Reminiscences, 1819-1899 Part 4

Shortly after his first marriage my brother and his bride came to reside with us. In their company I often visited the Astor mansion, which was made delightful by good taste, good manners, and hospitable entertainment.

Mr. William B. Astor, the head of the family, was a rather shy and silent man. He had received the best education that a German university could offer. The Chevalier Bunsen had been his tutor, and Schopenhauer, then a student at the same university, had been his friend. He had a love for letters, and might perhaps have followed this natural leading to advantage, had he not become his father's man of business, and thus been forced to devote much of his life to the management of the great Astor estate. At the time of which I speak, he resided on the unfas.h.i.+onable side of Broadway, not far below Ca.n.a.l Street.

At this time I was often invited to the house of his father, Mr. John Jacob Astor. This house, which the old gentleman had built for himself, was situated on Broadway, between Prince and Spring streets. Adjoining it was one which he had built for a favorite granddaughter, Mrs. Boreel.

He was very fond of music, and sometimes engaged the services of a professional pianist. I remember that he was much pleased at recognizing, one evening, the strains of a brilliant waltz, of which he said: "I heard it at a fair in Switzerland years ago. The Swiss women were whirling round in their red petticoats." On another occasion, we sang the well-known song, "Am Rhein;" and Mr. Astor, who was very stout and infirm of person, rose and stood beside the piano, joining with the singers. "Am Rhein, am Rhein, da wachset susses Leben," he sang, instead of "Da wachsen unsere Reben."

My sister-in-law, Emily Astor Ward, was endowed with a voice whose unusual power and beauty had been enhanced by careful training. We sometimes sang together or separately at old Mr. Astor's musical parties, and at one of these he said to us, as we stood together: "You are my singing birds." Of our two _repertoires_, mine was the most varied, as it included French and German songs, while she sang mostly operatic music. The rich volume of her voice, however, carried her hearers quite away. Her figure and carriage were fine, and in her countenance beauty of expression lent a great charm to features which in themselves were not handsome.

Although the elder Astor had led a life mainly devoted to business interests, he had great pleasure in the society of literary men.

Fitz-Greene Halleck and Was.h.i.+ngton Irving were familiar visitors at his house, and he conceived so great a regard for Dr. Joseph Green Cogswell as to insist upon his becoming an inmate of his family. He finally went to reside with Mr. Astor, attracted partly by the latter's promise to endow a public library in the city of New York. This was accomplished after some delay, and the doctor was for many years director of the Astor Library.

He used to relate some humorous anecdotes of excursions which he made with Mr. Astor. In the course of one of these, the two gentlemen took supper together at a hotel recently opened. Mr. Astor remarked: "This man will never succeed."

"Why not?" inquired the other.

"Don't you see what large lumps of sugar he puts in the sugar bowl?"

Once, as they were walking slowly to a pilot-boat which the old gentleman had chartered for a trip down the harbor, Dr. Cogswell said: "Mr. Astor, I have just been calculating that this boat costs you twenty-five cents a minute." Mr. Astor at once hastened his pace, reluctant to waste so much money.

In his own country Mr. Astor had been a member of the German Lutheran Church. He once mentioned this fact to a clergyman who called upon him in the interest of some charity. The visitor congratulated Mr. Astor upon the increased ability to do good, which his great fortune gave him.

"Ah!" said Mr. Astor, "the disposition to do good does not always increase with the means." In the last years of his life he was afflicted with insomnia. Dr. Cogswell often sat with him through a great part of the night, the coachman, William, being also in attendance. In these sleepless nights, his mind appeared to be much exercised with regard to a future state. On one of these occasions, when Dr. Cogswell had done his best to expound the theme of immortality, Mr. Astor suddenly said to his servant: "William, where do you expect to go when you die?" The man replied: "Why, sir, I always expected to go where the other people went."

Young as my native city was in my youth, it still retained some fossils of an earlier period. Conspicuous among these were two sisters, of whom the elder had been a recognized beauty and belle at the time of the War of Independence.

Miss Charlotte White was what was called "a character" in those days.

She was tall and of commanding figure, attired after an ancient fas.h.i.+on, but with great care. I remember her calling upon my aunt one morning, in company with a lady friend much inclined to _embonpoint_. The lady's name was Euphemia, and Miss White addressed her thus: "Feme, thou female Falstaff." She took some notice of me, and began to talk of the gayeties of her youth, and especially of a ball given at Newport during the war, at which she had received especial attention.

On returning the visit we found the sisters in the quaintest little sitting-room imaginable, the floor covered with a green Brussels carpet, woven in one piece, with a medallion of flowers in the centre, evidently manufactured to order. The furniture was of enameled white wood. We were entertained with cake and wine.

The younger of the sisters was much afraid of lightning, and had devised a curious little refuge to which she always betook herself when a thunderstorm appeared imminent. This was a wooden platform standing on gla.s.s feet, with a seat and a silken canopy, which the good lady drew closely around her, remaining thus enveloped until the dreaded danger was past.

My father sometimes endeavored to overcome my fear of lightning by taking me up to the cupola of our house, and bidding me admire the beauty of the storm. Wis.h.i.+ng to impress upon me the absurdity of giving way to fear, he told me of a lady whom he had known in his youth who, being overtaken by a thunderstorm at a place of public resort, so lost her head that she seized the wig of a gentleman standing near her, and waved it wildly in the air, to his great wrath and discomfiture. I am sorry to say that this dreadful warning provoked my laughter, but did not increase my courage.

The years of mourning for my father and beloved brother being at an end, and the sister next to me being now of an age to make her debut in society, I began with her a season of visiting, dancing, and so on. My sister was very handsome, and we were both welcome guests at fas.h.i.+onable entertainments.

I was pa.s.sionately fond of music, and scarcely less so of dancing, and the history of the next two winters would, if written, chronicle a series of b.a.l.l.s, concerts, and dinners.

I did not, even in these years of social routine, abandon either my studies or my hope of contributing to the literature of my generation.

Hours were not then unreasonably late. Dancing parties usually broke up soon after one o'clock, and left me fresh enough to enjoy the next day's study.

We saw many literary people and some of the scientists with whom my brother had become acquainted while in Europe. Among the first was John L. O'Sullivan, the accomplished editor of the "Democratic Review." When the poet Dana visited our city, he always called upon us, and we sometimes had the pleasure of seeing with him his intimate friend, William Cullen Bryant, who very rarely appeared in general society.

Among our scientific guests I especially remember an English gentleman who was in those days a distinguished mathematician, and who has since become very eminent. He was of the Hebrew race, and had fallen violently in love with a beautiful Jewish heiress, well known in New York. His wooing was not fortunate, and the extravagance of his indignation at its result was both pathetic and laughable. He once confided to me his intention of paying his addresses to the lady's young niece. "And Miss ---- shall become our Aunt Hannah!" he said, with extreme bitterness.

I exhorted him to calm himself by devotion to his scientific pursuits, but he replied: "Something better than mathematics has waked up here!"

pointing to his heart. He wrote many verses, which he read aloud to our sympathizing circle. I recall from one of these a distich of some merit.

Speaking of his fancied wrongs, and warning his fair antagonist to beware of the revenge which he might take, he wrote:--

"Wine gushes from the trampled grape, Iron's branded into steel."

In the end he returned to the science which had been his first love, and which rewarded his devotion with a wide reputation.

These years glided by with fairy-like swiftness. They were pa.s.sed by my sisters and myself under my brother's roof, where the beloved uncle also made his home with us so long as we remained together.

I have dwelt a good deal on the circ.u.mstances and surroundings of my early life in my native city. If this state of things here described had continued, I should probably have remained a frequenter of fas.h.i.+onable society, a musical amateur, and a _dilettante_ in literature.

CHAPTER VII

MARRIAGE: TOUR IN EUROPE

Quite other experiences were in store for me. I chanced to pa.s.s the summer of 1841 at a cottage in the neighborhood of Boston, with my sisters and a young friend much endeared to us as the betrothed of the dearly loved brother Henry, whose recent death had greatly grieved us.

Longfellow and Sumner often visited us in our retirement. The latter once made mention of Dr. Samuel Gridley Howe's wonderful achievement in the case of Laura Bridgman, the first blind deaf mute who had ever been taught the use of language. He also brought us some of the reports which gave an account of the progress of her education. It was proposed that we should drive over to the Perkins Inst.i.tution on a given day. Mr.

Longfellow came for me in a buggy, while Mr. Sumner conducted my two sisters and our friend.

We found Laura, then a child of ten years, seated at her little desk, and beside her another girl of the same age, also a blind deaf mute. The name of this last was Lucy Reed, and we learned that, until brought to the Inst.i.tution, she had been accustomed to cover her head and face with a cotton bag of her own manufacture. Her complexion was very delicate and her countenance altogether pleasing. While the two children were holding converse through the medium of the finger alphabet, Lucy's face was suddenly lit up by a smile so beautiful as to call forth from us an involuntary exclamation. Unfortunately, this young girl was soon taken away by her parents, and I have never had any further knowledge concerning her.

Dr. Howe was absent when we arrived at the Inst.i.tution, but before we took leave of it, Mr. Sumner, looking out of a window, said, "Oh! here comes Howe on his black horse." I looked out also, and beheld a n.o.ble rider on a n.o.ble steed. The doctor dismounted, and presently came to make our acquaintance. One of our party proposed to give Laura some trinket which she wore, but Dr. Howe forbade this rather sternly. He made upon us an impression of unusual force and reserve. Only when I was seated beside Longfellow for the homeward drive, he mischievously remarked, "Longfellow, I see that your horse has been down," at which the poet seemed a little discomfited.

Mr. Sanborn, in the preface to his biography of Dr. Howe, says:--

"It has fallen to my lot to know, both in youth and in age, several of the most romantic characters of our century; and among them one of the most romantic was certainly the hero of these pages. That he was indeed a hero, the events of his life sufficiently declare."

This writer, in his interesting memoir, often quotes pa.s.sages from one prepared by myself shortly after my husband's death. In executing this work, I was forced to keep within certain limits, as my volume was primarily intended for the use of the blind, a circ.u.mstance which necessitated the printing of it in raised letters. As this process is expensive, and its results very c.u.mbersome, economy of s.p.a.ce becomes an important condition in its execution.

Mr. Sanborn, not having suffered this limitation, and having had many doc.u.ments at his disposal, has been able to add much interesting matter to what I was only able to give in outline. An even fuller biography than his will be published ere many years, by our children, but the best record of the great philanthropist's life remains in the new influences which he brought to bear on the community. Traces of these may be found in the improved condition of the several cla.s.ses of unfortunates whose interests he espoused and vindicated, often to the great indignation of parties less enlightened. He himself had, what he was glad to recognize in Wendell Phillips, a prophetic quality of mind. His sanguine temperament, his knowledge of principles and reliance upon them, combined to lead him in advance of his own time. Experts in reforms and in charities acknowledge the indebtedness of both to his unremitting labors. What the general public should most prize and hold fast is the conviction, so clearly expressed by him, that humanity has a claim to be honored and aided, even where its traits appear most abnormal and degraded. He demanded for the blind an education which would render them self-supporting; for the idiot, the training of his poor and maimed capabilities; for the insane and the criminal, the watchful and redemptive tutelage of society. In the world as he would have had it, there should have been neither paupers nor outcasts. He did all that one man could do to advance the coming of this millennial consummation.

My husband, Dr. Howe, was my senior by nearly a score of years. If I mention this discrepancy in our ages, it is that I may acknowledge in him the superiority of experience which so many years of the most n.o.ble activity had naturally given him. My own true life had been that of a student and of a dreamer. Dr. Howe had read and thought much, but he had also acquired the practical knowledge which is rarely attained in the closet or at the desk. His career from the outset had been characterized by energy and perseverance. In his college days, this energy had found much of its vent in undertakings of boyish mischief. When he came to man's estate, a new inspiration took possession of him. The devotion to ideas and principles, the zeal for the rights of others which go to make up the men of public spirit--those leading traits now appeared in him, and at once gave him a place among the champions of human freedom.

The love of adventure and the example of Lord Byron had, no doubt, some part in his determination to cast in his lot with the Greeks in the memorable struggle which restored to them their national life. But the solidity and value of the services which he rendered to that oppressed people showed in time that he was endowed, not only with the generous impulses of youth, but with the forethought of mature manhood.

After some years of gallant service, in which he shared all the privations of the little army, accustoming himself to the bivouac by night, to hunger, hard fare, and constant fighting by day, he became convinced that the Greeks were in danger of being reduced to submission by absolute starvation. All the able-bodied men of the nation were in the field. The Turks had devastated the land, and there were no hands to till it. He therefore returned to America, and there preached so effectual a crusade in behalf of the Greeks that a considerable sum of money was contributed for their relief. These funds were expended by Dr.

Howe in s.h.i.+ploads of clothing and provisions, of which he himself superintended the distribution, thus enabling the Greeks to hold out until a sudden turn in political affairs induced the diplomacy of western Europe to espouse their cause.

When the liberation of Greece had become an a.s.sured fact, Dr. Howe returned to America to find and take up his life-work. The education of the blind presented a worthy field for his tireless activity. He founded, built up, and directed the first inst.i.tution for their benefit known in this country. This was a work of great difficulty, and one for which the means at hand appeared utterly inadequate. Beginning with the training of three little blind children in his father's house, he succeeded so well in enlisting the sympathies of the public in behalf of the cla.s.s which they represented that funds soon flowed in from various sources. The present well-known inst.i.tution, with its flouris.h.i.+ng workshop, printing establishment, and other dependencies, stands to attest his work, and the support given to it by the community.

A new l.u.s.tre was added to his name by the wonderful series of experiments which brought the gifts of human speech and knowledge to a blind deaf mute. The story of Laura Bridgman is too well known to need repet.i.tion in these pages. As related by Charles d.i.c.kens in his "American Notes," it carried Dr. Howe's fame to the civilized world.

When he visited Europe with this deed of merit put upon his record, it was as one whom high and low should delight to honor.

Mr. Emerson somewhere speaks of the romance of some special philanthropy. Dr. Howe's life became an embodiment of this romance. Like all inspired men, he brought into the enterprises of his day new ideas and a new spirit. Deep in his heart lay a sense of the dignity and ability of human nature, which forced him to reject the pauperizing methods then employed in regard to various cla.s.ses of unfortunates. The blind must not only be fed and housed and cared for; they must learn to make their lives useful to the community; they must be taught and trained to earn their own support. Years of patient effort enabled him to accomplish this; and the present condition of the blind in American communities attests the general acceptance of their claim to the benefits of education and the dignity of useful labor.

Dr. Howe's public services, however, were by no means limited to the duties of his especial charge. With keen power of a.n.a.lysis, he explored the most crying evils of society, seeking to discover, even in their sources, the secret of their prevention and cure. His masterly report on idiocy led to the establishment of a school for feeble-minded children, in which numbers of these were trained to useful industries, and redeemed from brutal ignorance and inertia. He aided Dorothea Dix in her heroic efforts to improve the condition of the insane. He worked with Horace Mann for the uplifting of the public schools. He stood with the heroic few who dared to advocate the abolition of slavery. In these and many other departments of work his influence was felt, and it is worthy of remark that, although employing his power in so many directions, his use of it was wonderfully free from waste. He indulged in no vaporous visions, in no redundancy of phrases. The doc.u.ments in which he gave to the public the results of his experience are models of statement, terse, simple, and direct.

I became engaged to Dr. Howe during a visit to Boston in the winter of 1842-43, and was married to him on the 23d of April of the latter year.

A week later we sailed for Europe in one of the small Cunard steamers of that time, taking with us my youngest sister, Annie Ward, whose state of health gave us some uneasiness. My husband's great friend, Horace Mann, and his bride, Mary Peabody, sailed with us. During the first two days of the voyage I was stupefied by sea-sickness, and even forgot that my sister was on board the steamer. On the evening of the second day I remembered her, and managed with the help of a very stout stewardess to visit her in her stateroom, where she had for her roommate a cousin of the poet Longfellow. We bewailed our common miseries a little, but the next morning brought a different state of things. As soon as I was awake, my husband came to me bringing a small dose of brandy with cracked ice. "Drink this," he said, "and ask Mrs. Bean [the stewardess]