MARGARET'S RESIDENCE AT THE GREELEY MANSION.--APPEARANCE IN NEW YORK
SOCIETY.--VISITS TO WOMEN IMPRISONED AT SING SING AND ON BLACKWELL'S
ISLAND.--LETTERS TO HER BROTHERS.--"WOMAN IN THE NINETEENTH
CENTURY."--ESSAY ON AMERICAN LITERATURE.--VIEW OF CONTEMPORARY AUTHORS.
We have no very full record of Margaret's life beneath the roof of the
Greeley mansion. The information that we can gather concerning it seems
to indicate that it was, on the whole, a period of rest and of
enlargement. True, her task-work continued without intermission, and her
incitements to exertion were not fewer than in the past. But the change
of scene and of occupation gives refreshment, if not repose, to minds of
such activity, and Margaret, accustomed to the burden of constant care
and anxiety, was now relieved from much of this. She relied much, and
with reason, both upon Mr. Greeley's judgment and upon his friendship.
The following extract from a letter to her brother Eugene gives us an
inkling as to her first impressions:--
"The place where we live is old and dilapidated, but in a situation of
great natural loveliness. When there I am perfectly secluded, yet every
one I wish to see comes to see me, and I can get to the centre of the
city in half an hour. Here is all affection for me and desire to make me
at home; and I do feel so, which could scarcely have been expected from
such an arrangement. My room is delightful; how I wish you could sit at
its window with me, and see the sails glide by!
"As to the public part, that is entirely satisfactory. I do just as I
please, and as much and as little as I please, and the editors express
themselves perfectly satisfied, and others say that my pieces _tell_ to
a degree I could not expect. I think, too, I shall do better and better.
I am truly interested in this great field which opens before me, and it
is pleasant to be sure of a chance at half a hundred thousand readers."
The enlargement spoken of above was found by Margaret in her more varied
field of literary action, and in the society of a city which had, even
at that date, a cosmopolitan, semi-European character.
New York has always, with a little grumbling, conceded to Boston the
palm of literary precedence. In spite of this, there has always been a
good degree of friendly intercourse among its busy _littérateurs_ and
artists, who find, in the more vivid movement and wider market of the
larger city, a compensation, if not an equivalent, for its distance from
the recognized centres of intellectual influence.
In these circles Margaret was not only a welcome, but a desired guest.
In the _salons_ of the time she had the position of a celebrity. Here,
as elsewhere, her twofold magnetism strongly attracted some and repelled
others. Somewhat hypercritical and pedantic she was judged to be by
those who observed her at a distance, or heard from her only a chance
remark. Such an observer, admiring but not approaching, saw at times the
look of the sibyl flash from beneath Margaret's heavy eyelids; and once,
hearing her sigh deeply after a social evening, was moved to ask her
why. "Alone, as usual!" was Margaret's answer, with one or two pathetic
words, the remembrance of which brought tears to the eyes of the person
to whom they were spoken.
In these days she wrote in her journal:--
"There comes a consciousness that I have no real hold on life,--no real,
permanent connection with any soul. I seem a wandering Intelligence,
driven from spot to spot, that I may learn all secrets, and fulfil a
circle of knowledge. This thought envelops me as a cold atmosphere."
From this chill isolation of feeling Margaret was sometimes relieved by
the warm appreciation of those whom she had truly found, of whom one
could say to her: "You come like one of the great powers of nature,
harmonizing with all beauty of the soul or of the earth. You cannot be
discordant with anything that is true or deep."
Other neighbors, and of a very different character, had Margaret in her
new surroundings. The prisons at Blackwell's Island were on the opposite
side of the river, at a distance easily reached by boat. Sing Sing
prison was not far off; and Margaret accepted the invitation to pass a
Sunday within its walls. She had consorted hitherto with the _élite_ of
her sex, the women attracted to her having invariably been of a superior
type. She now made acquaintance with the outcasts in whom the elements
of womanhood are scarcely recognized. For both she had one gospel, that
of high hope and divine love. She seems to have found herself as much at
home in the office of encouraging the fallen, as she had been when it
was her duty to arouse the best spirit in women sheltered from the
knowledge and experience of evil by every favoring circumstance.
This was in the days in which Judge Edmonds had taken great interest in
the affairs of the prison. Mrs. Farnum, a woman of uncommon character
and ability, had charge of the female prisoners, who already showed the
results of her intelligent and kindly treatment. On the occasion of her
first visit, Margaret spoke with only a few of the women, and says that
"the interview was very pleasant. These women were all from the lowest
haunts of vice, yet nothing could have been more decorous than their
conduct, while it was also frank. _All passed, indeed, much as in one of
my Boston classes._"
This last phrase may somewhat startle us; but it should only assure us
that Margaret had found, in confronting two circles so widely
dissimilar, the happy words which could bring high and low into harmony
with the true divine.
Margaret's second visit to the prison was on the Christmas soon
following. She was invited to address the women in their chapel, and has
herself preserved some record of her discourse, which was
extemporaneous. Seated at the desk, no longer with the critical air
which repelled the timid, but deeply penetrated by the pathos of the
occasion, she began with the words, "To me the pleasant office has been
given of wishing you a happy Christmas." And the sad assembly smiled,
murmuring its thanks. What a Christ-like power was that which brought
this sun-gleam of a smile into that dark tragedy of offence and
punishment!
Some passages of this address must be given here, to show the attitude
in which this truly noble woman confronted the most degraded of her sex.
After alluding to the common opinion that "women once lost are far worse
than abandoned men, and cannot be restored," she said:--
"It is not so. I know my sex better. It is because women have so much
feeling, and such a rooted respect for purity, that they seem so
shameless and insolent when they feel that they have erred, and that
others think ill of them. When they meet man's look of scorn, the
desperate passion that rises is a perverted pride, which might have been
their guardian angel. Rather let me say, which may be; for the rapid
improvement wrought here gives us warm hopes."
Margaret exhorts the prisoners not to be impatient for their release.
She dwells upon their weakness, the temptations of the outer world, and
the helpful character of the influences which are now brought to bear
upon them.
"Oh, be sure that you are fitted to triumph over evil before you again
expose yourselves to it! Instead of wasting your time and strength in
vain wishes, use this opportunity to prepare yourselves for a better
course of life when you are set free."
The following sentences are also noteworthy:
"Let me warn you earnestly against acting insincerely. I know you must
prize the good opinion of your friendly protectors, but do not buy it at
the cost of truth. Try to be, not to seem.... Never despond,--never say,
'It is too late!' Fear not, even if you relapse again and again. If you
fall, do not lie grovelling, but rise upon your feet once more, and
struggle bravely on. And if aroused conscience makes you suffer keenly,
have patience to bear it. God will not let you suffer more than you need
to fit you for his grace.... Cultivate this spirit of prayer. I do not
mean agitation and excitement, but a deep desire for truth, purity, and
goodness."
Margaret visited also the prisons on Blackwell's Island, and, walking
through the women's hospital, shed the balm of her presence upon the
most hardened of its wretched inmates. She had always wished to have a
better understanding of the feelings and needs of "those women who are
trampled in the mud to gratify the brute appetites of men," in order to
lend them a helping hand.
The following extracts from letters, hitherto in great part unpublished,
will give the reader some idea of Margaret's tender love and care for
the dear ones from whom she was now separated. The letters are mostly
addressed to her younger brother, Richard, and are dated in various
epochs of the year 1845. One of these recalls her last impressions in
leaving Boston:--
"The last face I saw in Boston was Anna Loring's, looking after me from
Dr. Peabody's steps. Mrs. Peabody stood behind her, some way up, nodding
adieux to the 'darling,' as she addressed me, somewhat to my emotion.
They seemed like a frosty November afternoon and a soft summer twilight,
when night's glorious star begins to shine.
"When you go to Mrs. Loring's, will you ask W. Story if he has any of
Robert Browning's poems to lend me for a short time? They shall be
returned safe. I only want them a few days, to make some extracts for
the paper. They cannot be obtained here."
The following extracts refer to the first appearance of her book, "Woman
in the Nineteenth Century." Her brother Eugene had found a notice of it
in some remote spot. She writes:--
"It was pleasant you should see that little notice in that wild place.
The book is out, and the theme of all the newspapers and many of the
journals. Abuse, public and private, is lavished upon its views, but
respect is expressed for me personally. But the most speaking fact, and
the one which satisfied me, is, that the whole edition was sold off in a
week to the booksellers, and eighty-five dollars handed to me as my
share. Not that my object was in any wise money, but I consider this the
signet of success. If one can be heard, that is enough."
In August, 1845, she writes thus to Richard:
"I really loathe my pen at present; it is entirely unnatural to me to
keep at it so in the summer. Looking at these dull blacks and whites so
much, when nature is in her bright colors, is a source of great physical
weariness and irritation. I cannot, therefore, write you good letters,
but am always glad to get them.
"As to what you say of my writing books, that cannot be at present. I
have not health and energy to do so many things, and find too much that
I value in my present position to give it up rashly or suddenly. But
doubt not, as I do not, that Heaven has good things enough for me to do,
and that I shall find them best by not exhausting or overstraining
myself."
To Richard she writes, some months later:--
"I have to-day the unexpected pleasure of receiving from England a neat
copy of 'Woman in the Nineteenth Century,' republished there in Clark's
'Cabinet Library.' I had never heard a word about it from England, and
am very glad to find it will be read by women there. As to advantage to
me, the republication will bring me no money, but will be of use to me
here, as our dear country folks look anxiously for verdicts from the
other side of the water.
"I shall get out a second edition before long, I hope; and wish you
would translate for me, and send those other parts of the story of
'Panthea' you thought I might like."
The extract subjoined will show Margaret's anxious thought concerning
her mother's comfort and welfare. It is addressed to the same brother,
whom she thus admonishes:--
"She speaks of you most affectionately, but happened to mention that you
took now no interest in a garden. I have known you would do what you
thought of to be a good son, and not neglect your positive duties; but I
have feared you would not show enough of sympathy with her tastes and
pursuits. Care of the garden _is_ a way in which you could give her
genuine comfort and pleasure, while regular exercise in it would be of
great use to yourself. Do not neglect this nor any the most trifling
attention she may wish; because it is not by attending to our friends
in our way, but in _theirs_, that we can really avail them. I think of
you much with love and pride and hope for your public and private life."
* * * * *
Margaret's preface to "Woman in the Nineteenth Century" bears the date
of November, 1844. The greater part of the work, as has already been
said, had appeared in the "Dial," under a different title, for which she
in this place expresses a preference, as better suited to the theme she
proposes to treat of. "Man versus Men, Woman versus Women," means to her
the leading idea and ideal of humanity, as wronged and hindered from
development by the thoughtless and ignorant action of the race itself.
The title finally given was adopted in accordance with the wishes of
friends, who thought the other wanting in clearness. "By man, I mean
both man and woman: these are the two halves of one thought. I lay no
especial stress on the welfare of either. I believe that the development
of the one cannot be effected without that of the other."
In the name of a common humanity, then, Margaret solicits from her
readers "a sincere and patient attention," praying women particularly to
study for themselves the freedom which the law should secure to them. It
is this that she seeks, not to be replaced by "the largest extension of
partial privileges."
"And may truth, unpolluted by prejudice, vanity, or selfishness, be
granted daily more and more, as the due inheritance and only valuable
conquest for us all!"
The leading thought formulated by Margaret in the title of her
preference is scarcely carried out in her work; at least, not with any
systematic parallelism. Her study of the position and possibilities of
woman is not the less one of unique value and interest. The work shows
throughout the grasp and mastery of her mind. Her faith in principles,
her reliance upon them in the interpretation of events, make her strong
and bold. We do not find in this book one careless expression which
would slur over the smallest detail of womanly duty, or absolve from the
attainment of any or all of the feminine graces. Of these, Margaret
deeply knows the value. But, in her view, these duties will never be
noble, these graces sincere, until women stand as firmly as men do upon
the ground of individual freedom and legal justice.
"If principles could be established, particulars would adjust themselves
aright. Ascertain the true destiny of woman; give her legitimate hopes,
and a standard within herself.... What woman needs is not as a woman to
act or rule, but as a nature to grow, as an intellect to discern, as a
soul to live freely and unimpeded."
She would have "every arbitrary barrier thrown down, every path laid
open to woman as freely as to man." And she insists that this "inward
and outward freedom shall be acknowledged as a _right_, not yielded as a
concession."
The limits of our present undertaking do not allow us to give here an
extended notice of this work, which has long belonged to general
literature, and is, perhaps, the most widely known of Margaret's
writings. We must, however, dwell sufficiently upon its merits to
commend it to the men and women of to-day, as equally interesting to
both, and as entirely appropriate to the standpoint of the present time.
Nothing that has been written or said, in later days, has made its
teaching superfluous. It demands all that is asked to-day for women, and
that on the broadest and most substantial ground. The usual arguments
against the emancipation of women from a position of political and
social inferiority are all carefully considered and carefully answered.
Much study is shown of the prominent women of history, and of the
condition of the sex at different periods. Much understanding also of
the ideal womanhood, which has always had its place in the van of human
progress, and of the actual womanhood, which has mostly been bred and
trained in an opposite direction.
We have, then, in the book, a thorough statement, both of the
shortcomings of women themselves, and of the wrongs which they in turn
suffer from society. The cause of the weak against the strong is
advanced with sound and rational argument. We will not say that a
thoughtful reader of to-day will indorse every word of this remarkable
treatise. Its fervor here and there runs into vague enthusiasm, and much
is asserted about souls and their future which thinkers of the present
day do not so confidently assume to know.
The extent of Margaret's reading is shown in her command of historical
and mythical illustration. Her beloved Greeks furnish her with some
portraits of ideal men in relation with ideal women. As becomes a
champion, she knows the friends and the enemies of the cause which she
makes her own. Here, for example, is a fine discrimination:--
"The spiritual tendency is toward the elevation of woman, but the
intellectual, by itself, is not so. Plato sometimes seems penetrated by
that high idea of love which considers man and woman as the twofold
expression of one thought. But then again Plato, the man of intellect,
treats woman in the republic as property, and in the "Timæus" says that
man, if he misuse the privileges of one life, shall be degraded into the
form of a woman."
Margaret mentions among the women whom she considered helpers and
favorers of the new womanhood, Miss Edgeworth, Mrs. Jameson, and our own
Miss Sedgwick. Among the writers of the other sex, whose theories point
to the same end, she speaks of Swedenborg, Fourier, and Goethe. The
first-named comes to this through his mystical appreciation of spiritual
life; the second, by his systematic distribution of gifts and
opportunities according to the principles of ideal justice. The
world-wise Goethe everywhere recognizes the presence and significance of
the feminine principle; and, after treating with tenderness and
reverence its frailest as well as its finest impersonations, lays the
seal of all attraction in the lap of the "eternal womanly."
Nearer at hand, and in the intimacy of personal intercourse, Margaret
found a noble friend to her cause.
"The late Dr. Channing, whose enlarged and religious nature shared every
onward impulse of his time, though his thoughts followed his wishes with
a deliberative caution which belonged to his habits and temperament, was
greatly interested in these expectations for women. He regarded them as
souls, each of which had a destiny of its own, incalculable to other
minds, and whose leading it must follow, guided by the light of a
private conscience."
She tells us that the Doctor's delicate and fastidious taste was not
shocked by Angelina Grimké's appearance in public, and that he fully
indorsed Mrs. Jameson's defence of her sex "in a way from which women
usually shrink, because, if they express themselves on such subjects
with sufficient force and clearness to do any good, they are exposed to
assaults whose vulgarity makes them painful."
Margaret ends her treatise with a synopsis of her humanitarian creed, of
which we can here give only enough to show its general scope and tenor.
Here is the substance of it, mostly in her own words:--
Man is a being of twofold relations,--to nature beneath and
intelligences above him. The earth is his school, God his object, life
and thought his means of attaining it.
The growth of man is twofold,--masculine and feminine. These terms, for
Margaret, represent other qualities, to wit, Energy and Harmony, Power
and Beauty, Intellect and Love.
These faculties belong to both sexes, yet the two are distinguished by
the preponderance of the opposing characteristics.
Were these opposites in perfect harmony, they would respond to and
complete each other.
Why does this harmony not prevail?
Because, as man came before woman, power before beauty, he kept his
ascendency, and enslaved her.
Woman in turn rose by her moral power, which a growing civilization
recognized.
Man became more just and kind, but failed to see that woman was half
himself, and that, by the laws of their common being, he could never
reach his true proportions while she remained shorn of hers. And so it
has gone on to our day.
Pure love, poetic genius, and true religion have done much to vindicate
and to restore the normal harmony.
The time has now come when a clearer vision and better action are
possible,--when man and woman may stand as pillars of one temple,
priests of one worship.
This hope should attain its amplest fruition in our own country, and
will do so if the principles from which sprang our national life are
adhered to.
Women should now be the best helpers of women. Of men, we need only ask
the removal of arbitrary barriers.
The question naturally suggests itself, What use will woman make of her
liberty after so many ages of restraint?
Margaret says, in answer, that this freedom will not be immediately
given. But, even if it were to come suddenly, she finds in her own sex
"a reverence for decorums and limits inherited and enhanced from
generation to generation, which years of other life could not efface."
She believes, also, that woman as woman is characterized by a native
love of proportion,--a Greek moderation,--which would immediately create
a restraining party, and would gradually establish such rules as are
needed to guard life without impeding it.
This opinion of Margaret's is in direct contradiction to one very
generally held to-day, namely, that women tend more to extremes than men
do, and are often seen to exaggerate to irrational frenzy the feelings
which agitate the male portion of the community. The reason for this, if
honestly sought, can easily be found. Women in whom the power of
individual judgment has been either left without training or forcibly
suppressed will naturally be led by impulse and enthusiasm, and will be
almost certain to inflame still further the kindled passions of the men
to whom they stand related. Margaret knew this well enough; but she had
also known women of a very different type, who had trained and
disciplined themselves by the help of that nice sense of measure which
belongs to any normal human intelligence, and which, in women, is
easily reached and rendered active. It was upon this best and wisest
womanhood that Margaret relied for the standard which should redeem the
sex from violence and headlong excitement. Here, as elsewhere, she shows
her faith in the good elements of human nature, and sees them, in her
prophetic vision, as already crowned with an enduring victory.
"I stand in the sunny noon of life. Objects no longer glitter in the
dews of morning, neither are yet softened by the shadows of evening.
Every spot is seen, every chasm revealed. Climbing the dusty hill, some
fair effigies that once stood for human destiny have been broken. Yet
enough is left to point distinctly to the glories of that destiny."
Margaret gives us, as the end of the whole matter, this sentence:--
"Always the soul says to us all, Cherish your best hopes as a faith, and
abide by them in action.... Such shall be the effectual fervent means to
their fulfilment."
In this sunny noon of life things new and strange were awaiting
Margaret. Her days among kindred and country-people were nearly ended.
The last volume given by her to the American public was entitled "Papers
on Art and Literature." Of these, a number had already appeared in
print. In her preface she mentions the essay on "American Literature" as
one now published for the first time, and also as "a very imperfect
sketch," which she hopes to complete by some later utterance. She
commends it to us, however, as "written with sincere and earnest
feelings, and from a mind that cares for nothing but what is permanent
and essential." She thinks it should, therefore, have "some merit, if
only in the power of suggestion." It has for us the great interest of
making known Margaret's opinion of her compeers in literature, and with
her appreciation of these, not always just or adequate, her views of the
noble national life to which American literature, in its maturer growth,
should give expression.
Margaret says, at the outset, that "some thinkers" may accuse her of
writing about a thing that does not exist. "For," says she, "it does not
follow, because many books are written by persons born in America, that
there exists an American literature. Books which imitate or represent
the thoughts and life of Europe do not constitute an American
literature. Before such can exist, an original idea must animate this
nation, and fresh currents of life must call into life fresh thoughts
along its shores."
In reviewing these first sentences, we are led to say that they partly
commend themselves to our judgment, and partly do not. Here, as in much
that Margaret has written, a solid truth is found side by side with an
illusion. The statement that an American idea should lie at the
foundation of our national life and its expression is a truth too often
lost sight of by those to whom it most imports. On the other hand, the
great body of the world's literature is like an ocean in whose waves and
tides there is a continuity which sets at naught the imposition of
definite limits. Literature is first of all human; and American books,
which express human thought, feeling, and experience, are American
literature, even if they show no distinctive national feature.
In what follows, Margaret confesses that her own studies have been
largely of the classics of foreign countries. She has found, she says, a
model "in the simple masculine minds of the great Latin authors." She
has observed, too, the features of kindred between the character of the
ancient Roman and that of the Briton of to-day.
She remarks upon the reaction which was felt in her time against the
revolutionary opposition to the mother country. This reaction, she
feels, may be carried too far.
"What suits Great Britain, with her insular position and consequent need
to concentrate and intensify her life, her limited monarchy and spirit
of trade, does not suit a mixed race, continually enriched (?) with new
blood from other stocks the most unlike that of our first descent, with
ample field and verge enough to range in and leave every impulse free,
and abundant opportunity to develop a genius wide and full as our
rivers, luxuriant and impassioned as our vast prairies, rooted in
strength as the rocks on which the Puritan fathers landed."
Margaret anticipates for this Western hemisphere the rise and
development of such a genius, but says that this cannot come until the
fusion of races shall be more advanced, nor "until this nation shall
attain sufficient moral and intellectual dignity to prize moral and
intellectual no less highly than political freedom."
She finds the earnest of this greater time in the movements already
leading to social reforms, and in the "stern sincerity" of elect
individuals, but thinks that the influences at work "must go deeper
before we can have poets."
At the time of her writing (1844-45) she considers literature as in a
"dim and struggling state," with "pecuniary results exceedingly pitiful.
The state of things gets worse and worse, as less and less is offered
for works demanding great devotion of time and labor, and the publisher,
obliged to regard the transaction as a matter of business, demands of
the author only what will find an immediate market, for he cannot afford
to take anything else."
Margaret thinks that matters were better in this respect during the
first half-century of our republican existence. The country was not then
"so deluged with the dingy page reprinted from Europe." Nor did
Americans fail to answer sharply the question, "Who reads an American
book?" But the books of that period, to which she accords much merit,
seem to her so reflected from England in their thought and inspiration,
that she inclines to call them English rather than American.
Having expressed these general views, Margaret proceeds to pass in
review the prominent American writers of the time, beginning with the
department of history. In this she accords to Prescott industry, the
choice of valuable material, and the power of clear and elegant
arrangement. She finds his books, however, "wonderfully tame," and
characterized by "the absence of thought." In Mr. Bancroft she
recognizes a writer of a higher order, possessed of "leading thoughts,
by whose aid he groups his facts." Yet, by her own account, she has read
him less diligently than his brother historian.
In ethics and philosophy she mentions, as "likely to live and be
blessed and honored in the later time," the names of Channing and
Emerson. Of the first she says: "His leading idea of the dignity of
human nature is one of vast results, and the peculiar form in which he
advocated it had a great work to do in this new world.... On great
questions he took middle ground, and sought a panoramic view.... He was
not well acquainted with man on the impulsive and passionate side of his
nature, so that his view of character was sometimes narrow, but always
noble."
Margaret turns from the great divine to her Concord friend as one turns
from shade to sunshine. "The two men are alike," she says, "in dignity
of purpose, disinterest, and purity." But of the two she recognizes Mr.
Emerson as the profound thinker and man of ideas, dealing "with causes
rather than with effects." His influence appears to her deep, not wide,
but constantly extending its circles. He is to her "a harbinger of the
better day."
Irving, Cooper, Miss Sedgwick, and Mrs. Child are briefly mentioned, but
with characteristic appreciation. "The style of story current in the
magazines" is pronounced by her "flimsy beyond any texture that was ever
spun or dreamed of by the mind of man."
Our friend now devotes herself to the poets of America, at whose head
she places "Mr. Bryant, alone." Genuineness appears to be his chief
merit, in her eyes, for she does not find his genius either fertile or
comprehensive. "But his poetry is purely the language of his inmost
nature, and the simple, lovely garb in which his thoughts are arrayed, a
direct gift from the Muse."
Halleck, Willis, and Dana receive each their meed of praise at her
hands. Passing over what is said, and well said, of them, we come to a
criticism on Mr. Longfellow, which is much at variance with his popular
reputation, and which, though acute and well hit, will hardly commend
itself to-day to the judgment either of the learned or unlearned. For,
even if Mr. Longfellow's inspiration be allowed to be a reflected rather
than an original one, the mirror of his imagination is so pure and
broad, and the images it reflects are so beautiful, that the world of
our time confesses itself greatly his debtor. The spirit of his life,
too, has put the seal of a rare earnestness and sincerity upon his
legacy to the world of letters. But let us hear Margaret's estimate of
him:--
"Longfellow is artificial and imitative. He borrows incessantly, and
mixes what he borrows, so that it does not appear to the best
advantage.... The ethical part of his writing has a hollow, second-hand
sound. He has, however, elegance, a love of the beautiful, and a fancy
for what is large and manly, if not a full sympathy with it. His verse
breathes at times much sweetness. Though imitative, he is not
mechanical."
In an article of some length, printed in connection with this, but first
published in the "New York Tribune," Margaret's dispraise of this poet
is in even larger proportion to her scant commendation of him. This
review was called forth by the appearance of an illustrated edition of
Mr. Longfellow's poems, most of which had already appeared in smaller
volumes, and in the Annuals, which once figured so largely in the
show-æsthetics of society. Mr. Greeley, in some published reminiscences,
tells us that Margaret undertook this task with great reluctance. He, on
the other hand, was too much overwhelmed with business to give the
volume proper notice, and so persuaded Margaret to deal with it as she
could.
After formulating a definition of poetry which she considers "large
enough to include all excellence," she laments the dearth of true
poetry, and asserts that "never was a time when satirists were more
needed to scourge from Parnassus the magpies who are devouring the food
scattered there for the singing birds." This scourge she somewhat
exercises upon writers who "did not write because they felt obliged to
relieve themselves of the swelling thought within, but as an elegant
exercise which may win them rank and reputation above the crowd. Their
lamp is not lit by the sacred and inevitable lightning from above, but
carefully fed by their own will to be seen of men."
These metaphors no longer express the most accepted view of poetical
composition. It has been found that those who write chiefly to relieve
themselves are very apt to do so at the expense of the reading public.
The "inevitable lightning," with which some are stricken, does not lead
to such good work as does the "lamp carefully fed" by a steadfast will,
whose tenor need not be summarily judged.
These strictures are intended to apply to versifiers in England as well
as in America.
"Yet," she says, "there is a middle class, composed of men of little
original poetic power, but of much poetic taste and sensibility, whom we
would not wish to have silenced. They do no harm, but much good (if only
their minds are not confounded with those of a higher class), by
educating in others the faculties dominant in themselves." In this class
she places Mr. Longfellow, towards whom she confesses "a coolness, in
consequence of the exaggerated praises that have been bestowed upon
him." Perhaps the best thing she says about him is that "nature with
him, whether human or external, is always seen through the windows of
literature."
Mr. Longfellow did, indeed, dwell in the beautiful house of culture, but
with a heart deeply sensitive to the touch of the humanity that lay
encamped around it. In the "Psalm of Life," his banner, blood-red with
sympathy, was hung upon the outer wall. And all his further parley with
the world was through the silver trumpet of peace.
According much praise to William Ellery Channing, and not a little to
Cornelius Matthews, a now almost forgotten writer, Margaret declares Mr.
Lowell to be "absolutely wanting in the true spirit and tone of poesy."
She says further:--
"His interest in the moral questions of the day has supplied the want of
vitality in himself. His great facility at versification has enabled him
to fill the ear with a copious stream of pleasant sound. But his verse
is stereotyped, his thought sounds no depth, and posterity will not
remember him."
The "Biglow Papers" were not yet written, nor the "Vision of Sir
Launfal." Still less was foreseen the period of the struggle whose
victorious close drew from Mr. Lowell a "Commemoration Ode" worthy to
stand beside Mr. Emerson's "Boston Hymn."
In presenting a study of Margaret's thoughts and life, it seemed to us
impossible to omit some consideration of her pronounced opinions
concerning the most widely known of her American compeers in literature.
Having brought these before the reader, we find it difficult to say the
right word concerning them.
In accepting or rejecting a criticism, we should consider, first, its
intention; secondly, its method; and, in the third place, its standard.
If the first be honorable, the second legitimate, and the third
substantial, we shall adopt the conclusion arrived at as a just result
of analytic art.
In the judgments just quoted, we must believe the intention to have been
a sincere one. But neither the method nor the standard satisfies us. The
one is arbitrary, the other unreal. Our friend's appreciation of her
contemporaries was influenced, at the time of her writing, by
idiosyncrasies of her own which could not give the law to the general
public. These were shown in her great dislike of the smooth and
stereotyped in manner, and her impatience of the common level of thought
and sentiment. The unusual had for her a great attraction. It promised
originality, which to her seemed a condition of truth itself. She has
said in this very paper: "No man can be absolutely true to himself,
eschewing cant, compromise, servile imitation, and complaisance, without
becoming original."
Here we seem to find a confusion between two conceptions of the word
"original." Originality in one acceptation is vital and universal. We
originate from the start, and do not _become original_. But the power to
develop forms of thought which shall deserve to be called original is a
rare gift, and one which even conscience cannot command at will.
The sentences here quoted and commented on show us that Margaret, almost
without her own knowledge, was sometimes a partisan of the intellectual
reaction of the day, which attacked, in the name of freedom, the fine,
insensible tyranny of form and precedent. In its place were temporarily
enthroned the spontaneous and passionate. Miracles were expected to
follow this change of base, oracles from children, availing philosophies
from people who were rebels against all philosophy. Margaret's
passionate hopefulness at times carried her within this sphere, where,
however, her fine perceptions and love of thorough culture did not allow
her to remain.