The Story of My Life
Sullivan's letters and from her reports, although they are clear and
accurate, have not the beauty which distinguishes Miss Keller's English.
Her service as a teacher of English is not to be measured by her own
skill in composition. The reason why she read to her pupil so many good
books is due, in some measure, to the fact that she had so recently
recovered her eyesight. When she became Helen Keller's teacher she was
just awakening to the good things that are in books, from which she had
been shut out during her years of blindness.
In Captain Keller's library she found excellent books, Lamb's "Tales
from Shakespeare," and better still Montaigne. After the first year or
so of elementary work she met her pupil on equal terms, and they read
and enjoyed good books together.
Besides the selection of good books, there is one other cause for
Miss Keller's excellence in writing, for which Miss Sullivan deserves
unlimited credit. That is her tireless and unrelenting discipline, which
is evident in all her work. She never allowed her pupil to send off
letters which contained offenses against taste, but made her write them
over until they were not only correct, but charming and well phrased.
Any one who has tried to write knows what Miss Keller owes to the
endless practice which Miss Sullivan demanded of her. Let a teacher with
a liking for good style insist on a child's writing a paragraph over and
over again until it is more than correct, and he will be training,
even beyond his own power of expression, the power of expression in the
child.
How far Miss Sullivan carried this process of refinement and selection
is evident from the humorous comment of Dr. Bell, that she made her
pupil a little old woman, too widely different from ordinary children in
her maturity of thought. When Dr. Bell said this he was arguing his own
case. For it was Dr. Bell who first saw the principles that underlie
Miss Sullivan's method, and explained the process by which Helen Keller
absorbed language from books.
There is, moreover, a reason why Helen Keller writes good English, which
lies in the very absence of sight and hearing. The disadvantages of
being deaf and blind were overcome and the advantages remained. She
excels other deaf people because she was taught as if she were normal.
On the other hand, the peculiar value to her of language, which ordinary
people take for granted as a necessary part of them like their right
hand, made her think about language and love it. Language was her
liberator, and from the first she cherished it.
The proof of Miss Keller's early skill in the use of English, and the
final comment on the excellence of this whole method of teaching,
is contained in an incident, which, although at the time it seemed
unfortunate, can no longer be regretted. I refer to the "Frost King"
episode, which I shall explain in detail. Miss Keller has given her
account of it, and the whole matter was discussed in the first Volta
Bureau Souvenir from which I quote at length:
MISS SULLIVAN'S ACCOUNT OF THE "FROST KING"
HON. JOHN HITZ, Superintendent of the Volta Bureau, Washington, D. C.
Dear Sir: Since my paper was prepared for the second edition of the
Souvenir "Helen Keller," some facts have been brought to my notice which
are of interest in connection with the subject of the acquisition of
language by my pupil, and if it is not already too late for publication
in this issue of the Souvenir, I shall be glad if I may have opportunity
to explain them in detail.
Perhaps it will be remembered that in my paper*, where allusion is made
to Helen's remarkable memory, it is noted that she appears to retain in
her mind many forms of expression which, at the time they are received,
she probably does not understand; but when further information is
acquired, the language retained in her memory finds full or partial
expression in her conversation or writing, according as it proves of
greater or less value to her in the fitness of its application to the
new experience. Doubtless this is true in the case of every intelligent
child, and should not, perhaps, be considered worthy of especial mention
in Helen's case, but for the fact that a child who is deprived of
the senses of sight and hearing might not be expected to be as gifted
mentally as this little girl proves to be; hence it is quite possible
we may be inclined to class as marvelous many things we discover in the
development of her mind which do not merit such an explanation.
* In this paper Miss Sullivan says: "During this winter (1891-92) I went
with her into the yard while a light snow was falling, and let her feel
the falling flakes. She appeared to enjoy it very much indeed. As
we went in she repeated these words, 'Out of the cloud-folds of his
garments Winter shakes the snow.' I inquired of her where she had read
this; she did not remember having read it, did not seem to know that
she had learned it. As I had never heard it, I inquired of several of
my friends if they recalled the words; no one seemed to remember it. The
teachers at the Institution expressed the opinion that the description
did not appear in any book in raised print in that library; but one
lady, Miss Marrett, took upon herself the task of examining books of
poems in ordinary type, and was rewarded by finding the following lines
in one of Longfellow's minor poems, entitled 'Snowflakes':
'Out of the bosom of the air, Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare, Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
Silent, and soft, and slow Descends the snow.'
"It would seem that Helen had learned and treasured the memory of this
expression of the poet, and this morning in the snow-storm had found its
application."
In the hope that I may be pardoned if I appear to overestimate the
remarkable mental capacity and power of comprehension and discrimination
which my pupil possesses, I wish to add that, while I have always known
that Helen made great use of such descriptions and comparisons as appeal
to her imagination and fine poetic nature, yet recent developments in
her writings convince me of the fact that I have not in the past been
fully aware to what extent she absorbs the language of her favourite
authors. In the early part of her education I had full knowledge of all
the books she read and of nearly all the stories which were read to her,
and could without difficulty trace the source of any adaptations noted
in her writing or conversation; and I have always been much pleased to
observe how appropriately she applies the expressions of a favourite
author in her own compositions.
The following extracts from a few of her published letters give evidence
of how valuable this power of retaining the memory of beautiful language
has been to her. One warm, sunny day in early spring, when we were at
the North, the balmy atmosphere appears to have brought to her mind the
sentiment expressed by Longfellow in "Hiawatha," and she almost sings
with the poet: "The ground was all aquiver with the stir of new life. My
heart sang for very joy. I thought of my own dear home. I knew that in
that sunny land spring had come in all its splendour. 'All its birds and
all its blossoms, all its flowers and all its grasses.'"
About the same time, in a letter to a friend, in which she makes mention
of her Southern home, she gives so close a reproduction from a poem
by one of her favourite authors that I will give extracts from Helen's
letter and from the poem itself:
EXTRACTS FROM HELEN'S LETTER
[The entire letter is published on pp. 245 and 246 of the Report of the
Perkins Institution for 1891]
The blue-bird with his azure plumes, the thrush clad all in brown, the
robin jerking his spasmodic throat, the oriole drifting like a flake of
fire, the jolly bobolink and his happy mate, the mocking-bird imitating
the notes of all, the red-bird with his one sweet trill, and the busy
little wren, are all making the trees in our front yard ring with their
glad song.
FROM THE POEM ENTITLED "SPRING" BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES
The bluebird, breathing from his azure plumes The fragrance borrowed
from the myrtle blooms; The thrush, poor wanderer, dropping meekly down,
Clad in his remnant of autumnal brown; The oriole, drifting like a flake
of fire Rent by a whirlwind from a blazing spire; The robin, jerking
his spasmodic throat, Repeats imperious, his staccato note; The
crack-brained bobolink courts his crazy mate, Poised on a bullrush tipsy
with his weight: Nay, in his cage the lone canary sings, Feels the soft
air, and spreads his idle wings.
On the last day of April she uses another expression from the same poem,
which is more an adaptation than a reproduction: "To-morrow April will
hide her tears and blushes beneath the flowers of lovely May."
In a letter to a friend at the Perkins Institution, dated May 17, 1889,
she gives a reproduction from one of Hans Christian Andersen's stories,
which I had read to her not long before. This letter is published in the
Perkins Institution Report (1891), p. 204. The original story was read
to her from a copy of "Andersen's Stories," published by Leavitt & Allen
Bros., and may be found on p. 97 of Part I. in that volume.
Her admiration for the impressive explanations which Bishop Brooks has
given her of the Fatherhood of God is well known. In one of his letters,
speaking of how God in every way tells us of His love, he says, "I think
he writes it even upon the walls of the great house of nature which we
live in, that he is our Father." The next year at Andover she said: "It
seems to me the world is full of goodness, beauty, and love; and how
grateful we must be to our heavenly Father, who has given us so much to
enjoy! His love and care are written all over the walls of nature."
In these later years, since Helen has come in contact with so many
persons who are able to converse freely with her, she has made the
acquaintance of some literature with which I am not familiar; she has
also found in books printed in raised letters, in the reading of which I
have been unable to follow her, much material for the cultivation of
the taste she possesses for poetical imagery. The pages of the book she
reads become to her like paintings, to which her imaginative powers give
life and colour. She is at once transported into the midst of the events
portrayed in the story she reads or is told, and the characters and
descriptions become real to her; she rejoices when justice wins, and is
sad when virtue goes unrewarded. The pictures the language paints on her
memory appear to make an indelible impression; and many times, when an
experience comes to her similar in character, the language starts forth
with wonderful accuracy, like the reflection from a mirror.
Helen's mind is so gifted by nature that she seems able to understand
with only the faintest touch of explanation every possible variety
of external relations. One day in Alabama, as we were gathering wild
flowers near the springs on the hillsides, she seemed to understand for
the first time that the springs were surrounded by mountains, and she
exclaimed: "The mountains are crowding around the springs to look at
their own beautiful reflections!" I do not know where she obtained this
language, yet it is evident that it must have come to her from without,
as it would hardly be possible for a person deprived of the visual sense
to originate such an idea. In mentioning a visit to Lexington, Mass.,
she writes: "As we rode along we could see the forest monarchs bend
their proud forms to listen to the little children of the woodlands
whispering their secrets. The anemone, the wild violet, the hepatica,
and the funny little curled-up ferns all peeped out at us from beneath