Brook Farm: Historic and Personal MemoirsCodman, John Thomas
History
Brook Farm: Historic and Personal Memoirs
Codman, John Thomas
Brook Farm Phalanx (West Roxbury, Boston, Mass.)
And what could set off this face better than that soft, light, blonde
hair, that wound into full, large ringlets, looped up in Grecian style?
In vain it is for me to describe the tints of it. It seemed as though
the Divine Artist had taken the beautiful colors from his palette and
mixed them for this especial head. There was a touch of sunshine in it
also, and it seems but yesterday that I saw the old gardener take a
stray one from the sleeve of his baize jacket, where by chance it had
strayed and caught--for the fair owner liked to visit the
greenhouse--and hold it admiringly and enthusiastically up in the
morning sunlight, and I remember the golden shimmer it had in it, for
he called my attention to it. A French writer's words seem to meet its
description better than my own: "Non pas rouges--Mais blonde avec des
reflets dorés, on delicatement se jouait la lumière du soleil."
In distinction to the lady named before, the present one was short, of
fairly full figure, and not above the average grace. You might even say
that the large head was carried a little too far forward for elegance.
In distinction also to the calm, quiet manner of the other, she was
vivacious, quick and spritely; was fond of conversation, but no matter
how trivial the subject of discourse, it grew into earnestness in her
mind unless she was wholly playful. But her chief distinction was her
love and talent for music, and in the capacity of beautiful singer she
was first introduced to us.
I cannot tell how this pure soul first took to the sublime idea of
society founded on justice to all, the Christianity of the idea, and
the truths of industry, or how the idea came to her that in this one
way and only in this one way could the kingdom of God prayed for for
eighteen centuries, come to us on earth; but I think it was born in her
as jewels are born in the earth, and sparkle when they come to the sun.
But this I know, that when they took possession of her she could not
withstand their power, more than Saint Paul could the heavenly
influences that brought his Jewish heart to love all, and live and die
for all the races of God's humanity. Friends, relatives, companions,
were opposed to her visits among the Brook Farmers. It was intimated to
her that there were suspicious persons residing there. She bravely
pinned her informers to facts; she made searching inquiries, and,
convincing herself, boldly stood by the idea and the Brook Farmers as
living symbols of a better and more Christian life, and triumphed over
all in her sublime truthfulness and dignity.
How willing and ready she was to acknowledge her trivial failures! How
ready to do for all such kindness as came in her sphere to do, and how
quick she was to comprehend great truths. Untied from the dead letter
that killeth, she was overflowing with its pure spirit that gave its
abundant life, rich, full and charming, to all around her.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account