December 2008
She dwelt in a universe full of gods and heroes, dreams and visions. She lived according to the rules of both biting logic, and melting sympathy. She imagined a world where every woman would be allowed to think; where every human would be urged to realize his highest potential. She looked ever up – tread ever forward on her ascending path: and in her own being, she identified both the Muse, and Minerva; Emotion and the Intellect. In a time when American society consisted of the women’s sphere of quiet domesticity, and the men’s sphere of politics and power, Margaret Fuller possessed a realm all of her own.
My name is Rebecca Ann Fuller. I am Margaret’s great – great – great – great – great niece, the direct descendent of her brother Eugene. After years of patient research, I believe that I have gathered enough information to do my distant ancestor homage. I have endeavored to tell Margaret’s story through the eyes of those who knew her – and to describe her world as she saw it.
Let’s begin.
Monday, December 22, 2008
A Clipping From the Cambridge Sentinel
May 27th, 1810
A BIRTH – Born to Mr. and Mrs. Timothy Fuller of Cambridge, Mass., a daughter. The first-born arrived on May 23, and Mr. Fuller, a well-known lawyer and Congressman, has christened her Sarah Margaret. Mrs. Fuller before her marriage was Miss Margarett Crane of Canton, Mass.
A BIRTH – Born to Mr. and Mrs. Timothy Fuller of Cambridge, Mass., a daughter. The first-born arrived on May 23, and Mr. Fuller, a well-known lawyer and Congressman, has christened her Sarah Margaret. Mrs. Fuller before her marriage was Miss Margarett Crane of Canton, Mass.
From the Journal of Margarett Crane Fuller
July 24, 1815
…Today marks the fifth day in a row that little Margaret has woken up with great dark circles beneath her eyes. Ever since Eugene’s birth in May, Timothy has been drilling M. in her studies like a sergeant would a soldier. Added to the usual load of grammar, history, & mathematics the poor creature has been studying since age three, T. is now instructing her in Latin & Greek. I know for a fact that he kept her up well past nine o’ clock last night. She shows every sign of enjoying her studies, nonetheless: the appearance of weariness apparently does not reflect her state of mind. At the breakfast-table this morning, she began spouting Latin – she is now translating some passages from Virgil – & shouting in obvious merriment, “Mama, Mama! I know its meaning, but you do not!” Of course she was reprimanded for such insolence.
I fear that she is becoming quite boyish. I am not sure that such a rigorous education is good for a little girl – or a girl of any age, for that matter. Then again, I went to the window this afternoon, on hearing a strange sound, & saw little M. out in my garden, where she often goes when ill with a headache; kneeling amidst the flowers, & singing to herself. I watched her pluck a few violets & pinks, and hold them to her cheek, and kiss them. Later when she came inside, she ran to embrace me, her impish little face stained with the pigment of flowers. She is such an eager, restless little soul, and she DOES have a girl’s heart. Perhaps I should not worry so very much about her mind becoming overdeveloped. She does love her studies so.
…Today marks the fifth day in a row that little Margaret has woken up with great dark circles beneath her eyes. Ever since Eugene’s birth in May, Timothy has been drilling M. in her studies like a sergeant would a soldier. Added to the usual load of grammar, history, & mathematics the poor creature has been studying since age three, T. is now instructing her in Latin & Greek. I know for a fact that he kept her up well past nine o’ clock last night. She shows every sign of enjoying her studies, nonetheless: the appearance of weariness apparently does not reflect her state of mind. At the breakfast-table this morning, she began spouting Latin – she is now translating some passages from Virgil – & shouting in obvious merriment, “Mama, Mama! I know its meaning, but you do not!” Of course she was reprimanded for such insolence.
I fear that she is becoming quite boyish. I am not sure that such a rigorous education is good for a little girl – or a girl of any age, for that matter. Then again, I went to the window this afternoon, on hearing a strange sound, & saw little M. out in my garden, where she often goes when ill with a headache; kneeling amidst the flowers, & singing to herself. I watched her pluck a few violets & pinks, and hold them to her cheek, and kiss them. Later when she came inside, she ran to embrace me, her impish little face stained with the pigment of flowers. She is such an eager, restless little soul, and she DOES have a girl’s heart. Perhaps I should not worry so very much about her mind becoming overdeveloped. She does love her studies so.
From a letter from Timothy Fuller to Elisha Fuller
Washington, D. C. January 20th, 1820.
My Dear Brother:
I hope all is well with you and your family. I am in good health, serving here in our nation’s capitol; but I miss my dear wife and children bitterly, as I do every year.
I thank you once again for taking it upon yourself to tutor little Sarah in her studies. It was only in her third or fourth year that I began her education, and a hardy one, too; but she has always been well-fit for the challenge - devouring every piece of knowledge that comes her way. Inspired by Jefferson’s writings, I took it upon myself to make sure that she be raised as a strong Republican woman, ready to serve her husband; and to prepare her sons for the life of the American Man.
Of the many books she has studied, she has some great favorites. She treasured Ovid, for in his writings she discovered the world of Greek Mythology, and has, ever since, been fascinated by these ancient fairy stories. She is thrilled by the old tales of heroism and dramatics; and I am sure that, in her mind, she lives atop Mount Olympus. At times, though, I must revoke this fanciful nature of hers. First - she is not allowed to read any of those ridiculous, sentimental girls’ novels, nor girls’ etiquette handbooks; and is forbidden to read any plays or novels whatever on the Sabbath. When I caught her reading Romeo & Juliet one Sunday a few years ago, she received a good spanking for it.
Indeed, she is a rather fanciful girl; and quite knows her own mind. Her latest habit is to insist upon being called by her middle, rather than her Christian name. ‘I do not like Sarah, call me Margaret alone, pray do!’ – she said in a letter to me. What a sweet, but silly child she is!…
My Dear Brother:
I hope all is well with you and your family. I am in good health, serving here in our nation’s capitol; but I miss my dear wife and children bitterly, as I do every year.
I thank you once again for taking it upon yourself to tutor little Sarah in her studies. It was only in her third or fourth year that I began her education, and a hardy one, too; but she has always been well-fit for the challenge - devouring every piece of knowledge that comes her way. Inspired by Jefferson’s writings, I took it upon myself to make sure that she be raised as a strong Republican woman, ready to serve her husband; and to prepare her sons for the life of the American Man.
Of the many books she has studied, she has some great favorites. She treasured Ovid, for in his writings she discovered the world of Greek Mythology, and has, ever since, been fascinated by these ancient fairy stories. She is thrilled by the old tales of heroism and dramatics; and I am sure that, in her mind, she lives atop Mount Olympus. At times, though, I must revoke this fanciful nature of hers. First - she is not allowed to read any of those ridiculous, sentimental girls’ novels, nor girls’ etiquette handbooks; and is forbidden to read any plays or novels whatever on the Sabbath. When I caught her reading Romeo & Juliet one Sunday a few years ago, she received a good spanking for it.
Indeed, she is a rather fanciful girl; and quite knows her own mind. Her latest habit is to insist upon being called by her middle, rather than her Christian name. ‘I do not like Sarah, call me Margaret alone, pray do!’ – she said in a letter to me. What a sweet, but silly child she is!…
From the Diary of Almira Penniman, Margaret's close childhood friend
July 17th, 1825
…Now, regarding dearest Margaret: I fear that she is going through a stage of terrible social awkwardness. In fall of last year, when she was 14, her papa, Mr. Fuller, sent her to Miss Susan Prescott’s Young Ladies Seminary in Groton, Massachusetts. There, she received training in piano, singing, dancing, and drawing. I believe that he may have begun to fear that Margaret’s character was growing worse for the boyish education he had administered to her. Unfortunately, although Margaret works hard enough at these new, more feminine endeavors; there is no removing from her mind the powerful seed of curiosity that has been planted there.
It is true that she seems to have become rather too intelligent; and, indeed, in the eyes of strangers wherever she goes, she is rather pretentious and overbearing. Once Margaret has engaged one in a conversation, she will passionately express her opinions on every thing: philosophy, politics, literature, mythology; and she grows impatient when her partner cannot understand her, or disagrees. Women her mother’s age and older eye her with disapproval; young men her age – especially scholarly ones – are both fascinated and frightened by her.
I try always to listen to sweet M., and many other do, as well. She is loved by those who know her well enough; but I fear that, to those of less understanding dispositions, she will continue to be an arrogant child…
…Now, regarding dearest Margaret: I fear that she is going through a stage of terrible social awkwardness. In fall of last year, when she was 14, her papa, Mr. Fuller, sent her to Miss Susan Prescott’s Young Ladies Seminary in Groton, Massachusetts. There, she received training in piano, singing, dancing, and drawing. I believe that he may have begun to fear that Margaret’s character was growing worse for the boyish education he had administered to her. Unfortunately, although Margaret works hard enough at these new, more feminine endeavors; there is no removing from her mind the powerful seed of curiosity that has been planted there.
It is true that she seems to have become rather too intelligent; and, indeed, in the eyes of strangers wherever she goes, she is rather pretentious and overbearing. Once Margaret has engaged one in a conversation, she will passionately express her opinions on every thing: philosophy, politics, literature, mythology; and she grows impatient when her partner cannot understand her, or disagrees. Women her mother’s age and older eye her with disapproval; young men her age – especially scholarly ones – are both fascinated and frightened by her.
I try always to listen to sweet M., and many other do, as well. She is loved by those who know her well enough; but I fear that, to those of less understanding dispositions, she will continue to be an arrogant child…
From the Journal of Margaret Fuller
November, Thanksgiving Day, 1831
If I were, in this moment, allowed to write only one more journal entry my whole life through; I would, without a second thought, instantly write what I am about to: what has just happened today!
This day began like any other; being Thanksgiving, I was obliged to attend church. Once there, seated in the cold, hard pew, I experienced what I had borne for years: a sense of detachment from the rest of the congregation, and my entire environment; and some disagreement with the preacher. Worse, yet, though: I was possessed of the sulkiest and most child-like of moods. The usual darkness and numbness was at its worst, and there was nothing I could do to shake it off.
At length, after the service was over, I stole away from my family and sought refuge in the frosty field that has become my secret haven. There I stopped before and stared at a little frozen stream. It seemed to be just as cold and hard as I, and I soon found myself close to drowning in my confusion and despair.
Suddenly the sun shone out with that transparent sweetness, like the last smile of a dying lover, which it will use when it has been unkind all a cold autumn day. And, even then, passed into my thought a beam from its true sun, from its native sphere, which has never since departed from me. I remembered how, a little child, I had stopped myself one day on the stairs, and asked, how came I here? How is it that I seem to be this Margaret Fuller? What does it mean? What shall I do about it? I remembered all the times and ways in which the same thought had returned. I saw how long it must be before the soul can learn to act under these limitations of time and space, and human nature; but I saw, also, that it MUST do it, - that it must make all this false true, - and sow new and immortal plants in the garden of God, before it could return again. I saw there was no self; that selfishness was all folly, and the result of circumstance; that it was only because I thought self real that I suffered; that I had only to live in the idea of the ALL, and all was mine. This truth came to me, and I received it unhesitatingly; so that I was for that hour taken up into God…
If I were, in this moment, allowed to write only one more journal entry my whole life through; I would, without a second thought, instantly write what I am about to: what has just happened today!
This day began like any other; being Thanksgiving, I was obliged to attend church. Once there, seated in the cold, hard pew, I experienced what I had borne for years: a sense of detachment from the rest of the congregation, and my entire environment; and some disagreement with the preacher. Worse, yet, though: I was possessed of the sulkiest and most child-like of moods. The usual darkness and numbness was at its worst, and there was nothing I could do to shake it off.
At length, after the service was over, I stole away from my family and sought refuge in the frosty field that has become my secret haven. There I stopped before and stared at a little frozen stream. It seemed to be just as cold and hard as I, and I soon found myself close to drowning in my confusion and despair.
Suddenly the sun shone out with that transparent sweetness, like the last smile of a dying lover, which it will use when it has been unkind all a cold autumn day. And, even then, passed into my thought a beam from its true sun, from its native sphere, which has never since departed from me. I remembered how, a little child, I had stopped myself one day on the stairs, and asked, how came I here? How is it that I seem to be this Margaret Fuller? What does it mean? What shall I do about it? I remembered all the times and ways in which the same thought had returned. I saw how long it must be before the soul can learn to act under these limitations of time and space, and human nature; but I saw, also, that it MUST do it, - that it must make all this false true, - and sow new and immortal plants in the garden of God, before it could return again. I saw there was no self; that selfishness was all folly, and the result of circumstance; that it was only because I thought self real that I suffered; that I had only to live in the idea of the ALL, and all was mine. This truth came to me, and I received it unhesitatingly; so that I was for that hour taken up into God…
The World of the Transcendentalists
After my Aunt Margaret’s mystical epiphany on that cold Thanksgiving Day, she never again doubted that her life held meaning. Having resolved an overwhelming problem, she was now ready to pursue the path that she believed would lead her to union with God.
The death of her father, Timothy Fuller, in October of 1835 seemed to mark both the end of a chapter in Margaret’s life, and the beginning of a new one. She soon joined the Transcendental Club – the circle of radical, young Bostonian ministers who believed in Bildung, the German term meaning “self-culture”.
The transcendentalists believed that the man had the potential to become a God-like being. They taught that only through constant self-improvement could a human fulfill his purpose on earth, and thus truly serve both God and neighbor. Finding these statutes to be compatible with her own beliefs, Margaret made fast friends with many of the movement’s greatest minds. Some of her life-long companions included Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, William Henry Channing, and Frederick H. Hedge. At this time of her life, she became associated with other prominent writers, as well. Her literary criticism was integral to the eventual fame of both Edgar Allan Poe and Herman Melville; and her passionate, stubborn temperament inspired Nathaniel Hawthorne to create the character of Hester Prynne in The Scarlet Letter.
Margaret’s professional career began in 1836, when she took up the position of assistant in Bronson Alcott’s experimental Temple School in Boston. As a transcendentalist, Alcott advocated the reform of children’s education. Encouraged and enlightened by her experience with the Temple School, Margaret went on to teach at Rhode Island’s Greene Street School in 1837.
Fuller began to write literary criticism in earnest, and, in 1839, she was invited by Emerson to become the editor of The Dial, the publication of the Transcendental Club. For about the next five years, The Dial would become the vehicle to Margaret’s success as a writer and critic. It ended up publishing her most daring series of criticisms, upon the work of German writer Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. In 1839, Margaret also organized a woman’s Conversational Club, which met regularly to discuss topics such as ancient mythology, religion, and philosophy.
Margaret reached her full zenith as a philosophical thinker and social commentator in Summer On the Lakes, in 1843, the account of her travels into the West. In 1845, Woman in the Nineteenth Century was published. It was this work, in which Margaret’s feminist convictions fully emerge, that truly set her apart from all other participants in the movement of transcendentalism.
The death of her father, Timothy Fuller, in October of 1835 seemed to mark both the end of a chapter in Margaret’s life, and the beginning of a new one. She soon joined the Transcendental Club – the circle of radical, young Bostonian ministers who believed in Bildung, the German term meaning “self-culture”.
The transcendentalists believed that the man had the potential to become a God-like being. They taught that only through constant self-improvement could a human fulfill his purpose on earth, and thus truly serve both God and neighbor. Finding these statutes to be compatible with her own beliefs, Margaret made fast friends with many of the movement’s greatest minds. Some of her life-long companions included Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, William Henry Channing, and Frederick H. Hedge. At this time of her life, she became associated with other prominent writers, as well. Her literary criticism was integral to the eventual fame of both Edgar Allan Poe and Herman Melville; and her passionate, stubborn temperament inspired Nathaniel Hawthorne to create the character of Hester Prynne in The Scarlet Letter.
Margaret’s professional career began in 1836, when she took up the position of assistant in Bronson Alcott’s experimental Temple School in Boston. As a transcendentalist, Alcott advocated the reform of children’s education. Encouraged and enlightened by her experience with the Temple School, Margaret went on to teach at Rhode Island’s Greene Street School in 1837.
Fuller began to write literary criticism in earnest, and, in 1839, she was invited by Emerson to become the editor of The Dial, the publication of the Transcendental Club. For about the next five years, The Dial would become the vehicle to Margaret’s success as a writer and critic. It ended up publishing her most daring series of criticisms, upon the work of German writer Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. In 1839, Margaret also organized a woman’s Conversational Club, which met regularly to discuss topics such as ancient mythology, religion, and philosophy.
Margaret reached her full zenith as a philosophical thinker and social commentator in Summer On the Lakes, in 1843, the account of her travels into the West. In 1845, Woman in the Nineteenth Century was published. It was this work, in which Margaret’s feminist convictions fully emerge, that truly set her apart from all other participants in the movement of transcendentalism.
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