Part 6

In 1844, about seventeen years after the planting of this Corinthian colony Howe returned to the Isthmus in the course of his wedding journey. “As he rode through the principal street of the village,” says Mrs. Howe, “the elder people began to take note of him and to say to one another ‘This man looks like Howe.’ At length they cried, ‘It must be Howe himself’! His horse was surrounded and his progress stayed. A feast was immediately prepared for him in the principal house of the place, and a throng of friends, old and new, gathered round him, eager to express their joy in seeing him.”

So let us leave him for one moment, surrounded by the children of his adoption, submitting to their gratitude as Hercules might have submitted, if humanity had recognized him on his return to the scene of an earthly exploit,--let us leave him, I say, thus posed for the monument that should express his whole life’s work, while we consider what manner of man he was.

At whatever point you examine him, you find a man of remarkable energy and benevolence, of a practical turn of mind, devoid of mysticism or philosophic curiosity, a man to whom the word is a very plain proposition, whose eyes see what they see with the power of microscopes, and are blind to all else. Dr. Howe’s work in Greece gives a specimen, a prophetic summary, of his whole life-work, that is to say, it was _practical aid to those laboring under disability_. The devastation of Greece at that time was incredible. The peasants were living in caves and hiding their food under ground from the guerillas. Dr. Howe goes with his hands full of supplies and distributes them, turning the starving wretches into human beings again, through his methods, and through his power of organization. One is reminded by turns of Benjamin Franklin and of Prometheus, in reading of the astute shifts of this benevolent despot, who deals with men as if they were children, coercing them into thrift and decency. Of course the circumstances were extraordinary, or Howe’s peculiar genius could not have showed itself so early. A man of genius he was, but the limitations of this remarkable man’s mind are as clear cut as his features, which had the accuracy of bronze.

Within the field of his peculiar activity he is a great genius. Outside of that field he was not a genius at all--as will appear by his political course in 1859. His mission was to deal with persons laboring under a disability, with criminals, paupers, young people--blind or deaf people, idiots, the maimed in spirit, the defective--the people who have no chance, no future, no hope. These were the persons to whom his life was to be devoted: the Greek sufferers were merely the earliest in the series of persons whom Howe pitied.

He has left behind voluminous papers and reports, and in them lives his creed. He can hardly open his mouth without saying something of universal application to all defective persons in all ages. From the statement of abstract principles to the details of ward management--whether he is writing advice to an anxious mother or addressing the legislature--there is no side of the subject on which he is not great. His attitude toward defectives and his point of view about them form a splinter of absolute truth; religion, morality, practical wisdom, and the divinest longings of the spirit are all satisfied by it. The sight of any of these persons aroused in him such a passion of benevolence, such a whirlwind of pity, that he could do whatever was necessary. He lifted them in his arms and flew away with them like an angel. It made no difference that the cause was hopeless. He would labor a year to improve the articulation of an adult idiot, and rejoice as much over a gain of two vowels as if he had given a new art to mankind.

As has been seen, Howe was originally attracted to the Greek cause through its romantic and historic appeal; but the poetry and the patriotism of the Greek Revolution were, for him, soon merged in philanthropy. His work in the Greek cause and the books and papers and speeches he had written had brought him into the world’s eye. He returned to America a famous man. He was still under thirty years of age, an unambitious man, unaware that he was in any way remarkable. He did not take up the cause of the blind because he felt within him a deep desire, a God-given calling to help the blind, but because the cause of the blind was brought to his notice by Dr. John D. Fisher, and other gentlemen in Boston, who had been studying the methods of the Abbé Haüy in Paris, and who contemplated founding a school for the blind in Boston. It was a happy hour in which they met Howe; for he was a man whose response to any call for help was automatic.

He was one of those singular men in whom we can trace no course of development. Such as they are in early manhood, so they remain. It is interesting to bring together two passages, one from the beginning and the other from the latter half of his life, to show the identity of their intellectual content.

The following is from Howe’s First Report of the Blind Asylum: “Blindness has been in all ages one of those instruments by which a mysterious Providence has chosen to afflict man; or rather it has not seen fit to extend the blessing of sight to every member of the human family. In every country there exists a large number of human beings, who are prevented by want of sight from engaging with advantage in the pursuits of life, and who are thrown upon the charity of their more favored fellows.”...

The following is from the monumental justification of his ideas as put forth in the Second Report to the Massachusetts State Board of Charities in 1866:--

“Finally, they (the board) have dwelt upon the importance of knowing and obeying all the natural laws, because they are ordained by our beneficent God and Father, to bind together by bonds of mutual interest and affection all the children of His great human family; and to prepare them here, for his good will and pleasure hereafter.”

The thought in each of these passages is the same. Blindness, deficiency, in fact evil, are to be accepted as part of the divine will. This thought, taken in conjunction with the conception of the unity of human nature, form the whole of Howe’s philosophy. The conventional language of piety in which Howe generally expresses himself, may perhaps conceal from some persons the first-hand power of his nature. He seems only to be saying what everybody knows; but the difference is that Howe sees the truth as a fact. It is not so much a philosophic reality or abstraction as a first-hand visual perception, always new, always reliable.

The different specific reforms with which Howe is to be credited are neither deductions from theory, nor the summary of experiments made by him; but simply things seen in themselves to be true. They can all of them be grouped under almost any one of Christ’s sayings. I shall return to this subject after speaking of Laura Bridgman, who has been waiting too long.

The early history of the Boston Blind Asylum is like a great mediæval romance--voluminous, glowing, many-sided. That history is recorded in multitudinous documents and papers, letters, arguments, reports, anecdotes--the whole mass of them being illumined by the central figure of Howe who looms through the story like Launcelot or Parsifal. Overpowering indeed is this literature, and it ought not to be condensed. One should wander, and explore and browse in it. If I make a few extracts from the story, it is not as a summary, but rather as an advertisement. There are certain events that you cannot summarize, but only introduce. The texture of them is greater than any condensation can make it.

The New England Institution for the Education of the Blind began its work in 1832. Howe, having neither house nor fortune of his own, received a few blind children at his father’s house in Boston. Within a very few years, however, the school was properly housed and supported, and it remained ever a favorite with the public. It was not until 1837 that news was brought to Howe of the existence of Laura Bridgman, a blind deaf-mute aged seven, then living with her parents on a New Hampshire farm. He made a journey to New Hampshire to visit her, and through good fortune was accompanied by Longfellow, Rufus Choate, George Hilliard, and Dr. Samuel Eliot. The friends waited at Hanover while Howe visited the Bridgman farmhouse in quest of his prize. “He won it, and came back to the hotel triumphant,” says Dr. Eliot, “I perfectly recollect his exultation at having secured her, and the impression he made on me of chivalric benevolence.”

Laura Bridgman had lost her sight and hearing at the age of two, through scarlet fever; and when she reached the school in Boston was blind, deaf, dumb, and “without that distinct consciousness of individual existence which is developed by the exercise of the senses.” She was, nevertheless, a very remarkable being, sensitive, passionate, and highly organized. Upon being transferred to the school “she seemed quite bewildered at first, but soon grew contented, and began to explore her new dwelling. Her little hands were continually stretched out, and her tiny fingers in constant motion, like the feelers of an insect. She was left for several days to form acquaintance with the little blind girls, and to become familiar with her new home.”

Within two months Howe was able to write to Laura’s father--“I have succeeded in making her understand several words in raised print, and I am very sanguine in the hope that she will learn to read, and perhaps to express her wants in writing.”... Such were the beginnings of that remarkable intimacy which was fraught with so much consequence to the world.

The process by which Laura Bridgman was taught the alphabet was in principle the same as that now often employed in teaching ordinary children; that is to say, certain words are first given to the child as unities, and the child is led to discover the letters by thereafter himself dissolving the words into component letters. “I had to trust, however, to some chance effort of mine, causing her to perceive the analogy between the signs which I gave her, and the things for which they stood.... The first experiments were made by pasting upon several common articles, such as keys, spoons, knives, and the like, little paper labels on which the name of the article had been printed in raised letters. The child sat down with her teachers and was easily led to feel these labels, and examine them curiously. So keen was the sense of touch in her tiny fingers that she immediately perceived that the crooked lines in the word KEY, differed as much in form from the crooked lines in the word SPOON as one article differed from the other.

“Next, similar labels, on detached pieces of paper, were put into her hands, and now she observed that the raised letters on these labels resembled those pasted upon the articles....

“The next step was to give a knowledge of the component parts of the complex sign, BOOK, for instance. This was done by cutting up the labels into four parts, each part having one letter upon it. These were first arranged in order, b-o-o-k, until she had learned it, then mingled up together, then rearranged, she feeling her teacher’s hand all the time, and eager to begin and try to solve a new step in this strange puzzle.

“Slowly and patiently, day after day, and week after week, exercises like these went on, as much time being spent at them as the child could give without fatigue. Hitherto there had been nothing very encouraging; not much more success than in teaching a very intelligent dog a variety of tricks. But we were approaching the moment when the thought would flash upon her that all these were efforts to establish a means of communication between her thoughts and ours.”...

“The poor child had sat in mute amazement, and patiently imitated everything her teacher did; but now the truth began to flash upon her, her intellect began to work, she perceived that here was a way by which she could herself make up a sign of anything that was in her own mind, and show it to another mind, and at once her countenance lighted up with a human expression; it was no longer a dog or parrot--it was an immortal spirit, eagerly seizing upon a new link of union with other spirits! I could almost fix upon the moment when this truth dawned upon her mind, and spread its light to her countenance; I saw that the great obstacle was overcome, and that henceforward nothing but patience and persevering, plain and straightforward efforts were to be used.”...

The visit of Laura’s mother to her daughter at the Institution must be chronicled, not only because of the singular beauty of Dr. Howe’s description; but because it shows an attitude on his part of welcome toward the parent, reverence for home influence, which is seldom found in managers of institutions. The school-teacher and the director in a reformatory generally regard the parent as their enemy. But with Howe it was different. He seems really to have been able to shed a domestic atmosphere through his Institution. He merged his own family life into the Institution’s life, and yet enriched his own hearth thereby. This is an accomplishment which can neither be understood nor imitated. It was a gift.

“During this year and six months after she had left home, her mother came to visit her, and the scene of their meeting was an interesting one. The mother stood some time gazing with overflowing eyes upon her unfortunate child, who, all unconscious of her presence, was playing about the room. Presently Laura ran against her, and at once began feeling of her hands, examining her dress, and trying to find out if she knew her; but not succeeding in this, she turned away as from a stranger, and the poor woman could not conceal the pang she felt at finding that her beloved child did not know her.

“She then gave Laura a string of beads which she used to wear at home, which were recognized by the child at once, who, with much joy, put them around her neck, and sought me eagerly to say she understood the string was from home. The mother tried to caress her, but poor Laura repelled her, preferring to be with her acquaintances.”...

“The distress of the mother was now painful to behold; for, although she had feared that she should not be recognized, the painful reality of being treated with cold indifference by a darling child was too much for woman’s nature to bear.

“After a while, on the mother taking hold of her again, a vague idea seemed to flit across Laura’s mind that this could not be a stranger; she therefore felt of her hands very eagerly, while her countenance assumed an expression of intense interest. She became very pale, and then suddenly red; hope seemed struggling with doubt and anxiety, and never were contending emotions more strongly painted upon the human face. At this moment of painful uncertainty, the mother drew her close to her side and kissed her fondly; when at once the truth flashed upon the child, and all mistrust and anxiety disappeared from her face, as with an expression of exceeding joy she eagerly nestled to the bosom of her parent, and yielded herself to her fond embraces.”...

“I had watched the whole scene with intense interest, being desirous of learning from it all I could of the workings of her mind; but I now left them to indulge unobserved those delicious feelings which those who have known a mother’s love may conceive, but which cannot be expressed.”...

Laura’s progress was so rapid that she became a world wonder and took Howe in her wake into a new province of fame. It must not be thought that Laura Bridgman was Howe’s only preoccupation. In 1841 Laura formed a strong friendship with Oliver Caswell, a blind deaf-mute of eight who was brought to the Asylum.

“Another important friendship of her childhood,” says Mrs. Richards, “was that which she formed with Oliver Caswell, a blind deaf-mute boy whom my father discovered and brought to the Institution in 1841. He was then eight years old, a comely and healthy child, blind and deaf from early infancy, and had received no special instruction.”... “Laura herself,” says Dr. Howe, “took great interest and pleasure in assisting those who undertook the tedious task of instructing him. She loved to take his brawny hand with her slender fingers, and show him how to shape the mysterious signs which were to become to him keys of knowledge and methods of expressing his wants, his feelings, and his thoughts.... Patiently, trustingly, without knowing why or wherefore, he willingly submitted to the strange process. Curiosity, sometimes amounting to wonder, was depicted on his countenance, over which smiles would spread ever and anon; and he would laugh heartily as he comprehended some new fact, or got hold of a new idea.

“No scene in a long life has left more vivid and pleasant impressions upon my mind than did that of these two young children of nature helping each other to work their way through the thick wall which cut them off from intelligible and sympathetic relations with all their fellow-creatures. They must have felt as if immured in a dark and silent cell, through chinks in the wall of which they got a few vague and incomprehensible signs of the existence of persons like themselves in form and nature. Would that the picture could be drawn vividly enough to impress the minds of others as strongly and pleasantly as it did my own! I seem now to see the two, sitting side by side at a school desk, with a piece of pasteboard, embossed with tangible signs representing letters, before them and under their hands. I see Laura grasping one of Oliver’s stout hands with her long graceful fingers, and guiding his forefinger along the outline while, with her other hand, she feels the changes in the features of his face, to find whether, by any motion of the lips or expanding smile, he shows any sign of understanding the lesson: while her own handsome and expressive face is turned eagerly toward his, every feature of her countenance absolutely radiant with intense emotions, among which curiosity and hope shine most brightly. Oliver, with his head thrown a little back, shows curiosity amounting to wonder; and his parted lips and relaxing facial muscles express keen pleasure, until they beam with that fun and drollery which always characterize him.”...

It is Howe, the former buccaneer, who thus sits watching the children. He is now forty years of age and has still thirty-five years of incessant activity ahead of him--activity in every field of practical education.

The brilliancy of the Laura Bridgman episode has a little dimmed the rest of his work. The supposed philosophical importance of the thing, and its picturesque, pathetic aspect made it almost like the discovery of America or communication with Mars. We can to-day hardly remember or imagine what emotion the teacher of Laura Bridgman called forth all over the world. Looked at in retrospect, this brilliant achievement is enmeshed in a whole life-work of activity for the dependent classes, much of which is almost as remarkable as the Bridgman episode. Prison reform, school reform, care of the insane, care of paupers, reformatories for the young, trade schools for the blind, every possible effort of a man to help his less fortunate brother--these are the subjects to which Dr. Howe devoted his life.

The episodes of conflict, of legislative struggle, of school-board clash and educational campaign of which that life was made up, all have the enduring interest that clings to scenes which are lighted up by a true light--things which have been seen in their passage by the eye of genius. Not by their own virtue, but by this vision do they live. Howe’s central thesis is thus given in his own words by Sanborn, being quoted from a report of the Massachusetts State Board of Charities, 1866:--

“The attempt to reduce to its lowest point the number of the dependent, vicious and criminal classes, and tenderly provide for those who cannot be lifted out of them, is surely worthy the best effort of a Christian people. But that the work may be well done, it must be by the people themselves, directly, and in the spirit of Him who taught that the poor ye shall always have with you--that is, near you--in your heart and affections, within your sight and knowledge; and not thrust far away from you, and always shut up alone by themselves in almshouses, or reformatories, that they may be kept at the cheapest rate by such a cold abstraction as a state government. The people cannot be absolved from these duties of charity which require knowledge of and sympathy with sufferers; and they should never needlessly delegate the power of doing good. There can be no vicarious virtue; and true charity is not done by deputy.”...

Almost any passage quoted from Howe’s reports has the same quality. It is written by a Christian missionary, who is also, within his own field, a scientific man. He is exuberant, he is triumphant, he is inexhaustible. No matter how familiar be the theme, it is always new in his hands. Turn almost at random to his letters or papers; “Do not prevent your blind child from developing, as he grows up, courage, self-reliance, generosity, and manliness of character, by excessive indulgence, by sparing him thought and anxiety and hard work, and by giving him undeserved preference over others. If he lounges in a rocking-chair or on the sofa cushions, don’t pat him and say, ‘the poor dear child is tired’; but rout him out and up just as you would do with any boy who was contracting lazy habits.”...

The following is from a report upon some cases of arrested development: “It is true that these children and youth speak and read but little, and that little very imperfectly compared with others of their age; but if one brings the case home, and supposes these to be his own children, it will not seem a small matter that a daughter, who, it was thought, would never know a letter, can now read a simple story, and a son, who could not say ‘father,’ can now distinctly repeat a prayer to his Father in heaven.”... Or take some words from a private letter:--

“The great lesson--the hard lesson--your son has first to learn is--_to be blind_; to live in the world without light; to look upon what of existence is yet vouchsafed him as a blessing and a trust, and to resolve to spend it gratefully, cheerfully, and conscientiously, in the service of his Maker and for the happiness of those about him.”

It was a matter of accident that the blind should have engrossed Howe’s attention earlier than the feeble-minded, for whom he began his labors in 1846, and for whom a State school was, through his efforts, established in Massachusetts, in 1852. This institution was quite as exclusively Howe’s creation as was the School for the Blind, and over it also he extended his domestic influence. “He passed like light through the rooms. Charley Smith, gentlest of fifty-year-old children, would leave his wooden horse to run to him. They loved him, the children whom he had rescued from worse than death. When he died they grieved for him after their fashion, and among all the tributes to his memory, none was more touching than theirs: ‘He will take care of the blind in heaven. Won’t he take care of us too?’”