* * * * *
In the year 1839, Margaret removed from Groton, and, with her mother
and family, took a house at Jamaica Plain, five miles from Boston. In
November of the next year the family removed to Cambridge, and rented
a house there, near their old home. In 1841, Margaret took rooms for
the winter in town, retaining still the house in Cambridge. And from
the day of leaving Groton, until the autumn of 1844, when she removed
to New York, she resided in Boston, or its immediate vicinity. Boston
was her social centre. There were the libraries, galleries, and
concerts which she loved; there were her pupils and her friends; and
there were her tasks, and the openings of a new career.
I have vaguely designated some of the friends with whom she was on
terms of intimacy at the time when I was first acquainted with her.
But the range of her talents required an equal compass in her society;
and she gradually added a multitude of names to the list. She knew
already all the active minds at Cambridge; and has left a record of
one good interview she had with Allston. She now became intimate
with Doctor Channing, and interested him to that point in some of her
studies, that, at his request, she undertook to render some selections
of German philosophy into English for him. But I believe this attempt
was soon abandoned. She found a valuable friend in the late Miss Mary
Rotch, of New Bedford, a woman of great strength of mind, connected
with the Quakers not less by temperament than by birth, and possessing
the best lights of that once spiritual sect. At Newport, Margaret
had made the acquaintance of an elegant scholar, in Mr. Calvert, of
Maryland. In Providence, she had won, as by conquest, such a homage
of attachment, from young and old, that her arrival there, one day, on
her return from a visit to Bristol, was a kind of ovation. In Boston,
she knew people of every class,--merchants, politicians, scholars,
artists, women, the migratory genius, and the rooted capitalist,--and,
amongst all, many excellent people, who were every day passing, by new
opportunities, conversations, and kind offices, into the sacred circle
of friends. The late Miss Susan Burley had many points of attraction
for her, not only in her elegant studies, but also in the deep
interest which that lady took in securing the highest culture for
women. She was very well read, and, avoiding abstractions, knew how
to help herself with examples and facts. A friendship that proved
of great importance to the next years was that established with Mr.
George Ripley; an accurate scholar, a man of character, and of eminent
powers of conversation, and already then deeply engaged in plans of an
expansive practical bearing, of which the first fruit was the little
community which nourished for a few years at Brook Farm. Margaret
presently became connected with him in literary labors, and, as long
as she remained in this vicinity, kept up her habits of intimacy with
the colonists of Brook Farm. At West-Roxbury, too, she knew and prized
the heroic heart, the learning and wit of Theodore Parker, whose
literary aid was, subsequently, of the first importance to her.
She had an acquaintance, for many years,--subject, no doubt, to
alternations of sun and shade,--with Mr. Alcott. There was much
antagonism in their habitual views, but each learned to respect the
genius of the other. She had more sympathy with Mr. Alcott's English
friend, Charles Lane, an ingenious mystic, and bold experimenter in
practical reforms, whose dexterity and temper in debate she frankly
admired, whilst his asceticism engaged her reverence. Neither could
some marked difference of temperament remove her from the beneficent
influences of Miss Elizabeth Peabody, who, by her constitutional
hospitality to excellence, whether mental or moral, has made her
modest abode for so many years the inevitable resort of studious feet,
and a private theatre for the exposition of every question of letters,
of philosophy, of ethics, and of art.
The events in Margaret's life, up to the year 1840, were few, and not
of that dramatic interest which readers love. Of the few events of her
bright and blameless years, how many are private, and must remain so.
In reciting the story of an affectionate and passionate woman, the
voice lowers itself to a whisper, and becomes inaudible. A woman
in our society finds her safety and happiness in exclusions and
privacies. She congratulates herself when she is not called to
the market, to the courts, to the polls, to the stage, or to the
orchestra. Only the most extraordinary genius can make the career of
an artist secure and agreeable to her. Prescriptions almost invincible
the female lecturer or professor of any science must encounter; and,
except on points where the charities which are left to women as their
legitimate province interpose against the ferocity of laws, with us a
female politician is unknown. Perhaps this fact, which so dangerously
narrows the career of a woman, accuses the tardiness of our civility,
and many signs show that a revolution is already on foot.
Margaret had no love of notoriety, or taste for eccentricity, to goad
her, and no weak fear of either. Willingly she was confined to the
usual circles and methods of female talent. She had no false shame.
Any task that called out her powers was good and desirable. She wished
to live by her strength. She could converse, and teach, and write. She
took private classes of pupils at her own house. She organized, with
great success, a school for young ladies at Providence, and gave
four hours a day to it, during two years. She translated Eckermann's
Conversations with Goethe, and published in 1839. In 1841, she
translated the Letters of Gunderode and Bettine, and published them as
far as the sale warranted the work. In 1843, she made a tour to Lake
Superior and to Michigan, and published an agreeable narrative of it,
called "Summer on the Lakes."
Apparently a more pretending, but really also a private and friendly
service, she edited the "Dial," a quarterly journal, for two years
from its first publication in 1840. She was eagerly solicited to
undertake the charge of this work, which, when it began, concentrated
a good deal of hope and affection. It had its origin in a club of
speculative students, who found the air in America getting a little
close and stagnant; and the agitation had perhaps the fault of being
too secondary or bookish in its origin, or caught not from primary
instincts, but from English, and still more from German books. The
journal was commenced with much hope, and liberal promises of many
coöperators. But the workmen of sufficient culture for a poetical and
philosophical magazine were too few; and, as the pages were filled
by unpaid contributors, each of whom had, according to the usage and
necessity of this country, some paying employment, the journal did not
get his best work, but his second best. Its scattered writers had
not digested their theories into a distinct dogma, still less into a
practical measure which the public could grasp; and the magazine was
so eclectic and miscellaneous, that each of its readers and writers
valued only a small portion of it. For these reasons it never had a
large circulation, and it was discontinued after four years. But the
Dial betrayed, through all its juvenility, timidity, and conventional
rubbish, some sparks of the true love and hope, and of the piety to
spiritual law, which had moved its friends and founders, and it was
received by its early subscribers with almost a religious welcome.
Many years after it was brought to a close, Margaret was surprised in
England by very warm testimony to its merits; and, in 1848, the writer
of these pages found it holding the same affectionate place in many
a private bookshelf in England and Scotland, which it had secured at
home. Good or bad, it cost a good deal of precious labor from those
who served it, and from Margaret most of all. As editor, she received
a compensation for the first years, which was intended to be two
hundred dollars _per annum_, but which, I fear, never reached even
that amount.
But it made no difference to her exertion. She put so much heart into
it that she bravely undertook to open, in the Dial, the subjects which
most attracted her; and she treated, in turn, Goethe, and Beethoven,
the Rhine and the Romaic Ballads, the Poems of John Sterling, and
several pieces of sentiment, with a spirit which spared no labor; and,
when the hard conditions of journalism held her to an inevitable day,
she submitted to jeopardizing a long-cherished subject, by treating it
in the crude and forced article for the month. I remember, after she
had been compelled by ill health to relinquish the journal into my
hands, my grateful wonder at the facility with which she assumed the
preparation of laborious articles, that might have daunted the most
practised scribe.
But in book or journal she found a very imperfect expression of
herself, and it was the more vexatious, because she was accustomed
to the clearest and fullest. When, therefore, she had to choose an
employment that should pay money, she consulted her own genius, as
well as the wishes of a multitude of friends, in opening a class
for conversation. In the autumn of 1839, she addressed the following
letter, intended for circulation, to Mrs. George Ripley, in which her
general design was stated:--
'My dear friend:--The advantages of a weekly meeting, for
conversation, might be great enough to repay the trouble of
attendance, if they consisted only in supplying a point of
union to well-educated and thinking women, in a city which,
with great pretensions to mental refinement, boasts, at
present, nothing of the kind, and where I have heard many, of
mature age, wish for some such means of stimulus and cheer,
and those younger, for a place where they could state their
doubts and difficulties, with a hope of gaining aid from the
experience or aspirations of others. And, if my office were
only to suggest topics, which would lead to conversation of
a better order than is usual at social meetings, and to
turn back the current when digressing into personalities or
common-places, so that what is valuable in the experience of
each might be brought to bear upon all, I should think the
object not unworthy of the effort.
'But my ambition goes much further. It is to pass in review
the departments of thought and knowledge, and endeavor to
place them in due relation to one another in our minds. To
systematize thought, and give a precision and clearness in
which our sex are so deficient, chiefly, I think, because
they have so few inducements to test and classify what they
receive. To ascertain what pursuits are best suited to us, in
our time and state of society, and how we may make best use of
our means for building up the life of thought upon the life of
action.
'Could a circle be assembled in earnest, desirous to answer
the questions,--What were we born to do? and how shall we do
it?--which so few ever propose to themselves till their best
years are gone by, I should think the undertaking a noble one,
and, if my resources should prove sufficient to make me its
moving spring, I should be willing to give to it a large
portion of those coming years, which will, as I hope, be my
best. I look upon it with no blind enthusiasm, nor unlimited
faith, but with a confidence that I have attained a distinct
perception of means, which, if there are persons competent to
direct them, can supply a great want, and promote really high
objects. So far as I have tried them yet, they have met with
success so much beyond my hopes, that my faith will not easily
be shaken, nor my earnestness chilled. Should I, however, be
disappointed in Boston, I could hardly hope that such a plan
could be brought to bear on general society, in any other city
of the United States. But I do not fear, if a good beginning
can be made. I am confident that twenty persons cannot be
brought together from better motives than vanity or pedantry,
to talk upon such subjects as we propose, without finding
in themselves great deficiencies, which they will be very
desirous to supply.
'Should the enterprise fail, it will be either from
incompetence in me, or that sort of vanity in them which wears
the garb of modesty. On the first of these points, I need not
speak. I cannot be supposed to have felt so much the wants of
others, without feeling my own still more deeply. And, from
the depth of this feeling, and the earnestness it gave, such
power as I have yet exerted has come. Of course, those who are
inclined to meet me, feel a confidence in me, and should they
be disappointed, I shall regret it not solely or most on my
own account. I have not given my gauge without measuring my
capacity to sustain defeat. For the other, I know it is very
hard to lay aside the shelter of vague generalities, the art
of coterie criticism, and the "delicate disdains" of _good
society_, and fearlessly meet the light, even though it flow
from the sun of truth. Yet, as, without such generous courage,
nothing of value can be learned or done, I hope to see many
capable of it; willing that others should think their sayings
crude, shallow, or tasteless, if, by such unpleasant means,
they may attain real health and vigor, which need no aid from
rouge or candle-light, to brave the light of the world.
'Since I saw you, I have been told of persons who are desirous
to join the class, "if only they need not talk." I am so sure
that the success of the whole depends on conversation being
general, that I do not wish any one to come, who does not
intend, if possible, to take an active part. No one will be
forced, but those who do not talk will not derive the same
advantages with those who openly state their impressions, and
can consent to have it known that they learn by blundering, as
is the destiny of man here below. And general silence, or side
talks, would paralyze me. I should feel coarse and misplaced,
were I to harangue over-much. In former instances, I have been
able to make it easy and even pleasant, to twenty-five out of
thirty, to bear their part, to question, to define, to state,
and examine opinions. If I could not do as much now, I should
consider myself as unsuccessful, and should withdraw. But I
shall expect communication to be effected by degrees, and to
do a great deal myself at the first meetings. My method has
been to open a subject,--for instance, Poetry, as expressed
in--
External Nature;
The life of man;
Literature;
The fine arts;
or, The history of a nation to be studied in--
Its religious and civil institutions;
Its literature and arts;
The characters of its great men;
and, after as good a general statement as I know how to make,
select a branch of the subject, and lead others to give their
thoughts upon it. When they have not been successful in verbal
utterance of their thoughts, I have asked them to attempt it
in writing. At the next meeting, I would read these "skarts
of pen and ink" aloud, and canvass their adequacy, without
mentioning the names of the writers. I found this less
necessary, as I proceeded, and my companions attained greater
command both of thought and language; but for a time it was
useful, and may be now. Great advantage in point of discipline
may be derived from even this limited use of the pen.
'I do not wish, at present, to pledge myself to any course
of subjects. Generally, I may say, they will be such as
literature and the arts present in endless profusion. Should a
class be brought together, I should wish, first, to ascertain
our common ground, and, in the course of a few meetings,
should see whether it be practicable to follow out the design
in my mind, which, as yet, would look too grand on paper.
'Let us see whether there will be any organ, before noting
down the music to which it may give breath.'
Accordingly, a class of ladies assembled at Miss Peabody's rooms, in
West Street, on the 6th November, 1839. Twenty-five were present, and
the circle comprised some of the most agreeable and intelligent women
to be found in Boston and its neighborhood. The following brief report
of this first day's meeting remains:--
'Miss Fuller enlarged, in her introductory conversation, on
the topics which she touched in her letter to Mrs. Ripley.
'Women are now taught, at school, all that men are; they run
over, superficially, even _more_ studies, without being really
taught anything. When they come to the business of life, they
find themselves inferior, and all their studies have not given
them that practical good sense, and mother wisdom, and wit,
which grew up with our grandmothers at the spinning-wheel.
But, with this difference; men are called on, from a very
early period, to reproduce all that they learn. Their college
exercises, their political duties, their professional studies,
the first actions of life in any direction, call on them to
put to use what they have learned. But women learn without any
attempt to reproduce. Their only reproduction is for purposes
of display.
'It is to supply this defect,' Miss Fuller said, 'that these
conversations have been planned. She was not here to teach;
but she had had some experience in the management of such a
conversation as was now proposed; she meant to give her view
on each subject, and provoke the thoughts of others.
'It would be best to take subjects on which we know words, and
have vague impressions, and compel ourselves to define those
words. We should have, probably, mortifications to suffer;
but we should be encouraged by the rapid gain that comes from
making a simple and earnest effort for expression.'
Miss Fuller had proposed the Grecian Mythology as the subject of the
first conversations, and now gave her reasons for the choice.
'It is quite separated from all exciting local subjects. It is
serious, without being solemn, and without excluding any mode
of intellectual action; it is playful, as well as deep. It
is sufficiently wide, for it is a complete expression of the
cultivation of a nation. It is objective and tangible. It is,
also, generally known, and associated with all our ideas of
the arts.
'It originated in the eye of the Greek. He lived out of doors:
his climate was genial, his senses were adapted to it. He was
vivacious and intellectual, and personified all he beheld. He
_saw_ the oreads, naiads, nereids. Their forms, as poets and
painters give them, are the very lines of nature humanized, as
the child's eye sees faces in the embers or in the clouds.
'Other forms of the mythology, as Jupiter, Juno, Apollo,
are great instincts, or ideas, or facts of the internal
constitution, separated and personified.'
After exhibiting their enviable mental health, and rebutting the
cavils of some of the speakers,--who could not bear, in Christian
times, by Christian ladies, that heathen Greeks should be
envied,--Miss Fuller declared,
'that she had no desire to go back, and believed we have the
elements of a deeper civilization; yet, the Christian was in
its infancy; the Greek in its maturity; nor could she look
on the expression of a great nation's intellect, as
insignificant. These fables of the Gods were the result of
the universal sentiments of religion, aspiration, intellectual
action, of a people, whose political and æsthetic life had
become immortal; and we must leave off despising, if we would
begin to learn.'
The reporter closes her account by saying:--"Miss Fuller's thoughts
were much illustrated, and all was said with the most captivating
address and grace, and with beautiful modesty. The position in which
she placed herself with respect to the rest, was entirely ladylike,
and companionable. She told what she intended, the earnest purpose
with which she came, and, with great tact, indicated the indiscretions
that might spoil the meeting."
Here is Margaret's own account of the first days.