'You have heard that the Tribune Office was burned to the
ground. For a day I thought it must make a difference, but it
has served only to increase my admiration for Mr. Greeley's
smiling courage. He has really a strong character.'
On the other side, Mr. Greeley thus records his recollections of his
friend:--
"My first acquaintance with Margaret Fuller was made through
the pages of 'The Dial.' The lofty range and rare ability
of that work, and its un-American richness of culture and
ripeness of thought, naturally filled the 'fit audience,
though few,' with a high estimate of those who were known
as its conductors and principal writers. Yet I do not now
remember that any article, which strongly impressed me, was
recognized as from the pen of its female editor, prior to the
appearance of 'The Great Lawsuit,' afterwards matured into the
volume more distinctively, yet not quite accurately, entitled
'Woman in the Nineteenth Century.' I think this can hardly
have failed to make a deep impression on the mind of every
thoughtful reader, as the production of an original, vigorous,
and earnest mind. 'Summer on the Lakes,' which appeared some
time after that essay, though before its expansion into
a book, struck me as less ambitious in its aim, but more
graceful and delicate in its execution; and as one of the
clearest and most graphic delineations, ever given, of the
Great Lakes, of the Prairies, and of the receding
barbarism, and the rapidly advancing, but rude, repulsive
semi-civilization, which were contending with most unequal
forces for the possession of those rich lands. I still
consider 'Summer on the Lakes' unequalled, especially in its
pictures of the Prairies and of the sunnier aspects of Pioneer
life.
"Yet, it was the suggestion of Mrs. Greeley,--who had spent
some weeks of successive seasons in or near Boston, and who
had there made the personal acquaintance of Miss Fuller, and
formed a very high estimate and warm attachment for her,--that
induced me, in the autumn of 1844, to offer her terms, which
were accepted, for her assistance in the literary department
of the Tribune. A home in my family was included in the
stipulation. I was myself barely acquainted with her, when she
thus came to reside with us, and I did not fully appreciate
her nobler qualities for some months afterward. Though we
were members of the same household, we scarcely met save at
breakfast; and my time and thoughts were absorbed in duties
and cares, which left me little leisure or inclination for the
amenities of social intercourse. Fortune seemed to delight
in placing us two in relations of friendly antagonism,--or
rather, to develop all possible contrasts in our ideas and
social habits. She was naturally inclined to luxury and a good
appearance before the world. My pride, if I had any, delighted
in bare walls and rugged fare. She was addicted to strong tea
and coffee, both which I rejected and contemned, even in the
most homoeopathic dilutions: while, my general health being
sound, and hers sadly impaired, I could not fail to find in
her dietetic habits the causes of her almost habitual illness;
and once, while we were still barely acquainted, when she
came to the breakfast-table with a very severe headache, I was
tempted to attribute it to her strong potations of the Chinese
leaf the night before. She told me quite frankly that she
'declined being lectured on the food or beverage she saw fit
to take;' which was but reasonable in one who had arrived
at her maturity of intellect and fixedness of habits. So
the subject was thenceforth tacitly avoided between us; but,
though words were suppressed, looks and involuntary gestures
could not so well be; and an utter divergency of views on this
and kindred themes created a perceptible distance between us.
"Her earlier contributions to the Tribune were not her best,
and I did not at first prize her aid so highly as I afterwards
learned to do. She wrote always freshly, vigorously, but not
always clearly; for her full and intimate acquaintance with
continental literature, especially German, seemed to have
marred her felicity and readiness of expression in her mother
tongue. While I never met another woman who conversed more
freely or lucidly, the attempt to commit her thoughts to paper
seemed to induce a singular embarrassment and hesitation. She
could write only when in the vein; and this needed often to be
waited for through several days, while the occasion sometimes
required an immediate utterance. The new book must be reviewed
before other journals had thoroughly dissected and discussed
it, else the ablest critique would command no general
attention, and perhaps be, by the greater number, unread. That
the writer should wait the flow of inspiration, or at least
the recurrence of elasticity of spirits and relative health of
body, will not seem unreasonable to the general reader; but
to the inveterate hack-horse of the daily press, accustomed to
write at any time, on any subject, and with a rapidity
limited only by the physical ability to form the requisite
pen-strokes, the notion of waiting for a brighter day, or a
happier frame of mind, appears fantastic and absurd. He would
as soon think of waiting for a change in the moon. Hence,
while I realized that her contributions evinced rare
intellectual wealth and force, I did not value them as I
should have done had they been written more fluently and
promptly. They often seemed to make their appearance 'a day
after the fair.'
"One other point of tacit antagonism between us may as well be
noted. Margaret was always a most earnest, devoted champion
of the Emancipation of Women, from their past and present
condition of inferiority, to an independence on Men. She
demanded for them the fullest recognition of Social and
Political Equality with the rougher sex; the freest access to
all stations, professions, employments, which are open to any.
To this demand I heartily acceded. It seemed to me, however,
that her clear perceptions of abstract right were often
overborne, in practice, by the influence of education and
habit; that while she demanded absolute equality for Woman,
she exacted a deference and courtesy from men to women, _as_
women, which was entirely inconsistent with that requirement.
In my view, the equalizing theory can be enforced only by
ignoring the habitual discrimination of men and women, as
forming separate _classes_, and regarding all alike as simply
_persons_,--as human beings. So long as a lady shall deem
herself in need of some gentleman's arm to conduct her
properly out of a dining or ball-room,--so long as she shall
consider it dangerous or unbecoming to walk half a mile alone
by night,--I cannot see how the 'Woman's Rights' theory
is ever to be anything more than a logically defensible
abstraction. In this view Margaret did not at all concur,
and the diversity was the incitement to much perfectly
good-natured, but nevertheless sharpish sparring between us.
Whenever she said or did anything implying the usual demand
of Woman on the courtesy and protection of Manhood, I was apt,
before complying, to look her in the face and exclaim with
marked emphasis,--quoting from her 'Woman in the Nineteenth
Century,'--'LET THEM BE SEA-CAPTAINS IF THEY WILL!' Of course,
this was given and received as raillery, but it did not tend
to ripen our intimacy or quicken my esteem into admiration.
Though no unkind word ever passed between us, nor any approach
to one, yet we two dwelt for months under the same roof, as
scarcely more than acquaintances, meeting once a day at a
common board, and having certain business relations with
each other. Personally, I regarded her rather as my wife's
cherished friend than as my own, possessing many lofty
qualities and some prominent weaknesses, and a good deal
spoiled by the unmeasured flattery of her little circle of
inordinate admirers. For myself, burning no incense on any
human shrine, I half-consciously resolved to 'keep my eye beam
clear,' and escape the fascination which she seemed to exert
over the eminent and cultivated persons, mainly women, who
came to our out-of-the-way dwelling to visit her, and who
seemed generally to regard her with a strangely Oriental
adoration.
"But as time wore on, and I became inevitably better and
better acquainted with her, I found myself drawn, almost
irresistibly, into the general current. I found that her
faults and weaknesses were all superficial and obvious to the
most casual, if undazzled, observer. They rather dwindled than
expanded upon a fuller knowledge; or rather, took on new and
brighter aspects in the light of her radiant and lofty soul. I
learned to know her as a most fearless and unselfish champion
of Truth and Human Good at all hazards, ready to be their
standard-bearer through danger and obloquy, and, if need be,
their martyr. I think few have more keenly appreciated
the material goods of life,--Rank, Riches, Power, Luxury,
Enjoyment; but I know none who would have more cheerfully
surrendered them all, if the well-being of our Race could
thereby have been promoted. I have never met another in whom
the inspiring hope of Immortality was so strengthened into
profoundest conviction. She did not _believe_ in our future
and unending existence,--she _knew_ it, and lived ever in the
broad glare of its morning twilight. With a limited income
and liberal wants, she was yet generous beyond the bounds of
reason. Had the gold of California been all her own, she would
have disbursed nine tenths of it in eager and well-directed
efforts to stay, or at least diminish, the flood of human
misery. And it is but fair to state, that the liberality she
evinced was fully paralleled by the liberality she experienced
at the hands of others. Had she needed thousands, and made
her wants known, she had friends who would have cheerfully
supplied her. I think few persons, in their pecuniary
dealings, have experienced and evinced more of the better
qualities of human nature than Margaret Fuller. She seemed to
inspire those who approached her with that generosity which
was a part of her nature.
"Of her writings I do not purpose to speak critically. I think
most of her contributions to the Tribune, while she remained
with us, were characterized by a directness, terseness,
and practicality, which are wanting in some of her earlier
productions. Good judges have confirmed my own opinion, that,
while her essays in the Dial are more elaborate and ambitious,
her reviews in the Tribune are far better adapted to win the
favor and sway the judgment of the great majority of readers.
But, one characteristic of her writings I feel bound to
commend,--their absolute truthfulness. She never asked how
this would sound, nor whether that would do, nor what would be
the effect of saying anything; but simply, 'Is it the truth?
Is it such as the public should know?' And if her judgment
answered, 'Yes,' she uttered it; no matter what turmoil it
might excite, nor what odium it might draw down on her
own head. Perfect conscientiousness was an unfailing
characteristic of her literary efforts. Even the severest
of her critiques,--that on Longfellow's Poems,--for which
an impulse in personal pique has been alleged, I happen with
certainty to know had no such origin. When I first handed her
the book to review, she excused herself, assigning the wide
divergence of her views of Poetry from those of the author and
his school, as her reason. She thus induced me to attempt the
task of reviewing it myself. But day after day sped by, and
I could find no hour that was not absolutely required for
the performance of some duty that _would not_ be put off, nor
turned over to another. At length I carried the book back to
her in utter despair of ever finding an hour in which even to
look through it; and, at my renewed and earnest request, she
reluctantly undertook its discussion. The statement of these
facts is but an act of justice to her memory.
"Profoundly religious,--though her creed was, at once, very
broad and very short, with a genuine love for inferiors in
social position, whom she was habitually studying, by her
counsel and teachings, to elevate and improve,--she won
the confidence and affection of those who attracted her, by
unbounded sympathy and trust. She probably knew the cherished
secrets of more hearts than any one else, because she freely
imparted her own. With a full share both of intellectual and
of family pride, she preëminently recognized and responded to
the essential brotherhood of all human kind, and needed but to
know that a fellow-being required her counsel or assistance,
to render her, riot merely willing, but eager to impart it.
Loving ease, luxury, and the world's good opinion, she stood
ready to renounce them all, at the call of pity or of duty.
I think no one, not radically averse to the whole system of
domestic servitude, would have treated servants, of whatever
class, with such uniform and thoughtful consideration,--a
regard which wholly merged their factitious condition in their
antecedent and permanent humanity. I think few servants ever
lived weeks with her, who were not dignified and lastingly
benefited by her influence and her counsels. They might be
at first repelled, by what seemed her too stately manner and
exacting disposition, but they soon learned to esteem and love
her.
"I have known few women, and scarcely another maiden, who had
the heart and the courage to speak with such frank compassion,
in mixed circles, of the most degraded and outcast portion of
the sex. The contemplation of their treatment, especially
by the guilty authors of their ruin, moved her to a calm and
mournful indignation, which she did not attempt to suppress
nor control. Others were willing to pity and deplore; Margaret
was more inclined to vindicate and to redeem. She did not
hesitate to avow that on meeting some of these abused, unhappy
sisters, she had been surprised to find them scarcely fallen
morally below the ordinary standard of Womanhood,--realizing
and loathing their debasement; anxious to escape it; and only
repelled by the sad consciousness that for them sympathy and
society remained only so long as they should persist in
the ways of pollution. Those who have read her 'Woman,' may
remember some daring comparisons therein suggested between
these Pariahs of society and large classes of their
respectable sisters; and that was no fitful expression,--no
sudden outbreak,--but impelled by her most deliberate
convictions. I think, if she had been born to large fortune, a
house of refuge for all female outcasts desiring to return to
the ways of Virtue, would have been one of her most cherished
and first realized conceptions.
"Her love of children was one of her most prominent
characteristics. The pleasure she enjoyed in their society
was fully counterpoised by that she imparted. To them she was
never lofty, nor reserved, nor mystical; for no one had ever
a more perfect faculty for entering into their sports, their
feelings, their enjoyments. She could narrate almost any
story in language level to their capacities, and in a manner
calculated to bring out their hearty and often boisterously
expressed delight. She possessed marvellous powers of
observation and imitation or mimicry; and, had she been
attracted to the stage, would have been the first actress
America has produced, whether in tragedy or comedy. Her
faculty of mimicking was not needed to commend her to the
hearts of children, but it had its effect in increasing the
fascinations of her genial nature and heartfelt joy in their
society. To amuse and instruct them was an achievement for
which she would readily forego any personal object; and her
intuitive perception of the toys, games, stories, rhymes,
&c., best adapted to arrest and enchain their attention, was
unsurpassed. Between her and my only child, then living, who
was eight months old when she came to us, and something over
two years when she sailed for Europe, tendrils of affection
gradually intertwined themselves, which I trust Death has not
severed, but rather multiplied and strengthened. She became
his teacher, playmate, and monitor; and he requited her with a
prodigality of love and admiration.
"I shall not soon forget their meeting in my office, after
some weeks' separation, just before she left us forever. His
mother had brought him in from the country and left him asleep
on my sofa, while she was absent making purchases, and he had
rolled off and hurt himself in the fall, waking with the shock
in a phrensy of anger, just before Margaret, hearing of his
arrival, rushed into the office to find him. I was vainly
attempting to soothe him as she entered; but he was running
from one end to the other of the office, crying passionately,
and refusing to be pacified. She hastened to him, in perfect
confidence that her endearments would calm the current of his
feelings,--that the sound of her well-remembered voice would
banish all thought of his pain,--and that another moment would
see him restored to gentleness; but, half-wakened, he did not
heed her, and probably did not even realize who it was that
caught him repeatedly in her arms and tenderly insisted that
he should restrain himself. At last she desisted in
despair; and, with the bitter tears streaming down her face,
observed:--'Pickie, many friends have treated me unkindly,
but no one had ever the power to cut me to the heart, as you
have!' Being thus let alone, he soon came to himself, and
their mutual delight in the meeting was rather heightened by
the momentary estrangement.
"They had one more meeting; their last on earth! 'Aunty
Margaret' was to embark for Europe on a certain day, and
'Pickie' was brought into the city to bid her farewell.
They met this time also at my office, and together we thence
repaired to the ferry-boat, on which she was returning to her
residence in Brooklyn to complete her preparations for the
voyage. There they took a tender and affecting leave of each
other. But soon his mother called at the office, on her way to
the departing ship, and we were easily persuaded to accompany
her thither, and say farewell once more, to the manifest
satisfaction of both Margaret and the youngest of her devoted
friends. Thus they parted, never to meet again in time. She
sent him messages and presents repeatedly from Europe; and he,
when somewhat older, dictated a letter in return, which was
joyfully received and acknowledged. When the mother of our
great-souled friend spent some days with us nearly two years
afterward, 'Pickie' talked to her often and lovingly of 'Aunty
Margaret,' proposing that they two should 'take a boat and go
over and see her,'--for, to his infantile conception, the low
coast of Long Island, visible just across the East River,
was that Europe to which she had sailed, and where she was
unaccountably detained so long. Alas! a far longer and more
adventurous journey was required to reunite those loving
souls! The 12th of July, 1849, saw him stricken down, from
health to death, by the relentless cholera; and my letter,
announcing that calamity, drew from her a burst of passionate
sorrow, such as hardly any bereavement but the loss of a
very near relative could have impelled. Another year had just
ended, when a calamity, equally sudden, bereft a wide circle
of her likewise, with her husband and infant son. Little did I
fear, when I bade her a confident Good-by, on the deck of her
outward-bound ship, that the sea would close over her earthly
remains, ere we should meet again; far less that the light
of my eyes and the cynosure of my hopes, who then bade her
a tenderer and sadder farewell, would precede her on the dim
pathway to that 'Father's house,' whence is no returning! Ah,
well! God is above all, and gracious alike in what he conceals
and what he discloses;--benignant and bounteous, as well when
he reclaims as when he bestows. In a few years, at farthest,
our loved and lost ones will welcome us to their home."
Favorably as Mr. Greeley speaks of Margaret's articles in the Tribune,
it is yet true that she never brought her full power to bear upon
them; partly because she was too much exhausted by previous over-work,
partly because it hindered her free action to aim at popular effect.
Her own estimate of them is thus expressed:--
'I go on very moderately, for my strength is not great, and
I am connected with one who is anxious that I should not
overtask it. Body and mind, I have long required rest and
mere amusement, and now obey Nature as much as I can. If
she pleases to restore me to an energetic state, she will
by-and-by; if not, I can only hope this world will not turn
me out of doors too abruptly. I value my present position very
much, as enabling me to speak effectually some right words to
a large circle; and, while I can do so, am content.'