In the Courts of Memory 1858-1875. | Page 2

been not only the ruling
monarchs of several countries, and the most distinguished men and
women of their courts, but almost all the really important figures in the
world of music of the past half-century, among them Wagner, Liszt,
Auber, Gounod, and Rossini. And of many of these great men the
letters give us glimpses of the most fascinatingly intimate sort.

IN THE COURTS OF MEMORY
CAMBRIDGE, _1856._
DEAR M.,--You say in your last letter, "Do tell me something about
your school." If I only had the time, I could write volumes about my
school, and especially about my teachers.
To begin with, Professor Agassiz gives us lectures on zoölogy, geology,
and all other ologies, and draws pictures on the blackboard of trilobites
and different fossils, which is very amusing. We call him "Father
Nature," and we all adore him and try to imitate his funny Swiss accent.
Professor Pierce, who is, you know, the greatest mathematician in the
world, teaches us mathematics and has an awful time of it; we must be
very stupid, for the more he explains, the less we seem to understand,
and when he gets on the rule of three we almost faint from dizziness. If
he would only explain the rule of one! The Harvard students say that
his book on mathematics is so intricate that not one of them can solve
the problems.
We learn history and mythology from Professor Felton, who is very
near- sighted, wears broad-brimmed spectacles, and shakes his curly
locks at us when he thinks we are frivolous. He was rather nonplussed
the other day, when Louise Child read out loud in the mythology lesson
something about "Jupiter and ten." "What," cried Mr. Felton, "what are
you reading? You mean 'Jupiter and Io,' don't you?" "It says ten here,"

she answered.
Young Mr. Agassiz teaches us German and French; we read Balzac's
Les Chouans and Schiller's Wallenstein.
Our Italian teacher, Luigi Monti, is a refugee from Italy, and has a sad
and mysterious look in his black eyes; he can hardly speak English, so
we have things pretty much our own way during the lessons, for he
cannot correct us. One of the girls, translating capelli neri, said "black
hats," and he never saw the mistake, though we were all dying of
laughter.
No one takes lessons in Greek from long-bearded, fierce-eyed
Professor Evangelinus Apostolides Sophocles, so he is left in peace. He
does not come more than once a week anyway, and then only to say it
is no use his coming at all.
Cousin James Lowell replaces Mr. Longfellow the days he can't come.
He reads selections of "literary treasures," as he calls them, and on
which he discourses at length. He seems very dull and solemn when he
is in school; not at all as he is at home. When he comes in of an
afternoon and reads his poems to aunty and to an admiring circle of
cousins and sisters- in-law, they all roar with laughter, particularly
when he reads them with a Yankee accent. He has such a rippling little
giggle while reading, that it is impossible not to laugh.
The other day he said to me, "Cousin Lillie, I will take you out for a
walk in recess." I said, "Nothing I should like better, but I can't go."
"Why not?" said he. "Because I must go and be a beggar." "What do
you mean?" he asked. "I mean that there is a duet that Mrs. Agassiz
favors just now, from Meyerbeer's 'Le Prophète,' where she is beggar
number one and I am beggar number two." He laughed. "You are a
lucky little beggar, anyway. I envy you." "Envy me? I thought you
would pity me," I said. "No, I do not pity you, I envy you being a
beggar with a voice!"
I consider myself a victim. In recess, when the other girls walk in
Quincy Street and eat their apples, Mrs. Agassiz lures me into the
parlor and makes me sing duets with her and her sister, Miss Carey. I
hear the girls filing out of the door, while I am caged behind the piano,
singing, "Hear Me, Norma," wishing Norma and her twins in Jericho.
There are about fourteen pupils now; we go every morning at nine
o'clock and stay till two o'clock. We climb up the three stories in the

Agassiz house and wait for our teachers, who never are on time.
Sometimes school does not begin for half an hour.
Mrs. Agassiz comes in, and we all get up to say good morning to her.
As there is nothing else left for her to teach, she teaches us manners.
She looks us over, and holds up a warning finger smilingly. She is so
sweet and gentle.
I don't wonder