Volume II Part 4 (1/2)
Woman's heaven, Where palest lights a silvery sheen diffuse.
'In tracing these correspondences, one really does take hold of a Truth, of a Divine Thought.' * *
'_October 25th, 1840._--This week I have not read any book, nor once walked in the woods and fields. I meant to give its days to setting outward things in order, and its evenings to writing. But, I know not how it is, I can never simplify my life; always so many ties, so many claims! However, soon the winter winds will chant matins and vespers, which may make my house a cell, and in a snowy veil enfold me for my prayer.
If I cannot dedicate myself this time, I will not expect it again. Surely it should be! These Carnival masks have crowded on me long enough, and Lent must be at hand. * *
'---- and ---- have been writing me letters, to answer which required all the time and thought I could give for a day or two. ----'s were of joyful recognition, and so beautiful I would give much to show them to you. ----'s have singularly affected me. They are n.o.ble, wise, of most unfriendly friendliness. I don't know why it is, I always seem to myself to have gone so much further with a friend than I really have.
Just as at Newport I thought ---- met me, when he did not, and sang a joyful song which found no echo, so here ---- asks me questions which I thought had been answered in the first days of our acquaintance, and coldly enumerates all the charming qualities which make it impossible for him to part with me!
He scolds me, though in the sweetest and solemnest way. I will not quote his words, though their beauty tempts me, for they do not apply, they do not touch ME.
'Why is it that the religion of my nature is so much hidden from my peers? why do they question me, who never question them? why persist to regard as a meteor an orb of a.s.sured hope? Can no soul know me wholly? shall I never know the deep delight of grat.i.tude to any but the All-Knowing? I shall wait for ---- very peaceably, in reverent love as ever; but I cannot see why he should not have the pleasure of knowing now a friend, who has been ”so tender and true.”'
'---- was here, and spent twenty-four hours in telling me a tale of deepest tragedy. Its sad changes should be written out in G.o.dwin's best manner: such are the themes he loved, as did also Rousseau. Through all the dark shadows shone a pure white ray, one high, spiritual character, a man, too, and of advanced age. I begin to respect men more,--I mean actual men.
What men may be, I know; but the men of to-day have seemed to me of such coa.r.s.e fibre, or else such poor wan shadows!
'---- had scarcely gone, when ---- came and wished to spend a few hours with me. I was totally exhausted, but I lay down, and she sat beside me, and poured out all her n.o.ble feelings and bright fancies. There was little light in the room, and she gleamed like a cloud
--”of pearl and opal,”
and reminded me more than ever of
--”the light-haired Lombardess Singing a song of her own native land,”
to the dying Correggio, beside the fountain.
'I am astonished to see how much Bettine's book is to all these people. This shows how little courage they have had to live out themselves. She really brings them a revelation. The men wish they had been loved by Bettine; the girls wish to write down the thoughts that come, and see if just such a book does not grow up. ----, however, was one of the few who do not over-estimate her; she truly thought Bettine only publishes what many burn. Would not genius be common as light, if men trusted their higher selves?'
'I heard in town that ---- is a father, and has gone to see his child. This news made me more grave even than such news usually does; I suppose because I have known the growth of his character so intimately. I called to mind a letter he had written me of what we had expected of our fathers. The ideal father, the profoundly wise, provident, divinely tender and benign, he is indeed the G.o.d of the human heart. How solemn this moment of being called to prepare the way, to _make way_ for another generation! What fulfilment does it claim in the character of a man, that he should be worthy to be a father!--what purity of motive, what dignity, what knowledge!
When I recollect how deep the anguish, how deeper still the want, with which I walked alone in hours of childish pa.s.sion, and called for a Father, often saying the word a hundred times, till stifled by sobs, how great seems the duty that name imposes! Were but the harmony preserved throughout! Could the child keep learning his earthly, as he does his heavenly Father, from all best experience of life, till at last it were the climax: ”I am the Father. Have ye seen me?--ye have seen the Father.” But how many sons have we to make one father?
Surely, to spirits, not only purified but perfected, this must appear the climax of earthly being,--a wise and worthy parentage. Here I always sympathize with Mr. Alcott. He views the relation truly.'
'_Dec. 3, 1840._ ---- bids me regard her ”as a sick child;”
and the words recall some of the sweetest hours of existence.
My brother Edward was born on my birth-day, and they said he should be my child. But he sickened and died just as the bud of his existence showed its first bright hues. He was some weeks wasting away, and I took care of him always half the night. He was a beautiful child, and became very dear to me then. Still in lonely woods the upturned violets show me the pleading softness of his large blue eyes, in those hours when I would have given worlds to prevent his suffering, and could not. I used to carry him about in my arms for hours; it soothed him, and I loved to feel his gentle weight of helpless purity upon my heart, while night listened around. At last, when death came, and the soul took wing like an overtasked bird from his sweet form, I felt what I feel now. Might I free ----, as that angel freed him!
'In daily life I could never hope to be an unfailing fountain of energy and bounteous love. My health is frail; my earthly life is shrunk to a scanty rill; I am little better than an aspiration, which the ages will reward, by empowering me to incessant acts of vigorous beauty. But now it is well with me to be with those who do not suffer overmuch to have me suffer.
It is best for me to serve where I can better bear to fall short. I could visit ---- more n.o.bly than in daily life, through the soul of our souls. When she named me her Priestess, that name made me perfectly happy. Long has been my consecration; may I not meet those I hold dear at the altar?
How would I pile up the votive offerings, and crowd the fires with incense? Life might be full and fair; for, in my own way, I could live for my friends.' * *
'_Dec. 8th, 1840._--My book of amus.e.m.e.nt has been the Evenings of St. Petersburg. I do not find the praises bestowed on it at all exaggerated. Yet De Maistre is too logical for me. I only catch a thought here and there along the page. There is a grandeur even in the subtlety of his mind. He walks with a step so still, that, but for his dignity, it would be stealthy, yet with brow erect and wide, eye grave and deep. He is a man such as I have never known before.' * *