the world i live in-海伦·凯勒自传(英文版)-第15章

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habits；　and　mental　capacity。　But　whatever　may　be　the　nature　of　our
dreams；　the　mental　processes　that　characterize　them　are　analogous　to
those　which　go　on　when　the　mind　is　not　held　to　attention　by　the　will。




A　WAKING　DREAM




XV

A　WAKING　DREAM


I　HAVE　sat　for　hours　in　a　sort　of　reverie；　letting　my　mind　have　its　way
without　inhibition　and　direction；　and　idly　noted　down　the　incessant　beat
of　thought　upon　thought；　image　upon　image。　I　have　observed　that　my
thoughts　make　all　kinds　of　connections；　wind　in　and　out；　trace
concentric　circles；　and　break　up　in　eddies　of　fantasy；　just　as　in
dreams。　One　day　I　had　a　literary　frolic　with　a　certain　set　of　thoughts
which　dropped　in　for　an　afternoon　call。　I　wrote　for　three　or　four　hours
as　they　arrived；　and　the　resulting　record　is　much　like　a　dream。　I　found
that　the　most　disconnected；　dissimilar　thoughts　came　in　arm…in…arm……I
dreamed　a　wide…awake　dream。　The　difference　is　that　in　waking　dreams　I
can　look　back　upon　the　endless　succession　of　thoughts；　while　in　the
dreams　of　sleep　I　can　recall　but　few　ideas　and　images。　I　catch　broken
threads　from　the　warp　and　woof　of　a　pattern　I　cannot　see；　or　glowing
leaves　which　have　floated　on　a　slumber…wind　from　a　tree　that　I　cannot
identify。　In　this　reverie　I　held　the　key　to　the　pany　of　ideas。　I　give
my　record　of　them　to　show　what　analogies　exist　between　thoughts　when
they　are　not　directed　and　the　behaviour　of　real　dream…thinking。

I　had　an　essay　to　write。　I　wanted　my　mind　fresh　and　obedient；　and　all
its　handmaidens　ready　to　hold　up　my　hands　in　the　task。　I　intended　to
discourse　learnedly　upon　my　educational　experiences；　and　I　was　unusually
anxious　to　do　my　best。　I　had　a　working　plan　in　my　head　for　the　essay；
which　was　to　be　grave；　wise；　and　abounding　in　ideas。　Moreover；　it　was　to
have　an　academic　flavour　suggestive　of　sheepskin；　and　the　reader　was　to
be　duly　impressed　with　the　austere　dignity　of　cap　and　gown。　I　shut
myself　up　in　the　study；　resolved　to　beat　out　on　the　keys　of　my
typewriter　this　immortal　chapter　of　my　life…history。　Alexander　was　no
more　confident　of　conquering　Asia　with　the　splendid　army　which　his
father　Philip　had　disciplined　than　I　was　of　finding　my　mental　house　in
order　and　my　thoughts　obedient。　My　mind　had　had　a　long　vacation；　and　I
was　now　ing　back　to　it　in　an　hour　that　it　looked　not　for　me。　My
situation　was　similar　to　that　of　the　master　who　went　into　a　far　country
and　expected　on　his　home　ing　to　find　everything　as　he　left　it。　But
returning　he　found　his　servants　giving　a　party。　Confusion　was　rampant。
There　was　fiddling　and　dancing　and　the　babble　of　many　tongues；　so　that
the　voice　of　the　master　could　not　be　heard。　Though　he　shouted　and　beat
upon　the　gate；　it　remained　closed。

So　it　was　with　me。　I　sounded　the　trumpet　loud　and　long；　but　the　vassals
of　thought　would　not　rally　to　my　standard。　Each　had　his　arm　round　the
waist　of　a　fair　partner；　and　I　know　not　what　wild　tunes　〃put　life　and
mettle　into　their　heels。〃　There　was　nothing　to　do。　I　looked　about
helplessly　upon　my　great　retinue；　and　realized　that　it　is　not　the
possession　of　a　thing　but　the　ability　to　use　it　which　is　of　value。　I
settled　back　in　my　chair　to　watch　the　pageant。　It　was　rather　pleasant
sitting　there；　〃idle　as　a　painted　ship　upon　a　painted　ocean；〃　watching
my　own　thoughts　at　play。　It　was　like　thinking　fine　things　to　say　without
taking　the　trouble　to　write　them。　I　felt　like　Alice　in　Wonderland　when
she　ran　at　full　speed　with　the　red　queen　and　never　passed　anything　or
got　anywhere。

The　merry　frolic　went　on　madly。　The　dancers　were　all　manner　of　thoughts。
There　were　sad　thoughts　and　happy　thoughts；　thoughts　suited　to　every
clime　and　weather；　thoughts　bearing　the　mark　of　every　age　and　nation；
silly　thoughts　and　wise　thoughts；　thoughts　of　people；　of　things；　and　of
nothing；　good　thoughts；　impish　thoughts；　and　large；　gracious　thoughts。
There　they　went　swinging　hand…in…hand　in　corkscrew　fashion。　An　antic
jester　in　green　and　gold　led　the　dance。　The　guests　followed　no　order　or
precedent。　No　two　thoughts　were　related　to　each　other　even　by　the
fortieth　cousinship。　There　was　not　so　much　as　an　international　alliance
between　them。　Each　thought　behaved　like　a　newly　created　poet。

　　　　　　　　　　〃His　mouth　he　could　not　ope；
　　　　　　　　　　　But　there　flew　out　a　trope。〃

Magical　lyrics……oh；　if　I　only　had　written　them　down！　Pell…mell　they　came
doy　mind；　this　merry　throng。　With
bacchanal　song　and　shout　they　came；　and　eye　hath　not　since　beheld
confusion　worse　confounded。

Shut　your　eyes；　and　see　them　e……the　knights　and　ladies　of　my　revel。
Plumed　and　turbaned　they　e；　clad　in　mail　and　silken　broideries；
gentle　maids　in　Quaker　gray；　gay　princes　in　scarlet　cloaks；　coquettes
with　roses　in　their　hair；　monks　in　cowls　that　might　have　covered　the
tall　Minster　Tower；　demure　little　girls　hugging　paper　dolls；　and
rollicking　school…boys　with　ruddy　morning　faces；　an　absent…minded
professor　carrying　his　shoes　under　his　arms　and　looking　wise；　followed
by　cronies；　fairies；　goblins；　and　all　the　troops　just　loosed　from　Noah's
storm…tossed　ark。　They　walked；　they　strutted；　they　soared；　they　swam；
and　some　came　in　through　fire。　One　sprite　climbed　up　to　the　moon　on　a
ladder　made　of　leaves　and　frozen　dew…drops。　A　peacock　with　a　great
hooked　bill　flew　in　and　out　among　the　branches　of　a　pomegranate…tree
pecking　the　rosy　fruit。　He　screamed　so　loud　that　Apollo　turned　in　his
chariot　of　flame　and　from　his　burnished　bow　shot　golden　arrows　at　him。
This　did　not　disturb　the　peacock　in　the　least；　for　he　spread　his
gem…like　wings　and　flourished　his　wonderful；　fire…tipped　tail　in　the
very　face　of　the　sun…god！　Then　came　Venus……an　exact　copy　of　my　own
plaster　cast……serene；　calm…eyed；　dancing　〃high　and　disposedly〃　like
Queen　Elizabeth；　surrounded　by　a　troop　of　lovely　Cupids　mounted　on
rose…tinted　clouds；　blown　hither　and　thither　by　sweet　winds；　while　all
around　danced　flowers　and　streams　and　queer　little　Japanese　cherry…trees
in　pots！　They　were　followed　by　jovial　Pan　with　green　hair　and　jewelled
sandals；　and　by　his　side……I　could　scarcely　believe　my　eyes！……walked　a
modest　nun　counting　her　beads。　At　a　little　distance　were　seen　three
dancers　arm…in…arm；　a　lean；　starved　platitude；　a　rosy；　dimpled　joke；　and
a　steel…ribbed　sermon　on　predestination。　Close　upon　them　came　a　whole
string　of　Nights　with　wind…blown　hair　and　Days　with　faggots　on　their
backs。　All　at　once　I　saw　the　ample　figure　of　Life　rise　above　the
whirling　mass　holding　a　naked　child　in　one　hand　and　in　the　other　a
gleaming　sword。　A　bear　crouched　at　her　feet；　and　all　about　her　swirled
and　glowed　a　multitudinous　host　of　tiny　atoms　which　sang　all　together；
〃We　are　the　will　of　God。〃　Atom　wedded　atom；　and　chemical　married
chemical；　and　the　cosmic　dance　went　on　in　changing；　changeless　measure；
until　my　head　sang　like　a　buzz…saw。

Just　as　I　was　thinking　I　would　leave　this　scene　of　phantoms　and　take　a
stroll　in　the　quiet　groves　of　Slumber　I　noticed　a　motion　near　one　of
the　entrances　to　my　enchanted　palace。　It　was　evident　from　the　whispering
and　buzzing　that　went　round　that　more　celebrities　had　arrived。　The　first
personage　I　saw　was　Homer；　blind　no　more；　leading　by　a　golden　chain　the
white…beaked　ships　of　the　Achaians　bobbing　their　heads　and　squawking
like　so　many　white　swans。　Plato　and　Mother　Goose　with　the　numerous
children　of　the　shoe　came　next。　Simple　Simon；　Jill；　and　Jack　who　had　had
his　head　mended；　and　the　cat　that　fell　into　the　cream……all　these　danced
in　a　giddy　reel；　while　Plato　solemnly　discoursed　on　the　laws　of
Topsyturvy　Land。　Then　followed　grim…visaged　Calvin　and　〃violet…crowned；
sweet…smiling　Sappho〃　who　danced　a　Schottische。　Aristophanes　and　Moliere
joined　for　a　measure；　both　talking　at　once；　Moliere　in　Greek　and
Aristophanes　in　German。　I　thought　this　odd；　because　it　occurred　to　me
that　German　was　a　dead　language　before　Aristophanes　was　born。
Bright…eyed　Shelley　brought　in　a　fluttering　lark　which　burst　into　the
song　of　Chaucer's　chanticleer。　Henry　Esmond　gave　his　hand　in　a　stately
minuet　to　Diana　of　the　Crossways。　He　evidently　did　not　understand　her
nieenth　century　wit；　for　he　did　not　laugh。　Perhaps　he　had　lost　his
taste　for　clever　women。　Anon　Dante　and　Swedenborg　came　together
conversing　earnestly　about　things　remote　and　mystical。　Swedenborg　said
it　was　very　warm。　Dante　replied　that　it　might　rain　in　the　night。

Suddenly　there　was　a　great　clamour；　and　I　found　that　〃The　Battle　of　the
Books〃　had　begun　raging　anew。　Two　figures　entered　in　lively　dispute。　One
was　dressed　in　plain　homespun　and　the　other　wore　a　scholar's　gown　over　a
suit　of　motley。　I　gathered　from　their　conversation　that　they　were　Cotton
Mather　and　William　Shakspere。　Mather　insisted　that　the　witches　in
〃Macbeth〃　should　be　caught　and　hanged。　Shakspere　replied　that　the
witches　had　already　suffered　enough　at　the　hands　of　mentators。　They
were　pushed　aside　by　the　twelve　knights　of　the　Round　Table；　who　marched
in　bearing　on　a　salver　the　goose　that　laid　golden　eggs。　〃The　Pope's
Mule〃　and　〃The　Golden　Bull〃　had　a　bat　of　history　and　fiction　such　as
I　had　read　of　in　books；　but　never　before　witnessed。　These　little　animals
were　put　to　rout　by　a　huge　elephant　which　lumbered　in　with　Rudyard
Kiplin