The war was nearly over, and all hearts were with Grant and Lee in their long duel before Richmond. Patriotism and philosophy together ruled our mother"s life in these days; the former more apparent in her daily walk among us, the latter in the quiet hours with her Journal.
The Journal for 1865 is much fuller than that of 1864; the record of events is more regular, and we find more and more reflection, meditation, and speculation. The influence of Kant is apparent; the entries become largely notes of study, to take final shape in lectures and essays.
"A morning visit received in study hours is a sickness from which the day does not recover. I can neither afford to be idle, nor to have friends who are so."
"Man is impelled by inward force, regulated by outward circ.u.mstance. He is inspired from within, moralized from without.... A man may be devout in himself, but he can be moral only in his relation with other men...."
"Early to Mary Dorr"s, to consult about the Charade. Read Kant and wrote as usual. Spent the afternoon in getting up my costumes for the Charade.
The word was Au-thor-ship.... Authorship was expressed by my appearing as a great composer, Jerry Abbott performing my Oratorio--a very comical thing, indeed. The whole was a success."
No one who saw the "Oratorio" can forget it. Mr. Abbott, our neighbor in Chestnut Street, was a comedian who would have adorned any stage. The "book" of the Oratorio was a simple rhyme of Boston authorship.
"Abigail Lord, Of her own accord, Went down to see her sister, When Jason Lee, As brisk as a flea, He hopped right up and kissed her."
With these words, an umbrella, and a chair held before him like a violoncello, Mr. Abbott gave a truly Handelian performance. Fugue and counterpoint, first violin and ba.s.s tuba, solo and full chorus, all were rendered with a _verve_ and spirit which sent the audience into convulsions of laughter.--This was one of the "carryings-on" of the Brain Club. After another such occasion our mother writes:--
"Very weary and aching a little. I must keep out of these tomfooleries, though they have their uses. They are much better than some other social entertainments, as after all they present some aesthetic points of interest. They are better than scandal, gluttony, or wild dancing. But the artists and I have still better things to do."
"_January 23._ It is always legitimate to wish to rise above one"s self, never above others. In this, however, as in other things, we must remember the maxim: "_Natura nil facit per saltum_." All true rising must be gradual and laborious, in such wise that the men of to-morrow shall look down almost imperceptibly upon the men of to-day. All sudden elevations are either imaginary or fact.i.tious. If you had not a kingly mind before your coronation, no crown will make a king of you. The true king is somewhere, starving or hiding, very like. For the true value which the counterfeit represents exists somewhere. The world has much dodging about to produce the real value and escape the false one."
Throughout the Journal, we find a revelation of the conflict in this strangely dual nature. Her study was, she thought, her true home; yet no one who saw her in society would have dreamed that she was making an effort: _nor was she_! She gave herself up entirely to the work or the play of the hour. She was a many-sided crystal: every aspect of life met its answering flash. The glow of human intercourse kindled her to flame; but when the flame had cooled, the need of solitude and study lay on her with twofold poignancy. She went through life in double harness, thought and feeling abreast; though often torn between the two, in the main she gave free rein to both, trusting the issue to G.o.d.
The winter of 1864-65 was an arduous one. She was writing new philosophical essays, and reading them before various circles of friends. The larger audience which she craved was not for the moment attainable. She was studying deeply, reading Latin by way of relaxation, going somewhat into society (Julia and Florence being now of the dancing age), and entertaining a good deal in a quiet way. In February she writes: "Much tormented by interruptions. Could not get five quiet minutes at a time. Everybody torments me with every smallest errand. And I am trying to study philosophy!"
Probably we were troublesome children and made more noise than we should. Her accurate ear for music was often a source of distress to her, as one of us can witness, an indolent child who neglected her practising. As this child drummed over her scales, the door of the upstairs study would open, and a clear voice come ringing down, "_B flat_, dear, _not_ B natural!"
It seemed to the child a miracle; she, with the book before her, could not get it right: "Mamma," studying Kant upstairs behind closed doors, knew what the note should be.
"Few of us consider the wide and laborious significance of the simplest formulas we employ. "I love you!" opens out a long vista of labor and endeavor; otherwise it means: "I love myself and need you."..."
"Played all last evening for Laura"s company to dance. My heart flutters to-day. It is a feeling unknown to me until lately."
Now, Laura would have gone barefoot in snow to save her mother pain or fatigue; yet she has no recollection of ever questioning the inevitability of "Mamma"s" playing for all youthful dancing. Grown-up parties were different; for them there were hired musicians, who made inferior music; but for the frolics of the early "teens, who _should_ play except "Mamma"?
On March 10, she writes: "I have now been too long in my study. I must break out into real life, and learn some more of its lessons."
Two days later a lesson began: "I stay from church to-day to take care of Maud, who is quite unwell. This is a sacrifice, although I am bound and glad to make it. But I shall miss the church all the week."
The child became so ill that "all pursuits had to be given up in the care of her." The Journal gives a minute account of this illness, and of the remedies used, among them "long-continued and gentle friction with the hand." The words bring back the touch of her hand, which was like no other. There were no trained nurses in our nursery, rarely any doctor save "Papa," but "Mamma" rubbed us, and that was a whole pharmacopia in itself.
At this time she gave her first public lecture before the Parker Fraternity. This was an important event to her; she had earnestly desired yet greatly dreaded it. She found the hall pleasant, the audience attentive. "When I came to read the lecture," she says, "I felt that it had a value."
"All these things in my mind point one way, viz.: towards the adoption of a profession of Ethical exposition, after my sort."
She had been asked to give a lecture at Tufts College, and says of this: "The difficulties are great, the question is to me one of simple duty.
If I am sent for, and have the word to say, I should say it."
And again: "I determine that I can only be good in fulfilling my highest function--all else implies waste of power, leading to demoralization."
She declined the invitation, "feeling unable to decide in favor of accepting it."
"But I was sorry," she says, "and I remembered the words: "He that hath put his hand to the plough and looketh back is not fit for the kingdom of heaven." G.o.d keep me from so looking back!"
The Journal of this spring is largely devoted to philosophic speculations and commentaries on Kant, whose theories she finds more and more luminous and convincing; now and then comes a note of her own:--
""I am G.o.d!" says the fool. "I see G.o.d!" says the wise man. For while you are your own supreme, you are your own G.o.d, and self-worship is true atheism."
"It is better to use a bad man by his better side than a good man by his worse side."
"Christ said that he was older than Abraham. I think that he used this expression as a measure of value. His thoughts were further back in the primal Ideal necessity. He did not speak of any personal life antedating his own existence.... In his own sense, Christ was also newer than we are, for his doctrine is still beyond the attainment of all and the appreciation of most of us."
"There is no essential religious element in negation."
"Saw Booth in "Hamlet"--still first-rate, I think, although he has played it one hundred nights in New York. "Hamlet" is an aesthetic Evangel. I know of no direct ethical work which contains such powerful moral ill.u.s.tration and instruction."
"James Freeman [Clarke] does not think much of Sam"s book, probably not as well as it deserves. But the knowledge of Sam"s personality is the light behind the transparency in all that he does."[52]
[52] _Lyrical Ventures_, by Samuel Ward.
These were the closing months of the Civil War. All hearts were lifted up in thankfulness that the end was near. She speaks of it seldom, but her few words are significant.
"_Monday, April 3...._ Richmond was taken this morning. _Laus Deo!_"
On April 10, after "Maud"s boots, $3.00, Vegetables, .12, Bread, .04,"
we read, "Ribbons for victory, .40. To-day we have the news of Lee"s surrender with the whole remnant of his army. The city is alive with people. All flags hung out--shop windows decorated--processions in the street. All friends meet and shake hands. On the newspaper bulletins such placards as "_Gloria in excelsis Deo_," "Thanks be to G.o.d!" We all call it the greatest day of our lives.
"Apples, half-peck, .50."
That week was one of joy and thankfulness for all. Thursday was Fast Day; she "went to church to fatigue Satan. Afterwards made a visit to Mrs. ---- who did not seem to have tired her devil out."
The joy bells were soon to be silenced. Sat.u.r.day, April 15, was
"A black day in history, though outwardly most fair. President Lincoln was a.s.sa.s.sinated in his box at the theatre, last evening, by J. Wilkes Booth. This atrocious act, which was consummated in a very theatrical manner, is enough to ruin not the Booth family alone, but the theatrical profession. Since my Sammy"s death, nothing has happened that has given me so much personal pain as this event. The city is paralyzed. But we can only work on, and trust in G.o.d."
Our father"s face of tragedy, the anguish in his voice, as he called us down to hear the news, come vividly before us to-day, one of the clearest impressions of our youth. Our mother went with him next day to hear Governor Andrew"s official announcement of the murder to the Legislature, and heard with deep emotion his quotation from "Macbeth":--
"Besides, this Duncan Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been So clear in his great office, that his virtues Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against The deep d.a.m.nation of his taking-off," etc.
Wednesday, April 19, was:--
"The day of President Lincoln"s funeral. A sad, disconnected day. I could not work, but strolled around to see the houses, variously draped in black and white. Went to Bartol"s church, not knowing of a service at our own. Bartol"s remarks were tender and pathetic. I was pleased to have heard them.
"Wrote some verses about the President--pretty good, perhaps,--scratching the last nearly in the dark, just before bedtime."
This is the poem called "Parricide." It begins:--
O"er the warrior gauntlet grim Late the silken glove we drew.