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Memoirs of Margaret Fuller Ossoli, Vol. II written by Margaret Fuller Ossoli

M >> Margaret Fuller Ossoli >> Memoirs of Margaret Fuller Ossoli, Vol. II



MEMOIRS

OF

MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI.

VOL. II.

* * * * *


Only a learned and a manly soul
I purposed her, that should with even powers
The rock, the spindle, and the shears control
Of Destiny, and spin her own free hours.

BEN JONSON


Pero che ogni diletto nostro e doglia
Sta in si e no saper, voler, potere;
Adunque quel sol puo, che col dovere
Ne trae la ragion fuor di sua soglia.

Adunque tu, lettor di queste note,
S'a te vuoi esser buono, e agli altri caro,
Vogli sempre poter quel che tu debbi.

LEONARDO DA VINCI.

BOSTON: PHILLIPS, SAMPSON AND COMPANY. MDCCCLVII.




Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851,

BY R.F. FULLER,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts

Stereotyped by
HOBART & ROBBINS;
NEW ENGLAND TYPE AND STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY;
BOSTON.




TABLE OF CONTENTS

FOR

VOLUME SECOND.

VI. JAMAICA PLAIN, _By W.H. Channing_
FIRST IMPRESSIONS
A CLUE
TRANSCENDENTALISM
GENIUS
THE DIAL
THE WOMAN
THE FRIEND
SOCIALISM
CREDO
SELF-SOVEREIGNTY

VII. NEW YORK. JOURNALS, LETTERS, &c.
LEAVING HOME
THE HIGHLANDS
WOMAN
THE TRIBUNE AND HORACE GREELEY
SOCIETY

VIII. EUROPE. LETTERS
LONDON
EDINBURGH.--DE QUINCEY
CHALMERS
A NIGHT ON BEN LOMOND
JOANNA BAILLIE.--HOWITTS.--SMITH
CARLYLE
PARIS
RACHEL
FOURIER,--ROUSSEAU
ROME
AMERICANS IN ITALY
THE WIFE AND MOTHER
THE PRIVATE MARRIAGE
AQUILA AND RIETI
CALM AFTER STORM
MARGARET AND HER PEERS
FLORENCE

IX. HOMEWARD _By W.H. Channing_
SPRING-TIME
OMENS
THE VOYAGE
THE WRECK




JAMAICA PLAIN

BY W.H. CHANNING.

* * * * *

"Quando
Lo raggio della grazia, onde s'accende
Verace amore, e che poi cresce amando,
Multiplicato in te tanto risplende,
Che ti conduce su per quella scala,
U' senza risalir nessun discende,
Qual ti negasse 'l vin della sua fiala
Por la tua sete, in liberta non fora,
Se non com' acqua oh' al mar non si cala."

DANTE.


"Weite Welt und breites Leben,
Langer Jahre redlich Streben,
Stets geforscht und stets gegruendet,
Nie geschlossen, oft geruendet,
Aeltestes bewahrt mit Treue,
Freundlich aufgefasstes Neue,
Heitern Sinn und reine Zwecke:
Nun! man kommt wohl eine Strecke."

GOETHE.


"My purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles."

TENNYSON.


"Remember how august the heart is. It contains the temple not only
of Love but of Conscience; and a whisper is heard from the
extremity of one to the extremity of the other."

LANDOR


"If all the gentlest-hearted friends I knew
Concentred in one heart their gentleness,
That still grew gentler till its pulse was less
For life than pity,--I should yet be slow
To bring my own heart nakedly below
The palm of such a friend, that he should press
My false, ideal joy and fickle woe
Out to full light and knowledge."

ELIZABETH BARRETT.




VI.

JAMAICA PLAIN

* * * * *

I.

FIRST IMPRESSIONS.


It was while Margaret was residing at Jamaica Plain, in the summer of
1839, that we first really met as friends, though for several years
previous we had been upon terms of kindest mutual regard. And, as the
best way of showing how her wonderful character opened upon me, the
growth of our acquaintance shall be briefly traced.

The earliest recollection of Margaret is as a schoolmate of my
sisters, in Boston. At that period she was considered a prodigy of
talent and accomplishment; but a sad feeling prevailed, that she had
been overtasked by her father, who wished to train her like a boy,
and that she was paying the penalty for undue application, in
nearsightedness, awkward manners, extravagant tendencies of thought,
and a pedantic style of talk, that made her a butt for the ridicule
of frivolous companions. Some seasons later, I call to mind seeing, at
the "Commencements" and "Exhibitions" of Harvard University, a girl,
plain in appearance, but of dashing air, who was invariably the centre
of a listening group, and kept their merry interest alive by sparkles
of wit and incessant small-talk. The bystanders called her familiarly,
"Margaret," "Margaret Fuller;" for, though young, she was already
noted for conversational gifts, and had the rare skill of attracting
to her society, not spirited collegians only, but men mature in
culture and of established reputation. It was impossible not to admire
her fluency and fun; yet, though curiosity was piqued as to this
entertaining personage, I never sought an introduction, but, on the
contrary, rather shunned encounter with one so armed from head to foot
in saucy sprightliness.

About 1830, however, we often met in the social circles of Cambridge,
and I began to observe her more nearly. At first, her vivacity,
decisive tone, downrightness, and contempt of conventional standards,
continued to repel. She appeared too _intense_ in expression, action,
emphasis, to be pleasing, and wanting in that _retenue_ which we
associate with delicate dignity. Occasionally, also, words flashed
from her of such scathing satire, that prudence counselled the keeping
at safe distance from a body so surcharged with electricity. Then,
again, there was an imperial--shall it be said imperious?--air,
exacting deference to her judgments and loyalty to her behests,
that prompted pride to retaliatory measures. She paid slight heed,
moreover, to the trim palings of etiquette, but swept through the
garden-beds and into the doorway of one's confidence so cavalierly,
that a reserved person felt inclined to lock himself up in his
sanctum. Finally, to the coolly-scanning eye, her friendships wore a
look of such romantic exaggeration, that she seemed to walk enveloped
in a shining fog of sentimentalism. In brief, it must candidly be
confessed, that I then suspected her of affecting the part of a Yankee
Corinna.

But soon I was charmed, unaware, with the sagacity of her sallies, the
profound thoughts carelessly dropped by her on transient topics,
the breadth and richness of culture manifested in her allusions
or quotations, her easy comprehension of new views, her just
discrimination, and, above all, her _truthfulness_. "Truth at all
cost," was plainly her ruling maxim. This it was that made her
criticism so trenchant, her contempt of pretence so quick and stern,
her speech so naked in frankness, her gaze so searching, her whole
attitude so alert. Her estimates of men, books, manners, events, art,
duty, destiny, were moulded after a grand ideal; and she was a severe
judge from the very loftiness of her standard. Her stately deportment,
border though it might on arrogance, but expressed high-heartedness.
Her independence, even if haughty and rash, was the natural action
of a self-centred will, that waited only fit occasion to prove itself
heroic. Her earnestness to read the hidden history of others was
the gauge of her own emotion. The enthusiasm that made her speech
so affluent, when measured by the average scale, was the unconscious
overflow of a poetic temperament. And the ardor of her friends'
affection proved the faithfulness of her love. Thus gradually the mist
melted away, till I caught a glimpse of her real self. We were one
evening talking of American literature,--she contrasting its boyish
crudity, half boastful, half timid, with the tempered, manly equipoise
of thorough-bred European writers, and I asserting that in its mingled
practicality and aspiration might be read bright auguries; when,
betrayed by sympathy, she laid bare her secret hope of what Woman
might be and do, as an author, in our Republic. The sketch was an
outline only, and dashed off with a few swift strokes, but therein
appeared her own portrait, and we were strangers no more.

It was through the medium of others, however, that at this time I best
learned to appreciate Margaret's nobleness of nature and principle. My
most intimate friend in the Theological School, James Freeman Clarke,
was her constant companion in exploring the rich gardens of German
literature; and from his descriptions I formed a vivid image of her
industry, comprehensiveness, buoyancy, patience, and came to honor
her intelligent interest in high problems of science, her
aspirations after spiritual greatness, her fine aesthetic taste, her
religiousness. By power to quicken other minds, she showed how living
was her own. Yet more near were we brought by common attraction toward
a youthful visitor in our circle, the untouched freshness of whose
beauty was but the transparent garb of a serene, confiding, and
harmonious soul, and whose polished grace, at once modest and naive,
sportive and sweet, fulfilled the charm of innate goodness of heart.
Susceptible in temperament, anticipating with ardent fancy the lot of
a lovely and refined woman, and morbidly exaggerating her own slight
personal defects, Margaret seemed to long, as it were, to transfuse
with her force this nymph-like form, and to fill her to glowing with
her own lyric fire. No drop of envy tainted the sisterly love,
with which she sought by genial sympathy thus to live in another's
experience, to be her guardian-angel, to shield her from contact with
the unworthy, to rouse each generous impulse, to invigorate thought
by truth incarnate in beauty, and with unfelt ministry to weave bright
threads in her web of fate. Thus more and more Margaret became
an object of respectful interest, in whose honor, magnanimity and
strength I learned implicitly to trust.

Separation, however, hindered our growing acquaintance, as we both
left Cambridge, and, with the exception of a few chance meetings in
Boston and a ramble or two in the glens and on the beaches of Rhode
Island, held no further intercourse till the summer of 1839, when, as
has been already said, the friendship, long before rooted, grew up and
leafed and bloomed.




II.

A CLUE.

* * * * *


I have no hope of conveying to readers my sense of the beauty of our
relation, as it lies in the past with brightness falling on it from
Margaret's risen spirit. It would be like printing a chapter of
autobiography, to describe what is so grateful in memory,
its influence upon one's self. And much of her inner life, as
confidentially disclosed, could not be represented without betraying
a sacred trust. All that can be done is to open the outer courts, and
give a clue for loving hearts to follow. To such these few sentences
may serve as a guide.

'When I feel, as I do this morning, the poem of existence, I
am repaid for all trial. The bitterness of wounded affection,
the disgust at unworthy care, the aching sense of how far
deeds are transcended by our lowest aspirations, pass away as
I lean on the bosom of Nature, and inhale new life from her
breath. Could but love, like knowledge, be its own reward!'

'Oftentimes I have found in those of my own sex more
gentleness, grace, and purity, than in myself; but seldom the
heroism which I feel within my own breast. I blame not those
who think the heart cannot bleed because it is so strong;
but little they dream of what lies concealed beneath the
determined courage. Yet mine has been the Spartan sternness,
smiling while it hides the wound. I long rather for the
Christian spirit, which even on the cross prays, "Father,
forgive them," and rises above fortitude to heavenly
satisfaction.'

* * * * *

'Remember that only through aspirations, which sometimes
make me what is called unreasonable, have I been enabled to
vanquish unpropitious circumstances, and save my soul alive.'

* * * * *

'All the good I have ever done has been by calling on every
nature for its highest. I will admit that sometimes I have
been wanting in gentleness, but never in tenderness, nor in
noble faith.'

* * * * *

'The heart which hopes and dares is also accessible to terror,
and this falls upon it like a thunderbolt. It can never defend
itself at the moment, it is so surprised. There is no defence
but to strive for an equable temper of courageous submission,
of obedient energy, that shall make assault less easy to the
foe.

'_This_ is the dart within the heart, as well as I can tell
it:--At moments, the music of the universe, which daily I am
upheld by hearing, seems to stop. I fall like a bird when the
sun is eclipsed, not looking for such darkness. The sense of
my individual law--that lamp of life--flickers. I am repelled
in what is most natural to me. I feel as, when a suffering
child, I would go and lie with my face to the ground, to sob
away my little life.'

* * * * *

'In early years, when, though so frank as to the thoughts of
the mind, I put no heart confidence in any human being, my
refuge was in my journal. I have burned those records of my
youth, with its bitter tears, and struggles, and aspirations.
Those aspirations were high, and have gained only broader
foundations and wider reach. But the leaves had done their
work. For years to write there, instead of speaking, had
enabled me to soothe myself; and the Spirit was often my
friend, when I sought no other. Once again I am willing to
take up the cross of loneliness. Resolves are idle, but the
anguish of my soul has been, deep. It will not be easy to
profane life by rhetoric.'

* * * * *

'I woke thinking of the monks of La Trappe;--how could they
bear their silence? When the game of life was lost for me, in
youthful anguish I knew well the desire for that vow; but if
I had taken it, my heart would have burned out my physical
existence long ago.'

* * * * *

'Save me from plunging into the depths to learn the worst, or
from being led astray by the winged joys of childish feeling.
I pray for truth in proportion as there is strength to
receive.'

* * * * *

'My law is incapable of a charter. I pass all bounds, and
cannot do otherwise. Those whom it seems to me I am to meet
again in the Ages, I meet, soul to soul, now. I have no
knowledge of any circumstances except the degree of affinity.'

* * * * *

'I feel that my impatient nature needs the dark days. I would
learn the art of limitation, without compromise, and act out
my faith with a delicate fidelity. When loneliness becomes too
oppressive, I feel Him drawing me nearer, to be soothed by
the smile of an All-Intelligent Love. He will not permit
the freedom essential to growth to be checked. If I can give
myself up to Him, I shall not be too proud, too impetuous,
neither too timid, and fearful of a wound or cloud.'




III.

TRANSCENDENTALISM.

* * * * *


The summer of 1839 saw the full dawn of the Transcendental movement in
New England. The rise of this enthusiasm was as mysterious as that
of any form of revival; and only they who were of the faith
could comprehend how bright was this morning-time of a new hope.
Transcendentalism was an assertion of the inalienable integrity of
man, of the immanence of Divinity in instinct. In part, it was a
reaction against Puritan Orthodoxy; in part, an effect of renewed
study of the ancients, of Oriental Pantheists, of Plato and the
Alexandrians, of Plutarch's Morals, Seneca and Epictetus; in part, the
natural product of the culture of the place and time. On the somewhat
stunted stock of Unitarianism,--whose characteristic dogma was trust
in individual reason as correlative to Supreme Wisdom,--had been
grafted German Idealism, as taught by masters of most various
schools,--by Kant and Jacobi, Fichte and Novalis, Schelling and Hegel,
Schleiermacher and De Wette, by Madame de Stael, Cousin, Coleridge,
and Carlyle; and the result was a vague yet exalting conception of the
godlike nature of the human spirit. Transcendentalism, as viewed by
its disciples, was a pilgrimage from the idolatrous world of creeds
and rituals to the temple of the Living God in the soul. It was a
putting to silence of tradition and formulas, that the Sacred Oracle
might be heard through intuitions of the single-eyed and pure-hearted.
Amidst materialists, zealots, and sceptics, the Transcendentalist
believed in perpetual inspiration, the miraculous power of will, and a
birthright to universal good. He sought to hold communion face to face
with the unnameable Spirit of his spirit, and gave himself up to the
embrace of nature's beautiful joy, as a babe seeks the breast of a
mother. To him the curse seemed past; and love was without fear. "All
mine is thine" sounded forth to him in ceaseless benediction, from
flowers and stars, through the poetry, art, heroism of all ages, in
the aspirations of his own genius, and the budding promise of the
time. His work was to be faithful, as all saints, sages, and lovers
of man had been, to Truth, as the very Word of God. His maxims
were,--"Trust, dare and be; infinite good is ready for your asking;
seek and find. All that your fellows can claim or need is that you
should become, in fact, your highest self; fulfil, then, your
ideal." Hence, among the strong, withdrawal to private study and
contemplation, that they might be "alone with the Alone;" solemn
yet glad devotedness to the Divine leadings in the inmost will; calm
concentration of thought to wait for and receive wisdom; dignified
independence, stern yet sweet, of fashion and public opinion; honest
originality of speech and conduct, exempt alike from apology or
dictation, from servility or scorn. Hence, too, among the weak,
whimsies, affectation, rude disregard of proprieties, slothful
neglect of common duties, surrender to the claims of natural appetite,
self-indulgence, self-absorption, and self-idolatry.

By their very posture of mind, as seekers of the new, the
Transcendentalists were critics and "come-outers" from the old.
Neither the church, the state, the college, society, nor even reform
associations, had a hold upon their hearts. The past might be well
enough for those who, without make-belief, could yet put faith in
common dogmas and usages; but for them the matin-bells of a new day
were chiming, and the herald-trump of freedom was heard upon the
mountains. Hence, leaving ecclesiastical organizations, political
parties, and familiar circles, which to them were brown with drought,
they sought in covert nooks of friendship for running waters, and
fruit from the tree of life. The journal, the letter, became of
greater worth than the printed page; for they felt that systematic
results were not yet to be looked for, and that in sallies of
conjecture, glimpses and flights of ecstasy, the "Newness" lifted
her veil to her votaries. Thus, by mere attraction of affinity, grew
together the brotherhood of the "Like-minded," as they were pleasantly
nicknamed by outsiders, and by themselves, on the ground that no two
were of the same opinion. The only password of membership to this
association, which had no compact, records, or officers, was a hopeful
and liberal spirit; and its chance conventions were determined merely
by the desire of the caller for a "talk," or by the arrival of some
guest from a distance with a budget of presumptive novelties. Its
"symposium" was a pic-nic, whereto each brought of his gains, as he
felt prompted, a bunch of wild grapes from the woods, or bread-corn
from his threshing-floor. The tone of the assemblies was cordial
welcome for every one's peculiarity; and scholars, farmers, mechanics,
merchants, married women, and maidens, met there on a level of
courteous respect. The only guest not tolerated was intolerance;
though strict justice might add, that these "Illuminati" were as
unconscious of their special cant as smokers are of the perfume of
their weed, and that a professed declaration of universal independence
turned out in practice to be rather oligarchic.

Of the class of persons most frequently found at these meetings
Margaret has left the following sketch:--

'"I am not mad, most noble Festus," was Paul's rejoinder, as
he turned upon his vulgar censor with the grace of a courtier,
the dignity of a prophet, and the mildness of a saint. But
many there are, who, adhering to the faith of the soul with
that unusual earnestness which the world calls "mad," can
answer their critics only by the eloquence of their characters
and lives. Now, the other day, while visiting a person whose
highest merit, so far as I know, is to save his pennies, I was
astounded by hearing him allude to some of most approved worth
among us, thus: "You know _we_ consider _those men_ insane."

'What this meant, I could not at first well guess, so
completely was my scale of character turned topsy-turvy. But
revolving the subject afterward, I perceived that WE was
the multiple of Festus, and THOSE MEN of Paul. All the
circumstances seemed the same as in that Syrian hall; for the
persons in question were they who cared more for doing good
than for fortune and success,--more for the one risen from
the dead than for fleshly life,--more for the Being in whom we
live and move than for King Agrippa.

'Among this band of candidates for the mad-house, I found
the young poet who valued insight of nature's beauty, and the
power of chanting to his fellow-men a heavenly music, above
the prospect of fortune, political power, or a standing in
fashionable society. At the division of the goods of this
earth, he was wandering like Schiller's poet. But the
difference between American and German regulations would seem
to be, that in Germany the poet, when not "with Jove," is left
at peace on earth; while here he is, by a self-constituted
police, declared "mad."

'Another of this band was the young girl who, early taking a
solemn view of the duties of life, found it difficult to
serve an apprenticeship to its follies. She could not turn her
sweetness into "manner," nor cultivate love of approbation at
the expense of virginity of heart. In so called society she
found no outlet for her truest, fairest self, and so preferred
to live with external nature, a few friends, her pencil,
instrument, and books. She, they say, is "mad."

'And he, the enthusiast for reform, who gives away fortune,
standing in the world, peace, and only not life, because
bigotry is now afraid to exact the pound of flesh as well as
the ducats,--he, whose heart beats high with hopes for the
welfare of his race, is "mad."

'And he, the philosopher, who does not tie down his
speculation to the banner of the day, but lets the wings
of his thought upbear him where they will, as if they were
stronger and surer than the balloon let off for the amusement
of the populace,--he must be "mad." Off with him to the moon!
that paradise of noble fools, who had visions of possibilities
too grand and lovely for this sober earth.

'And ye, friends, and lovers, who see, through all the films
of human nature, in those you love, a divine energy, worthy of
creatures who have their being in very God, ye, too, are "mad"
to think they can walk in the dust, and yet shake it from
their feet when they come upon the green. These are no winged
Mercuries, no silver-sandalled Madonnas. Listen to "the
world's" truth and soberness, and we will show you that your
heart would be as well placed in a hospital, as in these
air-born palaces.

'And thou, priest, seek thy God among the people, and not in
the shrine. The light need not penetrate thine own soul.
Thou canst catch the true inspiration from the eyes of thy
auditors. Not the Soul of the World, not the ever-flowing
voice of nature, but the articulate accents of practical
utility, should find thy ear ever ready. Keep always among
men, and consider what they like; for in the silence of thine
own breast will be heard the voices that make men "mad." Why
shouldst thou judge of the consciousness of others by thine
own? May not thine own soul have been made morbid, by retiring
too much within? If Jesus of Nazareth had not fasted and
prayed so much alone, the devil could never have tempted
him; if he had observed the public mind more patiently and
carefully, he would have waited till the time was ripe, and
the minds of men prepared for what he had to say. He would
thus have escaped the ignominious death, which so prematurely
cut short his "usefulness." Jewry would thus, gently, soberly,
and without disturbance, have been led to a better course.