Why Hawthorne was Melancholy: The “Lost Clew” Explained, Part II

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Ah! who shall lift that wand of magic power,
And the lost clew regain?
The unfinished window in Aladdin’s tower
Unfinished must remain.

                 – Henry Wadsworth Longfellow


Hawthorne

“I should roughly define the first spirit in Puritanism thus. It was a refusal to contemplate God or goodness with anything lighter or milder than the most fierce concentration of the intellect. A Puritan meant originally a man whose mind had no holidays. To use his own favourite phrase, he would let no living thing come between him and his God; an attitude which involved eternal torture for him and a cruel contempt for all the living things. It was better to worship in a barn than in a cathedral for the specific and specified reason that the cathedral was beautiful. Physical beauty was a false and sensual symbol coming in between the intellect and the object of its intellectual worship. The human brain ought to be at every instant a consuming fire which burns through all conventional images until they were as transparent as glass”.

– G. K. Chesterton, George Bernard Shaw (Kindle Locations 349-353).




Troubled by characters who are stereotypes and a plot which seemed contrived as a result, Hawthorne found, in James’s words, “the purest touch of inspiration”[2] in the scenes in The Marble Faun which show Hilda, “strenuous daughter of the Puritans as she is” entering the confessional “in which the poor girl deposits her burden” of vicarious guilt,[3] emerging “not a whit less a Puritan than before.”[4] Hawthorne found that “the practice of confession in the Catholic Church” appealed to him even more strongly than the Catholic use of religious pictures “so violently discarded by the Puritans” who were determined to ignore “the devotional part of our nature.” Hawthorne claimed that “The nail-marks in the hands and feet of Jesus, ineffaceable, even after He had passed into bliss and glory, touched my heart with a sense of His love for us.”[5]

Hawthorne was attracted to the confessional long before he arrived in Rome. “According to James Russell Lowell, it had been Hawthorne’s intention in The Scarlet Letter to have the guilt-tortured Dimmesdale make his confession to a priest. Lowell wrote to Miss Jane Norton on June 12, 1860: “I have seen Hawthorne twice. . . . He is writing another story. He said also that it had been part of his plan in “The Scarlet Letter” to make Dimmesdale confess himself to a Catholic priest. I, for one, am sorry he didn’t. It would have been psychologically admirable.”[6]

Hawthorne dealt with the psychological and physiological damage that Calvinism’s repudiation of sacramental confession had wrought in the New England soul as well as its need for surrogates in The Scarlet Letter when:

Chillingworth reopens the Inquisition by proposing a diagnosis of his patient’s health. “You would tell me, then, that I know all? . . . He to whom only the outward and physical evil is laid open, knoweth, oftentimes, but half the evil which he is called upon to cure. A bodily disease, which we look upon as whole and entire within itself, may, after all, be but a symptom of some ailment in the spiritual part.”

“Then I need ask no further,” said the clergyman, somewhat hastily rising from his chair. “You deal not, I take it, in medicine for the soul!”

“Thus, a sickness,” continued Roger Chillingworth ... “a sickness, a sore place, if we may so call it, in your spirit, hath immediately its appropriate manifestation in your bodily frame. Would you not, therefore, that your physician heal the bodily evil?”[7]

Hawthorne resisted Chillingworth’s invitation in Salem, but did Hawthorne resist the same temptation in Rome? Randall Stewart claims that Hawthorne’s interest in sacramental confession “steadily increased” with time, and, “gaining strength to overcome an inherited reluctance, found ultimate expression in The Marble Faun.”[8] Fairbanks concludes that in the final analysis:

Hawthorne did not fully comprehend its sacramental character in the Catholic sense. True, he did not look upon confession as many a modern psychiatrist looks upon it, as a therapeutic release merely of psychoses and repressions. For Hawthorne, as for the Church, effective confession involved acceptance of responsibility for evil committed. But it was still largely a natural process of psychological readjustment, minus any intervention of supernatural absolution through the agency of a confessor. Like Goethe before him, Hawthorne recognized an urgent need for confession rooted in human nature. But that very “insulation” of exaggerated individualism against which he had struggled and written all his life complicated his acceptance of the necessity of a priest-mediator between God and man.[9]

Jesuits are lurking in the background, seeking to ensnare Hilda with the illusions generated by beauty, but the art of St. Peter’s Basilica overcomes Hilda’s misgivings and leads her to the confessional. Hilda finds the Catholic faith irresistible, not because of the craft of the Jesuits, but because it “so marvelously adapts itself to every human need” primarily through its art, which:

supplies a multitude of external forms, in which the Spiritual may be clothed and manifested; it has many painted windows, as it were, through which the celestial sunshine, else disregarded, may make itself gloriously perceptible in visions of beauty and splendour. There is no one want or weakness of human nature, for which Catholicism will own itself without a remedy; cordials, certainly, it possesses in abundance, and sedatives, in inexhaustible variety, and what may once have been genuine medicaments, though a little the worse for long keeping.[10]

Hilda is scandalized because the Italian artists portray the Blessed Virgin as “the flattered portrait of an earthly beauty,”[11] but when she observes “how closely and comfortingly the Popish faith applied itself to all human occasions,”[12] attracting those “who would find none at all in our own formless mode of worship,”[13] she changes her mind, concluding Catholic art revealed the crippled nature of the Protestant soul. Watching a young man standing before a shrine, “writhing, wringing his hands, contorting his whole frame, in an agony of remorseful recollection,” but finally kneeling down “to weep and pray,”[14] Hilda is forced to conclude, “If this youth had been a Protestant,” like Hawthorne, perhaps, “he would have kept all that torture pent up in his heart, and let it burn there till it seared him into indifference.”[15]

Faced with beauty of this magnitude, Hawthorne is forced to set aside his petulant provincialism and surrender himself to the basilica’s undeniable aesthetic power:

Lillian Gish in The Scarlet Letter, 1926

The pavement! It stretched out illimitably, a plain of many-coloured marble, where thousands of worshippers might kneel together, and shadowless angels tread among them without brushing their heavenly garments against those earthly ones. The roof! The Dome! Rich, gorgeous, filled with sunshine, cheerfully sublime, and fadeless after centuries, those lofty depths seemed to translate the heavens to mortal comprehension, and help the spirit upward to a yet higher and wider sphere. Must not the Faith, that built this matchless edifice, and warmed, illuminated, and overflowed from it, include whatever can satisfy human aspirations, at the loftiest, or minister to human necessity at the sorest! If Religion had a material home, was it not here![16]

Beauty has led Kenyon to the transcendent realm and placed him in the presence of the divine. Moved to pray before Guido’s portrait of St. Michael the Archangel, Hilda dips her fingers into the holy water font and “almost signed the cross upon her breast, but forebore and trembled” because “She felt as if her mother’s spirit, somewhere within the Dome, were looking down upon her child, the daughter of Puritan forefathers, and weeping to behold her ensnared by these gaudy superstitions.”[17]



The Confessional

Sacred art prepared Hilda to approach the confessional. Overwhelmed by the sense that Guido Reni “had done a great thing, not merely for the Church of Rome, but for the cause of Good,”[18] by portraying St. Michael the Archangel, Hilda suddenly:

found herself kneeling before the shrine, under the ever-burning lamp that throws its ray upon the Archangel’s face. She laid her forehead on the marble steps before the altar and sobbed out a prayer; she hardly knew to whom, whether Michael, the Virgin, or the Father; she hardly knew for what, save only a vague longing, that thus the burthen of her spirit might be lightened a little. In an instant, she snatched herself up, as it were, from her knees, all a-throb with the emotions which were struggling to force their way out of her heart by the avenue that had so nearly been opened for them. Yet there was a strange sense of relief won by that momentary, passionate prayer; a strange joy, moreover, whether for what she had done, or for what she had escaped doing, Hilda could not tell. But she felt as one half-stifled, who has stolen a breath of air. [19]

Sacred art propelled Hilda to the southern transept of St. Peter’s, where she found “a number of confessionals” which resembled “small tabernacles of carved wood, with a closet for the priest in the centre, and, on either side, a space for a penitent to kneel, and breathe his confession through a perforated auricle into the good Father’s ear.”[20] Hilda was immediately:

impressed with the infinite convenience (if we may use so poor a phrase) of the Catholic religion to its devout believers. . . . Who, in truth, that considers the matter, can resist a similar impression! In the hottest fever-fit of life, they can always find, ready for their need, a cool, quiet, beautiful place of worship. They may enter its sacred precincts, at any hour, leaving the fret and trouble of the world behind them, and purifying themselves with a touch of holy-water at the threshold. In the calm interiour, fragrant of rich and soothing incense, they may hold converse with some Saint, their awful, kindly friend. And, most precious privilege of all, whatever perplexity, sorrow, guilt, may weigh upon their souls, they can fling down the dark burthen at the foot of the Cross, and go forth—to sin no more, nor be any longer disquieted—but to live again in the freshness and elasticity of innocence![21]

Propelled by the same beauty which earlier impressed Kenyon, Hilda overcomes her ethnocentrism and goes to confession. When Hilda found the Confessional marked “Pro Anglica Lingua” she entered as “if she had heard her mother’s voice from within the tabernacle, calling her, in her own mother-tongue, to come and lay her poor head in her lap, and sob out all her troubles.”[22] Finding relief “with sobs, tears, and the turbulent overflow of emotion too long repressed,” Hilda “poured out the dark story which had infused its poison into her innocent life. . . . Thus assisted, she revealed the whole of her terrible secret!”[23]

Hilda fulfilled, in other words, the original plan which Hawthorne had in mind for The Scarlet Letter. Unable to bring Dimmesdale to the confessional, Hawthorne brought Hilda, that “Daughter of the Puritans,” there instead and had her confess to a priest who represented powers that were beyond her ken, symbolized by the fact that “Hilda had not seen, nor could she now see, the visage of the priest.” In hearing her confession, however, the English-speaking priest:

spoke soothingly; it encouraged her; it led her on by apposite questions that seemed to be suggested by a great and tender interest and acted like magnetism in attracting the girl’s confidence to this unseen friend. The priest’s share in the interview, indeed, resembled that of one who removes the stones, clustered branches, or whatever entanglements impede the current of a swollen stream. Hilda could have imagined—so much to the purpose were his inquiries—that he was already acquainted with some outline of what she strove to tell him.[24]

The unseen priest’s manner in the confessional was not something Hawthorne could have known from his experience growing up in New England. In fact, it could not have been known unless Hawthorne himself had gone to confession. James was right when he claimed that Hawthorne found “the purest touch of inspiration” in the confessional scene because in that scene Hawthorne is talking about himself and the need to confess to a priest that had been haunting him ever since he thwarted it by rewriting The Scarlet Letter to conform to the residual Puritan sensibilities of his audience. Hawthorne was always sensitive in this regard, even when he refused to bow to the pressure of public opinion as he did when he refused to remove the dedication to his friend Franklin Pierce from Our Old Home.

When the unseen priest finally emerges from the confessional, Hilda “beheld a venerable figure with hair as white as snow, and a face strikingly characterized by benevolence,”[25] who nonetheless rebukes her, by asking  “on what ground, my daughter, have you sought to avail yourself of these blessed privileges (confined exclusively to members of the one true Church) of Confession and Absolution?”[26] The priest admonishes Hilda to “come home” to the Catholic Church, but Hilda refuses by claiming that her actions are guided by a Puritan “Providence,” which sounds suspiciously like the Calvinist understanding of predestination which Hawthorne could never shake:

“Father,” said Hilda, much moved by his kindly earnestness, (in which, however, genuine as it was, there might still be a leaven of professional craft,) “I dare not come a step farther than Providence shall guide me. Do not let it grieve you, therefore, if I never return to the Confessional; never dip my fingers in holy-water; never sign my bosom with the cross. I am a daughter of the Puritans. But, in spite of my heresy,” she added, with a sweet, tearful smile, “you may one day see the poor girl, to whom you have done this great Christian kindness, coming to remind you of it, and thank you for it, in the better land!”

Hearing this, the old priest shakes his head and gives Hilda his blessing, which she received “with as devout a simplicity as any Catholic of them all.”[27] Now it’s Kenyon’s turn.  Unlike Hilda, Kenyon “seemed irresolute whether to advance or retire,”[28] even after seeing how going to confession has transformed Hilda into an angel, creatures who become beautiful because they are happy:

At all events, it was a marvellous change from the sad girl, who had entered the confessional, bewildered with anguish, to this bright, yet softened image of religious consolation that emerged from it. It was as if one of the throng of angelic people, who might be hovering in the sunny depths of the Dome, had alighted on the pavement. Indeed, this capability of transfiguration (which we often see wrought by inward delight on persons far less capable of it than Hilda) suggests how angels come by their beauty. It grows out of their happiness, and lasts forever only because that is immortal. She held out her hand; and Kenyon was glad to take it in his own, if only to assure himself that she was made of earthly material.[29]

Rose Hawthorne

Hilda found “infinite peace”[30] in the confessional, but did Hawthorne? He could not have confessed his sins in Italian or any of the other languages available in the southern transept, but Maynard tells us that while in Rome he met the model for “the only priest who can be called a character”[31] in The Marble Faun. In his diary of 1859, Hawthorne tells us that he met Father Benedict Smith, an American Benedictine monk who was then temporary president of the American College in Rome. Father Smith also “served as unofficial cicerone to most of the English-speaking visitors—especially those from the United States.”…






 

[…] This is just an excerpt from the September 2023 Issue of Culture Wars magazine. To read the full article, please purchase a digital download of the magazine, or become a subscriber!

(Endnotes Available by Request)

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[1]   Arlin Turner, Nathaniel Hawthorne, A Biography, (Oxford University Press, Printed in the United State, 1980), p. 393.

 

[2]  James, Hawthorne, p. 133

 

[3]  James, Hawthorne, p. 133

 

[4]  James, Hawthorne, p. 133

 

[5]  Maynard, A Fire Was Lighted, p. 62

 

[6]  Hawthorne and Confession Author(s): Henry G. Fairbanks Source: The Catholic Historical Review , Apr., 1957, Vol. 43, No. 1 (Apr., 1957), pp. 38-45 Published by: Catholic University of America Press Stable URL: https://www.jstor.org/stable/25016154

 

[7]  Hawthorne and Confession Author(s): Henry G. Fairbanks Source: The Catholic Historical Review , Apr., 1957, Vol. 43, No. 1 (Apr., 1957), pp. 38-45 Published by: Catholic University of America Press Stable URL: https://www.jstor.org/stable/25016154

 

[8]  Hawthorne and Confession Author(s): Henry G. Fairbanks Source: The Catholic Historical Review , Apr., 1957, Vol. 43, No. 1 (Apr., 1957), pp. 38-45 Published by: Catholic University of America Press Stable URL: https://www.jstor.org/stable/25016154

 

[9]  Vol. 43, No. 1 (Apr., 1957), pp. 38-45 Published by: Catholic University of America Press Stable URL: https://www.jstor.org/stable/25016154

 

[10]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 345

 

[11]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 347

 

[12]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 364

 

[13]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 364

 

[14]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 364

 

[15]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 347

 

[16]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 351

 

[17] 

 

[18]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 352

 

[19]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 352

 

[20]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 354

 

[21]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 354

 

[22]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 357

 

[23]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 357

 

[24]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 357

 

[25]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 358

 

[26]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 359

 

[27]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 362.

 

[28]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 363

 

[29]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 364

 

[30]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 365

 

[31] 

 

[32]  Maynard, A Fire Was Lighted, p. 94

 

[33]  Maynard, A Fire Was Lighted, p. 94

 

[34]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 366

 

[35]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 367

 

[36]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 368

 

[37]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 345

 

[38]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 344

 

[39]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 375

 

[40]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 391

 

[41]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 335

 

[42]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 335

 

[43]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 335-6.

 

[44]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 336

 

[45]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 336

 

[46]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 336

 

[47]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 338

 

[48]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 338

 

[49]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 338.

 

[50]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 339

 

[51]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 339.

 

[52]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 341

 

[53]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 338-9.

 

[54]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 340

 

[55]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 340

 

[56]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 340

 

[57]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 340

 

[58]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 340

 

[59]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 341

 

[60]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 342

 

[61]  McMichael, Concise Anthology, p. 444.

 

[62]  McMichael, Concise Anthology, p. 444.

 

[63]  Lathrop, Memories of Hawthorne, p. 421

 

[64]  Lathrop, Memories of Hawthorne, p. 433.

 

[65]  Lathrop, Memories of Hawthorne, p. 433

 

[66]  Turner, Nathaniel Hawthorne, p. 306.

 

[67]  Turner, Nathaniel Hawthorne, p. 307

 

[68]  James, Hawthorne, p. 135

 

[69]  James, Hawthorne, p. 135

 

[70]  James, Hawthorne, p. 136

 

[71]  Turner, Nathaniel Hawthorne, p. 385

 

[72]  Turner, Nathaniel Hawthorne, p. 390

 

[73]  James, Hawthorne, p. 136

 

[74]  James, Hawthorne, p. 136

 

[75]  Lathrop, Memories of Hawthorne, p. 456

 

[76]  Lathrop, Memories of Hawthorne, p. 472

 

[77]  Turner, Nathaniel Hawthorne, p. 375

 

[78]  Maynard, A Fire Was Lighted, p. 130

 

[79]  Maynard, A Fire Was Lighted, p. 51

 

[80]  Maynard, A Fire Was Lighted, p. 51

 

[81]  Maynard, A Fire Was Lighted, p. 51

 

[82]  Maynard, A Fire Was Lighted, p. 123-4.

 

[83]  Maynard, A Fire Was Lighted, p. 124

 

[84]  Maynard, A Fire Was Lighted, p. 123-4.

 

[85]  Maynard, A Fire Was Lighted, p. 130

 

[86]  Maynard, A Fire Was Lighted, p. 125

 

[87]  Maynard, A Fire Was Lighted, p. 123

 

[88]  McMichael, Concise Anthology of American Literature, p. 443.

 

[89]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 93

 

[90]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 93

 

[91]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 95

 

[92]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 95

 

[93]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 96

 

[94]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 32-3.

 

[95]  Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, p. 33

 

[96]  Valenti, To Myself a Stranger, p. 31

 

[97]  Valenti, To Myself a Stranger, p. 31

 

[98]  Turner, Nathaniel Hawthorne, p. 392

 

[99]  Turner, Nathaniel Hawthorne, p. 392

 

[100]  Turner, Nathaniel Hawthorne, p. 392

 

[101]  Turner, Nathaniel Hawthorne, p. 393

 

[102]  Turner, Nathaniel Hawthorne, p. 393

 

[103]  Lathrop, Memories of Hawthorne, p. 478

 

[104]  Lathrop, Memories of Hawthorne, p. 478

 

[105]  Lathrop, Memories of Hawthorne, p. 479

 

[106]  Valenti, To Myself a Stranger, p. 40

 

[107]  Valenti, To Myself a Stranger, p. 40

 

[108]  Valenti, To Myself a Stranger, p. 43

 

[109]  Patricia Dunlavy Valenti, To Myself a Stranger, A Biography of Rose Hawthorne Lathrop, (Louisana State University Press, Baton Rouge and London 1945), p. 45-6

 

[110]  Valenti, To Myself a Stranger, p. 48

 

[111]  Valenti, To Myself a Stranger, p. 48

 

[112]  Bird, From Witchery to Sanctity, p. 129

 

[113]  Valenti, To Myself a Stranger, p. 37.

 

[114]  Valenti, To Myself a Stranger, p. 62.

 

[115]  Valenti, To Myself a Stranger, p. 69

 

[116]  Maynard, A Fire Was Lighted, p. 244

 

[117]  Valenti, To Myself a Stranger, p. 71

 

[118]  Valenti, To Myself a Stranger, p. 101

 

[119]  Valenti, To Myself a Stranger, p. 103

 

[120] 

 

[121]  Maynard, A Fire Was Lighted, p. 241

 

[122]  Maynard, A Fire Was Lighted, p. 246

 

[123]  Maynard, A Fire Was Lighted, p. 250

 

[124]  Maynard, A Fire Was Lighted, p. 250

 

[125]  Valenti, To Myself a Stranger, p. 129

 

[126]  Valenti, To Myself a Stranger, p. 129

 

[127]  Maynard, A Fire Was Lighted, p. 246

 

[128]  Maynard, A Fire Was Lighted, p. 247

 

[129]  Maynard, A Fire Was Lighted, p. 251

 

[130]  Valenti, To Myself a Stranger, p. 148

 

[131]  Valenti, To Myself a Stranger, p. 148

 

[132]  Valenti, To Myself a Stranger, p. 145

 

[133]  Valenti, To Myself a Stranger, p. 145

 

[134]  Valenti, To Myself a Stranger, p. 145

 

[135]  Maynard, A Fire Was Lighted, p. 316

 

[136]  Bird, From Witchery to Sanctity, p. 137

 

[137]  Maynard, A Fire Was Lighted, p. 317

 

[138]  Maynard, A Fire Was Lighted, p. 317

 

[139]  Maynard, A Fire Was Lighted, p. 318

 

[140]  Bird, From Witchery to Sanctity, p. 137

 

[141]  Bird, From Witchery to Sanctity, p. 138

 

[142]  Bird, From Witchery to Sanctity, p. 139

 

[143]  Bird, From Witchery to Sanctity, p. 141

 

[144]  Bird, From Witchery to Sanctity, p. 141

 

[145]  Maynard, A Fire Was Lighted, p. 257

 

[146]  Maynard, A Fire Was Lighted, p. 258

 

[147]  Maynard, A Fire Was Lighted, p. 258

 

[148]  Maynard, A Fire Was Lighted, p. 285

 

[149]  Valenti, To Myself a Stranger, p. 133

 

[150]  Maynard, A Fire Was Lighted, p. 259

 

[151]  Valenti, To Myself a Stranger, p. 133

 

[152]  Valenti, To Myself a Stranger, p. 161

 

[153]  Bird, From Witchery to Sanctity, p. 137

 

[154]  Bird, From Witchery to Sanctity, p. 137

 

[155]  Maynard, A Fire Was Lighted, p. 261

 

[156]  Maynard, A Fire Was Lighted, p. 368

 

[157]  Maynard, A Fire Was Lighted, p. 318

 

[158]  Valenti, To Myself a Stranger, p. 146

 

[159]  Maynard, A Fire Was Lighted, p. 319

 

[160]  Valenti, To Myself a Stranger, p. 144

 

[161]  Valenti, To Myself a Stranger, p. 144

 

[162]  Maynard, A Fire Was Lighted, p. 329

 

[163]  Valenti, To Myself a Stranger, p. 138

 

[164]  Valenti, To Myself a Stranger, p. 142

 

[165]   USCCB, “Saints,” https://www.usccb.org/offices/public-affairs/saints

 

[166]  “Kenneth A. Kanczuzewski,” Legacy, https://www.legacy.com/us/obituaries/name/kenneth-kanczuzewski-obituary?id=51386421

 

[167]  McMichael, Concise Anthology, p. 444.

 

[168]  “Fluoxetine,” Wikipedia: The Free Encyclopedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fluoxetine

 

[169]  “Antidepressants and suicide risk,” Wikipedia: The Free Encyclopedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Antidepressants_and_suicide_risk