved the distinction of being the only man of leisure in Concord, Massachusetts, because the work he did was less visible to his fellow-citizens than the labor of a ditch-digger. Writing was his business, he said, and he walked abroad in the environs of his native place to see what I have caught in my traps, which I set for facts.

Thoreau’s vision is one which ought to make an irresistible appeal to the young. No mentally alive young man or woman can read Walden and come away from it willing to accept readily the common conventions of the world or the shabby goals set for the mass of men by their materialistic society. The cost of a thing is the amount of what I call life which is required to be exchanged for it, he wrote, and he went his way through life determined to exact the most from every moment at the least cost in living, and this, despite his limitations—for he was a bachelor, and he made his sacrifices only for himself, which is considerably easier than making sacrifices which might involve dependents in deprivations—he did.

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

GRATEFUL acknowledgment is made to Houghton Mifflin Company, as the authorized publishers of the works of Henry D. Thoreau, for permission to quote at will from The Writings of Henry D. Thoreau; and to the New York University Press, for permission to do likewise from The Correspondence of Henry D. Thoreau, edited by Walter Harding and Carl Bode, as well as to the owners of previously unpublished letters appearing for the first time in that book.

CHAPTER 1—If I Knew How It Began...

I came into this world, not chiefly to make this a good place to live in, but to live in it, be it good or bad.—WALDEN

THERE was little in Henry David Thoreau’s background and youth to foretell his course in life. He was born July 12, 1817, at his Grandmother Minott’s farm on the old Virginia road not far outside Concord, of French-Huguenot and Scottish-Quaker ancestry. When he was baptized three months later by Dr. Ezra Ripley, the leading divine of Concord, he was named David Henry Thoreau, and so he was called until he chose to reverse his given names when he was twenty, at about the time he was graduated from Harvard.

His father was John Thoreau, born in 1787 in Boston. His mother was Cynthia Dunbar, born in the same year in Keene, New Hampshire, the daughter of the Reverend Asa Dunbar. Henry had an older sister, Helen, an older brother, John, and was yet to have a younger sister, Sophia. His father, following the family tradition, had learned storekeeping in Salem and Concord before going into business on borrowed money. He had failed in business, and at the time of Henry’s birth the family was quite poor even by the standards of 1817.

Thoreau’s earliest years were unsettled because of his father’s attempts to establish himself. His father tried his hand at various enterprises. For a while he farmed for his mother-in-law, but he was ill-suited to farming. He next tried keeping a store at Chelmsford, but he failed at this, too, and he turned to keeping a school in Boston, but he had little talent for teaching. He then tried to become a salesman, directing his attention to the Indians who were still to be found in various places throughout New England. This proved so unrewarding that finally, in 1823, when Henry was six, he moved back to Concord and set himself up as a pencil-maker, at which he presently made a modest success.

The Thoreaus were a closely-knit family of lifelong duration. John was a relatively grave man who said very little. He stood somewhat shorter than his wife, and had a tendency toward deafness. He was not prepossessing, but likable, and was far more studious than his wife. Mrs. Thoreau was lively and bustling, with an inclination toward gayety. She was a kindly, shrewd woman, who could sometimes make sharp observations about her fellow-citizens, though she was not in any sense mean and she was very much liked. She loved to talk, and soon had the reputation of being the biggest talker in all Concord. She was also a great reader, much given to sentiment and emotion, and capable of very strong opinions, particularly on such subjects as slavery, to which she was strongly opposed.

Concord was at this time—and remained for most of Thoreau’s life—a village of something less than two thousand inhabitants, though the country men who lived in the surrounding township of Concord brought the total population to a little over that figure. It was a typical New England village, one of tree-naved streets lined with white painted houses—as well as some which were not painted at all. There was a village square just past rows of shops put up on a one-time mill dam along a brook. It was a village weighted with ministers at the one end of the social scale, and tavern-keepers at the other. Its most substantial citizens during most of Thoreau’s life were Samuel Hoar, the lawyer who owned the most imposing house in the village, and the Reverend Ezra Ripley, pastor of Concord’s First Parish, Congregational.

It was a village open to the country on all sides, and the country, so easy of access, was singularly beautiful, not any longer as wild as it had been in the years of Concord’s founding over a century and a half before, but still offering the walker in its precincts sight and sound of many a wild creature, furred and feathered. It was a country of little rivers—the Musketaquid or Grassgrown River—the meadow stream, the Sudbury, flowing into the Assabet—which, together, made up the Concord River on its way through marshes and meadows toward the Merrimack. The rivers were bounded by low, glaciated hills, among which were lakes and swamps—one of them, on the way to Cambridge, a pleasant, tree-girt lake named Walden, which charmed Thoreau even as a child. It was a country of pine and hardwood trees, of maple and spruce swamps, of huckleberry and cranberry stands, of knolls like Fair Haven, from which the eye fell upon Wachusett, a small mountain standing solitary in the landscape, and Monadnock.

Except for isolated journeys and his Harvard years, Thoreau’s life was bounded by Concord village and town, by Walden and Fair Haven and the rivers. In this setting he spent a boyhood like most boyhoods in New England villages. He drove the cow to pasture, ran barefooted, went fishing—sometimes of nights beside a blazing bonfire to attract the bullheads in Walden Pond—hunted a little, though he abandoned this relatively early in life, and flourished in the aura of his affectionate family. He could hardly help, as a boy, being somewhat dominated by women, for not only was his mother clearly the dominant force in the Thoreau household, but the regular boarders which the Thoreaus took in were all women, not the least among them being Aunt Louisa Dunbar, who joined the household when Grandmother Minott died.

Despite a good sense of humor and easy gregariousness, Thoreau was a grave boy. His gravity earned him the nickname of Judge, bestowed upon him by no less a local eminence than Samuel Hoar. He soon grew interested in books and learning. He began to go to school in Boston, but he subsequently attended Concord grammar school. He wrote his first essay, The Seasons, at the age of ten; it offered no startling clue to what he was to do later in life and demonstrated only that he had a well-organized mind, a love of nature, and an ability to write, none of which was unusual among alert children. He had already developed a boy’s affection for the countryside and an inclination toward solitude though this was not an indication of the pursuits of his maturity, however much it may seem to have presaged his later life. In his mature years, he referred to his early years in glowing terms, writing in his Journal, My life was ecstasy.

Following grammar school, Thoreau prepared for Harvard at the Concord Academy, which offered courses in Latin, Greek, and French, and where he could learn music and dancing as well. Either here—or from his lively Uncle Charles Dunbar, who led a roving, carefree existence, and of whom Thoreau was very fond—he first learned to play the flute, which was ever afterward to remain part of his life. Certainly here he learned to dance, which was hardly necessary for entry to Harvard.

He was ready for Harvard at sixteen. There was scarcely enough money at home to send Thoreau there, though his father could help pay his expenses. By this time Thoreau’s sister Helen had begun to teach, and offered to help; so did his aunts. With this support, and sharing the beneficiary funds offered by Harvard to worthy and needy students, Thoreau went to Cambridge in August, 1833, and was entered at Harvard on September 1.

He roomed at Hollis Hall throughout his Harvard years, sometimes alone, sometimes with a roommate. His meals at commons cost him $1.35 a week. Having not yet signed off from his church, he attended chapel; he did not wear the required black, but went in a green homespun coat because he did not own and could not afford a black one.

He studied the classics under Professor Felton and Jones Very, a poet who also tutored him. He took rhetoric under Professor Edward Tyrrell Channing, from whose exacting requirements it took Thoreau some time to escape. He was primarily interested in the classics, mastering Greek and Latin early, though he also studied mathematics and, by means of books from the Harvard library, science. Since he knew French, he may also have studied this language at Harvard, and he took an informal course in German at which Henry Wadsworth Longfellow talked about German literature with an informality which, combined with Longfellow’s wine-colored waistcoats, very probably left Thoreau cold.

He stood close to the top of his class, but he went his own way too much to reach the top. He made few friends, though there were brief friendships—A. G. Peabody, Henry Vose, Charles Wyatt Rice—evidence of which exists in letters, but none of these was a lasting friendship. One of his classmates, John Weiss, remembered Thoreau at Harvard in a reminiscence-review published in The Christian Examiner, July, 1865.

"He would smile to overhear that word (career) applied to the reserve and unaptness of his college life. He was not signalized by a plentiful distribution of the parts and honors which fall to the successful student....We could sympathize with his tranquil indifference to college honors, but we did not suspect the fine genius that was developing under that impassive demeanor. Of his private tastes there is little of consequence to recall, excepting that he was devoted to the old English literature, and had a good many volumes of the poetry from Gower and Chaucer down through the era of Elizabeth.…

"But he passed for nothing, it is suspected, with most of us; for he was cold and unimpressible. The touch of his hand was moist and indifferent, as if he had taken up something when he saw your hand coming, and caught your grasp upon it. How the prominent, gray-blue eyes seemed to rove down the path, just in advance of his feet, as his grave Indian stride carried him down to University Hall! This down-looking habit was Chaucer’s also, who walked as if a great deal of surmising went on between the earth and him...

"He did not care for people; his classmates seemed very remote. This reverie hung always about him, and not so loosely as the odd garments which the pious household care furnished. Thought had not yet awakened his countenance; it was serene, but rather dull, rather plodding. The lips were not yet firm; there was almost a look of smug satisfaction lurking round their corners.

...The nose was prominent, but its curve fell forward without firmness over the upper lip...Yet his eyes were sometimes searching, as if he had dropped, or expected to find, something. It was the look of Nature’s own child learning to detect her wayside secrets.…

"Thoreau was always indisposed to call at the ordinary places for his spiritual refreshment; and he went farther than most persons when apparently he did not go so far...

But he had no animal spirits for our sport or mischief.

Thoreau was not at home at Harvard as he was in Concord, nor did he make much effort to be. He had come to study. He showed no interest in any of the literary groups or social sets which then flourished at Harvard. He did not contribute to the Harvardiana. He appeared to prefer—if not outright solitude—at least obscurity, though he happily accepted the friendship of Charles Stearns Wheeler, one of the promising scholars at Harvard, and went camping with him. Yet he was not lonely, however much alone he was.

He was happy with the library. He read Virgil, Cicero, The Greek Reader, Adam’s Latin Grammar, Horace, Demosthenes, Roman Antiquities, Greek Exercises, Seneca, Euripides, Homer—he read, in fact, all the classics he could get his hands on. To some extent, that reading—and the rhetoric he was taught—was reflected in the themes he wrote for his Harvard classes. Of more than fifty, he saved thirty essays; they were on such topics as Punishment, The Morality of Lying, The Simple Style, The Superior and the Common Man, and, curiously, Shall We Keep Journals? Yet in his last year at Harvard, he indicated the direction of his thoughts when he wrote in Conformity in Things Unessential that duty consisted in conformity to the dictates of an inward arbiter....Mere conformity to another’s habits or customs is never, properly speaking, a duty....The fear of displeasing the world ought not in the least to influence my actions.

Thoreau was not in unbroken attendance during his four years at Harvard. It was the custom of Harvard to allow needy students one leave of absence to earn money. In December, 1835, Thoreau took his leave. He was then 18, and he planned to earn money by teaching. He taught in Canton, Massachusetts, for a period of six weeks, and at Canton stayed with the Reverend Orestes A. Brownson. Brownson was not quite twice Thoreau’s age. His own children were in the Canton school, and it was Brownson who examined Thoreau for the position and who recommended him to the board of education.

Brownson was an extraordinarily vital man, hardly the ideal model of a country minister. His mind was ever searching; he was seldom contented with any situation, and he was turning more and more toward the socialist ideal, with a kind of infectious enthusiasm. He was hungry for any new idea and had an idealistic notion of helping labor in his support of the Workingmen’s Party. He had only recently gone into the ministry in the Unitarian church, then a great force for intellectual growth within a socio-moral frame. It was perhaps inevitable that something of his enthusiasm would rub off on to Thoreau.

At the time of their introduction to each other, Brownson was studying German. Thoreau joined him in this—perhaps not alone because Brownson was doing it, but because Carlyle, in whose writings Thoreau had developed a strong interest, had done so. In the course of this study Thoreau listened to a flow of ideas the like of which