Memories grave and gay. Florence Howe Hall. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: Florence Howe Hall
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She once brought to “Green Peace” a bunch of nasturtiums of various colors, which were then something of a rarity. Apropos of these, she said to my father, who knew nothing of music:

      “Doctor Howe, do not the palest of these nasturtiums remind you of the high notes of the soprano in the opera of ‘Semiramide’?”

      The persons of note who came to “Green Peace” could all speak some language—Greek, French, Polish, German, or Italian—if not English.

      There was one silent figure, however, who spoke only with her swift-flying fingers. Yet her fame had spread over the civilized world. The name of Laura Bridgman was a household word in the nineteenth century. That a girl, deaf, dumb, and blind from infancy, should be able to communicate her thoughts to others, write, cipher, and study like other children, was thought a miracle. People found it so hard to believe that they came in crowds to see the marvel with their own eyes. So many visitors—eleven hundred, on one occasion—appeared at the weekly exhibitions of the school that it was thought necessary to seat Laura in a little enclosure, lest her young head be turned by too much attention.

      Charles Dickens thus saw her. His account of his visit to the school, with a beautiful tribute to my father, is to be found in his American Notes. If Byron’s helmet was the symbol of the latter’s earlier labors, Laura Bridgman was the living witness of the success of his later work.

      She was often summoned to “Green Peace” to see foreigners of distinction, as well as to make familiar visits to the household. When I can first remember her she was a young woman in the early twenties. Her education had then been completed, but she was allowed to remain at the school, the true home of her spirit. Here every one could talk her finger language.

      In appearance Laura was exquisitely neat. Her brown hair was brushed perfectly smooth and braided in a coil at the nape of the neck, thus showing to advantage her shapely head. She had good features and was comely, save for the heavy white scars at her throat made by the disease—scarlet fever—which had deprived her of her senses. Green shades covered the sightless eyes.

      When sister Julia and I were very young we were naughty enough to tease Laura. One of us would lead her to a chair in which the other was already seated. When she attempted to sit in it she found the place occupied. Another silly joke was to pound with our feet and make such a racket that Laura, feeling the vibrations through the floor, would ask us to stop. Knowing that she was totally deaf, this seemed to us very amusing. My father’s step she knew at once. I have seen him tiptoe softly into the room where she was seated. She, not to be deceived, sprang up and followed him about the room, he walking always with the same light step and laughingly eluding her. Musical vibrations gave her real pleasure. In later years she was delighted with the present of a music-box to which she “listened” by placing her feet upon it!

      6. See Dr. Francis Lieber’s account of Laura Bridgman’s vocal sounds printed by the Smithsonian Institution in Vol. II of the Smithsonian Contributions to Knowledge.

       YOUNG AMERICA GOES TO SCHOOL

       Table of Contents

       Our Schools and Teachers.—The South Boston Omnibus.—A Grand School Sleigh-ride.—Memories of the Adams Family.—A Picnic on the State House Steps.

      OUR earliest school-days have been already described. I can first remember the dignity of traveling as dames seules in an omnibus, in connection with the Stevenson School. In those primitive days Boston was a small city and the foreign population was not large. It was therefore considered quite safe for us to go from South Boston to our school in Hancock Street in the omnibus. This vehicle was a patriarchal affair, going on wheels the greater part of the year. They were changed for runners when snow lay on the ground. In my childhood this was never cleared away from the streets of Boston, the use of sleighs being universal. Unfortunately, the heavy teams soon made the surface of the snow extremely uneven so that you rose on a hillock at one moment and descended at the next into a valley called a “cradle-hole.” This was bad enough in an open vehicle—but in the closed sleighs of the period, booby-hacks or booby-huts as they were called, the motion was so violent as to make people seasick.

      The snow-storms were terrific. Mountains of snow lined the thoroughfares and hid the sidewalks from our infant view. The omnibus seemed to be progressing to its destiny between lofty Alps. Fortunately, the designers of these vehicles realized that amusement would be necessary, to beguile the way. Above each window was a picture (?) to be studied and admired. The glass in the door bore the legend, “htuos notsob,” the meaning of which was for some time a mystery to us. Then there was the funny little lamp which used camphene, I suspect—a dangerous fluid eschewed by careful people.

      As the omnibus went at infrequent intervals, we often made the trip in company with the same persons. We maintained, however, a proper maidenly reserve, entering into no conversation with our fellow-travelers. On one point their views differed from ours. Having paid three cents apiece (half-fare) for our seats, we felt it in accordance with our dignity to retain them under all circumstances. When the omnibus was full we would be invited to sit on some gentleman’s knee, thus making room for another lady. My firm refusal to do this led to my being called “Young America” by unappreciative fellow-passengers.

      7. See Chapter IV.

      The school of the Misses Stevenson was just opposite the reservoir and a stone’s throw from the State House. The last named had not then received the additions which have doubtless increased its usefulness, but detracted from its beauty. It stood simple and majestic, a fitting crown to dear old Beacon Hill. No odious apartment-house then lifted a commercial head above it, dwarfing the height of the beautiful dome. The old Hancock house still stood