[Subsection]

Thursday, November 15th. Again an interruption of several days. My dear child! life is to me like a rushing river, and I must be borne on with it, taking only care that I don't lose life. The more detailed account of the career and its adventures I must leave till we meet.

Last Sunday morning I went to church with my friends--to a beautiful church with painted windows, which give a somewhat gloomy appearance to the church; people here are so afraid of sunshine. The building was fine, but the sermon, by a Unitarian preacher, was of the most meagre description. In the afternoon we drove to New York to hear Channing. There is always such a crowd and such a bustle on the New York side of the East River, that I always feel as if one must there fight for life and limb. Yet it is very seldom that any accident occurs. I was glad to be able to hear Channing, of whose extraordinary ability as an extempore speaker I had heard so much. The room in which the lecture was to be delivered, and which might hold about five hundred persons, was quite full. It was built as an amphitheatre, in an oval half circle. Channing entered, and commenced by prayer, standing the while with his face turned to the assembly. After this he addressed them, but with downcast eyes, and in a careless and almost indifferent manner. The subject which he besought the audience, as well as himself, to consider, was "the assembly of the saints." Some beautiful observations there were, but the whole was so devoid of any deep coherence, so undeveloped and without application, so wanting in life and warmth, that I was amazed in the highest degree. "Is this," thought I, "American eloquence? Is this the richly-gifted orator of   [p. 89]   Whom I have heard so much praise? And those downcast looks, that immovability--how can it be?" But now I heard Rebecca whisper to her husband, "What is amiss with Channing? He must be ill! He is not like himself!"

This consoled me, because I now perceived that this was an unusual state with Channing. He was actually not like himself. That inspired expression of countenance which I had so often seen in him had vanished. Several times he stopped and seemed endeavoring to collect himself. But the discourse could not proceed. It was painful to see that it could not, and at length Channing brought it to a sudden close. And then, with a fine, almost hectic flush mantling his cheek, he advanced a step or two and said, "I feel it to be necessary to offer an excuse to the assembly for the unsatisfactory manner in which I have treated my subject, and which has arisen from a total want of spiritual life in myself this evening, and of which I was unconscious when I entered the hall."

The undisguised and noble candor with which this explanation was given refreshed my spirit, as did also the manner in which his friends bore the disappointment of the evening. One could see that they thought, "it is of no importance, for Channing will make it up to us another time. No matter."

A little circle of his friends surrounded him, while the rest of the numerous assembly quietly left the hall. Afterward he told Marcus and Rebecca that he could not explain the weight which seemed, like a bewitchment, to have enchained his powers of mind that evening. He had come to New York from his house on the Hudson full of life, excited by the beautiful, star-bright evening, and full of a desire to speak. But when he entered the hall, he had become like a person deprived of the use of his limbs, and he could not shake off the heavy, cramping fetters,   [p. 90]   which he was disposed to ascribe to. the magic influence of some opposing evil spirit.

When, however, I see at times the glance of Channing's eye, the fine, clear crimson of his cheek, I can not help asking myself whether these times of exaltation are not the contents of a dangerous chalice which, while they enhance life, bring death all the nearer: the Prometheus spirit which steals the fire of heaven is compelled to pay for it with days of imprisonment and sorrow. But who could or who would prevent the bird from seeking the mountain even though he become the prey of the fowler, or the silk-worm from spinning, although she spins her own tomb? From the very threads that she spins, the human race, after all, make their holiday attire.

On Monday my good hosts took me to Miss Lynch, who lives in one of the quiet and fashionable quarters of New York. And for a little time I took leave of this couple, so pure-hearted, so happy in each other, so infinitely kind to me. But I shall return to them; with them I shall have my headquarters, and my home whenever I return into this neighborhood; such was the agreement between us before we parted.

On Tuesday I dined with Mrs. Kirkland, the author of that excellent and amusing book, "A New Home in the West," and saw in the evening from sixty to seventy of her friends. Among these was a remarkably agreeable gentleman from Illinois, who invited me to his house there, and who promised to be my cicerone in that part of the Great West. Mrs. Kirkland is one of the strong women of the country, with much à plomb, but with also much womanliness both of heart and soul, kind as a mother, a friend, and fellow-citizen; one whom I like, and of a character to which I feel myself attracted; her beautiful smile, and the flash of her brown eye when she becomes animated, betray the spirit which lives in her book of the "New Home," but over which the misfortunes and burden of life seem afterward to have cast a veil.

  [p. 91]  

On Wednesday I was taken to a lady's academy, called "Rutger's Institute," from the name of the founder, and here I saw four hundred and sixty young girls, and some excellent arrangements for their instruction and cultivation. I also heard and read several compositions by the young girls, both in prose and verse; and I could not but admire the perspicuity of thought, the perfection of the language, and, above all, the living and beautiful feeling for life which these productions displayed. Genius, properly so called, I did not find in them; and I question the wisdom of that publicity which is given to such youthful efforts. I fear that it may awaken ambition and an inclination to give importance to literary activity, which befools many young minds, while so few are possessed of the divine gift of genius which alone makes literature, as well as authors, good for any thing. I fear that it causes them to forget, for a mere show of life, the beauty of that life of which Byron speaks in these glorious lines:

Many are poets, but without the name;
Many are poets who have never penned
Their inspirations, and perchance the best;
They felt, and loved, and died. * * *

They compressed
The god within them, and regained the stars,
Unlaurelled upon earth, but far more blessed
Than those who are degraded by the jars
Of passion and their frailties linked to fame,
Conquerors of high renown, but full of scars.

I have also taken the liberty of expressing this in a little preface which I have been asked to write for these productions, which are about being published. And in any case, these words of Goethe, in "Faust," apply to all writers:

First we should live; we afterward may write.

These young girls may be said as yet scarcely to have lived; known, thought enough to write of their own experience, their own faith and conviction. They write, as   [p. 92]   people sing, by the ear. It is good, it is excellent that every one should early learn to disentangle their thoughts, to express themselves well and clearly, and for this purpose are these trials of authorship commendable. But the publicity, the having them printed, the trumpeting them abroad, the rewarding them, and so on, can that also be good for the young, for any one, or for any thing?

True genius will, in its own way and its own time, make for itself a path to praise and renown,

For it is a god;
Its own course it knoweth,
And the paths through the clouds.

After having gone through the Institute, and taken breakfast with the family whose name it bears, and which seems to belong to the wealthy and fashionable clasps of the city, I dined with the N's, whom you may remember were with us at Aersta, and who had now kindly invited me to their house. They wished, also, to take me to the opera this evening, but Miss Lynch was going to have a large party, where I was to be introduced to people, and people were to be introduced to me, and I drove, therefore, to the house to act the parrot in a great crowd of people till toward midnight. These introductions are very wearisome; because I must for a hundred times reply to the same questions, and these for the most part of an unmeaning and trivial character, just as people would put to a parrot, whose answers are known beforehand; for example: Had you a good passage from England? How do you like New York? How do you like America? How long have you been here? How long do you think of remaining? Where are you going to from here? and such like.

It is true that numbers of really kind and good-hearted people come to see me, and I am not mistaken in the feeling which brings many others; but there are too many. It is an actual whirl of presentations and scraps of conversation,   [p. 93]   which serves no other purpose than to make the soul empty and the body weary. A good earnest conversation with an earnest person would be a refreshment. But scarcely could I have begun such an one before I must turn round my head again to reply to the question, Had you a good passage? or What do you think of New York? or How do you like America?

Such fêtes as these are one's ruin! And, in the mean time, I am taken up with visits, letters, and notes, invitations, autographs, so that I have no time for myself. I had this morning a charming visit from a little lady doctor, that is to say, a lady who practices the healing art, a Miss H. H., "female physician," as she calls herself, from Boston, who invited me to her house there, insisted upon it that I must come, would not let me escape till I had promised, and was all the time so full of animation, and so irresistibly merry, that we, she, and I, and the whole company, burst into one peal of laughter after another. There was besides so much that was excellent and really sensible in what she said, and I felt that there was so much heart in the zealous little creature, that I could not help liking her, and made her the promise as she wished. With her was another lady, as quiet as she was active, a female professor of phrenology, who wished to get hold of my head. But my poor head has now enough to do to hold itself up in the whirl of company life.

I have passed the forenoon in making visits with Mrs. Kirkland, and at six o'clock I went to dine with Consul Habicht, our Swedish consul in New York, who is very agreeable and polite, but who dines so horribly late. In the morning I shall be taken by a lively lady, Mrs. L., to her country seat on the Hudson,and on Saturday I return to see a great number of people at Miss Lynch's. And thus is every day occupied for the whole time.

Sunday the 18th. And now, for a short time before going to church, let me converse a little with my Agatha.   [p. 94]   Do you know that it is really remarkable what I have gone through, both as regards people and things. I am beginning to have an esteem for myself. But it is really necessary to be strong as a stranger and a guest in this country.

The day before yesterday, Mrs. L. (an excellent type of the exuberantly youthful life of the people of the New World) fetched me and Miss Lynch to her villa on the Hudson. But firstly, we had to pay a morning visit to a rich lady, who had a morning reception, then to a little Quaker lady eighty-four years old, the handsomest little old woman I ever saw, and who, in her delicate, white Quaker garments and muslin, seemed to me like a living holiday. I made a sketch of her head in my album, to Mrs. L's great delight, who desired people to come and look at the old lady, and at me as I sketched her.

After this we drove to a great lunatic asylum, Bloomingdale, as it is called. And here I was delighted--delighted by the affectionate consideration for the patient which is shown in every thing, and which treats these, the earth's most unfortunate beings, as the children of the family. Music is heard in many of the rooms, for there are a considerable number of pianos in the establishment; and the feeble mind seemed especially to enjoy the relaxation it thus obtained. Without, flowers were cultivated and planted in garden beds (within, the ladies also made flowers.) There was also a museum of minerals, shells, stuffed birds, and other animals, besides a library and other things: all calculated to awaken an interest in the diseased mind, and to turn it from its morbid self-observation to the observation of other objects, and to occupy it therewith. The park which surrounds the house is large and beautiful; and the patients may wander undisturbed in its many alleys, enjoy the beauty of the country, and rest on the benches under the trees. The flowers were a real luxury here, and on all hands one met with agreeable   [p. 95]   objects, With the exception, of course, of the poor lunatics themselves. Nay, even in them also, for in them one sees objects of much mercy--mercy which produces the most beautiful results, because the method which is universally adopted in the United States for the treatment of the insane operates so beneficially that their recovery belongs to the rule, incurable insanity forming the exception; that is to say, if on the commencement of the disease the patient has been immediately placed in one of these excellent asylums.

From this asylum we continued our way into the country; our hostess continually, as we drove along, springing out of the carriage, now to fetch a basket with cakes and other things for her housekeeping, now for bouquets for Miss Lynch and myself. At length we came to the beautiful villa on the Hudson, where we found a large family party assembled, and where Mr. L., a kind old gentleman and a Quaker, just as quiet in body and mind as his wife was restless, was waiting dinner for us--a substantial and delicious dinner, as were all the dinners I saw in this country. In the evening we had a party of about sixty persons. It was more agreeable than I expected, and fatigued me less. But ah! how these Americans, and in particular these lady Americans, do ask question upon question! My gay hostess--a sort of Amelia A., but with yet higher "spirits"--refreshed and amused me. She was so full of unaffectedly fresh life. Thus, for example, she sung, and very well too; but there was a part of the song which was evidently too high for her voice, and when she came to this a second time, she stopped short, just as if the notes had stuck fast in her throat, rose up and left the piano, as much untroubled as if she had been singing alone to herself, and went and chatted and laughed with various people in the company. This was all very sweet and fresh. Mr. L. is a handsome, fatherly old gentleman, whom I like much. He is his wife's second husband;   [p. 96]   and beneath this family life there is a romantic love-story, more beautiful and noble than one generally finds in written romances.

I slept well, and awoke by seeing a strong red light shining through the Venetian shutters of my window. I thought of fire, and sprang up. But it was the crimson light of sunrise which glowed with pale red flames in the eastern heavens, above the green heights, above the calm mirror-like river, and the white sails quietly sleeping, and which now, as it were, shook off sleep, awoke by its splendor. It was enchantingly beautiful. I, too, shook off sleep, both of body and mind, at this glorious spectacle; this Aurora which kissed and transfigured every thing, living or dead! For such sights and such scenes is King David's song of praise alone available. "Sing to the Lord a new song! Sing to the Lord all the earth!'

That beautiful morning hour passed by, and I went down to breakfast. Then began the torment of the day, with company both in doors and out, and the eternal questions, which did not leave me a moment's peace, and which interrupted every dawning sentiment of delight in the lovely landscape. Some handsome young girls, in particular, drove me almost to desperation by their "Miss Bremer, have you seen the telegraph there, on the other side of the river?" "Miss Bremer, do you see the railway down there?" "Miss Bremer, do you see the splendid foliage on the river banks?" And "Miss Bremer, have you such in Sweden?"

To hear and to have to answer such questions as these two or three times, is quite too much; but if they are repeated six or seven times, and one does not see any end to it! At length, quite worn out by it, I told Mrs. L. that I could not bear company in the morning, but that during this time I must be a little alone; she took it well and kindly--mentioned it to the young girls, who also were very amiable about it, and left me in peace. But   [p. 97]   I fear that the young have lived with Nature as if they heard her not, and forgot her for rail-roads and outward, glittering things, and see not in her an instructress and a friend. If it were not so, they would talk less and listen more, or have a little more reflection. But it is not their fault.

In the forenoon I drove round in the carriage with my hostess, Bancroft the historian, and Anne Lynch, to call on several of the neighbors. I saw in their beautiful villas a vast amount of comfort, and even the exquisite luxury of pictures and statues; met in one place with a horrible lion-hunter, who tormented us with talk, albums, the desire for autographs and subscriptions, and so on, and persecuted us even to our carriage, whither we had betaken ourselves, calling after Mr. Bancroft to know where he lived. "Drive, drive!" cried we, laughing, and so drove as fast as we could to the so-called "High Bridge," where a glorious natural scene met our eyes. Yes, the scenery of this New World seems to me rich and beautiful, if one could only see it in peace, and with time for reflection! But here, in the neighborhood of New York, people seem obliged every moment to turn their heads or their attention to the Croton Aqueduct, which conveys water from Croton to New York, a magnificent and excellent work, invaluable to the great city, but which gave me a deal of trouble! But now to proceed on our drive. Our hostess talked, and laughed, and joked the whole time, in her overflowing animation and merriment. The carriage jumped over stock and stone along the bad road, like a leaping calf. I sat silent and patient, out of sheer fatigue. Thus drove we round the country and shore, and at length back to dinner, to see company, write autographs, and so on; then drove at full gallop to New York, where the Downings were to meet me and a great party at Miss Lynch's. To this house on the Hudson, also, and to this lady, did I promise to return next summer, to go with her to her father's   [p. 98]   large farm, where she was brought up, and where her father and sisters still lived. Yes, we were to do a deal together. But ah! the exuberantly ardent lady, who I think might prevent the Hudson from freezing, I feel myself like a feeble fly beside her, and can not but remember the story of "Le pot de fer et le pot de terre."

The Downings were already in Miss Lynch's parlor when I arrived. I was so glad to see them, and to be able to pour out my heart to them in full freedom, that all at once I felt myself rested. And if you had seen me a few hours later in a company of about a hundred people, you would not have imagined that a few hours before I had been weary and completely knocked up. Only to see the Downings revived me, to say nothing of various beautiful acts of kindness on their part. Mr. Downing looked so well this evening, that he attracted the attention of many people by his remarkable and distinguished appearance, as he wandered among the crowd with his reserved demeanor, his deep and speaking eye, his half shy, half proud expression. The company at Miss Lynch's this evening was remarkably handsome: I saw some splendid toilets and some splendid figures among the ladies. The men, in a general way, are not handsome; but they have a manly appearance--have good foreheads, bright eyes, a cheerful and determined manner. The hostess herself, in an elegant white dress, exactly suited to her slender and well-made figure, and with a white flower in her hair, ornamenting that simply beautiful and graceful head, was one of the most agreeable forms in the company, moving about lightly and freely as a bird, introducing people to one another, mingling them in conversation in such a manner as always gave pleasure, with those happy words and expressions which some people can never hit upon, let them seek ever so much, but which others can hit upon without seeking for; and Anne Lynch is one of these.

I distinguished myself peculiarly as a flower-distributer.   [p. 99]   I had received a great number of flowers to-day, and I was thus enabled to give a little bouquet of flowers to one and another lady in company. This flower-distribution pleased me greatly, because it furnished me with an opportunity of saying, or, at all events, of looking a little kindness to many a one. And this is nearly the only thing I can return for all the kindness which I receive here.

Among the guests of the evening I remember, in particular, an agreeable Mrs. Osgood, one of the best poetesses of the United States, not only for her beautiful, speaking eyes, her manner and style of expression, both so full of soul, but also because she placed in my hands her fan, saying that it must remind me of "Fanny." All the ladies in this country use fans, and flutter and maneuver a great deal with them; but I as yet had not furnished myself with one. I remember also, in particular, a gentleman with splendid eyes, and frank, cordial manner, whom I wished I could have had more conversation with, for there was evidently both genius and heart in him. He is one of the most celebrated preachers of the Episcopal Church of New York, and is named Hawks. This was as yet the most entertaining evening party I had been to in this country.

Later. I have now been to church with Mrs. Kirkland, and have heard one of the best sermons I ever heard: no narrow-minded sectarian view of religion and life, but one in which the church--a regular cathedral church--arched itself over life, as the dome of heaven arches itself over earth and all its creatures; a large-minded sermon, such as properly befits the New World, that great new home for all the people, and all the races of the world. Bergfalk was also among the audience, and was as much struck as I was with the sermon and the preacher, Mr. Bellows.

I am now going to dine with my friends, the Downings, at the Astor House; and the evening I spend with a family of the name of S. To-morrow I go to a grand dinner, and in the evening to the opera.

  [p. 100]  

Thursday. Is there in this world any thing more wearisome, more dismal, more intolerable, more indigestible, more stupefying, more unbearable, any thing more calculated to kill both soul and body, than a great dinner at New York? For my part, I do not believe there is. People sit down to table at half-past five or six o'clock; they are sitting at table at nine o'clock, sitting and being served with the one course after another, with the one indigestible dish after another, eating and being silent. I have never heard such a silence as at these great dinners. In order not to go to sleep, I am obliged to eat, to eat without being hungry, and dishes, too, which do not agree with me. And all the while I feel such an emotion of impatience and wrath at this mode of wasting time and God's good gifts, and that in so stupidly wearisome a manner, that I am just ready to fling dish and plate on the floor, and repay hospitality by a sermon of rebuke, if I only had courage enough. But I am silent, and suffer, and grumble, and scold in silence. Not quite beautiful this; but I can not help it! I was yesterday at one of these great dinners--a horrible feast! Two elderly gentlemen, lawyers, sat opposite me, sat and dozed while they opened their mouths to put in the delicacies which were offered to them. At our peasant-weddings, where people also sit three hours at table, there are, nevertheless, talk and toasts, and gifts for the bride and bridegroom, and fiddlers to play in every dish; but here one has nothing but the meat. And the dinners in Denmark! I can not but think of them, with their few but excellent dishes, and animated, cheerful guests, who merely were sometimes too loud in their zeal for talking, and making themselves heard; the wit, the joke, the stories, the toasts, the conversations, that merry, free, lively laisser aller, which distinguishes Danish social life ; in truth, it was Champagne--Champagne for soul and body at the entertainments there!--the last at which I was present in Europe   [p. 101]   before I came hither. But these entertainments here! they are destined to hell, as Heiberg says, in "A Soul after Death," and they are called "the tiresome."And they ought to be introduced into the Litany. On this occasion, however, Fortune was kind to me, and placed by my side the interesting clergyman, Dr. Hawks, who during dinner explained to me, with his beautiful voice, and in his lucid and excellent manner, his ideas regarding the remains in Central America, and his hypothesis of the union of the two continents of America and Asia in a very remote age. It was interesting to hear him, and interesting would it be to me to see and hear more of this man, whose character and manner attract me. He also is among those who have invited me to his house and home, but whose invitation I am obliged to decline, and in this case I feel that it is a renunciation and loss.

As he led me from the dinner-table, I proposed to him to preach against such dinners. But he shook his head, and said, with a smile, "Not against dinners, Miss Bremer!"

Gentlemen, even the best of them, are decidedly too fond of eating.

When at night I went home with Anne Lynch, the air was delicious, and the walk through this night air and in the quiet streets--the causeways here are broad, and as smooth as a house floor--very agreeable. The starry heavens--God's town--stood with streets and groups of glittering dwellings in quiet grandeur and silence above us. And here, in that quiet, starlight night, Anne Lynch unfolded all her soul to me, and I saw an earnest and profound depth, bright with stars, such as I scarcely expected in this gay being, who, butterfly-like, flutters through the life of society as in its proper element. I had always thought her uncommonly agreeable, had admired the ability with which she, without affluence, and who, alone by her talents and personal endowments, had made for herself and   [p. 102]   for her estimable mother, an independence, and by which she had become the gathering point for the literary and the most cultivated society of New York, who assembled once a week in her drawing-room. I had admired also her inoffensive wit, her child-like gayety and good humor, and especially liked a certain expression in her eye, as if it were seeking for something, "something a long, long way off," even in her apparently dissipated, worldly life; in a word, I had liked her, had a deep interest in her--now I loved her. She is one of the birds of Paradise which skims over the world without soiling its wings with its dust. Anne Lynch, with her individuality, and her position in society, is one of the peculiar figures of the New World.

The evening and night parties which I see here, are, for the rest, not to compare with the most beautiful of the kind which I have seen in Sweden and Denmark. Here there is not space, nor yet flowers enough, nor air enough. Above every thing, I lack costume, character in dress. The ladies are handsome, are well and tastefully dressed, but they are too much like one another. The gentlemen are all dressed alike. This can not here be otherwise, and it is good and right at the bottom. But it is not good for picturesque effect. Nor does it seem to me that the mental individuality is sufficiently marked to produce an outward impression. But to this subject I must return.

At the opera this evening, I saw a large and handsome building; splendid toilets in the boxes, and on the stage a prima donna, as Desdemona, against whom I have nothing to object, excepting that she could love such a disagreeable Othello. The music, the singing, and the scenery all tolerably good (with the exception of Othello), but nothing very good. One might say, Ce n'est pas ça! but there was nothing which would make one think C'est ça! like a tone, a glance, a gesture of Jenny Lind.

A lecture was delivered last Sunday evening, in the same hall where I had heard Channing, on Christian Socialism,   [p. 103]   by Mr. Henry James, a wealthy, and, as it is said, a good man. His doctrine was that which recognizes no right but that of involuntary attraction, no law of duty but that of the artist's worship of beauty, no God but that of the pantheist, every where and yet nowhere--a doctrine of which there is no lack of preachers either in Sweden. After the conclusion of the discourse, which was given extempore, with accordant life and flashing vivacity, Channing arose and said, that "if the doctrine which we had just heard enunciated were Christian Socialism, then he did not agree with it; that the subject ought to be searched to the bottom; that he considered the views of the speaker to be erroneous, and that on the following Sunday he would take up the question in that place, and show them in what the errors of these views consisted." The thing has excited attention, because both speakers are fellow-laborers in a newspaper called "The Spirit of the Age," and both are men of distinguished talent. I am glad, as I shall thus have an opportunity of hearing Channing before I leave New York, and that on one of the most interesting subjects of the day and period.

The next letter which you will receive from me will be from the homes of New England. Next Monday I set off with the S's. One of the first homes in which I shall rest after the festival of Thanksgiving-day, will be that of the excellent and noble poet Lowell. The invitation came to me from himself and his wife, while I was with the Downings. As yet I have scarcely done any thing but go from one house to another, interesting, but troublesome, for one must always be charged, if not exactly with genius, at least with good-humor and strength to see company, and to be agreeable, when one often feels one's self so weary as not to be good for any thing else than to sit in a corner and be silent--or spin. But, thank God for all that is good and joy-giving! And how much more joyfully should I spin this life of festivals and living impressions   [p. 104]   if I did but know that you, my little Agatha, were joyful and a little better. We can not, however, expect very much at this time of the year. I kiss mamma's hand, and thank her for that dear letter, and embrace you across the great waters.