“What will your ambition be when your college course is completed?” I
asked.
“I think I should like to write,—for children. I tell stories to
my little friends a great deal of the time now, but they are not
original,—not yet. Most of them are translations from the Greek, and
I think no one can write anything prettier for the young. Charles
Kingsley has written some equally good things, like ‘Water Babies,’ for
instance. ‘Alice in Wonderland’ is a fine story, too, but none of them
can surpass the Greek tales.”
Many of our advanced thinkers are fond of advancing the theory that the
medium of communication in the future will not be spoken words, but
the more subtle and genuine, if mute, language of the face, the eyes,
the whole body. Sarah Bernhardt forcibly illustrates the effectiveness
of this method, for even those who do not understand a word of French
derive nearly as much pleasure from the great actress’s performances
as those who are thoroughly familiar with the language. Helen Keller’s
dramatic power of expression is equally telling.
She is enthusiastic in her admiration of everything Greek. The
language, the literature, the arts, the history of the classic land
fascinate and enthrall her imagination.
“Oh, yes,” she exclaimed, eagerly, in answer to my query if she
expected to go to Greece sometime, “it is one of my air castles. Ever
since I was as tall as that,” (she held her hand a short distance from
the floor) “I have dreamed about it.”
“Do you believe the dream will some day become a reality?”
“I hope so, but I dare not be too sure,”—and the sober words of wisdom
that followed sounded oddly enough on the girlish lips,—“the world is
full of disappointments and vicissitudes, and I have to be a little
conservative.”
“Which of your studies interest you most?”
“Latin and Greek. I am reading now Virgil’s ‘Eclogues,’ Cicero’s
‘Orations,’ Homer’s ‘Iliad’ and ‘Odyssey,’” she said, and ran rapidly
over a list of classic books which she likes.
Her readiness to perceive a joke and her quickness to detect the
least carelessness in language are distinguishing traits, which she
illustrated even during our brief conversation. Commenting on her love
of everything pertaining to Greece, I remarked that a believer in the
doctrine of metempsychosis might imagine that she possessed the soul
of an old Greek. Instantly she noticed the little slip, and, laughing
gayly, cried: “Oh, no, not the soul of an _old_ Greek, the soul of a
_young_ Greek.”
Helen’s merriment was infectious, and we all joined heartily in
the laugh, Miss Sullivan saying, “She caught you there,” as I was
endeavoring to explain that, of course, I meant the soul of an ancient
Greek.
While taking so deep an interest in matters intellectual, and living
in a world of her own, penetrated by no outward sight or sound, Miss
Keller’s tastes are as normal as those of any girl of nineteen. She
is full of animal spirit, dearly loves a practical joke, is fond of
dancing, enjoys outside exercise and sport, and has the natural desire
of every healthy young maiden to wear pretty things and look her best.