the world i live in-海伦·凯勒自传(英文版)-第6章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


swirled　and　tumbled　about　me。　An　unreasoning　resentment　flashed　through
me　at　this　ruthless　destruction　of　the　beauty　that　I　love。　But　there　is
no　anger；　no　resentment　in　nature。　The　air　is　equally　charged　with　the
odours　of　life　and　of　destruction；　for　death　equally　with　growth　forever
ministers　to　all…conquering　life。　The　sun　shines　as　ever；　and　the　winds
riot　through　the　newly　opened　spaces。　I　know　that　a　new　forest　will
spring　where　the　old　one　stood；　as　beautiful；　as　beneficent。

Touch　sensations　are　permanent　and　definite。　Odours　deviate　and　are
fugitive；　changing　in　their　shades；　degrees；　and　location。　There　is
something　else　in　odour　which　gives　me　a　sense　of　distance。　I　should
call　it　horizon……the　line　where　odour　and　fancy　meet　at　the　farthest
limit　of　scent。

Smell　gives　me　more　idea　than　touch　or　taste　of　the　manner　in　which
sight　and　hearing　probably　discharge　their　functions。　Touch　seems　to
reside　in　the　object　touched；　because　there　is　a　contact　of　surfaces。　In
smell　there　is　no　notion　of　relievo；　and　odour　seems　to　reside　not　in
the　object　smelt；　but　in　the　organ。　Since　I　smell　a　tree　at　a　distance；
it　is　prehensible　to　me　that　a　person　sees　it　without　touching　it。　I
am　not　puzzled　over　the　fact　that　he　receives　it　as　an　image　on　his
retina　without　relievo；　since　my　smell　perceives　the　tree　as　a　thin
sphere　with　no　fullness　or　content。　By　themselves；　odours　suggest
nothing。　I　must　learn　by　association　to　judge　from　them　of　distance；　of
place；　and　of　the　actions　or　the　surroundings　which　are　the　usual
occasions　for　them；　just　as　I　am　told　people　judge　from　colour；　light；
and　sound。

From　exhalations　I　learn　much　about　people。　I　often　know　the　work　they
are　engaged　in。　The　odours　of　wood；　iron；　paint；　and　drugs　cling　to　the
garments　of　those　that　work　in　them。　Thus　I　can　distinguish　the
carpenter　from　the　ironworker；　the　artist　from　the　mason　or　the　chemist。
　one　place　to　another　I　get　a　scent
impression　of　where　he　has　been……the　kitchen；　the　garden；　or　the
sick…room。　I　gain　pleasurable　ideas　of　freshness　and　good　taste　from　the
odours　of　soap；　toilet　water；　clean　garments；　woollen　and　silk　stuffs；
and　gloves。

I　have　not；　indeed；　the　all…knowing　scent　of　the　hound　or　the　wild
animal。　None　but　the　halt　and　the　blind　need　fear　my　skill　in　pursuit；
for　there　are　other　things　besides　water；　stale　trails；　confusing　cross
tracks　to　put　me　at　fault。　Nevertheless；　human　odours　are　as　varied　and
capable　of　recognition　as　hands　and　faces。　The　dear　odours　of　those　I
love　are　so　definite；　so　unmistakable；　that　nothing　can　quite　obliterate
them。　If　many　years　should　elapse　before　I　saw　an　intimate　friend　again；
I　think　I　should　recognize　his　odour　instantly　in　the　heart　of　Africa；
as　promptly　as　would　my　brother　that　barks。

Once；　long　ago；　in　a　crowded　railway　station；　a　lady　kissed　me　as　she
hurried　by。　I　had　not　touched　even　her　dress。　But　she　left　a　scent　with
her　kiss　which　gave　me　a　glimpse　of　her。　The　years　are　many　since　she
kissed　me。　Yet　her　odour　is　fresh　in　my　memory。

It　is　difficult　to　put　into　words　the　thing　itself；　the　elusive
person…odour。　There　seems　to　be　no　adequate　vocabulary　of　smells；　and　I
must　fall　back　on　approximate　phrase　and　metaphor。

Some　people　have　a　vague；　unsubstantial　odour　that　floats　about；　mocking
every　effort　to　identify　it。　It　is　the　will…o'…the…wisp　of　my　olfactive
experience。　Sometimes　I　meet　one　who　lacks　a　distinctive　person…scent；
and　I　seldom　find　such　a　one　lively　or　entertaining。　On　the　other　hand；
one　who　has　a　pungent　odour　often　possesses　great　vitality；　energy；　and
vigour　of　mind。

Masculine　exhalations　are　as　a　rule　stronger；　more　vivid；　more　widely
differentiated　than　those　of　women。　In　the　odour　of　young　men　there　is
something　elemental；　as　of　fire；　storm；　and　salt　sea。　It　pulsates　with
buoyancy　and　desire。　It　suggests　all　things　strong　and　beautiful　and
joyous；　and　gives　me　a　sense　of　physical　happiness。　I　wonder　if　others
observe　that　all　infants　have　the　same　scent……pure；　simple；
undecipherable　as　their　dormant　personality。　It　is　not　until　the　age　of
six　or　seven　that　they　begin　to　have　perceptible　individual　odours。
These　develop　and　mature　along　with　their　mental　and　bodily　powers。

What　I　have　written　about　smell；　especially　person…smell；　will　perhaps
be　regarded　as　the　abnormal　sentiment　of　one　who　can　have　no　idea　of　the
〃world　of　reality　and　beauty　which　the　eye　perceives。〃　There　are　people
who　are　colour…blind；　people　who　are　tone…deaf。　Most　people　are
smell…blind…and…deaf。　We　should　not　condemn　a　musical　position　on　the
testimony　of　an　ear　which　cannot　distinguish　one　chord　from　another；　or
judge　a　picture　by　the　verdict　of　a　colour…blind　critic。　The　sensations
of　smell　which　cheer；　inform；　and　broaden　my　life　are　not　less　pleasant
merely　because　some　critic　who　treads　the　wide；　bright　pathway　of　the
eye　has　not　cultivated　his　olfactive　sense。　Without　the　shy；　fugitive；
often　unobserved　sensations　and　the　certainties　which　taste；　smell；　and
touch　give　me；　I　should　be　obliged　to　take　my　conception　of　the　universe
wholly　from　others。　I　should　lack　the　alchemy　by　which　I　now　infuse　into
my　world　light；　colour；　and　the　Protean　spark。　The　sensuous　reality
which　interthreads　and　supports　all　the　gropings　of　my　imagination　would
be　shattered。　The　solid　earth　would　melt　from　under　my　feet　and　disperse
itself　in　space。　The　objects　dear　to　my　hands　would　bee　formless；
dead　things；　and　I　should　walk　among　them　as　among　invisible　ghosts。




RELATIVE　VALUES　OF　THE　SENSES




VII

RELATIVE　VALUES　OF　THE　SENSES


I　WAS　once　without　the　sense　of　smell　and　taste　for　several　days。　It
seemed　incredible；　this　utter　detachment　from　odours；　to　breathe　the　air
in　and　observe　never　a　single　scent。　The　feeling　was　probably　similar；
though　less　in　degree；　to　that　of　one　who　first　loses　sight　and　cannot
but　expect　to　see　the　light　again　any　day；　any　minute。　I　knew　I　should
smell　again　some　time。　Still；　after　the　wonder　had　passed　off；　a
loneliness　crept　over　me　as　vast　as　the　air　whose　myriad　odours　I
missed。　The　multitudinous　subtle　delights　that　smell　makes　mine　became
for　a　time　wistful　memories。　When　I　recovered　the　lost　sense；　my　heart
bounded　with　gladness。　It　is　a　fine　dramatic　touch　that　Hans　Andersen
gives　to　the　story　of　Kay　and　Gerda　in　the　passage　about　flowers。　Kay；
whom　the　wicked　magician's　glass　has　blinded　to　human　love；　rushes　away
fiercely　from　home　when　he　discovers　that　the　roses　have　lost　their
sweetness。

The　loss　of　smell　for　a　few　days　gave　me　a　clearer　idea　than　I　had　ever
had　what　it　is　to　be　blinded　suddenly；　helplessly。　With　a　little　stretch
of　the　imagination　I　knew　then　what　it　must　be　when　the　great　curtain
shuts　out　suddenly　the　light　of　day；　the　stars；　and　the　firmament
itself。　I　see　the　blind　man's　eyes　strain　for　the　light；　as　he　fearfully
tries　to　walk　his　old　rounds；　until　the　unchanging　blank　that
everywhere　spreads　before　him　stamps　the　reality　of　the　dark　upon　his
consciousness。

My　temporary　loss　of　smell　proved　to　me；　too；　that　the　absence　of　a
sense　need　not　dull　the　mental　faculties　and　does　not　distort　one's　view
of　the　world；　and　so　I　reason　that　blindness　and　deafness　need　not
pervert　the　inner　order　of　the　intellect。　I　know　that　if　there　were　no
odours　for　me　I　should　still　possess　a　considerable　part　of　the　world。
Novelties　and　surprises　would　abound；　adventures　would　thicken　in　the
dark。

In　my　classification　of　the　senses；　smell　is　a　little　the　ear's
inferior；　and　touch　is　a　great　deal　the　eye's　superior。　I　find　that
great　artists　and　philosophers　agree　with　me　in　this。　Diderot　says：

　　　　　　　　　　Je　trouvais　que　de　tous　les　sens；　l'oeil　etait　le
　　　　　　　　　　plus　superficiel；　l'oreille；　le　plus　orgueilleux；
　　　　　　　　　　l'odorat；　le　plus　voluptueux；　le　gout；　le　plus
　　　　　　　　　　superstitieux　et　le　plus　inconstant；　le　toucher；
　　　　　　　　　　le　plus　profond　et　le　plus　philosophe。＇C＇

A　friend　whom　I　have　never　seen　sends　me　a　quotation　from　Symonds's
〃Renaissance　in　Italy〃：

　　　　　　　　　　Lorenzo　Ghiberti；　after　describing　a　piece　of
　　　　　　　　　　antique　sculpture　he　saw　in　Rome　adds；　〃To　express
　　　　　　　　　　the　perfection　of　learning；　mastery；　and　art
　　　　　　　　　　displayed　in　it　is　beyond　the　power　of　language。
　　　　　　　　　　Its　more　exquisite　beauties　could　not　be
　　　　　　　　　　discovered　by　the　sight；　but　only　by　the　touch　of
　　　　　　　　　　the　hand　passed　over　it。〃　Of　another　classic
　　　　　　　　　　marble　at　Padua　he　says；　〃This　statue；　when　the
　　　　　　　　　　Christian　faith　triumphed；　was　hidden　in　that
　　　　　　　　　　place　by　some　gentle　soul；　who；　seeing　it　so
　　　　　　　　　　perfect；　fashioned　with　art　so　wonderful；　and　with
　　　　　　　　　　such　power　of　genius；　and　being　moved　to　reverent
　　　　　　　　　　pity；　caused　a　sepulchre　of　bricks　to　be　built；
　　　　　　　　　　and　there　within　buried　the　statue；　and　covered　it
　　　　　　　　　　with　a　broad　slab　of　stone；　that　it　might　not　in
　　　　　　　　　　any　way　be　injured。　It　has　very　many　sweet
　　　　　　　　　　beauties　which　the　eyes　alone　can　prehend　not；
　　　　　　　　　　either　by　strong　or　tempered　light；　only　the　hand
　　　　　　　　　　by　touching　them　finds　them　out。〃

Hold　out　your　hands　to　feel　the　luxury　of　the　sunbeams。　Press　the　soft
blossoms　against　your　cheek；　and　finger　their　graces　of　form；　their
delicate　mutability　of　shape；　their　pliancy　and　freshness。　Expose　your
face　to　the　aerial　floods　that　sweep　the　heavens；　〃inhale　great　draughts
of　space；〃　wonder；　wonder　at　the　wind's　unwearied　activity。　Pile　note
on　note　the　infinite　music　that　flows　increasingly　to　your　soul　from　the
tactual　sonorities　of　a　thousand　branches　and　tumbling　waters。　How　can
the　world　be　shrivelled　when　this　most　profound；　emotional　sense；　touch；
is　faithful　to　its　service？　I　am　sure　that　if　a　fairy　bade　me　choose
between　the　sense　of　light　and　that　of　touch；　I　would　not　part　with　the
warm；　endearing　contact　of　human　hands　or　the　wealth　of　form；　the
nobility　and　fullness　that　press　into　my　palms。

FOOTNOTE：

＇C＇　I　found　that　of　the　senses；　the　eye　is　the　most　superficial；　the　ear
the　most　arrogant；　smell　the　most　voluptuous；　taste　the　most
superstitious　and　fickle；　touch　the　most　profound　and　the　most
philosophical。




THE　FIVE…SENSED　WORLD




VIII

THE　FIVE…SENSED　WORLD


THE　poets　have　taught　us　how　full　of　wonders　is　the　night；　and　the　night
of　blindness　has　its　wonders；　too。　The　only　lightless　dark　is　the　night
of　ignorance　and　insensibility。　We　differ；　blind　and　seeing；　one　from
another；　not　in　our　senses；　but　in　the　use　we　make　of　them；　in　the
imagination　and　courage　with　which　we　seek　wisdom　beyond　our　senses。

It　is　more　difficult　to　teach　ignorance　to　think　than　to　teach　an
intelligent　blind　man　to　see　the　grandeur　of　Niagara。　I　have　walked　with
people　whose　eyes　are　full　of　light；　but　who　see　nothing　in　wood；　sea；
or　sky；　nothing　in　city　streets；　nothing　in　books。　What　a　witless
masquerade　is　this　seeing！　It　were　better　far　to　sail　forever　in　the
night　of　blindness；　with　sense　and　feeling　and　mind；　than　to　be　thus
content　with　the　mere　act　of　seeing。　They　have　the　sunset；　the　morning
skies；　the　purple　of　distant　hills；　yet　their　souls　voyage　through　this
enchanted　world　with　a　barren　stare。

Th