Ossoli.’
* * * * *
[Sidenote: Miss Martineau’s view of the Boston Class.]
While she was living and moving in an ideal world, talking in private
and discoursing in public about the most fanciful and shallow conceits
which the transcendentalists took for philosophy, she looked down
upon persons who acted instead of talking finely, and devoted their
fortunes, their peace, their repose, and their very lives to the
preservation of the principles of the republic. While Margaret Fuller
and her adult pupils sat “gorgeously dressed,” talking about Mars and
Venus, Plato and Goethe, and fancying themselves the elect of the earth
in intellect and refinement, the liberties of the republic were running
out as fast as they could go, at a breach which another sort of elect
persons were devoting themselves to repair: and my complaint against
the “gorgeous” pedants was that they regarded their preservers as
hewers of wood and drawers of water, and their work as a less vital one
than the pedantic orations which were spoiling a set of well-meaning
women in a pitiable way.
HARRIET MARTINEAU: ‘Autobiography.’
* * * * *
[Sidenote: Margaret as a member of the Greeley household.]
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 homœopathic
dilutions; while, my general health being so 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.
HORACE GREELEY: _Communication_ in ‘Memoirs of Margaret Fuller Ossoli.’
* * * * *
[Sidenote: Her description of the Greeley house.]
This place is, to me, entirely charming; it is so completely in the
country, and all around is so bold and free. It is two miles or more
from the thickly-settled parts of New York, but omnibuses and cars
give me constant access to the city, and, while I can readily see what
and whom I will, I can command time and retirement. Stopping on the
Harlem road, you enter a lane nearly a quarter of a mile long, and
going by a small brook and pond that locks in the place, and ascending
a slightly rising ground, get sight of the house, which, old-fashioned
and of mellow tint, fronts on a flower-garden filled with shrubs, large
vines and trim box-borders. On both sides of the house are beautiful
trees.... Passing through a wide hall, you come out upon a piazza,
stretching the whole length of the house, where one can walk in all
weathers; and thence by a step or two, on a lawn, with picturesque
masses of rocks, shrubs and trees, overlooking the East River.
MARGARET FULLER: _Letter_ in ‘Memoirs of Margaret Fuller Ossoli.’
* * * * *
[Sidenote: Contributions to the “Tribune.”]
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, or 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.”
HORACE GREELEY: _Communication_ in ‘Memoirs of Margaret Fuller Ossoli.’
* * * * *
[Sidenote: Carlyle’s first impression of Margaret Fuller.]
Yesternight there came a bevy of Americans from Emerson, one Margaret
Fuller, the chief figure of them, a strange, lilting, lean old maid,
not nearly such a bore as I expected.
THOMAS CARLYLE: _Letter_ in ‘Thomas Carlyle: A History of his Life in
London,’ by James Anthony Froude. New York: Chas. Scribner’s Sons,
1884.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: Free translation of the above.]
Miss Fuller came duly as you announced; was welcomed for your sake
and her own. A high-soaring, clear, enthusiast soul; in whose speech
there is much of all that one wants to find in speech. A sharp, subtle
intellect too; and less of that shoreless Asiatic dreaminess than
I have sometimes met with in her writings.... Her dialect is very
vernacular,--extremely exotic in the London climate.
THOMAS CARLYLE: _Letter to R. W. Emerson_, December, 1846. ‘The
Correspondence of Thomas Carlyle and Ralph Waldo Emerson’:
Supplementary Letters. Boston: Ticknor & Co., 1886.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: Account of her visit to Ambleside.]
Margaret Fuller, who had been, in spite of certain mutual repulsions,
an intimate acquaintance of mine in America, came to Ambleside....
I gave her and the excellent friends with whom she was travelling,
the best welcome I could. My house was full: but I got lodgings for
them, made them welcome as guests, and planned excursions for them.
Her companions evidently enjoyed themselves; and Margaret Fuller as
evidently did not, except when she could harangue the drawing-room
party without the interruption of any other voice within its precincts.
There were other persons present, at least as eminent as herself, to
whom we wished to listen; but we were willing that all should have
their turn: and I am sure I met her with every desire for friendly
intercourse. She presently left off conversing with me, however;
while I, as hostess, had to see that my other guests were entertained
according to their various tastes. During our excursion in Langdale
she scarcely spoke to anybody, and not at all to me; and when we
afterwards met in London, when I was setting off for the East, she
treated me with the contemptuous benevolence which it was her wont to
bestow on common place people. I was, therefore, not surprised when I
became acquainted, presently after, with her own account of the matter.
She told her friends that she had been bitterly disappointed in me.
It had been a great object with her to see me, after my recovery by
mesmerism, to enjoy the exaltation and spiritual development which
she concluded I must have derived from my excursions in the spiritual
world; but she had found me in no way altered by it; no one could have
discovered that I had been mesmerised at all; and I was so thoroughly
common place that she had no pleasure in intercourse with me.
HARRIET MARTINEAU: ‘Autobiography.’
* * * * *
[Sidenote: A true heroic mind.]
Margaret is an excellent soul: in real regard with both of us here.
Since she went, I have been reading some of her Papers in a new Book
we have got; greatly superior to all I knew before; in fact the
undeniable utterances (now first undeniable to me) of a true heroic
mind;--altogether unique, so far as I know, among the Writing Women of
this generation; rare enough, too, God knows, among the Writing Men.
She is very narrow, sometimes; but she is truly high.
THOMAS CARLYLE: _Letter to Emerson_, 2d March, 1847. ‘Correspondence
of T. Carlyle and R. W. Emerson,’ 1834-1872. Boston: James R. Osgood &
Co., 1883.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: Margaret in Italy.]
[Sidenote: “Not the same person.”]
During the month of November, 1847, we arrived in Rome, purposing to
spend the winter there. At that time, Margaret was living in the house
of the Marchesa ----, in the Corso, _ultimo piano_. Her rooms were
pleasant and cheerful, with a certain air of elegance and refinement,
but they had not a sunny exposure, that all-essential requisite for
health, during the damp Roman winter. Margaret suffered from ill health
this winter, and she afterwards attributed it mainly to the fact, that
she had not the sun. As soon as she heard of our arrival, she stretched
forth a friendly, cordial hand, and greeted us most warmly. She gave
us great assistance in our search for convenient lodgings, and we were
soon happily established near her. Our intercourse was henceforth most
frequent and intimate, and knew no cloud nor coldness. Daily we were
much with her, and daily we felt more sensible of the worth and value
of our friend. To me she seemed so unlike what I had thought her to be
in America, that I continually said, “How have I misjudged you; you are
not at all such a person as I took you to be.” To this she replied, “I
am not the same person, but in many respects another; my life has new
channels now, and how thankful I am that I have been able to come out
into larger interests--but, partly, you did not know me at home in the
true light.” It was true, that I had not known her much personally,
when in Boston; but through her friends, who were mine also, I had
learned to think of her as a person on intellectual stilts, with a
large share of arrogance, and little sweetness of temper. How unlike to
this was she now! So delicate, so simple, confiding and affectionate;
with a true womanly heart and soul, sensitive and generous, and, what
was to me a still greater surprise, possessed of so broad a charity,
that she could cover with its mantle the faults and defects of all
about her.
[Sidenote: The Marquis Ossoli.]
We soon became acquainted with the young Marquis Ossoli, and met him
frequently at Margaret’s rooms. He appeared to be of a reserved and
gentle nature, with quiet, gentleman-like manners, and there was
something melancholy in the expression of his face, which made one
desire to know more of him. In figure, he was tall, and of slender
frame, with dark hair and eyes; we judged that he was about thirty
years of age, possibly younger.
MRS. STORY: _Communication_ in ‘Memoirs of Margaret Fuller Ossoli.’
* * * * *
[Sidenote: The meeting of Margaret and Ossoli.]
Our meeting was singular--fateful, I may say. Very soon he offered me
his hand through life, but I never dreamed I should take it. I loved
him, and felt very unhappy to leave him; but the connection seemed so
every way unfit, I did not hesitate a moment. He, however, thought I
should return to him, as I did. I acted upon a strong impulse, and
could not analyze at all what passed in my mind. I neither rejoice nor
grieve--for bad or for good, I acted out my character.
[Sidenote: Her suffering during the siege of Rome.]
During the siege of Rome, I could not see my little boy. What I endured
at that time, in various ways, not many would survive.... I went, every
day, to wait, in the crowd, for letters about him. Often they did not
come. I saw blood that had streamed on the wall where Ossoli was. I
have a piece of a bomb that burst close to him. I sought solace in
tending the suffering men; but when I beheld the beautiful, fair young
men bleeding to death, or mutilated for life, I felt the woe of all the
mothers who had nursed each to that full flower, to see them thus cut
down. I felt the consolation, too, for those youths died worthily.
MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI: _Letter to her Sister_, in ‘Memorials of
Margaret Fuller Ossoli.’
* * * * *
[Sidenote: Margaret in the hospitals.]
Margaret had ... the entire charge of one of the hospitals, and was the
assistant of the Princess Belgioioso, in charge of “_dei Pellegrini_,”
where, during the first day, they received seventy wounded men, French
and Romans. Night and day, Margaret was occupied, and, with the
princess, so ordered and disposed the hospitals, that their conduct was
truly admirable. All the work was skilfully divided, so that there was
no confusion or hurry, and, from the chaotic condition in which they
had been left by the priests--who previously had charge of them--they
brought them to a state of perfect regularity and discipline. Of
money, they had very little, and they were obliged to give their time
and thoughts, in its place. From the Americans in Rome, they raised a
subscription for the aid of the wounded of either party; but, besides
this, they had scarcely any means to use. I have walked through the
wards with Margaret, and seen how comforting was her presence to the
poor suffering men. “How long will the Signora stay?” “When will the
Signora come again?” they eagerly asked. For each one’s particular
tastes she had a care: to one she carried books; to another she told
the news of the day; and listened to another’s oft-repeated tale of
wrongs, as the best sympathy she could give. They raised themselves up
on their elbows, to get the last glimpse of her as she was going away.
MRS. STORY: _Communication_ in ‘Memoirs of Margaret Fuller Ossoli.’
* * * * *
[Sidenote: Margaret’s description of Ossoli.]
He is not in any respect such a person as people in general would
expect to find with me. He had no instructor except an old priest, who
entirely neglected his education; and of all that is contained in books
he is absolutely ignorant, and he has no enthusiasm of character. On
the other hand, he has excellent practical sense; has been a judicious
observer of all that passed before his eyes; has a nice sense of duty,
which, in its unfailing, minute activity, may put most enthusiasts to
shame; a very sweet temper, and great native refinement. His love for
me has been unswerving and most tender.... Amid many ills and cares, we
have had much joy together, in the sympathy with natural beauty--with
our child--with all that is innocent and sweet.
I do not know whether he will always love me so well, for I am the
elder, and the difference will become, in a few years, more perceptible
than now. But life is so uncertain, and it is so necessary to take good
things with their limitations, that I have not thought it worth while
to calculate too curiously.
[Sidenote: The little Angelo.]
What shall I say of my child? All might seem hyperbole, even to my
dearest mother. In him I find satisfaction, for the first time, to the
deep wants of my heart.... He is a fair child, with blue eyes and light
hair; very affectionate, graceful, and sportive. He was baptized, in
the Roman Catholic Church, by the name of Angelo Eugene Philip, for his
father, grandfather, and my brother.
MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI: _Letter to her mother_, in ‘Memoirs of Margaret
Fuller Ossoli.’
* * * * *
[Sidenote: Their last spring in Florence.]
I passed about six weeks in the city of Florence, during the months
of March and April, 1850. During the whole of that time Madame Ossoli
was residing in a house at the corner of the Via della Misericordia
and the Piazza Santa Maria Novelle. This house is one of those large,
well-built, modern houses that show strangely in the streets of the
stately Tuscan city. But if her rooms were less characteristically
Italian, they were the more comfortable, and, though small, had a
quiet, home-like air.... I saw her frequently at these rooms, where,
surrounded by her books and papers, she used to devote her mornings
to her literary labors. Once or twice I called in the morning, and
found her quite immersed in manuscripts and journals. Her evenings
were passed usually in the society of her friends, at her own rooms,
or at theirs.... [Ossoli] seemed quite absorbed in his wife and child.
I cannot remember ever to have found Madame Ossoli alone, on those
evenings when she remained at home. Her husband was always with her.
The picture of their room rises clearly on my memory. A small, square
room, sparingly, yet sufficiently furnished, with polished floor and
frescoed ceiling, and, drawn up closely before the cheerful fire, an
oval table, on which stood a monkish lamp of brass, with depending
chains that support quaint classic cups for the olive oil. There,
seated beside his wife, I was sure to find the Marchese, reading from
some patriotic book, and dressed in the dark brown, red-corded coat of
the Guardia Civica, which it was his melancholy pleasure to wear at
home.
W. H. HURLBUT: _Communication_ in ‘Memoirs of Margaret Fuller Ossoli.’
* * * * *
[Sidenote: The homeward voyage.]
Why did she choose a merchant vessel from Leghorn? Why one which was
destined to carry in its hold the heavy marble of Powers’s Greek
Slave? She was warned against this, was uncertain in her own mind, and
disturbed by presages of ill. But economy was very necessary to her
at the moment. The vessel chosen, the barque _Elizabeth_, was new,
strong and ably commanded. Margaret had seen and made friends with the
captain, Hasty by name, and his wife. Horace Sumner [Charles Sumner’s
youngest brother, of whom they had seen much in Florence during the
winter], was to be their fellow-passenger, and a young Italian girl,
Celeste Paolini, engaged to help in the care of the little boy. These
considerations carried the day.
[Sidenote: Margaret’s forebodings.]
Just before leaving Florence, Margaret received letters, the tenor
of which would have enabled her to remain longer in Italy. Ossoli
remembered the warning of a fortune-teller, who in his childhood had
told him to beware of the sea. Margaret wrote of omens which gave her
“a dark feeling.” She had “a vague expectation of some crisis,” she
knows not what.... She prays fervently that she may not lose her boy at
sea, “either by unsolaced illness, or amid the howling waves; or if so,
that Ossoli, Angelo, and I may go together, and that the anguish may be
brief.”
These presentiments, strangely prophetic, returned upon Margaret with
so much force that on the very day appointed for sailing, the 17th of
May, she stood at bay before them for an hour, unable to decide whether
she should go or stay. But she had appointed a general meeting with her
family in July, and had positively engaged her passage in the barque.
Fidelity to these engagements prevailed with her.... In spite of fears
and omens, ... she went on board, and the voyage began in smooth
tranquillity....
On Thursday, July 18th, the _Elizabeth_ was off the Jersey coast, in
thick weather, the wind blowing east of south. The former mate was now
the captain. [Captain Hasty had died on the voyage.] Wishing to avoid
the coast, he sailed east-north-east, thinking presently to take a
pilot, and pass Sandy Hook by favor of the wind. At night he promised
his passengers an early arrival in New York. They retired to rest in
good spirits, having previously made all the usual preparations for
going on shore.
[Sidenote: The wreck of the “Elizabeth.”]
By nine o’clock that evening the breeze had become a gale, by midnight
a dangerous storm. The commander, casting the lead from time to
time, was without apprehension, having, it is supposed, mistaken his
locality, and miscalculated the speed of the vessel, which, under
close-reefed sails, was nearing the sandbars of Long Island. Here, on
Fire Island beach, she struck, at four o’clock on the morning of July
19th. The main and mizzen masts were promptly cut away, but the heavy
marble had broken through the hold, and the waters rushed in. The bow
of the vessel stuck fast in the sand, her stern swung around, and she
lay with her broadside exposed to the breakers, which swept over her
with each returning rise--a wreck to be saved by no human power.
The passengers sprang from their berths, aroused by the dreadful
shock, and guessing but too well its import. Then came the crash of
the falling masts, the roar of the waves, as they shattered the cabin
skylight and poured down into the cabin, extinguishing the lights.
These features of the moment are related as recalled by Mrs. Hasty,
sole survivor of the passengers.... The leeward side of the cabin was
already under water, but its windward side still gave shelter, and
here, for three hours, the passengers took refuge, their feet braced
against the long table. The baby shrieked, as well he might, with
the sudden fright, the noise and chill of the water. But his mother
wrapped him as warmly as she could, and in her agony cradled him on
her bosom and sang him to sleep. The girl Celeste was beside herself
with terror; and here we find recorded a touching trait of Ossoli, who
soothed her with encouraging words, and touched all hearts with his
fervent prayer.... The crew had retired to the top-gallant forecastle,
and the passengers, hearing nothing of them, supposed them to have
left the ship. By seven o’clock it became evident that the cabin could
not hold together much longer, and Mrs. Hasty, looking from the door
for some way of escape, saw a figure standing by the foremast, the
space between being constantly swept by the waves. She tried in vain
to make herself heard; but the mate, Davis, coming to the door of
the forecastle, saw her and immediately ordered the men to go to her
assistance. So great was the danger of doing this, that only two of the
crew were willing to accompany him. The only refuge for the passengers
was now in the forecastle, which, from its position and strength of
construction, would be likely to resist longest the violence of the
waves.