Letters written to the beloved teacher, who so wisely befriended
Margaret in her trial-hour, will best show how this high-spirited girl
sought to enlarge and harmonize her powers.
'_Cambridge, July 11, 1825._--Having excused myself from
accompanying my honored father to church, which I always do in
the afternoon, when possible, I devote to you the hours
which Ariosto and Helvetius ask of my eyes,--as, lying on my
writing-desk, they put me in mind that they must return this
week to their owner.
'You keep me to my promise of giving you some sketch of my
pursuits. I rise a little before five, walk an hour, and then
practise on the piano, till seven, when we breakfast. Next
I read French,--Sismondi's Literature of the South of
Europe,--till eight, then two or three lectures in Brown's
Philosophy. About half-past nine I go to Mr. Perkins's school
and study Greek till twelve, when, the school being dismissed,
I recite, go home, and practise again till dinner, at two.
Sometimes, if the conversation is very agreeable, I lounge
for half an hour over the dessert, though rarely so lavish of
time. Then, when I can, I read two hours in Italian, but I
am often interrupted. At six, I walk, or take a drive. Before
going to bed, I play or sing, for half an hour or so, to make
all sleepy, and, about eleven, retire to write a little while
in my journal, exercises on what I have read, or a series of
characteristics which I am filling up according to advice.
Thus, you see, I am learning Greek, and making acquaintance
with metaphysics, and French and Italian literature.
'"How," you will say, "can I believe that my indolent,
fanciful, pleasure-loving pupil, perseveres in such a course?"
I feel the power of industry growing every day, and, besides
the all-powerful motive of ambition, and a new stimulus
lately given through a friend, I have learned to believe that
nothing, no! not perfection, is unattainable. I am determined
on distinction, which formerly I thought to win at an easy
rate; but now I see that long years of labor must be given to
secure even the "_succès de societé_,"--which, however, shall
never content me. I see multitudes of examples of persons
of genius, utterly deficient in grace and the power of
pleasurable excitement. I wish to combine both. I know the
obstacles in my way. I am wanting in that intuitive tact and
polish, which nature has bestowed upon some, but which I
must acquire. And, on the other hand, my powers of intellect,
though sufficient, I suppose, are not well disciplined. Yet
all such hindrances may be overcome by an ardent spirit. If I
fail, my consolation shall be found in active employment.'
* * * * *
'_Cambridge, March 5, 1826._--Duke Nicholas is to succeed
the Emperor Alexander, thus relieving Europe from the
sad apprehension of evil to be inflicted by the brutal
Constantine, and yet depriving the Holy Alliance of its very
soul. We may now hope more strongly for the liberties of
unchained Europe; we look in anxious suspense for the issue of
the struggle of Greece, the result of which seems to depend on
the new autocrat. I have lately been reading Anastasius, the
Greek Gil Bias, which has excited and delighted me; but I do
not think you like works of this cast. You did not like my
sombre and powerful Ormond,--though this is superior to Ormond
in every respect; it translates you to another scene, hurls
you into the midst of the burning passions of the East, whose
vicissitudes are, however, interspersed by deep pauses of
shadowy reflective scenes, which open upon you like the
green watered little vales occasionally to be met with in the
burning desert. There is enough of history to fix profoundly
the attention, and prevent you from revolting from scenes
profligate and terrific, and such characters as are never to
be met with in our paler climes. How delighted am I to read
a book which can absorb me to tears and shuddering,--not
by individual traits of beauty, but by the spirit of
adventure,--happiness which one seldom enjoys after childhood
in this blest age, so philosophic, free, and enlightened to
a miracle, but far removed from the ardent dreams and soft
credulity of the world's youth. Sometimes I think I would give
all our gains for those times when young and old gathered in
the feudal hall, listening with soul-absorbing transport to
the romance of the minstrel, unrestrained and regardless
of criticism, and when they worshipped nature, not as
high-dressed and pampered, but as just risen from the bath.'
'_Cambridge, May 14, 1826._--I am studying Madame de Stael,
Epictetus, Milton, Racine, and Castiliain ballads, with great
delight. There's an assemblage for you. Now tell me, had
you rather be the brilliant De Stael or the useful
Edgeworth?--though De Stael is useful too, but it is on the
grand scale, on liberalizing, regenerating principles, and has
not the immediate practical success that Edgeworth has. I met
with a parallel the other day between Byron and Rousseau, and
had a mind to send it to you, it was so excellent.'
* * * * *
'_Cambridge, Jan. 10, 1827._--As to my studies, I am engrossed
in reading the elder Italian poets, beginning with Berni,
from whom I shall proceed to Pulci and Politian. I read very
critically. Miss Francis[A] and I think of reading Locke, as
introductory to a course of English metaphysics, and then De
Stael on Locke's system. Allow me to introduce this lady
to you as a most interesting woman, in my opinion. She is a
natural person,--a most rare thing in this age of cant and
pretension. Her conversation is charming,--she brings all her
powers to bear upon it; her style is varied, and she has a
very pleasant and spirited way of thinking. I should judge,
too, that she possesses peculiar purity of mind. I am going to
spend this evening with her, and wish you were to be with us.'
* * * * *
'_Cambridge, Jan. 3, 1828._--I am reading Sir William Temple's
works, with great pleasure. Such enlarged views are rarely to
be found combined with such acuteness and discrimination. His
style, though diffuse, is never verbose or overloaded, but
beautifully expressive; 'tis English, too, though he was an
accomplished linguist, and wrote much and well in. French,
Spanish, and Latin. The latter he used, as he says of the
Bishop of Munster, (with whom he corresponded in that tongue,)
"more like a man of the court and of business than a scholar."
He affected not Augustan niceties, but his expressions are
free and appropriate. I have also read a most entertaining
book, which I advise you to read, (if you have not done so
already,) Russell's Tour in Germany. There you will find more
intelligent and detailed accounts than I have seen anywhere of
the state of the German universities, Viennese court, secret
associations, Plica Polonica, and other very interesting
matters. There is a minute account of the representative
government given to his subjects by the Duke of Weimar. I have
passed a luxurious afternoon, having been in bed from dinner
till tea, reading Rammohun Roy's book, and framing dialogues
aloud on every argument beneath the sun. Really, I have
not had my mind so exercised for months; and I have felt a
gladiatorial disposition lately, and don't enjoy mere light
conversation. The love of knowledge is prodigiously kindled
within my soul of late; I study much and reflect more, and
feel an aching wish for some person with whom I might talk
fully and openly.
'Did you ever read the letters and reflections of Prince de
Ligne, the most agreeable man of his day? I have just had it,
and if it is new to you, I recommend it as an agreeable book
to read at night just before you go to bed. There is much
curious matter concerning Catharine II.'s famous expedition
into Taurida, which puts down some of the romantic stories
prevalent on that score, but relates more surprising
realities. Also it gives much interesting information about
that noble philosopher, Joseph II., and about the Turkish
tactics and national character.'
* * * * *
'_Cambridge, Jan. 1830_.--You need not fear to revive painful
recollections. I often think of those sad experiences. True,
they agitate me deeply. But it was best so. They have had a
most powerful effect on my character. I tremble at whatever
looks like dissimulation. The remembrance of that evening
subdues every proud, passionate impulse. My beloved supporter
in those sorrowful hours, your image shines as fair to my
mind's eye as it did in 1825, when I left you with my heart
overflowing with gratitude for your singular and judicious
tenderness. Can I ever forget that to your treatment in that
crisis of youth I owe the true life,--the love of Truth and
Honor?'
[Footnote A: Lydia Maria Child.]