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Margaret Fuller Ossoli - At Home And Abroad

M >> Margaret Fuller Ossoli >> At Home And Abroad




Persiani is more generally a favorite here; she is indeed skilful
both as an actress and in the management of her voice, but I find
her expression meretricious, her singing mechanical. Neither of these
women is equal to Pico in natural force, if she had but the same
advantages of culture and environment. In hearing _Semiramide_ here,
I first learned to appreciate the degree of talent with which it
was cast in New York. Grisi indeed is a far better Semiramis than
Borghese, but the best parts of the opera lost all their charm from
the inferiority of Brambilla, who took Pico's place. Mario has a
charming voice, grace and tenderness; he fills very well the part of
the young, chivalric lover, but he has no range of power. Coletti is
a very good singer; he has not from Nature a fine voice or personal
beauty; but he has talent, good taste, and often surpasses the
expectation he has inspired. Gardini, the new singer, I have only
heard once, and that was in a lovesick-shepherd part; he showed
delicacy, tenderness, and tact. In fine, among all these male singers
there is much to please, but little to charm; and for the women, they
never fail absolutely to fill their parts, but no ray of the Muse has
fallen on them.

_Don Giovanni_ conferred on me a benefit, of which certainly its great
author never dreamed. I shall relate it,--first begging pardon of
Mozart, and assuring him I had no thought of turning his music to
the account of a "vulgar utility." It was quite by accident. After
suffering several days very much with the toothache, I resolved to get
rid of the cause of sorrow by the aid of ether; not sorry, either, to
try its efficacy, after all the marvellous stories I had heard.
The first time I inhaled it, I did not for several seconds feel the
effect, and was just thinking, "Alas! this has not power to soothe
nerves so irritable as mine," when suddenly I wandered off, I
don't know where, but it was a sensation like wandering in long
garden-walks, and through many alleys of trees,--many impressions, but
all pleasant and serene. The moment the tube was removed, I started
into consciousness, and put my hand to my cheek; but, sad! the
throbbing tooth was still there. The dentist said I had not seemed to
him insensible. He then gave me the ether in a stronger dose, and this
time I quitted the body instantly, and cannot remember any detail of
what I saw and did; but the impression was as in the Oriental tale,
where the man has his head in the water an instant only, but in his
vision a thousand years seem to have passed. I experienced that same
sense of an immense length of time and succession of impressions;
even, now, the moment my mind was in that state seems to me a far
longer period in time than my life on earth does as I look back upon
it. Suddenly I seemed to see the old dentist, as I had for the
moment before I inhaled the gas, amid his plants, in his nightcap
and dressing-gown; in the twilight the figure had somewhat of a
Faust-like, magical air, and he seemed to say, "_C'est inutile._"
Again I started up, fancying that once more he had not dared to
extract the tooth, but it was gone. What is worth, noticing is the
mental translation I made of his words, which, my ear must have
caught, for my companion tells me he said, "_C'est le moment_," a
phrase of just as many syllables, but conveying just the opposite
sense.

Ah! I how I wished then, that you had settled, there in the United
States, who really brought this means of evading a portion of the
misery of life into use. But as it was, I remained at a loss whom to
apostrophize with my benedictions, whether Dr. Jackson, Morton, or
Wells, and somebody thus was robbed of his clue;--neither does Europe
know to whom to address her medals.

However, there is no evading the heavier part of these miseries. You
avoid the moment of suffering, and escape the effort of screwing up
your courage for one of these moments, but not the jar to the whole
system. I found the effect of having taken the ether bad for me. I
seemed to taste it all the time, and neuralgic pain continued; this
lasted three days. For the evening of the third, I had taken a ticket
to _Don Giovanni_, and could not bear to give up this opera, which I
had always been longing to hear; still I was in much suffering, and,
as it was the sixth day I had been so, much weakened. However, I went,
expecting to be obliged to come out; but the music soothed the
nerves at once. I hardly suffered at all during the opera; however, I
supposed the pain would return as soon as I came out; but no! it left
me from that time. Ah! if physicians only understood the influence
of the mind over the body, instead of treating, as they so often do,
their patients like machines, and according to precedent! But I must
pause here for to-day.




LETTER XII.

ADIEU TO PARIS.--ITS SCENES.--THE PROCESSION OF THE FAT
OX.--DESTITUTION OF THE POORER CLASSES.--NEED OF A REFORM.--THE
DOCTRINES OF FOURIER MAKING PROGRESS.--REVIEW OF FOURIER'S LIFE AND
CHARACTER.--THE PARISIAN PRESS ON THE SPANISH MARRIAGE.--GUIZOT'S
POLICY.--NAPOLEON.--THE MANUSCRIPTS OF ROUSSEAU IN THE CHAMBER
OF DEPUTIES.--HIS CHARACTER.--SPEECH OF M. BERRYER IN THE
CHAMBER.--AMERICAN AND FRENCH ORATORY.--THE AFFAIR OF CRACOW.--DULL
SPEAKERS IN THE CHAMBER.--FRENCH VIVACITY.--AMUSING SCENE.--GUIZOT
SPEAKING.--INTERNATIONAL EXCHANGE OF BOOKS.--THE EVENING SCHOOL OF THE
_FRERES CHRETIENS_.--THE GREAT GOOD ACCOMPLISHED BY THEM.--SUGGESTIONS
FOR THE LIKE IN AMERICA.--THE INSTITUTION OF THE DEACONESSES.--THE
NEW YORK "HOME."--SCHOOL FOR IDIOTS NEAR PARIS.--THE RECLAMATION OF
IDIOTS.


I bade adieu to Paris on the 25th of February, just as we had had
one fine day. It was the only one of really delightful weather, from
morning till night, that I had to enjoy all the while I was at Paris,
from the 13th of November till the 25th of February. Let no one abuse
our climate; even in winter it is delightful, compared to the Parisian
winter of mud and mist.

This one day brought out the Parisian world in its gayest colors. I
never saw anything more animated or prettier, of the kind, than
the promenade that day in the _Champs Elysees_. Such crowds of gay
equipages, with _cavaliers_ and their _amazons_ flying through their
midst on handsome and swift horses! On the promenade, what groups of
passably pretty ladies, with excessively pretty bonnets, announcing in
their hues of light green, peach-blossom, and primrose the approach
of spring, and charming children, for French children are charming! I
cannot speak with equal approbation of the files of men sauntering
arm in arm. One sees few fine-looking men in Paris: the air,
half-military, half-dandy, of self-esteem and _savoir-faire_, is not
particularly interesting; nor are the glassy stare and fumes of bad
cigars exactly what one most desires to encounter, when the heart
is opened by the breath of spring zephyrs and the hope of buds and
blossoms.

But a French crowd is always gay, full of quick turns and drolleries;
most amusing when most petulant, it represents what is so agreeable
in the character of the nation. We have now seen it on two good
occasions, the festivities of the new year, and just after we came was
the procession of the _Fat Ox_, described, if I mistake not, by Eugene
Sue. An immense crowd thronged the streets this year to see it,
but few figures and little invention followed the emblem of plenty;
indeed, few among the people could have had the heart for such a sham,
knowing how the poorer classes have suffered from hunger this winter.
All signs of this are kept out of sight in Paris. A pamphlet, called
"The Voice of Famine," stating facts, though in the tone of vulgar
and exaggerated declamation, unhappily common to productions on the
radical side, was suppressed almost as soon as published; but the fact
cannot be suppressed, that the people in the provinces have suffered
most terribly amid the vaunted prosperity of France.

While Louis Philippe lives, the gases, compressed by his strong grasp,
may not burst up to light; but the need of some radical measures of
reform is not less strongly felt in France than elsewhere, and the
time will come before long when such will be imperatively demanded.
The doctrines of Fourier are making considerable progress, and
wherever they spread, the necessity of some practical application of
the precepts of Christ, in lieu of the mummeries of a worn-out ritual,
cannot fail to be felt. The more I see of the terrible ills which
infest the body politic of Europe, the more indignation I feel at
the selfishness or stupidity of those in my own country who oppose
an examination of these subjects,--such as is animated by the hope of
prevention. The mind of Fourier was, in many respects, uncongenial to
mine. Educated in an age of gross materialism, he was tainted by its
faults. In attempts to reorganize society, he commits the error of
making soul the result of health of body, instead of body the clothing
of soul; but his heart was that of a genuine lover of his kind, of a
philanthropist in the sense of Jesus,--his views were large and noble.
His life was one of devout study on these subjects, and I should
pity the person who, after the briefest sojourn in Manchester and
Lyons,--the most superficial acquaintance with the population of
London and Paris,--could seek to hinder a study of his thoughts, or
be wanting in reverence for his purposes. But always, always, the
unthinking mob has found stones on the highway to throw at the
prophets.

Amid so many great causes for thought and anxiety, how childish has
seemed the endless gossip of the Parisian press on the subject of
the Spanish marriage,--how melancholy the flimsy falsehoods of M.
Guizot,--more melancholy the avowal so naively made, amid those
falsehoods, that to his mind expediency is the best policy! This is
the policy, said he, that has made France so prosperous. Indeed, the
success is correspondent with the means, though in quite another sense
than that he meant.

I went to the _Hotel des Invalides_, supposing I should be admitted
to the spot where repose the ashes of Napoleon, for though I love not
pilgrimages to sepulchres, and prefer paying my homage to the living
spirit rather than to the dust it once animated, I should have
liked to muse a moment beside his urn; but as yet the visitor is
not admitted there. In the library, however, one sees the picture of
Napoleon crossing the Alps, opposite to that of the present King of
the French. Just as they are, these should serve as frontispieces to
two chapters of history. In the first, the seed was sown in a field of
blood indeed, yet was it the seed of all that is vital in the present
period. By Napoleon the career was really laid open to talent, and all
that is really great in France now consists in the possibility that
talent finds of struggling to the light.

Paris is a great intellectual centre, and there is a Chamber of
Deputies to represent the people, very different from the poor,
limited Assembly politically so called. Their tribune is that of
literature, and one needs not to beg tickets to mingle with the
audience. To the actually so-called Chamber of Deputies I was indebted
for two pleasures. First and greatest, a sight of the manuscripts
of Rousseau treasured in their Library. I saw them and touched
them,--those manuscripts just as he has celebrated them, written on
the fine white paper, tied with ribbon. Yellow and faded age has
made them, yet at their touch I seemed to feel the fire of youth,
immortally glowing, more and more expansive, with which his soul has
pervaded this century. He was the precursor of all we most prize.
True, his blood was mixed with madness, and the course of his actual
life made some detours through villanous places, but his spirit was
intimate with the fundamental truths of human nature, and fraught with
prophecy. There is none who has given birth to more life for this age;
his gifts are yet untold; they are too present with us; but he who
thinks really must often think with Rousseau, and learn of him even
more and more: such is the method of genius, to ripen fruit for the
crowd of those rays of whose heat they complain.

The second pleasure was in the speech of M. Berryer, when the Chamber
was discussing the Address to the King. Those of Thiers and Guizot
had been, so far, more interesting, as they stood for more that was
important; but M. Berryer is the most eloquent speaker of the House.
His oratory is, indeed, very good; not logical, but plausible, full
and rapid, with occasional bursts of flame and showers of sparks,
though indeed no stone of size and weight enough to crush any man was
thrown out of the crater. Although the oratory of our country is
very inferior to what might be expected from the perfect freedom
and powerful motive for development of genius in this province, it
presents several examples of persons superior in both force and scope,
and equal in polish, to M. Berryer.

Nothing can be more pitiful than the manner in which the infamous
affair of Cracow is treated on all hands. There is not even the
affectation of noble feeling about it. La Mennais and his coadjutors
published in _La Reforme_ an honorable and manly protest, which the
public rushed to devour the moment it was out of the press;--and no
wonder! for it was the only crumb of comfort offered to those who have
the nobleness to hope that the confederation of nations may yet be
conducted on the basis of divine justice and human right. Most men who
touched the subject apparently weary of feigning, appeared in their
genuine colors of the calmest, most complacent selfishness. As
described by Koerner in the prayer of such a man:--

"O God, save me,
My wife, child, and hearth,
Then my harvest also;
Then will I bless thee,
Though thy lightning scorch to blackness
All the rest of human kind."

A sentiment which finds its paraphrase in the following vulgate of our
land:--

"O Lord, save me,
My wife, child, and brother Sammy,
Us four, _and no more_."

The latter clause, indeed, is not quite frankly avowed as yet by
politicians.

It is very amusing to be in the Chamber of Deputies when some dull
person is speaking. The French have a truly Greek vivacity; they
cannot endure to be bored. Though their conduct is not very dignified,
I should like a corps of the same kind of sharp-shooters in our
legislative assemblies when honorable gentlemen are addressing their
constituents and not the assembly, repeating in lengthy, windy, clumsy
paragraphs what has been the truism of the newspaper press for
months previous, wickedly wasting the time that was given us to learn
something for ourselves, and help our fellow-creatures. In the French
Chamber, if a man who has nothing to say ascends the tribune, the
audience-room is filled with the noise as of myriad beehives; the
President rises on his feet, and passes the whole time of the speech
in taking the most violent exercise, stretching himself to look
imposing, ringing his bell every two minutes, shouting to the
representatives of the nation to be decorous and attentive. In vain:
the more he rings, the more they won't be still. I saw an orator in
this situation, fighting against the desires of the audience, as only
a Frenchman could,--certainly a man of any other nation would have
died of embarrassment rather,--screaming out his sentences, stretching
out both arms with an air of injured dignity, panting, growing red in
the face; but the hubbub of voices never stopped an instant. At last
he pretended to be exhausted, stopped, and took out his snuff-box.
Instantly there was a calm. He seized the occasion, and shouted out a
sentence; but it was the only one he was able to make heard. They
were not to be trapped so a second time. When any one is speaking that
commands interest, as Berryer did, the effect of this vivacity is very
pleasing, the murmur of feeling that rushes over the assembly is so
quick and electric,--light, too, as the ripple on the lake. I heard
Guizot speak one day for a short time. His manner is very deficient
in dignity,--has not even the dignity of station; you see the man of
cultivated intellect, but without inward strength; nor is even his
panoply of proof.

I saw in the Library of the Deputies some books intended to be sent
to our country through M. Vattemare. The French have shown great
readiness and generosity with regard to his project, and I earnestly
hope that our country, if it accept these tokens of good-will, will
show both energy and judgment in making a return. I do not speak from
myself alone, but from others whose opinion is entitled to the highest
respect, when I say it is not by sending a great quantity of documents
of merely local interest, that would be esteemed lumber in our garrets
at home, that you pay respect to a nation able to look beyond, the
binding of a book. If anything is to be sent, let persons of ability
be deputed to make a selection honorable to us and of value to
the French. They would like documents from our Congress,--what is
important as to commerce and manufactures; they would also like much
what can throw light on the history and character of our aborigines.
This project of international exchange could not be carried on to any
permanent advantage without accredited agents on either side, but in
its present shape it wears an aspect of good feeling that is valuable,
and may give a very desirable impulse to thought and knowledge.
M. Vattemare has given himself to the plan with indefatigable
perseverance, and I hope our country will not be backward to accord
him that furtherance he has known how to conquer from his countrymen.

To his complaisance I was indebted for opportunity of a leisurely
survey of the _Imprimeri Royale_, which gave me several suggestions
I shall impart at a more favorable time, and of the operations of the
Mint also. It was at his request that the Librarian of the Chamber
showed me the manuscripts of Rousseau, which are not always seen by
the traveller. He also introduced me to one of the evening schools of
the _Freres Chretiens_, where I saw, with pleasure, how much can be
done for the working classes only by evening lessons. In reading and
writing, adults had made surprising progress, and still more so in
drawing. I saw with the highest pleasure, excellent copies of good
models, made by hard-handed porters and errand-boys with their brass
badges on their breasts. The benefits of such an accomplishment are,
in my eyes, of the highest value, giving them, by insensible degrees,
their part in the glories of art and science, and in the tranquil
refinements of home. Visions rose in my mind of all that might be done
in our country by associations of men and women who have received the
benefits of literary culture, giving such evening lessons throughout
our cities and villages. Should I ever return, I shall propose to
some of the like-minded an association for such a purpose, and try the
experiment of one of these schools of Christian brothers, with the vow
of disinterestedness, but without the robe and the subdued priestly
manner, which even in these men, some of whom seemed to me truly good,
I could not away with.

I visited also a Protestant institution, called that of the
Deaconesses, which pleased me in some respects. Beside the regular
_Creche_, they take the sick children of the poor, and nurse them till
they are well. They have also a refuge like that of the Home which,
the ladies of New York have provided, through which members of
the most unjustly treated class of society may return to peace and
usefulness. There are institutions of the kind in Paris, but too
formal,--and the treatment shows ignorance of human nature. I see
nothing that shows so enlightened a spirit as the Home, a little germ
of good which I hope flourishes and finds active aid in the community.
I have collected many facts with regard to this suffering class of
women, both in England and in France. I have seen them under the thin
veil of gayety, and in the horrible tatters of utter degradation. I
have seen the feelings of men with regard to their condition, and the
general heartlessness in women of more favored and protected lives,
which I can only ascribe to utter ignorance of the facts. If a
proclamation of some of these can remove it, I hope to make such a one
in the hour of riper judgment, and after a more extensive survey.

Sad as are many features of the time, we have at least the
satisfaction of feeling that if something true can be revealed, if
something wise and kind shall be perseveringly tried, it stands a
chance of nearer success than ever before; for much light has been let
in at the windows of the world, and many dark nooks have been touched
by a consoling ray. The influence of such a ray I felt in visiting
the School for Idiots, near Paris,--idiots, so called long time by
the impatience of the crowd; yet there are really none such, but only
beings so below the average standard, so partially organized, that it
is difficult for them to learn or to sustain themselves. I wept the
whole time I was in this place a shower of sweet and bitter tears; of
joy at what had been done, of grief for all that I and others possess
and cannot impart to these little ones. But patience, and the Father
of All will give them all yet. A good angel these of Paris have in
their master. I have seen no man that seemed to me more worthy of
envy, if one could envy happiness so pure and tender. He is a man
of seven or eight and twenty, who formerly came there only to give
lessons in writing, but became so interested in his charge that he
came at last to live among them and to serve them. They sing the hymns
he writes for them, and as I saw his fine countenance looking in
love on those distorted and opaque vases of humanity, where he had
succeeded in waking up a faint flame, I thought his heart could never
fail to be well warmed and buoyant. They sang well, both in parts and
in chorus, went through gymnastic exercises with order and pleasure,
then stood in a circle and kept time, while several danced extremely
well. One little fellow, with whom the difficulty seemed to be that
an excess of nervous sensibility paralyzed instead of exciting the
powers, recited poems with a touching, childish grace and perfect
memory. They write well, draw well, make shoes, and do carpenter's
work. One of the cases most interesting to the metaphysician is that
of a boy, brought there about two years and a half ago, at the age of
thirteen, in a state of brutality, and of ferocious brutality. I read
the physician's report of him at that period. He discovered no ray of
decency or reason; entirely beneath the animals in the exercise of the
senses, he discovered a restless fury beyond that of beasts of prey,
breaking and throwing down whatever came in his way; was a voracious
glutton, and every way grossly sensual. Many trials and vast patience
were necessary before an inlet could be obtained to his mind; then it
was through the means of mathematics. He delights in the figures, can
draw and name them all, detects them by the touch when blindfolded.
Each, mental effort of the kind he still follows up with an imbecile
chuckle, as indeed his face and whole manner are still that of an
idiot; but he has been raised from his sensual state, and can now
discriminate and name colors and perfumes which before were all alike
to him. He is partially redeemed; earlier, no doubt, far more might
have been done for him, but the degree of success is an earnest which
must encourage to perseverance in the most seemingly hopeless cases. I
thought sorrowfully of the persons of this class whom I have known
in our country, who might have been so raised and solaced by similar
care. I hope ample provision may erelong be made for these Pariahs of
the human race; every case of the kind brings its blessings with it,
and observation on these subjects would be as rich in suggestion for
the thought, as such acts of love are balmy for the heart.




LETTER XIII.

MUSIC IN PARIS.--CHOPIN AND THE CHEVALIER NEUKOMM.--ADIEU TO PARIS.--A
MIDNIGHT DRIVE IN A DILIGENCE.--LYONS AND ITS WEAVERS.--THEIR MANNER
OF LIFE.--A YOUNG WIFE.--THE WEAVERS' CHILDREN.--THE BANKS OF
THE RHONE.--DREARY WEATHER FOR SOUTHERN FRANCE.--THE OLD ROMAN
AMPHITHEATRE AT ARLES.--THE WOMEN OF ARLES.--MARSEILLES.--PASSAGE
TO GENOA.--ITALY.--GENOA AND NAPLES.--BAIAE.--VESUVIUS.--THE ITALIAN
CHARACTER AT HOME.--PASSAGE FROM LEGHORN IN A SMALL STEAMER.--NARROW
ESCAPE.--A CONFUSION OF LANGUAGES.--DEGRADATION OF THE NEAPOLITANS.


Naples.

In my last days at Paris I was fortunate in hearing some delightful
music. A friend of Chopin's took me to see him, and I had the
pleasure, which the delicacy of Iris health makes a rare one for the
public, of hearing him play. All the impressions I had received from
hearing his music imperfectly performed were justified, for it has
marked traits, which can be veiled, but not travestied; but to feel
it as it merits, one must hear himself; only a person as exquisitely
organized as he can adequately express these subtile secrets of the
creative spirit.

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