THE most important day I remember in all my life is the one on which my teacher, Anne Mansfield Sullivan, came to me. I am filled with wonder when I consider the immeasurable contrasts between the two lives which it connects. It was the third of March, 1887, three months before I was seven years old.

On the afternoon of that eventful day, I stood on the porch, dumb, expectant. I guessed vaguely from my mother's signs and from the hurrying to and fro in the house that something unusual was about to happen, so I went to the door and waited on the steps. The afternoon sun penetrated the mass of honeysuckle that covered the porch, and fell on my upturned face. My fingers lingered almost unconsciously on the familiar leaves and blossoms which had just come forth to greet the sweet southern spring. I did not know what the future held of marvel or surprise for me. Anger and bitterness had preyed upon me continually for weeks and a deep languor had succeeded this passionate struggle.

Have you ever been at sea in a dense fog, when it seemed as if a tangible white darkness shut you in, and the great ship, tense and anxious, groped her way toward the shore with plummet and sounding-line, and you waited with beating heart for something to happen? I was like that ship before my education began, only I was without compass or sounding-line, and had no way of knowing how near the harbour was.“Light! Give me light!”was the wordless cry of my soul, and the light of love shone on me in that very hour.

I felt approaching footsteps. I stretched out my hand as I supposed to my mother. Some one took it, and I was caught up and held close in the arms of her who had come to reveal all things to me, and, more than all things else, to love me.

The morning after my teacher came she led me into her room and gave me a doll. The little blind children at the Perkins Institution had sent it and Laura Bridgman had dressed it; but I did not know this until afterward.

When I had played with it a little while, Miss Sullivan slowly spelled into my hand the word“d-o-l-l”. I was at once interested in this finger play and tried to imitate it. When I finally succeeded in making the letters correctly I was flushed with childish pleasure and pride. Running downstairs to my mother I held up my hand and made the letters for doll. I did not know that I was spelling a word or even that words existed; I was simply making my fingers go in monkey-like imitation. In the days that followed I learned to spell in this uncomprehending way a great many words, among them pin, hat, cup and a few verbs like sit, stand and walk. But my teacher had been with me several weeks before I understood that everything has a name.

One day, while I was playing with my new doll, Miss Sullivan put my big rag doll into my lap also, spelled“d-o-l-l”and tried to make me understand that“d-o-l-l”applied to both.

Earlier in the day we had had a tussle over the words“m-u-g”and“w-a-t-e-r”. Miss Sullivan had tried to impress it upon me that“m-u-g”is mug and that“w-a-t-e-r”is water, but I persisted in confounding the two. In despair she had dropped the subject for the time, only to renew it at the first opportunity. I became impatient at her repeated attempts and, seizing the new doll, I dashed it upon the floor. I was keenly delighted when I felt the fragments of the broken doll at my feet. Neither sorrow nor regret followed my passionate outburst. I had not loved the doll. In the still, dark world in which I lived there was no strong sentiment of tenderness. I felt my teacher sweep the fragments to one side of the hearth, and I had a sense of satisfaction that the cause of my discomfort was removed. She brought me my hat, and I knew I was going out into the warm sunshine. This thought, if a wordless sensation may be called a thought, made me hop and skip with pleasure.

We walked down the path to the well-house, attracted by the fragrance of the honeysuckle with which it was covered. Some one was drawing water and my teacher placed my hand under the spout. As the cool stream gushed over one hand she spelled into the other the word water, first slowly, then rapidly. I stood still, my whole attention fixed upon the motions of her fingers. Suddenly I felt a misty consciousness as of something forgotten-a thrill of returning thought; and somehow the mystery of language was revealed to me. I knew then that“w-a-t-e-r”meant the wonderful cool something that was flowing over my hand. That living word awakened my soul, gave it light, hope, joy, set it free! There were barriers still, it is true, but barriers that could in time be swept away.

I left the well-house eager to learn.Everything had a name, and each name gave birth to a new thought. As we returned to the house every object which I touched seemed to quiver with life. That was because I saw everything with the strange, new sight that had come to me. On entering the door I remembered the doll I had broken. I felt my way to the hearth and picked up the pieces. I tried vainly to put them together. Then my eyes filled with tears; for I realized what I had done, and for the first time I felt repentance and sorrow.

I learned a great many new words that day. I do not remember what they all were; but I do know that mother, father, sister, teacher were among them-words that were to make the world blossom for me,“like Aaron's rod, with flowers.”It would have been difficult to find a happier child than I was as. I lay in my crib at the close of the eventful day and lived over the joys it had brought me, and for the first time longed for a new day to come.

我人生中最重要的一天，是老師安妮·梅西費爾德·莎莉文來我家的這一天。回想此前此后兩種全然不同的生活，我禁不住感慨萬分。那是1887年3月3日，當時我7歲還差3個月。

在那個多事之天的下午，我默默地站在走廊上，期待著什么。從母親的手勢以及家人匆忙地來來往往的樣子中，我猜想一定有什么不尋常的事將要發生，因此，我走到門口，站在臺階上等待著。下午的陽光穿過遮滿陽臺的金銀花葉子，照射到我仰望著的臉上。我的手指幾乎是無意識地搓捻著那些熟悉的花葉，撫弄著那些為迎接南方的春天而綻開的花朵。我還不知道未來會有什么奇跡發生。當時，我經歷了好幾個星期的極度憤怒和苦惱，已經疲倦不堪了。

朋友，你可曾在茫茫大霧的大海中航行過，被黑暗所籠罩，緊張地駕駛著一條大船，小心翼翼地緩慢地駛向對岸，而你的心怦怦直跳，唯恐發生意外？在沒有接受教育之前，我就像在大霧中航行的那條大船，既沒有指南針，也沒有探深繩，不知道離海港有多近。“光明！光明！快給我光明！”我在心里無聲地呼喊著。正在此時，愛的光明灑在了我身上。

我覺得有腳步朝我走來，我以為是母親，立刻伸出雙手。有個人握住了我的手，把我緊緊地摟抱在懷中。她是來向我揭示人間真理、給我深切關愛的，她就是我的老師——安妮·莎莉文。

第二天早晨，莎莉文老師把我帶到她的房間，給了我一個洋娃娃。那是帕金斯盲人學校的學生贈送的，洋娃娃的衣服則是由勞拉·布里奇曼親手縫制的，這些我是后來才知道的。

我玩了一會兒洋娃娃，莎莉文老師在我的手掌上慢慢地拼寫“d-o-l-l”這個詞，這個舉動使我立刻對手指游戲產生了興趣，并且模仿她寫起來。當我終于能正確地拼寫這個詞時，我自豪極了，興奮得臉都漲紅了。我立即跑下樓去，找到母親，拼寫洋娃娃這個詞的字母給她看。我當時并不知道這就是在寫字，甚至也不知道世界上有文字這種東西存在；我僅僅是依葫蘆畫瓢地模仿莎莉文老師的動作而已。從此以后，我就通過這種并不很理解的方式，學會了拼寫許多單詞，例如“針”（pin）、“帽子”（hat）、“杯子”（cup），以及“坐”（sit）、“站”（stand）、“走”（walk）等動詞。但是世間萬物都有自己的名字，這是老師教了我幾個星期以后，我才領悟到的。

一天，我正在玩我的新洋娃娃，莎莉文老師把我原來那個洋娃娃也拿來放在我膝上，然后在我手上拼寫“d-o-l-l”，想讓我明白“d-o-l-l”指的是兩個洋娃娃。

這天上午，我們為“m-u-g”（杯子）和“w-a-t-e-r”（水）這兩個詞發生了爭執。莎莉文老師拼命地想讓我懂得“杯子”是“杯子”,“水”是“水”，而我卻總是將二者弄混淆。絕望之際，她只好暫時放下這個問題，重新練習洋娃娃這個詞。我對她一而再、再而三的重復實在有些不耐煩了，抓起新的洋娃娃朝地上一摔，就把它摔碎了。當我察覺到我腳邊上的洋娃娃碎片時，心里覺得特別痛快。我發這種脾氣，既不慚愧，也不悔恨，我對洋娃娃并沒有愛。在我寂靜而黑暗的世界里，根本沒有什么溫柔和同情。我察覺到我的老師把洋娃娃碎片掃到爐子邊，我終于擺脫了令我不開心的東西，感到很滿意。老師把我的帽子遞給我，我知道又可以到外面暖和的陽光里去了。這種無法用語言表達的想法讓我高興得跳了起來。

我們沿著小路散步到水井房，這里盛開的金銀花芳香撲鼻，令人心曠神怡。有人正在打水，我的老師把我一只手放在噴水口下。一股清涼的水在我手上流過，她在我的另一只手上拼寫“w-a-t-e-r”（水），起先寫得很慢，然后寫得快一些。我安靜地站在那里，所有的注意力都集中在她手指的動作上。剎那間，我恍然大悟，好像記起了一件早已經忘卻的事，一種神奇的感覺在我腦中激蕩，我一下子理解了語言文字的奧秘，知道了“水”這個字就是正在我手上流過的這種清涼而奇妙的東西。“水”這個活生生的詞喚醒了我的靈魂，并給予我光明、希望、快樂和自由。雖然前面的道路還布滿荊棘，但一定能夠被掃除。

井房的經歷使我的求知欲望油然而生。啊！原來世間萬物都各有名稱，而每個名稱都能啟發我新的思想。當我們回到房子里時，因為我開始用一種全新的、神奇的眼光去看每一件東西，所以我碰到的每件東西似乎都有了生命。進門時，我想起了那個被我摔碎的洋娃娃，于是我摸索著來到爐子邊，撿起了碎片。我努力想把它們拼起來，但怎么做也無濟于事。想起我剛才的所作所為，我的淚水浸滿了雙眼，這是我生平第一次感到悔恨和悲傷。

那天，我學會了不少詞，我不記得具體是哪些了，但我知道有“母親”、“父親”、“妹妹”、“老師”等。這些詞使整個世界在我面前變得猶如花團錦簇，美不勝收。啊！世界上還有比我更幸福的孩子嗎？那天晚上，我躺在床上，心中充滿了無限喜悅，第一次盼望新的一天到來。