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March, 1842 AD (search for this): chapter 4
e many friends already. We need not economize, we need not hoard these immortal treasures. Love and thought are not diminished by diffusion. In the widow's cruse is oil enough to furnish light for all the world. to R. W. E. 15th March, 1842.—It is to be hoped, my best one, that the experiences of life will yet correct your vocabulary, and that you will not always answer the burst of frank affection by the use of such a word as flattery. Thou knowest, O all-seeing Truth! whethhich daily makes me understand the value of the little wheat amid the field of tares, and shows me how the kingdom of heaven is sown in the earth like a grain of mustard-seed, is good to me, and bids me call unhappiness happy. to——. March, 1842.—My inward life has been more rich and deep, and of more calm and musical flow than ever before. It seems to me that Heaven, whose course has ever been to cross-bias me, as Herbert said, is no niggard in its compensations. I have indeed be
1838 AD (search for this): chapter 4
her father pointed her out to her sister, saying, Incedit regina. And her letters sometimes convey these exultations, as the following, which was written to a lady, and which contained Margaret's translation of Goethe's Prometheus. to—— 1838.—Which of us has not felt the questionings expressed in this bold fragment? Does it not seem, were we gods, or could steal their fire, we would make men not only happier, but free,—glorious? Yes, my life is strange; thine is strange. We are, we. It was easy to collect, from the drawing-rooms of the city, a respectable picture-gallery for a summer exhibition. This was also done, and a new pleasure was invented for the studious, and a new home for the solitary. The Brimmer donation, in 1838, added a costly series of engravings, chiefly of the French and Italian museums, and the drawings of Guercino, Salvator Rosa, and other masters. The separate chamber in which these collections were at first contained, made a favorite place of me
November (search for this): chapter 4
ycose are inimitable in their childlike playfulness. Ma Vocation I have had and admired for many years. He is of the pure ore, a darling fairy changling of great mother Nature; the poet of the people, and, therefore, of all in the upper classes sufficiently intelligent and refined to appreciate the wit and sentiment of the people. But his wit is so truly French in its lightness and sparkling, feathering vivacity, that one like me, accustomed to the bitterness of English tonics, suicidal November melancholy, and Byronic wrath of satire, cannot appreciate him at once. But when used to the gentler stimuli, we like them best, and we also would live awhile in the atmosphere of music and mirth, content if we have bread for today, and hope for to-morrow. There are fine lines in his Cinq Mai; the sentiment is as grand as Manzoni's, though not sustained by the same majestic sweep of diction, as,— Ce rocher repousse l'esperance, L'Aigle n'est plus dans le secret des dieux, II fatigu
1837 AD (search for this): chapter 4
ternal, all charmed her; and Faust, and Tasso, and Mignon, and Makaria, and Iphigenia, became irresistible names. It was one of those agreeable historical coincidences, perhaps invariable, though not yet registered, the simultaneous appearance of a teacher and of pupils, between whom exists a strict affinity. Nowhere did Goethe find a braver, more intelligent, or more sympathetic reader. About the time I knew her, she was meditating a biography of Goethe, and did set herself to the task in 1837. She spent much time on it, and has left heaps of manuscripts, which are notes, transcripts, and studies in that direction. But she wanted leisure and health to finish it, amid the multitude of projected works with which her brain teemed. She used great discretion on this point, and made no promises. In 1839, she published her translation of Eckermann, a book which makes the basis of the translation of Eckermann since published in London, by Mr. Oxenford. In the Dial, in July, 1841, she
1840 AD (search for this): chapter 4
many admirers, and, as I now remember them, certain months about the years 1839, 1840, seem colored with the genius of these Italians. Our walls were hung with printet by one of her friends, on the beautiful imaginative picture in the gallery of 1840, called The Dream. The dream A youth, with gentle brow and tender cheek, Drertain mental changes brought new questions into conversation. In the summer of 1840, she passed into certain religious states, which did not impress me as quite heae such native sterilities in her correspondent:— to R. W. E. 23d Feb., 1840.—I am like some poor traveller of the desert, who saw, at early morning, a distaas deficient. Ecstasy. I have alluded to the fact, that, in the summer of 1840, Margaret underwent some change in the tone and the direction of her thoughts, tt this time, had interested her, but in no commanding degree. But in this year, 1840, in which events occurred which combined great happiness and pain for her affect
1839 AD (search for this): chapter 4
e upon the wing, without props and sedan chairs. to R. W. E. Dec. 26, 1839.—If you could look into my mind just now, you would send far from you those who rain teemed. She used great discretion on this point, and made no promises. In 1839, she published her translation of Eckermann, a book which makes the basis of thedo, however beautiful and noble during their lives. George Sand, again. 1839.—When I first knew George Sand, I thought I found tried the experiment I wanted.ot yet matured, and I can have no judgment on the point. Beranger. Sept., 1839.—I have lately been reading some of Beranger's chansons. The hour was not propit with many admirers, and, as I now remember them, certain months about the years 1839, 1840, seem colored with the genius of these Italians. Our walls were hung withrcino took the place, for the time, of epics and philosophy. In the summer of 1839, Boston was still more rightfully adorned with the Allston Gallery; and the scul<
September (search for this): chapter 4
She had a taste for gems, ciphers, talismans, omens, coincidences, and birth-days. She had a special love for the planet Jupiter, and a belief that the month of September was inauspicious to her. She never forgot that her name, Margarita, signified a pearl. When I first met with the name Leila, she said, I knew, from the ve when natures are capable of the extreme reverse. I knew Bettine would end in nothing, when I read her book. I knew she could not outlive her love. But in Les Sept Cordes de la Lyre, which I read first, I saw the knowledge of the passions, and of social institutions, with the celestial choice which rose above them. I loved Has often as Dr. Channing the same watch-word of self-sacrifice. It is that my views are not yet matured, and I can have no judgment on the point. Beranger. Sept., 1839.—I have lately been reading some of Beranger's chansons. The hour was not propitious. I was in a mood the very reverse of Roger Bontemps, and beset with ci
1842 AD (search for this): chapter 4
had known her longer than I, and whose prejudices Margaret had resolutely fought down, until she converted her into the firmest and most efficient of friends. In 1842, Nathaniel Hawthorne, already then known to the world by his Twice-Told Tales, came to live in Concord, in the Old Manse, with his wife, who was herself an artist.d with the antique furniture left by the former proprietors. She liked, too, the pleasing walks, and rides, and boatings, which that neighborhood commanded. In 1842, William Ellery Channing, whose wife was her sister, built a house in Concord, and this circumstance made a new tie and another home for Margaret. Arcana. Ine's own heart's blood. One would fain be no more artist, or philosopher, or lover, or critic, but a soul ever rushing forth in tides of genial life. 26 Dec., 1842.—I have been reading the lives of Lord Herbert of Cherbury, and of Sir Kenelm Digby. These splendid, chivalrous, and thoughtful Englishmen are meat which my soul
July (search for this): chapter 4
in the winter of 1835-6, in which Miss Martineau was my guest, she returned again and again to the topic of Margaret's excelling genius and conversation, and enjoined it on me to seek her acquaintance; which I willingly promised. I am not sure that it was not in Miss Martineau's company, a little earlier, that I first saw her. And I find a memorandum, in her own journal, of a visit, made by my brother Charles and myself, to Miss Martineau, at Mrs. Farrar's. It was not, however, till the next July, after a little diplomatizing in billets by the ladies, that her first visit to our house was arranged, and she came to spend a fortnight with my wife. I still remember the first half. hour of Margaret's conversation. She was then twentysix years old. She had a face and frame that would indicate fulness and tenacity of life. She was rather under the middle height; her complexion was fair, with strong fair hair. She was then, as always, carefully and becomingly dressed, and of ladylike s
May (search for this): chapter 4
appreciate him at once. But when used to the gentler stimuli, we like them best, and we also would live awhile in the atmosphere of music and mirth, content if we have bread for today, and hope for to-morrow. There are fine lines in his Cinq Mai; the sentiment is as grand as Manzoni's, though not sustained by the same majestic sweep of diction, as,— Ce rocher repousse l'esperance, L'Aigle n'est plus dans le secret des dieux, II fatiguait la victoire á le suivre, Elle était lasse: il nhat requires the most refined, the most exalted tenderness, without charms to inspire it:—poor Mignon! fear not the transition through death; no penal fires can have in store worse torments than thou art familiar with already. In the month of May, she writes:— When all things are blossoming, it seems so strange not to blossom too; that the quick thought within cannot remould its tenement. Man is the slowest aloes, and I am such a shabby plant, of such coarse tissue. I hate not to be
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