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.

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.

II

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.

假如给我三天光明

一

我们大家都读过一些激动人心的故事，这些故事里的主人公仅仅活在有限的特定时间内，有时长达一年，有时短到24小时。但有趣的是，我们总是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、被判了刑的犯人。

这样的故事促使我们思考：在相似的情况下，我们该怎么办？作为终有一死的人，要怎么安排那最终的几个小时？要在那段时间去经历什么？与什么人交往？回首往事时，我们又会有哪些成就、哪些遗憾呢？

有时我会想，如果把今天当作生命中的最后一天，以这样的态度去生活，去思考，我们会深刻地认识到生命的价值，从而怀着友善和渴望去度过每一天。当然，也有人崇尚及时行乐，但绝大多数人还是因为即将面临的死亡而备受煎熬。

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，但他的价值观却从此发生了改变。他对生活的意义及永恒的真谛有了更深刻的领悟。我们也常常看到，那些曾经濒临死亡或一直生活在死亡阴影下的人们对世事看得更透彻，也变得更豁达，赋予生命一种芳醇。

但是，我们大多数人把生活视作理所当然。我们明知有一天自己终将死去，但总感觉那一天距离我们还非常遥远。当我们身强体健时，死亡仿佛遥不可及，我们甚至很少想到它。我们总觉得日子似乎没有穷尽，因此，总是为那些琐事而虚度年华，没有意识到我们正在浪费生命。

我想，我们整个人和感官都有着同样的惰性。因此，只有失聪者才珍惜听力，只有失明者才能体会能看见事物的种种幸福，那些在成年后失去视力和听力的人们尤其如此。而那些从没有遭受视觉或听觉损伤之苦的人，很少充分利用这些感官的功能。他们毫不费力地就能看到色彩，听到声音，却不懂得珍惜。就如古语所说的，我们总是直到失去后，才懂得珍惜。我们意识不到健康的可贵，直到有一天我们失去了健康。

我常常想，如果每个人在他刚懂事的时候都经历几天的盲聋，那将是一件幸事，因为黑暗会使他更珍惜视力，聋哑会让他更珍惜声音。

我经常询问我那些能看见东西的朋友们，以了解他们看到了什么。最近，一个好朋友来看我，她刚从森林里散步回来。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，我可能都不相信，因为很久以来我已认识到，能看见的人看到的却更少。

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，都能发现许多让我感兴趣的东西。我感触到一片树叶的完美的对称性。我欢喜地用手抚摸过那光滑而潮湿的白桦树皮和粗糙的松树皮。春天，我摸着树干的枝条，满怀希望地摸索着嫩芽，那是严冬之后大自然苏醒的第一个预兆。我抚摸到柔润的花朵，像天鹅绒一样软，感受它那奇妙的卷绕。有时，如果我足够幸运，当我把手轻轻地放在一棵小树上时，还能感受到正引吭高歌的小鸟的愉快颤抖。我喜欢让小溪涧的凉水从我张开的手指间流淌过去。我觉得一片茂密的地毯式的松针叶或松软而富有弹性的草地，比最豪华的波斯地毯更讨人喜欢。对我来说，四季的壮美是一部动人而永不会落幕的戏剧，它的剧情就在我的指尖一幕幕滑过。

有时，我太渴望能看到这一切，内心因此而痛苦地哭泣。我仅凭触觉就能感受到这么多的美感和快乐，那么如果还能利用视觉，我该欣赏到多少美丽啊！然而，那些能看见的人却看不到这些。他们对这世界上五彩缤纷、千姿百态的万花筒似的景象视而不见，将之视为理所当然。或许，这是人共有的特点：对自己所拥有的不懂珍惜，却常常渴望那些得不到的。然而，遗憾的是，在这宝贵的光明世界里，视觉居然只被视为一种便利，而不是作为观察丰富多彩生活的优势。

如果我是一所大学的校长，我一定要开设一门必修课一“如何应用你的眼睛”。这门课的教授应该努力教给他的学生，怎样通过用心观察事物，为他们的生活增添乐趣，并以此来唤醒他们那沉睡的感官和天赋。

假想一下，如果有奇迹出现，让我重见光明，哪怕只有三天时间，我最想看到什么呢？在我这么想象的时候，也请你们思考一下这个问题：假如你只有三天光明，你会怎样利用这有限的光明时间，让你的目光停留在你最想注视的东西上面呢？

我最想看到的是在我多年的黑暗日子里对我而言很珍贵的东西，你肯定也想让自己的目光定格在那些你最珍惜的东西上面吧，以便在未来的无边黑暗中，将它们铭刻在心。

如果真的出现某种奇迹，我能够拥有三天的光明，随后重又陷入黑暗之中，我会将这段时间分为三部分。

二

拥有光明的第一天，我一定要仔细地看看身边每一个善待我、帮助我、陪伴的人，它们的善良和友谊让我黑暗的生活充满了阳光。我第一个要久久凝视的便是我最亲爱的老师一妮?莎莉文老师。在我童年时候，她就来到了我身边，并为我打开了外面的世界，为我那黑暗的世界带来了光明。我不仅要好好端详她的脸，以便能把她的容颜深深印在自己的脑海，我还要细细研究她脸上的神情，在那里找到她富有同情心、温柔和耐心的证据，她就是以这种温柔和耐心来克服教育我的过程中所遇到的困难。我要看进她的眼睛里去，看到她不向困难妥协的坚毅，看到她对人类的同情和关怀。

我不知道通过“心灵的窗口”一艮睛一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”到一张张面孔的轮廓。我能察觉出欢乐、悲伤和其他许多明显的情绪。我通过触摸朋友们的脸来了解他们，但并不能通过触摸来深刻地了解他们的内心和个性。诚然，通过别的方法，比如通过他们的表达，通过他们的行为举止，我也能对他们有些了解，但我终究不曾对他们有非常深刻的了解。

我相信，只要我能看到他们，通过观察他们的神情，以及他们对事物做出的反应，我肯定能对他们有更淡的了解。我熟知我身边的朋友们，因为在长期的相处中，他们已经将自己的各个方面都展示给了我。但对那些偶然遇到的朋友，我就只有一个不完全的印象，这种印象或来自于我们的握手，或来自于我用手指感受他们所说的话，又或来自于他们在我两个手掌上轻轻的抚摸和拼写。

对视觉正常的人而言，通过观察他人微妙的表情和肢体语言就能很快了解他们的本性，那是多么简单又多么令人满足的事情啊！但是，你们有没有想过，凭借你们的双眼，通过观察一个人的外部表现来了解一个朋友或熟人的内心世界吗？

比如，你能精确地描述5个好朋友的面貌吗？有些人能，但大多数人不能。作为一个实验，我曾问过那些结婚多年的丈夫们，他们妻子的眼睛是什么颜色，他们都显得很窘迫，只得承认他们不知道。而且，顺便说一句，妻子们经常抱怨她们的丈夫不注意自己的新衣服、新帽子，以及家里摆设的变化。

视觉正常的人，他们的眼睛很快就习惯了周围的日常事物。实际上，他们只会注意到令人吃惊或很新奇的事物。即使他们能看到那些最壮观的景象，他们的眼睛也是懒洋洋的。在法庭记录的证人的证词中，同一件事，有几个人就有几种不同的证言。有些人看得比另一些人仔细一些，但几乎没有人能够注意到他们视线范围内的所有事物。

啊，如果我有哪怕三天的视力，我将看到多少美妙的事物啊！

第一天将会很忙碌，我要把所有亲朋好友都叫到我这里来，长久地注视着他们的面容，把他们内在美的外部证据深深地印进自己的脑海。我还会把目光停留在一个婴儿的脸上，欣赏那种充满热切渴望的纯真之美。

我还要看看我的小狗们忠诚的眼睛一严肃、机灵的小斯洛蒂?达基和高大、健壮而又善解人意的大达英?赫尔加，它们热情、真挚而又顽皮，它们的友谊给了我是莫大的安慰。

在这忙碌的第一天，我还要抽空看看我房间里那简单的陈设。我想看看我脚下地毯上温馨的颜色、墙壁上明快的图画，还有所有那些将这间屋子变成一个温馨的家的小物件。我会对那些我读过的盲文书籍投注尊崇的目光，但会对那些视力正常之人所读的书更感兴趣。在我生命的漫漫长夜里，我读过的书和别人为我读过的书已筑成一座熠熠发光的灯塔，为我指明了人生及心灵光明的航程。

在拥有光明的第一天下午，我要在树林里长久地散步，陶醉在大自然的美景之中。在那短短几个小时中，我会拼命记住那些美丽的景色。在视力正常的人看来，这也许平淡无奇，但对我而言，这些都弥足珍贵。从树林散步回来，我要走在田间小路上，看看在田间耕作的马、牛，看看田地里怡然自得的人们，而且，我还将为美丽的落日余晖祈祷。

黄昏降临时，我将感受到双倍的快乐，因为能看到人类创造出的灯光，用以延伸太阳的光亮。

在拥有光明的第一天晚上，我夜不成寐，脑海中充满了白天的记忆。

三

次日——拥有光明的第二天——我会在黎明即起，欣赏日出时的动人美景，体验黑夜渐渐变为白昼的奇迹，怀着敬畏之心去欣赏太阳唤醒沉睡大地时的壮美景象。

这一天，我要看看人类发展进步的奇观，看看它的过去和现在。如此漫长的历史长河，我怎能够在一天之内将所有一切都看尽呢？怎么能压缩在一天？当然，参观博物馆是最高效的方式。

尽管我曾多次参观过纽约自然历史博物馆，也曾触摸过那里陈列的许多藏品，但我还是非常渴望亲眼看一看地球的发展历程，迫切想看到陈列在那里的地球上的古老动物和古人类，还有那体型庞大的恐龙和剑齿象。

在人类出现之前很久，它们就已经在地球上生活了。虽然人类比这些动物矮小得多，但人类凭借发达的智力征服了动物王国。动物、人类，以及劳动工具的发展过程，在这里都得到了十分逼真的展现。人类正是利用这些简单的工具，在地球上创造出自己的家园，也创造出人类发展的历史。

我不知道有多少读者看过博物馆里陈列的那些栩栩如生的动物标本。当然，很多人是没有机会去看，但我肯定也有很多人是有机会却没有好好利用。在那里，你们的眼睛大有用处。你们可以在那里度过许多受益匪浅的时光，而我，却仅有想象中的三天光明，只能走马观花，匆匆一瞥。

我的下一站将是大都会艺术博物馆。自然历史博物馆展示的是世界的物质文明成果，大都会艺术博物馆则展示了人类的大量精神文明成果。在整个人类历史发展的过程中，人们对艺术的渴求就像对食物、住所和繁衍的需要一样强烈。而在大都会艺术博物馆中，那些遥远文明古国的艺术精髓淋漓尽致地展现在我们面前。

通过手的触摸，我了解了古代尼罗河土地上的众神。我摸过帕特农神殿中楣石柱的复制品，感受到了向前冲锋的雅典武士的匀称、和谐之美。阿波罗、维纳斯，还有长着翅膀的萨莫色雷斯1胜利女神，都是我手指尖的朋友。荷马那长满胡须、节瘤众多的面容让我感到无比亲切，因为他也是盲人，懂得失明的痛苦。

我的手在栩栩如生的古罗马大理石雕像上逗留。我抚摸过米开朗基罗雕刻的那鼓舞人心的英雄摩西2的雕像；感受到了罗丹的力量。同时，哥特人对木刻的虔诚、热忱也让我感到敬畏。这些能被我触摸到的艺术作品，我能体会到它们的存在价值，但艺术品是供人观赏的，而我只能通过想象来猜测那些我触摸不到的美。我能体会到一只古希腊花瓶上线条的简约之美，却看不到花瓶上的图案装饰，这让我感到有些遗憾。

所以，在我重见光明的第二天，我要通过艺术来探究人类的灵魂。我要从那些对宗教泰然、虔诚奉献的意大利文艺复兴前期作品开始看，一直看到狂热梦幻的现代派作品，它们都是我以前通过触摸已经知道的。我要仔细端详拉斐尔、达·芬奇、提香3和伦勃朗4的油画，要尽情享受保罗·委罗内塞那炽烈的色彩，还要探究埃尔·格列柯5的神秘，从卡米耶·柯罗的画作里重新感受大自然。啊！我多么羡慕你们视力正常，能够欣赏到历代艺术中如此丰富的意义和美感！

在对这座艺术殿堂的短暂访问中，我不应只看到那对你们开放的伟大艺术世界的一个部分，那样我只能获得一个表面的印象。艺术家告诉我，要想真正深刻地鉴赏艺术，得要训练眼力，必须通过经验学会衡量线条、构图、形态和色彩的价值。如果我能看得见，我会很幸福地从事这让人着迷的研究！可是，我听说，对你们视力正常的许多人来说，艺术的世界却是一片黑暗，未曾涉足、开发。

我很不愿地离开了大都会艺术博物馆，那里有着开启美的钥匙。不过，视力正常的人不一定非要到大都会艺术博物馆去寻找这开启美的钥匙，因为相同的钥匙也在较小的博物馆，甚至小图书馆的书架上摆放着。但是，在我想象的拥有光明的有限时间里，我该选择那把能在最短的时间内打开最伟大宝库的钥匙。

在拥有光明的第二天晚上，我想在剧院或电影院度过。尽管现在，我仍然经常去看各种戏剧表演，但需要一个同伴将剧情拼写在我手上。我多么想亲眼看到哈姆雷特6的迷人形象，或者那身着艳丽的伊丽莎白时代服饰的法斯塔夫7！我多想看到哈姆雷特的每个优雅动作，以及法斯塔夫夸张的热情！因为只能看一场戏，所以我就拿不定主意了，因为有几十部我都想看。

你们这些视力正常的人可以看自己喜欢的任何一部剧。当你们观看一场戏或一场电影时，究竟有多少人对其中的景物、色彩、动作有所意识，并对之怀有感激之情呢？

我只能用手感知事物，无法用眼睛欣赏各种动作的优美。尽管我能感受到音乐震动地板时传来的节奏，却只能模糊地想象一下巴甫洛娃8的优美。我能够想象那极富韵律的优雅动作，相信那一定是世界上最令人赏心悦目的景象。我通过用手指触摸大理石雕像的线条，能感受到它的大概轮廓和静态美。这种静态美就已经如此迷人，那能看见的动态美肯定更让人震撼。

我最宝贵的记忆之一是，约瑟夫·杰斐逊表演完他心爱的角色瑞普·凡·温克尔9时让我触摸他的脸和手。就这样，我获得对梦幻世界微弱的一瞥。我永远忘不了那个时刻的快乐。但是，我多么渴望能够用眼睛欣赏戏剧表演，观看那浪漫优雅的动作，倾听其中声情并茂的对白！你们视力正常的人能从中获得多少欢乐啊！如果我能哪怕是只看一场戏，我就会知道怎样在脑海中描绘我曾经读过的或他人通过拼写向我转述的近百部戏剧的动作。

这样，在我假想的拥有光明的第二天晚上，我曾经通过手指阅读过的大量戏剧文学，就会因此而都涌入我的梦中。

四

接下来这一天的早上，我将再次怀着愉悦的心情迎接黎明的到来，并迫切想要经历新的人生体验，因为我知道，对那些视力正常的人而言，每T黎明只是一个永远重复的景象，但对我而言，它却是那么新奇而美好。

根据我的想象，这将是我拥有光明的第三天，也是最后一天。我没有时间去浪费在后悔中或渴望中，要看的东西实在太多。我将第一天献给了我的朋友们，有生命的和无生命的朋友。第二天，我参观、了解了人类和自然的历史。今天，我将走进人们的日常生活，在为生活奔忙的人群中度过这最后一天。而还有什么地方能像纽约这样，有这么多的人，这么丰富的生活？所以，纽约便成了我今天的目的地。

我从位于长岛森林山岗郊区的家出发。这里很安静，房子被各种花草树木围绕，女人们和孩子们发出阵阵欢声笑语，这儿是城里辛劳的人们的避风港。我驾车通过那横跨伊斯特河两岸的钢铁大桥，它让我对人类独有的智慧和创造性有了一个全新的视觉印象。各种繁忙的船只在河上鸣叫着前行一一有高速飞驰的小艇，也有慢悠悠冒着蒸气的拖轮。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的快乐景象。

我抬眼望去，纽约就展现在我面前，仿若一座从童语故事中走出来的城市_8么多高楼大厦，多么令人敬畏的建筑啊！这些金碧辉煌的尖塔，这些由巨大的石块建成的钢铁结构的建筑，就像众神为他们自己而建的一般，让人惊叹不已。这一幅幅鲜活的画面生气蓬勃的景象构成了纽约人每天生活的景象。我不知道有多少人会对它多看一眼。恐怕很少，他们对这美景太熟悉了，早已习惯了而视而不见。

我匆匆登上一座摩天大楼一帝国大厦的顶端，因为不久前我也曾登上过这里，那时，我通过秘书的眼睛“看”到了四周的景色，现在，我急切地想看看实际的景象与我想象的是否一样。我肯定眼前的美景不会让我失望，因为，对我来说，这是一个全新的世界。

现在我开始游览这座城市。首先，我站在街道的一个角落里，仅仅是看看过往的行人，试图通过对他们的观察来了解他们的生活。看到他们的笑容，我也由衷地感到快乐；看到认真下定决心的表情，我也为他们感到骄傲；看到痛苦的表情，我就不禁心生同情。

漫步在第五大道上，我东看看西瞧瞧，并没有想看某个特定事物，而是想看一看这万花筒般的世界。我想，走在人群中的那些女人，她们衣服的色彩一定是幅华美的画卷，会叫我百看不厌。或许，如果我有视力，我也会像大多数女人一样，对服装的款式很感兴趣，如果能给绚烂的人群再添一抹色彩，那我就太幸福了！而且，我相信自己会对浏览橱窗上瘾，因为在我看来，欣赏那些精美的商品是一件很快乐的事情。

沿着第五大道，我开始游览起这座城市——到派克大街，到贫民窟，到工厂区，到儿童游乐的公园。我还参观了外国人聚集的居民区，进行了一次不出国门的国外旅行。

我总是睁大眼睛看着所有的景象，关注着人们的快乐和悲伤，以便深入了解人们的工作和生活。我脑中充满了各种人和事物，我的眼睛不愿错过哪怕是十分微小的一件事。有些景象让人感到愉悦，心里充满快乐；但也有一些悲惨的事情，对此我绝不会视而不见，因为这也是真实生活的一部分。如果我对此闭起双眼，那就是关闭了心灵与头脑。

我拥有光明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又想逃到剧院，去看一部欢快有趣的戏剧，再次欣赏反映人类精神的喜剧的弦外之音。

午夜了，我那短暂的光明之旅就要结束了，永恒的黑暗重又向我迫近。当然，在这短短的三天中，我没能看到我想看的所有事物。当黑暗再次降临，我感觉还有好多东西都没有来得及看。不过，我的脑海里已经装满了这么多的美好记忆，所以，我没有懊悔。此后，每当我再触摸到一个东西时，我就会想起那个东西的样子来。

也许，我对这三天的安排与你自己在失明的情况下所设想的不一致。但我相信，如果你真的面临那种不幸，你一定会对自己过去从未看见过的事物睁大眼睛，将它们深深地印在脑海中，作为今后漫长黑暗中的回忆。你将会努力去利用自己的眼睛，看到的每件事都变得珍贵起来，你的目光将长久地停留在你视线范围之内的每件事物上。然后，你将看到一个无限美好的新世界在你面前展开。

我，一个盲人，要提醒那些视力正常的人——忠告那些想充分利用视力天赋的人：充分运用你的双眼，就好像你明天会失明一样。同样的，去倾听悦耳的琴声、鸟儿的鸣唱、乐队的强劲旋律，就好像你明天会失聪一样；去触摸你想触摸的每个物体，就好像你明天会失去触觉一样；去闻一闻花朵的芳香，去尝一尝美味佳肴，就好像你明天再也不能闻到、尝到一样。充分利用你的每一种感官吧，通过上天赐予你的几种接触手段，尽情欣赏这个世界中所有美好而愉快的事物！在所有的感官中，我想视觉大概是最让人愉快的。

1.萨莫色雷斯：爱琴海的一个小岛。

2.摩西：以色列人的先知、解放者。

3.拉斐尔、达·芬奇、提香：意大利画家。

4.伦勃朗：荷兰画家。

5.埃尔·格列柯：埃尔·格列柯（约1541～约1614年），意大利画家。

6.哈姆雷特：莎士比亚剧作《哈姆雷特》（又译作《王子复仇记》）中的丹麦王子。

7.法斯塔夫：莎士比亚剧作《亨利四世》中的一个喜剧角色。

8.巴甫洛娃：俄国著名芭蕾舞女演员，以表演《吉赛尔》和《天鹅湖》著称。

9.瑞普·凡·温克尔：美国作家华盛顿·欧文的小说中的主人公。这里指的是根据小说改编成的戏剧中的该主角。

海伦·凯勒（Helen Adams Keller，1880年6月27日～1968年6月1日)，是美国一位残障教育家。她生于美国亚拉巴马州，爸爸亚瑟是位南方邦联老兵。她在十九个月大时因为一次高烧而引致失明及失聪。后来在她的导师波土顿柏金斯盲人学校老师安·沙利文 （Anne Sullivan）的努力下，她学会说话，并开始和其他人沟通。1898年，海伦·凯勒考入了哈佛大学附属剑桥女子学校。1900年秋，海伦·凯勒考入哈佛大学的雷地克里夫学院，这对于一个失明和失聪的人而言，是令人难以置信的。

1904年，海伦·凯勒成功取得文学学士学位，而且成绩优异。多年来，沙利文老师一直留在海伦·凯勒身边，并将教科书与上课内容写在海伦·凯勒的手掌上，让凯勒能了解其内容。老师对海伦·凯勒不离不弃，海伦·凯勒一生十分感激她。从1902年4月开始，她又在沙利文老师的帮助下，开始在美国的一家杂志上连载她的自传《我的一生》（又译《我生活的故事》）（《The Story of My Life》）。第二年结集出版后轰动了美国文坛，甚至被誉为1902年世界文学上最重要的两大贡献之一。

海伦·凯勒出生时，本是一个健康的婴儿，却在19个月大时被一场突如其来的疾病夺去了视觉和听觉。突然变成聋盲人的海伦由于对外界的恐惧变得狂躁不安，脾气越发暴躁，直至遇到了改变她一生的家教老师——安妮·莎莉文。海伦在莎莉文老师的帮助下，凭借自己顽强的意志，最终顺利从哈佛大学毕业。这篇《假如给我三天光明》，就是这位美国聋盲女作家的散文作品。

马克·吐温说过，19世纪出了两个了不起的人物，一个是拿破仑，另一个就是海伦·凯勒。品读《假如给我三天光明》，读者对于被誉为“精神楷模”的海伦·凯勒和作为一个出色作家的海伦·凯勒都可以有一个初步的了解。

在文章中，作者处处用视听健全的人来和自己作比，整篇文章都是用对比的手法来写的。作者在对比中表达了她的生活态度，人对生活要有强烈的紧迫感。缺乏这种态度，虽然视听健全，却有可能什么都看不见；具备了这一生活态度，人们将会发现面前敞开了一个美丽的新世界。这样的道理，人们也许不止一次听到过，但现在由作者这样一个用手来感知世界的残障人士道来，不能不给读者以更强烈的震撼和更深的启迪：三天，在作者那里等同全部生命的三天，对于健全的每个人甚是平平常常。

遭遇到作者这样严重生理缺陷的人是少有的。但是对于作者，生活依然是美好的。作者以动人的、富于诗意的笔触，表达了她对生活的爱恋。作者在她虚构的“三天”里所集中表现的，乃是对人类生活的高度礼赞，它赞美了人们生于斯、长于斯、繁衍于斯的大自然，称颂了人类往昔的历程与现代的文明、灿烂的文化和沸腾的生活。在文学作品中，作家对自然、对历史的刻画与她的精神世界的深度是不可分的。作家在阐释自然、历史时也阐释了自己的心灵。在海伦对自然、历史、人的礼赞中，也体现了她对这一切的深刻理解。

“修辞立其诚”，这是写好文章的要诀。一篇好的散文，必定是作者至性真情的流露。《假如给我三天光明》是引人入胜的，想象是那样丰富，文笔是那样流畅；但它之所以能深深地打动读者，还在于它的真挚而强烈的感情，在于它所给予读者的敞开心扉的亲切感。在这篇用第一人称写的、富于激情的作品里，作者倾诉了她对生活的礼赞，表达了她的生活态度。正由于文章是作者至性真情的流露，所以虽然整篇文章都是虚拟的，所记叙的事情多是非现实的，但使读者感受到了更高的真实——情感的真实。

2020年4月，列入《教育部基础教育课程教材发展中心 中小学生阅读指导目录（2020年版）》。

读 《假如给我三天光明》

现代诗人·王智钧

光明三日写名篇，内外相通赖感官。

瞽目方知彩色美，耳聋倍感乐音甜。

人间挚爱师亲系，心底深情眉宇悬。

艺术自然博物史，纽约大厦入云端。