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Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Margaret Fuller Ossoli, Chapter 9: a literary club and its organ. (search)
pe, pronounces him parochial, because he made the woods and waters of Concord, Massachusetts, his chief theme. The epithet is curiously infelicitous. To be parochial is to turn away from the great and look at the little; the daily newspapers of Paris afford the best illustration of this fault. It is not parochial, but the contrary, when Dr. Gould spends his life in watching the stars from his lonely observatory in Paraguay; or when Lafarge erects his isolated studio among the Paradise Rocks is that it puts all its possessors on a level; so that if a child were reared in Alaska and had Aeschylus and Horace at his fingers' ends, he would have a better preparation for literary work, so far as the mere form goes, than if he had lived in Paris and read only Balzac. Still again, the vast stores of oriental literature were just being thrown open; and the Dial was, perhaps, the first literary journal to place what it called the Ethnical Scriptures in the light now generally conceded to
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Margaret Fuller Ossoli, Chapter 11: Brook Farm. (search)
an ardent Fourierite, though not actually a Brook-Farmer. Outside the door was painted in flaming colors a yellow sun, at the centre of whose blazing rays was the motto Universal Unity, while beneath it hung another inscription in black and white letters, Please wipe your feet. This emblazonment and this caution symbolized the whole movement. The gateway of Brook Farm might have been similarly inscribed. There was a singular moral purity about it which observers from the point of view of Paris or even London have since found a little contemptible. With the utmost freedom in all things, and a comprehensiveness to which that of the latitude-men about Cambridge in England was timid conservatism, Brook Farm, like all other haunts of the come-outers of the period, was as chaste as a Shaker household. But it will readily be seen that amid this impulse of universal reform some such enterprise as Brook Farm was inevitable. Already at New Harmony, Zoar, and elsewhere in the Western S
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Margaret Fuller Ossoli, Chapter 14: European travel. (1846-1847.) (search)
t learning colloquial French until she spoke it fluently, though not accurately; and her teacher pleased her by saying that her accent was like that of an Italian, though this from French lips can never be much of a compliment. Yet with her deep love for Italy she was probably pleased at the thought of speaking French like an Italian, just as Englishmen are said to be pleased at speaking it like Englishmen — which, to do them justice, they usually accomplish. On February 25, 1847, she left Paris for Italy, and in early spring established herself for a time in Rome. In summer she went to the different Italian cities, then to Switzerland. In October she settled herself for the winter in Rome, whose wonderful inspiration she profoundly felt. She says of her own first experiences there, All mean things were forgotten in the joy that rushed over me like a flood. She felt, as so many Americans feel in Europe, an impulse to separate herself for a time from all English-speaking people
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Margaret Fuller Ossoli, Chapter 16: letters between husband and wife. (search)
ys after, she writes, by an amanuensis, only signing the letter herself:-- Dictated by Madame Ossoli. Rieti, Thursday, 7th September, 1848. Dear Husband,--I am well, much better than I hoped. The baby also is well, but cries much yet, and I hope that he will be more quiet when you come. For the rest, I desire that you should be without anxiety about me, and I will send you frequent accounts of myself, writing again very soon. You may send to the post, prepaid, the letter of mine for Paris, which you have. All this family with whom I am staying salute you. Giving you an embrace and a kiss, in the person of this dear child whom I have in my arms, I am your affectionate [in her own hand] Margherita. From Madame Ossoli, in pencil. Her own writing. Saturday. My Love,--I write in bed, a few words only. I have received yours this morning, and hope for another for to-morrow. I have been ill with milk-fever, but am to-day better, and hope to gain strength daily. Ther