Memoirs of Margaret Fuller Ossoli Volume II Part 10

[Footnote B: Novalis.]

NEW YORK.

JOURNALS, LETTERS, &c.

"How much, preventing G.o.d, how much. I owe To the defences thou hast round me set!

Example, Custom, Fear, Occasion slow,-- These scorned bondsmen were my parapet.

I dare not peep over this parapet, To gauge with glance the roaring gulf below, The depths of sin to which I had descended, Had not these me against myself defended."

"Di te, finor, chiesto non hai severa Ragione a te; di sua virtu non cade Sospetto in cor conscio a se stesso."

ALFIERI.

"He that lacks time to mourn, lacks time to mend; Eternity mourns that. 'Tis an ill cure For life's worst ills, to have no time to feel them.

Where sorrow's held intrusive, and turned out, There wisdom, will not enter, nor true power, Nor aught that dignifies humanity."

TAYLOR.

"That time of year thou may'st in me behold, When yellow leaves, or none, or few do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.

In me thou seest the twilight of such day, As after sunset fadeth in the west; Which by and by black night doth take away,-- Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.

In me thou seest the glowing of such fire, That on the ashes of his youth doth lie; As the death-bed whereon it must expire, Consumed with that which it was nourished by."

SHAKSPEARE. [Sonnet lxxiii.]

"Aber zufrieden mit stillerem Ruhme, Brechen die Frauen des Augenblick's Blume, Nahren sie sorgsam mit liebendem Fleiss, Freier in ihrem gebundenen Wirken, Reicher als er in des Wissens Bezirken Und in der Dichtung unendlichem Kreiz."

SCHILLER.

"Not like to like, but like in difference; Yet in the long years liker must they grow,-- The man be more of woman, she of man; He gain in sweetness and in moral height, Nor lose the wrestling thews that throw the world; She mental breadth, nor fail in childward care; More as the double-natured poet each; Till at the last she set herself to man, Like perfect music unto n.o.ble words."

TENNYSON.

VII.

NEW YORK

LEAVING HOME.

Incessant exertion in teaching and writing, added to pecuniary anxieties and domestic cares, had so exhausted Margaret's energy, in 1844, that she felt a craving for fresh interests, and resolved to seek an entire change of scene amid freer fields of action.

'The tax on my mind is such,' she writes,

'and I am so unwell, that I can scarcely keep up the spring of my spirits, and sometimes fear that I cannot go through with the engagements of the winter. But I have never stopped yet in fulfilling what I have undertaken, and hope I shall not be compelled to now. How farcical seems the preparation needed to gain a few moments' life; yet just so the plant works all the year round for a few days' flower.'

But in brighter mood she says, again:--

'I congratulate myself that I persisted, against every persuasion, in doing all I could last winter; for now I am and shall be free from debt, and I look on the position of debtor with a dread worthy of some respectable Dutch burgomaster.

My little plans for others, too, have succeeded; our small household is well arranged, and all goes smoothly as a wheel turns round. Mother, moreover, has learned not to be over-anxious when I suffer, so that I am not obliged to suppress my feelings when it is best to yield to them. Thus, having more calmness, I feel often that a sweet serenity is breathed through every trifling duty. I am truly grateful for being enabled to fulfil obligations which to some might seem humble, but which to me are sacred.'

And in mid-summer comes this pleasant picture:--

'Every day, I rose and attended to the many little calls which are always on me, and which have been more of late. Then, about eleven, I would sit down to write, at my window, close to which is the apple-tree, lately full of blossoms, and now of yellow birds. Opposite me was Del Sarto's Madonna; behind me Silenus, holding in his arms the infant Pan. I felt very content with my pen, my daily bouquet, and my yellow birds.

About five I would go out and walk till dark; then would arrive my proofs, like crabbed old guardians, coming to tea every night. So pa.s.sed each day. The 23d of May, my birth-day, about one o'clock, I wrote the last line of my little book;[A]

then I went to Mount Auburn, and walked gently among the graves.'

As the brothers had now left college, and had entered or were entering upon professional and commercial life, while the sister was married, and the mother felt calls to visit in turn her scattered children, it was determined to break up the "Home." 'As a family,' Margaret writes,

'we are henceforth to be parted. But though for months I had been preparing for this separation, the last moments were very sad. Such tears are childish tears, I know, and belie a deeper wisdom. It is foolish in me to be so anxious about my family.

As I went along, it seemed as if all I did was for G.o.d's sake; but if it had been, could I now thus fear? My relations to them are altogether fair, so far as they go. As to their being no more to me than others of my kind, there is surely a mystic thrill betwixt children of one mother, which can never cease to be felt till the soul is quite born anew. The earthly family is the scaffold whereby we build the spiritual one. The glimpses we here obtain of what such relations should be are to me an earnest that the family is of Divine Order, and not a mere school of preparation. And in the state of perfect being which we call Heaven, I am a.s.sured that family ties will attain to that glorified beauty of harmonious adaptation, which stellar groups in the pure blue typify.'

Margaret's admirable fidelity, as daughter and sister,--amidst her incessant literary pursuits, and her far-reaching friendships,--can be justly appreciated by those only who were in her confidence; but from the following slight sketches generous hearts can readily infer what was the quality of her home-affections.

'Mother writes from Canton that my dear old grandmother is dead. I regret that you never saw her. She was a picture of primitive piety, as she sat holding the "Saint's Rest" in her hand, with her bowed, trembling figure, and her emphatic nods, and her sweet blue eyes. They were bright to the last, though she was ninety. It is a great loss to mother, who felt a large place warmed in her heart by the fond and grateful love of this aged parent.'

'We cannot be sufficiently grateful for our mother,--so so fair a blossom of the white amaranth; truly to us a mother in this, that we can venerate her piety. Our relations to her have known no jar. Nothing vulgar has sullied them; and in this respect life has been truly domesticated. Indeed, when I compare my lot with others, it seems to have had a more than usual likeness to home; for relations have been as n.o.ble as sincerity could make them, and there has been a frequent breath of refined affection, with its sweet courtesies. Mother thanks G.o.d in her prayers for "all the acts of mutual love which have been permitted;" and looking back, I see that these have really been many. I do not recognize this, as the days pa.s.s, for to my desires life would be such a flower-chain of symbols, that what is done seems very scanty, and the thread shows too much.

'She has just brought me a little bouquet. Her flowers have suffered greatly by my neglect, when I would be engrossed by other things in her absences. But, not to be disgusted or deterred, whenever she can glean one pretty enough, she brings it to me. Here is the bouquet,--a very delicate rose, with its half-blown bud, heliotrope, geranium, lady-pea, heart's-ease; all sweet-scented flowers! Moved by their beauty, I wrote a short note, to which this is the reply. Just like herself![B]

'"I should not love my flowers if they did not put forth all the strength they have, in grat.i.tude for your preserving care, last winter, and your wasted feelings over the unavoidable effects of the frost, that came so unexpectedly to nip their budding beauties. I appreciate all you have done, knowing at what cost any plant must be nourished by one who sows in fields more precious than those opened, in early life, to my culture. One must have grown up with flowers, and found joy and sweetness in them, amidst disagreeable occupations, to take delight in their whole existence as I do. They have long had power to bring me into harmony with the Creator, and to soothe almost any irritation. Therefore I understand your love for these beautiful things, and it gives me real pleasure to procure them for you.

'"You have done everything that the most affectionate and loving daughter could, under all circ.u.mstances. My faith in your generous desire to increase my happiness is founded on the knowledge I have gained of your disposition, through your whole life. I should ask your sympathy and aid, whenever it could be available, knowing that you would give it first to me. Waste no thought on neglected duties. I know of none.

Let us pursue our appointed paths, aiding each other in rough places; and if I live to need the being led by the hand, I always feel that you will perform this office wisely and tenderly. We shall ever have perfect peace between us. Yours, in all love."'

Margaret adds:--

'It has been, and still is, hard for me to give up the thought of serenity, and freedom from toil and care, for mother, in the evening of a day which has been all one work of disinterested love. But I am now confident that she will learn from every trial its lesson; and if I cannot be her protector, I can be at least her counsellor and soother.'

From the less private parts of Margaret's correspondence with the younger members of the family, some pa.s.sages may be selected, as attesting her quick and penetrating sympathy, her strict truth, and influential wisdom. They may be fitly prefaced by these few but emphatic words from a letter of one of her brothers:--

"I was much impressed, during my childhood, at Groton, with an incident that first disclosed to me the tenderness of Margaret's character. I had always viewed her as a being of different nature from myself, to whose alt.i.tudes of intellectual life I had no thought of ascending. She had been absent during the winter, and on her return asked me for some account of my experiences. Supposing that she could not enter into such insignificant details, I was not frank or warm in my confidence, though I gave no reason for my reserve; and the matter had pa.s.sed from my mind, when our mother told me that Margaret had shed tears, because I seemed to heed so little her sisterly sympathy. 'Tears from one so learned,' thought I, 'for the sake of one so inferior!' Afterwards, my heart opened to her, as to no earthly friend.

"The characteristic trait of Margaret, to which all her talents and acquirements were subordinate, was sympathy,--universal sympathy. She had that large intelligence and magnanimity which enabled her to comprehend the struggles and triumphs of every form of character. Loving all about her, whether rich or poor, rude or cultivated, as equally formed after a Divine Original, with an equal birth-right of immortal growth, she regarded rather their aspirations than their accomplishments. And this was the source of her marvellous influence. Those who had never thought of their own destiny, nor put faith in their own faculties, found in her society not so much a display of her gifts, as surprising discoveries of their own. She revealed to them the truth, that all can be n.o.ble by fidelity to the highest self. She appreciated, with delicate tenderness, each one's peculiar trials, and, while never attempting to make the unhappy feel that their miseries were unreal, she pointed out the compensations of their lot, and taught them how to live above misfortune. She had consolation and advice for every one in trouble, and wrote long letters to many friends, at the expense not only of precious time, but of physical pain.