CONVERSATIONS IN BOSTON.
* * * * *
In the year 1839, Margaret removed from Groton, and, with her mother
and family, took a house at Jamaica Plain, five miles from Boston. In
November of the next year the family removed to Cambridge, and rented
a house there, near their old home. In 1841, Margaret took rooms for
the winter in town, retaining still the house in Cambridge. And from
the day of leaving Groton, until the autumn of 1844, when she removed
to New York, she resided in Boston, or its immediate vicinity. Boston
was her social centre. There were the libraries, galleries, and
concerts which she loved; there were her pupils and her friends; and
there were her tasks, and the openings of a new career.
I have vaguely designated some of the friends with whom she was on
terms of intimacy at the time when I was first acquainted with her.
But the range of her talents required an equal compass in her society;
and she gradually added a multitude of names to the list. She knew
already all the active minds at Cambridge; and has left a record of
one good interview she had with Allston. She now became intimate
with Doctor Channing, and interested him to that point in some of her
studies, that, at his request, she undertook to render some selections
of German philosophy into English for him. But I believe this attempt
was soon abandoned. She found a valuable friend in the late Miss Mary
Rotch, of New Bedford, a woman of great strength of mind, connected
with the Quakers not less by temperament than by birth, and possessing
the best lights of that once spiritual sect. At Newport, Margaret
had made the acquaintance of an elegant scholar, in Mr. Calvert, of
Maryland. In Providence, she had won, as by conquest, such a homage
of attachment, from young and old, that her arrival there, one day, on
her return from a visit to Bristol, was a kind of ovation. In Boston,
she knew people of every class,—merchants, politicians, scholars,
artists, women, the migratory genius, and the rooted capitalist,—and,
amongst all, many excellent people, who were every day passing, by new
opportunities, conversations, and kind offices, into the sacred circle
of friends. The late Miss Susan Burley had many points of attraction
for her, not only in her elegant studies, but also in the deep
interest which that lady took in securing the highest culture for
women. She was very well read, and, avoiding abstractions, knew how
to help herself with examples and facts. A friendship that proved
of great importance to the next years was that established with Mr.
George Ripley; an accurate scholar, a man of character, and of eminent
powers of conversation, and already then deeply engaged in plans of an
expansive practical bearing, of which the first fruit was the little
community which nourished for a few years at Brook Farm. Margaret
presently became connected with him in literary labors, and, as long
as she remained in this vicinity, kept up her habits of intimacy with
the colonists of Brook Farm. At West-Roxbury, too, she knew and prized
the heroic heart, the learning and wit of Theodore Parker, whose
literary aid was, subsequently, of the first importance to her.
She had an acquaintance, for many years,—subject, no doubt, to
alternations of sun and shade,—with Mr. Alcott. There was much
antagonism in their habitual views, but each learned to respect the
genius of the other. She had more sympathy with Mr. Alcott's English
friend, Charles Lane, an ingenious mystic, and bold experimenter in
practical reforms, whose dexterity and temper in debate she frankly
admired, whilst his asceticism engaged her reverence. Neither could
some marked difference of temperament remove her from the beneficent
influences of Miss Elizabeth Peabody, who, by her constitutional
hospitality to excellence, whether mental or moral, has made her
modest abode for so many years the inevitable resort of studious feet,
and a private theatre for the exposition of every question of letters,
of philosophy, of ethics, and of art.
The events in Margaret's life, up to the year 1840, were few, and not
of that dramatic interest which readers love. Of the few events of her
bright and blameless years, how many are private, and must remain so.
In reciting the story of an affectionate and passionate woman, the
voice lowers itself to a whisper, and becomes inaudible. A woman
in our society finds her safety and happiness in exclusions and
privacies. She congratulates herself when she is not called to
the market, to the courts, to the polls, to the stage, or to the
orchestra. Only the most extraordinary genius can make the career of
an artist secure and agreeable to her. Prescriptions almost invincible
the female lecturer or professor of any science must encounter; and,
except on points where the charities which are left to women as their
legitimate province interpose against the ferocity of laws, with us a
female politician is unknown. Perhaps this fact, which so dangerously
narrows the career of a woman, accuses the tardiness of our civility,
and many signs show that a revolution is already on foot.
Margaret had no love of notoriety, or taste for eccentricity, to goad
her, and no weak fear of either. Willingly she was confined to the
usual circles and methods of female talent. She had no false shame.
Any task that called out her powers was good and desirable. She wished
to live by her strength. She could converse, and teach, and write. She
took private classes of pupils at her own house. She organized, with
great success, a school for young ladies at Providence, and gave
four hours a day to it, during two years. She translated Eckermann's
Conversations with Goethe, and published in 1839. In 1841, she
translated the Letters of Gunderode and Bettine, and published them as
far as the sale warranted the work. In 1843, she made a tour to Lake
Superior and to Michigan, and published an agreeable narrative of it,
called "Summer on the Lakes."
Apparently a more pretending, but really also a private and friendly
service, she edited the "Dial," a quarterly journal, for two years
from its first publication in 1840. She was eagerly solicited to
undertake the charge of this work, which, when it began, concentrated
a good deal of hope and affection. It had its origin in a club of
speculative students, who found the air in America getting a little
close and stagnant; and the agitation had perhaps the fault of being
too secondary or bookish in its origin, or caught not from primary
instincts, but from English, and still more from German books. The
journal was commenced with much hope, and liberal promises of many
coöperators. But the workmen of sufficient culture for a poetical and
philosophical magazine were too few; and, as the pages were filled
by unpaid contributors, each of whom had, according to the usage and
necessity of this country, some paying employment, the journal did not
get his best work, but his second best. Its scattered writers had
not digested their theories into a distinct dogma, still less into a
practical measure which the public could grasp; and the magazine was
so eclectic and miscellaneous, that each of its readers and writers
valued only a small portion of it. For these reasons it never had a
large circulation, and it was discontinued after four years. But the
Dial betrayed, through all its juvenility, timidity, and conventional
rubbish, some sparks of the true love and hope, and of the piety to
spiritual law, which had moved its friends and founders, and it was
received by its early subscribers with almost a religious welcome.
Many years after it was brought to a close, Margaret was surprised in
England by very warm testimony to its merits; and, in 1848, the writer
of these pages found it holding the same affectionate place in many
a private bookshelf in England and Scotland, which it had secured at
home. Good or bad, it cost a good deal of precious labor from those
who served it, and from Margaret most of all. As editor, she received
a compensation for the first years, which was intended to be two
hundred dollars per annum, but which, I fear, never reached even
that amount.
But it made no difference to her exertion. She put so much heart into
it that she bravely undertook to open, in the Dial, the subjects which
most attracted her; and she treated, in turn, Goethe, and Beethoven,
the Rhine and the Romaic Ballads, the Poems of John Sterling, and
several pieces of sentiment, with a spirit which spared no labor; and,
when the hard conditions of journalism held her to an inevitable day,
she submitted to jeopardizing a long-cherished subject, by treating it
in the crude and forced article for the month. I remember, after she
had been compelled by ill health to relinquish the journal into my
hands, my grateful wonder at the facility with which she assumed the
preparation of laborious articles, that might have daunted the most
practised scribe.
But in book or journal she found a very imperfect expression of
herself, and it was the more vexatious, because she was accustomed
to the clearest and fullest. When, therefore, she had to choose an
employment that should pay money, she consulted her own genius, as
well as the wishes of a multitude of friends, in opening a class
for conversation. In the autumn of 1839, she addressed the following
letter, intended for circulation, to Mrs. George Ripley, in which her
general design was stated:—
'My dear friend:—The advantages of a weekly meeting, for
conversation, might be great enough to repay the trouble of
attendance, if they consisted only in supplying a point of
union to well-educated and thinking women, in a city which,
with great pretensions to mental refinement, boasts, at
present, nothing of the kind, and where I have heard many, of
mature age, wish for some such means of stimulus and cheer,
and those younger, for a place where they could state their
doubts and difficulties, with a hope of gaining aid from the
experience or aspirations of others. And, if my office were
only to suggest topics, which would lead to conversation of
a better order than is usual at social meetings, and to
turn back the current when digressing into personalities or
common-places, so that what is valuable in the experience of
each might be brought to bear upon all, I should think the
object not unworthy of the effort.
'But my ambition goes much further. It is to pass in review
the departments of thought and knowledge, and endeavor to
place them in due relation to one another in our minds. To
systematize thought, and give a precision and clearness in
which our sex are so deficient, chiefly, I think, because
they have so few inducements to test and classify what they
receive. To ascertain what pursuits are best suited to us, in
our time and state of society, and how we may make best use of
our means for building up the life of thought upon the life of
action.
'Could a circle be assembled in earnest, desirous to answer
the questions,—What were we born to do? and how shall we do
it?—which so few ever propose to themselves till their best
years are gone by, I should think the undertaking a noble one,
and, if my resources should prove sufficient to make me its
moving spring, I should be willing to give to it a large
portion of those coming years, which will, as I hope, be my
best. I look upon it with no blind enthusiasm, nor unlimited
faith, but with a confidence that I have attained a distinct
perception of means, which, if there are persons competent to
direct them, can supply a great want, and promote really high
objects. So far as I have tried them yet, they have met with
success so much beyond my hopes, that my faith will not easily
be shaken, nor my earnestness chilled. Should I, however, be
disappointed in Boston, I could hardly hope that such a plan
could be brought to bear on general society, in any other city
of the United States. But I do not fear, if a good beginning
can be made. I am confident that twenty persons cannot be
brought together from better motives than vanity or pedantry,
to talk upon such subjects as we propose, without finding
in themselves great deficiencies, which they will be very
desirous to supply.
'Should the enterprise fail, it will be either from
incompetence in me, or that sort of vanity in them which wears
the garb of modesty. On the first of these points, I need not
speak. I cannot be supposed to have felt so much the wants of
others, without feeling my own still more deeply. And, from
the depth of this feeling, and the earnestness it gave, such
power as I have yet exerted has come. Of course, those who are
inclined to meet me, feel a confidence in me, and should they
be disappointed, I shall regret it not solely or most on my
own account. I have not given my gauge without measuring my
capacity to sustain defeat. For the other, I know it is very
hard to lay aside the shelter of vague generalities, the art
of coterie criticism, and the "delicate disdains" of good
society, and fearlessly meet the light, even though it flow
from the sun of truth. Yet, as, without such generous courage,
nothing of value can be learned or done, I hope to see many
capable of it; willing that others should think their sayings
crude, shallow, or tasteless, if, by such unpleasant means,
they may attain real health and vigor, which need no aid from
rouge or candle-light, to brave the light of the world.
'Since I saw you, I have been told of persons who are desirous
to join the class, "if only they need not talk." I am so sure
that the success of the whole depends on conversation being
general, that I do not wish any one to come, who does not
intend, if possible, to take an active part. No one will be
forced, but those who do not talk will not derive the same
advantages with those who openly state their impressions, and
can consent to have it known that they learn by blundering, as
is the destiny of man here below. And general silence, or side
talks, would paralyze me. I should feel coarse and misplaced,
were I to harangue over-much. In former instances, I have been
able to make it easy and even pleasant, to twenty-five out of
thirty, to bear their part, to question, to define, to state,
and examine opinions. If I could not do as much now, I should
consider myself as unsuccessful, and should withdraw. But I
shall expect communication to be effected by degrees, and to
do a great deal myself at the first meetings. My method has
been to open a subject,—for instance, Poetry, as expressed
in—
External Nature;
The life of man;
Literature;
The fine arts;
or, The history of a nation to be studied in—
Its religious and civil institutions;
Its literature and arts;
The characters of its great men;
and, after as good a general statement as I know how to make,
select a branch of the subject, and lead others to give their
thoughts upon it. When they have not been successful in verbal
utterance of their thoughts, I have asked them to attempt it
in writing. At the next meeting, I would read these "skarts
of pen and ink" aloud, and canvass their adequacy, without
mentioning the names of the writers. I found this less
necessary, as I proceeded, and my companions attained greater
command both of thought and language; but for a time it was
useful, and may be now. Great advantage in point of discipline
may be derived from even this limited use of the pen.
'I do not wish, at present, to pledge myself to any course
of subjects. Generally, I may say, they will be such as
literature and the arts present in endless profusion. Should a
class be brought together, I should wish, first, to ascertain
our common ground, and, in the course of a few meetings,
should see whether it be practicable to follow out the design
in my mind, which, as yet, would look too grand on paper.
'Let us see whether there will be any organ, before noting
down the music to which it may give breath.'
Accordingly, a class of ladies assembled at Miss Peabody's rooms, in
West Street, on the 6th November, 1839. Twenty-five were present, and
the circle comprised some of the most agreeable and intelligent women
to be found in Boston and its neighborhood. The following brief report
of this first day's meeting remains:—
'Miss Fuller enlarged, in her introductory conversation, on
the topics which she touched in her letter to Mrs. Ripley.
'Women are now taught, at school, all that men are; they run
over, superficially, even more studies, without being really
taught anything. When they come to the business of life, they
find themselves inferior, and all their studies have not given
them that practical good sense, and mother wisdom, and wit,
which grew up with our grandmothers at the spinning-wheel.
But, with this difference; men are called on, from a very
early period, to reproduce all that they learn. Their college
exercises, their political duties, their professional studies,
the first actions of life in any direction, call on them to
put to use what they have learned. But women learn without any
attempt to reproduce. Their only reproduction is for purposes
of display.
'It is to supply this defect,' Miss Fuller said, 'that these
conversations have been planned. She was not here to teach;
but she had had some experience in the management of such a
conversation as was now proposed; she meant to give her view
on each subject, and provoke the thoughts of others.
'It would be best to take subjects on which we know words, and
have vague impressions, and compel ourselves to define those
words. We should have, probably, mortifications to suffer;
but we should be encouraged by the rapid gain that comes from
making a simple and earnest effort for expression.'
Miss Fuller had proposed the Grecian Mythology as the subject of the
first conversations, and now gave her reasons for the choice.
'It is quite separated from all exciting local subjects. It is
serious, without being solemn, and without excluding any mode
of intellectual action; it is playful, as well as deep. It
is sufficiently wide, for it is a complete expression of the
cultivation of a nation. It is objective and tangible. It is,
also, generally known, and associated with all our ideas of
the arts.
'It originated in the eye of the Greek. He lived out of doors:
his climate was genial, his senses were adapted to it. He was
vivacious and intellectual, and personified all he beheld. He
saw the oreads, naiads, nereids. Their forms, as poets and
painters give them, are the very lines of nature humanized, as
the child's eye sees faces in the embers or in the clouds.
'Other forms of the mythology, as Jupiter, Juno, Apollo,
are great instincts, or ideas, or facts of the internal
constitution, separated and personified.'
After exhibiting their enviable mental health, and rebutting the
cavils of some of the speakers,—who could not bear, in Christian
times, by Christian ladies, that heathen Greeks should be
envied,—Miss Fuller declared,
'that she had no desire to go back, and believed we have the
elements of a deeper civilization; yet, the Christian was in
its infancy; the Greek in its maturity; nor could she look
on the expression of a great nation's intellect, as
insignificant. These fables of the Gods were the result of
the universal sentiments of religion, aspiration, intellectual
action, of a people, whose political and æsthetic life had
become immortal; and we must leave off despising, if we would
begin to learn.'
The reporter closes her account by saying:—"Miss Fuller's thoughts
were much illustrated, and all was said with the most captivating
address and grace, and with beautiful modesty. The position in which
she placed herself with respect to the rest, was entirely ladylike,
and companionable. She told what she intended, the earnest purpose
with which she came, and, with great tact, indicated the indiscretions
that might spoil the meeting."
Here is Margaret's own account of the first days.
TO R.W.E.
'25th Nov., 1839.—My class is prosperous. I was
so fortunate as to rouse, at once, the tone of simple
earnestness, which can scarcely, when once awakened, cease to
vibrate. All seem in a glow, and quite as receptive as I wish.
They question and examine, yet follow leadings; and thoughts,
not opinions, have ruled the hour every time. There are
about twenty-five members, and every one, I believe, full of
interest. The first time, ten took part in the conversation;
the last, still more. Mrs. —— came out in a way that
surprised me. She seems to have shaken off a wonderful number
of films. She showed pure vision, sweet sincerity, and much
talent. Mrs. —— —— keeps us in good order, and takes care
that Christianity and morality are not forgotten. The first
day's topic was, the genealogy of heaven and earth; then the
Will, (Jupiter); the Understanding, (Mercury): the second
day's, the celestial inspiration of genius, perception, and
transmission of divine law, (Apollo); the terrene inspiration,
the impassioned abandonment of genius, (Bacchus). Of the
thunderbolt, the caduceus, the ray, and the grape, having
disposed as well as might be, we came to the wave, and the
sea-shell it moulds to Beauty, and Love her parent and her
child.
'I assure you, there is more Greek than Bostonian spoken at
the meetings; and we may have pure honey of Hymettus to give
you yet.'
To another friend she wrote:—
'The circle I meet interests me. So even devoutly thoughtful
seems their spirit, that, from the very first, I took my
proper place, and never had the feeling I dreaded, of display,
of a paid Corinne. I feel as I would, truly a teacher and a
guide. All are intelligent; five or six have talent. But I am
never driven home for ammunition; never put to any expense;
never truly called out. What I have is always enough; though I
feel how superficially I am treating my subject.'
Here is an extract from the letter of a lady, who joined the class,
for the first time, at the eighth meeting, to her friend in New
Haven:—
"Christmas made a holiday for Miss Fuller's class, but it met
on Saturday, at noon. As I sat there, my heart overflowed with
joy at the sight of the bright circle, and I longed to have
you by my side, for I know not where to look for so much
character, culture, and so much love of truth and beauty, in
any other circle of women and girls. The names and faces would
not mean so much to you as to me, who have seen more of the
lives, of which they are the sign. Margaret, beautifully
dressed, (don't despise that, for it made a fine picture,)
presided with more dignity and grace than I had thought
possible. The subject was Beauty. Each had written her
definition, and Margaret began with reading her own. This
called forth questions, comments, and illustrations, on all
sides. The style and manner, of course, in this age, are
different, but the question, the high point from which it
was considered, and the earnestness and simplicity of the
discussion, as well as the gifts and graces of the speakers,
gave it the charm of a Platonic dialogue. There was no
pretension or pedantry in a word that was said. The tone of
remark and question was simple as that of children in a school
class; and, I believe, every one was gratified."
The conversations thus opened proceeded with spirit and success.
Under the mythological forms, room was found for opening all the
great questions, on which Margaret and her friends wished to converse.
Prometheus was made the type of Pure Reason; Jupiter, of Will; Juno,
the passive side of the same, or Obstinacy; Minerva, Intellectual
Power, Practical Reason; Mercury, Executive Power, Understanding;
Apollo was Genius, the Sun; Bacchus was Geniality, the Earth's answer.
"Apollo and Bacchus were contrasted," says the reporter. "Margaret
unfolded her idea of Bacchus. His whole life was triumph. Born from
fire; a divine frenzy; the answer of the earth to the sun,—of the
warmth of joy to the light of genius. He is beautiful, also; not
severe in youthful beauty, like Apollo; but exuberant,—liable to
excess. She spoke of the fables of his destroying Pentheus, &c., and
suggested the interpretations. This Bacchus was found in Scripture.
The Indian Bacchus is glowing; he is the genial apprehensive power;
the glow of existence; mere joy."
Venus was Grecian womanhood, instinctive; Diana, chastity; Mars,
Grecian manhood, instinctive. Venus made the name for a conversation
on Beauty, which was extended through four meetings, as it brought in
irresistibly the related topics of poetry, genius, and taste. Neptune
was Circumstance; Pluto, the Abyss, the Undeveloped; Pan, the glow
and sportiveness and music of Nature; Ceres, the productive power of
Nature; Proserpine, the Phenomenon.
Under the head of Venus, in the fifth conversation, the story of Cupid
and Psyche was told with fitting beauty, by Margaret; and many fine
conjectural interpretations suggested from all parts of the room.
The ninth conversation turned on the distinctive qualities of poetry,
discriminating it from the other fine arts. Rhythm and Imagery, it
was agreed, were distinctive. An episode to dancing, which the
conversation took, led Miss Fuller to give the thought that lies
at the bottom of different dances. Of her lively description the
following record is preserved:—
'Gavottes, shawl dances, and all of that kind, are intended
merely to exhibit the figure in as many attitudes as possible.
They have no character, and say nothing, except, Look! how
graceful I am!
'The minuet is conjugal; but the wedlock is chivalric. Even
so would Amadis wind slow, stately, calm, through the mazes of
life, with Oriana, when he had made obeisances enough to win
her for a partner.
'English, German, Swiss, French, and Spanish dances all
express the same things, though in very different ways. Love
and its life are still the theme.
'In the English country dance, the pair who have chosen one
another, submit decorously to the restraints of courtship
and frequent separations, cross hands, four go round, down
outside, in the most earnest, lively, complacent fashion. If
they join hands to go down the middle, and exhibit their
union to all spectators, they part almost as soon as meet,
and disdain not to give hands right and left to the most
indifferent persons, like marriage in its daily routine.
'In the Swiss, the man pursues, stamping with energy, marking
the time by exulting flings, or snapping of the fingers, in
delighted confidence of succeeding at last; but the maiden
coyly, demurely, foots it round, yet never gets out of the
way, intending to be won.
'The German asks his madchen if she will, with him, for an
hour forget the cares and common-places of life in a tumult
of rapturous sympathy, and she smiles with Saxon modesty her
Ja. He sustains her in his arms; the music begins. At first,
in willing mazes they calmly imitate the planetary orbs, but
the melodies flow quicker, their accordant hearts beat
higher, and they whirl at last into giddy raptures, and
dizzy evolutions, which steal from life its free-will and
self-collection, till nothing is left but mere sensation.
'The French couple are somewhat engaged with one another, but
almost equally so with the world around them. They think it
well to vary existence with plenty of coquetry and display.
First, the graceful reverence to one another, then to
their neighbors. Exhibit your grace in the chassé,—made
apparently solely for the purpose of déchasséing;—then
civil intimacy between the ladies, in la chaine, then a
decorous promenade of partners, then right and left with
all the world, and balance, &c. The quadrille also offers
opportunity for talk. Looks and sympathetic motions are not
enough for our Parisian friends, unless eked out by words.
'The impassioned bolero and fandango are the dances for me.
They are not merely loving, but living; they express the sweet
Southern ecstasy at the mere gift of existence. These persons
are together, they live, they are beautiful; how can they
say this in sufficiently plain terms?—I love, I live, I
am beautiful!—I put on my festal dress to do honor to my
happiness; I shake my castanets, that my hands, too, may be
busy; I felice,—felicissima!'
This first series of conversations extended to thirteen, the class
meeting once a week at noon, and remaining together for two hours. The
class were happy, and the interest increased. A new series of thirteen
more weeks followed, and the general subject of the new course was
"the Fine Arts." A few fragmentary notes only of these hours have been
shown me, but all those who bore any part in them testify to their
entire success. A very competent witness has given me some interesting
particulars:—
"Margaret used to come to the conversations very well dressed, and,
altogether, looked sumptuously. She began them with an exordium, in
which she gave her leading views; and those exordiums were excellent,
from the elevation of the tone, the ease and flow of discourse, and
from the tact with which they were kept aloof from any excess, and
from the gracefulness with which they were brought down, at last, to a
possible level for others to follow. She made a pause, and invited the
others to come in. Of course, it was not easy for every one to venture
her remark, after an eloquent discourse, and in the presence of twenty
superior women, who were all inspired. But whatever was said, Margaret
knew how to seize the good meaning of it with hospitality, and to make
the speaker feel glad, and not sorry, that she had spoken. She showed
herself thereby fit to preside at such meetings, and imparted to the
susceptible a wonderful reliance on her genius."
In her writing she was prone to spin her sentences without a sure
guidance, and beyond the sympathy of her reader. But in discourse, she
was quick, conscious of power, in perfect tune with her company, and
would pause and turn the stream with grace and adroitness, and with
so much spirit, that her face beamed, and the young people came away
delighted, among other things, with "her beautiful looks." When
she was intellectually excited, or in high animal spirits, as often
happened, all deformity of features was dissolved in the power of the
expression. So I interpret this repeated story of sumptuousness of
dress, that this appearance, like her reported beauty, was simply an
effect of a general impression of magnificence made by her genius, and
mistakenly attributed to some external elegance; for I have been told
by her most intimate friend, who knew every particular of her conduct
at that time, that there was nothing of special expense or splendor in
her toilette.
The effect of the winter's work was happiest. Margaret was made
intimately known to many excellent persons.[A] In this company of
matrons and maids, many tender spirits had been set in ferment. A new
day had dawned for them; new thoughts had opened; the secret of life
was shown, or, at least, that life had a secret. They could not forget
what they had heard, and what they had been surprised into saying.
A true refinement had begun to work in many who had been slaves
to trifles. They went home thoughtful and happy, since the steady
elevation of Margaret's aim had infused a certain unexpected greatness
of tone into the conversation. It was, I believe, only an expression
of the feeling of the class, the remark made, perhaps at the next
year's course, by a lady of eminent powers, previously by no means
partial to Margaret, and who expressed her frank admiration on leaving
the house:—"I never heard, read of, or imagined a conversation at all
equal to this we have now heard."
The strongest wishes were expressed, on all sides, that the
conversations should be renewed at the beginning of the following
winter. Margaret willingly consented; but, as I have already
intimated, in the summer and autumn of 1840, she had retreated to some
interior shrine, and believed that she came into life and society with
some advantage from this devotion.
Of this feeling the new discussion bore evident traces. Most of the
last year's class returned, and new members gave in their names. The
first meeting was holden on the twenty-second of November, 1840. By
all accounts it was the best of all her days. I have again the notes,
taken at the time, of the excellent lady at whose house it was
held, to furnish the following sketch of the first and the following
meetings. I preface these notes by an extract from a letter of
Margaret.
TO W.H.C.
'Sunday, Nov. 8th, 1840.—On Wednesday I opened with my
class. It was a noble meeting. I told them the great changes
in my mind, and that I could not be sure they would be
satisfied with me now, as they were when I was in deliberate
possession of myself. I tried to convey the truth, and though
I did not arrive at any full expression of it, they all, with
glistening eyes, seemed melted into one love. Our relation
is now perfectly true, and I do not think they will ever
interrupt me. —— sat beside me, all glowing; and the moment
I had finished, she began to speak. She told me afterwards,
she was all kindled, and none there could be strangers to her
more. I was really delighted by the enthusiasm of Mrs. ——. I
did not expect it. All her best self seemed called up, and she
feels that these meetings will be her highest pleasure. ——,
too, was most beautiful. I went home with Mrs. F., and had a
long attack of nervous headache. She attended anxiously on me,
and asked if it would be so all winter. I said, if it were I
did not care; and truly I feel just now such a separation from
pain and illness,—such a consciousness of true life, while
suffering most,—that pain has no effect but to steal some of
my time.'
[Footnote A: A friend has furnished me with the names of so many of
the ladies as she recollects to have met, at one or another time, at
these classes. Some of them were perhaps only occasional members.
The list recalls how much talent, beauty, and worth were at that time
constellated here:—
Mrs. George Bancroft, Mrs. Barlow, Miss Burley, Mrs. L.M. Child, Miss
Mary Channing, Miss Sarah Clarke, Mrs. E.P. Clark, Miss Dorr, Mrs.
Edwards, Mrs. R.W. Emerson, Mrs. Farrar, Miss S.J. Gardiner, Mrs. R.W.
Hooper, Mrs. S. Hooper, Miss Haliburton, Miss Howes, Miss E. Hoar,
Miss Marianne Jackson, Mrs. T. Lee, Miss Littlehale, Mrs. E.G. Loring,
Mrs. Mack, Mrs. Horace Mann, Mrs. Newcomb, Mrs. Theodore Parker, Miss
E.P. Peabody, Miss S. Peabody, Mrs. S. Putnam, Mrs. Phillips, Mrs.
Josiah Quincy, Miss B. Randall, Mrs. Samuel Ripley, Mrs. George
Ripley, Mrs. George Russell, Miss Ida Russell, Mrs. Frank Shaw, Miss
Anna B. Shaw, Miss Caroline Sturgis, Miss Tuckerman, Miss Maria White,
Mrs. S.G. Ward, Miss Mary Ward, Mrs. W. Whiting.]