The Story of My Life
the signs that she had used when she wished me to go for the cake,
and pushed her toward the door. She started forward, then hesitated a
moment, evidently debating within herself whether she would go or not.
She decided to send me instead. I shook my head and spelled "d-o-l-l"
more emphatically, and opened the door for her; but she obstinately
refused to obey. She had not finished the cake she was eating, and I
took it away, indicating that if she brought the doll I would give her
back the cake. She stood perfectly still for one long moment, her face
crimson; then her desire for the cake triumphed, and she ran downstairs
and brought the doll, and of course I gave her the cake, but could not
persuade her to enter the room again.
She was very troublesome when I began to write this morning. She kept
coming up behind me and putting her hand on the paper and into the
ink-bottle. These blots are her handiwork. Finally I remembered the
kindergarten beads, and set her to work stringing them. First I put on
two wooden beads and one glass bead, then made her feel of the string
and the two boxes of beads. She nodded and began at once to fill the
string with wooden beads. I shook my head and took them all off and made
her feel of the two wooden beads and the one glass bead. She examined
them thoughtfully and began again. This time she put on the glass bead
first and the two wooden ones next. I took them off and showed her that
the two wooden ones must go on first, then the glass bead. She had no
further trouble and filled the string quickly, too quickly, in fact.
She tied the ends together when she had finished the string, and put the
beads round her neck. I did not make the knot large enough in the next
string, and the beads came off as fast as she put them on; but she
solved the difficulty herself by putting the string through a bead and
tying it. I thought this very clever. She amused herself with the
beads until dinner-time, bringing the strings to me now and then for my
approval.
My eyes are very much inflamed. I know this letter is very carelessly
written. I had a lot to say, and couldn't stop to think how to express
things neatly. Please do not show my letter to any one. If you want to,
you may read it to my friends.
Monday P.M.
I had a battle royal with Helen this morning. Although I try very hard
not to force issues, I find it very difficult to avoid them.
Helen's table manners are appalling. She puts her hands in our plates
and helps herself, and when the dishes are passed, she grabs them and
takes out whatever she wants. This morning I would not let her put
her hand in my plate. She persisted, and a contest of wills followed.
Naturally the family was much disturbed, and left the room. I locked
the dining-room door, and proceeded to eat my breakfast, though the food
almost choked me. Helen was lying on the floor, kicking and screaming
and trying to pull my chair from under me. She kept this up for half an
hour, then she got up to see what I was doing. I let her see that I was
eating, but did not let her put her hand in the plate. She pinched me,
and I slapped her every time she did it. Then she went all round the
table to see who was there, and finding no one but me, she seemed
bewildered. After a few minutes she came back to her place and began to
eat her breakfast with her fingers. I gave her a spoon, which she threw
on the floor. I forced her out of the chair and made her pick it up.
Finally I succeeded in getting her back in her chair again, and held the
spoon in her hand, compelling her to take up the food with it and put
it in her mouth. In a few minutes she yielded and finished her breakfast
peaceably. Then we had another tussle over folding her napkin. When she
had finished, she threw it on the floor and ran toward the door. Finding
it locked, she began to kick and scream all over again. It was another
hour before I succeeded in getting her napkin folded. Then I let her out
into the warm sunshine and went up to my room and threw myself on the
bed exhausted. I had a good cry and felt better. I suppose I shall have
many such battles with the little woman before she learns the only two
essential things I can teach her, obedience and love.
Good-by, dear. Don't worry; I'll do my best and leave the rest to
whatever power manages that which we cannot. I like Mrs. Keller very
much.
Tuscumbia, Alabama, March 11, 1887.
Since I wrote you, Helen and I have gone to live all by ourselves in
a little garden-house about a quarter of a mile from her home, only a
short distance from Ivy Green, the Keller homestead. I very soon made up
my mind that I could do nothing with Helen in the midst of the family,
who have always allowed her to do exactly as she pleased. She has
tyrannized over everybody, her mother, her father, the servants, the
little darkies who play with her, and nobody had ever seriously disputed
her will, except occasionally her brother James, until I came; and
like all tyrants she holds tenaciously to her divine right to do as she
pleases. If she ever failed to get what she wanted, it was because of
her inability to make the vassals of her household understand what it
was. Every thwarted desire was the signal for a passionate outburst, and
as she grew older and stronger, these tempests became more violent. As I
began to teach her, I was beset by many difficulties. She wouldn't yield
a point without contesting it to the bitter end. I couldn't coax her
or compromise with her. To get her to do the simplest thing, such as
combing her hair or washing her hands or buttoning her boots, it was
necessary to use force, and, of course, a distressing scene followed.
The family naturally felt inclined to interfere, especially her father,
who cannot bear to see her cry. So they were all willing to give in for
the sake of peace. Besides, her past experiences and associations were
all against me. I saw clearly that it was useless to try to teach her
language or anything else until she learned to obey me. I have thought
about it a great deal, and the more I think, the more certain I am that
obedience is the gateway through which knowledge, yes, and love, too,
enter the mind of the child. As I wrote you, I meant to go slowly at
first. I had an idea that I could win the love and confidence of my
little pupil by the same means that I should use if she could see and
hear. But I soon found that I was cut off from all the usual approaches
to the child's heart. She accepted everything I did for her as a matter
of course, and refused to be caressed, and there was no way of appealing
to her affection or sympathy or childish love of approbation. She would
or she wouldn't, and there was an end of it. Thus it is, we study, plan
and prepare ourselves for a task, and when the hour for action arrives,
we find that the system we have followed with such labour and pride does
not fit the occasion; and then there's nothing for us to do but rely on
something within us, some innate capacity for knowing and doing, which
we did not know we possessed until the hour of our great need brought it
to light.
I had a good, frank talk with Mrs. Keller, and explained to her how
difficult it was going to be to do anything with Helen under the
existing circumstances. I told her that in my opinion the child ought
to be separated from the family for a few weeks at least--that she must
learn to depend on and obey me before I could make any headway. After a
long time Mrs. Keller said that she would think the matter over and
see what Captain Keller thought of sending Helen away with me. Captain
Keller fell in with the scheme most readily and suggested that the
little garden-house at the "old place" be got ready for us. He said that
Helen might recognize the place, as she had often been there, but she
would have no idea of her surroundings, and they could come every day to
see that all was going well, with the understanding, of course, that she
was to know nothing of their visits. I hurried the preparations for our
departure as much as possible, and here we are.
The little house is a genuine bit of paradise. It consists of one large
square room with a great fireplace, a spacious bay-window, and a small
room where our servant, a little negro boy, sleeps. There is a piazza in
front, covered with vines that grow so luxuriantly that you have to part
them to see the garden beyond. Our meals are brought from the house,
and we usually eat on the piazza. The little negro boy takes care of the
fire when we need one, so I can give my whole attention to Helen.
She was greatly excited at first, and kicked and screamed herself into a
sort of stupor, but when supper was brought she ate heartily and seemed
brighter, although she refused to let me touch her. She devoted herself
to her dolls the first evening, and when it was bedtime she undressed
very quietly, but when she felt me get into bed with her, she jumped out
on the other side, and nothing that I could do would induce her to get
in again. But I was afraid she would take cold, and I insisted that she
must go to bed. We had a terrific tussle, I can tell you. The struggle
lasted for nearly two hours. I never saw such strength and endurance in
a child. But fortunately for us both, I am a little stronger, and quite
as obstinate when I set out. I finally succeeded in getting her on the
bed and covered her up, and she lay curled up as near the edge of the
bed as possible.
The next morning she was very docile, but evidently homesick. She kept
going to the door, as if she expected some one, and every now and then
she would touch her cheek, which is her sign for her mother, and shake
her head sadly. She played with her dolls more than usual, and would
have nothing to do with me. It is amusing and pathetic to see Helen with
her dolls. I don't think she has any special tenderness for them--I
have never seen her caress them; but she dresses and undresses them many
times during the day and handles them exactly as she has seen her mother
and the nurse handle her baby sister.
This morning Nancy, her favourite doll, seemed to have some difficulty
about swallowing the milk that was being administered to her in large
spoonfuls; for Helen suddenly put down the cup and began to slap her on
the back and turn her over on her knees, trotting her gently and patting
her softly all the time. This lasted for several minutes; then this mood
passed, and Nancy was thrown ruthlessly on the floor and pushed to one
side, while a large, pink-cheeked, fuzzy-haired member of the family
received the little mother's undivided attention.
Helen knows several words now, but has no idea how to use them, or that
everything has a name. I think, however, she will learn quickly enough
by and by. As I have said before, she is wonderfully bright and active
and as quick as lightning in her movements.
March 13, 1887.
You will be glad to hear that my experiment is working out finely. I
have not had any trouble at all with Helen, either yesterday or to-day.
She has learned three new words, and when I give her the objects, the
names of which she has learned, she spells them unhesitatingly; but she
seems glad when the lesson is over.
We had a good frolic this morning out in the garden. Helen evidently
knew where she was as soon as she touched the boxwood hedges, and made
many signs which I did not understand. No doubt they were signs for the
different members of the family at Ivy Green.
I have just heard something that surprised me very much. It seems that
Mr. Anagnos had heard of Helen before he received Captain Keller's
letter last summer. Mr. Wilson, a teacher at Florence, and a friend
of the Kellers', studied at Harvard the summer before and went to the