In an earlier post, I showed a later photograph of the site of Hawthorne Hall (also called the Hawthorne Rooms), which was a hall utilized by Mrs. Eddy on Park Street, between Tremont Street and the State House, on the edge of the Boston Commons. For some reason I have always been interested in that location, perhaps because it was where Mrs. Eddy delivered the lectures from the late 1870s to the mid-1880s that got her movement going. (Of course there were other reasons for the success of her movement at that time, such as the creation of the Massachusetts Metaphysical College on Columbus Avenue and the publication of The Christian Science Journal, as its name was changed to, but the Hawthorne Hall lectures played their important role as well.)
William Lyman Johnson was just a boy when his father, William B. Johnson, took him to hear Mrs. Eddy speak at Hawthorne Hall in 1884, and in my collection is a photocopy of his historical manuscript that he prepared for the Christian Science Board of Directors in 1919. In that manuscript he provides an ingenuous look at that day, from the standpoint of a child who really didn’t want to be there. Below are lengthy excerpts of his recollection, which go beyond what he recorded for Mary Beecher Longyear as printed in The History of the Christian Science Movement (1926). The text is then followed by the floor plan of the Hall, an introductory card to hear Mrs. Eddy speak there, a photograph of William Lyman Johnson (one that we have seen before), along with roughly contemporaneous photographs of the very short Park Street, where the Hall was situated.
“The first time I saw Mrs. Eddy was in 1884 in the
Hawthorne Rooms. My father had told me so much about her and the remarkable
things she had done, and what wonderful healing her teaching had accomplished,
that I wanted to see her, but did not desire to get to[o] close, for I had,
somehow received the idea that she could read the thoughts in the minds of
people, and I was afraid that if she read mine she might discover that I would
rather be playing ball than going to church.
The Sunday afternoon was one of beauty, either in late
Spring or early fall, that father and I walked to the Hawthorne Rooms. The
rooms were not large, but well-lighted by the windows that fronted the Commons.
I am afraid that the scenes along the malls [i.e., the walkway outside] and the
emerald greens of the vast arches of the elms claimed more of my attention than
did the preparations for the service. I envied the freedom of the birds that
winged their way through the bowers of translucent green, traced the rough
streams of eddying bark on the trunks of the old elms, and wished that I was
out on the grass, or calling to the deer in the deer-park, or wondering at the
changing shapes of the sprays of the fountain that was playing in the
frog-pond, and splashing and sparkling into irridescent[sic] sprays of
rainbows.
Before the service began the room became filled, and
then a quiet, and I heard some one say:—‘here is Mrs. Eddy.’ I cannot remember
what her sermon was about, but there is a strong recollection that the place
was very quiet, and when I asked my father in a whisper, for a piece of
peppermint, he did not seem to hear me, and something seemed to say to me
‘don’t whisper again,’ and I did not.
When the service come to an end my father left me, as
he had some business of the church to do, and I was well content to look out
upon the Common, and know that soon I would be running and skipping over the
turf with the freedom of the other boys. A crowd of people was standing about
the platform listening to what Mrs. Eddy was saying. My reveries were disturbed
when father came over to me and said he wanted me to meet the Teacher. I
remember I held back and father gently chided me and urged that I must act like
a little gentleman, for he had told her of my singing, and she had said to him
that I must go to the College and sing for her and some of her students, and
added that if she asked me I must surely go as I would then be honored by
singing for the greatest person on earth. But this was too much for me, for I
did not want to sing for the greatest person on earth. . . . An unwilling captive,
Father dragged me forward near the platform, and I took refuge behind a tall
stout man. There were about a dozen people lingering about the platform and I
could hear Mrs. Eddy speaking to them, and I stopped shifting from one foot to
another and began listening and wondering at some of the things she said. I
must have been there five minutes, when she stopped and there was silence. The
thought came like a flash that she had looked clear through the fat man behind
whom I had taken refuge and had seen me. It is evident, from what she told my
father afterward that she sensed a child was near, and at that moment father
dragged me forward and said:—‘Teacher this is my son.’ She reached out her hand
with a most loving smile, and at the clasp all fears vanished. Holding it in a
firm grasp she told me that my father had given her an account of my singing
and success at the Conservatory, and said that she would like to hear me sing
sometime. Just what I answered I do not remember for I kept watching her eyes, but when she asked me ‘what I should like to be when I grew up’ I told her:—‘a
fine musician.’ Her answer was:—“I hope that you will be?’ and looking into my
eyes, she said, as she put her hand on my head:— ‘may God bless you.’
The remarkable tones of her voice, the wonderful
questioning of her eyes which seemed to look deep into me, rather frightened me
at first, then drew tears from my eyes. The exceptional manner in which she
spoke to others and the way she stood, made an unforgettable picture, and in after
years, whenever I saw her, the impression engraved upon my boyish thought that
day in Hawthorne Rooms came back with inspired freshness.
This first look from her eyes and the touch of her
hand has ever lingered with me as one of the events of my life.”
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