# Margaret Fuller (Howe 1883)/Chapter 10

CHAPTER X.
Tue time had now come when Margaret's darling wish was to be fulfilled. An opportunity of going abroad offered itself under circumstances which she felt able to accept. On the 1st of August, 1816, she sailed for Europe in the Cambria, then the favourite steamer of the Cunard line, with. Captain Judkins, the most popular and best known of the company's commanders. Her travelling companions were Mr and Mrs. Marcus Spring, of Eaglewood, N. J.
She anticipated much from this journey,--delight, instruction, and the bodily view of a whole world of beauties which she knew, as yet, only ideally. Beyond and unguessed lay the mysteries of fate, from whose depths she was never to emerge in her earthly form. ​ Margaret already possessed the spirit of all that is most valuable in European culture. She knew the writers of the Old World by study, its brave souls by sympathy, its works of art, more imperfectly, through copies and engravings. The Europe which she carried in her mind was not that which the superficial observer sees with careless eyes, nor could it altogether correspond with that which she, in her careful and thoughtful travel, would discern. But the possession of the European mind was a key destined to unlock for her the true significance of European society.
The voyage was propitious. Arriving in England, Margaret visited the Mechanics' Institute in Liverpool, and found the Dial quoted in an address recently given by its director. Sentences from the writings of Charles Sumner and Elihu Burritt adorned the pages of Bradshaw's Railway Guide, and she was soon called upon to note the wide discrepancy between the views of enlightened Englishmen and the selfish policy of their government, corresponding to the more vulgar passions and ambitions of the people at large.
Passing into the Lake Country, she visited Wordsworth at Ambleside, and found “no Apollo, flaming with youthful glory, but, instead, a reverend old wan, clothed in black, and walking with cautious step along the level garden path.” The, aged poet, then numbering seventy-six years, but of a florid, fair old age,” showed the visitors his household portraits, his hollyhocks, his fuchsias. His secluded mode of life, Margaret learned, had so separated him from the living issues of the time, that the peeds of the popular heart touched him but remotely. She found him, however, less intolerant than she had feared concerning the repeal of the Corn Laws, a measure ​ upon which public opinion was at the time strongly divided.
In this neighbourhood Margaret again saw Miss Martineau, at a new home " presented to her by the gratitude of England for her course of energetic and benevolent effort." Dean Milman, historian and dramatist, wus here introduced to Margaret, who describes him as “a specimen of the polished, scholarly man of the world."
Margaret, pow visited various places of interest in Scotland, and in Edinburgh saw Dr. Andrew Combe, Dr. Chalmers, and De Quincey. Dr. Combe, au eminent authority in various departments of medicine and physiology, was a younger brother of George Combe, the distinguished phrenologist. He had much to say about his tribulations with the American publishers who had pirated one of his works, but who refused to print an amended edition of it, on the ground that the book sold well enough as it was. Margaret describes. Dr. Chalmers as "half shepherd, half orator, florid, portly, yet of an intellectually luminous appearance."
De Quincey was of the same age as Wordsworth Margaret finds his “thoughts and knowledge" of a character somewhat superseded by the progress of the age. She found him, not the less, " an admirable narrator, not rapid, but gliding along like a rivulet through a green meadow, giving and taking a thousand little beauties not required to give his story due relief, but each, in itself, a separate boon." She admires, too, his urbanity, so opposed to the rapid, slang, Vivian-Greyish style current in the literary conversation of the day."
Among Margaret's meditations in Scotland was one ​ which she records as "the bootless, best thoughts I had while looking at the dull bloodstain and blocked-up secret stair of Holyrood, at the ruins of Loch Leven Castle, and afterwards at Abbotsford, where the picture of Queen Mary's head, as it lay on the pillow when severed from the block, hung opposite to a fine caricature of Queen Elizabeth, dancing a high and disposedly." We give here a part of this meditation:—
“Surely, in all the stern pages of life's account-book there is none on which a more terrible price is exacted for every precious endowment. Her rank and reign only made her powerless to do good, and exposed her to danger. Her talents only served to irritate her foes and disappoint her friends. This most charming of women was the destruction of her lovers. Married three times, she had never any happiness as a wife, but in both the connections of her choice found that she had either never possessed or could not retain, even for a few weeks, the love of the men she had chosen.....A mother twice, and of a son and daughter, both the children were brought forth in loneliness and sorrow, and separated from her early, her son educated to hate her, her daughter at once immured in a convent. Add the eighteen years of her imprisonment, and the fact that this foolish, prodigal world, when there was in it one woman fitted by her grace and loveliness to charm all eyes and enliven all fancies, suffered her to be shut up to water with her tears her dull embroidery during the full rose-blossom of her life, and you will hardly get, beyond this story for a tragedy, not noble, but pallid and forlorn."
From Edinburgh Margaret and her party made an excursion into the Highlands. The stage-coach was not yet displaced by the locomotive, and Margaret ​ enjoyed, from the top, the varying aspect of that picturesque region. Perth, Loch Leven, and Loch Katrine were visited, and Rowardenpan, the place from which the ascent of Ben Lomond is usually made by travellers. Margaret attempted this feat with but one companion, and without a guide, the people at the inn not having warned her of any danger in so doing.
The ascent she found delightful. So magnificent was the prospect, that, in remembering it, she said: “Had that been, as afterwards seemed likely, the last act of my life, there could not have been a finer decoration painted on the curtain which was to drop upon it."
The proverbial facilis descensus did not here hold good, and the revocare gradum nearly cost Margaret her life. Beginning to descend at four in the afternoon, the indistinct path was soon lost. Margaret's companion left her for a moment in search of it, and could not find her.
“Soon he called to me that he had found it [the path], and I followed in the direction where he seemed to be. But I mistook, overshot it, and saw hip no more. In about ten minutes I became alarmed, and called him many times. It seems he, on his side, did the same, but the brow of some hill was between us, and we neither saw nor heard one another."
Margaret now made many attempts to extricate herself from her dangerous situation, and at last attained a point from which she could see the lake, and the inn from which she had started in the morning. But the mountain-paths were crossed by water-courses, and hemmed in by bogs. After much climbing up and down, Margaret, already wet, very weary, and ​ thinly clad, saw that she must pass the night on the mountain. The spot at which the light forsook her was of so precipitous a character as to leave her, in the dark, no liberty of movement. Yet she did keep in motion of some sort during the whole of that weary night; and this, she supposes, saved her life. The stars kept her company for two hours, when the mist fell and bid them. The moon rose late and was but dimly discernible. At length morning came, and Margaret, starting homeward once more, came upon a company of shepherds, who carried her, exhausted, to the inn, where her distressed friends were waiting for news of her. Such was the extent of the mountain, that a party of twenty men, with dogs, sent in search of the missing one, were not heard by her, and did not hear her voice, which she raised from time to time, hoping to call someone to her rescue. The strength of Margaret'; much-abused constitution was made evident by her speedy recovery from the effects of this severe exposure. A fit vigil, this, for one who was about to witness the scenes of 1848. She speaks of the experience as “sublime indeed, a never-to-be-forgotten presentation of stern, serene realities. ... I had had my grand solitude, my Ossianic visions, and the pleasure of sustaining myself.” After visiting Glasgow and Stirling, Margaret and her friends returned to England by Abbotsford and Melrose
In Birmingham Margaret heard two discourses from George Dawson, then considered a young man of much promise. In Liverpool she had already heard James Martineau, and in London she listened to William Fox. She compares these men with William Henry Channing and Theodore Parker:—
“None of them compare in the symmetrical arrange​arrangement of extempore discourse, or in pure eloquence and communication of spiritual beauty, with Channing, nor in fulness and sustained flow with Parker."
Margaret's estimate of Martineau is interesting:—
"Mr. Martineau looks like the over-intellectual, the partially-developed man, and his speech confirms this impression. He is sometimes conservative, sometimes reformer, not in the sense of eclecticism, but because his powers and views do not find a true harmony. On the conservative side he is scholarly, acute; on the other, pathetic, pictorial, generous. He is no prophet and no sage, yet a man full of fine affections and thoughts; always suggestive, sometimes satisfactory."
Mr. Fox appears to her "the reverse of all this. He is homogeneous in his materials, and harmonious in the results he produces. He has great persuasive power; it is the persuasive power of a mind warmly engaged in seeking truth for itself."
What a leap did our Margaret now make, from Puritanic New England, Roundhead and Cromwellian to its character, into the very heart of Old England, into that Loudon which, in those days, and for long years after, might have been called the metropolis of the world! Wonders of many sorts the "province in brick" still contains. Still does it most astonish those who bring to it the most knowledge. But the social wonders which it then could boast have passed away, leaving no equals to take their place.
Charles Dickens was then in full bloom,—Thackeray in full bud. Sydney Smith exercised his keen, discreet wit. Kenyon not only wrote about pink champagne, but dispensed it with many other good things. Rogers entertained with exquisite taste, and showed his art-treasures without ostentation, Tom Moore, like a ​ veteran canary, chirped, but would not sing. Lord Brougham and the Iron Duke were seen in the House of Lords. Carlyle growled and imbibed strong tea at Chelsea. The Queen was in the favour of her youth, with her handsome husband always at her side. The Duchess of Sutherland, a beautiful woman with lovely daughters, kept her state at Stafford House. Lord Houghton was known as Monckton Milnes. The Honourable Mrs. Norton wore her dark hair folded upon her classic head, beneath a circlet of diamonds. A first season in London was then a bewilderment of brilliancy in reputations, beauties, and entertainments. Margaret did not encounter the season, but hoped to do so at a later day. For the moment she consoled herself thus:—
“I am glad I did not at first see all that pomp and parade of wealth and luxury in contrast with the misery—squalid, agonising, ruffianly—which stares one in the face in every street of London, and hoots at the of her palaces a note more ominous than ever was that of owl or raven in the portentous times when empires and races have crumbled and fallen from inward decay."
​ Margaret was an admirer of Joanna Baillie, and considered her and the French Madame Roland as “the best specimens hitherto offered of women of a Roman strength and singleness of mind, adorned by the various culture and capable of the various action opened to them by the progress of the Christian idea."
She thus chronicles her visit to Miss Baillie:—
“We found her in her little calm retreat at Hampstead, surrounded by marks of love and reverence from distinguished and excellent friends. Near her was the sister, older than herself, yet still sprightly and full of active kindness, whose character she has, in one of her last poems, indicated with such a happy mixture of sagacity, humour, and tender pathos, and with so absolute a truth of outline. Although no autograph hunter, I asked for theirs; and when the elder gave hers as “ sister to Joanna Baillie," it drew a tear from my eye,—a good tear, a genuine pearl, fit homage to that fairest product of the soul of man, humble, disinterested tenderness."
Margaret also visited Miss Berry, the friend of Horace Walpole, long a celebrity, and at that time more than eighty years old. In spite of this, Margaret found her still characterised by the charm, “careless nature or refined art," which had made her a social power once and always.
But of all the notable personages who might have been seen in the London of that time, no one probably interested Margaret so much as did Thomas Carlyle. Her introduction to him was from Emerson, his friend and correspondent; and it was such as to open to her, more than once, the doors of the retired and reserved house, in which neither time nor money was lavished upon the entertainment of strangers. ​ Carlyle's impressions of Margaret have now been given to the world in the published correspondence of Carlyle and Emerson. She had, long before, drawn her portrait of him in one of her letters descriptive of London and its worthies. The candid criticism of both is full of interest, and may here be contrasted. Margaret says:—
“I approached him with more reverence after a little experience of England and Scotland had taught me to appreciate the strength and height of that wall of shams and conventions which he, more than any other man, or thousand men,—indeed, he almost alone, —has begun to throw down. He has torn off the veils from hideous facts; he has burnt away foolish illusions; he has touched the rocks, and they have given forth musical answer. Little more was wanting to begin to construct the city; but that little was wanting, and the work of construction is left to those that come after him. Nay, all attempts of the kind he is the readiest to deride, fearing new shams worse than the old, unable to trust the general action of a thought, and finding no heroic man, no natural king, to represent it and challenge his confidence."
How significant is this phrase,—"unable to trust the general action of a thought." This saving faith in the power of just thought Carlyle, the thinker, had not.
With a reverence, then, not blind, but discriminating, Margaret approached this luminous mind, and saw and heard its possessor thus:—
"Accustomed to the infinite wit and exuberant richness of his writings, his talk is still an amazement and a splendour scarcely to be faced with steady eyes. He does not converse, only harangues. It is the usual ​ misfortune of such marked men that they cannot allow other minds room to breathe and show them. selves in their atmosphere, and thus miss the refreshment and instruction which the greatest never cease to need from the experience of the humblest.... Carlyle, indeed, is arrogant and overbearing, but in his arrogance there is no littleness or self-love: it is the heroic arrogance of some old Scandinavian conqueror; it is his nature, and the untameable impulse that has given him power to crush the dragons.
“For the higher kinds of poetry he has no sense, and his talk on that subject is delightfully and gorgeously absurd.... He puts out his chin sometimes till it looks like the beak of a bird; and his eyes flush bright, instinctive meanings, like Jove's bird. Yet he is not calm and grand enough for the eagle: he is more like the falcon, and yet not of gentle blood enough for that either.... I cannot speak more nor wiselier of him now; nor needs it. His works are true to blame and praise him,—the Siegfried of England, great and powerful, if not quite invulnerable, and of a might rather to destroy evil than to legislate for good.”
In a letter to Emerson, Margaret gives some account of her visits at the Carlyle mansion. The second of these was on the occasion of a dinner-party, at which she met "a witty, French, flippant sort of a man, author of a History of Philosophy, and now writing a life of Goethe," presumably George Lewes. Margaret acknowledges that he told stories admirably, and that his occasional interruptions of Carlyle's persistent monologue were welcome. Of this, her summary is too interesting to be omitted here:—
“For a couple of hours he was talking about ​ poetry, and the whole harangue was' one eloquent proclamation of the defects in his own mind. Tennyson wrote in verse because the school-masters had taught him that it was great to do so; and had thus, unfortunately, been turned from the true path for a man. Burns had, in like manner, been turned from his vocation. Shakespeare had not had the good sense to see that it would have been better to write straight on in prose; and such nonsense which, though amusing enough at first, he ran to death after a while. . . . The latter part of the evening, however, he paid us for this by a series of sketches, in his finest style of railing and raillery, of modern French literature. All were depreciating except that of Béranger. Of him he spoke with perfect justice, because with hearty sympathy."
The retirement of the ladies to the drawing-room afforded Margaret an opportunity which she had not yet enjoyed.
“I had afterward some talk with Mrs. Carlyle, whom hitherto I had only seen,—for who can speak while her husband is there? I like her very much; she is full of grace, sweetness, and talent. Her eyes are sad and charming."
Margaret saw the Carlyles only once more,
"They came to pass an evening with us. Unluckily, Mazzini was with us, whose society, when he was there alone, I enjoyed more than any. He is a beauteous and pure music; also, he is a dear friend of Mrs. Carlyle. But his being there gave the conversation a turn to progress and ideal subjects, and Carlyle was fluent in invectives on all our rose-water imbecilities. We all felt distant from him, and Mazzini, after some vain efforts to remonstrate, became very sad. Mrs, Carlyle said to me: These are but opinions to Carlyle; ​ but to Mazzint, who has given his all, and helped bring his friends to the scaffold in pursuit of such subjects, it is a matter of life and death.'"
Clearly, Carlyle had not, in Margaret's estimation, the true gospel. She would not bow to the Titanic forces, whcthcr mct with in the romances of Sand or in his force-theory. And so, bidding him farewell with great admiration, she passes on, as she says, "more lowly, more willing to be imperfect, since Fate permits such noble creatures, after all, to be only this or that. Carlylc is only a lion."
Carlyle, on his side, writes of her to Emerson:—
"Margaret is an excellent soul: in real regard with both of us here. Since she went, I have been reading some of her papers in a new Book we have got: greatly superior to all I knew before: in fact, the undeniable utterances (now first undeniable to me) of a truly heroic mind; altogether unique, so far as I know, among the writing women of this generation; rare enough, too, God knows, among the writing men. She is very narrow, sometimes, but she is truly high. Honour to Margaret, and more and more good speed to her."
At a later day he sums up his impressions of her in this wise:—
“Such a predetermination to eat this big Universe as her oyster or her egg, and to be absolute empress of all height and glory in it that her heart could conceive, I have not before seen in any human soul. Her mountain me,' indeed; but her courage, too, is high and clear, her chivalrous nobleness à toute épreuve." ​ Margaret's high estimate of Mazzini will be justified by those who knew him or knew of him:—
“Mazzini, one of these noble refugees, is not only one of the heroic, the courageous, and the faithful,—Italy boasts many—such, but he is also one of the wise,—one of those who, disappointed in the outward results of their undertakings, can yet 'bate no jot of heart and hope,' but must 'steer right onward,' For it was no superficial enthusiasm, no impatient energies, that impelled him, but an understanding' of what must be the designs of Heaven with regard to man, since God is Love, is Justice. He is one of those beings who, measuring all things by the ideal standard, have yet no time to mourn over failure or imperfection; there is too much to be done to obviate it."
She finds in his papers, published in the People's Journal, "the purity of impulse, largeness and steadiness of view, and fineness of discrimination which must belong to a legislator for a Christian commonwealth."
Much as Margaret admired the noble sentiments expressed in Mazzini's writings, she admired still more the love and wisdom which led the eminent patriot to found, with others, the school for poor Italian boys already spoken of. More Christ-like did she deem this labour than aught that he could have said or sung.
“As among the fishermen and poor people of Judæa were picked up those who have become to modern Europe & leaven that leavens the whole mass, so may these poor Italian boys yet become more efficacious as missionaries to their people than would an Orphic poet at this period."
At the distribution of prizes to the school, in which Mazzini and Mariotti took part, some of the Polish ​exiles also being present, she seemed to see "a planting of the kingdom of Heaven."
Margaret saw a good deal of James Garth Wilkinson, who later became prominent as the author of the work entitled The Human Body in its Relation to the Constitution of Man. She found in him "a sane, strong, and well-exercised mind, but in the last degree unpoetical in its structure." Dr. Wilkinson published, years after this time, a volume of verses which amply sustains this judgment.
"Browning," she writes, "has just married Miss Barrett, and gone to Italy. I may meet them there." Hoping for a much longer visit at some future time, and bewildered, as she says, both by the treasures which she had found, and those which she had not had opportunity to explore, Margaret left London for its social and æsthetic antithesis, Paris.
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