CHAPTER I._Biographical Stories (From: "True Stories of History and Biography")

Produced by David Widger and Al Haines

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TRUE STORIES OF HISTORY AND BIOGRAPHY

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By Nathaniel Hawthorne

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BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES

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CONTENTS: <a href="#west">BENJAMIN WEST.</a> <a

href="#newton">SIR ISAAC NEWTON.</a> <a href="#johnson">SAMUEL

JOHNSON.</a> <a href="#cromwell">OLIVER CROMWELL.</a> <a

href="#franklin">BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.</a> <a href="#christina">QUEEN

CHRISTINA.</a>

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BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES

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This small volume and others of a similar character, from the same hand,

have not been composed without a deep sense of responsibility. The author

regards children as sacred, and would not, for the world, cast anything

into the fountain of a young heart that might imbitter and pollute its

waters. And, even in point of the reputation to be aimed at, juvenile

literature is as well worth cultivating as any other. The writer, if he

succeed in pleasing his little readers, may hope to be remembered by them

till their own old age,—a far longer period of literary existence

than is generally attained by those who seek immortality from the

judgments of full-grown men.

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CHAPTER I.

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When Edward Temple was about eight or nine years old he was afflicted with

a disorder of the eyes. It was so severe, and his sight was naturally so

delicate, that the surgeon felt some apprehensions lest the boy should

become totally blind. He therefore gave strict directions to keep him in a

darkened chamber, with a bandage over his eyes. Not a ray of the blessed

light of heaven could be suffered to visit the poor lad.

This was a sad thing for Edward. It was just the same as if there were to

be no more sunshine, nor moonlight, nor glow of the cheerful fire, nor

light of lamps. A night had begun which was to continue perhaps for

months,—a longer and drearier night than that which voyagers are

compelled to endure when their ship is icebound, throughout the winter, in

the Arctic Ocean. His dear father and mother, his brother George, and the

sweet face of little Emily Robinson must all vanish and leave him in utter

darkness and solitude. Their voices and footsteps, it is true, would be

heard around him; he would feel his mother’s embrace and the kind pressure

of all their hands; but still it would seem as if they were a thousand

miles away.

And then his studies,—they were to be entirely given up. This was

another grievous trial; for Edward’s memory hardly went back to the period

when he had not known how to read. Many and many a holiday had he spent at

his hook, poring over its pages until the deepening twilight confused the

print and made all the letters run into long words. Then, would he press

his hands across his eyes and wonder why they pained him so; and when the

candles were lighted, what was the reason that they burned so dimly, like

the moon in a foggy night? Poor little fellow! So far as his eyes were

concerned he was already an old man, and needed a pair of spectacles

almost as much as his own grandfather did.

And now, alas! the time was come when even grandfather’s spectacles could

not have assisted Edward to read. After a few bitter tears, which only

pained his eyes the more, the poor boy submitted to the surgeon’s orders.

His eyes were bandaged, and, with his mother on one side and his little

friend Emily on the other, he was led into a darkened chamber.

“Mother, I shall be very miserable!” said Edward, sobbing.

“O no, my dear child!” replied his mother, cheerfully. “Your eyesight was

a precious gift of Heaven, it is true; but you would do wrong to be

miserable for its loss, even if there were no hope of regaining it. There

are other enjoyments besides what come to us through our eyes.”

“None that are worth having,” said Edward.

“Ah, but you will not think so long,” rejoined Mrs. Temple, with

tenderness. “All of us—your father, and myself, and George, and our

sweet Emily—will try to find occupation and amusement for you. We

will use all our eyes to make you happy. Will they not be better than a

single pair?”

“I will sit, by you all day long,” said Emily, in her low, sweet voice,

putting her hand into that of Edward.

“And so will I, Ned,” said George, his elder brother, “school time and

all, if my father will permit me.”

Edward’s brother George was three or four years older than himself,—a

fine, hardy lad, of a bold and ardent temper. He was the leader of his

comrades in all their enterprises and amusements. As to his proficiency at

study there was not much to be said. He had sense and ability enough to

have made himself a scholar, but found so many pleasanter things to do

that he seldom took hold of a book with his whole heart. So fond was

George of boisterous sports and exercises that it was really a great token

of affection and sympathy when he offered to sit all day long in a dark

chamber with his poor brother Edward.

As for little Emily Robinson, she was the daughter of one of Mr. Temple’s

dearest friends. Ever since her mother went to heaven (which was soon

after Emily’s birth) the little girl had dwelt in the household where we

now find her. Mr. and Mrs. Temple seemed to love her as well as their own

children; for they had no daughter except Emily; nor would the boys have

known the blessing of a sister had not this gentle stranger come to teach

them what it was. If I could show you Emily’s face, with her dark hair

smoothed away from her forehead, you would be pleased with her look of

simplicity and loving kindness, but might think that she was somewhat too

grave for a child of seven years old. But you would not love her the less

for that.

So brother George and this loving little girl were to be Edward’s

companions and playmates while he should be kept prisoner in the dark

chamber. When the first bitterness of his grief was over he began to feel

that, there might be some comforts and enjoyments in life even for a boy

whose eyes were covered with a bandage.

“I thank you, dear mother,” said he, with only a few sobs; “and you,

Emily; and you too, George. You will all be very kind to me, I know. And

my father,—will not he come and see me every day?”

“Yes, my dear boy,” said Mr. Temple; for, though invisible to Edward, he

was standing close beside him. “I will spend some hours of every day with

you. And as I have often amused you by relating stories and adventures

while you had the use of your eves, I can do the same now that you are

unable to read. Will this please you, Edward?”

“O, very much,” replied Edward.

“Well, then,” said his father, “this evening we will begin the series of

Biographical Stories which I promised you some time ago.”

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