the world i live in-海伦·凯勒自传(英文版)-第11章

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the　Orient　and　the　plenteous　harvests　of　the　Golden　West　might　no　more
pass　between　nation　and　nation。　For　some　time　the　trees　and　flowers
grew　on；　despite　the　intense　cold。　Birds　flew　into　the　houses　for
safety；　and　those　which　winter　had　overtaken　lay　on　the　snow　with　wings
spread　in　vain　flight。　At　last　the　foliage　and　blossoms　fell　at　the　feet
of　Winter。　The　petals　of　the　flowers　were　turned　to　rubies　and
sapphires。　The　leaves　froze　into　emeralds。　The　trees　moaned　and　tossed
their　branches　as　the　frost　pierced　them　through　bark　and　sap；　pierced
into　their　very　roots。　I　shivered　myself　awake；　and　with　a　tumult　of　joy
I　breathed　the　many　sweet　morning　odours　wakened　by　the　summer　sun。

One　need　not　visit　an　African　jungle　or　an　Indian　forest　to　hunt　the
tiger。　One　can　lie　in　bed　amid　downy　pillows　and　dream　tigers　as
terrible　as　any　in　the　pathless　wild。　I　was　a　little　girl　when　one　night
I　tried　to　cross　the　garden　in　front　of　my　aunt's　house　in　Alabama。　I
was　in　pursuit　of　a　large　cat　with　a　great　bushy　tail。　A　few　hours
before　he　had　clawed　my　little　canary　out　of　its　cage　and　crunched　it
between　his　cruel　teeth。　I　could　not　see　the　cat。　But　the　thought　in　my
mind　was　distinct：　〃He　is　making　for　the　high　grass　at　the　end　of　the
garden。　I'll　get　there　first！〃　I　put　my　hand　on　the　box　border　and　ran
swiftly　along　the　path。　When　I　reached　the　high　grass；　there　was　the　cat
gliding　into　the　wavy　tangle。　I　rushed　forward　and　tried　to　seize　him
and　take　the　bird　from　between　his　teeth。　To　my　horror　a　huge　beast；　not
the　cat　at　all；　sprang　out　from　the　grass；　and　his　sinewy　shoulder
rubbed　against　me　with　palpitating　strength！　His　ears　stood　up　and
quivered　with　anger。　His　eyes　were　hot。　His　nostrils　were　large　and　wet。
His　lips　moved　horribly。　I　knew　it　was　a　tiger；　a　real　live　tiger；　and
that　I　should　be　devoured……my　little　bird　and　I。　I　do　not　know　what
happened　after　that。　The　next　important　thing　seldom　happens　in　dreams。

Some　time　earlier　I　had　a　dream　which　made　a　vivid　impression　upon　me。
My　aunt　was　weeping　because　she　could　not　find　me。　But　I　took　an　impish
pleasure　in　the　thought　that　she　and　others　were　searching　for　me；　and
making　great　noise　which　I　felt　through　my　feet。　Suddenly　the　spirit　of
mischief　gave　way　to　uncertainty　and　fear。　I　felt　cold。　The　air　smelt
like　ice　and　salt。　I　tried　to　run；　but　the　long　grass　tripped　me；　and　I
fell　forward　on　my　face。　I　lay　very　still；　feeling　with　all　my　body。
After　a　while　my　sensations　seemed　to　be　concentrated　in　my　fingers；　and
I　perceived　that　the　grass　blades　were　sharp　as　knives；　and　hurt　my
hands　cruelly。　I　tried　to　get　up　cautiously；　so　as　not　to　cut　myself　on
the　sharp　grass。　I　put　down　a　tentative　foot；　much　as　my　kitten　treads
for　the　first　time　the　primeval　forest　in　the　backyard。　All　at　once　I
felt　the　stealthy　patter　of　something　creeping；　creeping；　creeping
purposefully　toward　me。　I　do　not　know　how　at　that　time　the　idea　was　in
my　mind；　I　had　no　words　for　intention　or　purpose。　Yet　it　was　precisely
the　evil　intent；　and　not　the　creeping　animal　that　terrified　me。　I　had
no　fear　of　living　creatures。　I　loved　my　father's　dogs；　the　frisky　little
calf；　the　gentle　cows；　the　horses　and　mules　that　ate　apples　from　my
hand；　and　none　of　them　had　ever　harmed　me。　I　lay　low；　waiting　in
breathless　terror　for　the　creature　to　spring　and　bury　its　long　claws　in
my　flesh。　I　thought；　〃They　will　feel　like　turkey…claws。〃　Something　warm
and　wet　touched　my　face。　I　shrieked；　struck　out　frantically；　and　awoke。
Something　was　still　struggling　in　my　arms。　I　held　on　with　might　and　main
until　I　was　exhausted；　then　I　loosed　my　hold。　I　found　dear　old　Belle；
the　setter；　shaking　herself　and　looking　at　me　reproachfully。　She　and　I
had　gone　to　sleep　together　on　the　rug；　and　had　naturally　wandered　to　the
dream…forest　where　dogs　and　little　girls　hunt　wild　game　and　have
strange　adventures。　We　encountered　hosts　of　elfin　foes；　and　it　required
all　the　dog　tactics　at　Belle's　mand　to　acquit　herself　like　the　lady
and　huntress　that　she　was。　Belle　had　her　dreams　too。　We　used　to　lie
under　the　trees　and　flowers　in　the　old　garden；　and　I　used　to　laugh　with
delight　when　the　magnolia　leaves　fell　with　little　thuds；　and　Belle
jumped　up；　thinking　she　had　heard　a　partridge。　She　would　pursue　the
leaf；　point　it；　bring　it　back　to　me　and　lay　it　at　my　feet　with　a
humorous　wag　of　her　tail　as　much　as　to　say；　〃This　is　the　kind　of　bird
that　waked　me。〃　I　made　a　chain　for　her　neck　out　of　the　lovely　blue
Paulownia　flowers　and　covered　her　with　great　heart…shaped　leaves。

Dear　old　Belle；　she　has　long　been　dreaming　among　the　lotus…flowers　and
poppies　of　the　dogs'　paradise。

Certain　dreams　have　haunted　me　since　my　childhood。　One　which　recurs
often　proceeds　after　this　wise：　A　spirit　seems　to　pass　before　my　face。　I
feel　an　extreme　heat　like　the　blast　from　an　engine。　It　is　the　embodiment
of　evil。　I　must　have　had　it　first　after　the　day　that　I　nearly　got　burnt。

Another　spirit　which　visits　me　often　brings　a　sensation　of　cool
dampness；　such　as　one　feels　on　a　chill　November　night　when　the　window　is
open。　The　spirit　stops　just　beyond　my　reach；　sways　back　and　forth　like　a
creature　in　grief。　My　blood　is　chilled；　and　seems　to　freeze　in　my　veins。
I　try　to　move；　but　my　body　is　still；　and　I　cannot　even　cry　out。　After　a
while　the　spirit　passes　on；　and　I　say　to　myself　shudderingly；　〃That　was
Death。　I　wonder　if　he　has　taken　her。〃　The　pronoun　stands　for　my　Teacher。

In　my　dreams　I　have　sensations；　odours；　tastes　and　ideas　which　I　do　not
remember　to　have　had　in　reality。　Perhaps　they　are　the　glimpses　which　my
mind　catches　through　the　veil　of　sleep　of　my　earliest　babyhood。　I　have
heard　〃the　trampling　of　many　waters。〃　Sometimes　a　wonderful　light　visits
me　in　sleep。　Such　a　flash　and　glory　as　it　is！　I　gaze　and　gaze　until　it
vanishes。　I　smell　and　taste　much　as　in　my　waking　hours；　but　the　sense　of
touch　plays　a　less　important　part。　In　sleep　I　almost　never　grope。　No　one
guides　me。　Even　in　a　crowded　street　I　am　self…sufficient；　and　I　enjoy
an　independence　quite　foreign　to　my　physical　life。　Now　I　seldom　spell　on
my　fingers；　and　it　is　still　rarer　for　others　to　spell　into　my　hand。　My
mind　acts　independent　of　my　physical　organs。　I　am　delighted　to　be　thus
endowed；　if　only　in　sleep；　for　then　my　soul　dons　its　winged　sandals　and
joyfully　joins　the　throng　of　happy　beings　who　dwell　beyond　the　reaches
of　bodily　sense。

The　moral　inconsistency　of　dreams　is　glaring。　Mine　grow　less　and　less
accordant　with　my　proper　principles。　I　am　nightly　hurled　into　an
uhical　medley　of　extremes。　I　must　either　defend　another　to　the　last
drop　of　my　blood　or　condemn　him　past　all　repenting。　I　mit　murder；
sleeping；　to　save　the　lives　of　others。　I　ascribe　to　those　I　love　best
acts　and　words　which　it　mortifies　me　to　remember；　and　I　cast　reproach
after　reproach　upon　them。　It　is　fortunate　for　our　peace　of　mind　that
most　wicked　dreams　are　soon　forgotten。　Death；　sudden　and　awful；　strange
loves　and　hates　remorselessly　pursued；　cunningly　plotted　revenge；　are
seldom　more　than　dim　haunting　recollections　in　the　morning；　and　during
the　day　they　are　erased　by　the　normal　activities　of　the　mind。　Sometimes
immediately　on　waking；　I　am　so　vexed　at　the　memory　of　a　dream…fracas；　I
wish　I　may　dream　no　more。　With　this　wish　distinctly　before　me　I　drop　off
again　into　a　new　turmoil　of　dreams。

Oh；　dreams；　what　opprobrium　I　heap　upon　you……you；　the　most　pointless
things　imaginable；　saucy　apes；　brewers　of　odious　contrasts；　haunting
birds　of　ill　omen；　mocking　echoes；　unseasonable　reminders；
oft…returning　vexations；　skeletons　in　my　morris…chair；　jesters　in　the
tomb；　death's…heads　at　the　wedding　feast；　outlaws　of　the　brain　that
every　night　defy　the　mind's　police　service；　thieves　of　my　Hesperidean
apples；　breakers　of　my　domestic　peace；　murderers　of　sleep。　〃Oh；　dreadful
dreams　that　do　fright　my　spirit　from　her　propriety！〃　No　wonder　that
Hamlet　preferred　the　ills　he　knew　rather　than　run　the　risk　of　one
dream…vision。

Yet　remove　the　dream…world；　and　the　loss　is　inconceivable。　The　magic
spell　which　binds　poetry　together　is　broken。　The　splendour　of　art　and
the　soaring　might　of　imagination　are　lessened　because　no　phantom　of
fadeless　sunsets　and　flowers　urges　onward　to　a　goal。　Gone　is　the　mute
permission　or　connivance　which　emboldens　the　soul　to　mock　the　limits　of
time　and　space；　forecast　and　gather　in　harvests　of　achievement　for　ages
yet　unborn。　Blot　out　dreams；　and　the　blind　lose　one　of　their　chief
forts；　for　in　the　visions　of　sleep　they　behold　their　belief　in　the
seeing　mind　and　their　expectation　of　light　beyond　the　blank；　narrow
night　justified。　Nay；　our　conception　of　immortality　is　shaken。　Faith；
the　motive…power　of　human　life；　flickers　out。　Before　such　vacancy　and
bareness　the　shocks　of　wrecked　worlds　were　indeed　wele。　In　truth；
dreams　bring　us　the　thought　independently　of　us　and　in　spite　of　us　that
the　soul

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　〃may　right
　　　　　　　　　　Her　nature；　shoot　large　sail　on　lengthening　cord；
　　　　　　　　　　And　rush　exultant　on　the　Infinite。〃




DREAMS　AND　REALITY




XIV

DREAMS　AND　REALITY


IT　is　astonishing　to　think　how　our　real　wide…awake　world　revolves　around
the　shadowy　unrealities　of　Dreamland。　Despite　all　that　we　say　about　the
inconsequence　of　dreams；　we　often　reason　by　them。　We　stake　our　greatest
hopes　upon　them。　Nay；　we　build　upon　them　the　fabric　of　an　ideal　world。　I
can　recall　few　fine；　thoughtful　poems；　few　noble　works　of　art　or　any
system　of　philosophy　in　which　there　is　not　evidence　that　dream…fantasies
symbolize　truths　concealed　by　phenomena。

The　fact　that　in　dreams　confusion　reigns；　and　illogical　connections
occur　gives　plausibility　to　the　theory　which　Sir　Arthur　Mitchell　and
other　scientific　men　hold；　that　our　dream…thinking　is　uncontrolled　and
undirected　by　the　will。　The　will……the　inhibiting　and　guiding
power……finds　rest　and　refreshment　in　sleep；　while　the　mind；　like　a
barque　without　rudder　or　pass；　drifts　aimlessly　upon　an　uncharted
sea。　But　curiously　enough；　these　fantasies　and　inter…twistings　of
thought　are　to　be　found　in　great　imaginative　poems　like　Spenser's　〃Faerie
Queene。〃　Lamb　was　impressed　by　the　analogy　between　our　dream…thinking
and　the　work　of　the　imagination。　Speaking　of　the　episode　in　the　cave　of
Mammon；　Lamb　wrote：

〃It　is　not　enough　to　say　that　the　whole　episode　is　a　copy　of　the　mind's
conceptions　in　sleep；　it　is……in　some　sort；　but　what　a　copy！　Let　the　most
romantic　of　us　that　has　been　entertained　all　night　with　the　spectacle　of
some　wild　and　magnificent　vision；　re…bine　it　in　the　morning　and　try
it　by　his　waking　judgment。　That　which　appeared　so　shifting　and　yet　so
coherent；　when　it　came　under　cool　examination；　shall　appear　so
reasonless　and　so　unlinked；　that　we　are　ashamed　to　have　been　so　deluded；
and　to　have　taken；　though　but　in　sleep；　a　monster　for　a　god。　The
transitions　in　this　episode　are　every　whit　as　violent　as　in　the　most
extravagant　dream；　and　yet　the　waking　judgment　ratifies　them。〃

Perhaps　I　feel　more　than　others　the　analogy　between　the　world　of　our
waking　life　and　the　world　of　dreams　because　before　I　was　taught；　I　lived
in　a　sort　of　perpetual　dream。　The　testimony　of　parents　and　friends　who
watched　me　day　a