Echoes of the Greek Revolution.—The Enchanted1 Garden.—“Green Peace” an International Resort.—Political Exiles Teach Us Foreign Languages and the Love of Freedom.—Louis Kossuth.
WHILE the Institution for the Blind was our pleasant refuge, our permanent and dearly loved home was “Green Peace.”
As you came in the main door of entrance and looked down the long hallway of the house you saw directly opposite to you Byron’s helmet, fitting symbol of the man who dwelt there. My father had hung it up, as a returned pilgrim did his staff and cockle-hat in the olden time, or a warrior2 his sword and shield.
True, father had never worn that or any other helmet; unless I am much mistaken, neither had Byron. Yet the noble example and stirring verses of the poet had much to do with young Howe’s sailing for Greece, where for seven long years he helped carry out the work which Byron had begun. When, broken in health, he at length left ancient Hellas, she was once more free! Thus the helmet reminded those who knew, not only of the poet’s devotion to the cause for which he died, but also of the work of his admirer and successor, Dr. Samuel Gridley Howe, the “Chevalier,” as he was called by his intimates.
In the prison of the Kaiser,
By the barricades3 of Seine,[4]
in Greece, and later, in slavery-ridden America, had he striven for human freedom.
The helmet not only reminded of past deeds; it was also an incentive4 to generous efforts in the present. My father was deeply interested in all attempts to throw off the yoke5 of kings and welcomed to “Green Peace” political exiles and refugees from many countries.
Wherever rise the peoples,
Wherever sinks a throne,
An answer in his own.[4]
4. From Whittier’s poem, “The Hero,” written about Doctor Howe.
Thus it came about that we, the Howe children, were brought up under the shadow of Byron’s helmet, the helmet of the Philhellene. And now, in this time of the Great War, all America is thrilling to the magic words that we were taught to lisp from the cradle—“the cause of humanity,” “the brotherhood7 of man!” These phrases that we now hear everywhere seem to me wonderful echoes of that far-away time when Kossuth, the Hungarian patriot8, was welcomed at “Green Peace,” as Joffre has been welcomed in New York and Boston! Was not I as a child taught the stirring story of William Tell and his resistance to the tyrant9 Gessler, by one who had himself resisted the tyranny of the Austrian emperor?
The helmet, like some magic helm of romance, was a magnet to which all who came to “Green Peace” were irresistibly10 drawn11. As for the house itself, it had the charm of an old dwelling12 which has “just naturally grown” to suit the needs of the inmates13. The original cottage dated back to pre-Revolutionary days. The old and new parts of the house were connected by a dining-room looking out on a small conservatory14. The carpet of the former was from the famous Gobelin looms15 in France and had belonged to Joseph Bonaparte, ex-King of Spain. It was woven all in one piece, with a medallion in the center showing the profiles of Joseph and his brother, the great Napoleon. There were various delightful16 figures in the border—butterflies, owls17 and dolphins. For dancing, that carpet had a special and unique charm.
A third historic object of interest stood in one of the drawing-rooms. This was a large and beautiful carved cabinet which my father had bought in Avignon while on his wedding-tour. It is said to have come from the Pope’s palace there, as well as its mate, which was kept in our rooms at the Institution.
The estate, as an Englishman would call it, was ideally situated18 on the southern side of a hill which sloped gradually down to the waters of Dorchester Bay. From the windows we saw not only the sea, but, in the distance, beautiful Savin Hill. The Institution for the Blind, where my father’s work lay, was not a quarter of a mile away, yet concealed19 from our view by a portion of Dorchester Heights.
These were already blasted away, to some extent, a steep cut in the hills separating us from the Institution. Word once came to my father, sitting at the dinner-table of “Green Peace,” that the Institution was on fire. Without a moment’s delay he started for the scene of trouble, scrambling20 in some extraordinary way down the face of the vertical21 cliff. The feat22 was made possible by his early experiences when he had learned to clamber with the Greek soldiers over steep mountains.
To the west of us was another portion of old Dorchester Heights, then crowned with a reservoir and some cannon23 which were fired on the Fourth of July. Thus “Green Peace” lay snugly24 sheltered among hills, connected with the outside world only by a short, tree-lined roadway called “Bird’s Lane.” Yet paved streets and the omnibus, though invisible to us, were less than a quarter of a mile away.
“Green Peace” was all a garden, the most delightful in the world. The house stood in the center of an oval lawn dotted with lilac-bushes and pink-and-white hawthorn25 trees. Near the driveway was the wonderful Chinese junk, or rocking-boat, capable of holding nearly a score of happy children. An arbor-vit? hedge separated the house and lawns from the main garden, which lay still farther down the hill. Passing under an arch of white lilacs, you descended26 to this by a flight of wooden steps. Three tiny trim gardens with oval beds and paths all surrounded by borders of box belonged, respectively, to Julia, Henry, and myself. We were supposed to care for them ourselves, but I fear we never did so. We took an honorable pride in our possessions, walked in the paths and admired the flowers—but that was all! Ours was the aristocratic pose of benevolent27 ownership with only vague responsibilities attached.
Just beyond lay the truly enchanted part of the garden, where a captive princess might have passed her time happily enough. We were accustomed to read in our fairy-stories of the Garden of the Hesperides and other remarkable28 places where grew apples of pure gold and glittering precious stones in the form of peaches and plums. But what were these cold, stony29 and thoroughly30 indigestible objects compared with the warm, glowing, and luscious31 fruit of “Green Peace”? Moreover, the magic supply of this was inexhaustible. For, after frosts had settled the business of the last grapes on the trellis and the last lingering apples on the trees, the fruit of the garden was by no means exhausted32. You had but to peep into the shallow drawers in the pear-room to see supplies of delicious winter pears—Easter Beurré’s and winter Nellis, to say nothing of barrels of glorious golden-russet apples. In the center of the garden was a sort of shrine33 to Pomona, consisting of a hothouse and bowling34-alley35, with school-house (later used as a pear-room) adjoining.
There were at least four strawberry-beds filled with different varieties of the fruit, also raspberries, blackberries, gooseberries of many colors, plums, nectarines, peaches, apples, quinces, and, last but not least, pears.
Of the last-named fruit my father was especially fond. He cultivated with the greatest care many varieties of these. In recent years I have learned that the delicious French pears for which the neighborhood of Boston is famous were brought there by the French Huguenots.
Our parents often had bowling parties in our childhood, and it amused us to observe the different ways in which the players handled the balls. Inexperienced persons would choose a small ball and toss it up in the air in a delightfully36 ridiculous way, instead of rolling it swiftly along the floor of the alley. I seem to remember Mr. Seguin, the famous authority on idiots, thus maneuvering37 with a small ball. My father had brought him to South Boston to assist in the work of starting the Massachusetts School for Idiots, the first to be established in America.
“The dogs,” as they were called generically38, guarded this paradise from urchins39 over-appreciative of the flavor of the celestial40 fruit. The backbone41 of this canine42 police force was a very large and not thoroughly amiable43 Newfoundland dog, named Arthur. An enemy dog called Lion lived in Boston, and would occasionally cross the bridge and take a two-mile trot44 over to “Green Peace” to try conclusions with Arthur. A battle royal would thereupon ensue, the gardener and my father or another employee each holding one of the combatants by the tail and belaboring45 him until he consented to let go of his enemy. We watched the encounter from a respectful distance.
It has been said that visitors were always interested in Byron’s helmet. They sometimes tried to put it on, but seldom succeeded. The poet, it will be remembered, had a very small though beautiful head. Sister Laura was the only one of the Howe family who could wear it. She and sister Julia were the most poetical46 of the children. A tintype is still in existence showing the former, at the age of fourteen, crowned with the Byron helmet, her long hair flowing over her shoulders.
The Greek War of Independence (1822–29) was a comparatively recent event in the ’Fifties, and people often spoke47 of it and of the Philhellenes. My father looked much younger than he really was, and occasionally, when asked about his share in the struggle, he would jestingly say, “Oh, it was my father who fought in Greece.” His children knew something of this early career, but he never told us of his deeds of heroism48. That would have seemed too much like boasting for a reserved New-Englander.
If we complained of the food, he would sometimes remind us that we should be grateful for it and tell us of the strange articles which had constituted the diet of his companions and himself.
Roasted wasps49 did not sound very attractive, even after the removal of the stings. As for sorrel, we used to sample the plants which grew wild—always pitying poor Papa for having been obliged to eat such sour stuff. We could well imagine how tough donkey’s flesh might be, from our encounter with our own José, whose back and sides appeared to be made of iron.
Of the primitive50 ways and ideas of the Greeks at that time he would occasionally tell us. Great was their astonishment51 because he could remove one of his teeth and replace it. Wheeled vehicles were unknown, and one constructed by his faithful follower52 (a man whose life my father had saved) caused much surprise. As for tea, if you invited a Greek to partake of a cup he would reply, “No, thank you, I am not sick.”
A great many people of all sorts and kinds came to “Green Peace.” All European travelers of note wished to see Laura Bridgman, the Helen Keller of the nineteenth century, and the man who had brought her into the human fold. While my father did not cross the seas to take part in European revolutions after 1832 until the Cretan uprising of 1867, he was, of course, deeply interested in them and in their promoters. Thus when the Hungarian patriot, Louis Kossuth, came to America to try to enlist53 the sympathies of our countrymen in his projects, my father saw a great deal of him and helped in his plans as much as possible.
By Kossuth’s desire, the committee in charge appointed my father as the person to whom “he could reveal in confidence so much of his plans and prospects54 as would show there was reason for hope and for immediate55 action.” He greatly impressed Doctor Howe who wrote to Charles Sumner, “Surely he is an inspired man.”
I can remember the Hungarian patriot standing56 with many other men, doubtless his suite57, in the hall where hung Byron’s helmet. My childish imagination was much exercised about the Kossuth hat, which I heard talked about. This was of black felt, high and of Alpine58 shape. I was greatly disappointed because the sober citizens of Boston did not adopt the little black feather as well as the Kossuth hat!
Lowell, Longfellow, Theodore Parker, George Sumner, George S. Hillard, and Miss Catharine Sedgwick were among the guests on this occasion. Laura Bridgman was brought in after dinner. All were so much interested in her, and in the Hungarian patriot’s story of his cause, that teatime presently arrived and my mother entertained them with the remnants of the earlier feast!
Many of the foreigners who came to “Green Peace” were political refugees—Poles, Austrians, Hungarians. There were, of course, many Greeks also. One of my father’s self-imposed duties was finding employment for these people, who naturally were quite helpless in a strange land. Thus many of our early teachers and governesses were foreigners. We grew up in an international atmosphere less common in those early days than now. Professor Fiester, doubtless a very learned Austrian, gave us some rudimentary lessons in Latin and German. He was a very stout59, large man, with fair, curly hair and gold spectacles. Some one nicknamed him “the mastodon calf60.” He understood perfectly61 how to amuse children, and made us the most fascinating fly-houses and other paper objects. It is evident that I was a naughty child and quite determined62 to have my own way. One morning the patience of our gentle master came to an end.
“No, Mees!” he exclaimed. “I haf refused to opey the Emperor of Austria, and do you think I will opey you, you little thing?”
I was about eight years old when I was thus classed with the Hapsburg tyrant of the day!
One of our early teachers, Jules M——, had deserted63 from the French army. The family of his Greek wife had aided him in some way, and he married her, out of gratitude64. Of course they found their way, like other foreigners, to my father’s office in Boston, No. 20 Bromfield Street. As neither of them could speak the other’s language, he interpreted between husband and wife when they got into difficulties. She wore an embroidered65 cap on the back of her head, with her hair braided outside of it.
M—— was of the blond French type, with a military air. It was his soldierly training, doubtless, which caused him to ring the door-bell in a very decided66 way, and then, without waiting for the maid to answer it, open the door himself and march straight into the parlor67. This gave me an injured feeling, for I was apt to be late, and counted on those few minutes in which he should have waited, to get ready.
He wrote a beautiful copper-plate hand and was a good teacher. With a military desire to see everything in good order, he one day informed me that my stockings needed pulling up. This was more than the dignity of my nine years could brook68, and I made no reply. He repeated his observation several times, but in vain! The peer of the Emperor of Austria was not going to yield to a deserter from the French army!
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1
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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2
warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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barricades
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| 路障，障碍物( barricade的名词复数 ) | |
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incentive
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| n.刺激；动力；鼓励；诱因；动机 | |
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yoke
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| n.轭；支配；v.给...上轭，连接，使成配偶 | |
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throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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brotherhood
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| n.兄弟般的关系，手中情谊 | |
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patriot
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| n.爱国者，爱国主义者 | |
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tyrant
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| n.暴君，专制的君主，残暴的人 | |
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irresistibly
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| adv.无法抵抗地，不能自持地；极为诱惑人地 | |
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11
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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12
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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inmates
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| n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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conservatory
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| n.温室，音乐学院；adj.保存性的，有保存力的 | |
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looms
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| n.织布机( loom的名词复数 )v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的第三人称单数 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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16
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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owls
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| n.猫头鹰( owl的名词复数 ) | |
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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scrambling
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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vertical
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| adj.垂直的，顶点的，纵向的；n.垂直物，垂直的位置 | |
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feat
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| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
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cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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snugly
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| adv.紧贴地；贴身地；暖和舒适地；安适地 | |
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25
hawthorn
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| 山楂 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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27
benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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31
luscious
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| adj.美味的；芬芳的；肉感的，引与性欲的 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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bowling
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| n.保龄球运动 | |
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alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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37
maneuvering
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| v.移动，用策略( maneuver的现在分词 )；操纵 | |
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generically
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| adv.一般地 | |
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urchins
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| n.顽童( urchin的名词复数 )；淘气鬼；猬；海胆 | |
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celestial
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| adj.天体的；天上的 | |
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backbone
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| n.脊骨，脊柱，骨干；刚毅，骨气 | |
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canine
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| adj.犬的，犬科的 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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45
belaboring
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| v.毒打一顿( belabor的现在分词 )；责骂；就…作过度的说明；向…唠叨 | |
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46
poetical
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| adj.似诗人的；诗一般的；韵文的；富有诗意的 | |
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47
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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48
heroism
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| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
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49
wasps
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| 黄蜂( wasp的名词复数 )； 胡蜂； 易动怒的人； 刻毒的人 | |
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50
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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51
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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52
follower
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| n.跟随者；随员；门徒；信徒 | |
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53
enlist
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| vt.谋取(支持等)，赢得；征募；vi.入伍 | |
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54
prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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55
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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56
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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57
suite
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| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
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alpine
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| adj.高山的；n.高山植物 | |
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calf
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| n.小牛，犊，幼仔，小牛皮 | |
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61
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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62
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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64
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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65
embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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66
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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67
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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68
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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