WHAT influenced Isaac Hecker to leave Brook Farm, a place so congenial in many ways to his natural dispositions, was, plainly enough, his tendency to seek a more ascetic and interior life than he could lead there. The step cost him much, but he had received all that the place and his companions could give him, and his departure was inevitable.
His next move in pursuit if his ideal took him to Fruitlands. This was a farm, situated near Harvard, in Worcester Co., Massachusetts, which had been bought by Mr. Charles Lane, an English admirer of Amos Bronson Alcott, with the hope of establishing on it a new community in consonance with the views and wishes of the latter. Perhaps Fruitlands could never, at any stage of its existence as a corporate home for Mr. Alcott's family and his scanty following of disciples, have been truly described as in running order, but when Isaac Hecker went there, on July 11, 1843, it was still in its incipiency. He had paid the Fruitlanders a brief visit toward the end of June, and thought that he saw in them evidences of "a deeper life." It speaks volumes for his native sagacity and keen eye for realities, that less than a fortnight's residence with Mr. Alcott should have sufficed to dispel this illusion.
Bronson Alcott seems to have been by nature what the French call a poseur; or, as one of his own not unkindly intimates has described him, "an innocent charlatan." Although not altogether empty, he was vain; full of talk which had what was most often a false air of profundity; unpractical and incapable in the ordinary affairs of life to a degree not adequately compensated for by such a grasp as he was able to get on the realities that underlie them; and with an imposing aspect which corresponded wonderfully well with his interior traits. That, in his prime, his persuasive accents and bland self-confidence, backed by the admiration felt and expressed for him by men such as Emerson, and some of the community at Brook Farm, should have induced an open-minded youth like Isaac Hecker to take him for a time at his own valuation, is not strange. The truth is, that it was one of Father Hecker's life-long traits to prove all things, that he might find the good and hold fast to it. There was an element of justice in his make-up which enabled him to suspend judgment upon any institution or person, however little they seemed to deserve such consideration, until he was in a condition to decide from his own investigations. We shall see, later on, how he tried all the principal forms of Protestantism before deciding upon Catholicity, strong as his tendency toward the Church had become. We have never known any other man who, without exhibiting obstinacy, could so steadfastly reserve his judgment on another's statement, especially if it were in the nature of a condemnation.
When Isaac Hecker first made his acquaintance, Mr. Alcott had but recently returned from England, whither he had gone on the invitation of James P. Greaves, a friend and fellow-laborer of the great Swiss educator, Pestalozzi. Mr. Alcott had gained a certain vogue at home as a lecturer, and also as the conductor of a singular school for young children. Among its many peculiarities was that of carrying "moral suasion" to such lengths, as a solitary means of discipline, that the master occasionally publicly submitted to the castigation earned by a refractory urchin, probably by way of reaching the latter's moral sense through shame or pity. This was, doubtless, rather interesting to the pupils, whether or not it was corrective. Mr. Alcott's peculiarities did not stop here, however, and Boston parents, when he began to publish the Colloquies on the Gospels which he held with their children, concluded, on the evidence thus furnished, that his thought was too "advanced" to make it prudent to trust them longer to his care. Miss Elizabeth P. Peabody, since so well known as an expositor of the Kindergarten system, had been his assistant. She wrote a Record of Mr. Alcott's School which attracted the attention of a small band of educational enthusiasts in England. They gave the name of "Alcott House" to a school of their own at Ham, near London, and hoped for great things from the personal advice and presence of the "Concord Plato." He was petted and fÊted among them pretty nearly to the top of his bent; but his visit would have proved a more unalloyed success if the hard Scotch sense of Carlyle, to whom Emerson had recommended him, had not so quickly dubbed his vaunted depths deceptive shallows.
On his return he was accompanied by two Englishmen who seemed to be like-minded with himself, a Mr. H. G. Wright and Mr. Charles Lane, both of whom returned within a year or two to their own country, wiser and perhaps sadder men. Lane, at all events, who was a simple and candid soul for whom Isaac Hecker conceived a long-enduring friendship, sunk all his private means irrevocably in the futile attempt to establish Fruitlands on a solid basis. To use his own words in a letter now at our hand, though referring to another of Mr. Alcott's schemes, his little fortune was "buried in the same grave of flowery rhetoric in which so many other notions have been deposited."
Lying before us there is an epistle—Mr. Alcott's most ordinary written communications with his friends must have demanded that term in preference to anything less stately—in which he has described his own ideal of what life at Fruitlands ought to be. No directer way of conveying to our readers a notion of his peculiar faculty of seeming to say something of singular importance occurs to us, than that of giving it entire. Though found among Father Hecker's papers, it was not addressed to him but to one of his most-valued Brook Farm associates:
"Concord, Mass., February 15, 1843.—DEAR FRIEND: In reply to your letter of the 12th, I have to say that as until the snow leaves the ground clear, the Family cannot so much as look for a locality (which then may not readily be found), it seems premature to talk of the conditions on which any association may be formed.
"Nevertheless, as human progress is a universally interesting subject, I have much pleasure in communicating with you on the question of the general conditions most conducive to that end.
"I have no belief in associations of human beings for the purpose of making themselves happy by means of improved outward arrangements alone, as the fountains of happiness are within, and are opened to us as we are preharmonized or consociated with the Universal Spirit. This is the one condition needful for happy association amongst men. And this condition is attained by the surrender of all individual or selfish gratification—a complete willingness to be moulded by Divinity. This, as men now are, of course involves self-renunciation and retrenchment; and in enumerating the hindrances which debar us from happiness, we shall be drawn to consider, in the first place, ourselves; and to entertain practically the question, Are we prepared for the giving up all, and taking refuge in Love as an unfailing Providence? A faith and reliance as large as this seems needful to insure us against disappointment. The entrance to Paradise is still through the strait gate and narrow way of self-denial. Eden's avenue is yet guarded by the fiery-sworded cherubim, and humility and charity are the credentials for admission. Unless well armed with valor and patience, we must continue in the old and much-trodden broad way, and take share of the penalties paid by all who walk thereon.
"The conditions for one are conditions for all. Hence there can be no parley with the tempter, no private pleas for self-indulgence, no leaning on the broken reed of circumstances.
"It is not for us to prescribe conditions; these are prescribed on our natures, our state of being—and the best we can do, if disqualified, is either to attain an amended character, or to relinquish all hopes of securing felicity.
"Our purposes, as far as we know them at present, are briefly these:
"First, to obtain the free use of a spot of land adequate by our own labor to our support; including, of course, a convenient plain house, and offices, wood-lot, garden, and orchard.
"Secondly, to live independently of foreign aids by being sufficiently elevated to procure all articles for subsistence in the productions of the spot, under a regimen of healthful labor and recreation; with benignity towards all creatures, human and inferior; with beauty and refinement in all economies; and the purest charity throughout our demeanor.
"Should this kind of life attract parties towards us—individuals of like aims and issues—that state of being itself determines the law of association; and the particular mode may be spoken of more definitely as individual cases may arise; but, in no case, could inferior ends compromise the principles laid down.
"Doubtless such a household, with our library, our services and manner of life, may attract young men and women, possibly also families with children, desirous of access to the channels and fountain of wisdom and purity; and we are not without hope that Providence will use us progressively for beneficial effects in the great work of human regeneration, and the restoration of the highest life on earth.
"With the humane wish that yourself and little ones may be led to confide in providential Love,
"I am, dear friend, very truly yours,
"A. BRONSON ALCOTT."
It must be admitted that there is something delightful in the naÏvetÉ of this undertaking to be "sufficiently elevated to live independently of foreign aids," after first getting "the free use of a spot of land, . . . including, of course, a convenient plain house, and offices, wood-lot, garden, and orchard." Establishments which would tolerably approximate to this description, and to the really essential needs of its prospective founder, have long existed in every civilized community. There are certain restrictions placed upon their inmates, however, and Mr. Alcott's desire was to make sure of his basis of earthly supplies, while left entirely free to persuade himself that he had arrived at an elevation which made him independent of them. Still, though "a charlatan," it must not be forgotten that he was "an innocent" one. He was plainly born great in that way, and had no need to achieve greatness in it. As Father Hecker said of him long afterwards, "Diogenes and his tub would have been Alcott's ideal if he had carried it out. But he never carried it out." Diogenes himself, it may be supposed, had his ideal included a family and an audience as well as a tub, might finally have come to hold that the finding of the latter was a mere detail, which could be entrusted indifferently to either of the two former or to both combined. Somebody once described Fruitlands as a place where Mr. Alcott looked benign and talked philosophy, while Mrs. Alcott and the children did the work. Still, to look benign is a good deal for a man to do persistently in an adverse world, indifferent for the most part to the charms of "divine philosophy," and Mr. Alcott persevered in that exercise until his latest day. "He was unquestionably one of those who like to sit upon a platform," wrote, at the time of his death, one who knew Alcott well, "and he may have liked to feel that his venerable aspect had the effect of a benediction." But with this mild criticism, censure of him is well-nigh exhausted. There was nothing of the Patriarch of Bleeding Heart Yard about him except that "venerable aspect," for which nature was responsible, and not he.
Fruitlands was the caricature of Brook Farm. Just as the fanatic is the caricature of the true reformer, so was Alcott the caricature of Ripley. This is not meant as disparaging either Alcott's sincerity or his intelligence, but to affirm that he lacked judgment, that he miscalculated means and ends, that he jumped from theory to practice without a moment's interval, preferred to be guided by instinct rather than by processes of reasoning, and deemed this to be the philosopher's way.
In the memoranda of private conversations with Father Hecker we find several references to Mr. Alcott. The first bears date February 4, 1882, and occurs in a conversation ranging over the whole of his experience between his first and second departures from home. We give it as it stands:
"Fruitlands was very different from Brook Farm—far more ascetic."
"You didn't like it?"
"Yes; but they did not begin to satisfy me. I said to them: 'If you had the Eternal here, all right. I would be with you.'"
"Had they no notion of the hereafter?"
"No; nothing definite. Their idea was human perfection. They set out to demonstrate what man can do in the way of the supremacy of the spiritual over the animal. 'All right,' I said, 'I agree with you fully. I admire your asceticism; it is nothing new to me; I have practised it a long time myself. If you can get the Everlasting out of my mind, I'm yours. But I know' (here Father Hecker thumped the table at his bedside) 'that I am going to live for ever.'"
"What did Alcott say when you left?"
"He went to Lane and said, 'Well, Hecker has flunked out. He hadn't the courage to persevere. He's a coward.' But Lane said, 'No; you're mistaken. Hecker's right. He wanted more than we had to give him.'"
Mr. Alcott's death in 1888 was the occasion of the reminiscences which follow:
"March 5, 1888.—Bronson Alcott dead! I saw him coming from Rochester on the cars. I had been a Catholic missionary for I don't know how many years. We sat together. 'Father Hecker,' said he, 'why can't you make a Catholic of me?' 'Too much rust here,' said I, clapping him on the knee. He got very angry because I said that was the obstacle. I never saw him angry at any other time. He was too proud.
"But he was a great natural man. He was faithful to pure, natural conscience. His virtues came from that. He never had any virtue beyond what a good pagan has. He never aimed at anything more, nor claimed to. He maintained that to be all.
"I don't believe he ever prayed. Whom could he pray to? Was not Bronson Alcott the greatest of all?"
"Did he believe in God?"
"Not the God that we know. He believed in the Bronson Alcott God. He was his own God."
"You say he was Emerson's master: what do you mean by that?"
"He taught Emerson. He began life as a pedler. The Yankee pedler was Emerson's master. Whatever principles Emerson had, Alcott gave him. And Emerson was a good pupil; he was faithful to his master to the end.
"When did I know him first? Hard to remember. He was the head of Fruitlands, as Ripley was of Brook Farm. They were entirely different men. Diogenes and his tub would have been Alcott's ideal if he had carried it out. But he never carried it out. Ripley's ideal would have been Epictetus. Ripley would have taken with him the good things of this life; Alcott would have rejected them all."
"How did he receive you at Fruitlands?"
"Very kindly, but from mixed and selfish motives. I suspected he wanted me because he thought I would bring money to the community. Lane was entirely unselfish.
"Alcott was a man of no great intellectual gifts or acquirements. His knowledge came chiefly from experience and instinct. He had an insinuating and persuasive way with him—he must have been an ideal pedler."
"What if he had been a Catholic, and thoroughly sanctified?"
"He could have been nothing but a hermit like those of the fourth century—he was naturally and constitutionally so odd. Emerson, Alcott, and Thoreau were three consecrated cranks: rather be crank than president. All the cranks look up to them."
Beside these later reminiscences we shall now place the contemporary record of his impressions made by Isaac Hecker while at Fruitlands. Our first extract, however, was written at Brook Farm, a few days before going thither:
"July 7, 1843.—I go to Mr. Alcott's next Tuesday, if nothing happens. I have had three pairs of coarse pants and a coat made for me. It is my intention to commence work as soon as I get there. I will gradually simplify my dress without making any sudden difference, although it would be easier to make a radical and thorough change at once than piece by piece. But this will be a lesson in patient perseverance to me. All our difficulties should be looked at in such a light as to improve and elevate our minds.
"I can hardly prevent myself from saying how much I shall miss the company of those whom I love and associate with here. But I must go. I am called with a stronger voice. This is a different trial from any I have ever had. I have had that of leaving kindred, but now I have that of leaving those whom I love from affinity. If I wished to live a life the most gratifying to me, and in agreeable company, I certainly would remain here. Here are refining amusements, cultivated persons—and one whom I have not spoken of, one who is too much to me to speak of, one who would leave all for me. Alas! him I must leave to go."
In this final sentence, as it now stands in the diary and as we have transcribed it, occurs one of those efforts of which we have spoken, to obliterate the traces of this early attachment. "Him" was originally written "her," but the r has been lengthened to an m, and the e dotted, both with a care which overshot their mark by an almost imperceptible hair's-breadth. If the nature of this attachment were not so evident from other sources, we should have left such passages unquoted; fearing lest they might be misunderstood. As it is, the light they cast seems to us to throw up into fuller proportions the kind and extent of the renunciations to which Isaac Hecker was called before he had arrived at any clear view of the end to which they tended.
"Fruitlands, July 12.—Last evening I arrived here. After tea I went out in the fields and raked hay for an hour in company with the persons here. We returned and had a conversation on Clothing. Some very fine things were said by Mr. Alcott and Mr. Lane. In most of their thoughts I coincide; they are the same which of late have much occupied my mind. Alcott said that to Emerson the world was a lecture-room, to Brownson a rostrum.
"This morning after breakfast a conversation was held on Friendship and its laws and conditions. Mr. Alcott placed Innocence first; Larned, Thoughtfulness; I, Seriousness; Lane, Fidelity.
"July 13.—This morning after breakfast there was held a conversation on The Highest Aim. Mr. Alcott said it was Integrity; I, Harmonic being; Lane, Progressive being; Larned, Annihilation of self; Bower, Repulsion of the evil in us. Then there was a confession of the obstacles which prevent us from attaining the highest aim. Mine was the doubt whether the light is light; not the want of will to follow, or the sight to see."
"July 17.—I cannot understand what it is that leads me, or what I am after. Being is incomprehensible.
"What shall I be led to? Is there a being whom I may marry and who would be the means of opening my eyes? Sometimes I think so—but it appears impossible. Why should others tell me that it is so, and will be so, in an unconscious way, as Larned did on Sunday last, and as others have before him? Will I be led home? It strikes me these people here, Alcott and Lane, will be a great deal to me. I do not know but they may be what I am looking for, or the answer to that in me which is asking.
"Can I say it? I believe it should be said. Here I cannot end. They are too near me; they do not awaken in me that sense of their high superiority which would keep me here to be bettered, to be elevated. They have much, very much. I desire Mr. Alcott's strength of self-denial, and the unselfishness of Mr. Lane in money matters. In both these they are far my superiors. I would be meek, humble, and sit at their feet that I might be as they are. They do not understand me, but if I am what my consciousness, my heart, lead me to feel—if I am not deceived—why then I can wait. Yes, patiently wait. Is not this the first time since I have been here that I have recovered myself? Do I not feel that I have something to receive here, to add to, to increase my highest life, which I have never felt anywhere else?
"Is this sufficient to keep me here? If I can prophesy, I must say no. I feel that it will not fill my capacity. O God! strengthen my resolution. Let me not waver, and continue my life. But I am sinful. Oh, forgive my sins! What shall I do, O Lord! that they may be blotted out? Lord, could I only blot them from my memory, nothing would be too great or too much."
"July 18.—I have thought of my family this afternoon, and the happiness and love with which I might return to them. To leave them, to give up the thought of living with them again—can I entertain that idea? Still, I cannot conceive how I can engage in business, share the practices, and indulge myself with the food and garmenture (sic) of our home and city. To return home, were it possible for me, would most probably not only stop my progress, but put me back.
"It is useless for me to speculate upon my future. Put dependence on the spirit which leads me, be faithful to it; work, and leave results to God. If the question should be asked me, whether I would give up my kindred and business and follow out this spirit-life, or return and enjoy them both, I could not hesitate a moment, for they would not compare—there would be no room for choice. What I do I must do, for it is not I that do it; it is the spirit. What that spirit may be is a question I cannot answer, What it leads me to do will be the only evidence of its character. I feel as impersonal as a stranger to it. I ask, Who are you? Where are you going to take me? Why me? Why not some one else? I stand amazed, astonished to see myself. Alas! I cry, who am I and what does this mean? and I am lost in wonder."
"Saturday, July 21.—Yesterday, after supper, a conversation took place between Mr. Alcott, Mr. Lane, and myself; the subject was my position with regard to my family, my duty, and my position here. Mr. Alcott asked for my first impressions as regards the hindrances I have noted since coming here. I told him candidly they were: 1st, his want of frankness; 2d, his disposition to separateness rather than win co-operators with the aims in his own mind; 3d, his family, who prevent his immediate plans of reformation; 4th, the fact that this place has very little fruit on it, while it was and is their desire that fruit should be the principal part of their diet; 5th, my fear that they have too decided a tendency toward literature and writing for the prosperity and success of their enterprise.
"My relations with my family are very critical at this period—more so than they have ever been. It is the crisis of the state we have been in for this past year. If God gives me strength to be true to the spirit, it is very doubtful how far those at home will be willing to second it. I have written them a letter asking for their own aims and views of life, and I am anxious for their answer. The question of returning is not a wilful one with me, for it is the spirit which guides me. If it can live there, I go back. If not, I am governed and must follow where it leads, wherever that may be."
The letter referred to in this entry of the diary is too long, and covers too much ground already traversed, to be quoted in full, but it contains some striking passages. It was written at Fruitlands, July 17, '43. After inquiring with his customary directness what are their aims in life and what they are doing to attain them, he goes on to say:
"Although the idea or aim which each one aspires toward and tries to realize will be colored by his own peculiar tendencies, still, in substance, in practice, they will agree if they are inspired by the self-same spirit."
Here we have the practical good sense which reined in and directed Isaac Hecker throughout his life, making it finally impossible for him not to see and recognize the visible Church, notwithstanding his mystical tendency, his want of thorough education, and his birthright of heresy.
Again he writes:
"There are all the natural ties why we should not be separated, and no reasons why we should, unless there exists such a wide difference in the aims we seek to realize that it would be injurious or impossible for us to live in family, in unity, in love. I do not believe this difference exists, but if it does, and we are conscious of being led by a higher spirit than our own, we should and would sacrifice all that hinders us from the divine calling. That demands implicit, uncompromising obedience. It speaks in the tone of high authority. The dead must bury their dead. That which offends it must be got rid of at all costs, be it wife, parents, children, brothers, sisters, or our own eye or hand. I do not contemplate a sacrifice of either of these; still, it is well to consider whether, if such a demand should be made of us, we are in such a state of mind that we would be willing to give one or all up, if they should stand in the way of our progress toward God. . . .
"If you desire to continue the way of life you have and do now lead, be plain, frank, and so express yourselves explicitly. If not, and you have any desire or intention in your minds to alter or make a radical change in your external circumstances for the sake of a higher, better mode of life, be equally open, and let me know all your thoughts and aspirations which are struggling for expression, for real life. . . .
"We have labored together in union for material wealth; can we now labor in the same way for spiritual wealth? If there are sufficient points of accord in us in this higher life, we must come together and live in harmony. Since my departure from home there has been a change in my mind, or, perhaps more truly, a sudden and rapid growth in a certain direction, the germs of which you must have heretofore perceived in my conduct and life. On the other hand, I suppose there has been a progress in your minds, and I feel that the time has arrived when we should see where we are, so that we may either come together or separate. Our future relation cannot be a wilful one. It must be based on a unity of spirit, for the social, the humane instincts cannot bind us together any longer. . . . Have we the spiritual as well as the natural brotherhood? this is the question which deeply concerns us now. . . . I do not know what the spirit has done for you since my departure. If it has led you as it has led me, there is no reason why I should be amongst strangers by birth, although not altogether strangers in love . . . Think seriously upon your answer. Act true. Life is to me of serious import, and I feel called upon to give up all that hinders me from following this import wherever it may lead. But do not let this influence you in your judgments. We have but a short life to live here, and I would offer mine to some worthy end: this is all I desire. My health is very good. I am still at Fruitlands, and will remain here until something further happens. Accept my deepest love."
While waiting for an answer to this letter, the diary shows how continuously Isaac's mind was working over this problem of a final separation from his kindred. It seems probable that it was, on the whole, the deepest emotional one that he had to solve. Both filial duty and natural affection were strong sentiments with him. One notices in these letters how courteous and urbane is the tone he uses, even when insisting most on the necessity which lies upon him to cut all the ties which bind him. This was a family trait. In a letter written to us last September in answer to a question, Mr. Charles A. Dana incidentally refers to a visit he paid Isaac Hecker at his mother's house. "It was a very interesting family," he writes, "and the cordiality and sweetness of the relations which prevailed in it impressed me very greatly."
The entry we are about to quote opens with an odd echo from a certain school of mysticism with which Isaac about this time became familiar:
"July 22, 1843.—Man requires a new birth—the birth of the feminine in him.
"The question arises in my mind whether it is necessary for me to require the concurrence of my brothers in the views of life which now appear to demand of me their actualization.
"Can I not adopt simple garmenture and diet without their doing so? Must I needs have their concurrence? Can I not leave results to themselves? If my life is purer than that of those around me, can I not trust to its own simple influence?
"But if there is a great difference of spirit, can we live together? Does not like seek like? In money matters things must certainly be other than they have been. We must agree that no accounts shall be kept between ourselves, let the consequences be what they may. I would rather suffer evils from a dependence on the spirit of love than permit that of selfishness to exist between us. I ask not a cent above what will supply my immediate, necessary wants. . . They may demand ten times more than I, and it would be a happiness to me to see them use it, even if I thought they used it wrongfully. All the check I would be willing to employ would be that of love and mutual good feeling. If I remain as I now am, I shall require very little, and that little would be spent for the benefit and help of others.
"July 23.—I will go home, be true to the spirit with the help of God, and wait for further light and strength. . . . I feel that I cannot live at this place as I would. This is not the place for my soul. . . My life is not theirs. They have been the means of giving me much light on myself, but I feel I would live and progress more in a different atmosphere."
On the 25th of July Isaac finally departed from Fruitlands, and after remaining for a few days at Brook Farm, he returned to his home in New York. Before following him thither, it may be well to give at once such further references to this period of his life as are contained in the memoranda. The following extract is undated:
"À propos of Emerson's death, Father Hecker said: 'I knew him well. When I resolved to become a Catholic I was boarding at the house of Henry Thoreau's mother, a stone's-throw from Emerson's at Concord.'"
"What did Thoreau say about it?"
"'What's the use of your joining the Catholic Church? Can't you get along without hanging to her skirts?' I suppose Emerson found it out from Thoreau, so he tried his best to get me out of the notion. He invited me to tea with him, and he kept leading up to the subject and I leading away from it. The next day he asked me to drive over with him to the Shakers, some fifteen miles. We stayed over night, and all the way there and back he was fishing for my reasons, with the plain purpose of dissuading me. Then Alcott and he arranged matters so that they cornered me in a sort of interview, and Alcott frankly developed the subject. I finally said, 'Mr. Alcott, I deny your inquisitorial right in this matter,' and so they let it drop. One day, however, I was walking along the road and Emerson joined me. Presently he said, 'Mr. Hecker, I suppose it was the art, the architecture, and so on in the Catholic Church which led you to her?' 'No,' said I; 'but it was what caused all that.' I was the first to break the Transcendental camp. Brownson came some time after me.
"Years later, during the war, I went to Concord to lecture, and wanted Emerson to help me get a hall. He refused.
"Alcott promised that he would, but he did not, and I think Emerson dissuaded him. After a time, however, a priest, a church, and a congregation of some six or seven hundred Catholics grew up in Concord, and I was invited to lecture, and I went. The pastor attended another station that Sunday, and I said the Mass and meant to give a homily by way of sermon. But as I was going to the altar, all vested for the Mass, two men came into my soul: one, the man who lived in that village in former years, a blind man, groping about for light, a soul with every problem unsolved; the other a man full of light, with every problem solved, the universe and the reason of his existence known as they actually are. Well, there were those two men in my soul. I had to get rid of them, so I preached them of to the people. Some wept, some laughed, all were deeply moved. That night came the lecture. It rained pitchforks and pineapples, but the hall, a large one, was completely filled. Multitudes of Yankees were there. Emerson was absent, but Alcott was present. I had my lecture all cut and dried. 'Why I became a Catholic' was the subject. But as I was about to begin, up came those two men again, and for the life of me I couldn't help firing them off at the audience, and with remarkable effect. Next day I met Emerson in the street and we had a little talk together. None of those men are comfortable in conversation with an intelligent Catholic. He avoided my square look, and actually kept turning to avoid my eyes until he had quite turned round! Such men, confronted with actual, certain convictions are exceedingly uncomfortable. They feel in subjection to you. They cannot bear the steadfast glance of a man of certain principles any better than a dog can the look of his master. Like a dog, they turn away the head and show signs of uneasiness."
From the memoranda, also, we take this reminiscence of George Ripley, the man whom Father Hecker loved best of all the Transcendental party:
"January 23, 1885.—Seeing my perplexity at Brook Farm, George Ripley said, 'Mr. Hecker, do you think we have not got true religion? If you think so, say so. If you have views you think true, and which we ought to have, let us hear them.' I answered, 'No; I haven't the truth, but I am trying to get it. If I ever succeed, you will hear from me. If I don't, you never will. I am not going to teach before I am certain myself. I will not add myself to the list of humbugs.'
"Ripley was a great man; a wonderful man. But he was a complete failure. I loved him dearly, and he knew it, and he loved me; I know well he did. When I came back a Redemptorist from Europe, I went to see him at the Tribune office. He asked me, 'Can you do all that any Catholic priest can do?' 'Yes.' 'Then I will send for you when I am drawing towards my end.'
"Indeed, if one could have gone to Ripley, at any time in his later years, and said, 'You will never return again to the society of men,' and persuaded him it was true, he would have said at once, 'Send for Father Hecker or some other Catholic priest.' I am persuaded that the fear of facing his friends hindered George Ripley from becoming a Catholic. He sent for me when taken down by his last illness, but his message was not delivered. As soon as I heard that he was ill I hastened to his bedside, but his mind was gone and I could do nothing for him."
And now, having given so fully such of his own impressions as remain of the persons and places which helped to shape Father Hecker in early manhood, we will terminate the record of this period with two letters, one from each community, which were written him soon after his return to New York. No words of our own could show so well the hearty affection and implicit trust which he awakened and returned:
"Brook Farm, September 18, 1843.—MY DEAR FRIEND: I was rejoiced to hear from you, though you wrote too short a letter. Your beautiful fruit, enough to convert the direst sceptic to Grahamism, together with the pearled wheat, arrived safely, although a few days too late to be in perfectly good order. We distributed them to all and singular, men, women, and children, who discussed them with great interest, I assure you; many, no doubt, with silent wishes that no good or beautiful thing might ever be wanting to you. I am glad to learn that you are so happy in New York, that you find so much in your own mind to compensate for the evils of a city environment, and that your aspirations are not quenched by the sight of the huge disorders that daily surround you. I hardly dare to think that my own faith or hope would be strong enough to reconcile me to a return to common society. I should pine like an imprisoned bird, and I fear I should grow blind to the visions of loveliness and glory which the future promises to humanity. I long for action which shall realize the prophecies, fulfil the Apocalypse, bring the new Jerusalem down from heaven to earth, and collect the faithful into a true and holy brotherhood. To attain this consummation so devoutly to be wished, I would eat no flesh, I would drink no wine while the world lasted. I would become as devoted an ascetic as yourself, my dear Isaac. But to what end is all speculation, all dreaming, all questioning, but to advance humanity, to bring forward the manifestation of the Son of God? Oh, for men who feel this idea burning into their bones! When shall we see them? And without them, what will be phalanxes, groups and series, attractive industry, and all the sublime words of modern reforms?
"When will you come back to Brook Farm? Can you do without us? Can we do without you? But do not come as an amateur, a self-perfectionizer, an Æsthetic self-seeker, willing to suck the orange of Association dry and throw away the peel. Oh! that you would come as one of us, to work in the faith of a divine idea, to toil in loneliness and tears for the sake of the kingdom which God may build up by our hands. All here, that is, all our old central members, feel more and more the spirit of devotedness, the thirst to do or die, for the cause we have at heart. We do not distrust Providence. We cannot believe that what we have gained here of spiritual progress will be lost through want of material resources. At present, however, we are in great straits. We hardly dare to provide the means of keeping warm in our pleasant nest this winter.
"Just look at our case. With property amounting to $30,000, the want of two or three thousands fetters us and may kill us. That sum would free us from pecuniary embarrassment, and for want of that we work daily with fetters on our limbs. Are there not five men in New York City who would dare to venture $200 each in the cause of social reform, without being assured of a Phalanx for themselves and their children for ever? Alas! I know not. We are willing to traverse the wilderness forty years; we ask no grapes of Eshcol for ourselves; we do not claim a fair abode in the promised land; but what can we do, with neither quails nor manna, with raiment waxing old, and shoes bursting from our feet?
"Forgive me, my dear Isaac, for speaking so much about ourselves. But what else should I speak of? And who more sympathizing with our movement than yourself?
"Do not be surprised at receiving this letter so long after date. Not less than four times have I begun it, and as often have been interrupted. Pray write me now and then. Your words are always sweet and pleasant to my soul. Believe me, ever yours truly,
"GEORGE RIPLEY."
"Harvard, Mass., November 11, 1843.—DEAR FRIEND: Your kind letter of the 1st came duly to hand, and we are making arrangements to enjoy the benefit of your healthful bequest.
"Please to accept thanks for your sympathy and the reports of persons and things in your circle. They have interested me much but I am about to make you the most incongruous return conceivable. For pleasure almost unqualified which you have conferred on me, I fear I shall trouble you with painful relations; in return for a barrel of superfine wholesome wheat-meal, I am going to submit to you a peck of troubles. Out of as many of these as you lovingly and freely can, you may assist me; but, of course, you will understand that I feel I have no claim upon you. On the contrary, indeed, I see that I run the hazard of forfeiting your valued friendship by thus obtruding my pecuniary concerns into our hitherto loftier communings. You know it to be a sentiment of mine, that these affairs should never be obtruded between Æsthetic friends, but what can one do in extremity but to unburden candidly to the generous?
"When I bought this place, instead of paying the whole $1,800, as I wished, $300 of my money went to pay old debts with which I ought to have had nothing to do; and Mrs. Alcott's brother, Samuel J. May, joined his name to a note for $300, to be paid by instalments in two years. And now that the first instalment is due, he sends me word that he declines paying it. As all my cash has been expended in buying and keeping up the affair, I am left in a precarious position, out of which I do not see the way without some loveful aid, and to you I venture freely to submit my feelings. Above all things I should like to discharge at once this $300 note, as unless that is done the place must, I fear, fall back into individuality and the idea be suspended. Now, if as much cash is loose in your pocket, or that of some wealthy friend, there shall be parted off as much of the land as will secure its return, from the crops alone, in a few years; or, I would sell a piece until I can redeem it; or, I would meet the loan in any other secure way, if I can but secure the land from the demon usury. This mode seems to me the most desirable. But I could get along with the instalment of $75, and would offer like security in proportion. Or, if you can do it yourself, and would prefer the library as a pledge, you shall select such books as will suit your own reading and would cover your advance in cash any day you choose to put them up to auction, if I should fail to redeem them. Or, I would give my notes of hand that I could meet by sales of produce or of land. If I had the benefit of your personal counsel, we could contrive something between us, I am sure, but I have no such aid about me. The difficulty in itself is really light, but to me, under present circumstances, is quite formidable. If at your earliest convenience you acquaint me with your mind, you will much oblige.
"I have another trouble of a personal nature. I suffer already this winter from the inclemency of the weather, so much that my hands are so chapped that I can scarcely hold the pen. If I could find employment in a more southern position that would support me and the boy, and leave a little to be applied to the common good, I would undertake it. I think I could at the same time be of some mental and moral service to the people where I might be located.
"Another trouble. Young William has been very ill for the last month, brought on, I believe, by excessive work. He is still very weak, and has not sat up for three weeks.
"All these, besides sundry slighter plagues, coming upon me at once, have perhaps a little disconcerted my nerves, and the advice and assistance of a generous friend at such a juncture would be indeed serviceable. If the journey were not so long and so costly I would ask you to come. Be assured that whatever may be your decision in any of these relations, my esteem for you cannot be thereby diminished. My only fear is that such encroachments on your good nature will reduce your estimation of, dear friend, yours most sincerely,
"CHARLES LANE.
"Regards to the Doctor and all friends. The Shakers have kindly inquired for you, and they still take much interest in our life. Have you seen the last Dial? The Present is good, but surely not good enough. I hope to write a more universal letter in response to your next, for which I wait."
Poor Lane, failing to find any equally confiding and generous friend to shoulder with him the personal debts of the founder of Fruitlands, was compelled at last to let the farm "lapse into individuality" and to see "the idea suspended." In his next and "more universal letter" he announces that the experiment is ended in consequence of Mrs. Alcott's refusal to remain on the place through the winter. Lane went over to the neighboring Shaker community, and from there to England, where Father Hecker met him during his own residence at Clapham, after his ordination. His letters followed Father Hecker for several years, and breathe always the same unselfishness, the same simple trust in human goodness, and the same fondness for speculations on "the universal."
