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Ossoli, Margaret Fuller, 1810-1850

"Memoirs of Margaret Fuller Ossoli, Volume II"


I had heard so much about the power of her eye in one fixed look, and
the expression she could concentrate in a single word, that the utmost
results could only satisfy my expectations. It is, indeed, something
magnificent to see the dark cloud give out such sparks, each one fit
to deal a separate death; but it was not that I admired most in her.
It was the grandeur, truth, and depth of her conception of each part,
and the sustained purity with which she represented it.
The French language from her lips is a divine dialect; it is stripped
of its national and personal peculiarities, and becomes what any
language must, moulded by such a genius, the pure music of the heart
and soul. I never could remember her tone in speaking any word; it
was too perfect; you had received the thought quite direct. Yet, had
I never heard her speak a word, my mind would be filled by her
attitudes. Nothing more graceful can be conceived, nor could the
genius of sculpture surpass her management of the antique drapery.
She has no beauty, except in the intellectual severity of her outline,
and she bears marks of race, that will grow stronger every year,
and make her ugly at last.


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