Memoirs of Margaret Fuller Ossoli, Vol. II | Page 2

"Margaret," "Margaret Fuller;" for, though young, she was already
noted for conversational gifts, and had the rare skill of attracting to her
society, not spirited collegians only, but men mature in culture and of
established reputation. It was impossible not to admire her fluency and
fun; yet, though curiosity was piqued as to this entertaining personage,
I never sought an introduction, but, on the contrary, rather shunned
encounter with one so armed from head to foot in saucy sprightliness.
About 1830, however, we often met in the social circles of Cambridge,
and I began to observe her more nearly. At first, her vivacity, decisive
tone, downrightness, and contempt of conventional standards,
continued to repel. She appeared too intense in expression, action,
emphasis, to be pleasing, and wanting in that retenue which we
associate with delicate dignity. Occasionally, also, words flashed from
her of such scathing satire, that prudence counselled the keeping at safe
distance from a body so surcharged with electricity. Then, again, there
was an imperial--shall it be said imperious?--air, exacting deference to
her judgments and loyalty to her behests, that prompted pride to
retaliatory measures. She paid slight heed, moreover, to the trim
palings of etiquette, but swept through the garden-beds and into the
doorway of one's confidence so cavalierly, that a reserved person felt

inclined to lock himself up in his sanctum. Finally, to the
coolly-scanning eye, her friendships wore a look of such romantic
exaggeration, that she seemed to walk enveloped in a shining fog of
sentimentalism. In brief, it must candidly be confessed, that I then
suspected her of affecting the part of a Yankee Corinna.
But soon I was charmed, unaware, with the sagacity of her sallies, the
profound thoughts carelessly dropped by her on transient topics, the
breadth and richness of culture manifested in her allusions or
quotations, her easy comprehension of new views, her just
discrimination, and, above all, her truthfulness. "Truth at all cost," was
plainly her ruling maxim. This it was that made her criticism so
trenchant, her contempt of pretence so quick and stern, her speech so
naked in frankness, her gaze so searching, her whole attitude so alert.
Her estimates of men, books, manners, events, art, duty, destiny, were
moulded after a grand ideal; and she was a severe judge from the very
loftiness of her standard. Her stately deportment, border though it
might on arrogance, but expressed high-heartedness. Her independence,
even if haughty and rash, was the natural action of a self-centred will,
that waited only fit occasion to prove itself heroic. Her earnestness to
read the hidden history of others was the gauge of her own emotion.
The enthusiasm that made her speech so affluent, when measured by
the average scale, was the unconscious overflow of a poetic
temperament. And the ardor of her friends' affection proved the
faithfulness of her love. Thus gradually the mist melted away, till I
caught a glimpse of her real self. We were one evening talking of
American literature,--she contrasting its boyish crudity, half boastful,
half timid, with the tempered, manly equipoise of thorough-bred
European writers, and I asserting that in its mingled practicality and
aspiration might be read bright auguries; when, betrayed by sympathy,
she laid bare her secret hope of what Woman might be and do, as an
author, in our Republic. The sketch was an outline only, and dashed off
with a few swift strokes, but therein appeared her own portrait, and we
were strangers no more.
It was through the medium of others, however, that at this time I best
learned to appreciate Margaret's nobleness of nature and principle. My
most intimate friend in the Theological School, James Freeman Clarke,
was her constant companion in exploring the rich gardens of German

literature; and from his descriptions I formed a vivid image of her
industry, comprehensiveness, buoyancy, patience, and came to honor
her intelligent interest in high problems of science, her aspirations after
spiritual greatness, her fine æsthetic taste, her religiousness. By power
to quicken other minds, she showed how living was her own. Yet more
near were we brought by common attraction toward a youthful visitor
in our circle, the untouched freshness of whose beauty was but the
transparent garb of a serene, confiding, and harmonious soul, and
whose polished grace, at once modest and naïve, sportive and sweet,
fulfilled the charm of innate goodness of heart. Susceptible in
temperament, anticipating with ardent fancy the lot of a lovely and
refined woman, and morbidly exaggerating her own slight personal
defects, Margaret seemed to long, as it were, to transfuse with her force
this nymph-like form, and to fill her to glowing with her own lyric fire.
No drop of envy tainted the sisterly love, with which she sought by
genial sympathy thus to live in another's experience, to