The Story of My Life
different forms of expression for conveying the same idea. If she was
eating some candy, I said: "Will Helen please give teacher some candy?"
or, "Teacher would like to eat some of Helen's candy," emphasizing the
's. She very soon perceived that the same idea could be expressed in a
great many ways. In two or three months after I began to teach her she
would say: "Helen wants to go to bed," or, "Helen is sleepy, and Helen
will go to bed."
I am constantly asked the question, "How did you teach her the meaning
of words expressive of intellectual and moral qualities?" I believe it
was more through association and repetition than through any explanation
of mine. This is especially true of her earlier lessons, when her
knowledge of language was so slight as to make explanation impossible.
I always made it a practice to use the words descriptive of emotions,
of intellectual or moral qualities and actions, in connection with the
circumstance which required these words. Soon after I became her teacher
Helen broke her new doll, of which she was very fond. She began to cry.
I said to her, "Teacher is SORRY." After a few repetitions she came to
associate the word with the feeling.
The word HAPPY she learned in the same way; ALSO, RIGHT, WRONG, GOOD,
BAD, and other adjectives. The word LOVE she learned as other children
do--by its association with caresses.
One day I asked her a simple question in a combination of numbers, which
I was sure she knew. She answered at random. I checked her, and she
stood still, the expression of her face plainly showing that she was
trying to think. I touched her forehead, and spelled "t-h-i-n-k." The
word, thus connected with the act, seemed to impress itself on her mind
much as if I had placed her hand upon an object and then spelled its
name. Since that time she has always used the word THINK.
At a later period I began to use such words as PERHAPS, SUPPOSE, EXPECT,
FORGET, REMEMBER. If Helen asked, "Where is mother now?" I replied: "I
do not know. PERHAPS she is with Leila."
She is always anxious to learn the names of people we meet in the
horse-cars or elsewhere, and to know where they are going, and what they
will do. Conversations of this kind are frequent:
HELEN. What is little boy's name?
TEACHER. I do not know, for he is a little stranger; but PERHAPS his
name is Jack.
HELEN. Where is he going?
TEACHER. He MAY BE going to the Common to have fun with other boys.
HELEN. What will he play?
TEACHER. I SUPPOSE he will play ball.
HELEN. What are boys doing now?
TEACHER. PERHAPS they are expecting Jack, and are waiting for him.
After the words have become familiar to her, she uses them in
composition.
September 26, [1888].
"This morning teacher and I sat by the window and we saw a little boy
walking on the sidewalk. It was raining very hard and he had a very
large umbrella to keep off the rain-drops.
"I do not know how old he was but THINK he MAY HAVE BEEN six years old.
PERHAPS his name was Joe. I do not know where he was going because he
was a little strange boy. But PERHAPS his mother sent him to a store
to buy something for dinner. He had a bag in one hand. I SUPPOSE he was
going to take it to his mother."
In teaching her the use of language, I have not confined myself to any
particular theory or system. I have observed the spontaneous movements
of my pupil's mind, and have tried to follow the suggestions thus given
to me.
Owing to the nervousness of Helen's temperament, every precaution has
been taken to avoid unduly exciting her already very active brain.
The greater part of the year has been spent in travel and in visits
to different places, and her lessons have been those suggested by
the various scenes and experiences through which she has passed. She
continues to manifest the same eagerness to learn as at first. It is
never necessary to urge her to study. Indeed, I am often obliged to coax
her to leave an example or a composition.
While not confining myself to any special system of instruction, I have
tried to add to her general information and intelligence, to enlarge
her acquaintance with things around her, and to bring her into easy and
natural relations with people. I have encouraged her to keep a diary,
from which the following selection has been made:
"March 22nd, 1888.
"Mr. Anagnos came to see me Thursday. I was glad to hug and kiss him. He
takes care of sixty little blind girls and seventy little blind boys. I
do love them. Little blind girls sent me a pretty work-basket. I found
scissors and thread, and needle-book with many needles in it, and
crochet hook and emery, and thimble, and box, and yard measure and
buttons, and pin-cushion. I will write little blind girls a letter to
thank them. I will make pretty clothes for Nancy and Adeline and Allie.
I will go to Cincinnati in May and buy another child. Then I will have
four children. New baby's name is Harry. Mr. Wilson and Mr. Mitchell
came to see us Sunday. Mr. Anagnos went to Louisville Monday to see
little blind children. Mother went to Huntsville. I slept with father,
and Mildred slept with teacher. I did learn about calm. It does mean
quiet and happy. Uncle Morrie sent me pretty stories. I read about
birds. The quail lays fifteen or twenty eggs and they are white. She
makes her nest on the ground. The blue-bird makes her nest in a hollow
tree and her eggs are blue. The robin's eggs are green. I learned a song
about spring. March, April, May are spring.
Now melts the snow. The warm winds blow The waters flow And robin dear,
Is come to show That Spring is here.
"James killed snipes for breakfast. Little chickens did get very cold
and die. I am sorry. Teacher and I went to ride on Tennessee River, in
a boat. I saw Mr. Wilson and James row with oars. Boat did glide swiftly
and I put hand in water and felt it flowing.
"I caught fish with hook and line and pole. We climbed high hill and
teacher fell and hurt her head. I ate very small fish for supper. I did
read about cow and calf. The cow loves to eat grass as well as girl does
bread and butter and milk. Little calf does run and leap in field. She
likes to skip and play, for she is happy when the sun is bright and
warm. Little boy did love his calf. And he did say, I will kiss you,
little calf, and he put his arms around calf's neck and kissed her. The
calf licked good boy's face with long rough tongue. Calf must not open
mouth much to kiss. I am tired, and teacher does not want me to write
more."
In the autumn she went to a circus. While we were standing before
his cage the lion roared, and Helen felt the vibration of the air so
distinctly that she was able to reproduce the noise quite accurately.
I tried to describe to her the appearance of a camel; but, as we were
not allowed to touch the animal, I feared that she did not get a correct
idea of its shape. A few days afterward, however, hearing a commotion in
the schoolroom, I went in and found Helen on all fours with a pillow so
strapped upon her back as to leave a hollow in the middle, thus making a
hump on either side. Between these humps she had placed her doll, which
she was giving a ride around the room. I watched her for some time as
she moved about, trying to take long strides in order to carry out the
idea I had given her of a camel's gait. When I asked her what she was
doing, she replied, "I am a very funny camel."
During the next two years neither Mr. Anagnos, who was in Europe for
a year, nor Miss Sullivan wrote anything about Helen Keller for
publication. In 1892 appeared the Perkins Institution report for
1891, containing a full account of Helen Keller, including many of her
letters, exercises, and compositions. As some of the letters and the
story of the "Frost King" are published here, there is no need of
printing any more samples of Helen Keller's writing during the third,
fourth and fifth years of her education. It was the first two years
that counted. From Miss Sullivan's part of this report I give her most
important comments and such biographical matter as does not appear
elsewhere in the present volume.
These extracts Mr. Anagnos took from Miss Sullivan's notes and
memoranda.
One day, while her pony and her donkey were standing side by side, Helen
went from one to the other, examining them closely. At last she paused
with her hand upon Neddy's head, and addressed him thus: "Yes, dear
Neddy, it is true that you are not as beautiful as Black Beauty. Your
body is not so handsomely formed, and there is no proud look in your
face, and your neck does not arch, Besides, your long ears make you look
a little funny. Of course, you cannot help it, and I love you just as
well as if you were the most beautiful creature in the world."
Helen has been greatly interested in the story of "Black Beauty." To
show how quickly she perceives and associates ideas, I will give an
instance which all who have read the book will be able to appreciate. I
was reading the following paragraph to her:
"The horse was an old, worn-out chestnut, with an ill-kept coat, and
bones that showed plainly through it; the knees knuckled over, and the
forelegs were very unsteady. I had been eating some hay, and the wind
rolled a little lock of it that way, and the poor creature put out her
long, thin neck and picked it up, and then turned round and looked about
for more. There was a hopeless look in the dull eye that I could not
help noticing, and then, as I was thinking where I had seen that horse
before, she looked full at me and said, 'Black Beauty, is that you?'"
At this point Helen pressed my hand to stop me. She was sobbing
convulsively. "It was poor Ginger," was all she could say at first.
Later, when she was able to talk about it, she said: "Poor Ginger! The
words made a distinct picture in my mind. I could see the way Ginger
looked; all her beauty gone, her beautiful arched neck drooping, all the
spirit gone out of her flashing eyes, all the playfulness gone out of
her manner. Oh, how terrible it was! I never knew before that there
could be such a change in anything. There were very few spots of
sunshine in poor Ginger's life, and the sadnesses were so many!" After a
moment she added, mournfully, "I fear some people's lives are just like
Ginger's."
This morning Helen was reading for the first time Bryant's poem, "Oh,
mother of a mighty race!" I said to her, "Tell me, when you have read
the poem through, who you think the mother is." When she came to the
line, "There's freedom at thy gates, and rest," she exclaimed: "It means
America! The gate, I suppose, is New York City, and Freedom is the great
statue of Liberty." After she had read "The Battlefield," by the same
author, I asked her which verse she thought was the most beautiful. She
replied, "I like this verse best:
'Truth crushed to earth shall rise again; The eternal years of God
are hers; But Error, wounded, writhes with pain, And dies among his
worshipers.'"
She is at once transported into the midst of the events of a story. She
rejoices when justice wins, she is sad when virtue lies low, and
her face glows with admiration and reverence when heroic deeds are
described. She even enters into the spirit of battle; she says, "I think
it is right for men to fight against wrongs and tyrants."
Here begins Miss Sullivan's connected account in the report of 1891:
During the past three years Helen has continued to make rapid progress
in the acquisition of language. She has one advantage over ordinary
children, that nothing from without distracts her attention from her
studies.
But this advantage involves a corresponding disadvantage, the danger of
unduly severe mental application. Her mind is so constituted that she