'It is not well to keep entirely apart from the stream of
common life; so, though I never go out when busy, nor keep
late hours, I find it pleasanter and better to enter somewhat
into society. I thus meet with many entertaining acquaintance,
and some friends. I can never, indeed, expect, in America, or
in this world, to form relations with nobler persons than I
have already known; nor can I put my heart into these new ties
as into the old ones, though probably it would still respond
to commanding excellence. But my present circle satisfies
my wants. As to what is called "good society," I am wholly
indifferent. I know several women, whom I like very much,
and yet more men. I hear good music, which answers my social
desires better than any other intercourse can; and I love
four or five interesting children, in whom I always find more
genuine sympathy than in their elders.'
Of the impression produced by Margaret on those who were but slightly
acquainted with her, some notion may be formed from the following
sketch:--
"In general society, she commanded respect rather than
admiration All persons were curious to see her, and in full
rooms her fine head and spiritual expression at once marked
her out from the crowd; but the most were repelled by what
seemed conceit, pedantry, and a harsh spirit of criticism,
while, on her part, she appeared to regard those around her
as frivolous, superficial, and conventional. Indeed, I must
frankly confess, that we did not meet in pleasant relations,
except now and then, when the lifting of a veil, as it were,
revealed for a moment the true life of each. Yet I was fond of
looking at her from a distance, and defending her when silly
people were inclined to cavil at her want of feminine graces.
Then I would say, 'I would like to be an artist now, that I
might paint, not the care-worn countenance and the uneasy air
of one seemingly out of harmony with the scene about her, but
the soul that sometimes looks out from under those large lids.
Michel Angelo would have made her a Sibyl.' I remember I was
surprised to find her height no greater; for her writings had
always given me an impression of magnitude. Thus I studied
though I avoided her, admitting, the while, proudly and
joyously, that she was a woman to reverence. A trifling
incident, however, gave me the key to much in her character,
of which, before, I had not dreamed. It was one evening, after
a Valentine party, where Frances Osgood, Margaret Fuller, and
other literary ladies, had attracted some attention, that,
as we were in the dressing-room preparing to go home, I
heard Margaret sigh deeply. Surprised and moved, I said,
'Why?'--'Alone, as usual,' was her pathetic answer, followed
by a few sweet, womanly remarks, touching as they were
beautiful. Often, after, I found myself recalling her look and
tone, with tears in my eyes; for before I had regarded her as
a being cold, and abstracted, if not scornful."
Cold, abstracted, and scornful! About this very time it was that
Margaret wrote in her journal:--
'Father, let me not injure my fellows during this period of
repression. I feel that when we meet my tones are not so sweet
as I would have them. O, let me not wound! I, who know so well
how wounds can burn and ache, should not inflict them. Let my
touch be light and gentle. Let me keep myself uninvaded, but
let me not fail to be kind and tender, when need is. Yet I
would not assume an overstrained poetic magnanimity. Help
me to do just right, and no more. O, make truth profound and
simple in me!'