God often speaks to us, but we often don't hear him!
But is it because we don't want to, or for what reason?
Helen Keller, who was deaf, dumb and blind, managed to grasp the beauty of music! A miracle!

Georgette Joly

In March 1924, Helen Keller wrote the following letter to the New York Symphony Orchestra. In it, she recounts, with poignant sensitivity, the unforgettable experience of listening, in her own unique way, to Beethoven's Ninth Symphony broadcast on the radio.

Dear friends,

I'm delighted to tell you that last night, despite being deaf and blind, I spent a wonderful hour listening to Beethoven's Ninth Symphony, thanks to the magic of the radio.

I don't want to say that I "heard" it as others do, and I don't know if I'll ever be able to make you understand how I was able to derive such rapture from it. It was a huge surprise for me.

In my Braille magazine, I had read how much happiness radio brought to blind people around the world. I was delighted to hear that they had discovered a new source of pleasure, but I never imagined that I too could enjoy it.

Last night, while my family was enjoying your masterful interpretation of this immortal symphony, someone suggested I put my hand on the receiver to see if I could feel the vibrations.

He unscrewed the cap, and I gently placed my fingers on the thin membrane.
What amazement!

Not only could I feel the tremors of the music, but also its fiery rhythm, its throbbing breath, its irresistible momentum!

The interwoven vibrations of the various instruments bewitched me. I could distinguish the dazzling trumpets, the deep rolling of the drums, the low, vibrant song of the violas, the sublime melody of the violins.

What a marvelous language of strings, gliding and undulating over the depths of the other instruments!

And suddenly, bursting from the harmonious tumult, the human voices rose, quivering, and I recognized them instantly.

They were exalted, luminous, like bright flames rising to the heavens, so much so that my heart hung in my throat.
The female voices seemed to me the very embodiment of angelic choirs, surging in a harmonious wave of beauty and inspiration.
Orchestra and choir vibrated beneath my fingers, in a poignant alternation of silences and crescendos.
Then, all the instruments and voices melted away in an ocean of celestial vibrations, before gently fading away, like the wind dying down, in a fine shower of crystalline notes.
Of course, this was not "listening" in the usual sense, but I knew, I know, that these tones and harmonies were transporting me to landscapes of ineffable grandeur and beauty.
I even seemed to perceive, in the hollow of my hand, the whispers of nature - the rustle of reeds cradled by the wind, the whisper of winding streams. Never before had I been enchanted by such a whirlwind of sound vibrations.

In this room filled with shadow and melody, silence and harmony, a thought came to me: the great composer who had poured out such a torrent of sweetness on the world was, like me, deprived of hearing. I marveled at the inextinguishable power of his spirit, which had transformed his suffering into a source of joy for humanity.

And as I sat there, my hand on the receiver, I could feel all the magnificence of this symphony which, like a raging sea, was breaking its silence on the shore of our souls, Beethoven's and mine.