Concord, Massachusetts, the town in which Henry David Thoreau was born and where he would spend most of his life, had, in the first half of the nineteenth century, a population of about two thousand. It was primarily an agricultural community, although manufacturing was on the increase, as it was everywhere. The train would reach Concord around the same time Thoreau moved to Walden Pond in 1845. Famous for its part in the American Revolution, Concord was the place where, as Emerson put it, “the shot heard round the world” was fired just under forty-one years before Thoreau was born.
Ralph Waldo Emerson had moved to Concord in 1834. Stories vary slightly as to how and when he and Thoreau became acquainted, but by October 22, 1837, Emerson, who had published his influential book Nature the year before, was showing a keen interest in the recent Harvard graduate, asking the questions that prompted the first entry in Thoreau’s two-million-word Journal: “What are you doing now? . . . Do you keep a journal?”
As their friendship progressed, Emerson became ever more anticipatory of what Thoreau would accomplish, and although he recognized that all the fine souls have a flaw which defeats every expectation they excite, he also found that “to have awakened a great hope in another, is already some fruit is it not?” Even in the early days Emerson exacted high expectations of what he had hoped to discover in Thoreau. Henry David, for his part, was ready to embrace what Emerson had to offer.
Initially their connection was of that of mentor and student, but as Thoreau came into his own, not just as a writer, but as an individual who could not, or would not, be considered merely an Emerson disciple, their relationship suffered a strain. While Emerson demanded something greater, had an expectation that could not be fulfilled, Thoreau was trying to establish his own voice, a voice of defiant self-reliance that asked, “If I am not I, who will be?" Fortunately, they both managed to realign and adjust. The new friendship that developed was more equal and respectful. Fifteen years after Thoreau’s death Emerson’s admiration continued to grow. He considered Thoreau a superior genius, and said that he read his books and manuscripts always with new surprise at the range of his topics and the novelty and depth of his thought. He desrcibed him as "[a] man of large reading, of quick perception, of great practical courage and ability,—who grew greater every day . . . had his short life been prolonged would have found few equals to the power and wealth of his mind.”
As it turned out, it is only the first, and relatively short, part of SOLID SEASONS that tells the story of the two eminent men's friendship. The rest of the book is editor Jeffrey S. Cramer's well-arranged compilation of Thoreau's and Emerson's musings on friendship in general. According to Henry David, friendship was the “unspeakable joy and blessing that results to two or more individuals who from constitution sympathize.” The essence of friendship, Ralph Waldo said, was “entireness, a total magnanimity and trust.”
Thoreau thought of friendship as of something evanescent in every man’s experience and remembered like "heat lightning in past summers." Always the solitary odd man, he compared friends to fair floating isles of palms "eluding the mariner in Pacific seas," warning that there are many dangers, such as coral reefs and equinoctial gales, ere he may venture too close to the island. Then, rather wryly, he concludes that "[t]o say that a man is your Friend, means commonly no more than this, that he is not your enemy." Yet, paradoxically, he seems to believe in friendship, describing friends as special ones who feed and clothe our spirits just as neighbors are kind enough to do to our bodies.
"We want but two or three friends, but these we cannot do without, and they serve us in every thought we think," wrote Emerson. He found good the friendship that began "on sentiment" and proceeded into mutual convenience and alternation of great benefits. For him friendship meant constant communication — actions, gifts, conversations that would keep his friends' influence over him whole. Truth for him was the highest ideal: "If we, dear friends, shall arrive at speaking the truth to each other we shall not come away as we went. We shall be able to bring near and give away to each other the love and power of all the friends who encircle each of us, and that society which is the dream of each shall stablish itself in our midst, and the fable of Heaven be the fact of God."
Emerson never lost an opportunity to read Thoreau’s works to others. At one gathering he was asked to read something, Shakespeare was suggested, but he collected a whole set of accounts of Thoreau from his old books and read them instead. In October of 1878 Anne Burrows Gilchrist, the English writer and friend of Walt Whitman, visited Concord for a brief period, spending two evenings in the company of the seventy-five-year-old Emerson and his family. She wrote that "his memory fails somewhat as to recent names and topics," but "all the mental impressions that were made when he was in full vigour remain clear and strong." As they chatted, Emerson called to his wife, Lidian, in the next room, “What was the name of my best friend?”
“Henry Thoreau,” she answered.
“Oh, yes,” Emerson repeated. “Henry Thoreau.”
SOLID SEASONS is, before everything else, a touching work that casts the beautiful friendship of those two prominent writers in a soft, poetic light. It will prove to be an interesting read for anyone intrigued by Thoreau, by Emerson, or by them both. After all, they influenced each other profoundly — and nowadays it is almost impossible to imagine the one without the other. Emerson's words — "I . . . have had what the Quakers call “a solid season,” once or twice" — ring the most loudly when Thoreau muses in Walden, "There was one other with whom I had “solid seasons,” long to be remembered, at his house in the village . . ."