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假如给我三天光明中英文版本 假如给我三天光明 海伦?凯勒 I 我们大家都读过激动人心的故事，故事中主人公的寿命已有限期。这段时间有时度日如年，有时一年短如一日。然而我们总是非常感兴趣地去探索那将死的人怎样度过他最后的时日。当然我说的是那些有选择权的自由人，而不是那些活动范围受到严格限制的犯人。这样的故事对我们很有启发，使我们想到在同样的情况下该做些什么。作为一个快死的人，我们该用什么样的活动，什么样的经历，什么样的联想去填塞那最后的几小时,在回顾过去时，我们将发现什么感到幸福，什么应当后悔。 有时，我常这样想，当我今天活着的时候就想到明天可能会死去，这或许是一个好习惯。这样的态度将使生活显得特别有价值。我们每天的生活应当过得从容不迫，朝气蓬勃，观察锐敏，而这些东西往往在日复一日，月复一月，年复一年的时间长流中慢慢消失。当然，也有一些人一生只知道吃、喝、玩、乐”，然而，多数人在确知死神将至时反而有所节制。 在那些故事中，那将死的主人公往往在最后的时刻由于幸运降临而得救，并且从此以后他就改变了自己的生活准则。他变得更加明确生活的意义和它的永久神圣的价值。经常可以看到一些人，他们生活在死的阴影之下，却对他们所作的每一件事都怀着柔情密意。 然而，我们中的许多人却把生活看成理所当然的事。我们知道自己总有一天会死去，但我们总把那一天想得很遥远。当我们年富力强的时候，死亡好象是不可思议的，而我们也很少想到它。日子好象永远过不完似的。因此，我们一味忙于微不足道的琐事，却不知道这样对待生活的态度是太消极了。 恐怕我们对自己所有官能和意识的使用也是同样的冷漠。只有聋子懂得听力的价值，只有瞎子体会得到看见事物的乐趣。这种意见尤其适用于那些在成年期丧失了视力与听力的人。然而，那些从未体会过失去视力和听力痛苦的人，却很少充分使用这些幸福的官能。他们的眼睛和耳朵模糊地看着和听着周围的一切，心不在焉，也漠不关心。人们对于自己的东西往往不太珍惜，而当失去时，才懂得它的重要;正如我们要到病倒时才认识身体健康的好处。 我经常这样想，如果每一个人在他的青少年时期都经历一段瞎子与聋子的生活，将是非常有意义的事。黑暗将使他更加珍惜光明;寂静将使他更加喜爱声音。 我经常考查我那些有视力的朋友，问他们看到了什么。最后，我的一位好友来看我，她刚从森林里散步回来，问她都看到了些什么。她回答说:“没有看到什么特别的东西。”如果我不是习惯听这样的回答，那我一定会对它示怀疑，因为我早就相信，眼睛是看不见什么东西的。 我常这样问自己，在森林里走了一个多小时，却没有发现什么值得注意的东西， 这怎么可能呢,我这个有目不能视的人，仅仅靠触觉都能发现许许多多有趣的东西。我感到一片娇嫩的叶子的匀称，我爱抚地用手摸着银色白桦树光滑的外皮，或是松树粗糙的表皮。春天，我满怀希望地在树的枝条上寻找着芽苞，寻找着大自然冬眠后的第一个标志。我感到鲜花那可爱的、天鹅绒般柔软光滑的花瓣并发现了它那奇特地卷曲。大自然就这样向我展现千奇百怪的事物。偶尔，如果幸运的话，我把手轻轻地放在一棵小树上，就能感到小鸟放声歌唱时的欢蹦乱跳。我喜欢让清凉的泉水从张开的指间流过。对于我来说，芬芳的松叶地毯或轻软的草地要比最豪华的波斯地毯更受欢迎;四季的变换，就像一幕幕令人激动的、无休无止的戏剧，它们的行动通过我的指间流过。 有时，我在内心里呼唤着，让我看看这一切吧。仅仅摸一摸便给了我如此巨大的欢乐，如果能看到的话，那该是多么令人高兴啊～然而，那些有视力的人却什么也看不见，那充满世界的绚丽多彩的景色和千姿百态的表演，都被认为是理所当然的事。人类就是有点奇怪，对我们已有的东西往往看不起，却去想望那些我们所没有的东西。然而，这是非常可惜的，在光明的世界里，将视力的天赋只看作是为了方便，而不看作是充实生活的手段。 如果我是一所大学的校长，我将设一门必修课“怎样使用你的眼睛”。教授应当启发他的学生，如果他们能真正看清那些在他们面前不被注意而滑过的事物的话，那么他们的生活就会增加丰富多彩的乐趣。他应当努力唤醒他身上那些处于睡眠状态的、懒散的官能。 II 也许，我最好用想象来说明一下，如果我有三天能用眼睛看见东西的话，我最喜欢看到什么。而且，当我在想象时，我希望你也想一想这个问题，假如你只有三天能看到东西的话，你将怎样使用你的眼睛呢,假如你知道，当第三天黑夜来临以后，太阳就永远不会再从你面前升起，你将怎样度过这短暂插入的、宝贵的三天时光呢,你最高兴看到的是什么东西呢, 自然，我最希望看到的东西是那些在我的黑暗年代对我变得最亲切的东西。你也一定希望长时间地看着那些对你感到最亲切的东西。这样，你就可以把对它们的记忆带到黑夜里去。 如果靠某种奇迹我能有三天睁眼看东西的时间，然后又回到黑暗里去，我将把这三天分为三个阶段。 第一天，我要看到那些好心的、温和的、友好的、使我的生活变得有价值的人们。首先，我想长时间地盯视着我亲爱的教师，安妮(莎莉文(麦西夫人的脸，当我还在孩稚时，她就来到我家，是她给我打开了外部世界。我不仅看她的脸部的轮廓，为了将她牢牢地放进我的记忆，还要仔细研究那张脸，并从中找出同情的温柔和耐心的生动的形迹，她就是靠这些来完成教育我的困难任务。我要从她的眼睛里看出那使她能坚定的面对困难的坚强毅力和她那经常向我显示出的对于人 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。我能觉察到高兴、悲伤和许多其它明显的表情。我了解我的朋友们都是通过摸他们的脸。但是，只凭摸，我不能准确说出他们的个人特征来。我知道他们的个性，当然还要通过其它方面，通过他们对我表达的思想，通过他们对我显示的一切行为.但是，我不认为对于我所深知的人，要想更深地了解他们，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的即时的瞬间的反应。 我对于在我身边的朋友，了解得很清楚，因为，经过多年的接触，他们已向我显示了自己的各个方面。但是，对于那些萍水相逢的朋友，我只有一个不全面的印象，这个印象是从一次握手，从我用手指摸他们的嘴唇或他们击拍我的手掌的暗语中得到的。 而对于你们那些视力好的人来说，要了解一个人就要容易得多和令人满意得多。你们只要看到他那微妙的表情，肌肉的颤动，手的摇摆，就能很快抓住这人的基本特点。然而，你是否想过要用你的视力看出一个朋友或是熟人的内在品质呢,难道你们那些视力好的人们中的大多数不都只是随便看看一张脸的轮廓，而且也就到此为止了吗, 例如，你能准确地说出五个好朋友的面孔吗,有些人可能说得出，但多数人却说不出。根据我的经验，我问过许多结婚很久的丈夫，他们的妻子的眼睛是什么颜色，他们经常窘态毕露，老实承认他们不知道。而且，顺便提一句，妻子们总是抱怨他们的丈夫不注意新衣服、新帽子和房间布置的变化。 视力正常的人很快就习惯于周围的环境，而事实上他们只注意那些惊人的和壮观的景象。然而，即使在看最壮观的景色时，他们的眼睛也是懒散的。法庭的记录每天都表明“眼睛的见证”是多么不准确。一件事将被许多人从许多不同的方面看到”。有些人比别人看得更多些，但很少有人能将自己视力范围内的一切都看在眼里。 啊，如果我有视力能看三天的话，我该看些什么东西呢, 第一天将是一个紧张的日子。我要将我的所有亲爱的朋友们都叫来，好好端详他们的面孔，将他们内在美的外貌深深地印在我的心上。我还要看一个婴儿的面孔，这样我就能看到一种有生气的，天真无邪的美，它是一种没有经历过生活斗争的美。 我还要看看我那群忠诚的、令人信赖的狗的眼睛——那沉着而机警的小斯科第(达基和那高大健壮而懂事的大戴恩(海尔加，它们的热情、温柔而淘气的友谊使我感到温暖。 在那紧张的第一天里，我还要仔细观察我家里那些简朴小巧的东西。我要看看脚下地毯的艳丽色彩，墙壁上的图画和那些把一所房屋改变成家的熟悉的小东西。 我要用虔敬的目光凝视我所读过的那些凸字书，不过这眼光将更加急于看到那些供有视力的人读的印刷书。因为在我生活的漫长黑夜里，我读过的书以及别人读给我听的书已经变成一座伟大光明的灯塔，向我揭示出人类生活和人类精神的最深泉源。 在能看见东西的第一天下午，我将在森林里作一次长时间的漫步，让自己的眼睛陶醉在自然世界的美色里，在这有限的几小时内我要如醉如狂地贪赏那永远向有视力的人敞开的壮丽奇景。结束短暂的森林之旅，回来的路上可能经过一个农场，这样我便能看到耐心的马匹犁田的情景(或许我只能看到拖拉机了～)和那些依附土地为生的人的宁静满足的生活。我还要为绚丽夺目而又辉煌壮观的落日祈祷。 当夜幕降临，我以能看到人造光明而体验到双重的喜悦。这是人类的天才在大自然规定为黑夜的时候，为扩大自己的视力而发明的创造的。 在能看见东西的第一天夜里，我会无法入睡，脑海里尽翻腾着对白天的回忆。 III 翌日——也就是我能看见东西的第二天，我将伴着曙色起床，去看一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光色的令人莫测的变幻，正是在这变幻中太阳唤醒了沉睡的大地。 我要把这一天用来对整个世界，从古到今，作匆匆的一瞥。我想看看人类进步所走过的艰难曲折的道路，看看历代的兴衰和沧桑之变。这么多的东西怎能压缩在一天之内看完呢,当然，这只能通过参观博物馆。我经常到纽约自然历史博物馆去，用手无数次地抚摸过那里展出的物品，我多么渴望能用自己的眼睛看一看这经过缩写的地球的历史，以及陈列在那里的地球上的居民——各种动物和按生活的天然环境描绘的不同肤色的人种;看看恐龙的巨大骨架和早在人类出现以前就漫游在地球上的柱牙象，当时的人类靠自己矮小的身躯和发达的大脑去征服动物的王国;看看那表现动物和人类进化过程的逼真画面，和那些人类用来为自己在这个星球上建造安全居处的工具;还有许许多多自然历史的其它方面的东西。 我不知道本文读者中究竟有多少人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。当然不是人人都有这样的机会。不过我敢断言，许多有这种机会的人却没有很好地利用它。那里实在是一个使用眼睛的地方。你们有视力的人可以在那里度过无数个大有所获的日子，而我，在想象中能看东西的短短的三天里，对此只能作匆匆的一瞥。 我的下一站将是大都会艺术博物馆。正象自然历史博物馆揭示了世界的物质方面那样，大都会艺术博物馆将展现出人类精神的无数个侧面。贯穿人类历史的那种对于艺术表现形式的强烈要求几乎和人类对于食物、住房、生育的要求同样强烈。 在这里，在大都会博物馆的巨型大厅里，当我们观看埃及、希腊、罗马的艺术时就看到了这些国家的精神面貌。通过我的双手，我很熟悉古埃及男女诸神的雕像，感觉得出复制的巴台农神庙的中楣，辨别得出进攻中的雅典武士的优美旋律。阿波罗、维纳斯以及撒摩得拉斯岛的胜利女神都是我指尖的朋友。荷马那多瘤而又留着长须的相貌对我来说尤为亲切。因为他了解盲人。 我的手在罗马以及晚期那些栩栩如生的大理石雕塑上停留过，在米开朗基罗那激动人心的英雄摩西石膏像上抚摸过，我了解罗丹的才能，对哥特式木刻的虔诚精神感到敬畏。这些能用手触摸的艺术品我能理解它们的意义，然而那些只能看不能摸的东西，我只能猜测那一直躲避着我的美。我能欣赏希腊花瓶简朴的线条，然而它那带有图案的装饰我却毫无所识。就这么着，在我看见东西的第二天，我要设法通过艺术去探索人类的灵魂。我从手的触摸里了解的东西现在可以用眼睛来看了。整个宏伟的绘画世界将向我敞开，从带有宁静宗教虔诚的意大利原始艺术一直到具有狂热想象的现代派艺术。我要细细观察拉斐尔、列奥纳多(达(芬奇、提善、伦布朗的油画，也想让眼睛享受一下委罗涅塞艳丽的色彩，研究一下艾尔(格里柯的奥秘，并从柯罗的自然里捕捉到新的想象。啊，这么多世纪以来的艺术为你们有视力的人提供了如此绚丽的美和这样深广的意义～将向我敞开，从带有宁静宗教虔诚的意大利原始艺术一直到具有狂热想象的现代派艺术。我要细细观察拉斐尔、列奥纳多(达(芬奇、提善、伦布朗的油画，也想让眼睛享受一下委罗涅塞艳丽的色彩，研究一下艾尔(格里柯的奥秘，并从柯罗的自然里捕捉到新的想象。啊，这么多世纪以来的艺术为你们有视力的人提供了如此绚丽的美和这样深广的意义～ 凭着对这艺术圣殿的短暂访问，我将无法把那向你们敞开的伟大艺术世界每个细部都看清楚，我只能得到一个表面的印象。艺术家们告诉我，任何人如果想正确地和深刻地评价艺术，就必须训练自己的眼睛，他得从品评线条、构图、形式和色彩的经验中去进行学习。如果我的眼睛管用的话，我将会多么愉快地去着手这件令人心醉的研究工作～然而有人告诉我，对于你们许多有视力的人来说，艺术的世界是一个沉沉的黑夜，是一个无法探索和难以找到光明的世界。 我怀着无可奈何的心情，勉强离开大部会博物馆，离开那藏着发掘美的的钥匙的所在——那是一种被如此忽略了的美啊。然而有视力的人并不需要从大都会博物馆里去找到发掘美的钥匙。它在较小的博物馆里，甚至在那些小图书馆书架上的书本里也能找到。自然在我想象中能看见东西的有限时间里，我将选择这样一个地方，在那里发掘美的钥匙能在最短的时间内打开最伟大的宝库。 我将在戏院或电影院度过这能看见东西的第二天的夜晚。我目前也经常出席各种类型的表演，可剧情却得让一位陪同在我手上拼写。我多么想用自己的眼睛看一看哈姆雷特那迷人的形象和在穿五光十色的伊丽沙白式服装的人物中间来来去去的福斯泰夫。我多么想摹仿优雅的哈姆雷特的每一个动作和健壮的福斯泰夫高视阔步的一举一动。由于我只能看一场戏，这将使我处于进退两难的境地，因为我想看的戏实在太多了。你们有视力的人想看什么都行，不过我怀疑你们之中究竟有多少人当全神贯注于一场戏、一幕电影或别的景象的时候，会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, 除了在用触摸的有限范围内，我无法享受节奏感动作的美。尽管我知道节奏欢快的奥妙，因为我经常从地板的颤动中去辨别音节的拍节，然而我也只能朦胧地想象巴甫洛瓦的魅力。我想象得出那富于节奏感的姿势，肯定是世间最赏心悦目的奇景。从用手指循着大理石雕像线条的触摸里我能推测出这一点。如果静止的美已是那么可爱的话，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当约瑟夫(杰斐逊在排练可爱的瑞普(凡(温克尔，做着动作讲着台词的时候，让我摸了他的脸和手。对戏剧的天地我就只这么一点贫乏的接触，也将永远不会忘记那一时刻的欢乐。啊，我肯定还遗漏了许多东西。我多么羡慕你们有视力的人能从戏剧表演中通过看动作和听台词而获得更多的享受。如果我能看戏，那怕只看一场也行，我将弄明白我读过或通过手语字母的表达而进入我的脑海的一百场戏的情节。 这样，通过我想象中能看见东西的第二天的夜晚，戏剧文学中的许多高大形象将争先恐后地出现在我的眼前。 IV 下一天的早晨，怀着发现新的欢乐的渴望，我将再次去迎接那初升的旭日，因为我深信，那些有眼睛能真正看到东西的人肯定会发现，每个黎明都会展现出千姿万态、变幻无穷的美。 根据我想象中的奇迹的期限，这是我能看见东西的第三天，也是最后一天。我没有时间去悔恨或渴望，要看的东西实在太多了。我把第一天给了我的朋友，给了那些有生命和没有生命的东西，第二天我看到人类和自然的历史面目。今天我要在现实世界里，在从事日常生活的人们中间度过平凡的一天。除了纽约你还能在别的什么地方发现人们这么多的活动和这样纷繁的情景呢,于是这城市成了我选择的目标。 我从长岛森林山我的恬静的乡间小屋出发。这里，在绿草坪、树木、鲜花的包围中是一片整洁小巧房屋，到处充满妇女儿童谈笑奔走的欢乐，真是城市劳动者的安静的休息之所。当我驾车穿过横跨东河的钢带式桥梁时，我又开了眼界，看到人类智慧的巧夺天工和力大无穷。河上千帆竞发、百舸争流。如果我从前曾有过一段未盲的岁月，我将用许多时间来观赏河上的热闹风光。 举目前望，面前耸立着奇异的纽约塔，这城市仿佛是从神话故事的书页中跳出来似的。这是多么令人敬畏奇景啊～那些灿烂夺目的尖塔，那些用钢和石块筑起的巨大堤岸，这些建筑就象神为自己修造的一样。这幅富有生气的画卷是千百万人每日生活的一部分，我不知道究竟有多少人愿意对它多看一眼,恐怕是很少、很少。人们的眼睛之所以看不见这壮美的奇观，是因为这景象对他们太熟悉了。 我匆匆忙忙登上那些大型建筑之一——帝国大厦的顶层，不久之前我从那里通过 秘书的眼睛“看到”了脚下的城市。我急于要把想象力和真实感作一次比较。我相信在我面前展开的这幅画卷决不会使我感到失望，因为对我来说它将是另一个世界的景象。 现在我开始周游这个城市。首先我站在热闹的一角，仅仅看看来往的人群，想从观察中去了解他们生活中的一些东西。看到微笑，我感到欣慰;看到果断，我感到骄傲;看到疾苦，我产生怜悯。 我漫游到第五大街，让视野从聚精会神的注视里解放出来，以便不去留意特殊的事物而只看一看那瞬息万变的色彩。我相信那穿流在人群的妇女装束的色彩，肯定是我永看不厌的灿烂奇观。不过，假如我的眼睛管用的话，或许我也会象大多数妇女一样，过多地注重个别的服装的风格和剪裁式样而忽略成群的色彩的壮美。我还确信我会变成一个在橱窗前的常客，看着那多姿多彩、五光十色的陈列品，一定感到赏心悦目。 我从第五大街开始游览整个城市——我要到花园大街去，至贫民区去，到工厂去，到孩子们玩耍的公园去。通过对外国居民的访问我对异国作了一次不离本土的旅行。对于欢乐和悲哀两者我总是睁大眼睛去关心，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憧憬，我目光不会轻易放过任何一个细小的东西，它力求捕捉和紧握它所目及的每一件事物。有些场面是令人愉快的，它让你内心喜悦，可有些情景却使感到悲哀和忧郁。对后者我也不会闭上眼睛，因为它们毕竟也是生活的一部分，对它们闭上眼睛就等于紧锁心灵，禁锢思想。 我能看见东西的第三天就要结束了，或许我应该把这剩下的几小时用在许多重要的探索和追求上，可是我怕在这最后一天夜晚，我还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泛音。 到午夜，我从盲人痛苦中得到的暂时解脱就要终结了，永久的黑暗将重新笼罩我身。当然我在那短暂的三天时间里，不可能看完我要看的全部事物，只有当黑夜重新降临时，我才会感到我没有看到的东西实在太多了。不过我脑海中会塞满那壮丽的回忆，以至根本没时间去懊悔。今后无论摸到任何东西都会给我带来那原物是什么形状的鲜明回忆。 如果你有朝一日也将变成一个盲人的时候，你或许对我这如何度过三天可见时光的简要提纲感到不合适而作出自己的安排。然而，我相信，如果你真的面临那样的命运，那你的眼睛将会向过去从不留神的事物睁开，为即将来临的漫长黑夜储存记忆。你将会一反过去的常习去使用自己的眼睛，你所看到的东西都会变得非常亲切，你的目光将捕捉和拥抱任何进入你视野之内的东西，最后你会真正看到一个美丽的新世界在你面前敞开。 我，一个盲人，向你们有视力的人作一个提示，给那些善于使用眼睛的人提一个忠告:想到你明天有可能变成瞎子，你就会好好使用你的眼睛。这样的办法也可使用于别的官能。想到你明天有可能变成聋子，你就会更好地去聆听声响，鸟儿 的歌唱，管弦乐队铿锵的旋律。去抚摸你触及的那一切吧，假如明天你的触觉神 经就要失灵;去嗅闻所有鲜花的芬芳，品尝每一口食物的滋味吧，假如明天你就 再也不能闻也不能尝了。让每一种官能都发挥它最大的作用，为世界通过大自然 提供的各种接触的途径向你展示的作用，为世界通过大自然提供的各种接触的途 径向你展示的多种多样的欢乐和美的享受而自豪吧。不过在所有的官能中，我相 信视力是最令人赏心悦的。 ———————————————————————— Three Days To See Helen Keller I 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 to-morrow. Such an attitude would emphasize sharply the values of life. We should live each day with a 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 facilities 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 responses, 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 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 through my open fingers. To me a lush carpet of pine needles or spongy grass is more welcome than the most luxurious Persian rug. To me the pageant 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 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 convenience 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. II Perhaps I can best illustrate by imagining what I should most like to see if I was 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 to work on the problem of how you would use your own eyes if you had only three days to see. If with the oncoming darkness if the third night you knew that the sun would never rise for you again, how would you spend those three 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 long 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. 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. Ann 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, of course, 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 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 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 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 so 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 evidence 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 individuals 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 a 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. III 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 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 evolution in animals, 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 can 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 a few 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 marvel 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 his 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 El 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 a deep and true appreciation of art one must educate the eye. One must learn from 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 rythmic 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 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. IV 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. To-day I shall spend in the workday world of the present, amid the haunts of men going about the business of life. And where one can 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 boats chug and scurry about the river - racy speed, boats, 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 - sculptures 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 second 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 lives. 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 a seething kaleidoscope of color. 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 run away to the theatre, 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 overcrowded 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 programme 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 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 to-morrow. 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. Published in the Atlantic Monthly, January 1933