FRUITLANDS
WHAT influenced Isaac Hecker to leave Brook Farm, a place so
congenial in many ways to his natural dispositions, was, plainly
enough, his tendency to seek a more ascetic and interior life than he
could lead there. The step cost him much, but he had received all
that the place and his companions could give him, and his departure
was inevitable.
His next move in pursuit if his ideal took him to Fruitlands. This
was a farm, situated near Harvard, in Worcester Co., Massachusetts,
which had been bought by Mr. Charles Lane, an English admirer of Amos
Bronson Alcott, with the hope of establishing on it a new community
in consonance with the views and wishes of the latter. Perhaps
Fruitlands could never, at any stage of its existence as a corporate
home for Mr. Alcott's family and his scanty following of disciples,
have been truly described as in running order, but when Isaac Hecker
went there, on July 11, 1843, it was still in its incipiency. He had
paid the Fruitlanders a brief visit toward the end of June, and
thought that he saw in them evidences of "a deeper life." It speaks
volumes for his native sagacity and keen eye for realities, that less
than a fortnight's residence with Mr. Alcott should have sufficed to
dispel this illusion.
Bronson Alcott seems to have been by nature what the French call a
_poseur;_ or, as one of his own not unkindly intimates has described
him, "an innocent charlatan." Although not altogether empty, he was
vain; full of talk which had what was most often a false air of
profundity; unpractical and incapable in the ordinary affairs of life
to a degree not adequately compensated for by such a grasp as he was
able to get on the realities that underlie them; and with an imposing
aspect which corresponded wonderfully well with his interior traits.
That, in his prime, his persuasive accents and bland self-confidence,
backed by the admiration felt and expressed for him by men such as
Emerson, and some of the community at Brook Farm, should have induced
an open-minded youth like Isaac Hecker to take him for a time at his
own valuation, is not strange. The truth is, that it was one of
Father Hecker's life-long traits to prove all things, that he might
find the good and hold fast to it. There was an element of justice in
his make-up which enabled him to suspend judgment upon any
institution or person, however little they seemed to deserve such
consideration, until he was in a condition to decide from his own
investigations. We shall see, later on, how he tried all the
principal forms of Protestantism before deciding upon Catholicity,
strong as his tendency toward the Church had become. We have never
known any other man who, without exhibiting obstinacy, could so
steadfastly reserve his judgment on another's statement, especially
if it were in the nature of a condemnation.
When Isaac Hecker first made his acquaintance, Mr. Alcott had but
recently returned from England, whither he had gone on the invitation
of James P. Greaves, a friend and fellow-laborer of the great Swiss
educator, Pestalozzi. Mr. Alcott had gained a certain vogue at home
as a lecturer, and also as the conductor of a singular school for
young children. Among its many peculiarities was that of carrying
"moral suasion" to such lengths, as a solitary means of discipline,
that the master occasionally publicly submitted to the castigation
earned by a refractory urchin, probably by way of reaching the
latter's moral sense through shame or pity. This was, doubtless,
rather interesting to the pupils, whether or not it was corrective.
Mr. Alcott's peculiarities did not stop here, however, and Boston
parents, when he began to publish the _Colloquies on the Gospels_
which he held with their children, concluded, on the evidence thus
furnished, that his thought was too "advanced" to make it prudent to
trust them longer to his care. Miss Elizabeth P. Peabody, since so
well known as an expositor of the Kindergarten system, had been his
assistant. She wrote a _Record of Mr. Alcott's School_ which
attracted the attention of a small band of educational enthusiasts in
England. They gave the name of "Alcott House" to a school of their
own at Ham, near London, and hoped for great things from the personal
advice and presence of the "Concord Plato." He was petted and fêted
among them pretty nearly to the top of his bent; but his visit would
have proved a more unalloyed success if the hard Scotch sense of
Carlyle, to whom Emerson had recommended him, had not so quickly
dubbed his vaunted depths deceptive shallows.
On his return he was accompanied by two Englishmen who seemed to be
like-minded with himself, a Mr. H. G. Wright and Mr. Charles Lane,
both of whom returned within a year or two to their own country,
wiser and perhaps sadder men. Lane, at all events, who was a simple
and candid soul for whom Isaac Hecker conceived a long-enduring
friendship, sunk all his private means irrevocably in the futile
attempt to establish Fruitlands on a solid basis. To use his own
words in a letter now at our hand, though referring to another of Mr.
Alcott's schemes, his little fortune was "buried in the same grave of
flowery rhetoric in which so many other notions have been deposited."
Lying before us there is an epistle--Mr. Alcott's most ordinary
written communications with his friends must have demanded that term
in preference to anything less stately--in which he has described his
own ideal of what life at Fruitlands ought to be. No directer way of
conveying to our readers a notion of his peculiar faculty of seeming
to say something of singular importance occurs to us, than that of
giving it entire. Though found among Father Hecker's papers, it was
not addressed to him but to one of his most-valued Brook Farm
associates:
"Concord, Mass., February 15, 1843.--DEAR FRIEND: In reply to your
letter of the 12th, I have to say that as until the snow leaves the
ground clear, the Family cannot so much as look for a locality (which
then may not readily be found), it seems premature to talk of the
conditions on which any association may be formed.
"Nevertheless, as human progress is a universally interesting
subject, I have much pleasure in communicating with you on the
question of the general conditions most conducive to that end.
"I have no belief in associations of human beings for the purpose of
making themselves happy by means of improved outward arrangements
alone, as the fountains of happiness are within, and are opened to us
as we are preharmonized or consociated with the Universal Spirit.
This is the one condition needful for happy association amongst men.
And this condition is attained by the surrender of all individual or
selfish gratification--a complete willingness to be moulded by
Divinity. This, as men now are, of course involves self-renunciation
and retrenchment; and in enumerating the hindrances which debar us
from happiness, we shall be drawn to consider, in the first place,
ourselves; and to entertain practically the question, Are we prepared
for the giving up all, and taking refuge in Love as an unfailing
Providence? A faith and reliance as large as this seems needful to
insure us against disappointment. The entrance to Paradise is still
through the strait gate and narrow way of self-denial. Eden's avenue
is yet guarded by the fiery-sworded cherubim, and humility and
charity are the credentials for admission. Unless well armed with
valor and patience, we must continue in the old and much-trodden
broad way, and take share of the penalties paid by all who walk
thereon.
"The conditions for one are conditions for all. Hence there can be no
parley with the tempter, no private pleas for self-indulgence, no
leaning on the broken reed of circumstances.
"It is not for us to prescribe conditions; these are prescribed on
our natures, our state of being--and the best we can do, if
disqualified, is either to attain an amended character, or to
relinquish all hopes of securing felicity.
"Our purposes, as far as we know them at present, are briefly these:
"First, to obtain the free use of a spot of land adequate by our own
labor to our support; including, of course, a convenient plain house,
and offices, wood-lot, garden, and orchard.
"Secondly, to live independently of foreign aids by being
sufficiently elevated to procure all articles for subsistence in the
productions of the spot, under a regimen of healthful labor and
recreation; with benignity towards all creatures, human and inferior;
with beauty and refinement in all economies; and the purest charity
throughout our demeanor.
"Should this kind of life attract parties towards us--individuals of
like aims and issues--that state of being itself determines the law
of association; and the particular mode may be spoken of more
definitely as individual cases may arise; but, in no case, could
inferior ends compromise the principles laid down.
"Doubtless such a household, with our library, our services and
manner of life, may attract young men and women, possibly also
families with children, desirous of access to the channels and
fountain of wisdom and purity; and we are not without hope that
Providence will use us progressively for beneficial effects in the
great work of human regeneration, and the restoration of the highest
life on earth.
"With the humane wish that yourself and little ones may be led to
confide in providential Love,
"I am, dear friend, very truly yours,
"A. BRONSON ALCOTT."
It must be admitted that there is something delightful in the
_naïveté_ of this undertaking to be "sufficiently elevated to live
independently of foreign aids," after first getting "the _free use_
of a spot of land, . . . including, _of course,_ a convenient plain
house, and offices, wood-lot, garden, and orchard." Establishments
which would tolerably approximate to this description, and to the
really essential needs of its prospective founder, have long existed
in every civilized community. There are certain restrictions placed
upon their inmates, however, and Mr. Alcott's desire was to make sure
of his basis of earthly supplies, while left entirely free to
persuade himself that he had arrived at an elevation which made him
independent of them. Still, though "a charlatan," it must not be
forgotten that he was "an innocent" one. He was plainly born great in
that way, and had no need to achieve greatness in it. As Father
Hecker said of him long afterwards, "Diogenes and his tub would have
been Alcott's ideal if he had carried it out. But he never carried it
out." Diogenes himself, it may be supposed, had his ideal included a
family and an audience as well as a tub, might finally have come to
hold that the finding of the latter was a mere detail, which could be
entrusted indifferently to either of the two former or to both
combined. Somebody once described Fruitlands as a place where Mr.
Alcott looked benign and talked philosophy, while Mrs. Alcott and the
children did the work. Still, to look benign is a good deal for a man
to do persistently in an adverse world, indifferent for the most part
to the charms of "divine philosophy," and Mr. Alcott persevered in
that exercise until his latest day. "He was unquestionably one of
those who like to sit upon a platform," wrote, at the time of his
death, one who knew Alcott well, "and he may have liked to feel that
his venerable aspect had the effect of a benediction." But with this
mild criticism, censure of him is well-nigh exhausted. There was
nothing of the Patriarch of Bleeding Heart Yard about him except that
"venerable aspect," for which nature was responsible, and not he.
Fruitlands was the caricature of Brook Farm. Just as the
fanatic is the caricature of the true reformer, so was Alcott the
caricature of Ripley. This is not meant as disparaging either
Alcott's sincerity or his intelligence, but to affirm that he lacked
judgment, that he miscalculated means and ends, that he jumped
from theory to practice without a moment's interval, preferred
to be guided by instinct rather than by processes of reasoning,
and deemed this to be the philosopher's way.
In the memoranda of private conversations with Father Hecker
we find several references to Mr. Alcott. The first bears date
February 4, 1882, and occurs in a conversation ranging over the
whole of his experience between his first and second departures
from home. We give it as it stands:
"Fruitlands was very different from Brook Farm--far more ascetic."
"You didn't like it?"
"Yes; but they did not begin to satisfy me. I said to them:
'If you had the Eternal here, all right. I would be with you.'"
"Had they no notion of the hereafter?"
"No; nothing definite. Their idea was human perfection. They set out
to demonstrate what man can do in the way of the supremacy of the
spiritual over the animal. 'All right,' I said, 'I agree with you
fully. I admire your asceticism; it is nothing new to me; I have
practised it a long time myself. If you can get the Everlasting out
of my mind, I'm yours. But I know' (here Father Hecker thumped the
table at his bedside) 'that I am going to live for ever.'"
"What did Alcott say when you left?"
"He went to Lane and said, 'Well, Hecker has flunked out. He hadn't
the courage to persevere. He's a coward.' But Lane said, 'No; you're
mistaken. Hecker's right. He wanted more than we had to give him.'"
Mr. Alcott's death in 1888 was the occasion of the reminiscences
which follow:
"March 5, 1888.--Bronson Alcott dead! I saw him coming from Rochester
on the cars. I had been a Catholic missionary for I don't know how
many years. We sat together. 'Father Hecker,' said he, 'why can't you
make a Catholic of me?' 'Too much rust here,' said I, clapping him on
the knee. He got very angry because I said that was the obstacle. I
never saw him angry at any other time. He was too proud.
"But he was a great natural man. He was faithful to pure, natural
conscience. His virtues came from that. He never had any virtue
beyond what a good pagan has. He never aimed at anything more, nor
claimed to. He maintained that to be all.
"I don't believe he ever prayed. Whom could he pray to? Was not
Bronson Alcott the greatest of all?"
"Did he believe in God?"
"Not the God that we know. He believed in the Bronson Alcott God. He
was his own God."
"You say he was Emerson's master: what do you mean by that?"
"He taught Emerson. He began life as a pedler. The Yankee pedler was
Emerson's master. Whatever principles Emerson had, Alcott gave him.
And Emerson was a good pupil; he was faithful to his master to the
end.
"When did I know him first? Hard to remember. He was the head of
Fruitlands, as Ripley was of Brook Farm. They were entirely different
men. Diogenes and his tub would have been Alcott's ideal if he had
carried it out. But he never carried it out. Ripley's ideal would
have been Epictetus. Ripley would have taken with him the good things
of this life; Alcott would have rejected them all."
"How did he receive you at Fruitlands?"
"Very kindly, but from mixed and selfish motives. I suspected he
wanted me because he thought I would bring money to the community.
Lane was entirely unselfish.
"Alcott was a man of no great intellectual gifts or acquirements. His
knowledge came chiefly from experience and instinct. He had an
insinuating and persuasive way with him--he must have been an ideal
pedler."
"What if he had been a Catholic, and thoroughly sanctified?"
"He could have been nothing but a hermit like those of the fourth
century--he was naturally and constitutionally so odd. Emerson,
Alcott, and Thoreau were three consecrated cranks: rather be crank
than president. All the cranks look up to them."
Beside these later reminiscences we shall now place the contemporary
record of his impressions made by Isaac Hecker while at Fruitlands.
Our first extract, however, was written at Brook Farm, a few days
before going thither:
"July 7, 1843.--I go to Mr. Alcott's next Tuesday, if nothing
happens. I have had three pairs of coarse pants and a coat made for
me. It is my intention to commence work as soon as I get there. I
will gradually simplify my dress without making any sudden
difference, although it would be easier to make a radical and
thorough change at once than piece by piece. But this will be a
lesson in patient perseverance to me. All our difficulties should be
looked at in such a light as to improve and elevate our minds.
"I can hardly prevent myself from saying how much I shall miss the
company of those whom I love and associate with here. But I must go.
I am called with a stronger voice. This is a different trial from any
I have ever had. I have had that of leaving kindred, but now I have
that of leaving those whom I love from affinity. If I wished to live
a life the most gratifying to me, and in agreeable company, I
certainly would remain here. Here are refining amusements, cultivated
persons--and one whom I have not spoken of, one who is too much to me
to speak of, one who would leave all for me. Alas! him I must leave
to go."
In this final sentence, as it now stands in the diary and as we have
transcribed it, occurs one of those efforts of which we have spoken,
to obliterate the traces of this early attachment. "Him" was
originally written "her," but the _r_ has been lengthened to an _m,_
and the _e_ dotted, both with a care which overshot their mark by an
almost imperceptible hair's-breadth. If the nature of this attachment
were not so evident from other sources, we should have left such
passages unquoted; fearing lest they might be misunderstood. As it
is, the light they cast seems to us to throw up into fuller
proportions the kind and extent of the renunciations to which Isaac
Hecker was called before he had arrived at any clear view of the end
to which they tended.
"Fruitlands, July 12.--Last evening I arrived here. After tea I went
out in the fields and raked hay for an hour in company with the
persons here. We returned and had a conversation on Clothing. Some
very fine things were said by Mr. Alcott and Mr. Lane. In most of
their thoughts I coincide; they are the same which of late have much
occupied my mind. Alcott said that to Emerson the world was a
lecture-room, to Brownson a rostrum.
"This morning after breakfast a conversation was held on Friendship
and its laws and conditions. Mr. Alcott placed Innocence first;
Larned, Thoughtfulness; I, Seriousness; Lane, Fidelity.
"July 13.--This morning after breakfast there was held a conversation
on The Highest Aim. Mr. Alcott said it was Integrity; I, Harmonic
being; Lane, Progressive being; Larned, Annihilation of self; Bower,
Repulsion of the evil in us. Then there was a confession of the
obstacles which prevent us from attaining the highest aim. Mine was
the doubt whether the light is light; not the want of will to follow,
or the sight to see."
"July 17.--I cannot understand what it is that leads me, or what I am
after. Being is incomprehensible.
"What shall I be led to? Is there a being whom I may marry and who
would be the means of opening my eyes? Sometimes I think so--but it
appears impossible. Why should others tell me that it is so, and will
be so, in an unconscious way, as Larned did on Sunday last, and as
others have before him? Will I be led home? It strikes me these
people here, Alcott and Lane, will be a great deal to me. I do not
know but they may be what I am looking for, or the answer to that in
me which is asking.
"Can I say it? I believe it should be said. Here I cannot end. They
are too near me; they do not awaken in me that sense of their high
superiority which would keep me here to be bettered, to be elevated.
They have much, very much. I desire Mr. Alcott's strength of
self-denial, and the unselfishness of Mr. Lane in money matters. In
both these they are far my superiors. I would be meek, humble, and
sit at their feet that I might be as they are. They do not understand
me, but if I am what my consciousness, my heart, lead me to feel--if
I am not deceived--why then I can wait. Yes, patiently wait. Is not
this the first time since I have been here that I have recovered
myself? Do I not feel that I have something to receive here, to add
to, to increase my highest life, which I have never felt anywhere
else?
"Is this sufficient to keep me here? If I can prophesy, I must say
no. I feel that it will not fill my capacity. O God! strengthen my
resolution. Let me not waver, and continue my life. But I am sinful.
Oh, forgive my sins! What shall I do, O Lord! that they may be
blotted out? Lord, could I only blot them from my memory, nothing
would be too great or too much."
"July 18.--I have thought of my family this afternoon, and the
happiness and love with which I might return to them. To leave them,
to give up the thought of living with them again--can I entertain
that idea? Still, I cannot conceive how I can engage in business,
share the practices, and indulge myself with the food and garmenture
(_sic_) of our home and city. To return home, were it possible for
me, would most probably not only stop my progress, but put me back.
"It is useless for me to speculate upon my future. Put dependence on
the spirit which leads me, be faithful to it; work, and leave results
to God. If the question should be asked me, whether I would give up
my kindred and business and follow out this spirit-life, or return
and enjoy them both, I could not hesitate a moment, for they would
not compare--there would be no room for choice. What I do I must do,
for it is not I that do it; it is the spirit. What that spirit may be
is a question I cannot answer, What it leads me to do will be the
only evidence of its character. I feel as impersonal as a stranger to
it. I ask, Who are you? Where are you going to take me? Why me? Why
not some one else? I stand amazed, astonished to see myself. Alas! I
cry, who am I and what does this mean? and I am lost in wonder."
"Saturday, July 21.--Yesterday, after supper, a conversation took
place between Mr. Alcott, Mr. Lane, and myself; the subject was my
position with regard to my family, my duty, and my position here. Mr.
Alcott asked for my first impressions as regards the hindrances I have
noted since coming here. I told him candidly they were: 1st, his want
of frankness; 2d, his disposition to separateness rather than win
co-operators with the aims in his own mind; 3d, his family, who
prevent his immediate plans of reformation; 4th, the fact that this
place has very little fruit on it, while it was and is their desire
that fruit should be the principal part of their diet; 5th, my fear
that they have too decided a tendency toward literature and writing
for the prosperity and success of their enterprise.
"My relations with my family are very critical at this period--more
so than they have ever been. It is the crisis of the state we have
been in for this past year. If God gives me strength to be true to
the spirit, it is very doubtful how far those at home will be willing
to second it. I have written them a letter asking for their own aims
and views of life, and I am anxious for their answer. The question of
returning is not a wilful one with me, for it is the spirit which
guides me. If it can live there, I go back. If not, I am governed and
must follow where it leads, wherever that may be."
The letter referred to in this entry of the diary is too long, and
covers too much ground already traversed, to be quoted in full, but
it contains some striking passages. It was written at Fruitlands,
July 17, '43. After inquiring with his customary directness what are
their aims in life and what they are doing to attain them, he goes on
to say:
"Although the idea or aim which each one aspires toward and tries to
realize will be colored by his own peculiar tendencies, still, in
substance, in practice, they will agree if they are inspired by the
self-same spirit."
Here we have the practical good sense which reined in and directed
Isaac Hecker throughout his life, making it finally impossible for
him not to see and recognize the visible Church, notwithstanding his
mystical tendency, his want of thorough education, and his birthright
of heresy.
Again he writes:
"There are all the natural ties why we should not be separated, and
no reasons why we should, unless there exists such a wide difference
in the aims we seek to realize that it would be injurious or
impossible for us to live in family, in unity, in love. I do not
believe this difference exists, but if it does, and we are conscious
of being led by a higher spirit than our own, we should and would
sacrifice all that hinders us from the divine calling. That demands
implicit, uncompromising obedience. It speaks in the tone of high
authority. The dead must bury their dead. That which offends it must
be got rid of at all costs, be it wife, parents, children, brothers,
sisters, or our own eye or hand. I do not contemplate a sacrifice of
either of these; still, it is well to consider whether, if such a
demand should be made of us, we are in such a state of mind that we
would be willing to give one or all up, if they should stand in the
way of our progress toward God. . . .
"If you desire to continue the way of life you have and do now lead,
be plain, frank, and so express yourselves explicitly. If not, and
you have any desire or intention in your minds to alter or make a
radical change in your external circumstances for the sake of a
higher, better mode of life, be equally open, and let me know all
your thoughts and aspirations which are struggling for expression,
for real life. . . .
"We have labored together in union for material wealth; can we now
labor in the same way for spiritual wealth? If there are sufficient
points of accord in us in this higher life, we must come together and
live in harmony. Since my departure from home there has been a change
in my mind, or, perhaps more truly, a sudden and rapid growth in a
certain direction, the germs of which you must have heretofore
perceived in my conduct and life. On the other hand, I suppose there
has been a progress in your minds, and I feel that the time has
arrived when we should see where we are, so that we may either come
together or separate. Our future relation cannot be a wilful one. It
must be based on a unity of spirit, for the social, the humane
instincts cannot bind us together any longer. . . . Have we the
spiritual as well as the natural brotherhood? this is the question
which deeply concerns us now. . . . I do not know what the spirit has
done for you since my departure. If it has led you as it has led me,
there is no reason why I should be amongst strangers by birth,
although not altogether strangers in love . . . Think seriously upon
your answer. Act true. Life is to me of serious import, and I feel
called upon to give up all that hinders me from following this import
wherever it may lead. But do not let this influence you in your
judgments. We have but a short life to live here, and I would offer
mine to some worthy end: this is all I desire. My health is very
good. I am still at Fruitlands, and will remain here until something
further happens. Accept my deepest love."
While waiting for an answer to this letter, the diary shows how
continuously Isaac's mind was working over this problem of a final
separation from his kindred. It seems probable that it was, on the
whole, the deepest emotional one that he had to solve. Both filial
duty and natural affection were strong sentiments with him. One
notices in these letters how courteous and urbane is the tone he
uses, even when insisting most on the necessity which lies upon him
to cut all the ties which bind him. This was a family trait. In a
letter written to us last September in answer to a question, Mr.
Charles A. Dana incidentally refers to a visit he paid Isaac Hecker
at his mother's house. "It was a very interesting family," he writes,
"and the cordiality and sweetness of the relations which prevailed in
it impressed me very greatly."
The entry we are about to quote opens with an odd echo from a certain
school of mysticism with which Isaac about this time became familiar:
"July 22, 1843.--Man requires a new birth--the birth of the feminine
in him.
"The question arises in my mind whether it is necessary for me to
require the concurrence of my brothers in the views of life which now
appear to demand of me their actualization.
"Can I not adopt simple garmenture and diet without their doing so?
Must I needs have their concurrence? Can I not leave results to
themselves? If my life is purer than that of those around me, can I
not trust to its own simple influence?
"But if there is a great difference of spirit, can we live together?
Does not like seek like? In money matters things must certainly be
other than they have been. We must agree that no accounts shall be
kept between ourselves, let the consequences be what they may. I
would rather suffer evils from a dependence on the spirit of love
than permit that of selfishness to exist between us. I ask not a cent
above what will supply my immediate, necessary wants. . . They may
demand ten times more than I, and it would be a happiness to me to
see them use it, even if I thought they used it wrongfully. All the
check I would be willing to employ would be that of love and mutual
good feeling. If I remain as I now am, I shall require very little,
and that little would be spent for the benefit and help of others.
"July 23.--I will go home, be true to the spirit with the help of
God, and wait for further light and strength. . . . I feel that I
cannot live at this place as I would. This is not the place for my
soul. . . My life is not theirs. They have been the means of giving
me much light on myself, but I feel I would live and progress more in
a different atmosphere."
On the 25th of July Isaac finally departed from Fruitlands, and after
remaining for a few days at Brook Farm, he returned to his home in
New York. Before following him thither, it may be well to give at
once such further references to this period of his life as are
contained in the memoranda. The following extract is undated:
_"À propos_ of Emerson's death, Father Hecker said: 'I knew him well.
When I resolved to become a Catholic I was boarding at the house of
Henry Thoreau's mother, a stone's-throw from Emerson's at Concord.'"
"What did Thoreau say about it?"
"'What's the use of your joining the Catholic Church? Can't you get
along without hanging to her skirts?' I suppose Emerson found it out
from Thoreau, so he tried his best to get me out of the notion. He
invited me to tea with him, and he kept leading up to the subject and
I leading away from it. The next day he asked me to drive over with
him to the Shakers, some fifteen miles. We stayed over night, and all
the way there and back he was fishing for my reasons, with the plain
purpose of dissuading me. Then Alcott and he arranged matters so that
they cornered me in a sort of interview, and Alcott frankly developed
the subject. I finally said, 'Mr. Alcott, I deny your inquisitorial
right in this matter,' and so they let it drop. One day, however, I
was walking along the road and Emerson joined me. Presently he said,
'Mr. Hecker, I suppose it was the art, the architecture, and so on in
the Catholic Church which led you to her?' 'No,' said I; 'but it was
what caused all that.' I was the first to break the Transcendental
camp. Brownson came some time after me.
"Years later, during the war, I went to Concord to lecture, and
wanted Emerson to help me get a hall. He refused.
"Alcott promised that he would, but he did not, and I think Emerson
dissuaded him. After a time, however, a priest, a church, and a
congregation of some six or seven hundred Catholics grew up in
Concord, and I was invited to lecture, and I went. The pastor
attended another station that Sunday, and I said the Mass and meant
to give a homily by way of sermon. But as I was going to the altar,
all vested for the Mass, two men came into my soul: one, the man who
lived in that village in former years, a blind man, groping about for
light, a soul with every problem unsolved; the other a man full of
light, with every problem solved, the universe and the reason of his
existence known as they actually are. Well, there were those two men
in my soul. I had to get rid of them, so I preached them of to the
people. Some wept, some laughed, all were deeply moved. That night
came the lecture. It rained pitchforks and pineapples, but the hall,
a large one, was completely filled. Multitudes of Yankees were there.
Emerson was absent, but Alcott was present. I had my lecture all cut
and dried. 'Why I became a Catholic' was the subject. But as I was
about to begin, up came those two men again, and for the life of me I
couldn't help firing them off at the audience, and with remarkable
effect. Next day I met Emerson in the street and we had a little talk
together. None of those men are comfortable in conversation with an
intelligent Catholic. He avoided my square look, and actually kept
turning to avoid my eyes until he had quite turned round! Such men,
confronted with actual, certain convictions are exceedingly
uncomfortable. They feel in subjection to you. They cannot bear the
steadfast glance of a man of certain principles any better than a dog
can the look of his master. Like a dog, they turn away the head and
show signs of uneasiness."
From the memoranda, also, we take this reminiscence of George Ripley,
the man whom Father Hecker loved best of all the Transcendental party:
"January 23, 1885.--Seeing my perplexity at Brook Farm, George Ripley
said, 'Mr. Hecker, do you think we have not got true religion? If you
think so, say so. If you have views you think true, and which we
ought to have, let us hear them.' I answered, 'No; I haven't the
truth, but I am trying to get it. If I ever succeed, you will hear
from me. If I don't, you never will. I am not going to teach before I
am certain myself. I will not add myself to the list of humbugs.'
"Ripley was a great man; a wonderful man. But he was a complete
failure. I loved him dearly, and he knew it, and he loved me; I know
well he did. When I came back a Redemptorist from Europe, I went to
see him at the _Tribune_ office. He asked me, 'Can you do all that
any Catholic priest can do?' 'Yes.' 'Then I will send for you when I
am drawing towards my end.'
"Indeed, if one could have gone to Ripley, at any time in his later
years, and said, 'You will never return again to the society of men,'
and persuaded him it was true, he would have said at once, 'Send for
Father Hecker or some other Catholic priest.' I am persuaded that the
fear of facing his friends hindered George Ripley from becoming a
Catholic. He sent for me when taken down by his last illness, but his
message was not delivered. As soon as I heard that he was ill I
hastened to his bedside, but his mind was gone and I could do nothing
for him."
And now, having given so fully such of his own impressions as remain
of the persons and places which helped to shape Father Hecker in
early manhood, we will terminate the record of this period with two
letters, one from each community, which were written him soon after
his return to New York. No words of our own could show so well the
hearty affection and implicit trust which he awakened and returned:
"Brook Farm, September 18, 1843.--MY DEAR FRIEND: I was rejoiced to
hear from you, though you wrote too short a letter. Your beautiful
fruit, enough to convert the direst sceptic to Grahamism, together
with the pearled wheat, arrived safely, although a few days too late
to be in perfectly good order. We distributed them to all and
singular, men, women, and children, who discussed them with great
interest, I assure you; many, no doubt, with silent wishes that no
good or beautiful thing might ever be wanting to you. I am glad to
learn that you are so happy in New York, that you find so much in
your own mind to compensate for the evils of a city environment, and
that your aspirations are not quenched by the sight of the huge
disorders that daily surround you. I hardly dare to think that my own
faith or hope would be strong enough to reconcile me to a return to
common society. I should pine like an imprisoned bird, and I fear I
should grow blind to the visions of loveliness and glory which the
future promises to humanity. I long for action which shall realize
the prophecies, fulfil the Apocalypse, bring the new Jerusalem down
from heaven to earth, and collect the faithful into a true and holy
brotherhood. To attain this consummation so devoutly to be wished, I
would eat no flesh, I would drink no wine while the world lasted. I
would become as devoted an ascetic as yourself, my dear Isaac. But to
what end is all speculation, all dreaming, all questioning, but to
advance humanity, to bring forward the manifestation of the Son of
God? Oh, for men who feel this idea burning into their bones! When
shall we see them? And without them, what will be phalanxes, groups
and series, attractive industry, and all the sublime words of modern
reforms?
"When will you come back to Brook Farm? Can you do without us? Can we
do without you? But do not come as an amateur, a self-perfectionizer,
an æsthetic self-seeker, willing to suck the orange of Association
dry and throw away the peel. Oh! that you would come as one of us, to
work in the faith of a divine idea, to toil in loneliness and tears
for the sake of the kingdom which God may build up by our hands. All
here, that is, all our old central members, feel more and more the
spirit of devotedness, the thirst to do or die, for the cause we have
at heart. We do not distrust Providence. We cannot believe that what
we have gained here of spiritual progress will be lost through want
of material resources. At present, however, we are in great straits.
We hardly dare to provide the means of keeping warm in our pleasant
nest this winter.
"Just look at our case. With property amounting to $30,000, the want
of two or three thousands fetters us and may kill us. That sum would
free us from pecuniary embarrassment, and for want of that we work
daily with fetters on our limbs. Are there not five men in New York
City who would dare to venture $200 each in the cause of social
reform, without being assured of a Phalanx for themselves and their
children for ever? Alas! I know not. We are willing to traverse the
wilderness forty years; we ask no grapes of Eshcol for ourselves; we
do not claim a fair abode in the promised land; but what can we do,
with neither quails nor manna, with raiment waxing old, and shoes
bursting from our feet?
"Forgive me, my dear Isaac, for speaking so much about ourselves. But
what else should I speak of? And who more sympathizing with our
movement than yourself?
"Do not be surprised at receiving this letter so long after date. Not
less than four times have I begun it, and as often have been
interrupted. Pray write me now and then. Your words are always sweet
and pleasant to my soul. Believe me, ever yours truly,
"GEORGE RIPLEY."
"Harvard, Mass., November 11, 1843.--DEAR FRIEND: Your kind letter of
the 1st came duly to hand, and we are making arrangements to enjoy
the benefit of your healthful bequest.
"Please to accept thanks for your sympathy and the reports of persons
and things in your circle. They have interested me much but I am
about to make you the most incongruous return conceivable. For
pleasure almost unqualified which you have conferred on me, I fear I
shall trouble you with painful relations; in return for a barrel of
superfine wholesome wheat-meal, I am going to submit to you a peck of
troubles. Out of as many of these as you lovingly and freely can, you
may assist me; but, of course, you will understand that I feel I have
no claim upon you. On the contrary, indeed, I see that I run the
hazard of forfeiting your valued friendship by thus obtruding my
pecuniary concerns into our hitherto loftier communings. You know it
to be a sentiment of mine, that these affairs should never be
obtruded between æsthetic friends, but what can one do in extremity
but to unburden candidly to the generous?
"When I bought this place, instead of paying the whole $1,800, as I
wished, $300 of my money went to pay old debts with which I ought to
have had nothing to do; and Mrs. Alcott's brother, Samuel J. May,
joined his name to a note for $300, to be paid by instalments in two
years. And now that the first instalment is due, he sends me word
that he declines paying it. As all my cash has been expended in
buying and keeping up the affair, I am left in a precarious position,
out of which I do not see the way without some loveful aid, and to
you I venture freely to submit my feelings. Above all things I should
like to discharge at once this $300 note, as unless that is done the
place must, I fear, fall back into individuality and the idea be
suspended. Now, if as much cash is loose in your pocket, or that of
some wealthy friend, there shall be parted off as much of the land as
will secure its return, from the crops alone, in a few years; or, I
would sell a piece until I can redeem it; or, I would meet the loan
in any other secure way, if I can but secure the land from the demon
usury. This mode seems to me the most desirable. But I could get
along with the instalment of $75, and would offer like security in
proportion. Or, if you can do it yourself, and would prefer the
library as a pledge, you shall select such books as will suit your
own reading and would cover your advance in cash any day you choose
to put them up to auction, if I should fail to redeem them. Or, I
would give my notes of hand that I could meet by sales of produce or
of land. If I had the benefit of your personal counsel, we could
contrive something between us, I am sure, but I have no such aid
about me. The difficulty in itself is really light, but to me, under
present circumstances, is quite formidable. If at your earliest
convenience you acquaint me with your mind, you will much oblige.
"I have another trouble of a personal nature. I suffer already this
winter from the inclemency of the weather, so much that my hands are
so chapped that I can scarcely hold the pen. If I could find
employment in a more southern position that would support me and the
boy, and leave a little to be applied to the common good, I would
undertake it. I think I could at the same time be of some mental and
moral service to the people where I might be located.
"Another trouble. Young William has been very ill for the last month,
brought on, I believe, by excessive work. He is still very weak, and
has not sat up for three weeks.
"All these, besides sundry slighter plagues, coming upon me at once,
have perhaps a little disconcerted my nerves, and the advice and
assistance of a generous friend at such a juncture would be indeed
serviceable. If the journey were not so long and so costly I would
ask you to come. Be assured that whatever may be your decision in any
of these relations, my esteem for you cannot be thereby diminished.
My only fear is that such encroachments on your good nature will
reduce your estimation of, dear friend, yours most sincerely,
"CHARLES LANE.
"Regards to the Doctor and all friends. The Shakers have kindly
inquired for you, and they still take much interest in our life. Have
you seen the last _Dial?_ The _Present_ is good, but surely not good
enough. I hope to write a more universal letter in response to your
next, for which I wait."
Poor Lane, failing to find any equally confiding and generous friend
to shoulder with him the personal debts of the founder of Fruitlands,
was compelled at last to let the farm "lapse into individuality" and
to see "the idea suspended." In his next and "more universal letter"
he announces that the experiment is ended in consequence of Mrs.
Alcott's refusal to remain on the place through the winter. Lane went
over to the neighboring Shaker community, and from there to England,
where Father Hecker met him during his own residence at Clapham,
after his ordination. His letters followed Father Hecker for several
years, and breathe always the same unselfishness, the same simple
trust in human goodness, and the same fondness for speculations on
"the universal."
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