PERSONAL EXPERIENCES AND DESCRIPTIONS.
It was a pleasant afternoon in March, 1843, when I left Boston, in a
small omnibus, that started from Brattle Street for West Roxbury
Village and Brook Farm. My father's family of three had preceded me, he
remaining behind to close his business; it was a question of but a few
days when we should be all embarked in the new and untried life to
which we were looking forward with pleasurable emotions.
The nine miles of interval was passed, riding through an undulating
country, by pleasant farms surrounded with the stone walls so common in
Massachusetts and the eastern states, and by pretty white houses, with
green window blinds and little front flower gardens, with fruit and
shade trees standing sentinels on their borders. Here and there a ledge
of "pudding-stone" cropped out, and the scenery grew more primitive as
we neared the vicinity of the farm. Slowly we rode on, leaving
passengers and parcels by the way until it showed signs of deepening
twilight, when we reached by a slight acclivity the door of the
farmhouse that was at the entrance of the place, where I was soon
joined by my relatives who took me in charge and made me presentable
for supper; but I was too late to join with the family, and took my
first meal with them the following day.
Looking out of the window the next morning, I found it overlooked the
farm-yard and the broad meadow that lay south of the house. What
awakened me was the sound of a trumpet or horn, blown by some one for
rising or breakfast. I dressed leisurely, as I found it was the first
or "rising horn," and went out of the front door for a survey. Before
me was the driveway. A wooden fence, and a row of mulberry and spruce
trees stood guarding the two embankments that were terraced down to the
brook and meadow. On the embankments were shrubs and flower beds. A
couple of rods to the right stood a graceful elm, beside a gateway that
opened on a pathway to the garden and fields.
Passing by the front of the house I found that two wings had been added
to it in the rear, leaving shed and carriage room beneath. Directly in
front of me, and facing due east, was a large barn raised upon stone
posts, which was open on the south side to the large barnyard, and
between the barn and house was a driveway or road, leading over the
premises.
In the kitchen, which was directly in the rear of the dining room,
there was a clatter of dishes, and a few persons were going from place
to place outside.
Some one was in the barn attending to the cattle. He had on a tarpaulin
straw hat, and a farmer's frock of blue mixture that hung down below
the tops of his cowhide boots. I looked sharply at the man, and found
it was Mr. George Ripley. The "second horn" sounded; it aroused the
dog, who howled pitifully or musically--in bad unison with it. Soon the
persons from the other houses came to breakfast, strolling leisurely
along.
I found that all the people, unless ill, took their meals at the
farmhouse dining room. A little quaintness of dress, some picturesque
costumes--such as the blue tunics with black belts of leather, that the
men wore; the full beards, that were not common then as now; the broad
hats and graceful, flowing hair of the young ladies; the varied style
of garments of the students and the boarders--all interested me.
The long, low dining room had rows of tables, some six in number,
seating on an average fourteen persons each. White painted benches
supplied the place of chairs. The tables were neatly set in white ware;
white mugs served for both cups and drinking glasses. There were white
linen table cloths, and everything was scrupulously neat.
At the farther end of the room sat Mr. Ripley. The garments of the
husbandman and farmer had all been laid aside, and, neatly dressed, he
was smiling and laughing, his gleaming eyes seeming to reflect their
brilliancy on the golden bows of his spectacles. At his right sat his
wife, and near by his sister, who poured the morning libation of tea or
coffee. Most of the pupils were at this table. Mrs. Ripley, tall,
graceful and slim, was, like her husband, near-sighted, but only on
occasions would she raise a gold-bowed eye-glass to look at some
distant object or person. The fare at the table was plain; good bread,
butter and milk from the farm were present. It is hardly necessary to
say that I looked around with peculiar interest on those who were to be
my new friends and companions. It was not a dismal or sober meal. There
was a happy buzz that indicated to me a probability of great future
happiness.
How well do I remember the old dining-room with its familiar forms and
faces--too many to describe now! There were the young and pretty Misses
Foord; the one a dimpled blonde, lovely, rosy-complexioned, with large,
wonderful blue eyes; and her sister with her clear skin and dark hair
and eyebrows, both wearing their contrasted and unbound tresses flowing
over their graceful shoulders. And hark! 'tis Dolly, dear Dolly Hosmer,
with her rollicking, noisy laugh. And pretty Mary Donnelly--oh, how
pretty! with the dimples and the peach-bloom on her face, her white
teeth and coal-black hair--ever pretty whether she was smiling at you
or peeling potatoes. And Charles Newcomb, the mysterious and profound,
with his long, dark, straight locks of hair, one of which was
continually being brushed away from his forehead as it continually
fell; with his gold-bowed eye-glass, his large nose and peculiar blue
eyes, his spasmodic expressions of nervous horror, and his
cachinnatious laugh. There were sturdy Teel, and heavy Eaton, and
frisky Burnham, and bluff Rykman, with round-eyed Fanny Dwight and
another graceful Fanny, and oh! so many more men and women, friends and
workers striving for a sublime idea. I could describe very many of them
and the minute details of all the houses and surroundings, but it would
unwisely overcrowd these pages.
Mounting the central and highest portion of the farm I found it was
beautifully situated in an amphitheatre surrounded by hills on all
sides, and formed a charming picture. There was a young orchard of
apple trees, and here and there stood a few shade trees by the walls
and roadside. There were fields, or rather patches, where corn and
vegetables were grown for family use. Some of them were exposed on the
southern faces of the hills, and some were in the hollows. In front was
the broad, meadow, like a pleasant sea of green, stretching far away.
From the first house, the old farmhouse called now "the Hive"--a pretty
and well-chosen name--the driveway led to the other houses. It
descended nearly to the level of the meadow, and did not rise again
until it neared the "Pilgrim House," the most distant one. From that it
turned on itself on the high ground toward the "Cottage" and "Eyry,"
the remaining houses.
The "Pilgrim House," an oblong double house, occupying a commanding
position, was plain and white, without ornamentation, and squarely
built like most of the New England country houses of its date. There
were no trees around it, and it was the least attractive house on the
place.
The "Cottage" had four gables, and was also plain and unpretending; it
had only some half-a-dozen rooms and was painted a dark brown color. It
was situated on a little knoll, with flower beds in the rear, and
greensward all around it.
Beyond and nearer to the "Hive," in the centre of the domain, was the
"Eyry" (this is the way Mr. Ripley spelled it; some spelled it "Eyrie"
and some "Aerie"). It had for its base a ledge of Roxbury conglomerate
called "pudding-stone," and it was banked up with two greensward
terraces. It had the highest and finest location, with a background of
oak and maple woods, and looked out on the orchard, commanding a fine
view. It was a square, smooth, wooden structure painted a light gray,
sandstone color. It was made of smooth, matched boards, and had a
large, flat cornice or flange that surrounded it near the top, which
saved it from extreme plainness. Yet it was pleasing to the eye, and it
had low, French windows that open like doors out on to the upper
terrace.
As I looked in it for the first time I saw that a few pictures adorned
the walls: pressed fern leaves filled the mantel vases, and the bright
remnants of last autumn's foliage were in some places fastened to the
walls. There was also a piano, over which hung an oil painting, and in
the opposite room was a large array of Mr. Ripley's books. It was "the
library," and many of the works were in German. In particular, there
was a set of fourteen volumes, "Specimens of Foreign Literature,"
edited by Mr. Ripley, that attracted my attention.
At the Cottage were the school-rooms principally for the younger
children; and the Pilgrim House was used mostly for family lodgings.
For a time my sleeping apartment was with others in the upper room of
the rear wing of the farmhouse, dignified by the name "Attica." My
companions were all single men; good, reliable fellows who were working
for a principle and would ordinarily have declined such a
lodging-place, but under the circumstances were not apt to grumble, but
made the best of it. It was like camping out, and all its mischances
were turned into fun. My roommates were called "the Admiral," "the
Dutchman," "the General" and "the Parson,"--nicknames given each one of
them for some personal peculiarity.
There were advantages as well as disadvantages in living in "Attica."
It was nearest the centre of the life and business of the place. In the
winter mornings there was no long walk to meals, as those had who lived
at the other houses. We were near the warm kitchen; and when the house
was still and work suspended--all save the baking of bread, which often
proceeded in the evening in the range ovens--a group would gather
around the fire and talk and gossip--for we were not beyond the last;
speculation, theory and argument went pleasantly on until bed-time.
No, Attica! I have not forgotten the days spent inside thy walls, thy
strange inhabitants, or the mysteries that surrounded thee on my first
entrance into thy domain! I have not forgotten the long, low roof and
projecting beams, or the half dozen bedsteads that were standing
around; the two large chimneys that arose in the centre and the number
of stove-pipes that came from below and entered them; or the skylights
that were thy only means of illumination save the window at "the
Parson's" end, which looked out on the pleasant fields and the houses
beyond; or the plain, uncarpeted floor, the washstands by the chimneys
and the clothing hung up around.
Neither have I forgotten the nights when lying in bed I have heard the
rain pouring and pattering above thee and me; or when I saw by the dim
light of a single oil lamp, as I lifted myself on my elbow in bed, one
of the occupants moving his cot bedstead from some gentle leak that was
getting too familiar with his bedclothes; or when in the dreary winter
the Storm King howled around and bore some fleecy flakes on his windy
gusts through a stray hole in the roof, and morning showed us a
miniature white mountain on the floor.
No, to this day a vision of the "Parson" (Capen) comes to me, reading
by the light of an oil lamp placed on a shelf at the head of his
bedstead, long after others were asleep; lying in bed at the
furthermost portion of thy space; now chuckling to himself, then
drowsily reading on and on, with his spectacles dropped down on to the
point of his long nose--as the passage was either witty or dry; or
visions of the early risers, waking betimes and disturbing the dreams
of the later ones by the preparations of the toilet; or the sound of
the morning horn as it rose from beneath us on the clear air!
I was seventeen years of age, and having passed the time when I could
have been by right a pupil in the day school, was assigned to manual
labor. You will see by the Constitution that I was a "Probationer." It
was fortunate that I loved the grass and trees, and the routine of farm
life. My youth excused and deprived me of the council meetings and the
right to vote, so that many hours spent by some, though but a little
older than myself, in meetings, were absolutely mine to rove in, or to
use as I liked. Though born to city life and work I dearly loved the
country and a farm, but did not know its duties, nor had I the strength
for heavy labor, so I assisted in work in and about the houses in the
early hours of the day, and in some of the lighter farming, as
planting, hoeing, weeding and driving the oxen, horses and cows; in
fact, taking a lad's place in the farm and house employments.
Owing to the amount of labor and the disproportion of female help, some
of the young men under age oftentimes assisted after meals in wiping
dishes and supplying hot and cold water. It was a matter of rivalry
between parties to see which could beat in a match, the washer or
wipers. Two lads of near my own age supplied dishes and hot water as
fast as it was needed, and one young lady washed the plates, saucers,
mugs and the like, the same young men doing the wiping.
There was plenty of plain crockery piled up and it was rushed into a
capacious receptacle and washed with great dexterity. Then wipe, young
men, wipe! Will you allow a young lady to wash faster than two can
wipe? _Never_, _boys_, never! and with incredible speed the surface of
the plates and dishes was changed into mirrors. There was one young
lady who was hard to beat; often when the parties thought they had
nearly succeeded she would cry out for "hot water"! and one would have
to supply her with it, and by that time his partner would be
overwhelmed with a stock of unwiped crockery. Need I say that at times
I was one of those boys?
There were none of the modern conveniences for water, and the pump had
to do its share of work. The rooms were supplied daily by a water
carrier who went from house to house filling the pails and pitchers in
the rooms and halls.
I was willing and tractable. The fresh air, the simple diet and the
free life began at once to tone up my organization. I soon found that
the Eyry steps and the Eyry embankments were where the air was freshest
of an evening, and the tones of the piano presided over by the "poet's
sister," Fanny Dwight, attracted me more and more. The pupils and those
of their ages grouped naturally together. I did not care to go among
the arguers and the disputants who talked anti-this and anti-that, the
new sciences of medicine--the water cure and homoeopathy; who disputed
the doctrines of community of property, western lands, politics,
approaching war with Mexico, etc., etc. Nor did I care to group with
the few who played euchre and smoked "conchas," and the book of nature
had very often more charms for me than any other.
Our family rooms were small, and as stated I was sandwiched in with
others, in rather unpromising quarters. But I almost only slept there.
My interested parents often spent the evenings as well as the days in
domestic duties, so I was much alone. I cared not. I could thoughtfully
contemplate the climbing constellations, and sometimes one of the many
who grew friendly to me would point out the planets and name the stars
for me, and I would watch the moon rise slowly above the horizon. The
beautiful meadow was below me, and above and around the whole eastern
hemisphere of sky. Or I would wander around the houses to see what was
going on, meeting groups of promenaders by the way. At the cottage the
piano would be playing, and likely as not Lucas and José or Willard and
Charles were waltzing with Anna and Abbie or Katie and Agnes to
Louisa's playing. Or it was singing school, and all joined it; or Mrs.
Ripley was going to read "Margaret"; or the "Professor" (Dana) wanted
me in his German class; or it was full moon and we would walk a mile or
two down the highway, or make a moonlight visit to the pines. Otherwise
I was dreaming day-dreams to Fanny's piano playing.
Ah! do you think I was indolent? Not so! In my meditations I was
working out social problems and solving theories of life and religion.
I was nursing kindliness of heart, love to all men. I was awakening a
crushed nature, and absorbing influences that made the mottoes of
"Unity of man with man," "Unity of man with God," "Unity of man with
the universe," seem like real, tangible things. But who can say how
much was also due to the low, soothing harmonies that floated out of
those graceful windows with parting sashes that opened like doors down
to the windowsills?
In time I explored every cranny and hollow of ground. I wandered in the
woods, found every wild flower, knew every tree; knew where the
trailing evergreens grew; could go to the spot where I could find what
I wanted for bouquets, and surprised the Community with their ample
size and beauty. I came in with wreaths and garlands; gathered
varieties of grasses untold; picked rhodoras in early spring, saracenas
and orchids in summer, asters and gentians in the late fall, and
innumerable flowers in various places of a neighborhood wonderfully
rich in botanical specimens.