Brook Farm: Historic and Personal Memoirs

by John Thomas Codman

Apropos of the audience, it was noised abroad that there was to be a performance at the farm, and there was more than the usual number of outsiders present. Even the Reverend Theodore, who never ventured out in our vicinity in the evening, was tempted to come over for this "great occasion." Some round-faced, pretty daughters of a well-to-do neighboring farmer from "Spring Street" were there also, and with friends and neighbors, the shop was full; for us a large audience.

Well, the "Corsair," clipped as it was, dragged its slow length along to an end. We then ventured to start our great drama, "Pizarro," or the death of Rolla. But here again I am foiled in my remembrance. I know it took the "whole strength of the company" to fill out the many characters needed. Carpenters, shoemakers and farmers were turned into Spanish chieftains and Peruvians; our young maidens were changed into sun-worshippers, and our musical man adapted a portion of one of Mozart's masses, to sing to these words, "The sun is in his holy temple," etc., at which some of our people cavilled; but which portion, sung by the maidens, in white, was perhaps the best of all the performance.

I remember, however, that "the Admiral," or some one else, was stationed behind the scenes with a gun to fire at Holla when he runs away with Alonzo's child; that one of the great points made was, "By Heaven, it is Alonzo's child!" and that rushing over scenic rocks he should in imagination be shot; but the pesky gun behind the scenes would not go off until many desperate attempts were made—no report being heard until the play had further progressed, when all of a sudden the gun was fired, and frightened individuals had the temerity to ask "what that gun was for."

I remember this also, that long before the play was ended, the Reverend Theodore and others of the visitors had departed, thinking their own thoughts, and that the curative effects of that performance lasted so long the like was never attempted again; and although some were a trifle disheartened by the failure to reach the summit of their hopes, yet it was a source of merriment to others, and there are those whose eyes may meet these pages, who will still smile if you quote these lines to them: "O'er the glad waters of the deep, blue sea." "List, 'tis the bugle!" (I can vouch that it was nothing but the old trumpet we blew for dinner.) "Ha! it sure cannot be day! What star, what sun is bursting on the bay?" (It was only the barn lantern that was raised outside the window, and an awful poor light at that!).

"Well, how was Drew's play?" said one wag. "All blood and thunder, eh?"

"No; all thud and blunder," was the rejoinder.

The associative movement had now touched thousands of hearts in this country. The Brook Farm Community, at its formation, was the only community founded in America on the principle of freedom in religion and social life—all others being founded on special religious creeds. The agitation of social questions, the doctrines of Fourier and others, brought many societies into existence; but like enthusiasts in other schemes, the founders of them preached unity, but did not unite. The leaders of Brook Farm urged upon the prominent men in the social belief, to take part with them in their already established society, with all the power they could command; but Mr. Greeley and the New York men joined hands with the North American Phalanx, an association founded at Red Bank, New Jersey, and lent their influence and means to its development. Mr. Greeley thought the land at Brook Farm was of too poor quality; that the debts of the organization were heavier than they should be for a beginning, and that by starting anew, a better chance for thrift could be had—especially if a location could be selected with an excellent soil—and he desired it should be located near the great market of New York. This departure from a true idea—the idea of concentration—was certainly a great mistake, and the end proved that the young societies, with little means, and needing much, should all have joined together for financial success.

At a very early date in the movement, there was a Community formed at Hopedale, Milford, Massachusetts, under the leadership of Rev. Adin Ballou, a man of considerable ability, whose tenets were those of peace in absolute distinction to those of war. The Community was pledged by its members not to enter into any hostile act, and to use its influence for universal peace, they being all of a sect called "Non-Resistants." Our leader, wisely, I think, made overtures to them to unite with the West Roxbury Community, but the proposition was declined in the following letter:—

"MENDON, MASS., Nov. 3, 1842.

"DEAR BROTHER RIPLEY: Since our last interview I have met our brethren and had a full consultation with them on the points of difficulty on which we are at issue with your friends. We are unanimous in the solemn conviction that we could not enlist for the formation of a community not based on the distinguishing principles of the standard of Practical Christianity so called, especially non-resistance, etc. We trust you will do us the justice to think that we are conscientious and not bigoted. The temptation is strong to severe, but we dare not hazard the cause we have espoused by yielding our scruples.