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ist, who has transplanted it to an uncongenial soil; yet he has given it beauties which an Italian eye could not see, by investing the actors with deep, continuing, truly English affections. The following criticism on some of the dialogues of Plato, (dated June 3d, 1833,) in a letter returning the hook, illustrates her downright way of asking worldrevered authors to accept the test of plain common sense. As a finished or deliberate opinion, it ought not to be read; for it was not intendedr mind worked, and you will see that she meets the great Plato modestly, but boldly, on human ground, asking him for satisfactory proof of all that he says, and treating him as a human being, speaking to human beings. June 3, 1833.—I part with Plato with regret. I could have wished to enchant myself, as Socrates would say, with him some days longer. Eutyphron is excellent. 'Tis the best specimen I have ever seen of that mode of convincing. There is one passage in which Socrates, as if it
N. A. Review (search for this): chapter 2
ll the prescriptions of society. But what these want in personality they possess in number, in recurrency, in invulnerability. The spirit of man, an agent indeed of curious power and boundless resource, but trembling with sensibilities, tender and irritable, goes out against the inexorable conditions of destiny, the lifeless forces of nature, or the ferocious cruelty of the multitude, and long before the hands are weary or the invention exhausted, the heart may be broken in the warfare. N. A. Review, Jan., 1817, article Dichtung und Wahrheit the difficulty which we all feel in describing our past intercourse and friendship with Margaret Fuller, is, that the intercourse was so intimate, and the friendship so personal, that it is like making a confession to the public of our most interior selves. For this noble person, by her keen insight and her generous interest, entered into the depth of every soul with which she stood in any real relation. To print one of her letters, is like
man early in 1832. Both she and I were attracted towards this literature, at the same time, by the wild bugle-call of Thomas Carlyle, in his romantic articles on Richter, Schiller, and Goethe, which appeared in the old Foreign Review, the Edinburgh Review, and afterwards in the Foreign Quarterly. I believe that in about three masso, Iphigenia, Hermann and Dorothea, Elective Affinities, and Memoirs; Tieck's William Lovel, Prince Zerbino, and other works; Korner, Novalis, and something of Richter; all of Schiller's principal dramas, and his lyric poetry. Almost every evening I saw her, and heard an account of her studies. Her mind opened under this influable that, in addressing the public at large, it is not best to express a thought in as few words as possible; there is much classic authority for diffuseness. Richter. Groton.— Ritcher says, the childish heart vies in the height of its surges with the manly, only is not furnished with lead for sounding them. How thorou
the analytic understanding was concerned. Every writer whom she studied, as every person whom she knew, she placed in his own class, knew his relation to other writers, to the world, to life, to nature, to herself. Much as they might delight her, they never swept her away. She breasted the current of their genius, as a stately swan moves up a stream, enjoying the rushing water the more because she resists it. In a passionate love-struggle she wrestled thus with the genius of De Stael, of Rousseau, of Alfieri, of Petrarch. The first and most striking element in the genius of Margaret was the clear, sharp understanding, which keenly distinguished between things different, and kept every thought, opinion, person, character, in its own place, not to be confounded with any other. The god Terminus presided over her intellect. She knew her thoughts as we know each other's faces; and opinions, with most of us so vague, shadowy, and shifting, were in her mind substantial and distinct re
ormer I have only brought away piecemeal impressions, but the plan and treatment of the latter, I believe, I understand. It describes the development of poetry in a mind; and with this several other developments are connected. 1 think I shall tell you all I know about it, some quiet time after your return, but, if not, will certainly keep a Novalis-journal for you some favorable season, when I live regularly for a fortnight. June, 1833.—I return Lessing. I could hardly get through Miss Sampson. E. Galeotti is good in the same way as Minna. Well-conceived and sustained characters, interesting situations, but never that profound knowledge of human nature, those minute beauties, and delicate vivifying traits, which lead on so in the writings of some authors, who may be nameless. I think him easily followed; strong, but not deep. May, 1833.—Groton.—I think you are wrong in applying your artistical ideas to occasional poetry. An epic, a drama, must have a fixed form in the m<
ang, Erzog die Kraft in deinem Busen, Die sich dereinst zum Weltgeist schwang. Schiller To work, with heart resigned and spirit strong; Subdue, with patient toil,by the wild bugle-call of Thomas Carlyle, in his romantic articles on Richter, Schiller, and Goethe, which appeared in the old Foreign Review, the Edinburgh Review, ace Zerbino, and other works; Korner, Novalis, and something of Richter; all of Schiller's principal dramas, and his lyric poetry. Almost every evening I saw her, and cease to feel the influence of the elect one. I don't like Goethe so well as Schiller now. I mean, I am not so happy in reading him. That perfect wisdom and mercilety-seven yearsthen, indeed, he had gone far enough. Goethe's words concerning Schiller I would say something of Margaret's inward condition, of her aims and viewsng but manifest duty. And so her course was onward, ever onward, like that of Schiller, to her last hour of life. Burned in her cheek with ever deepening fire The
James Freeman Clarke. Extraordinary, generous seeking. Goethe Through, brothers, through,—this be Our watchword in danger or sorrow, Common clay to its mother dust, All nobleness heavenward! Theodore Koerner. Thou friend whose presence on my youthful heart Fell, like bright Spring upon some herbless plain; How beautiful and calm and free thou wert In thy young wisdom, when the mortal chain Of custom thou didst burst and rend in twain, And walk as free as light the clouds among! Shelley There are not a few instances of that conflict, known also to the fathers, of the spirit with the flesh, the inner with the outer man, of the freedom of the will with the necessity of nature, the pleasure of the individual with the conventions of society, of the emergency of the case with the despotism of the rule. It is this, which, while it makes the interest of life, makes the difficulty of living. It is a struggle, indeed, between unequal powers,—between the man, who is a consc
in many respects. The nature of abstract ideas is clearly set forth; but there is no justice in reasoning, from their existence, that our souls have lived previous to our present state, since it was as easy for the Deity to create at once the idea of beauty within us, as the sense which brings to the soul intelligence that it exists in some outward shape. He does not clearly show his opinion of what the soul is; whether eternal as the Deity, created by the Deity, or how. In his answer to Simmias, he takes advantage of the general meaning of the words harmony, discord, &c. The soul might be a result, without being a harmony. But I think too many things to write, and some I have not had time to examine. Meanwhile I can think over parts, and say to myself, beautiful, noble, and use this as one of my enchantments. I send two of your German books. It pains me to part with Ottilia. I wish we could learn books, as we do pieces of music, and repeat them, in the author's order, when
ould be worse than the play of Hamlet with Hamlet omitted. Henry the Fourth without Sully, Gustavus Adolphus without Oxenstiern, Napoleon without his marshals, Socrates without his scholars, would be more complete than Margaret without her friends. So that, in touching on these private relations, we must be everywhere bold, yet he says, and treating him as a human being, speaking to human beings. June 3, 1833.—I part with Plato with regret. I could have wished to enchant myself, as Socrates would say, with him some days longer. Eutyphron is excellent. 'Tis the best specimen I have ever seen of that mode of convincing. There is one passage in which Socrates, as if it were aside,—since the remark is quite away from the consciousness of Eutyphron,— declares, qu'il aimerait incomparablement mieux des principes fixes et inebranlables à l'habilite de Dedale avec les tresors de Tantale. I delight to hear such things from those whose lives have given the right to say them. For
materials. When I was in Cambridge, I got Fichte and Jacobi; I was much interrupted, but some time and earnest thought I devoted. Fichte I could not understand at all; though the treatise which I read was one intended to be popular, and which he says must compel (bezwingen) to conviction. Jacobi I could understand in details, but not in system. It seemed to me that his mind must have been moulded by some other mind, with which I ought to be acquainted, in order to know him well,—perhaps Spinoza's. Since I came home, I have been consulting Buhle's and Tennemann's histories of philosophy, and dipping into Brown, Stewart, and that class of books. After I had cast the burden of my cares upon you, I rested, and read Petrarch for a day or two. But that could not last. I had begun to take an account of stock, as Coleridge calls it, and was forced to proceed He says few persons ever did this faithfully, without being dissatisfied with the result, and lowering their estimate of thei
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