Introduction

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.

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.

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.

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!…

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…

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…

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.

From the Diary of Elizabeth Peabody, Frequent Host of Margaret's Conversations

March 22nd, 1841

This evening, we held yet another Conversation led by Margaret. It being a meeting specifically for women; Miss Anna Shaw, Miss Caroline Sturgis, Mrs. Lidian Emerson, Mrs. Almira Barlow, Mrs. Ellen Hooper, Miss Fuller, and myself gathered in my parlor in order to discuss the topics of Philosophy, Politics, and Society.

Prior to the discussion, Margaret made it clear - as she always does - that she did not intend to dominate the discussion; but rather wished for the rest of us to better understand our own opinions by presenting them out-loud. She proposed, as an opening to the new series of Conversations, that we consider following:

‘What were we born to do: and how shall we do it?’ And: ‘how we may make best use of our means of building up the life of thought upon the life of action’.

At this first meeting, we discussed, in particular, the topic of Life: what is it?

Caroline started us out, saying that life is ‘to laugh, or cry, according to our organization.’

Then, I ventured that ‘life is division from one’s principle of life in order to a conscious reorganization. We are cut up by time and circumstance, in order to feel our reproduction of the eternal law.’

Next, Mrs. Emerson spoke: ‘We live by the will of God, and the object of life is to submit.’

From there, naturally, we moved into the subjects of Fate and Freedom.

Before the Conversation was over, we insisted that Margaret share what she thought Life to be. Although I cannot give a full and satisfactory account of all she said; here is something I remember:

She began with God as Spirit, Life, so full as to create and love eternally, yet capable of pause. Love and creativeness are dynamic forces, out of which we, individually, as creatures, go forth bearing his image, that is, having within our being the same dynamic forces, by which we also add constantly to the total sum of existence, and shaking off ignorance, and its effects, and by becoming more ourselves, i.e., divine; - by destroying sin in its principle, we attain to absolute freedom, we return to God, conscious like himself, and, as his friends, giving, as well as receiving, felicity forevermore.

From the Journal of Henry William Channing

June 3rd, 1844

It is with great interest and much thought that I have finished reading Margaret’s first book, Summer On the Lakes, in 1843. It is the account of her journey through Illinois, Wisconsin, and, of course, Michigan, last summer. Perhaps it would be fitting to say that, rather than describing the landscape of the new worlds which she discovered; she noted the actions and attitudes of the people she encountered; and thus made keen observations regarding American Progress and life in the West.

During her stay at her first destination, Niagra, she insightfully identified the mindset of our country, with its eyes set always upon expansion and innovation; and rarely upon contemplation or simple appreciation. After observing the Falls, she wrote thus:

Once, just as I had seated myself there, a man came to take his first look. He walked close up to the fall, and, after looking at it a moment, with an air as if thinking how he could best appropriate it to his own use, he spat into it…This trait seemed wholly worthy of an age whose love of utility is such that the Prince Puckler Muskau* suggests the probability of men coming to put the bodies of their dead parents in the fields to fertilize them…

Poor Margaret! It is just the sort of thing she would write. She even continues to liken her bitter disillusionment to that of the English writer Charles Dickens, when he made his visit to the States some years back.

On every subject, she writes with great depth of emotion; and particularly shows such overwhelming sympathy for all those under the thumb of injustice. During her stay in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, she lived amongst and became quite familiar with the native Indians. With a troubled heart, she observed the great poverty and hunger of the dispossessed people; and, in her book, ever raises her voice against such a sore lack of fundamental justice.

Margaret does not fail to note that, despite their destitution, the women of the Indian tribes are strong, independent, and integral to the well-being of their families. Indian women are even, I understand, placed on the same level as Indian men, and considered their equals. For this reason, Margaret concludes, the Indian women of the west are freer “in spirit” than are white women anywhere in America. Oh, she is always coming up with some newfangled theory. I wonder what she will think of next?…

* Hermann Ludwig Heinrich Furst von Puckler-Muskau was a German writer who wrote on traveling.

From the Journal of Ralph Waldo Emerson

August 8th, 1845

What follow are my thoughts on M.’s newest book, Woman in the Nineteenth Century.

I, along with all of Margaret’s closest friends, have long known that she believes quite earnestly in the equality of the sexes. Naturally, by taking the step of making this opinion known to others, she has set herself apart from the rest of her friends, me included. Although I cannot truly embrace the view of perfect equality, I must admit that she has argued it quite well in her new work.

She touches on many a crucial point. When discussing the matter of Woman’s Rights, she engages in a conversation with a man who supports only limited rights for women.

‘Am I not the head of my house?’ He says. Margaret replies –

‘You are not the head of your wife. God has given her a mind and heart of her own.’

She ultimately presents an opinion that is radical in the extreme… ‘But if you ask me what offices they (women) may fill, I reply – any. I do not care what case you put; let them be sea-captains, if you will.’

M. draws on her beloved Mythology once again; and, this time, perfects her theory of Muse and Minerva. This is something of which she has long tried to convince me: she believes that the woman’s soul is composed of two parts. The Muse is feminine – ‘electrical in movement, intuitive in function, spiritual in tendency’; the half of woman that is particularly capable of mysticism and prophecy; empathy and sentiment. Minerva, on the other hand, is masculine and powerful – it possesses ‘intellectual power’ and ‘practical reason’. M. claims that ‘The growth of man(kind) is two-fold, masculine and feminine. As far as these two methods can be distinguished, they are so as Energy and Harmony. Power and Beauty. Intellect and Love.’

I find that this view does make some sense to me. In particular, I am able to appreciate Margaret’s insistence that, by promoting equal rights, she is striving to benefit men as equally as women. She refuses to view women as an oppressed minority, or men as senseless tyrants. She believes that both sexes are hurt by the unfair treatment of women.

Alas, Margaret! At times, in the past, you have tried desperately to make me see the sense in your teachings; always I have failed. This time, I see the sense – but will others do the same? You are The Friend, Margaret. It is your clumsy frankness, your unwavering, earnest attention that has won so many of us over to you. You always, and now, especially, walk across a thin high-wire; for you give us all that you have. Have we ever dared to return the gift? You have a right to expect great activity great demonstration and large intellectual contributions from your friends, and tho’ you do not say it you receive nothing.

The Foundling of the Italian Republic

In 1844, Aunt Margaret left The Dial, as a result of dwindling public response. She was not left unemployed for long, however: that same year Horace Greeley, editor and publisher of the New York Tribune, offered her the position of journalist, literary editor and critic with daily Whig newspaper.

In New York, Margaret’s career truly took flight. With her literary criticism, she introduced America to the work of the English poets Elizabeth Barrett, Robert Browning, and Alfred Tennyson. Living in the midst of the age of reform, she also addressed such issues as slavery and the care of the country’s poor and sick. Although Margaret was never primarily an abolitionist, she made several powerful contributions to the Tribune promoting Blacks’ rights. In one such an article, an allegorical parable entitled “What Fits a Man to Be a Voter? Is It to Be White Within, or White Without?”, she showed how the supporters of slavery were the true “black” ones, as their souls were hardened and corrupted.

Margaret’s greatest dream was made a reality in 1846: she was given the opportunity to tour Europe. Further, Greeley agreed to allow her to be foreign correspondent for the Tribune – the first woman foreign correspondent in America.

After visiting London and Paris, she traveled to Italy in 1847. She arrived in Rome on the eve of a rebellion, and there she quickly became involved in the revolutionary efforts of the Italian people, then under the control of Austria. Pope Pius IX was, at that time, an advocate of the ongoing social reform; and though he held power over the Papal States, he was a favorite of the Italian people for his support of war against Austria.

Giuseppe Mazzini, a prominent figure in the revolution, became Margaret’s close friend and mentor – she greatly admired his republican spirit, and how it was combined with her own long-held belief in self-improvement for the sake of country.

It was in Italy that Margaret met and fell in love with Giovanni Angelo Ossoli, a former Roman nobleman who had since dedicated his life to the Italian revolution. In him, Margaret found the true friend that she had longed for all her life. It is unclear whether or not they were ever married, but Margaret was pregnant with his child by January 1848.

In spring of 1848, Margaret agreed to withdraw from Rome – and political action – to Italy’s northeastern mountains, and prepare for the birth of her child. Her and Ossoli’s little boy was born September 5, and they named him Angelo Eugenio Filippo. It was during this time of quiet and contemplation that Margaret began writing her history of the Italian Revolution.

Meanwhile, Italy's political landscape was changing. Pius IX had ceased to support war against the Austrian forces. Despite this, in late 1848, victory for the Italian Republic seemed a certainty. Pellegrino Rossi, a strong political figure in the Papal States and a conservative, was assassinated. Now lacking his primary defender and supporter of the Roman government, Pope Pius IX was forced to flee Italy’s capitol. The remaining Austrian forces having surrendered their strongholds and left, the Roman Republic was quickly established. But Italy's triumph was to be short - lived. In June of 1849, France seized Rome and eventually restored Pius IX as head of the Papal States.

Margaret, Ossoli, and their child moved to Florence in September for several months. Despite the joy of being able to live peacefully with her family, the failure of the Republic troubled and angered Margaret. She continued to write for the Tribune, keeping America informed of every detail of the action in Italy.

The revolution in Italy held deeply personal meaning for Margaret, and this was transparently clear in her writings for the Tribune. To Margaret’s bitter disappointment, the majority of America found no thrill in vicariously experiencing the political drama through her accounts. In fact, several of her past friends – such as Nathaniel Hawthorne – turned against her, seeing her more and more as a disgrace to womankind, and to all of New England. Even the cool-headed Emerson, whom had always been frustrated in his attempts to connect with Margaret’s emotional side, seemed to grow weary of this pursuit. Above all, many of Margaret's friends were concerned about her relationship with Ossoli, he being ten years younger than her. To some in America, the possibility of there not even having been a marriage was fair ground for ending their friendships with Margaret. It seems that she was forever to be misunderstood by those around her.

By May of 1850, Margaret had realized that her work in Italy was finished – it was time for her to return to her original New England home, along with her husband and child. Although she was parting with the country that she had come to love so well, Margaret took consolation in the fact that she was carrying back to America the burning torch of nationalism: her writings on the Italian Republic.

From the Journal of Margaret Fuller

May 15, 1850

Giovanni and I have packed our belongings, and are ready for the journey to America. The sailing of the Elizabeth has been postponed; but we should have embarked by the day after to-morrow.

What do I carry home with me? A new a fierce Republican spirit; one that I have rediscovered in this Italy, my second home. My father dreamt of me becoming a strong Republican wife and mother: I believe I have exceeded his greatest expectations. Indeed, this vision of the Republic has moved, in my thoughts, to other establishments besides the State. Is not the family the smallest unit of government; the cornerstone of society? Must not man and wife rule together - as equals under God - in order for life, liberty, and happiness to be fully attained by all? It is so: this is the Truth that I have been holding in my heart for many months.

To what do I return? What sort of welcome will I receive? Though America knows next to nothing of my relationship with darling G., it is determined to think the worst of me. I see, already, how even those who love me best will turn coldly on my propositions – even when that parallel between the Political and the Domestic realms is undeniable. My heart aches on looking forward.

And now, a new trouble has appeared. Just as I suffered with sleepwalking and night terrors as a child, so now am I tormented with dreams and visions - of waves: great waves that ever tower and crash. I cannot deny the grim premonition that continually comes to me - I do not think that the sea will welcome me; or, rather, I think it will receive me too readily.

From the Travel Log of Mr. Bangs, First Mate of the Elizabeth

July 19th, 1850, approx. 2:15 A.M.

Strong wind – Brutal waves – Unrelenting rain. Elizabeth rather unsteady as we gain New York. The men having difficulties seeing in the dark. I fear for sandbars ahead as we near shore.

I am needed on deck, but first I must add – here below, among other passengers, there is a lady – middle-aged, rather plain, with mass of white-blond hair & rather affected demeanor – along with husband - Italian - and little boy about two years. He contracted smallpox during voyage – since recovered, but is now terrified of storm & crying. His mother holds him & sings to him – not a pretty voice, but it’s strong, & has its effect on child. Just now, I heard her say something rather odd to husband – in earnest, very firm tone - that ‘no, he would not convince her to swim to shore and leave the two of them behind’.

Obituary in The New England Times - July 23, 1850

Mrs. Margaret Fuller Ossoli, prominent New England writer, teacher, journalist, and critic, died just off of Fire Island, New York, on July 19, around 3:30 A. M. She; her husband - Mr. Giovanni Angelo Ossoli; and their son Angelo were returning to America from Italy aboard the ship Elizabeth. In the early morning of the above date, the ship, laboring through heavy wind and rain, struck into a sandbar not far from the island’s shore. It is believed that the waves washed both Mr. and Mrs. Ossoli overboard, for neither of their bodies has been found. Only their son was recovered, and he dead.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning to Mary Russell Mitford, a Friend and English Novelist - 1852

…What still further depressed me during our latter days at Florence was the dreadful event in America – the loss of our poor friend Madame Ossoli, affecting in itself, and also through association with that past,* when the arrowhead of anguish was broken too deeply into my life ever to be quite drawn out…

…Now she is where there is no more grief and ‘no more sea;’ and none of the restless in this world, none of the shipwrecked in heart ever seemed to me to want peace more than she did…

…The work she was preparing upon Italy would probably have been more equal to her faculty than anything previously produced by her pen (her other writings being curiously inferior to the impressions her conversation gave you); indeed, she told me it was the only production to which she had given time and labour…I believe nothing was finished; nor, if finished, could the work have been otherwise than deeply coloured by those blood colours of Socialist views, which would have drawn the wolves on her, with a still more howling enmity, both in England and America. Therefore it was better for her to go.

The Memoirs of Margaret Fuller Ossoli has only just been published – the biography that was compiled by Margaret’s American friends, Mr. Emerson, Mr. Clarke, and Mr. Channing. Not to my surprise, the details of her relationship with Mr. Ossoli have been omitted. What else, I wonder, will be construed with time? Those who disliked her during her life seem to dislike her still more now, with her death. Is this what will become of her memory? Will she be known, in the future, as the arrogant, alienated woman who tried to become a man? Arrogant she might have been; and she was alone all her life – but she was a merely woman who wanted to be a woman…


* Robert and Elizabeth Browning first met Fuller in Florence.

The Music Goes On

This brings us to the end of the chronicles of Margaret Fuller. Is it not odd that a woman who so shook the world during her lifetime is, today, almost forgotten? Ah, well – perhaps what you have read has resurrected her – even if only for a little while.

As for her death: some may call it tragedy, but I think otherwise. I believe that Margaret died fulfilled – at least, as fulfilled as she could have been, restless flame that she was. Though she believed so firmly in the divided soul – Minerva and the Muse – in the end, her heart and mind were one - inseparable. Minerva got her song.

From the journal of Margaret Fuller - 1840

I grow more and more what they will call a mystic. Nothing interests me except listening to the secret harmonies of nature…

If I meet men for a brief time, they check and veil the music, like heavy draperies near an instrument, but if they stay near me long I fill them till they vibrate.

But this music is sweet in my soul to very pain.

Bibliography

- Chevigny, Bell Gale. (1994). The Woman and the Myth: Margaret Fuller’s Life and Writings. Boston, MA: Northeastern University Press.

- Kornfeld, Eve. (1997). Margaret Fuller: A Brief Biography With Documents. Boston, MA: Bedford/St. Martin’s.

- Steele, Jeffrey. (1992). The Essential Margaret Fuller. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press.

- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Margaret_Fuller