Story of My Life, Part 1 (Version 3) — Chapter 23

CHAPTER XXIII

Would that I could enrich this sketch with the names of all those who have ministered to my happiness!

Some of them would be found written in our literature and dear to the hearts of many, while others would be wholly unknown to most of my readers.

But their influence, though it escapes fame, shall live immortal in the lives that have been sweetened and ennobled by it.

Those are red-letter days in our lives when we meet people who thrill us like a fine poem, people whose handshake is brimful of unspoken sympathy, and whose sweet, rich natures impart to our eager, impatient spirits a wonderful restfulness which, in its essence, is divine.

The perplexities, irritations and worries that have absorbed us pass like unpleasant dreams, and we wake to see with new eyes and hear with new ears the beauty and harmony of God's real world.

The solemn nothings that fill our everyday life blossom suddenly into bright possibilities.

In a word, while such friends are near us we feel that all is well.

Perhaps we never saw them before, and they may never cross our life's path again; but the influence of their calm, mellow natures is a libation poured upon our discontent, and we feel its healing touch, as the ocean feels the mountain stream freshening its brine.

I have often been asked, "Do not people bore you?"

I do not understand quite what that means.

I suppose the calls of the stupid and curious, especially of newspaper reporters, are always inopportune.

I also dislike people who try to talk down to my understanding.

They are like people who when walking with you try to shorten their steps to suit yours; the hypocrisy in both cases is equally exasperating.

The hands of those I meet are dumbly eloquent to me.

The touch of some hands is an impertinence.

I have met people so empty of joy, that when I clasped their frosty finger tips, it seemed as if I were shaking hands with a northeast storm.

Others there are whose hands have sunbeams in them, so that their grasp warms my heart.

It may be only the clinging touch of a child's hand; but there is as much potential sunshine in it for me as there is in a loving glance for others.

A hearty handshake or a friendly letter gives me genuine pleasure.

I have many far-off friends whom I have never seen.

Indeed they are so many that I have often been unable to reply to their letters; but I wish to say here that I am always grateful for their kind words, however insufficiently I acknowledge them.

I count it one of the sweetest privileges of my life to have known and conversed with many men of genius.

Only those who knew Bishop Brooks can appreciate the joy his friendship was to those who possessed it.

As a child I loved to sit on his knee and clasp his great hand with one of mine, while Miss Sullivan spelled into the other his beautiful words about God and the spiritual world.

I heard him with a child's wonder and delight.

My spirit could not reach up to his, but he gave me a real sense of joy in life, and I never left him without carrying away a fine thought that grew in beauty and depth of meaning as I grew.

Once, when I was puzzled to know why there were so many religions, he said: "There is one universal religion, Helen--the religion of love.

Love your Heavenly Father with your whole heart and soul, love every child of God as much as ever you can, and remember that the possibilities of good are greater than the possibilities of evil; and you have the key to Heaven."

And his life was a happy illustration of this great truth.

In his noble soul love and widest knowledge were blended with faith that had become insight.

He saw God in all that liberates and lifts, In all that humbles, sweetens and consoles.

Bishop Brooks taught me no special creed or dogma; but he impressed upon my mind two great ideas--the fatherhood of God and the brotherhood of man, and made me feel that these truths underlie all creeds and forms of worship.

God is love, God is our Father, we are His children; therefore the darkest clouds will break and though right be worsted, wrong shall not triumph.

I am too happy in this world to think much about the future, except to remember that I have cherished friends awaiting me there in God's beautiful Somewhere.

In spite of the lapse of years, they seem so close to me that I should not think it strange if at any moment they should clasp my hand and speak words of endearment as they used to before they went away.

Since Bishop Brooks died I have read the Bible through; also some philosophical works on religion, among them Swedenborg's "Heaven and Hell" and Drummond's "Ascent of Man," and I have found no creed or system more soul-satisfying than Bishop Brooks's creed of love.

I knew Mr. Henry Drummond, and the memory of his strong, warm hand-clasp is like a benediction.

He was the most sympathetic of companions.

He knew so much and was so genial that it was impossible to feel dull in his presence.

I remember well the first time I saw Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes.

He had invited Miss Sullivan and me to call on him one Sunday afternoon.

It was early in the spring, just after I had learned to speak.

We were shown at once to his library where we found him seated in a big armchair by an open fire which glowed and crackled on the hearth, thinking, he said, of other days.

"And listening to the murmur of the River Charles," I suggested.

"Yes," he replied, "the Charles has many dear associations for me."

There was an odour of print and leather in the room which told me that it was full of books, and I stretched out my hand instinctively to find them.

My fingers lighted upon a beautiful volume of Tennyson's poems, and when Miss Sullivan told me what it was I began to recite: Break, break, break On thy cold gray stones, O sea!

But I stopped suddenly.

I felt tears on my hand.

I had made my beloved poet weep, and I was greatly distressed.

He made me sit in his armchair, while he brought different interesting things for me to examine, and at his request I recited "The Chambered Nautilus," which was then my favorite poem.

After that I saw Dr. Holmes many times and learned to love the man as well as the poet.

One beautiful summer day, not long after my meeting with Dr. Holmes, Miss Sullivan and I visited Whittier in his quiet home on the Merrimac.

His gentle courtesy and quaint speech won my heart.

He had a book of his poems in raised print from which I read "In School Days."

He was delighted that I could pronounce the words so well, and said that he had no difficulty in understanding me.

Then I asked many questions about the poem, and read his answers by placing my fingers on his lips.

He said he was the little boy in the poem, and that the girl's name was Sally, and more which I have forgotten.

I also recited "Laus Deo," and as I spoke the concluding verses, he placed in my hands a statue of a slave from whose crouching figure the fetters were falling, even as they fell from Peter's limbs when the angel led him forth out of prison.

Afterward we went into his study, and he wrote his autograph for my teacher ["With great admiration of thy noble work in releasing from bondage the mind of thy dear pupil, I am truly thy friend.

John G. Whittier."

] and expressed his admiration of her work, saying to me, "She is thy spiritual liberator."

Then he led me to the gate and kissed me tenderly on my forehead.

I promised to visit him again the following summer, but he died before the promise was fulfilled.

Dr. Edward Everett Hale is one of my very oldest friends.

I have known him since I was eight, and my love for him has increased with my years.

His wise, tender sympathy has been the support of Miss Sullivan and me in times of trial and sorrow, and his strong hand has helped us over many rough places; and what he has done for us he has done for thousands of those who have difficult tasks to accomplish.

He has filled the old skins of dogma with the new wine of love, and shown men what it is to believe, live and be free.

What he has taught we have seen beautifully expressed in his own life--love of country, kindness to the least of his brethren, and a sincere desire to live upward and onward.

He has been a prophet and an inspirer of men, and a mighty doer of the Word, the friend of all his race--God bless him!

I have already written of my first meeting with Dr. Alexander Graham Bell.

Since then I have spent many happy days with him at Washington and at his beautiful home in the heart of Cape Breton Island, near Baddeck, the village made famous by Charles Dudley Warner's book.

Here in Dr. Bell's laboratory, or in the fields on the shore of the great Bras d'Or, I have spent many delightful hours listening to what he had to tell me about his experiments, and helping him fly kites by means of which he expects to discover the laws that shall govern the future air-ship.

Dr. Bell is proficient in many fields of science, and has the art of making every subject he touches interesting, even the most abstruse theories.

He makes you feel that if you only had a little more time, you, too, might be an inventor.

He has a humorous and poetic side, too.

His dominating passion is his love for children.

He is never quite so happy as when he has a little deaf child in his arms.

His labours in behalf of the deaf will live on and bless generations of children yet to come; and we love him alike for what he himself has achieved and for what he has evoked from others.

During the two years I spent in New York I had many opportunities to talk with distinguished people whose names I had often heard, but whom I had never expected to meet.

Most of them I met first in the house of my good friend, Mr. Laurence Hutton.

It was a great privilege to visit him and dear Mrs. Hutton in their lovely home, and see their library and read the beautiful sentiments and bright thoughts gifted friends had written for them.

It has been truly said that Mr. Hutton has the faculty of bringing out in every one the best thoughts and kindest sentiments.

One does not need to read "A Boy I Knew" to understand him--the most generous, sweet-natured boy I ever knew, a good friend in all sorts of weather, who traces the footprints of love in the life of dogs as well as in that of his fellowmen.

Mrs. Hutton is a true and tried friend.

Much that I hold sweetest, much that I hold most precious, I owe to her.

She has oftenest advised and helped me in my progress through college.

When I find my work particularly difficult and discouraging, she writes me letters that make me feel glad and brave; for she is one of those from whom we learn that one painful duty fulfilled makes the next plainer and easier.

Mr. Hutton introduced me to many of his literary friends, greatest of whom are Mr. William Dean Howells and Mark Twain.

I also met Mr. Richard Watson Gilder and Mr. Edmund Clarence Stedman.

I also knew Mr. Charles Dudley Warner, the most delightful of story-tellers and the most beloved friend, whose sympathy was so broad that it may be truly said of him, he loved all living things and his neighbour as himself.

Once Mr. Warner brought to see me the dear poet of the woodlands--Mr. John Burroughs.

They were all gentle and sympathetic and I felt the charm of their manner as much as I had felt the brilliancy of their essays and poems.

I could not keep pace with all these literary folk as they glanced from subject to subject and entered into deep dispute, or made conversation sparkle with epigrams and happy witticisms.

I was like little Ascanius, who followed with unequal steps the heroic strides of Aeneas on his march toward mighty destinies.

But they spoke many gracious words to me.

Mr. Gilder told me about his moonlight journeys across the vast desert to the Pyramids, and in a letter he wrote me he made his mark under his signature deep in the paper so that I could feel it.

This reminds me that Dr. Hale used to give a personal touch to his letters to me by pricking his signature in braille.

I read from Mark Twain's lips one or two of his good stories.

He has his own way of thinking, saying and doing everything.

I feel the twinkle of his eye in his handshake.

Even while he utters his cynical wisdom in an indescribably droll voice, he makes you feel that his heart is a tender Iliad of human sympathy.

There are a host of other interesting people I met in New York: Mrs. Mary Mapes Dodge, the beloved editor of St. Nicholas, and Mrs. Riggs (Kate Douglas Wiggin), the sweet author of "Patsy."

I received from them gifts that have the gentle concurrence of the heart, books containing their own thoughts, soul-illumined letters, and photographs that I love to have described again and again.

But there is not space to mention all my friends, and indeed there are things about them hidden behind the wings of cherubim, things too sacred to set forth in cold print.

It is with hesitancy that I have spoken even of Mrs. Laurence Hutton.

I shall mention only two other friends.

One is Mrs. William Thaw, of Pittsburgh, whom I have often visited in her home, Lyndhurst.

She is always doing something to make some one happy, and her generosity and wise counsel have never failed my teacher and me in all the years we have known her.

To the other friend I am also deeply indebted.

He is well known for the powerful hand with which he guides vast enterprises, and his wonderful abilities have gained for him the respect of all.

Kind to every one, he goes about doing good, silent and unseen.

Again I touch upon the circle of honoured names I must not mention; but I would fain acknowledge his generosity and affectionate interest which make it possible for me to go to college.

Thus it is that my friends have made the story of my life.

In a thousand ways they have turned my limitations into beautiful privileges, and enabled me to walk serene and happy in the shadow cast by my deprivation.

II. LETTERS(1887-1901)

II. LETTERS(1887-1901)

INTRODUCTION

Helen Keller's letters are important, not only as a supplementary story of her life, but as a demonstration of her growth in thought and expression--the growth which in itself has made her distinguished.

These letters are, however, not merely remarkable as the productions of a deaf and blind girl, to be read with wonder and curiosity; they are good letters almost from the first.

The best passages are those in which she talks about herself, and gives her world in terms of her experience of it.

Her views on the precession of the equinoxes are not important, but most important are her accounts of what speech meant to her, of how she felt the statues, the dogs, the chickens at the poultry show, and how she stood in the aisle of St. Bartholomew's and felt the organ rumble.

Those are passages of which one would ask for more.

The reason they are comparatively few is that all her life she has been trying to be "like other people," and so she too often describes things not as they appear to her, but as they appear to one with eyes and ears.

One cause for the excellence of her letters is the great number of them.

They are the exercises which have trained her to write.

She has lived at different times in different parts of the country, and so has been separated from most of her friends and relatives.

Of her friends, many have been distinguished people, to whom--not often, I think, at the sacrifice of spontaneity--she has felt it necessary to write well.

To them and to a few friends with whom she is in closest sympathy she writes with intimate frankness whatever she is thinking about.

Her naive retelling of a child's tale she has heard, like the story of "Little Jakey," which she rehearses for Dr. Holmes and Bishop Brooks, is charming and her grave paraphrase of the day's lesson in geography or botany, her parrot-like repetition of what she has heard, and her conscious display of new words, are delightful and instructive;

for they show not only what she was learning, but how, by putting it all into letters, she made the new knowledge and the new words her own.

So these selections from Miss Keller's correspondence are made with two purposes--to show her development and to preserve the most entertaining and significant passages from several hundred letters.

Many of those written before 1892 were published in the reports of the Perkins Institution for the Blind.

All letters up to that year are printed intact, for it is legitimate to be interested in the degree of skill the child showed in writing, even to details of punctuation; so it is well to preserve a literal integrity of reproduction.

From the letters after the year 1892 I have culled in the spirit of one making an anthology, choosing the passages best in style and most important from the point of view of biography.

Where I have been able to collate the original letters I have preserved everything as Miss Keller wrote it, punctuation, spelling, and all.

I have done nothing but select and cut.

The letters are arranged in chronological order.

One or two letters from Bishop Brooks, Dr. Holmes, and Whittier are put immediately after the letters to which they are replies.

Except for two or three important letters of 1901, these selections cease with the year 1900. In that year Miss Keller entered college.

Now that she is a grown woman, her mature letters should be judged like those of any other person, and it seems best that no more of her correspondence be published unless she should become distinguished beyond the fact that she is the only well-educated deaf and blind person in the world.

LETTERS (1887-1901)

Miss Sullivan began to teach Helen Keller on March 3rd, 1887. Three months and a half after the first word was spelled into her hand, she wrote in pencil this letter TO HER COUSIN ANNA, MRS.

GEORGE T.

TURNER

[Tuscumbia, Alabama, June 17, 1887. ] helen write anna george will give helen apple simpson will shoot bird jack will give helen stick of candy doctor will give mildred medicine mother will make mildred new dress [No signature] Twenty-five days later, while she was on a short visit away from home, she wrote to her mother.

Two words are almost illegible, and the angular print slants in every direction.

TO MRS.

KATE ADAMS KELLER

[Huntsville, Alabama, July 12, 1887. ] Helen will write mother letter papa did give helen medicine mildred will sit in swing mildred did kiss helen teacher did give helen peach george is sick in bed george arm is hurt anna did give helen lemonade dog did stand up.

conductor did punch ticket papa did give helen drink of water in car carlotta did give helen flowers anna will buy helen pretty new hat helen will hug and kiss mother helen will come home grandmother does love helen good-by [No signature.

] By the following September Helen shows improvement in fulness of construction and more extended relations of thought.

TO THE BLIND GIRLS AT THE PERKINS INSTITUTION IN SOUTH BOSTON [Tuscumbia, September, 1887. ] Helen will write little blind girls a letter Helen and teacher will come to see little blind girls Helen and teacher will go in steam car to boston Helen and blind girls will have fun blind girls can talk on fingers Helen will see Mr anagnos Mr anagnos will love and kiss Helen Helen will go to school with blind girls Helen can read and count and spell and write like blind girls mildred will not go to boston Mildred does cry prince and jumbo will go to boston papa does shoot ducks with gun and ducks do fall in water and jumbo and mamie do swim in water and bring ducks out in mouth to papa Helen does play with dogs Helen does ride on horseback with teacher Helen does give handee grass in hand teacher does whip handee to go fast Helen is blind Helen will put letter in envelope for blind girls good-by HELEN KELLER

A few weeks later her style is more nearly correct and freer in movement.

She improves in idiom, although she still omits articles and uses the "did" construction for the simple past.

This is an idiom common among children.

TO THE BLIND GIRLS AT THE PERKINS INSTITUTION

[Tuscumbia, October 24, 1887. ] dear little blind girls I will write you a letter I thank you for pretty desk I did write to mother in memphis on it mother and mildred came home wednesday mother brought me a pretty new dress and hat papa did go to huntsville he brought me apples and candy I and teacher will come to boston and see you nancy is my doll she does cry I do rock nancy to sleep mildred is sick doctor will give her medicine to make her well.

I and teacher did go to church sunday mr. lane did read in book and talk Lady did play organ.

I did give man money in basket.

I will be good girl and teacher will curl my hair lovely.

I will hug and kiss little blind girls mr. anagnos will come to see me.

good-by HELEN KELLER

TO MR.

MICHAEL ANAGNOS, DIRECTOR OF THE PERKINS INSTITUTION

[Tuscumbia, November, 1887. ] dear mr. anagnos I will write you a letter.

I and teacher did have pictures.

teacher will send it to you.

photographer does make pictures.

carpenter does build new houses.

gardener does dig and hoe ground and plant vegetables.

my doll nancy is sleeping.

she is sick.

mildred is well uncle frank has gone hunting deer.

we will have venison for breakfast when he comes home.

I did ride in wheel barrow and teacher did push it.

simpson did give me popcorn and walnuts.

cousin rosa has gone to see her mother.

people do go to church sunday.

I did read in my book about fox and box.

fox can sit in the box.

I do like to read in my book.

you do love me.

I do love you.

good-by HELEN KELLER.

TO DR.

ALEXANDER GRAHAM BELL

[Tuscumbia, November, 1887. ] Dear Mr. Bell.

I am glad to write you a letter, Father will send you picture.

I

and Father and aunt did go to see you in Washington.

I did play with your watch.

I do love you.

I saw doctor in Washington.

He looked at my eyes.

I can read stories in my book.

I can write and spell and count.

good girl.

My sister can walk and run.

We do have fun with Jumbo.

Prince is not good dog.

He can not get birds.

Rat did kill baby pigeons.

I am sorry.

Rat does not know wrong.

I and mother and teacher will go to Boston in June.

I will see little blind girls.

Nancy will go with me.

She is a good doll.

Father will buy me lovely new watch.

Cousin Anna gave me a pretty doll.

Her name is Allie.

Good-by, HELEN KELLER.

By the beginning of the next year her idioms are firmer.

More adjectives appear, including adjectives of colour.

Although she can have no sensuous knowledge of colour, she can use the words, as we use most of our vocabulary, intellectually, with truth, not to impression, but to fact.

This letter is to a school-mate at the Perkins Institution.

TO MISS SARAH TOMLINSON

Tuscumbia, Ala.

Jan.

2nd 1888. Dear Sarah I am happy to write to you this morning.

I hope Mr. Anagnos is coming to see me soon.

I will go to Boston in June and I will buy father gloves, and James nice collar, and Simpson cuffs.

I saw Miss Betty and her scholars.

They had a pretty Christmas-tree, and there were many pretty presents on it for little children.

I

had a mug, and little bird and candy.

I had many lovely things for Christmas.

Aunt gave me a trunk for Nancy and clothes.

I went to party with teacher and mother.

We did dance and play and eat nuts and candy and cakes and oranges and I did have fun with little boys and girls.

Mrs. Hopkins did send me lovely ring, I do love her and little blind girls.

Men and boys do make carpets in mills.

Wool grows on sheep.

Men do cut sheep's wool off with large shears, and send it to the mill.

Men and women do make wool cloth in mills.

Cotton grows on large stalks in fields.

Men and boys and girls and women do pick cotton.

We do make thread and cotton dresses of cotton.

Cotton has pretty white and red flowers on it.

Teacher did tear her dress.

Mildred does cry.

I will nurse Nancy.

Mother will buy me lovely new aprons and dress to take to Boston.

I went to Knoxville with father and aunt.

Bessie is weak and little.

Mrs. Thompson's chickens killed Leila's chickens.

Eva does sleep in my bed.

I do love good girls.

Good-by HELEN KELLER.

The next two letters mention her visit in January to her relatives in Memphis, Tennessee.

She was taken to the cotton exchange.

When she felt the maps and blackboards she asked, "Do men go to school?"

She wrote on the blackboard the names of all the gentlemen present.

While at Memphis she went over one of the large Mississippi steamers.

TO DR.

EDWARD EVERETT HALE

Tuscumbia, Alabama, February 15th [1888].

Dear Mr. Hale, I am happy to write you a letter this morning.

Teacher told me about kind gentleman I shall be glad to read pretty story I do read stories in my book about tigers and lions and sheep.

I am coming to Boston in June to see little blind girls and I will come to see you.

I went to Memphis to see grandmother and Aunt Nannie.

Teacher bought me lovely new dress and cap and aprons.

Little Natalie is a very weak and small baby.

Father took us to see steamboat.

It was on a large river.

Boat is like house.

Mildred is a good baby.

I do love to play with little sister.

Nancy was not a good child when I went to Memphis.

She did cry loud.

I will not write more to-day.

I am tired.

Good-by HELEN KELLER.

TO MR.

MICHAEL ANAGNOS

Tuscumbia, Ala.

, Feb.

24th, 1888. My dear Mr. Anagnos,--I am glad to write you a letter in Braille.

This morning Lucien Thompson sent me a beautiful bouquet of violets and crocuses and jonquils.

Sunday Adeline Moses brought me a lovely doll.

It came from New York.

Her name is Adeline Keller.

She can shut her eyes and bend her arms and sit down and stand up straight.

She has on a pretty red dress.

She is Nancy's sister and I am their mother.

Allie is their cousin.

Nancy was a bad child when I went to Memphis she cried loud, I whipped her with a stick.

Mildred does feed little chickens with crumbs.

I love to play with little sister.

Teacher and I went to Memphis to see aunt Nannie and grandmother.

Louise is aunt Nannie's child.

Teacher bought me a lovely new dress and gloves and stockings and collars and grandmother made me warm flannels, and aunt Nannie made me aprons.

Lady made me a pretty cap.

I went to see Robert and Mr. Graves and Mrs. Graves and little Natalie, and Mr. Farris and Mr. Mayo and Mary and everyone.

I do love Robert and teacher.

She does not want me to write more today.

I feel tired.

I found box of candy in Mr. Grave's pocket.