Brook Farm: Historic and Personal Memoirs Part 18

The "Poet," as we called him, as editor of Dwight's _Journal of Music_, and also as critic, was deserving of especial credit for his services in musical culture. Earnest, refined, always endeavoring to do right, but strict in his pleasant criticisms, he pointed upward to higher ideals. Living alone in his latter years like a bachelor, he sought solace in his refined tastes with cultivated people. Married to Mary Bullard, the sweet singer of my story, kindred sympathies united them more firmly than marriage vows, but her early death deprived the world of one of the n.o.blest and choicest of womanhood, and his life of its sweetest charm. He went abroad for a short trip, leaving her in full health and beauty; he returned--she had pa.s.sed from mortal sight.

A number of the members, male and female, joined the a.s.sociation in New Jersey near Red Bank--the North American Phalanx. There they renewed the social life and experiment, with such result as some other pen can tell.

It was about the time of the closing of the Brook Farm experiment that the "California fever" broke out, or the rush for the gold mines. Some of our theorists argued that the country was too poor for the establishment of the social organizations proposed, and that more wealth was needed. A number of the Brook Farmers went to the new country for gold. The gardener, Peter Klienstrup, was one. I am sorry to say that disappointment awaited him. A foreigner, and sensitive, partly deaf and past middle life, he was not the man for the country or the life. He died there poor. His charming, tuneful daughter, with the beautiful complexion and lovely rounded shoulders, did not long survive him. His wife survived, but one day I stood with only a few who knew her, at the door of an open tomb, and a strange thrill pa.s.sed over me when one by my side said, as her body was placed within, "This is the last of her race--the family is extinct!"

The good, kind-hearted "General" sleeps within sound of the Pacific waves, for he, too, was one of the early Californians. And the Admiral, the pure-hearted, high-minded and keen-eyed Admiral, has long since laid down his burdens and his aspirations. And so also with many, too many for me here to recount. The two sisters that I have described with flowing hair, grew in loveliness to full womanly beauty and then pa.s.sed to the angelic world.

Mr. Ryckman, surnamed the "Omniarch," reigns no more in this sphere.

Peace to his memory.

The downfall of the a.s.sociation was the wrecking of Irish John. He seemed homeless and aimless. The constant smiles on that remarkable face gave way to soberness profound. Old habits crept back upon him. He had a friend, one of our number, who took a kindly interest in him, but could not follow all his waywardness. He departed for New York, ostensibly for business. Not long after this his friend received a note from there in John's handwriting, saying that if he would send to a certain number and street he would find something for him. It was a trunk, and appeared to contain all of John's effects except the suit of clothes he had on. What end he made no one knows.

How grand it would be if the social fabric could keep and guard all its weak ones, surround them by influences that could prevent them from falling into evil ways, and bear them up until the end comes peacefully and naturally!

Marianne Ripley, Mr. Ripley's sister, the devoted soul who reigned over the Kitchen Group and cultivated the flowers on the terraces, spent her later hours in the West, and pa.s.sed away at Madison, Wisconsin. John Allen, the firm preacher, has gone also. His little boy, who conveyed the small-pox to the farm, grew to manhood, and at an early age fought with Grant at Vicksburg, where he received the wound that caused his death.

The dear girl with the loud laugh is still here, but tears and sorrow have been in her cup. Her kind husband, one of our number, and some children are with the shadows; and the dimpled face of the black-haired girl with the Irish name, whose beauty took my young fancy, long ago joined the larger realm of beauty.

The house dog, Carlo, whom everybody knew, grew rapidly old when the a.s.sociation broke up. I never saw such a change. It seemed as though regretful remembrances of former times clung to him. There was no more the _music_ of "the sounding horn" to awaken him from his drowse, and he pa.s.sed much of his time under the woodshed. But he was not the sleek and canny dog of yore. He grew thin and weak. Long locks of indifferent colored brown hair grew out of his sides, and hung loosely down. His gait was slow and feeble, and it was not pleasant to look at him.

Finally, one cold day, at least a year after the general departure, he was missing, and I could find nothing of him. Inquiries were in vain.

It was in the following spring that his bones were found where either he himself had dug a burrow, or the hand of charity had laid him. Good Carlo!

Some very happy marriages sprang from the acquaintance at Brook Farm.

There, in a few weeks or months, a better knowledge could be formed, a truer and more absolute and certain estimate of character, than by years of fashionable flirtation. And here let me add, that the women were always well dressed: there were no party dresses, all shine, lace and glitter, and household wrappers all slouched, torn and drabbled.

The situation of woman was such as to stimulate her ever to neatness in personal appearance, even if the material was but a "ninepenny" calico; and the same may be said to a marked extent of the men.

And many others who stood shoulder to shoulder in the ranks have shared the common lot. Scattered through the country, in city, town and hamlet, those who survive are doing their humble duties, and filling their stations honorably. There are those among them who have gained wealth, and none whom I know that are in poverty. In the circles they occupy, their influence has been felt towards a liberal judgment in all matters pertaining to government, religion and society.

Our friend Rev. William Henry Channing spent the major portion of his after life abroad. The war brought him back to America. He was at one time chaplain of the House of Representatives of the United States, and served the country at the front; but he returned to Liverpool, England, where he preached and educated his family, pa.s.sing away beloved by members of all the prominent churches both conservative and radical.

There were some four and possibly more, who joined the Catholic Church.

This created at the time many remarks, but it is only an episode for a cla.s.s of minds to find themselves at the other end, at the opposite side, at the bottom instead of the top when they have swung themselves, pendulum-like, far away from ordinary moorings. The "Community" people were at the extreme of society, unorganized, without creeds, without science, and only morality and faith to guide them, and having given the lie to ordinary social forms; having lost their faith and trust in society as it was, is it strange that some should swing to the extreme of conservatism, that they should try a new departure when met by seeming failure in their radical moves?

But why continue the list? The very boys have become gray-haired men, but proud to say, each one of them, "I was one of the Brook Farmers."

In closing this picturesque drama, it would not be strange if someone should ask if this is all that is left of the life. Has it been only a failure and a dream that I have chronicled, or has it resulted in something worthy of the aspiration that preceded it? Has it added strength to the lives of individuals, and has it done something for society? As chronicler, I stand in the shade and let my readers judge; but the few words of comment that follow, from well-known individuals, bear strong testimony to an effect that must have been duplicated in a great many other instances: and, indeed, if its influence had gone no farther than to a few persons, that alone would justify the laudable attempt of this "venture in philanthropy." My conviction is that it reached farther than to single individuals, and that it still reaches into and influences more or less all the deep undercurrents of society.

I am confirmed in this opinion by the following statement made by Mr.

George P. Bradford in the _Century Magazine_ for May, 1892:--

"I cannot but think that the brief and imperfect experiment, with the theory and discussion that grew out of it, had no small influence in teaching more impressively the relation of universal brotherhood and the ties that bind us to all; a deeper feeling of the rights and claims of others, and so in diffusing, enlarging, deepening and giving emphasis to the growing spirit of true democracy."

But if I were to leave my position as narrator, and speak from my individual standpoint, I would say Brook Farm and what it stood for was to world-benighted travellers, seeking for sustenance, like a city set on a hill. It was a small, glimmering light of social truth, shining amid universal darkness. It was a dim foregleam of the great sun of social life and science, that will yet rise and shine gloriously on our earth. It was a spark of that divine justice that, like electricity, has been stored for humanity from the beginning of things--abundant in quant.i.ty and power to bless all men--stowed away by the hand of G.o.d for us, awaiting only our awakening from the sleep of ignorance and childishness, to use and cherish it. It was an example of trust, a tribute to faith. It was a realization of poetry. It was in touch with the wishes, hopes and prayers of millions of humanity; of untold numbers of saints and martyrs of all nations and climes, and its mission was the highest on earth--universal justice to all mankind.

Albert Brisbane, the _doctrinaire_, has departed also. Although allusion has been made to him in the former pages of this book somewhat in contrast with Mr. Ripley's spiritual gifts, let no person think that I underestimate the mission he undertook or the work he accomplished in his devotion to the master, Fourier. Certainly he deserves very great credit, and there are those who, deep in their hearts, cherish most profound grat.i.tude to him and his memory.

Whatever any one may believe of the feasibility of the carrying out of Fourier's doctrines of united industry or the practicality of any of his theories, they must stand amazed at the bold and often extremely beautiful conceptions of his brain; such as the actual forecasting of the development theory before Darwin, Spencer and Huxley were born--though not exactly in detail with them; his bolder conception still of the destiny of man, and his Cosmogony; of the progress of present civilization towards an oligarchy of capital, foretold so exactly,--as is now seen by thinking minds, three quarters of a century ago; his profound a.n.a.lysis of the human springs of action; his discovery of the divine laws applicable to the future as well as to the present wants of the human race. For the presentation of all this to the American people; for all these things and more, we are first indebted to Albert Brisbane, and it is a great debt which the future will certainly appreciate and pay.

My work would not be finished without alluding more fully to the wonderful genius whose works and life made such an impression on the Brook Farmers as to induce them to brave all the misconception, sarcasm and obloquy that they must have felt would be heaped on them when they concluded to follow his formulas, and bowed their intellects to him in acknowledgment of his leadership in the field of social science.

The reader will decide, if I have portrayed truly the men and the principles actuating them, that whoever they thus acknowledged as worthy of that sublime place must have been endowed with intellectual, moral and spiritual capacities, and intuitions of the highest order.

Should it have been the fortune of any one to come across an occasional allusion to Fourier, it will be apt to be of such a forbidding nature that there will be no strong temptation to follow the subject further; and all through the literature of our country, in the writings of men whose reading, if not their knowledge, should have taught them better, will be found intimations that "Fourierism" was a system of life based on a plane hardly worthy of being rated higher than mere sensualism.

Against this accusation I place the record of the man whom especially spiritual minded and liberally educated men like George Ripley, John S.

Dwight, William Henry Channing and many others delighted to know and to honor.

Charles Fourier was born at Bezancon, France, April 7, 1772. The son of a merchant, he had a collegiate education, and took prizes for French and Latin themes and verses. He was found of geography but more fond of cultivating flowers, and of music. At eighteen years he entered into commercial pursuits. By the siege of Lyons he lost the fortune his father left him, and was forced into the army, where he served two years. This portion of his life was involved in the romance of war and revolution, during which he was doomed to death, but made a fortunate escape from it.

He was always noted for the avidity with which he sought knowledge, and his honesty was outraged at an early age, being punished by his father for telling the truth of goods on sale, thereby losing a purchaser.

Again his soul revolted when at Ma.r.s.eilles in 1799, where he was employed, for he was selected to superintend a body of men who secretly cast an immense quant.i.ty of rice into the sea, which monopolists had allowed to spoil in a time of famine rather than to sell at a reasonable profit. This last action was to him a crime of so deep a nature that he entered with more enthusiasm on his studies for preventing the like.

In capacity of agent he travelled in France, Belgium, Germany, Holland and Switzerland. He had a prodigious memory, and in his journeys when a building struck his attention, he took the measurement of it with his walking stick, which was notched off in feet and inches; and, one of his biographers says:--

"He was profoundly acquainted with every branch of science, particularly the exact sciences. For forty years he labored with patience and perseverance at the Herculean task of discovering and developing the theory and practical details of the system which he has given to the world."

Says a writer in the London _Phalanx_:--

"The princ.i.p.al features of Fourier's private character were morality and the love of truth. He had a character both grave and dignified, religious and poetic, friendly and polite, indulgent and sincere, which never allowed truth to be profaned by libertine frivolity, nor faith to be confounded with austere duplicity. He was a man of dignified simplicity, a child of Heaven, loving G.o.d with all his heart, all his soul, and all his mind, also loving as himself his neighbor--the whole human family."

Fourier's own words translated read:--

"G.o.d sees in the human race only one family, all the members of which have a right to his favors. He designs that they shall all be happy together, or else no one people shall enjoy happiness. . . . The love of G.o.d will become in this new order the most ardent love among men."

The closing words of an exhaustive review of Fourier's writings, by Mr.

John S. Dwight, in the _Harbinger_, are these:--"There is a t.i.tanic strength in all the workings of that wonderful intellect. He walks as one who knows his ground. His step is firm, his eye is clear and unflinching, and he is acknowledged where he pa.s.ses, for there is no littleness or weakness, no halting or duplicity, in his movement. He is in earnest; he has taken up his cross to fulfil a mighty mission. He doubts not, desponds not; he speaks always with certainty, and though he suffers from impatience of postponement, yet he ceases not to insist upon the truth. He expostulates, perhaps, with deceived and degraded humanity in too much bitterness of sarcasm; but how profound his reverence for Christ and for humanity, how pure his love for man, and how sublime his contemplation of the destiny of man in the scale of higher and higher beings up to G.o.d!"

Fourier pa.s.sed from earth in 1837. His body was buried at Pere la Chaise Cemetery, Paris, France.

The idea of living in combined families is no new thing. From the earliest times to the present, it has cropped out under various circ.u.mstances and with various changes. Ever with dawning of new light and the increase of universal education comes the desire--sometimes in great waves--for more united interests, and a truer, more Christian brotherhood; for closer unity in life and for the enlargement of home with all the joy, comfort and peace that word contains.

In this country various outgrowths from the social body have taken positions on this plane. The ma.s.ses of our people are not now in sympathy with them. They believe that these little social homes or "communities" are dull and monotonous, and are bound so tightly by creeds as to be obnoxious to freedom of life and ideas. My belief is that the creeds adopted and thrown around them, though often adding to their financial protection, and possibly often being their only safeguards from fraud and knavery, have covered from the public the great dignity, worthiness and beauty of this mode of life; when, therefore, Mr. Ripley formed his society free from any pledges or creeds, it touched a deeper bottom in men's hearts than any like organization had ever sounded.

Whatever of failure there was in their actualization, Brook Farm ideas remain. They charm philosophers, poets and statesmen. They work quietly, leavening the social ma.s.s. One must be in sympathy with them to know how potent is their action and how with a touch of the old enthusiasm they will be found breaking out again in larger and larger circles of humanity, for in view of the progress of mechanism, science and art in the last fifty years, to form the phalanstery in its material shape would be an easy task.

Rev. William Henry Channing expressed himself in this wise to his mother, years after the breaking up of the a.s.sociation:--

"My dearest mother, I a.s.sure you that did I see my way clear to an honorable independence for my family, so as to be just, while kind to them, I should joyfully die in attesting my fixed faith in a.s.sociation, and I predict that when, years hence, we meet in the spiritual world, you will smilingly bless me and say, 'My son, your personal limitations excepted, you were right.' You will feel proud of my seeming earthly failures then; at least I humbly hope so. If this is all romance it is of that earnest, living strain which I trust ever more and more to be quickened by."

At a final visit to Brook Farm he said: "Most beautiful was that last day and all its memories; and never did I feel so calmly, humbly, devoutly thankful that it had been my privilege to fail in this grandest, sublimest, surest of all human movements. Were Thermopylae and Bunker Hill considered successes in their day and generation?"

Lying before me is a letter not intended for publication, showing how one member of the a.s.sociation affectionately regarded his old home. It is as follows:--

PROVIDENCE, R. I., 1871.

"My Dear Friend:--I herewith return the letters you so kindly sent me.

I have derived much pleasure in their perusal, and have looked on them with affectionate regard as a mode of greeting from old friends from whom I have been separated for more than a quarter of a century. I do not think any one who was at Brook Farm has that deep and sincere affection for it and its memory that I have. It was my mother by adoption, and what little I have of education, refinement, or culture and taste for matters above things material, I owe to her and the heroic and self-sacrificing men and women who composed its body, social and scholastic. I was but a cipher there, among them by accident, and I was much the gainer even if they were not the losers. What I saw there, and what I learned there, have been of great value to me, and if I have made any progress in material matters or have attained any social position, I am frank enough to confess that I owe it all to dear old Brook Farm. G.o.d bless its memory. What I have, and what I am, is the outgrowth of a two years' life at my first real home. . . .

"When I commenced this I intended to write but a half dozen lines, simply making my acknowledgment of your kindness, but my purpose soon changed, and I now find that I have not enough room on this sheet to say one t.i.the of what comes rushing in my mind 'as a river' about Brook Farm, and I can now only say that I wish you to convey my kindest regards to all of our dear old acquaintances whenever you see them or write to them. All Brook Farmers are to me as brothers and sisters, and I so esteem them.