Volume II Part 28 (1/2)

Then, again, how will it affect you to know that I have united my destiny with that of an obscure young man,--younger than myself; a person of no intellectual culture, and in whom, in short, you will see no reason for my choosing; yet more, that this union is of long standing; that we have with us our child, of a year old, and that it is only lately I acquainted my family with the fact?

If you decide to meet with me as before, and wish to say something about the matter to your friends, it will be true to declare that there have been pecuniary reasons for this concealment. But _to you_, in confidence, I add, this is only half the truth; and I cannot explain, or satisfy my dear friend further. I should wish to meet her independent of all relations, but, as we live in the midst of ”society,” she would have to inquire for me now as Margaret Ossoli.

That being done, I should like to say nothing more on the subject.

However you may feel about all this, dear Madame Arconati, you will always be the same in my eyes. I earnestly wish you may not feel estranged; but, if you do, I would prefer that you should act upon it.

Let us meet as friends, or not at all. In all events, I remain ever yours,

MARGARET.

TO THE MARCHIONESS VISCONTI ARCONATI.

My loved friend,--I read your letter with greatest content. I did not know but that there might seem something offensively strange in the circ.u.mstances I mentioned to you. Goethe says, ”There is nothing men pardon so little as singular conduct, for which no reason is given;”

and, remembering this, I have been a little surprised at the even increased warmth of interest with which the little American society of Florence has received me, with the unexpected accessories of husband and child,--asking no questions, and seemingly satisfied to find me thus accompanied. With you, indeed, I thought it would be so, because you are above the world; only, as you have always walked in the beaten path, though with n.o.ble port, and feet undefiled, I thought you might not like your friends to be running about in these blind alleys. It glads my heart, indeed, that you do not care for this, and that we may meet in love.

You speak of our children. Ah! dear friend, I do, indeed, feel we shall have deep sympathy there. I do not believe mine will be a brilliant child, and, indeed, I see nothing peculiar about him. Yet he is to me a source of ineffable joys,--far purer, deeper, than anything I ever felt before,--like what Nature had sometimes given, but more intimate, more sweet. He loves me very much; his little heart clings to mine. I trust, if he lives, to sow there no seeds which are not good, to be always growing better for his sake. Ossoli, too, will be a good father. He has very little of what is called intellectual development, but unspoiled instincts, affections pure and constant, and a quiet sense of duty, which, to me,--who have seen much of the great faults in characters of enthusiasm and genius,--seems of highest value.

When you write by post, please direct ”Marchesa Ossoli,” as all the letters come to that address. I did not explain myself on that point.

The fact is, it looks to me silly for a radical like me to be carrying a t.i.tle; and yet, while Ossoli is in his native land, it seems disjoining myself from him, not to bear it. It is a sort of thing that does not naturally belong to me, and, unsustained by fortune, is but a _souvenir_ even for Ossoli. Yet it has appeared to me, that for him to drop an inherited t.i.tle would be, in some sort, to acquiesce in his brothers' disclaiming him, and to abandon a right he may pa.s.sively wish to maintain for his child. How does it seem to you? I am not very clear about it. If Ossoli should drop the t.i.tle, it would be a suitable moment to do so on becoming an inhabitant of Republican America.

TO MRS. C.T.

What you say of the meddling curiosity of people repels me, it is so different here. When I made my appearance with a husband and a child of a year old, n.o.body did the least act to annoy me. All were most cordial; none asked or implied questions. Yet there were not a few who might justly have complained, that, when they were confiding to me all their affairs, and doing much to serve me, I had observed absolute silence to them. Others might, for more than one reason, be displeased at the choice I made. All have acted in the kindliest and most refined manner. An Italian lady, with whom I was intimate,--who might be qualified in the Court Journal, as one of the highest rank, sustained by the most scrupulous decorum,--when I wrote, ”Dear friend, I am married; I have a child. There are particulars, as to my reasons for keeping this secret, I do not wish to tell. This is rather an odd affair; will it make any difference in our relations?”--answered, ”What difference can it make, except that I shall love you more, now that we can sympathize as mothers?” Her first visit here was to me: she adopted at once Ossoli and the child to her love.

---- wrote me that ---- was a little hurt, at first, that I did not tell him, even in the trying days of Rome, but left him to hear it, as he unluckily did, at the _table d'hote_ in Venice; but his second and prevailing thought was regret that he had not known it, so as to soothe and aid me,--to visit Ossoli at his post,--to go to the child in the country. Wholly in that spirit was the fine letter he wrote me, one of my treasures. The little American society have been most cordial and attentive; one lady, who has been most intimate with me, dropped a tear over the difficulties before me, but she said, ”Since you have seen fit to take the step, all your friends have to do, now, is to make it as easy for you as they can.”

TO MRS. E.S.

I am glad to have people favorably impressed, because I feel lazy and weak, unequal to the trouble of friction, or the pain of conquest.

Still, I feel a good deal of contempt for those so easily disconcerted or rea.s.sured. I was not a child; I had lived in the midst of that New England society, in a way that ent.i.tled me to esteem, and a favorable interpretation, where there was doubt about my motives or actions. I pity those who are inclined to think ill, when they might as well have inclined the other way. However, let them go; there are many in the world who stand the test, enough to keep us from s.h.i.+vering to death. I am, on the whole, fortunate in friends whom I can truly esteem, and in whom I know the kernel and substance of their being too well to be misled by seemings.

TO MRS. C.T.

I had a letter from my mother, last summer, speaking of the fact, that she had never been present at the marriage of one of her children. A pang of remorse came as I read it, and I thought, if Angelino dies,[A]

I will not give her the pain of knowing that I have kept this secret from her;--she shall hear of this connection, as if it were something new. When I found he would live, I wrote to her and others. It half killed me to write those few letters, and yet, I know, many are wondering that I did not write more, and more particularly. My mother received my communication in the highest spirit. She said, she was sure a first object with me had been, now and always, to save her pain. She blessed us. She rejoiced that she should not die feeling there was no one left to love me with the devotion she thought I needed. She expressed no regret at our poverty, but offered her feeble means. Her letter was a n.o.ble crown to her life of disinterested, purifying love.

[Footnote A: This was when Margaret found Nino so ill at Rieti.]

FLORENCE.

The following notes respecting Margaret's residence in Florence were furnished to the editors by Mr. W.H. Hurlbut.