the world i live in-海伦·凯勒自传(英文版)-第9部分

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colour　to　me。　The　sun　does　not　shine　for　my　physical　eyes；　nor　does　the
lightning　flash；　nor　do　the　trees　turn　green　in　the　spring；　but　they
have　not　therefore　ceased　to　exist；　any　more　than　the　landscape　is
annihilated　when　you　turn　your　back　on　it。

I　understand　how　scarlet　can　differ　from　crimson　because　I　know　that　the
smell　of　an　orange　is　not　the　smell　of　a　grape…fruit。　I　can　also
conceive　that　colours　have　shades；　and　guess　what　shades　are。　In　smell
and　taste　there　are　varieties　not　broad　enough　to　be　fundamental；　so　I
call　them　shades。　There　are　half　a　dozen　roses　near　me。　They　all　have
the　unmistakable　rose　scent；　yet　my　nose　tells　me　that　they　are　not　the
same。　The　American　Beauty　is　distinct　from　the　Jacqueminot　and　La
France。　Odours　in　certain　grasses　fade　as　really　to　my　sense　as　certain
colours　do　to　yours　in　the　sun。　The　freshness　of　a　flower　in　my　hand　is
analogous　to　the　freshness　I　taste　in　an　apple　newly　picked。　I　make　use
of　analogies　like　these　to　enlarge　my　conceptions　of　colours。　Some
analogies　which　I　draw　between　qualities　in　surface　and　vibration；　taste
and　smell；　are　drawn　by　others　between　sight；　hearing；　and　touch。　This
fact　encourages　me　to　persevere；　to　try　and　bridge　the　gap　between　the
eye　and　the　hand。

Certainly　I　get　far　enough　to　sympathize　with　the　delight　that　my　kind
feel　in　beauty　they　see　and　harmony　they　hear。　This　bond　between
humanity　and　me　is　worth　keeping；　even　if　the　idea　on　which　I　base　it
prove　erroneous。

Sweet；　beautiful　vibrations　exist　for　my　touch；　even　though　they　travel
through　other　substances　than　air　to　reach　me。　So　I　imagine　sweet；
delightful　sounds；　and　the　artistic　arrangement　of　them　which　is　called
music；　and　I　remember　that　they　travel　through　the　air　to　the　ear；
conveying　impressions　somewhat　like　mine。　I　also　know　what　tones　are；
since　they　are　perceptible　tactually　in　a　voice。　Now；　heat　varies
greatly　in　the　sun；　in　the　fire；　in　hands；　and　in　the　fur　of　animals；
indeed；　there　is　such　a　thing　for　me　as　a　cold　sun。　So　I　think　of　the
varieties　of　light　that　touch　the　eye；　cold　and　warm；　vivid　and　dim；
soft　and　glaring；　but　always　light；　and　I　imagine　their　passage　through
the　air　to　an　extensive　sense；　instead　of　to　a　narrow　one　like　touch。
From　the　experience　I　have　had　with　voices　I　guess　how　the　eye
distinguishes　shades　in　the　midst　of　light。　While　I　read　the　lips　of　a
woman　whose　voice　is　soprano；　I　note　a　low　tone　or　a　glad　tone　in　the
midst　of　a　high；　flowing　voice。　When　I　feel　my　cheeks　hot；　I　know　that　I
am　red。　I　have　talked　so　much　and　read　so　much　about　colours　that
through　no　will　of　my　own　I　attach　meanings　to　them；　just　as　all　people
attach　certain　meanings　to　abstract　terms　like　hope；　idealism；
monotheism；　intellect；　which　cannot　be　represented　truly　by　visible
objects；　but　which　are　understood　from　analogies　between　immaterial
concepts　and　the　ideas　they　awaken　of　external　things。　The　force　of
association　drives　me　to　say　that　white　is　exalted　and　pure；　green　is
exuberant；　red　suggests　love　or　shame　or　strength。　Without　the　colour　or
its　equivalent；　life　to　me　would　be　dark；　barren；　a　vast　blackness。

Thus　through　an　inner　law　of　pleteness　my　thoughts　are　not　permitted
to　remain　colourless。　It　strains　my　mind　to　separate　colour　and　sound
from　objects。　Since　my　education　began　I　have　always　had　things
described　to　me　with　their　colours　and　sounds　by　one　with　keen　senses
and　a　fine　feeling　for　the　significant。　Therefore　I　habitually　think　of
things　as　coloured　and　resonant。　Habit　accounts　for　part。　The　soul　sense
accounts　for　another　part。　The　brain　with　its　five…sensed　construction
asserts　its　right　and　accounts　for　the　rest。　Inclusive　of　all；　the　unity
of　the　world　demands　that　colour　be　kept　in　it；　whether　I　have
cognizance　of　it　or　not。　Rather　than　be　shut　out；　I　take　part　in　it　by
discussing　it；　imagining　it；　happy　in　the　happiness　of　those　near　me
who　gaze　at　the　lovely　hues　of　the　sunset　or　the　rainbow。

My　hand　has　its　share　in　this　multiple　knowledge；　but　it　must　never　be
forgotten　that　with　the　fingers　I　see　only　a　very　small　portion　of　a
surface；　and　that　I　must　pass　my　hand　continually　over　it　before　my
touch　grasps　the　whole。　It　is　still　more　important；　however；　to　remember
that　my　imagination　is　not　tethered　to　certain　points；　locations；　and
distances。　It　puts　all　the　parts　together　simultaneously　as　if　it　saw　or
knew　instead　of　feeling　them。　Though　I　feel　only　a　small　part　of　my
horse　at　a　time；……my　horse　is　nervous　and　does　not　submit　to　manual
explorations；……yet；　because　I　have　many　times　felt　hock；　nose；　hoof　and
mane；　I　can　see　the　steeds　of　Phoebus　Apollo　coursing　the　heavens。

With　such　a　power　active　it　is　impossible　that　my　thought　should　be
vague；　indistinct。　It　must　needs　be　potent；　definite。　This　is　really　a
corollary　of　the　philosophical　truth　that　the　real　world　exists　only　for
the　mind。　That　is　to　say；　I　can　never　touch　the　world　in　its　entirety；
indeed；　I　touch　less　of　it　than　the　portion　that　others　see　or　hear。　But
all　creatures；　all　objects；　pass　into　my　brain　entire；　and　occupy　the
same　extent　there　that　they　do　in　material　space。　I　declare　that　for　me
branched　thoughts；　instead　of　pines；　wave；　sway；　rustle；　make　musical
the　ridges　of　mountains　rising　summit　upon　summit。　Mention　a　rose　too
far　away　for　me　to　smell　it。　Straightway　a　scent　steals　into　my
nostril；　a　form　presses　against　my　palm　in　all　its　dilating　softness；
with　rounded　petals；　slightly　curled　edges；　curving　stem；　leaves
drooping。　When　I　would　fain　view　the　world　as　a　whole；　it　rushes　into
vision……man；　beast；　bird；　reptile；　fly；　sky；　ocean；　mountains；　plain；
rock；　pebble。　The　warmth　of　life；　the　reality　of　creation　is　over
all……the　throb　of　human　hands；　glossiness　of　fur；　lithe　windings　of　long
bodies；　poignant　buzzing　of　insects；　the　ruggedness　of　the　steeps　as　I
climb　them；　the　liquid　mobility　and　boom　of　waves　upon　the　rocks。
Strange　to　say；　try　as　I　may；　I　cannot　force　my　touch　to　pervade　this
universe　in　all　directions。　The　moment　I　try；　the　whole　vanishes；　only
small　objects　or　narrow　portions　of　a　surface；　mere　touch…signs；　a　chaos
of　things　scattered　at　random；　remain。　No　thrill；　no　delight　is　excited
thereby。　Restore　to　the　artistic；　prehensive　internal　sense　its
rightful　domain；　and　you　give　me　joy　which　best　proves　the　reality。




BEFORE　THE　SOUL　DAWN




XI

BEFORE　THE　SOUL　DAWN


BEFORE　my　teacher　came　to　me；　I　did　not　know　that　I　am。　I　lived　in　a
world　that　was　a　no…world。　I　cannot　hope　to　describe　adequately　that
unconscious；　yet　conscious　time　of　nothingness。　I　did　not　know　that　I
knew　aught；　or　that　I　lived　or　acted　or　desired。　I　had　neither　will　nor
intellect。　I　was　carried　along　to　objects　and　acts　by　a　certain　blind
natural　impetus。　I　had　a　mind　which　caused　me　to　feel　anger；
satisfaction；　desire。　These　two　facts　led　those　about　me　to　suppose
that　I　willed　and　thought。　I　can　remember　all　this；　not　because　I　knew
that　it　was　so；　but　because　I　have　tactual　memory。　It　enables　me　to
remember　that　I　never　contracted　my　forehead　in　the　act　of　thinking。　I
never　viewed　anything　beforehand　or　chose　it。　I　also　recall　tactually
the　fact　that　never　in　a　start　of　the　body　or　a　heart…beat　did　I　feel
that　I　loved　or　cared　for　anything。　My　inner　life；　then；　was　a　blank
without　past；　present；　or　future；　without　hope　or　anticipation；　without
wonder　or　joy　or　faith。

　　　　　　　　　　It　was　not　night……it　was　not　day。

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　。　　　　　　　。　　　　　　　。　　　　　　　。　　　　　　　。

　　　　　　　　　　But　vacancy　absorbing　space；
　　　　　　　　　　And　fixedness；　without　a　place；
　　　　　　　　　　There　were　no　stars……no　earth……no　time……
　　　　　　　　　　No　check……no　change……no　good……no　crime。

My　dormant　being　had　no　idea　of　God　or　immortality；　no　fear　of　death。

I　remember；　also　through　touch；　that　I　had　a　power　of　association。　I
felt　tactual　jars　like　the　stamp　of　a　foot；　the　opening　of　a　window　or
its　closing；　the　slam　of　a　door。　After　repeatedly　smelling　rain　and
feeling　the　disfort　of　wetness；　I　acted　like　those　about　me：　I　ran　to
shut　the　window。　But　that　was　not　thought　in　any　sense。　It　was　the　same
kind　of　association　that　makes　animals　take　shelter　from　the　rain。　From
the　same　instinct　of　aping　others；　I　folded　the　clothes　that　came　from
the　laundry；　and　put　mine　away；　fed　the　turkeys；　sewed　bead…eyes　on　my
doll's　face；　and　did　many　other　things　of　which　I　have　the　tactual
remembrance。　When　I　wanted　anything　I　liked；……ice…cream；　for　instance；
of　which　I　was　very　fond；……I　had　a　delicious　taste　on　my　tongue　（which；
by　the　way；　I　never　have　now）；　and　in　my　hand　I　felt　the　turning　of　the
freezer。　I　made　the　sign；　and　my　mother　knew　I　wanted　ice…cream。　I
〃thought〃　and　desired　in　my　fingers。　If　I　had　made　a　man；　I　should
certainly　have　put　the　brain　and　soul　in　his　finger…tips。　From
reminiscences　like　these　I　conclude　that　it　is　the　opening　of　the　two
faculties；　freedom　of　will；　or　choice；　and　rationality；　or　the　power　of
thinking　from　one　thing　to　another；　which　makes　it　possible　to　e　into
being　first　as　a　child；　afterwards　as　a　man。

Since　I　had　no　power　of　thought；　I　did　not　pare　one　mental　state　with
another。　So　I　was　not　conscious　of　any　change　or　process　going　on　in　my
brain　when　my　teacher　began　to　instruct　me。　I　merely　felt　keen　delight
in　obtaining　more　easily　what　I　wanted　by　means　of　the　finger　motions
she　taught　me。　I　thought　only　of　objects；　and　only　objects　I　wanted。　It
was　the　turning　of　the　freezer　on　a　larger　scale。　When　I　learned　the
meaning　of　〃I〃　and　〃me〃　and　found　that　I　was　something；　I　began　to
think。　Then　consciousness　first　existed　for　me。　Thus　it　was　not　the
sense　of　touch　that　brought　me　knowledge。　It　was　the　awakening　of　my
soul　that　first　rendered　my　senses　their　value；　their　cognizance　of
objects；　names；　qualities；　and　properties。　Thought　made　me　conscious　of
love；　joy；　and　all　the　emotions。　I　was　eager　to　know；　then　to
understand；　afterward　to　reflect　on　what　I　knew　and　understood；　and　the
blind　impetus；　which　had　before　driven　me　hither　and　thither　at　the
dictates　of　my　sensations；　vanished　forever。

I　cannot　represent　more　clearly　than　any　one　else　the　gradual　and　subtle
changes　from　first　impressions　to　ab