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the first page of a richly gilt and bound blank book, which she gave to me, in 1832, for a private journal. The words of Korner are also translated by herself, and were given to me about the same time that they should not be satisfied with the commophigenia, 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 sawnted, then make my mind easy in the belief that I know all that is to be known. And he died at twenty-nine, and, as with Korner, your feelings may be single; you will never be called upon to share his experience, and compare his future feelings with me. But I shall go where there is never a spirit to come, if I call ever so loudly. Perhaps I shall talk to you about Korner, but need not write. He charms me, and has become a fixed star in the heaven of my thought; but I understand all that he
e truth of those calm, gentle eyes Which saw my life should find its aim in thin, I see a clime where no strait laws confine. In that blest land where twos ne'er know a three Save as the accord of their fine sympathy, O, best-loved, I will wait for thee!’ III. Studies Nur durch das Morgenthor des Schonen Drangst du in der Erkenntniss Land; An hohen Glanz sich zu gewohnen Uebt sich am Reize der Verstand. Was bei dem Saitenklang der Musen Mit sussem Beben dich durchdrang, 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, life's bitter wrong, Through Nature's dullest, as her brightest ways, We will march onward, singing to thy praise. E. S., In the Dial. The peculiar nature of the scholar's occupation consists in this,— that science, and especially that side of it from which he conceives of the whole, shall continually burst forth before him in new and fairer
Lafayette (search for this): chapter 2
lieve as I do expression, even in the argumentative parts. I felt, as I have so often done before, if I were a man, the gift I would choose should be that of eloquence. That power of forcing the vital currents of thousands of human hearts into one current, by the constraining power of that most delicate instrument, the voice, is so intense,—yes, I would prefer it to a more extensive fame, a more permanent influence. Did I describe to you my feelings on hearing Mr. Everett's eulogy on Lafayette? No; I did not. That was exquisite. The old, hackneyed story; not a new anecdote, not a single reflection of any value; but the manner, the manner, the delicate inflections of voice, the elegant and appropriate gesture, the sense of beauty produced by the whole, which thrilled us all to tears, flowing from a deeper and purer source than that which answers to pathos. This was fine; but I prefer the Thompson manner. Then there is Mr. Webster's, unlike either; simple grandeur, nobler, mor
s reverence, his feeling, are thoroughly intelligent. Everything in his mind is well defined; and his horror of the vague, and false, nay, even (suppose another horror here, for grammar's sake) of the startling and paradoxical, have their beauty. I think I could know Mr. G—— long, and see him perpetually, without any touch of satiety; such variety is made by the very absence of pretension, and the love of truth. I found much amusement in leading him to sketch the scenes and persons which Lockhart portrays in such glowing colors, and which he, too, has seen with the eye of taste, but how different! Our friend was well aware that her forte was in conversation. Here she felt at home, here she felt her power, and the excitement which the presence of living persons brought, gave all her faculties full activity After all, she says, in a letter, this writing is mighty dead. Oh, for my dear old Greeks, who talked everything—not to shine as in the Parisian saloons, but to lear<
William Lovel (search for this): chapter 2
ame 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 months from the time that Margaret commenced German, she was reading with ease the masterpieces of its literature. Within the year, she had read Goethe's Faust, Tasso, 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 influence, as the apple-blossom at the end of a warm week in May. The thought and the beauty of this rich literature equally filled her mind and fascinated her imagination. But if she studied books thus earnestly, still more frequently did she turn to the
intimacies. Now, however, I found companions, in thought, at least. One, who had great effect on my mind, I may call Lytton. He was as premature as myself; at thirteen a man in the range of his thoughts, analyzing motives, and explaining princi of intrigue and adventure, and visiting with him the impure atmosphere of courtiers, picaroons, and actresses. This was Lytton's favorite reading; his mind, by nature subtle rather than daring, would in any case have found its food in the now hidde did not know, nor leave out of sight the many sides to every question, while, by the law of affinity, I chose my own. Lytton was not loved by any one. He was not positively hated, or disliked; for there was nothing which the general mind could t I did not disapprove, even when I disliked, his acts. Amadin, my other companion, was as slow and deep of feeling, as Lytton was brilliant, versatile, and cold. His temperament was generally grave, even to apparent dulness; his eye gave little l
iety, friendship, and reflection on the aim and law of life, made up her biography. Accordingly, these topics will constitute the substance of this chapter, though sometimes, in order to give completeness to a subject, we may anticipate a little, and insert passages from the letters and journals of her Groton life. I. Friendship. Friendly love perfecteth mankind. Bacon. To have found favor in thy sight Will still remain A river of thought, that full of light Divides the plain. Milnes. Cui potest vita esse vitalis, (ut ait Ennius,) quae non in amici mutata benevolentia requiescat? Cicero. It was while living at Cambridge that Margaret commenced several of those friendships which lasted through her life, and which were the channels for so large a part of her spiritual activity. In giving some account of her in these relations, there is only the alternative of a prudent reserve which omits whatever is liable to be misunderstood, or a frank utterance which confides
edale avec les tresors de Tantale. I delight to hear such things from those whose lives have given the right to say them. For 't is not always true what Lessing says, and I, myself, once thought,— F.—Von was fur Tugenden spricht er denn? Minna.—Er spricht von keiner; denn ihn fehlt keine. For the mouth sometimes talketh virtue from the overflowing of the heart, as well as love, anger, &c. Crito I have read only once, but like it. I have not got it in my heart though, so clearly as t 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
Von Muller (search for this): chapter 2
. Besides, I wish to see the books that have been written about him in Germany, by friend or foe. I wish to look at the matter from all sides. New lights are constantly dawning on me; and I think it possible I shall come out from the Carlyle view, and perhaps from yours, and distaste you, which will trouble me. How am I to get the information I want, unless I go to Europe? To whom shall I write to choose my materials? I have thought of Mr. Carlyle, but still more of Goethe's friend, Von Muller. I dare say he would be pleased at the idea of a life of G. written in this hemisphere, and be very willing to help me. If you have anything to tell me, you will, and not mince matters. Of course, my impressions of Goethe's works cannot be influenced by information I get about his life; but, as to this latter, I suspect I must have been hasty in my inferences. I apply to you without scruple. There are subjects on which men and women usually talk a great deal, but apart from one another
use of it, now let it be buried with the past, over whose passages profound and sad, yet touched with heavenborn beauty, let silence stand sentinel. I shall endeavor to keep true to the spirit of these sentences in speaking of Margaret's friendships. Yet not to speak of them in her biography would be omitting the most striking feature of her character. It would 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 not too bold. The extracts will be taken indiscriminately from letters written to many friends. The insight which Margaret displayed in finding her friends, the magnetism by which she drew them toward herself, the catholic range of her intimacies, the influence which she exercised to develop the l
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