“This is a ball, Ulysses; a ball.”
I repeat it several times, until the sound has fastened itself in his
memory. Then I lay it on the table with a pipe, a cup and a book. I ask
for them, one after another, and he hands them to me. I add numerous
other objects, the names of which he has already learned, and thus
combine review with advance instruction.
Together with the noun “ball” I teach him the verbs “roll,” “throw” and
“drop,” and perhaps an adverb or two like “fast” or “slowly,” and an
adjective, “round.” Sometimes there is an awkward hitch and I have to
abandon the attempt to teach him some particular word, referring to it
again when his vocabulary has been increased in some other direction.
A certain point once passed, it was surprising with what rapidity I
proceeded. One word led to another, a number of words to phrases and
these to complete sentences. I finally dropped into a way of talking to
him about the objects with which we were working, much as I would have
talked to a bright child. I was conscious at times that only a small
part of what I was saying was understood, but it accustomed him to
hearing the words that he knew, used in association with others to form
complete statements.
In my search for objects to use in the instruction of Ulysses I happened
upon a lump of chalk. With this I sketched various things on a smooth
plank of dark wood, and found that they were readily recognized by my
pupil. From this I suddenly conceived a new idea. I sent to Madras and
had a large, firm blackboard made and ordered chalk and erasers. Then I
began a systematic and determined effort to teach Ulysses to read and
write.
There is one element that enters into all teaching, of which it is
difficult to give any conception in a narrative of results, and that is
time. I had been steadily at work with Ulysses for nearly a year before
I began to use the blackboard, and after I adopted that assistant it was
many months ere important results began to show themselves. Any one who
has ever labored with a well-meaning but obtuse pupil, will appreciate
how slow and discouraging at times my work must have been. He will also
understand how the progress, trifling, when considered day by day,
amounted to a good deal when viewed in the aggregate.
I readily taught Ulysses to hold the chalk in the fingers of his
proboscis, and to mark with it upon the blackboard. He understood that
he was to imitate, as nearly as possible, the marks that I made. In this
way I taught him to print the letters of the English alphabet in clumsy
characters several inches in size. Gradually he became more expert in
making them, and learned the names by which they were called. It was a
great triumph for me when I first succeeded in getting him to write the
letters of his own name as I called them off, and saw myself the proud
possessor of an elephant who could write his autograph, perhaps the
first of his species that ever performed that enlightened but
compromising feat.
All this was easy enough, but to make him comprehend that certain groups
of these peculiar marks formed pictures, which were to suggest definite
objects to him, was a very different sort of an undertaking. The hitch
in the proceedings at this point was so serious that, for a time, I gave
up all hope of accomplishing my object. It seemed impossible to
establish the necessary connection in his mind between the written
characters and the spoken word. At last, it suddenly dawned upon him,
and he learned (fatal omen!) the word “book.” The acquiring of one word
constituted the test in my calculations. That point being gained, the
rest was only a question of additional work and continued patience.
It was not long before Ulysses could write upon the board the names of
most of the objects that had been used in his instruction thus far,
and the verbs that I had taught him in connection with them. To
combine these words into sentences was largely a matter of imitation,
for he had already come to understand them when so arranged. In a
short time we were carrying on long conferences, and the vocabulary of
Ulysses had increased to the point of embracing most of the words used
in daily conversation. With the establishment of this mode of
inter-communication, Ulysses was able to explain to me what his
difficulties were, and I could proffer more available assistance. I
then, for the first time, enjoyed an intimate acquaintance with a
brain that was not human. I could look into it and study its character
and mode of action. I need not add that the occupation was a
fascinating one. Our conversations, which were at first limited to
visible actions and concrete objects, soon strayed into abstractions.
The rapidity with which he grasped the analogy between seeing and
thinking, and lifted himself out of the material into the metaphysical
plane, astonished me beyond measure. He possessed an over-ruling sense
of logic, keen and penetrating, and yet so swift that it seemed
transfigured to intuition. But the most wonderful feature of his
intellect was his memory. Now that words were supplied him, as tools
with which to conduct his thinking, what were before mere vague
impressions, became definite ideas, fixed and everlasting. I soon
found that it was necessary to be absolutely accurate in all that I
said to him, as he was quick to detect any inconsistency, and his
memory covered the full amount of all that I had said since he had
come to have command of the language.
For some time we conversed together every day, I talking or writing, and
he using the blackboard. As print was too slow for practical use, I
taught him to write short-hand. One day he made some inquiry of me
concerning the novel I happened to have in hand, and I read him several
chapters of it. His delight at gaining so much knowledge in so short a
time was unbounded. I discovered that he regarded it as authentic
history, and hastened to undeceive him. He was greatly shocked to find
that anything could be said or written which was not true. This led me
into something of a dissertation upon the forms of literature and the
canons of taste. He listened with an absorbed interest. The bent of his
mind was evidently not practical, but literary and artistic.
[Illustration: “_Ulysses was now ready to begin his literary
researches._”]
Ulysses’ fondness for hearing me read gave me an idea as to a means of
freeing myself from the importunities for instruction and discussion to
which he was now treating me, and which were becoming decidedly irksome.
I sent Akbar, the mahout, to Madras with a letter to a French oculist.
He brought back a large monocle which I had ordered made for the use of
my pupil. There was a hole in one of Ulysses’ ears, drilled there by
some former, less appreciative owner, through which I passed a light
silk cord, allowing the glass to hang conveniently pendant. I had a
wooden rack constructed by a neighboring rayat, who did carpenter work,
which held the volume open and at the right altitude. Ulysses was now
ready to begin his literary researches independent of my aid. Kneeling
before the rack, in which he soon learned to fasten the book himself, he
lifted the monocle to his eye, with the fingers of his trunk, and
commenced to read. At first he proceeded slowly, and was often compelled
to summon me to his assistance. After I explained to him the use of the
dictionary and allowed him to keep one near at hand, this source of
annoyance ceased, and he worked away by himself with a steadily
increasing ease and rapidity.
There was one person who had observed all these proceedings with
astonishment and disapproval. This was Briggs, the English gardener who
took care of my place. I think he had an idea that I was violating the
laws of the Church of England in some way, I scarcely know how. On one
occasion, when I happened to be in Madras, Ulysses discovered, by
appealing to him for the meaning of certain words and phrases, that all
mortals were not endowed with the same fund of information that I
happened to possess. No sooner did he find out that Briggs knew less
about such matters than he did himself than he began to treat him with
open contempt, slowly bringing up his eyeglass and inspecting him with
cold hauteur whenever he happened to come in sight.
“That there helephant,” Briggs complained to me, “do treat me most
harrogant, sir. I didn’t never expect to come to this ’ere.”