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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. |
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IP卡
狗仔卡
发表于 2005-6-9 10:37
显身卡
