海伦·凯勒/Helen Keller

All of us have read thrilling stories in which the hero had only a limited and specified time to live. Sometimes it was as long as a year; sometimes as short as twenty-four hours. But always we were interested in discovering just how the doomed man chose to spend his last days or his last hours. I speak, of course, of free men who have a choice, not condemned criminals whose sphere of activities is strictly delimited.

Such stories set us thinking, wondering what we should do under similar circumstances. What events, what experiences, what associations should we crowd into those last hours as mortal beings? What happiness should we find in reviewing the past, what regrets?

Sometimes I have thought it would be an excellent rule to live each day as if we should die tomorrow. Such an attitude would emphasize sharply the values of life. We should live each day with gentleness, a vigor, and a keenness of appreciation which are often lost when time stretches before us in the constant panorama of more days and months and years to come. There are those, of course, who would adopt the Epicurean motto of "Eat, drink, and be merry," but most people would be chastened by the certainty of impending death.

In stories the doomed hero is usually saved at the last minute by some stroke of fortune, but almost always his sense of values is changed. He becomes more appreciative of the meaning of life and its permanent spiritual values. It has often been noted that those who live, or have lived, in the shadow of death bring a mellow sweetness to everything they do.

Most of us, however, take life for granted. We know that one day we must die, but usually we picture that day as far in the future. When we are in buoyant health, death is all but unimaginable. We seldom think of it. The days stretch out in an endless vista. So we go about our petty tasks, hardly aware of our listless attitude toward life.

The same lethargy, I am afraid, characterizes the use of all our faculties and senses. Only the deaf appreciate hearing, only the blind realize the manifold blessings that lie in sight. Particularly does this observation apply to those who have lost sight and hearing in adult life. But those who have never suffered impairment of sight or hearing seldom make the fullest use of these blessed faculties. Their eyes and ears take in all sights and sounds hazily, without concentration and with little appreciation. It is the same old story of not being grateful for what we have until we lose it, of not being conscious of health until we are ill.

I have often thought it would be a blessing if each human being were stricken blind and deaf for a few days at some time during his early adult life.

Darkness would make him more appreciative of sight; silence would teach him the joys of sound.

Now and then I have tested my seeing friends to discover what they see.

Recently I was visited by a very good friend who had just returned from a long walk in the woods, and I asked her what she had observed… "Nothing in particular" she replied. I might have been incredulous had I not been accustomed to such reposes, for long ago I became convinced that the seeing see little.

How was it possible, I asked myself, to walk for an hour through the woods and see nothing worthy of note? I who cannot see find hundreds of things to interest me through mere touch. I feel the delicate symmetry of a leaf. I pass my hands lovingly about the smooth skin of a silver birch, or the rough, shaggy bark of a pine. In the spring I touch the branches of trees hopefully in search of a bud the first sign of awakening nature after her winter's sleep. I feel the delightful, velvety texture of a flower, and discover its remarkable convolutions; and something of the miracle of Nature is revealed to me. Occasionally, if I am very fortunate, I place my hand gently on a small tree and feel the happy quiver of a bird in full song. I am delighted to have the cool waters of a brook rush thought my open finger. To me a lush carpet of pine needles or spongy grass is more welcome than the most luxurious Persian rug. To me the page ant of seasons is a thrilling and unending drama, the action of which streams through my finger tips.

At times my heart cries out with longing to see all these things. If I can get so much pleasure from mere touch, how much more beauty must be revealed by sight. Yet, those who have eyes apparently see little. The panorama of color and action which fills the world is taken for granted. It is human, perhaps, to appreciate little that which we have and to long for that which we have not, but it is a great pity that in the world of light the gift of sight is used only as a mere conveniences rather than as a means of adding fullness to life.

If I were the president of a university I should establish a compulsory course in "How to Use Your Eyes".The professor would try to show his pupils how they could add joy to their lives by really seeing what passes unnoticed before them. He would try to awake their dormant and sluggish faculties.

Perhaps I can best illustrate by imagining what I should most like to see if I were given the use of my eyes, say, for just three days. And while I am imagining, suppose you, too, set your mind to work on the problem of how you would use your own eyes if you had only three more days to see. If with the on-coming darkness of the third night you knew that the sun would never rise for you again, how would you spend those three precious intervening days? What would you most want to let your gaze rest upon?

I, naturally, should want most to see the things which have become dear to me through my years of darkness. You, too, would want to let your eyes rest on the things that have become dear to you so that you could take the memory of them with you into the night that loomed before you.

If, by some miracle, I were granted three seeing days, to be followed by a relapse into darkness, I should divide the period into three parts.

The First Day

On the first day, I should want to see the people whose kindness and gentleness and companionship have made my life worth living. First I should like to gaze long upon the face of my dear teacher, Mrs.Anne Sullivan Macy, who came to me when I was a child and opened the outer world to me. I should want not merely to see the outline of her face, so that I could cherish it in my memory, but to study that face and find in it the living evidence of the sympathetic tenderness and patience with which she accomplished the difficult task of my education. I should like to see in her eyes that strength of character which has enabled her to stand firm in the face of difficulties, and that compassion for all humanity which she has revealed to me so often.

I do not know what it is to see into the heart of a friend through that "window of the soul", the eye. I can only "see" through my finger tips the outline of a face. I can detect laughter, sorrow, and many other obvious emotions. I know my friends from the feel of their faces. But I cannot really picture their personalities by touch. I know their personalities, of course, through other means, through the thoughts they express to me, through whatever of their actions are revealed to me. But I am denied that deeper understanding of them which I am sure would come through sight of them, through watching their reactions to various expressed thoughts and circumstances, through noting the immediate and fleeting reactions of their eyes and countenance.

Friends who are near to me I know well, because through the months and years they reveal themselves to me in all their phases; but of casual friends I have only an incomplete impression, an impression gained from a handclasp, from spoken words which I take from their lips with my finger tips, or which they tap into the palm of my hand.

How much easier, how much more satisfying it is for you who can see to grasp quickly the essential qualities of another person by watching the subtleties of expression, the quiver of a muscle, the flutter of a hand. But does it ever occur to you to use your sight to see into the inner nature of a friend or acquaintance? Do not most of you seeing people grasp casually the outward features of a face and let it go at that?

For instance can you describe accurately the faces of five good friends? Some of you can, but many cannot. As an experiment, I have questioned husbands of long standing about the color of their wives'eyes, and often they express embarrassed confusion and admit that they do not know. And, incidentally, it is a chronic complaint of wives that their husbands do not notice new dresses, new hats, and changes in household arrangements.

The eyes of seeing persons soon become accustomed to the routine of their surroundings, and they actually see only the startling and spectacular. But even in viewing the most spectacular sights the eyes are lazy. Court records reveal every day how inaccurately "eyewitnesses" see. A given event will be "seen" in several different ways by as many witnesses. Some see more than others, but few see everything that is within the range of their vision.

Oh, the things that I should see if I had the power of sight for just three days!

The first day would be a busy one. I should call to me all my dear friends and look long into their faces, imprinting upon my mind the outward evidences of the beauty that is within them. I should let my eyes rest, too, on the face of a baby, so that I could catch a vision of the eager, innocent beauty which precedes the individual's consciousness of the conflicts which life develops.

And I should like to look into the loyal, trusting eyes of my dogs—the grave, canny little Scottie, Darkie, and the stalwart, understanding Great Dane Helga, whose warm, tender, and playful friendships are so comforting to me.

On that busy first day I should also view the small simple things of my home. I want to see the warm colors in the rugs under my feet, the pictures on the walls, the intimate trifles that transform a house into home. My eyes would rest respectfully on the books in raised type which I have read, but they would be more eagerly interested in the printed books which seeing people can read, for during the long night of my life the books I have read and those which have been read to me have built themselves into a great shining lighthouse, revealing to me the deepest channels of human life and the human spirit.

In the afternoon of that first seeing day, I should take a long walk in the woods and intoxicate my eyes on the beauties of the world of Nature, trying desperately to absorb in a few hours the vast splendor which is constantly unfolding itself to those who can see. On the way home from my woodland jaunt my path would lie near a farm so that I might see the patient horses ploughing in the field(perhaps I should see only a tractor!) and the serene content of men living close to the soil. And I should pray for the glory of a colorful sunset.

When dusk had fallen, I should experience the double delight of being able to see by artificial light which the genius of man has created to extend the power of his sight when Nature decrees darkness.

In the night of that first day of sight, I should not be able to sleep, so full would be my mind of the memories of the day.

The Second Day

The next day—the second day of sight—I should arise with the dawn and see the thrilling miracle by which night is transformed into day. I should behold with awe the magnificent panorama of light with which the sun awakens the sleeping earth.

This day I should devote to a hasty glimpse of the world, past and present. I should want to see the pageant of man's progress, the kaleidoscope of the ages. How can so much be compressed into one day? Through the museums, of course. Often I have visited the New York Museum of Natural History to touch with my hands many of the objects there exhibited, but I have longed to see with my eyes the condensed history of the earth and its inhabitants displayed there animals and the races of men pictured in their native environment; gigantic carcasses of dinosaurs and mastodons which roamed the earth long before man appeared, with his tiny stature and powerful brain, to conquer the animal kingdom; realistic presentations of the processes of development in animals, in man, and in the implements which man has used to fashion for himself a secure home on this planet; and a thousand and one other aspects of natural history.

I wonder how many readers of this article have viewed this panorama of the face of living things as pictured in that inspiring museum. Many, of course, have not had the opportunity, but I am sure that many who have had the opportunity have not made use of it. There, indeed, is a place to use your eyes. You who see can spend many fruitful days there, but I with my imaginary three days of sight, could only take a hasty glimpse, and pass on.

My next stop would be the Metropolitan Museum of Art, for just as the Museum of Natural History reveals the material aspects of the world, so does the Metropolitan show the myriad facets of the human spirit. Throughout the history of humanity the urge to artistic expression has been almost as powerful as the urge for food, shelter, and procreation. And here, in the vast chambers of the Metropolitan Museum, is unfolded before me the spirit of Egypt, Greece, and Rome, as expressed in their art. I know well through my hands the sculptured gods and goddesses of the ancient Nile-land. I have felt copies of Parthenon friezes, and I have sensed the rhythmic beauty of charging Athenian warriors. Apollos and Venuses and the Winged Victory of Samothrace are friends of my finger tips. The gnarled bearded features of Homer are dear to me, for he, too, knew blindness.

My hands have lingered upon the living marble of roman sculpture as well as that of later generations. I have passed my hands over a plaster cast of Michelangelo's inspiring and heroic Moses; I have sensed the power of Rodin; I have been awed by the devoted spirit of Gothic wood carving. These arts which can be touched have meaning for me, but even they were meant to be seen rather than felt, and I can only guess at the beauty which remains hidden from me. I can admire the simple lines of a Greek vase, but its figured decorations are lost to me.

So on this, my second day of sight, I should try to probe into the soul of man through this art. The things I knew through touch I should now see. More splendid still, the whole magnificent world of painting would be opened to me, from the Italian Primitives, with their serene religious devotion, to the Moderns, with their feverish visions. I should look deep into the canvases of Raphael, Leonardo, Da Vinci, Titian, Rembrandt. I should want to feast my eyes upon the warm colors of Veronese, study the mysteries of E1 Greco, catch a new vision of Nature from Corot. Oh, there is so much rich meaning and beauty in the art of the ages for you who have eyes to see!

Upon my short visit to this temple of art I should not be able to review a fraction of that great world of art which is open to you. I should be able to get only a superficial impression. Artists tell me that for deep and true appreciation of art one must educated the eye. One must learn through experience to weigh the merits of line, of composition, of form and color. If I had eyes, how happily would I embark upon so fascinating a study! Yet I am told that, to many of you who have eyes to see, the world of art is a dark night, unexplored and unilluminated. It would be with extreme reluctance that I should leave the Metropolitan Museum, which contains the key to beauty—a beauty so neglected. Seeing persons, however, do not need a metropolitan to find this key to beauty. The same key lies waiting in smaller museums, and in books on the shelves of even small libraries. But naturally, in my limited time of imaginary sight, I should choose the place where the key unlocks the greatest treasures in the shortest time.

The evening of my second day of sight I should spend at a theatre or at the movies. Even now I often attend theatrical performances of all sorts, but the action of the play must be spelled into my hand by a companion. But how I should like to see with my own eyes the fascinating figure of Hamlet, or the gusty Falstaff amid colorful Elizabethan trappings! How I should like to follow each movement of the graceful Hamlet, each strut of the hearty Falstaff! And since I could see only one play, I should be confronted by a many-horned dilemma, for there are scores of plays I should want to see. You who have eyes can see any you like. How many of you, I wonder, when you gaze at a play, a movie, or any spectacle, realize and give thanks for the miracle of sight which enables you to enjoy its color, grace, and movement?

I cannot enjoy the beauty of rhythmic movement except in a sphere restricted to the touch of my hands. I can vision only dimly the grace of a Pavlowa, although I know something of the delight of rhythm, for often I can sense the beat of music as it vibrates through the floor. I can well imagine that cadenced motion must be one of the most pleasing sights in the world. I have been able to gather something of this by tracing with my fingers the lines in sculptured marble; if this static grace can be so lovely, how much more acute must be the thrill of seeing grace in motion.

One of my dearest memories is of the time when Joseph Jefferson allowed me to touch his face and hands as he went through some of the gestures and speeches of his beloved Rip Van Winkle. I was able to catch thus a meager glimpse of the world of drama, and I shall never forget the delight of that moment. But, oh, how much I must miss, and how much pleasure you seeing ones can derive from watching and hearing the interplay of speech and movement in the unfolding of a dramatic performance! If I could see only one play, I should know how to picture in my mind the action of a hundred plays which I have read or had transferred to me through the medium of the manual alphabet.

So, through the evening of my second imaginary day of sight, the great figures of dramatic literature would crowd sleep from my eyes.

The Third Day

The following morning, I should again greet the dawn, anxious to discover new delights, for I am sure that, for those who have eyes which really see, the dawn of each day must be a perpetually new revelation of beauty.

This, according to the terms of my imagined miracle, is to be my third and last day of sight. I shall have no time to waste in regrets or longings; there is too much to see. The first day I devoted to my friends, animate and inanimate. The second revealed to me the history of man and Nature. Today I shall spend in the workaday world of the present, amid the haunts of men going about the business of life. And where can one find so many activities and conditions of men as in New York? So the city becomes my destination.

I start from my home in the quiet little suburb of Forest Hills, Long Island. Here, surrounded by green lawns, trees, and flowers, are neat little houses, happy with the voices and movements of wives and children, havens of peaceful rest for men who toil in the city. I drive across the lacy structure of steel which spans the East River, and I get a new and startling vision of the power and ingenuity of the mind of man. Busy boasts chug and scurry about the river racy speed boat, stolid, snorting tugs. If I had long days of sight ahead, I should spend many of them watching the delightful activity upon the river.

I look ahead, and before me rise the fantastic towers of New York, a city that seems to have stepped from the pages of a fairy story. What an awe, inspiring sight, these glittering spires. These vast banks of stone and steel-structures such as the gods might build for themselves! This animated picture is a part of the lives of millions of people every day. How many, I wonder, give it so much as a seconds glance? Very few, I fear. Their eyes are blind to this magnificent sight because it is so familiar to them.

I hurry to the top of one of those gigantic structures, the Empire State Building, for there, a short time ago, I "saw" the city below through the eyes of my secretary. I am anxious to compare my fancy with reality. I am sure I should not be disappointed in the panorama spread out before me, for to me it would be a vision of another world.

Now I begin my rounds of the city. First, I stand at a busy corner, merely looking at people, trying by sight of them to understand something of their live. I see smiles, and I am happy. I see serious determination, and I am proud, I see suffering, and I am compassionate.

I stroll down Fifth Avenue. I throw my eyes out of focus, so that I see no particular object but only a seething kaleidoscope of colors. I am certain that the colors of women's dresses moving in a throng must be a gorgeous spectacle of which I should never tire. But perhaps if I had sight I should be like most other women—too interested in styles and the cut of individual dresses to give much attention to the splendor of color in the mass. And I am convinced, too, that I should become an inveterate window shopper, for it must be a delight to the eye to view the myriad articles of beauty on display.

From Fifth Avenue I make a tour of the city—to Park Avenue, to the slums, to factories, to parks where children play. I take a stay-at-home trip abroad by visiting the foreign quarters. Always my eyes are open wide to all the sights of both happiness and misery so that I may probe deep and add to my understanding of how people work and live. My heart is full of the images of people and things. My eye passes lightly over no single trifle; it strives to touch and hold closely each thing its gaze rests upon. Some sights are pleasant, filling the heart with happiness; but some are miserably pathetic. To these latter I do not shut my eyes, for they, too, are part of life. To close the eye on them is to close the heart and mind.

My third day of sight is drawing to an end. Perhaps there are many serious pursuits to which I should devote the few remaining hours, but I am afraid that on the evening of that last day I should again run away to the theater, to a hilariously funny play, so that I might appreciate the overtones of comedy in the human spirit.

At midnight my temporary respite from blindness would cease, and permanent night would close in on me again. Naturally in those three short days I should not have seen all I wanted to see. Only when darkness had again descended upon me should I realize how much I had left unseen. But my mind would be so crowded with glorious memories that I should have little time for regrets. Thereafter the touch of every object would bring a glowing memory of how that object looked.

Perhaps this short outline of how I should spend three days of sight does not agree with the program you would set for yourself if you knew that you were about to be stricken blind. I am, however, sure that if you actually faced that fate your eyes would open to things you had never seen before, storing up memories for the long night ahead. You would use your eyes as never before. Everything you saw would become dear to you. Your eyes would touch and embrace every object that came within your range of vision. Then, at last, you would really see, and a new world of beauty would open itself before you.

I who am blind can give one hint to those who see—one admonition to those who would make full use of the gift of sight: Use your eyes as if tomorrow you would be stricken blind. And the same method can be applied to the other senses. Hear the music of voices, the song of a bird, the mighty strains of an orchestra, as if you would be stricken deaf tomorrow. Touch each object you want to touch as if tomorrow your tactile sense would fail. Smell the perfume of flowers, taste with relish each morsel, as if tomorrow you could never smell and taste again. Make the most of every sense: glory in all the facets of pleasure and beauty which the world reveals to you through the several means of contact which Nature provides. But of all the senses, I am sure that sight must be the most delightful.

我们都读过一些令人兴奋激动的故事，故事中的主人公只能再活一段很有限的时光。有时是一年这么长，有时却只有短短的24小时。但是在探究这个将要离世的人选择怎样度过他最后岁月的问题上，我们都充满兴趣。当然，我说的是有选择权利的自由人，而不是死刑犯。死刑犯的活动范围是受到严格限制的。

这样的故事使我们思索，想知道如果我们自己在相似的情况下，应该做什么？临死之时，什么样的事情、体验、关系应该被放入最后的时光中呢？回忆往昔，什么使我们快乐开心，什么又使我们抱憾呢？

有时，我常这样想，每天活得就像明天就死去一样，这或许是一个非常好的规则。这样的态度可以鲜明地强调生命的价值。我们应该生活得优雅从容，朝气蓬勃，观察敏锐，而这些将会日复一日、月复一月、年复一年慢慢丢失。当然，也有一些人一生只是“吃、喝、享受”，然而，大多数人在得知死亡的确切存在时，都会有所收敛。

在故事中，将死的主人公通常都在最后的时刻由于幸运的突然降临而获救，并且从此以后他的价值观就改变了。他变得更加理解生命的意义及其永恒的精神价值。经常可以看到一些人，即使生活在死亡的阴影下，仍然对他所做的每件事情充满了甜美的感情。

然而，我们中的大多数人认为生活是理所当然的。我们知道总有一天我们要面对死亡，但总认为那一天还在遥远的将来。当我们身强体健时，死亡似乎是不愿想象的，我们很少考虑它。日子多得好像没有尽头。因此，我们一味忙于琐事，却没意识到这样对待生活的态度太盲目。

我担心同样的冷漠也存在于我们对自己所有官能和意识的使用上。只有聋子感激欣赏听力，只有瞎子体会到看见事物的乐趣。这种研究特别适合那些在成年期丧失了视力与听力的人。而那些从未体会过丧失视力和听力之苦的人，很少能充分使用这些美好的官能。他们心不在焉，也不太感兴趣用眼睛和耳朵模糊地看着和听着周围的一切。正如人们不知道珍惜自己拥有的，直到失去了才明白它的价值一样。人们只有在病的时候，才意识到健康的好处。

我经常这样想，如果每个人在他的早期成年生活中有一段时间变瞎变聋了，这将是一件非常好的事情。

黑暗将使他更加感激光明，寂静将告诉他声音的美妙。

我经常测验我那些视力完好的朋友，探究他们看到了什么。

最近，我的一位好友来拜访我，她刚从森林里散步了很长的时间归来，我问她都看到了些什么。“没什么特别的东西。”她回答说。如果不是习惯了这样的回答，那我一定会对此觉得不可思议，因为我早就相信，眼睛是看不到什么东西的。

我问自己，在森林里走了一个多小时，竟然没有看到任何可看的东西，这怎么可能？就连我这个看不见东西的人，只靠触摸都能发现许许多多令我感兴趣的事物。我感到一片叶子的娇嫩与匀称，我充满爱意地抚摸着白桦树银色光滑的外皮，或者松树粗糙的表皮。春天，我满怀希望地抚摸着树枝，寻找着大自然冬眠苏醒后的第一个标志——花蕾。我感觉到花儿那令人愉悦的如天鹅绒般光滑的质感，同时又发现了它那引人注目的卷曲。大自然中千奇百怪的事物就这样展现在我面前。偶尔，如果幸运的话，我轻轻地将手放在一棵小树上，就能感到小鸟放声歌唱时的快乐的跳跃。我喜欢让清凉的溪水从我张开的指间滑过。就我个人而言，芬芳的松针地毯或轻软的草地要比最奢华的波斯地毯更受我欢迎；对我来说，四季的变迁，就像一场令人激动万分并且没有休止的戏剧，它们的行动像溪水一样流过我的指间。

有时，我在内心呐喊，渴望能看看所有的事物。只是摸一摸就给我带来了如此多的快乐，如果能看到的话，我将发现多少美丽啊！然而，那些视力完好的人很少看见什么。他们认为，世界上千姿百态的行为以及丰富多彩的颜色，是理所当然的事情。这就是人类，很少关注已有的东西，却渴望得到自己没有的东西。然而，在明亮的世界里，将视力的天赋只看做一种方便之举，而不看作充实生活的手段，这是非常可惜的。

如果我是一所大学的校长，我将设这样一门必修课：“怎样利用你的眼睛？”教授应当试着向他的学生揭示，他们可以将新的快乐带入生活，只要他们能真正看清那些他们不曾注意过的事物。教授还应当努力唤醒他们身上那些沉睡懒散的官能。

我可以用想象来很好地描述一下，如果我能重见光明，哪怕只有三天时间，我最想看到什么。而且，我在幻想，假设是你自己，你只有三天多的时间来看这个世界的话，你将怎样利用你的眼睛呢？假如随着第三天黑夜的到来，太阳将永远不会再从你面前升起，你将如何度过这短暂的、宝贵的三天呢？你最有可能将目光停留在什么上面？

很自然的，那些在我的黑暗岁月中对我最亲切的东西是我最想看到的。我想，你也希望将目光停留在那些使你感到最亲切的东西上。这样，你就可以把它化为回忆带进无尽的黑夜中去。

如果靠某种奇迹我能恢复三天光明，然后再回到黑暗里去的话，我将把这三天分为三个阶段。

第一天

在第一天，我要看到那些善良的、温和的、友好的人，是他们使我的生活变得有价值。首先，我想长久地凝望我亲爱的教师——安妮·莎莉文·麦西夫人的脸。当我还是孩子的时候，她就来到我家，给我打开了外面的世界。为了将她珍藏在我的记忆中，我不仅要看她脸部的轮廓，还要仔细研究那张脸，找出同情的温柔和耐心的活生生的例子，她就是靠这些完成了教育我的困难任务。我想从她的眼睛里，看出使她能坚定地面对困难的坚强个性和她经常向我展露出的对于人类的同情心。

我不知道怎样通过“心灵的窗户”——眼睛去探索一个朋友的内心世界。我只能通过指尖，“看到”一张脸的轮廓。我能感觉到高兴、悲伤和许多其他明显的情感。通过触摸他们的脸，我可以了解我的朋友们。但是，我无法通过触摸来明确说出他们的个人特征来。当然可以通过其他方法，例如通过他们对我表达的思想，通过他们对我显示的一切行为，来探究他们的个性。但是，我不认为对他们能有更深的了解，只能通过亲眼见到他们，亲眼看见他们对各种思想和环境的反应，亲眼看到他们的眼神和表情即时瞬间的反应来实现。

对于我身边的朋友，我很了解，因为，经过多年的交往，他们已向我显示了自己的各个方面。但是，对于那些偶然遇到的朋友，我只有一个不完整的印象，这个印象还是从一次握手，我用手指触摸他们的嘴唇，或他们拍我的手掌的暗语中得到的。

而对于视力完好的你们来说，这就容易得多，并且也比较令人满意。你们只要观察他表情的微妙变化、肌肉的颤动、手的摇晃，就可以迅速地抓住这人的基本个性。然而，你曾经想过用你的眼睛刺探一个朋友或是熟人的内在本质吗？你们那些视力完好的大多数人只是随便看看一张脸的轮廓，并且到此为止，这难道不是事实吗？

举个例子，你能准确地描绘出五个好朋友的面貌吗？有些人可以做到，但多数人是做不到的。根据一个试验，我问过许多结婚几年的丈夫，他们妻子的眼睛是什么颜色的？他们通常很尴尬，也很困惑，老实承认自己确实不知道。顺便提一句，妻子们大多抱怨他们的丈夫不注意新衣服、新帽子和房间布置的改变。

正常的人们很快就会习惯他们周围的环境，事实上他们只注意奇迹和壮观景象。然而，即使在看最壮观的景色时，他们的眼睛也是懒惰的。法庭的记录每天都表明“目击证人”看到的是多么不准确。不同的证人可以从不同的角度来看同一事件。有些人可以看得更多些，但很少有人能将自己视力范围内的每件事情都收入眼底。

啊，如果我有三天光明的话，我该看些什么东西呢？

第一天将是很繁忙的一天。我要把所有的好朋友都叫来，好好端详他们的面容，将他们外貌下的内在美深深地刻在我的脑海里。我还要看一个婴儿的面孔，这样我就能欣赏到一种充满渴望、天真无邪的美，它是一种没有经历过生活斗争的美。

我还应该看看我那群忠诚的值得信赖的狗的眼睛——严肃而机警的小斯科第?达基和那高大健壮而又善解人意的大戴恩?海尔加，它们热情、温柔而淘气的友谊使我感到惬意。

在那紧张的第一天里，我还要仔细观察我家里那些简朴的小东西。看看脚下地毯那热情奔放的颜色，墙上美丽的壁画和那些把一所房屋变成一个家的熟悉的小东西。我会充满敬意地凝视我所读过的那些盲文书，不过，我将更热切地盼望看到那些供正常人读的印刷书籍。因为在我那漫长的黑夜生活里，我读过的以及别人读给我听的书已经在我面前筑成一座伟大光明的灯塔，向我揭示人类生命和人类精神的最深源泉。

在恢复光明的第一天下午，我将在森林里进行一次长时间的散步，让自己的眼睛陶醉在自然界的美丽风景中，我将在这有限的几小时内，如痴如醉地享受那永远只向视力正常的人展露的壮观美景。在结束森林散步返回家的路旁如果有一个农场，我便能看到耐心的马儿在田间犁地（也许我只能看到拖拉机了）和那些依靠土地生存的人宁静满足的生活。我还要为绚丽多彩而又壮观辉煌的日落祈祷。

当夜幕降临之后，通过人类天才发明的人造灯光，我应该体会到双重的快乐。这是当大自然的黑夜来临时，人类为增强自己的视力而发明的。

在恢复光明的第一天夜里，我不可能睡着，脑海里满是对白天的回忆。

第二天

翌日——也就是恢复光明的第二天，我将黎明即起，看那由黑夜变成白天的激动人心的奇观。我将怀着敬畏的心情去观赏那壮观莫测的变幻景象，太阳正是用它唤醒了沉睡的大地。

我想利用这一天对整个世界的历程作一瞥。我想看看人类进步的壮观景象以及历史的沧桑巨变。如此多的东西怎样才能压缩到一天内看完呢？当然，这只能通过历史博物馆了。我经常参观纽约自然历史博物馆，用手触摸过那里展出的许多物品。但是，我多么渴望能用自己的眼睛看一看这经过浓缩的地球历史，以及陈列在那里的地球居民——各种动物以及处于本土环境对不同种族的描摹；看看恐龙巨大的骨架和早在人类出现以前就漫游在地球上的柱牙象，人类就是靠渺小的身躯和发达的大脑征服了动物王国；看看那些展现动物和人类进化过程的逼真画面，和人类用来为自己在这个星球上建造安全居所的那些工具；还有自然历史中许许多多其他方面的东西。

我怀疑有多少本文读者曾仔细观察过在那个激动人心的博物馆里展出的那些栩栩如生的展品的全貌。当然，许多人可能没有这样的机会。不过，我敢肯定，许多有这种机会的人却没有好好地善用它。那儿确实是一个用眼的好地方。视力正常的人们可以在那里度过无数个充实的日子。而在我的想象中，短短的三天光明，只能匆匆一瞥便得离去。

我的下一站将是大都会艺术博物馆。就像自然历史博物馆向我们揭示世界的物质方面一样，大都会艺术博物馆将展现出人类精神的各个侧面。在人类历史中，对艺术表达方法的渴望几乎和人类对于食物、住房、生育的热望同等强烈。在这里，在大都会博物馆的巨型大厅里，埃及、希腊、罗马的精神思想通过他们的艺术表达出来。通过我双手的触摸，我很熟悉古埃及男女诸神的雕像，能感觉到复制的巴特农神庙的中楣，也能感觉出还在发起进攻的雅典武士那种节奏美。阿波罗、维纳斯以及萨摩德拉斯岛的胜利女神都是我指尖的朋友。多瘤而又蓄有长须的荷马让我感觉尤为亲切。因为他了解盲人。

我的手曾逗留在罗马时代以及更晚期的那些栩栩如生的大理石雕塑上，我的手曾经抚摸过米开朗琪罗那激动人心的石膏像英雄摩西，我也能感知到罗丹的才能，对哥特式木刻的奉献精神深感敬佩。这些能用手触摸的艺术品，我能理解它们的意义，而那些只能看到不能摸到的东西，我只能通过猜测来领悟那一直远避我的美。我可以欣赏希腊花瓶那简朴的线条，然而，它的图案装饰我无法得知。

就这样，在我恢复光明的第二天，我就试图通过艺术去刺探人类的灵魂。通过触摸可以了解的东西，现在可以用眼睛来看了。宏伟而又壮观的绘画世界将在我的面前展开，从带有宁静宗教风险色彩的意大利原始艺术到具有狂热想象意味的现代派艺术。我要细细观察拉斐尔、列奥纳多·达·芬奇、提香、伦勃朗的油画，也想让眼睛享受一下委罗涅塞那绚丽的色彩，研究一下埃尔·格里柯的神秘，并从柯罗那里体会自然的新意。啊，这么多世纪以来的艺术，为视力正常的人们提供了多少绚丽的美和深广的意义啊！

凭着对艺术圣殿的短暂造访，我不可能把只向你们打开的伟大艺术世界里的每个部分都考虑得很清楚，我得到的只能是一个表面肤浅的印象。艺术家们告诉我，如果想真实而深刻地评价艺术，就必须培养自己的眼睛，一个人必须从品评线条、构图、形式和色彩的经历中去学习。如果我能看见东西的话，我是多么乐意去着手这件令人着迷的研究啊！然而我被告知，对于你们大多数视力正常者来说，艺术世界是一个沉沉的黑夜，无法探索也难以找到光明。我无可奈何，不情愿地离开大都会博物馆，那儿收藏着发现美的钥匙——这种美已经被人们所忽略。然而，视力正常的人并不需要从大都会博物馆里去寻找发现美的钥匙。人们在较小的博物馆里，甚至在那些小图书馆书架上的书本里也能找到同样的钥匙。当然了，在我想象中能看见东西的有限时光里，我将选择这样一个地方，在那里发现美的钥匙可以在最短的时间内打开最伟大的宝库。

第二个恢复光明的夜晚，我想去戏院看一场电影。虽然我现在经常出席各种戏剧表演，可剧情得让一位陪同人员拼写在我的手上。我多想用自己的眼睛看一看哈姆雷特那迷人的形象，或者穿梭于绚丽多彩的伊丽莎白式服装的人物之中的福斯塔夫。我多么想模仿优雅的哈姆雷特的每一个动作和健壮的福斯塔夫的每一次昂首阔步。因为我只能看一场戏，这使我进退两难，但是我想看的戏实在太多了。你们视力正常的人可以看你们想看的任何戏，不过，我怀疑你们之中究竟有多少人在全神贯注于一场戏、一部电影或别的壮观景象的时候，是否意识到并感激那让你享受其色彩、优美和动作的视力的奇迹呢？

除了在触摸的有限范围内，我无法享受节奏感动作的美。尽管我明白节奏欢快的奥妙，因为我经常通过地板的颤动去感受音乐的节拍，但是我也只能模糊地领略帕芙洛娃的魅力。我可以想象出那富于节奏感的动作，一定是世间最赏心悦目的奇景之一。我可以通过手指去触摸大理石雕像的线条来感悟这一点。如果静止的美可以如此可爱，那么看到运动中的美肯定更令人振奋和激动！

我最深切的回忆之一是在排练可爱的《瑞普·凡·温克尔》，约瑟夫·杰斐逊做着动作讲着台词的时候，他允许我触摸他的脸和手。这使我对戏剧世界有了贫乏的一瞥，我将永远不会忘记那一刻的兴奋和欢乐。但是，我肯定还遗漏了许多东西。你们视力正常的人能从戏剧表演中通过看动作和听台词获得多么高的享受啊。就算我只能看一场戏，我也能明白我读过或通过手语字母而进入我脑海的一百场戏的情节。

所以，我想象中恢复光明的第二天的夜晚，戏剧文学中的许多伟大形象将挤进我的梦想。

第三天

第三天的清晨，我将再次去迎接那初升的旭日，希望发现新的欢乐。因为我确信，那些视力正常的人肯定会发现，每个黎明都充满了千姿百态、变幻无穷的美。

根据我想象中奇迹的日期，这是我恢复光明的第三天，也是最后一天。我没有时间去遗憾或渴望了，那儿有太多的东西要去看。我把第一天给了我的朋友，给了那些有生命和没有生命的人间万物；第二天展现在我面前的，是人类和自然的历史。今天我要在现实世界里，在从事日常生活的人们中间度过。除了纽约，你还能在别的什么地方发现人类这么多的活动和这样纷繁的情景呢？于是，纽约成为我的目的地。

我从位于静谧的长岛森林山郊区的家中出发。许多整洁的小屋在绿地、树木、鲜花的拥抱中，四周回**着妇女儿童说笑走动的欢乐声音，这里真是城市劳动者安静的休息之所。当我驱车穿越横跨东河的钢式网状桥时，感觉到了新的激动，感受到人类内心的智慧和力量。河上千帆竞发、百舸争流。如果我以前能看见东西的话，我将用很多时间来欣赏河上的热闹活动。

举目前望，面前耸立着奇异的纽约塔，这城市就像是从神话故事的书页中跳出来似的。这是多么令人激动敬畏的奇景啊！这些闪闪发光的尖塔，这些钢和石块构筑的巨大堤岸，就像神为自己修建的一样。这幅有生气的画卷是千百万人每日生活的一部分，我担心很少有人能够注意这些。他们的眼睛经常无视这些壮丽景观的存在，因为他们对这些已经太熟悉了。

我匆匆忙忙登上那些大型建筑之一——帝国大厦的顶层，就在不久前，我在那里通过秘书的眼睛“看到”了脚下的城市。我急于把我的想象和真实世界作一次比较。我坚信展现在我面前的这幅画卷绝不会使我失望，因为对于我来说它将是另一个世界的景况。

现在我开始周游这个城市。首先我站在繁忙的一隅，只是看来往的人群，试着从观察中去了解他们生活中的一些东西。看到他们微笑，我也开心；看到他们如此果断，我感到骄傲；看到他们遭受痛苦，我深感同情。

我漫游到第五大道，将视野从聚精会神的注视中解放出来，以便不留意特殊的事物而只看一看瞬息万变的色彩。我相信人流中妇女衣着的色彩，肯定是我最看不厌的灿烂奇观。不过，假如我能看见的话，可能我也会像大多数妇女一样，过分地注重服装的个性化风格和个性化的剪裁式样，而忽略宏观色彩的壮美。我还确信我会变成一个橱窗前的常客，因为观看橱窗中五光十色的美丽商品一定会令眼睛愉悦。

从第五大道开始游览整个城市——我要到花园大街去，到贫民区去，到工厂去，到孩子们嬉戏的公园去。通过访问外国居民，我做了一次不离本土的境外旅行。对于开心和伤痛等一切东西，我都睁大眼睛去关心，以便能深刻探索和进一步了解人们是如何工作和生活的。我的心里充满了对人和物的想象，我的目光将轻轻地滑过但不漏下任何一个细小的东西，它力图紧紧抓住它所凝视的每一件事物。有些场景是令人愉快的，内心充满了喜悦，可有些情景使我感到悲哀和忧郁。我不会对后者闭上眼睛，因为它们也是生活的一部分，对它们闭上眼睛就等于关闭了心灵，禁锢了思想。

我恢复光明的第三天就要结束了，可能我应该把这剩下的几小时用于许多重要的探索上，可是我担心在这最后一夜，我会再次跑到剧院去看一出狂喜的滑稽戏，以便能欣赏人类精神世界里喜剧的弦外之音。

到午夜，刚刚从盲人痛苦中得到的临时解脱就要结束了，永久的黑暗将重新回到我的身边。很自然短暂的三天时间，不可能让我看完我要看的全部事物，只有当黑暗重新降临在我的身上时，我才会感到我没有看到的东西实在太多了。不过，我的脑海中已经充满了那壮丽景色的回忆，很少有时间去遗憾。今后无论摸到什么物体，都会给我带来它是什么形状的鲜明回忆。

如果有朝一日你也将变成一个盲人的话，你或许对我这如何度过三天可见时光的简短提纲提出异议，并作出自己的安排。但是，我相信，如果你真的面临如此命运的话，你的眼睛将会向以前从不注意的事物睁开，为即将到来的漫漫黑夜储存记忆。你将会一反常态地去利用自己的眼睛，你所看到的东西都是那么的亲切，你的目光将捕捉和拥抱任何你视野所及的东西，最后你会真正看到一个美丽的新世界在你面前打开。

我作为一个盲人，给你们视力正常的人们一个暗示，给那些充分利用眼睛的人提一个忠告：好好使用你的眼睛，就好像明天你就会突然变瞎。这样的办法也可使用于别的官能。认真地去聆听各种声响、鸟儿的鸣唱、管弦乐队铿锵的旋律，就好像你明天有可能变成聋子。去抚摸你想触及的那一切吧，就像明天你的触觉神经就要失灵一样；去嗅闻所有鲜花的芬芳，品尝每一口食物的滋味吧，如同明天你就再也不能闻也不能尝一样。充分发挥每一种官能的最大作用，为这个世界向你展示的多种多样的欢乐和美而高兴吧，这些美是通过大自然提供的各种接触的途径所获得的。不过在所有的官能中，我敢保证视力是最令人兴奋和高兴的。

thrilling ['θrili?] adj.令人兴奋的；毛骨悚然的

This memory is so thrilling to me that it reads to me like myth sometimes.

至今这种回忆仍然使我激动不已，有时它使我感到像是神话一般。

specified ['spesifaid] adj.指定的；规定的

We will ship the goods at or before specified target date.

我们会按指定的日期按时或提前装船。

emphasize ['emf?saiz] v.强调；使突出；使明显

We cannot emphasize the importance of diligence too much.

我们再怎么强调勤奋的重要性也不为过。

permanent ['p?:m?n?nt] adj.永久的；持久的

She is looking for permanent employment.

她正在找固定的工作。

正如人们不知道珍惜自己拥有的，直到失去了才明白它的价值一样。人们只有在病的时候，才意识到健康的好处。

黑暗将使他更加感激光明，寂静将告诉他声音的美妙。

我想利用这一天对整个世界的历程作一瞥。

Most of us, however, take life for granted.

take for granted：认为……理所当然

The days stretch out in an endless vista.

stretch out：延伸；绵延