'Mrs. Ware talked with me about education,--wilful
education,--in which she is trying to get interested. I talk
with a Goethean moderation on this subject, which rather
surprises her and ----, who are nearer the entrance of the
studio. I am really old on this subject. In near eight years'
experience, I have learned as much as others would in eighty,
from my great talent at explanation, tact in the use of
means, and immediate and invariable power over the minds of
my pupils. My wish has been, to purify my own conscience, when
near them; give clear views of the aims of this life; show
them where the magazines of knowledge lie; and leave the rest
to themselves and the Spirit, who must teach and help them to
self-impulse. I told Mrs. W. it was much if we did not injure
them; if they were passing the time in a way that was _not
bad_, so that good influences have a chance. Perhaps people
in general must expect greater outward results, or they would
feel no interest.'
Again:
'With the intellect I always have, always shall, overcome; but
that is not the half of the work. The life, the life! O, my
God! shall the life never be sweet?'
I have inquired diligently of those who saw her often, and in
different companies, concerning her habitual tone, and something like
this is the report:--In conversation, Margaret seldom, except as a
special grace, admitted others upon an equal ground with herself. She
was exceedingly tender, when she pleased to be, and most cherishing
in her influence; but to elicit this tenderness, it was necessary to
submit first to her personally. When a person was overwhelmed by
her, and answered not a word, except, "Margaret, be merciful to me, a
sinner," then her love and tenderness would come like a seraph's,
and often an acknowledgment that she had been too harsh, and even a
craving for pardon, with a humility,--which, perhaps, she had caught
from the other. But her instinct was not humility,--that was always an
afterthought.
This arrogant tone of her conversation, if it came to be the subject
of comment, of course, she defended, and with such broad good nature,
and on grounds of simple truth, as were not easy to set aside. She
quoted from Manzoni's _Carmagnola_, the lines:--
"Tolga il ciel che alcuno
Piu altamente di me pensi ch'io stesso."
"God forbid that any one should conceive more highly of me than
I myself." Meantime, the tone of her journals is humble, tearful,
religious, and rises easily into prayer.
I am obliged to an ingenious correspondent for the substance of the
following account of this idiosyncrasy:--
Margaret was one of the few persons who looked upon life as an
art, and every person not merely as an artist, but as a work
of art. She looked upon herself as a living statue, which
should always stand on a polished pedestal, with right
accessories, and under the most fitting lights. She would have
been glad to have everybody so live and act. She was annoyed
when they did not, and when they did not regard her from the
point of view which alone did justice to her. No one could
be more lenient in her judgments of those whom she saw to be
living in this light. Their faults were to be held as "the
disproportions of the ungrown giant." But the faults of
persons who were unjustified by this ideal, were odious.
Unhappily, her constitutional self-esteem sometimes blinded
the eyes that should have seen that an idea lay at the bottom
of some lives which she did not quite so readily comprehend as
beauty; that truth had other manifestations than those which
engaged her natural sympathies; that sometimes the soul
illuminated only the smallest arc--of a circle so large that
it was lost in the clouds of another world.
This apology reminds me of a little speech once made to her, at his
own house, by Dr. Channing, who held her in the highest regard: "Miss
Fuller, when I consider that you are and have all that Miss ---- has
so long wished for, and that you scorn her, and that she still admires
you,--I think her place in heaven will be very high."
But qualities of this kind can only be truly described by the
impression they make on the bystander; and it is certain that her
friends excused in her, because she had a right to it, a tone which
they would have reckoned intolerable in any other. Many years since,
one of her earliest and fastest friends quoted Spenser's sonnet as
accurately descriptive of Margaret:--
"Rudely thou wrongest my dear heart's desire,
In finding fault with her too portly pride;
The thing which I do most in her admire
Is of the world unworthy most envied.
For, in those lofty looks is close implied
Scorn of base things, disdain of foul dishonor,
Threatening rash eyes which gaze on her so wide
That loosely they ne dare to look upon her:
Such pride is praise, such portliness is honor,
That boldened innocence bears in her eyes;
And her fair countenance, like a goodly banner,
Spreads in defiance of all enemies.
Was never in this world aught worthy tried,
Without a spark of some self-pleasing pride."