CHAPTERVI

　　IHADnowthekeytoalllanguage,andIwaseagertolearntouseit.Childrenwhohearacquirelanguagewithoutanyparticulareffort;thewordsthatfallfromothers'lipstheycatchonthewing,asitwere,delightedly,whilethelittledeafchildmusttrapthembyaslowandoftenpainfulprocess.Butwhatevertheprocess,theresultiswonderful.GraduallyfromnaminganobjectweadvancestepbystepuntilwehavetraversedthevastdistancebetweenourfirststammeredsyllableandthesweepofthoughtinalineofShakespeare.

　　Atfirst,whenmyteachertoldmeaboutanewthingIaskedveryfewquestions.Myideaswerevague,andmyvocabularywasinadequate;butasmyknowledgeofthingsgrew,andIlearnedmoreandmorewords,myfieldofinquirybroadened,andIwouldreturnagainandagaintothesamesubject,eagerforfurtherinformation.Sometimesanewwordrevivedanimagethatsomeearlierexperiencehadengravedonmybrain.

　　IrememberthemorningthatIfirstaskedthemeaningoftheword,"love."ThiswasbeforeIknewmanywords.Ihadfoundafewearlyvioletsinthegardenandbroughtthemtomyteacher.Shetriedtokissme:butatthattimeIdidnotliketohaveanyonekissmeexceptmymother.MissSullivanputherarmgentlyroundmeandspelledintomyhand,"IloveHelen."

　　"Whatislove?"Iasked.

　　Shedrewmeclosertoherandsaid,"Itishere,"pointingtomyheart,whosebeatsIwasconsciousofforthefirsttime.HerwordspuzzledmeverymuchbecauseIdidnotthenunderstandanythingunlessItouchedit.

　　Ismeltthevioletsinherhandandasked,halfinwords,halfinsigns,aquestionwhichmeant,"Islovethesweetnessofflowers?"

　　"No,"saidmyteacher.

　　AgainIthought.Thewarmsunwasshiningonus.

　　"Isthisnotlove?"Iasked,pointinginthedirectionfromwhichtheheatcame."Isthisnotlove?"

　　Itseemedtomethattherecouldbenothingmorebeautifulthanthesun,whosewarmthmakesallthingsgrow.ButMissSullivanshookherhead,andIwasgreatlypuzzledanddisappointed.Ithoughtitstrangethatmyteachercouldnotshowmelove.

　　AdayortwoafterwardIwasstringingbeadsofdifferentsizesinsymmetricalgroups–twolargebeads,threesmallones,andsoon.Ihadmademanymistakes,andMissSullivanhadpointedthemoutagainandagainwithgentlepatience.FinallyInoticedaveryobviouserrorinthesequenceandforaninstantIconcentratedmyattentiononthelessonandtriedtothinkhowIshouldhavearrangedthebeads.MissSullivantouchedmyforeheadandspelledwithdecidedemphasis,"Think."

　　InaflashIknewthatthewordwasthenameoftheprocessthatwasgoingoninmyhead.Thiswasmyfirstconsciousperceptionofanabstractidea.

　　ForalongtimeIwasstill–Iwasnotthinkingofthebeadsinmylap,buttryingtofindameaningfor"love"inthelightofthisnewidea.Thesunhadbeenunderacloudallday,andtherehadbeenbriefshowers;butsuddenlythesunbrokeforthinallitssouthernsplendour.

　　Again,Iaskedmyteacher,"Isthisnotlove?"

　　"Loveissomethinglikethecloudsthatwereintheskybeforethesuncameout,"shereplied.Theninsimplerwordsthanthese,whichatthattimeIcouldnothaveunderstood,sheexplained:"Youcannottouchtheclouds,youknow;butyoufeeltherainandknowhowgladtheflowersandthethirstyeartharetohaveitafterahotday.Youcannottouchloveeither;butyoufeelthesweetnessthatitpoursintoeverything.Withoutloveyouwouldnotbehappyorwanttoplay."

　　Thebeautifultruthburstuponmymind–Ifeltthattherewereinvisiblelinesstretchedbetweenmyspiritandthespiritsofothers.

　　FromthebeginningofmyeducationMissSullivanmadeitapracticetospeaktomeasshewouldtoanyhearingchild;theonlydifferencewasthatshespelledthesentencesintomyhandinsteadofspeakingthem.IfIdidnotknowthewordsandidiomsnecessarytoexpressmythoughtsshesuppliedthem,evensuggestingconversationwhenIwasunabletokeepupmyendofthedialogue.

　　Thisprocesswascontinuedforseveralyears;forthedeafchilddoesnotlearninamonth,orevenintwoorthreeyears,thenumberlessidiomsandexpressionsusedinthesimplestdailyintercourse.Thelittlehearingchildlearnsthesefromconstantrepetitionandimitation.Theconversationhehearsinhishomestimulateshismindandsuggeststopicsandcallsforththespontaneousexpressionofhisownthoughts.Thisnaturalexchangeofideasisdeniedtothedeafchild.Myteacher,realizingthis,determinedtosupplythekindsofstimulusIlacked.Thisshedidbyrepeatingtomeasfaraspossible,verbatimwhatsheheard,andbyshowingmehowIcouldtakepartintheconversation.ButitwasalongtimebeforeIventuredtotaketheinitiative,andstilllongerbeforeIcouldfindsomethingappropriatetosayattherighttime.

　　Thedeafandtheblindfinditverydifficulttoacquiretheamenitiesofconversation.Howmuchmorethisdifficultymustbeaugmentedinthecaseofthosewhoarebothdeafandblind!Theycannotdistinguishthetoneofthevoiceor,withoutassistance,goupanddownthegamutoftonesthatgivesignificancetowords;norcantheywatchtheexpressionofthespeaker'sface,andalookisoftentheverysoulofwhatonesays.

　　CHAPTERVII

　　THEnextimportantstepinmyeducationwaslearningtoread.

　　AssoonasIcouldspellafewwordsmyteachergavemeslipsofcardboardonwhichwereprintedwordsinraisedletters.Iquicklylearnedthateachprintedwordstoodforanobject,anact,oraquality.IhadaframeinwhichIcouldarrangethewordsinlittlesentences;butbeforeIeverputsentencesintheframeIusedtomaketheminobjects.Ifoundtheslipsofpaperwhichrepresented,forexample,"doll,""is,""on,""bed"andplacedeachnameonitsobject;thenIputmydollonthebedwiththewordsis,on,bedarrangedbesidethedoll,thusmakingasentenceoutofthewords,andatthesametimecarryingouttheideaofthesentencewiththethingsthemselves.

　　Oneday,MissSullivantellsme,Ipinnedthewordgirlonmypinaforeandstoodinthewardrobe.OntheshelfIarrangedthewords,is,in,wardrobe.Nothingdelightedmesomuchasthisgame.MyteacherandIplayeditforhoursatatime.Ofteneverythingintheroomwasarrangedinobjectsentences.

　　Fromtheprintedslipitwasbutasteptotheprintedbook.Itookmy"ReaderforBeginners"andhuntedforthewordsIknew;whenIfoundthemmyjoywaslikethatofagameofhide-and-seek.ThusIbegantoread.OfthetimewhenIbegantoreadconnectedstoriesIshallspeaklater.

　　ForalongtimeIhadnoregularlessons.EvenwhenIstudiedmostearnestlyitseemedmorelikeplaythanwork.EverythingMissSullivantaughtmesheillustratedbyabeautifulstoryorapoem.Wheneveranythingdelightedorinterestedmeshetalkeditoverwithmejustasifshewerealittlegirlherself.Whatmanychildrenthinkofwithdread,asapainfulploddingthroughgrammar,hardsumsandharderdefinitions,isto-dayoneofmymostpreciousmemories.

　　IcannotexplainthepeculiarsympathyMissSullivanhadwithmypleasuresanddesires.Perhapsitwastheresultoflongassociationwiththeblind.Addedtothisshehadawonderfulfacultyfordescription.Shewentquicklyoveruninterestingdetails,andnevernaggedmewithquestionstoseeifIrememberedtheday-before-yesterday'slesson.Sheintroduceddrytechnicalitiesofsciencelittlebylittle,makingeverysubjectsorealthatIcouldnothelprememberingwhatshetaught.

　　Wereadandstudiedoutofdoors,preferringthesunlitwoodstothehouse.Allmyearlylessonshaveinthemthebreathofthewoods–thefine,resinousodourofpineneedles,blendedwiththeperfumeofwildgrapes.Seatedinthegraciousshadeofawildtuliptree,Ilearnedtothinkthateverythinghasalessonandasuggestion."Thelovelinessofthingstaughtmealltheiruse."Indeed,everythingthatcouldhum,orbuzz,orsing,orbloom,hadapartinmyeducation–noisy-throatedfrogs,katydidsandcricketsheldinmyhanduntil,forgettingtheirembarrassment,theytrilledtheirreedynote,littledownychickensandwild-flowers,thedogwoodblossoms,meadow-violetsandbuddingfruittrees.Ifelttheburstingcotton-bollsandfingeredtheirsoftfiberandfuzzyseeds;Ifeltthelowsoughingofthewindthroughthecornstalks,thesilkyrustlingofthelongleaves,andtheindignantsnortofmypony,aswecaughthiminthepastureandputthebitinhismouth–ahme!howwellIrememberthespicy,cloverysmellofhisbreath!

　　SometimesIroseatdawnandstoleintothegardenwhiletheheavydewlayonthegrassandflowers.Fewknowwhatjoyitistofeeltherosespressingsoftlyintothehand,orthebeautifulmotionoftheliliesastheyswayinthemorningbreeze.SometimesIcaughtaninsectintheflowerIwasplucking,andIfeltthefaintnoiseofapairofwingsrubbedtogetherinasuddenterror,asthelittlecreaturebecameawareofapressurefromwithout.

　　Anotherfavouritehauntofminewastheorchard,wherethefruitripenedearlyinJuly.Thelarge,downypeacheswouldreachthemselvesintomyhand,andasthejoyousbreezesflewaboutthetreestheapplestumbledatmyfeet.Oh,thedelightwithwhichIgatheredupthefruitinmypinafore,pressedmyfaceagainstthesmoothcheeksoftheapples,stillwarmfromthesun,andskippedbacktothehouse!

　　OurfavouritewalkwastoKeller'sLanding,anoldtumble-downlumber-wharfontheTennesseeRiver,usedduringtheCivilWartolandsoldiers.Therewespentmanyhappyhoursandplayedatlearninggeography.Ibuiltdamsofpebbles,madeislandsandlakes,anddugriver-beds,allforfun,andneverdreamedthatIwaslearningalesson.IlistenedwithincreasingwondertoMissSullivan'sdescriptionsofthegreatroundworldwithitsburningmountains,buriedcities,movingriversofice,andmanyotherthingsasstrange.Shemaderaisedmapsinclay,sothatIcouldfeelthemountainridgesandvalleys,andfollowwithmyfingersthedeviouscourseofrivers.Ilikedthis,too;butthedivisionoftheearthintozonesandpolesconfusedandteasedmymind.Theillustrativestringsandtheorangestickrepresentingthepolesseemedsorealthateventothisdaythemerementionoftemperatezonesuggestsaseriesoftwinecircles;andIbelievethatifanyoneshouldsetaboutithecouldconvincemethatwhitebearsactuallyclimbtheNorthPole.

　　ArithmeticseemstohavebeentheonlystudyIdidnotlike.FromthefirstIwasnotinterestedinthescienceofnumbers.MissSullivantriedtoteachmetocountbystringingbeadsingroups,andbyarrangingkindergartenstrawsIlearnedtoaddandsubtract.Ineverhadpatiencetoarrangemorethanfiveorsixgroupsatatime.WhenIhadaccomplishedthismyconsciencewasatrestfortheday,andIwentoutquicklytofindmyplaymates.

　　InthissameleisurelymannerIstudiedzo?logyandbotany.

　　Onceagentleman,whosenameIhaveforgotten,sentmeacollectionoffossils–tinymolluskshellsbeautifullymarked,andbitsofsandstonewiththeprintofbirds'claws,andalovelyferninbas-relief.Thesewerethekeyswhichunlockedthetreasuresoftheantediluvianworldforme.WithtremblingfingersIlistenedtoMissSullivan'sdescriptionsoftheterriblebeasts,withuncouth,unpronounceablenames,whichoncewenttrampingthroughtheprimevalforests,tearingdownthebranchesofgigantictreesforfood,anddiedinthedismalswampsofanunknownage.Foralongtimethesestrangecreatureshauntedmydreams,andthisgloomyperiodformedasomberbackgroundtothejoyousNow,filledwithsunshineandrosesandechoingwiththegentlebeatofmypony'shoof.

　　Anothertimeabeautifulshellwasgivenme,andwithachild'ssurpriseanddelightIlearnedhowatinymolluskhadbuiltthelustrouscoilforhisdwellingplace,andhowonstillnights,whenthereisnobreezestirringthewaves,theNautilussailsonthebluewatersoftheIndianOceaninhis"shipofpearl."AfterIhadlearnedagreatmanyinterestingthingsaboutthelifeandhabitsofthechildrenofthesea–howinthemidstofdashingwavesthelittlepolypsbuildthebeautifulcoralislesofthePacific,andtheforaminiferahavemadethechalk-hillsofmanyaland–myteacherreadme"TheChamberedNautilus,"andshowedmethattheshell-buildingprocessofthemollusksissymbolicalofthedevelopmentofthemind.Justasthewonder-workingmantleoftheNautiluschangesthematerialitabsorbsfromthewaterandmakesitapartofitself,sothebitsofknowledgeonegathersundergoasimilarchangeandbecomepearlsofthought.

　　Again,itwasthegrowthofaplantthatfurnishedthetextforalesson.Weboughtalilyandsetitinasunnywindow.Verysoonthegreen,pointedbudsshowedsignsofopening.Theslender,fingerlikeleavesontheoutsideopenedslowly,reluctant,Ithought,torevealthelovelinesstheyhid;oncehavingmadeastart,however,theopeningprocesswentonrapidly,butinorderandsystematically.Therewasalwaysonebudlargerandmorebeautifulthantherest,whichpushedheroutercoveringbackwithmorepomp,asifthebeautyinsoft,silkyrobesknewthatshewasthelily-queenbyrightdivine,whilehermoretimidsistersdoffedtheirgreenhoodsshyly,untilthewholeplantwasonenoddingboughoflovelinessandfragrance.

　　Oncetherewereeleventadpolesinaglassglobesetinawindowfullofplants.IremembertheeagernesswithwhichImadediscoveriesaboutthem.Itwasgreatfuntoplungemyhandintothebowlandfeelthetadpolesfriskabout,andtoletthemslipandslidebetweenmyfingers.Onedayamoreambitiousfellowleapedbeyondtheedgeofthebowlandfellonthefloor,whereIfoundhimtoallappearancemoredeadthanalive.Theonlysignoflifewasaslightwrigglingofhistail.Butnosoonerhadhereturnedtohiselementthanhedartedtothebottom,swimmingroundandroundinjoyousactivity.Hehadmadehisleap,hehadseenthegreatworld,andwascontenttostayinhisprettyglasshouseunderthebigfuchsiatreeuntilheattainedthedignityoffroghood.Thenhewenttoliveintheleafypoolattheendofthegarden,wherehemadethesummernightsmusicalwithhisquaintlove-song.

　　ThusIlearnedfromlifeitself.AtthebeginningIwasonlyalittlemassofpossibilities.Itwasmyteacherwhounfoldedanddevelopedthem.Whenshecame,everythingaboutmebreathedofloveandjoyandwasfullofmeaning.Shehasneversinceletpassanopportunitytopointoutthebeautythatisineverything,norhassheceasedtryinginthoughtandactionandexampletomakemylifesweetanduseful.

　　Itwasmyteacher'sgenius,herquicksympathy,herlovingtactwhichmadethefirstyearsofmyeducationsobeautiful.Itwasbecausesheseizedtherightmomenttoimpartknowledgethatmadeitsopleasantandacceptabletome.Sherealizedthatachild'smindislikeashallowbrookwhichripplesanddancesmerrilyoverthestonycourseofitseducationandreflectshereaflower,thereabush,yonderafleecycloud;andsheattemptedtoguidemymindonitsway,knowingthatlikeabrookitshouldbefedbymountainstreamsandhiddensprings,untilitbroadenedoutintoadeepriver,capableofreflectinginitsplacidsurface,billowyhills,theluminousshadowsoftreesandtheblueheavens,aswellasthesweetfaceofalittleflower.

　　Anyteachercantakeachildtotheclassroom,butnoteveryteachercanmakehimlearn.Hewillnotworkjoyouslyunlesshefeelsthatlibertyishis,whetherheisbusyoratrest;hemustfeeltheflushofvictoryandtheheart-sinkingofdisappointmentbeforehetakeswithawillthetasksdistastefultohimandresolvestodancehiswaybravelythroughadullroutineoftextbooks.

　　MyteacherissoneartomethatIscarcelythinkofmyselfapartfromher.Howmuchofmydelightinallbeautifulthingsisinnate,andhowmuchisduetoherinfluence,Icannevertell.Ifeelthatherbeingisinseparablefrommyown,andthatthefootstepsofmylifeareinhers.Allthebestofmebelongstoher–thereisnotatalent,oranaspirationorajoyinmethathasnotbeenawakenedbyherlovingtouch.