Representative women of New England/Louise Humphrey Smith
LOUISE HUMPHREY-SMITH.—The subject of this sketch was first known to the writer when she was not Mrs. Humphrey-Smith nor even Miss Humphrey, but simply and sweetly Louise. We were not reared in the same neighborhood, yet quite near each other; and as youth and maiden we formed a friendship which, through many years and many vicissitudes, has held fast till now, and which in some degree qualifies me to speak of her.
The town in which she was reared was Turner, Me. Her neighborhood was Bradfonl Village, through which flows the Nezinseot River. The village, a small and unpretentling farming community, was large enough for a considerable circle of neighborly relations, and contained two men, a physician and a minister, of more than strictly local importance. The physician, Dr. Philip Bradfonl, was of perhaps no high rank in his profession, but he practised it with fair success, and directed to wise ends the influence which his position gave him. The elders certainly looked up to him, and sought his advice on many matters outside his medical studies; and I suspect there were few young people about him who did not incur an extra-professional debt to him. Their interests interested him, and his homely counsel and genial sympathy were ever for them. The minister, the Rev. William R. French—it is ever with a hush of reverence that I speak of him. He was one of those ministers, becoming rarer and rarer, who take small place and abide in it content, and are no less strenuous in their service because their parishioners are poor and few. He might have served as the model of the preacher of the "Deserted Village," or the "Pourc Persoun" of the "Canterbury Tales." He had the instincts and the training of a scholar. In the pulpit he was not eloquent, but he was wise, and in his pastoral walk he conveyed the impression both of holiness and the beauty of it. There floats into my mind, as peculiarly applicable to him, a stanza from an elegy on Sidney included in some editions of the works of Spenser:—
" A sweet attractive kiude of grace,
A full assurance given by lookes,
Continuall comfort in a face.
The lineaments of Gospell bookes;
I trowe that countenance cannot lie,
Whose thoughts are legible in the eie."
He was peculiarly useful to young people. While they revered him, they could be easily familiar with him; and he showed them their possibilities, sympathized with their aspirations, corrected, encouraged, and led them on. If our friend were to undertake a statement of her obligations, I suspect she would confess no greater debt to any other than to him. And of great importance to her early life must have been a considerable group of young people who aspired, some of whom have since acquitted themselves well. Somehow they had caught hold upon the truth that the better portion of the world was beyond their horizon, and that it was only by the highway of culture that they could reach that fairer and ampler realm. The resources for culture were not bountiful, but they were not altogether wanting. The Atlantic Monthly and Harper s Magazine, though not widely taken, were yet to be seen. The current literature was for most part beyond our reach, but a few classics we had—Pope, Thomson, Goldsmith, Burns, Byron, Milton, Shakespeare, food for noble hungering; and these were read. The minister above mentioned here bore some aid. With an eye to the needs of his young people, he put into his Sunday-school library books of real literary value in place of the current stories of good little boys and girls who died so discouragingly young.
Such was the more general environment of Mrs. Humphrey-Smith's girlhood, wanting many things indeed, but not without its smile upon an earnest life. We come to her home. In its general appearance it was like the homes about her, perhaps, on the whole, a little better than the average. The house, still standing, but tenantless and decaying, is a small cottage upon a hillside. Within it in her day was no penury, no luxury, but plain comfort and un- pretending dignity. The family was consider- able, and servants were hardly heard of in that region; so her hands were early trained to mani- fold domestic toil. Her parents were Henry White and Laura Ann (Turner) Humphrey. Her father is said to have been a descendant of Peregrine White. Her mother was a daugh- ter of Charles Lee Turner and grantl-daughter of William Turner, of Scituate, Mass., who at an early period in the Revolutionary War was on the staff of Washington, with the rank of Major, and later was on the staff of General Charles Lee. A pleasant story tells that, a child having been born to him in his absence tluring a cam- paign, that general gave him a horse to ride home. This chiUl, a son, was named Charles Lee Turner. He was the grandfather of Mrs. Humphrey-Smith.
As Mr. and Mrs. Humphrey were both from Revolutionary sires, there was some toughness in the grain, which we may suspect descended to our friend ere we are through. Though she may be pleased to acknowledge in her.self some of the qualities of her father, it is probable that her more characteristic features are drawn from her mother, of whom accordingly a word. Though the unpretending servant of many cares, she was much more than an ordinary woman. Her early opportunities were poor enough, but through the eagerness of her mind she acquired an education that was consider- able. She and another young lady together led the way of womankind in that region in the study of Latin. This was, of course, to the wonder of the practical about her, who could not see how Latin could be of any use in housekeeping, and who perhaps felt with Milton that one tongue was enough for a woman. To be sure, there were other things that she might have studied quite as profitably; the important fact was that. she studied something, that her mind reached out for more than the common satisfaction. And what she gained, Latin and whatever else, if of no use in her housekeeping, was of incalculable use to herself. The allotments of her life were not easy, scanty means and seven children were her portion, but through the interests of her mind she coun- terpoi.se(l them. From the pressure of her cares she might have degenerated into a drudge; through her intellectual interests she preserved the fair estate of a woman. It goes without saying, too, that these interests were most profitable to her children, animating a cease- less watch and toil and sacrifice for their edu- cation.
To Mrs. Humphrey-Smith's education we now come. Her schooling was in the main in the schools of the town. These, however, brought within reach a range of study that was considerable. The district, or common, schools had, of course, their elementary curriculum, to which they were officially supposed to be restricted. But, given a teacher who had knowledge and good nature, the possible achievement was much more than this; and such a teacher was often provided, with a view to the needs of more ambitious pupils. In a brief recitation before school in the morning or a half-hour or so after school in the evening how much could be done! I myself thus brought out of the common school Smyth's treatise on algebra, than which at that day no college in the country would have given me more, some knowledge of geometry, astron- omy, physical geography, and two books of Virgil. But we also had a peripatetic high school supported by a fund, which gave us a term every autumn in three districts of the town. This was distinctly for higher studies. In both district and high school our friend comes before me, a happy memory. Her eager mind took whatever there was for it. In all her studies she excelled ; in one line, however, she was incomparable. Others might keep pace with her in language or in mathematics; but no one, pupil or teacher, could read as she could. Her reading was without ostentation, but. it thrilled and charmed. It comes home to me now as I write — the justness of her em- phasis, the faultlessness of her articulation, the melody of her intonation. There are pas- sages of literature floating in ni}' memory, choice in themselves, but doubly valued be- cause associated with the music of her tones. As I look back now, I see that her reading was informed by a nascent dramatic power which in its development has enthralled multitudes since. Mile. Lundberg did great service to the world when, discovering the musical genius of Jenny Lind, she urged and, through urging, accomplished her musical education. What might have happened had Charlotte Cushman chanced to visit that village school-house and discovered, as she might easily have done, a genius of her own great art in this village maiden!
She was given a year at the Hebron Acad- emy, a school of no low degree, and with this her schooling ended, though something in the way of private instruction in Latin and in Eng- lish was given her. Her educational advan- tages, as here summarized, have a meagre look; but it was not the fashion of that day to send young ladies to college, and, if it had been, perhaps the family exchequer would not have been equal to the outlay. But healthy appe- tite has a knack of finding fooil, and her appe- tite was not only healthy, but insatiable. How- ever it was done, she found her nourishment, and developed on it into a finely poised and cultivated woman.
She taught school for a time with marked success. Marriage, however, came, and soon after she crossed the continent with her hus- band and settled in Portland, Ore. Her hus- band, Daniel French Smith, of Turner, the son of Timothy and Jane (French) Smith, a family of good standing in the town, was worthy of her, and all went well for a time. They brought to the task of life high purpose, industry, frugality, intelligence, and in the union of these there is ever good augury. One thing, however, was wanting. Her husband had borne a part in the Civil War, and brought home from it an insidious malady, with which he struggled for a time, but to which he must succumb at last. A child had been given her. It comforted her for a brief period, and died. Her own health gave way; and she rose at last from a protracted illness to find that, whether through legal legerdemain or plain thievery does not matter now, her worldly possessions had been taken from her. Here was exigency in which had she sunk in despair she could have been forgiven. She was not, however, that kind of woman. The Puritan and the Revolutionary strains in her ancestry here manifest themselves. Perhaps she could have sunk into the arms of affection and wept, but not possibly into the embrace of adversity to grieve and whine. "The best use of Fate," says Emerson, "is to teach us a fatal courage," and this best use she drew to her service. In the decrees of her will and through the energies of her conduct fate was out-fated. She must do something for her maintenance, she would do something for the world; and, not unnaturally, she bethought her of the talent she possessed in such ample measure. She got instruction from acknowledged masters, toiled, struggled — won!
For twelve years she has been a teacher of elocution in the Irving Institute in San Francisco and for seventeen years in the California College in Oakland. Since she first took up her work, she has had rooms in San Francisco, where she has instructed and still instructs such as come — actors, teachers, lecturers, ministers, any who may have interest in elocutionary or histrionic art. Her specialty is dramatic expression, and many who have been her pupils are now on the dramatic stage. She carries into her work a genius that is masterful and an enthusiasm that inspires. It is no trifling circumstance to come under her criticism, for her exposure of faults is — we might say without mercy but for the fact that in its very nature it is merciful. It is ruled, however, by an unfailing tact.
In no department of human interest are superficiality and charlatanry more common than in hers, met in men and women who are impatient of the slow progress and long toil that leail to excellence, or are willing to offer highly colored fustian for royal purple. Against both she puts forth a protest which, if not always heeded, is yet widely felt. The stand- ard of public demand has undoubtedly been lifted by her influence. In and about San Francisco charlatanry is less prosperous be- cause she is there. Her art is not her religion, yet, through her utter devotion, represents it. She believes in her art as a ministry to man's higher needs. It is not merely to entertain, but also to instruct and quicken. But these ends are sacrificed if its stantlard is mean. Make it high, make it noble, and it shall be cleansing and uplifting. On this thenic her eloquence never tires.
It is, however, on the platform that some of us like best to think of her. Here she is a radiant figure. Presence, manner, voice, all contribute to an impression that is sometimes wonderful.
She is sometimes spoken of as a public reader, why I know not, for she never reads. She carefully memorizes her selections, and this all the way from a lyric of Whittier to a drama of Shakespeare. Thus steeping her mind in them, she can not only interpret them, but incarnate them. Their humor, piety, passion, pathos, smile and aspire and glow and weep in her. She is extremely fond of Browning, has studied him widely and deeply, and in her public recitations done not a little to extend his influence. It seems a daring thing to carry Browning to a popular audience, but she has done this repeatedly with superb success. She has great power of personation, through which the successful presentation of an elaborate drama has been with her a frequent achievement. Browning's "Blot in the 'Scutcheon" she has rendered to audiences of three thousand, which she enthralled. I once heard her render "The Merchant of Venice," in herself a whole troupe of dramatic stars. Every feature of the rendering charmed me; but the feature that especially impressed me was the facility with which she transformed herself into the likeness of her various characters. That Antonio should come before us was not surprising, for he opens the play, and the personation of one character is achievement with which we are familiar; but Salarino and Solanio and Bassanio and Gratiano were as distinctly there. In the flow of the dialogue so many men could not have preserved the individuality of these characters more successfully. Afterward, in a group of those who had been present, it was interesting to hear them give judgment as to her better part: it occurred to no one to specify her poorer. To me her more successful personation seemed her Shylock. If there be moral advantage in seeing in vice its own deformity, we received a useful lesson that evening. But there was her Portia, and some were sure that her higher achievement was the personation of her. Others saw the finer stroke in some aspect of her recital of the billing and cooing of Lorenzo and Jessica. Through all, however, it was a discussion of excellences: she had given us nothing else for discussion.
From a mass of press notices of her work I learn that her more recent recitals have been the "Blot in the 'Scutcheon," before mentioned, and Stephen Phillips's "Paolo and Francesca." From their great variety of character, their delicate shadings of sentiment, their pathos, triumph, tragedy, for one person to present these dramas even passably well would require talent of a high order. Yet these notices are one and all testimonials, not of fair achievement, but of proud success. They come from diverse sources, but there is no difference in the general judgment; and they impart to my mind the suspicion that in these later efforts she has beaten her best hitherto. While, however, there is no difference in the general judgment, there is a difference in the point of emphasis. Prevailingly they witness to the general and popular effect. One or two write, as artists, of the manner, personation, intonation. Neither order of representation can be adequate: for any just account of her, both are absolutely needful. While our friend has studied her art broadly and deeply, its spirit has become life within her. Hence, when she deals with a public assembly, there is no suggestion of artifice. All seems as natural as her most quiet parlor conversation. Nothing is for effect, nothing is exaggerated. Rant, by which like artists of a lower order seek to prosper, and unhappily often do, is far, far from her. There is such harmony of detail with detail, and all so related to the grand meaning of the whole as to make it a scene of life that is offered you. In other words, her art is obscured by its own perfection.
All who know Mrs. Humphrey-Smith talk of her voice, its richness of tone, its range, its flexibility. Its carrying power is a striking feature. An audience of three thousand in a hall of the best acoustic construction will test the powers of a good speaker; yet Mrs. Humphrey-Smith has recited with ease and success to six thousand people out of doors. This suggests a feature of her voice that has interested me. it is precisely the voice I used to hear in that country school-house. In the utterance of the stormiest dramatic passion any schoolmate
of those distant years would recognize it. It is the same voice with its grand possibilities unfolded.
With fine conversational powers and ready sympathy and the large resource she has gathered in her studies, she is a most agreeable companion and in society a happy presence. Of those who meet her there, few can ever suspect that the magnet of her heart is a couple of graves. Yet it is so. And here we touch another feature of her history that tinges the rest with a tender light. In her dealing with the workl, though most prodigal of her smiles, she has been frugal of her tears. Her burdens have been many and heavy, but through all she has carried the hand of help and the word of cheer.