假如给我三天光明

hillson

假如给我三天光明(英汉对照)

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 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 ahs 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 tech 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 friends 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 friends 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 9perhaps 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 fingers 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.

我们大家都读过一些令人激动的故事，这些故事里的主人公仅仅活在有限并且特定的时间内，有时长达一年，有时短到２４小时。但我们总是有兴趣发现，那命中注定要死的是那些有选择自由的人，而不是那些活动范围被严格限定了的判了刑的犯人。
　　这样的故事让我们思考，在相似的情况下，我们该怎么办，作为终有一死的人，在那最终的几个小时内安排什么事件，什么经历，什么交往？在回顾往事时，我们该找到什么快乐？什么悔恨？

　　有时我想到，过好每一天是个非常好的习惯，似乎我们明天就会死去。这种态度鲜明地强调了生命的价值。我们应该以优雅、精力充沛、善知乐趣的方式过好每一天。而当岁月推移，在经常瞻观未来之时日、未来之年月中，这些又常常失去。当然，也有人愿按伊壁鸠鲁的信条“吃、喝和欢乐”去生活。（译注：伊壁鸠鲁是古希腊哲学家，他认为生活的主题目的是享乐，而最高的享受唯通过合理的生活，如自我控制才能得到。因为生活享受的目的被过分强调，而达此目的之手段被忽视，所以伊壁鸠鲁的信徒现今变为追求享乐的人。他们的信条是：“让我们吃喝，因为明天我们就死亡”），但绝大多数人还是被即将面临死亡的必然性所折磨。

　　在故事里，注定要死的主人公往往在最后一刻由某种命运的突变而得救，但几乎总是他的价值观被改变了。他们对生活的意义和它永恒的精神价值变得更具欣赏力了。常常看到那些生活或已生活在死亡的阴影之中的人们都赋予他们所做的每件事以芳醇甜美。

　　但是，我们大多数人把生活认为是理所当然的。我们知道，某一天我们一定会死，但通常我们把那天想象在遥远的将来。当我们心宽体健时，死亡几乎是不可想象的，我们很少想到它。时日在无穷的展望中延展着，于是我们干着琐碎的事情，几乎意识不到我们对生活的倦怠态度。

　　恐怕，同倦的懒散也成为利用我们所有的本能和感觉的特点。只有聋子才珍惜听力，唯有瞎子才体会到能看见事物的种种幸福，这种结论特别适合于那些在成年阶段失去视力和听力的人们，而那些从没有遭受视觉或听觉损伤之苦的人却很少充分利用这些天赐的官能。他们模模糊糊地眼观八方，耳听各音，毫无重点，不会鉴赏，还是那相同的老话，对我们所有的官能不知珍惜，直至失去它，对我们的健康意识不到，直至生病时。

　　我常常想，如果每个人在他成年的早期有一段时间致瞎致聋，那会是一种幸事，黑暗会使他更珍惜视力，寂静会教导他享受声音。

　　我不时地询问过我的能看见东西的朋友们，以了解他们看到什么。最近，我的一个很好的朋友来看我，她刚从一片森林里散步许久回来，我问她看到了什么，她答道：“没什么特别的。”如果我不是习惯了听到这种回答，我都可能不相信，因为很久以来我已确信这个情况：能看得见的人却看不到什么。

　　我独自一人，在林子里散步一小时之久而没有看到任何值得注意的东西，那怎么可能呢？我自己，一个不能看见东西的人，仅仅通过触觉，都发现许许多多令我有兴趣的东西。我感触到一片树叶的完美的对称性。我用手喜爱地抚摸过一株白桦那光潮的树皮，或一棵松树的粗糙树皮。春天，我摸着树干的枝条满怀希望地搜索着嫩芽，那是严冬的沉睡后，大自然苏醒的第一个迹象。我抚摸过花朵那令人愉快的天鹅绒般的质地，感觉到它那奇妙的卷绕，一些大自然奇迹向我展现了。有时，如果我很幸运，我把手轻轻地放在一棵小树上，还能感受到一只高声歌唱的小鸟的愉快颤抖，我十分快乐地让小溪涧的凉水穿过我张开的手指流淌过去。对我来说，一片茂密的地毯式的松针叶或松软而富弹性的草地比最豪华的波斯地毯更受欢迎。对我来说四季的壮观而华丽的展示是一部令人激动的、无穷尽的戏剧。这部戏剧的表演，通过我的手指尖端涌淌出来。

　　有时，由于渴望能看到这一切东西，我的内心在哭泣。如果说仅凭我的触觉我就能感受到这么多的愉快，那么凭视觉该有多少美丽的东西显露出来。然而，那些能看见的人明显地看得很少，充满世间的色彩和动作的景象被当成理所当然，或许，这是人性共有的特点；对我们具有的不怎么欣赏，而对我们不具有的却渴望得到。然而，这是一个极大的遗憾，在光明的世界里，视力的天赋仅仅作为一种方便之用，而没有作为增添生活美满的手段。

　　如果我是一所大学的校长，我就要开设一门强制的必修课“如何应用你的眼睛”。这门课的教授应该试图给他的学生显示怎样能以看见那些在他们面前一现而过的东西来增添他们生活的乐趣，这位教授应该试图唤醒他们沉睡和懒散的天赋。

　　或许，如果让我来应用我的眼睛，比方说，仅仅用３天吧，我能以我想象的最喜欢看见的东西来很好地说清楚这个问题。而且，当我想象的时候，设想你也在思考这个问题。如果你也只有３天多点的时间看东西，你该如何应用你自己的眼睛。如果面对即将到来的第三个夜晚的黑暗，你又知道，太阳对你来说，永不再升起了，那么你该怎样度过这插进来的宝贵的３天呢？你最想要注视的东西是什么呢？

　　当然，我会最想看到我多年的黑暗中对我变得珍贵的事情，你也会想让你们的目光停留在那些对你已经变得珍贵的事情上。这样，你就能随着你进入那逼近在你面前的长夜而永远记住它们。

　　如果由某种奇迹，我获得了能看见东西的３天，随后又沉陷于一片黑暗之中，我该将这段时间分为３个部分。

第一天

　　第一天，我想看到这些人，他们的善良、温柔和友情使我的生命值得活下去。首先我想仔细长久地观看我那亲爱的老师安妮·萨利文·梅西夫人的面容。当我还是一个孩子的时候，她来到我面前，并向我打开了外部世界。我不仅要看她脸部的轮廓，以便我能把它珍藏在我的记忆中，而且我还要研究这张脸庞，在那里找到富有同情心、温柔和耐心的活证据，她就是以这种温柔和耐心完成了教育我的艰难的任务。我要看她眼睛里包藏的那种性格力量，它使得她在困难面前那么坚定。我要看那对所有人的同情心，她如此经常地对我显露出来。

　　我不知道通过“心灵的窗口”－－－眼睛，看透一个朋友的内心是怎么一回事。我只能通过我的指尖“看”到一张面孔的轮廓。我能察觉欢笑、悲伤和其它许多明显的感情。我从他们面部的感触知道我的朋友，但我不能正确地凭触摸描绘出他们的品格。我当然通过其它方式知道他们的品格，通过他们对我表达的思想，通过他们对我表露的任何行为，但我不曾对他们有更深刻的了解。那更深刻的了解我相信通过看到他们，通过观察他们对各种表达出来的思想和情况的反应、通过注意他们眼睛和相貌的直接和短暂的反应可以达到。

　　在我身边的朋友，我熟知他们，因为长年累月他们在各方面都对我表露了他们自己。而对那些偶然的朋友我只有一个不完全的印象，一种我从下面方式中得到的印象：一次握手，我的指尖从他们的双唇上感触到的他们所说的话，或者是他们在我两手掌上轻轻地拍抚。

　　对你来说，一个能看见的人，通过观察微妙的表情－－－一条肌肉的颤抖、一只手的摆动，很快地了解另一个人的本质，是多么容易又多么令人满足的事情。但是你曾经有过用你的视觉去看透一个朋友或相识的内在本质的时候吗？你们能看见事物的大多数人不是偶然地抓住一张脸孔的外部特征并不再去想了吗？

　　例如，你能精确地描叙５个好朋友的面貌吗？有些人能够，但许多人不能。作为一个实验，我曾问过那些多年相处的丈夫们，他们妻子的眼睛是什么颜色。他们常常显得窘迫含糊，承认他们不知道。而且，顺便说一句，妻子们经常抱怨，他们的丈夫不注意新衣服、新帽子和家庭摆设的变化。

　　能看见的人的眼睛很快就习惯了他们周围的日常事务。他们实际上仅仅看到令人吃惊的事和引人注意的壮观之事，而即使是那些最壮观的景象，他们的眼睛也是懒洋洋的。法庭记录每天都显露出“见证人”看得多不准确。一个特定的事件，要被尽可能多的人从几个不同的方面去“看到”，有些人看得比另一些人要多些，而没有几个人看到了在他们的视线范围内的所有事情。

　　啊，如果我要有哪怕３天的视力，多少事我该看啊！

　　第一天会是很忙碌的，我要把我所有的亲爱的朋友们都叫到我这里来，长久地注视着他们的面容，把他们的内在美的外部证据深深地印在我的脑海中。我也该让我的目光停留在一个婴儿的脸上，以便我能获得一个热切渴望的纯美的视觉，这是那个人在意识到生活带来的冲突之前的美丽的视觉。

　　而且，我也要看看我的狗那忠诚、信任的眼睛－－－那严肃、机灵的小斯洛蒂·达基和那高大、健壮、善解人意的大达英·赫尔加，它们热情温柔和顽皮的友谊对我是个巨大的安慰。

　　在这繁忙的第一天，我也该看看我家的那些简单的小事情。我想看着我脚下地毯上、墙壁上图画的明朗愉快的色彩，那些使这间屋子成为一个家的亲切的琐碎物件。我的目光也要敬重地停留在那些我读过的阳文书籍上，但应更热切地对那些能看见的人所能读的出版物感兴趣，因为在我生命的漫漫长夜里，我读过的书和别人对我读过的书已筑成一座巨大的闪光的灯塔，对我显示了人类生活和人类精神的最深的航道。

　　那能看见的第一天的下午，我要在树林里长久地散步，让我的目光陶醉在大自然世界的美景之中。在几个小时中，试图拼命地吸收那无穷的壮丽，这对那些能看见的人却是一条小路，这样我便能看到那驯良的马匹在犁田（或许，我该看见唯一的一台拖拉机！）看到贴近泥土生活的人们那安详的满足。而且，我该为艳丽的落日光辉而祈祷。

　　黄昏降临时，我该感受到双倍的愉快，因为能看到人造的光芒，这是人类的天才创造出来的，当大自然黑暗降临之时，以延展他的视力。

　　在那能看见的第一天晚间，我是不能入睡的，我脑海中充满了白天的记忆。

第二天

　　次日－－－我能看的第二天－－－我会随黎明一道起来，看那黑夜转成白昼的激动人心的奇迹，我要怀着肃然敬畏的心情去看那太阳唤醒沉睡的大地的壮观的景象。

这一天，我要用来匆忙地扫视这个世界，它的过去和现在。我想看人类进程的展示，时代的万花筒。这么多的东西怎么能压缩在一天之内看完呢？当然，通过博物馆，我已多次去参观过纽约自然历史博物馆，用我手去触摸那里陈列的许多物件。但我渴望亲眼看到地球和那里陈列的地球上居民的浓缩历史－－－在他们自然环境里展示出的动物和人类种族；曾在人类出现之前，很早就在地球上漫游的巨大恐龙和柱牙象骨架，人类以他小巧的身材和强有力的大脑征服了动物王国；动物，人类和人类工具的发展过程的逼真展现，人类曾用这些工具在这个星球上来建造他们安全的家园，还有其它许许多多的自然历史方面。

　　我不知道这篇文章的多少读者看过这个生动的博物馆所展示的逼真事物的壮观景貌。当然有许多人没有机会，但是我相信，有许多人确有机会而没有利用。那里，确是利用你的眼睛的地方，你们能看见的人能在那里度过许多成果丰硕的日子，可是我只有想象的３天可见的时间，只能是仓促地一瞥，匆匆而过。

　　我的下一站将是大都会艺术博物馆。像自然历史博物馆展示世界的物质方面一样，大都会艺术博物馆展示大量的人类精神方面。在贯穿人类历史的全过程中，对艺术表现的强烈冲动就像人类对食物、住所和繁衍的迫切需要一样强烈。而这里，在大都会博物馆那宽敞的大厅里，在我们面前展示了通过艺术形式表达出来的古埃及、古希腊和古罗马的精神世界。我通过我的手很好地了解了雕刻的古代尼罗河土地上的众神，我摸过巴台农神殿（译注：巴台农神殿是希腊雅典城内的帕拉斯·雅曲娜神殿，建于公元前４４７－４３２年间。神殿由大理石筑成，极尽雕饰之巧，是希腊古典建筑的杰出代表作品。）中楣石柱的复制品，我意识到向前冲锋的的雅典武士的匀称和谐美。阿波罗、维纳斯和有翅膀的萨摩丝雷斯胜利女神（译注：萨摩丝雷斯是位于希腊爱琴海东北部的一个岛屿，因公元３０５年在岛上立起一胜利女神大理石雕像，以纪念马斯顿国王的海战大捷而著名。因女神雕像展开的双臂塑成展翅飞翔的姿态，故称萨摩丝雷斯展翅胜利女神像。该雕像现存于巴黎罗浮宫。）是我的手指尖的朋友。我看到那荷马的长满胡须、节瘤众多的面部雕像感到无比亲切，因为他也是盲人。

　　我的手在栩栩如生的罗马大理石雕像和后世的雕刻上逗留。我的手摸过米开朗基罗（译注：１４７５－１５６４年，著名的佛罗伦萨画家、雕刻家、建筑师和诗人，意大利文艺复兴盛期的杰出代表人物。）那鼓舞人心的英雄摩西雕塑石膏模；我感觉到罗丹（译注：１８４０－１９１７年，著名的法国雕塑家）的力量。我对哥特木刻的热忱精神感到敬畏。这些能被触摸到的艺术作品对我有着实在的意义，但即使这些艺术品既是为了观看又是为了摸的，我也只能是猜度我仍未发现的美妙。我能赞叹一只古希腊花瓶简单的线条，但我对它的图案装饰却是迷惘的。

　　所以，在我能看的第二天，我要通过人类的艺术努力探究人生的灵魂。通过触摸我知道了的事情，我现在要看见它对宗教泰然虔诚奉献的意大利文艺复兴前期作品到狂热梦幻的现代派作品。我要仔细端详拉斐尔、达芬奇、提香（译注：１４７７－１５７６年，著名的威尼斯画家）和瑞姆布兰特（译：１６０６－１６６９年，著名的荷兰巴罗克画家，荷兰油画派领袖，欧洲艺术大师。）的油画。我要让我的眼睛饱享维勒内兹（译注：１５２８－１５８８年，意大利威尼斯派画家）那炽烈的色彩，研究埃尔·格列科（译注：１５４８－１６２５年，西班牙画家）的神秘，从科罗（译注：１７９６－１８７５年，法国风景画家）那里领略大自然的新视觉。啊！对你们有眼能看的人来说，在那些时代的艺术中有多么丰富的意义和美感。

　　在我对这座艺术殿堂的短暂访问中，我不应只能看到那对你开放的伟大艺术世界的一个部分，我只能是获得一个表面的印象。艺术家告诉我，要能真正深刻地鉴赏，他得要训练他的眼力。他必须通过经验学会衡量线条构图，形态和色彩的价值。如果我有眼睛，我会多么幸福地从事如此迷人的研究！但是，有人告诉我，对你们有眼睛可看的许多人来说，艺术的世界是一片黑暗，未曾开发，未曾照亮。

　　多么不情愿，我要离开大都会博物馆，那里有开启美的钥匙，这种美又被忽视了。而能看见的人却不需要到大都会博物馆去找到这开启美的钥匙。这相同的钥匙也在较小的博物馆，甚至小图书馆的书架上的书中等待着。当然，在我想象的能看见的有限时间里，我该选择那在尽短的时间内打开最伟大宝库的钥匙所在的地方。

　　我能看见的第二天晚上我该在剧院或电影院度过。甚至现在，我还是经常去看各种戏剧表演，但剧情需要由一个同伴拼写在我手上。我多么想亲眼看到哈姆雷特的迷人形象，或者是那在艳丽多彩的伊丽莎白时代服饰中刮大风的伏尔斯塔夫！（译注：伏尔斯塔夫为莎士比亚剧中的一个滑稽喜剧人物，是莎剧《享利四世王》，《享利五世王》和《温莎的风流娘儿们》内个剧中的一个胖骑士，爱吹牛自夸，又胆小，但是他足智多谋，心地善良。）我多想领会优雅的哈姆雷特的每个动作，热忱的伏尔斯塔夫的每一个昂首阔步地样子！既然我只能看一个戏，我就会面临进退两难的困境，因为有几十部剧我都想看。你们有眼能看的人可以看你喜欢的任何一部剧。我不知道，当你们注视着这一部剧，一场电影，或任何奇观时，你们中间有多少人意识到并感激使你们享受到它的色彩、优雅和动作的视力奇迹？

　　除非在我的手能触摸到的范围内，我不能享受那节奏感很强的动作的优美。尽管我懂得一些节奏的愉快，因为当音乐通过地板振动时，我经常能感觉到它的节拍，可是我也只能模糊地想象到一个巴甫洛娃（译注：原苏联的著名的女芭蕾舞演员）的优美。我能很好地想象到，有节拍的动作一定是世上最令人愉快的景象之一。我已能用我的手指来摸索出大理石雕刻中的线条轮廓从而获得这样的一些感受；如果这种静态的雅致都是这么可爱，那么，看见那动态的雅致所感受到的激动该是多么强烈。

　　我最宝贵的记忆之一是那次约瑟夫·杰佛逊（译注：１８２９－１９０５年，著名的美国演员。他所扮演的最有名的角色是根据美国作家华盛顿·艾文所创作的人物瑞普·范·温克尔）表演完他心爱的角色瑞普·范·温克尔的动作和对白后让我摸他的脸和手。这样，我可以获得对梦幻世界微弱的一瞥。我将永志不忘那个时刻的愉快。但是，啊，我可能失去了多少，你们能看的人从戏剧表演中看动作，听语言的相互作用中产生了多少喜悦！如果我能哪怕是只能看一部剧，我都会知道怎样在我脑海中描绘我曾经读过的或通过手势字母的媒介向我转述的１００部剧的动作。

　　这样，通过我设想的能看见的第二天的夜晚，我用手指读过的大量戏剧文学会因我的眼睛看了后又在我的睡梦中都涌现出来。


第三天

　　接下来这一天的早上，我再次迎接黎明，迫切地要发现新的愉快，因我确信，对那些有眼睛能真正看见的人来说，每天的黎明一定是一种美的永恒新展露。

　　按我设想出现奇迹的条件，这将是我能看见的第三天，也是最后的一天。我没有时间去浪费在后悔中或渴望中，要看的东西太多了。第一天我献给了我的朋友们，有生命的和无生命的。第二天向我展示了人类和自然的历史。今天我将在当今的平凡世界里度过，在为生活事务忙碌的人们常去的地方度过。而何处人们才能找到像在纽约的人这样多的活动和条件呢？所以，纽约便成了我的去处。

　　我从我在长岛森林岗静静的小郊区的家出发，这里，芳草绿树鲜花环绕着整洁的小住房，妻子和孩子欢声笑语，其乐融融，是城里辛劳的人们安宁的避风港。我驾车通过那跨越东河的带花边的钢铁建筑，从而对人类头脑的独创性和威力获得一个新的令人震惊的视觉。繁忙的船只在河上鸣叫着来来往往－－－高速快艇和笨头笨脑喘着气的拖驳。如果我能看见的日子更长些，我要花更多的时间看看这河上快乐的景象。

　　我展望前头，纽约的高楼大厦在我前面升起，似乎是从童话故事的篇章中出现的一座城市，多么令人敬畏的景象，这些闪闪发光的尖塔，这些巨大的石头与钢铁的建筑群，就像众神为他们自己而建的！这幅生气勃蓬的图景是千百万人每天生命的一部分。我不知道，到底有多少人再对它多看一眼？我怕很少，他们的眼睛对这辉煌的景象却是熟是无睹，因为这对他们太熟悉了。

　　我赶紧来到这些巨大建筑之一的顶端－－－帝国大厦，因为在那里，不久以前，我通过我的秘书的眼睛能“看”过下面的城市。我焦切地把我的想象同现实作一番比较。我确信，我对展现在我面前的景观不会失望，因为它对我来说是另一个世界的景象。

　　现在我开始周游这座城市。首先，我站在一个热闹的角落，仅仅是看着人们，试图以审视他们来理解他们生活的某些东西。我看到笑容，我就高兴。我看到严肃的决心，我就骄傲。我看到苦难，我就同情。

　　我漫步在第五大道上（译注：第五大道是纽约曼哈顿区的最繁华最壮观的商业大道，有许多高档精品商店，洛克菲勒中心就在该大道附近。）我的目光没有聚焦，以致我没有看到特别的目标，仅仅是那川流不息的彩色万花筒。我相信那成群女人们的服装颜色一定是一种华丽的奇观，我会百看不厌的。或许，如果我有视力，我也会像其他大多数女人一样－－－也对个人服装的式样和剪裁很感兴趣，以使人群中的华丽色彩有更多的吸引力。我也相信，我也会成为一个有瘾的橱窗浏览者，因为看那陈列的无数美好的商品一定是赏心悦目之事。

　　从第五大道起我浏览这座城市－－－到派克大道，到贫民窟，到工厂区，到儿童游乐的公园去。我以参观外国居民区来作不出国的国外旅行。我总是睁大眼睛看所有的景象，既看幸福的，也看悲哀的，以便我可以深入探究和加深理解人们是如何工作和生活的。我心中充满了人和事物的形象，我的目光不轻易地忽略任何一件小事，它力求触及并紧紧抓住所见的每件事。有些景象是愉快的，让心里充满快乐，而有些是悲惨的，对这些事，我并不闭上我的眼睛，因为这也是生活的一部分，对此闭起双目就是关闭起心灵与头脑。

　　我能看的第三天慢慢地结束了。也许还有许多强烈的愿望我应花最后的几个小时去实现，但是，我怕这最后一天的晚上我该又逃到戏院去了，去看一部欢快有趣的戏剧。这样我可以欣赏到人类精神上喜剧的含蓄意义。

　　午夜，我那短暂的失明后的重见状态就终止了，永恒的黑夜重又回到我身上。当然，在这短短的３天中，我并没有看到我想看的所有事情，唯有在黑暗重又降临在我身上之时，我才意识到我留下多少事情没有看到。但我的脑海里充满了这么多美好的记忆，以至我没有什么时间去后悔。此后，对每个东西的触摸都将留下一个强烈的记忆，那东西看起来是怎样的。

　　也许，我的这篇简短的关于怎样度过这能看的３天的概述和你们自己在遭致失明的情况下所设想的不一致。然而，我确信，如果你真的面临那不幸的命运，你的双眼一定对你们过去从未看见过的事情睁大眼睛，为你今后的漫漫长夜保存下回忆，你将以过去从未有过的方式去利用你的眼睛。你所看到的每件事会变得对你珍贵起来，你的眼睛会触及并抓住在进入你视线范围之内的每件事物。然后，你最终真正地看见了，于是，一个美的新世界在你面前展开了。

　　我，一个盲人，可以给那些能看见的人一个提示－－－对想充分利用视力天赋的人的一个忠告：用你的双眼，就好像你明天就会遭致失明一样。这同样的方法也能用于其它的感觉上，去听悦耳的乐声，鸟儿的鸣唱，乐队的强劲旋律，就好像你明天就遭致失聪一样。去触摸你想摸的每个物体，就像你明天会推动触觉意识一样。去闻花朵的芳香，津津有味地去尝美味佳肴，就好像你明天会再也不能闻到，尝到一样。更多地体验每种感觉；所有的愉快和美感方面的天福，世界通过自然提供的几种接触方式将它展露给你。但是，在所有的感觉之中，我相信视觉可能是最赏心悦目的．