the world i live in-海伦·凯勒自传(英文版)-第4章

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trusty　guides；　touch；　smell；　and　taste；　I　make　many　excursions　into　the
borderland　of　experience　which　is　in　sight　of　the　city　of　Light。　Nature
acmodates　itself　to　every　man's　necessity。　If　the　eye　is　maimed；　so
that　it　does　not　see　the　beauteous　face　of　day；　the　touch　bees　more
poignant　and　discriminating。　Nature　proceeds　through　practice　to
strengthen　and　augment　the　remaining　senses。　For　this　reason　the　blind
often　hear　with　greater　ease　and　distinctness　than　other　people。　The
sense　of　smell　bees　almost　a　new　faculty　to　perate　the　tangle　and
vagueness　of　things。　Thus；　according　to　an　immutable　law；　the　senses
assist　and　reinforce　one　another。

It　is　not　for　me　to　say　whether　we　see　best　with　the　hand　or　the　eye。　I
only　know　that　the　world　I　see　with　my　fingers　is　alive；　ruddy；　and
satisfying。　Touch　brings　the　blind　many　sweet　certainties　which　our　more
fortunate　fellows　miss；　because　their　sense　of　touch　is　uncultivated。
When　they　look　at　things；　they　put　their　hands　in　their　pockets。　No
doubt　that　is　one　reason　why　their　knowledge　is　often　so　vague；
inaccurate；　and　useless。　It　is　probable；　too；　that　our　knowledge　of
phenomena　beyond　the　reach　of　the　hand　is　equally　imperfect。　But；　at　all
events；　we　behold　them　through　a　golden　mist　of　fantasy。

There　is　nothing；　however；　misty　or　uncertain　about　what　we　can　touch。
Through　the　sense　of　touch　I　know　the　faces　of　friends；　the　illimitable
variety　of　straight　and　curved　lines；　all　surfaces；　the　exuberance　of
the　soil；　the　delicate　shapes　of　flowers；　the　noble　forms　of　trees；　and
the　range　of　mighty　winds。　Besides　objects；　surfaces；　and　atmospherical
changes；　I　perceive　countless　vibrations。　I　derive　much　knowledge　of
everyday　matter　from　the　jars　and　jolts　which　are　to　be　felt　everywhere
in　the　house。

Footsteps；　I　discover；　vary　tactually　according　to　the　age；　the　sex；　and
the　manners　of　the　walker。　It　is　impossible　to　mistake　a　child's　patter
for　the　tread　of　a　grown　person。　The　step　of　the　young　man；　strong　and
free；　differs　from　the　heavy；　sedate　tread　of　the　middle…aged；　and　from
the　step　of　the　old　man；　whose　feet　drag　along　the　floor；　or　beat　it
with　slow；　faltering　accents。　On　a　bare　floor　a　girl　walks　with　a　rapid；
elastic　rhythm　　the　graver　step　of　the
elderly　woman。　I　have　laughed　over　the　creak　of　new　shoes　and　the
clatter　of　a　stout　maid　performing　a　jig　in　the　kitchen。　One　day；　in　the
dining…room　of　an　hotel；　a　tactual　dissonance　arrested　my　attention。　I
sat　still　and　listened　with　my　feet。　I　found　that　two　waiters　were
walking　back　and　forth；　but　not　with　the　same　gait。　A　band　was　playing；
and　I　could　feel　the　music…waves　along　the　floor。　One　of　the　waiters
walked　in　time　to　the　band；　graceful　and　light；　while　the　other
disregarded　the　music　and　rushed　from　table　to　table　to　the　beat　of　some
discord　in　his　own　mind。　Their　steps　reminded　me　of　a　spirited　war…steed
harnessed　with　a　cart…horse。

Often　footsteps　reveal　in　some　measure　the　character　and　the　mood　of　the
walker。　I　feel　in　them　firmness　and　indecision；　hurry　and　deliberation；
activity　and　laziness；　fatigue；　carelessness；　timidity；　anger；　and
sorrow。　I　am　most　conscious　of　these　moods　and　traits　in　persons　with
whom　I　am　familiar。

Footsteps　are　frequently　interrupted　by　certain　jars　and　jerks；　so　that
I　know　when　one　kneels；　kicks；　shakes　something；　sits　down；　or　gets　up。
Thus　I　follow　to　some　extent　the　actions　of　people　about　me　and　the
changes　of　their　postures。　Just　now　a　thick；　soft　patter　of　bare；　padded
feet　and　a　slight　jolt　told　me　that　my　dog　had　jumped　on　the　chair　to
look　out　of　the　window。　I　do　not；　however；　allow　him　to　go
uninvestigated；　for　occasionally　I　feel　the　same　motion；　and　find　him；
not　on　the　chair；　but　trespassing　on　the　sofa。

When　a　carpenter　works　in　the　house　or　in　the　barn　near　by；　I　know　by
the　slanting；　up…and…down；　toothed　vibration；　and　the　ringing　concussion
of　blow　upon　blow；　that　he　is　sawing　or　hammering。　If　I　am　near　enough；
a　certain　vibration；　travelling　back　and　forth　along　a　wooden　surface；
brings　me　the　information　that　he　is　using　a　plane。

A　slight　flutter　on　the　rug　tells　me　that　a　breeze　has　blown　my　papers
off　the　table。　A　round　thump　is　a　signal　that　a　pencil　has　rolled　on　the
floor。　If　a　book　falls；　it　gives　a　flat　thud。　A　wooden　rap　on　the
balustrade　announces　that　dinner　is　ready。　Many　of　these　vibrations　are
obliterated　out　of　doors。　On　a　lawn　or　the　road；　I　can　feel　only
running；　stamping；　and　the　rumble　of　wheels。

By　placing　my　hand　on　a　person's　lips　and　throat；　I　gain　an　idea　of　many
specific　vibrations；　and　interpret　them：　a　boy's　chuckle；　a　man's
〃Whew！〃　of　surprise；　the　〃Hem！〃　of　annoyance　or　perplexity；　the　moan　of
pain；　a　scream；　a　whisper；　a　rasp；　a　sob；　a　choke；　and　a　gasp。　The
utterances　of　animals；　though　e……the　cat's
purr；　its　mew；　its　angry；　jerky；　scolding　spit；　the　dog's　bow…wow　of
warning　or　of　joyous　wele；　its　yelp　of　despair；　and　its　contented
snore；　the　cow's　moo；　a　monkey's　chatter；　the　snort　of　a　horse；　the
lion's　roar；　and　the　terrible　snarl　of　the　tiger。　Perhaps　I　ought　to
add；　for　the　benefit　of　the　critics　and　doubters　who　may　peruse　this
essay；　that　with　my　own　hands　I　have　felt　all　these　sounds。　From　my
childhood　to　the　present　day　I　have　availed　myself　of　every　opportunity
to　visit　zoological　gardens；　menageries；　and　the　circus；　and　all　the
animals；　except　the　tiger；　have　talked　into　my　hand。　I　have　touched　the
tiger　only　in　a　museum；　where　he　is　as　harmless　as　a　lamb。　I　have；
however；　heard　him　talk　by　putting　my　hand　on　the　bars　of　his　cage。　I
have　touched　several　lions　in　the　flesh；　and　felt　them　roar　royally；
like　a　cataract　over　rocks。

To　continue；　I　know　the　_plop_　of　liquid　in　a　pitcher。　So　if　I　spill　my
milk；　I　have　not　the　excuse　of　ignorance。　I　am　also　familiar　with　the
pop　of　a　cork；　the　sputter　of　a　flame；　the　tick…tack　of　the　clock；　the
metallic　swing　of　the　windmill；　the　laboured　rise　and　fall　of　the　pump；
the　voluminous　spurt　of　the　hose；　the　deceptive　tap　of　the　breeze　at
door　and　window；　and　many　other　vibrations　past　puting。

There　are　tactual　vibrations　which　do　not　belong　to　skin…touch。　They
perate　the　skin；　the　nerves；　the　bones；　like　pain；　heat；　and　cold。
The　beat　of　a　drum　smites　me　through　from　the　chest　to　the
shoulder…blades。　The　din　of　the　train；　the　bridge；　and　grinding
machinery　retains　its　〃old…man…of…the…sea〃　grip　upon　me　long　after　its
cause　has　been　left　behind。　If　vibration　and　motion　bine　in　my　touch
for　any　length　of　time；　the　earth　seems　to　run　away　while　I　stand　still。
When　I　step　off　the　train；　the　platform　whirls　round；　and　I　find　it
difficult　to　walk　steadily。

Every　atom　of　my　body　is　a　vibroscope。　But　my　sensations　are　not
infallible。　I　reach　out；　and　my　fingers　meet　something　furry；　which
jumps　about；　gathers　itself　together　as　if　to　spring；　and　acts　like　an
animal。　I　pause　a　moment　for　caution。　I　touch　it　again　more　firmly；　and
find　it　is　a　fur　coat　fluttering　and　flapping　in　the　wind。　To　me；　as　to
you；　the　earth　seems　motionless；　and　the　sun　appears　to　move；　for　the
rays　of　the　afternoon　withdraw　more　and　more；　as　they　touch　my　face；
until　the　air　bees　cool。　From　this　I　understand　how　it　is　that　the
shore　seems　to　recede　as　you　sail　away　from　it。　Hence　I　feel　no
incredulity　when　you　say　that　parallel　lines　appear　to　converge；　and　the
earth　and　sky　to　meet。　My　few　senses　long　ago　revealed　to　me　their
imperfections　and　deceptivity。

Not　only　are　the　senses　deceptive；　but　numerous　usages　in　our　language
indicate　that　people　who　have　five　senses　find　it　difficult　to　keep
their　functions　distinct。　I　understand　that　we　hear　views；　see　tones；
taste　music。　I　am　told　that　voices　have　colour。　Tact；　which　I　have
supposed　to　be　a　matter　of　nice　perception；　turns　out　to　be　a　matter　of
taste。　Judging　from　the　large　use　of　the　word；　taste　appears　to　be　the
most　important　of　all　the　senses。　Taste　governs　the　great　and　small
conventions　of　life。　Certainly　the　language　of　the　senses　is　full　of
contradictions；　and　my　fellows　who　have　five　doors　to　their　house　are
not　more　surely　at　home　in　themselves　than　I。　May　I　not；　then；　be
excused　if　this　account　of　my　sensations　lacks　precision？




THE　FINER　VIBRATIONS




V

THE　FINER　VIBRATIONS


I　HAVE　spoken　of　the　numerous　jars　and　jolts　which　daily　minister　to　my
faculties。　The　loftier　and　grander　vibrations　which　appeal　to　my
emotions　are　varied　and　abundant。　I　listen　with　awe　to　the　roll　of　the
thunder　and　the　muffled　avalanche　of　sound　when　the　sea　flings　itself
upon　the　shore。　And　I　love　the　instrument　by　which　all　the　diapasons　of
the　ocean　are　caught　and　released　in　surging　floods……the　many…voiced
organ。　If　music　could　be　seen；　I　could　point　where　the　organ…notes　go；
as　they　rise　and　fall；　climb　up　and　up；　rock　and　sway；　now　loud　and
deep；　now　high　and　stormy；　anon　soft　and　solemn；　with　lighter
vibrations　interspersed　between　and　running　across　them。　I　should　say
that　organ…music　fills　to　an　ecstasy　the　act　of　feeling。

There　is　tangible　delight　in　other　instruments；　too。　The　violin　seems
beautifully　alive　as　it　responds　to　the　lightest　wish　of　the　master。　The
distinction　between　its　notes　is　more　delicate　than　between　the　notes　of
the　piano。

I　enjoy　the　music　of　the　piano　most　when　I　touch　the　instrument。　If　I
keep　my　hand　on　the　piano…case；　I　detect　tiny　quavers；　returns　of
melody；　and　the　hush　that　follows。　This　explains　to　me　how　sound　can　die
away　to　the　listening　ear：

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　。　。　。　How　thin　and　clear；
　　　　　　　　　　　　And　thinner；　clearer；　farther　going！
　　　　　　　　　　O　sweet　and　far　from　cliff　and　scar
　　　　　　　　　　　　The　horns　of　Elfland　faintly　blowing！

I　am　able　to　follow　the　dominant　spirit　and　mood　of　the　music。　I　catch
the　joyous　dance　as　it　bounds　over　the　keys；　the　slow　dirge；　the
reverie。　I　thrill　to　the　fiery　sweep　of　notes　crossed　by　thunderous
tones　in　the　〃Walkuere；〃　where　_Wotan_　kindles　the　dread　flames　that
guard　the　sleeping　_Brunhild_。　How　wonderful　is　the　instrument　on　which
a　great　musician　sings　with　his　hands！　I　have　never　succeeded　in
distinguishing　one　position　from　another。　I　think　this　is　impossible；
but　the　concentration　and　strain　upon　my　attention　would　be　so　great
that　I　doubt　if　the　pleasure　derived　would　be　mensurate　to　the
effort。

Nor　can　I　distinguish　easily　a　tune　that　is　sung。　But　by　placing　my　hand
on　another's　throat　and　cheek；　I　enjoy　the　changes　of　the　voice。　I　know
when　it　is　low　or　high；　clear　or　muffled；　sad　or　cheery。　The　thin；
quavering　sensation　of　an　old　voice　differs　in　my　touch　from　the
sensation　of　a　young　voice。　A　Southerner's　drawl　is　quite　unlike　the
Yankee　twang。　Sometimes　the　flow　and　ebb　of　a　voice　is　so　enchanting
that　my　fingers　quiver　with　exquisite　pleasure；　even　if　I　do　not
understand　a　word　that　is　spoken。

On　the　other　hand；　I　am　exceedingly　sensitive　to　the　harshness　of　noises
like　grinding；　scraping；　and　the　hoarse　creak　of　rusty　locks。
Fog…whistles　are　my　vibratory　nightmares。　I　have　stood　near　a　bridge　in
process　of　construction；　and　felt　the　tactual　din；　the　rattle　of　heavy
masses　of　stone；　the　roll　of　loosened　earth；　the　rumble　of　engines；　the
dumping　of　dirt…cars；　the　triple　blows　of　vulca