Playing a Violin with Three Strings 斷弦的小提琴
Anonymous
On Nov. 18, 1995, Itzhak Perlman, the violinist, came on stage to give a concert. If you have ever been to a Perlman concert, you know that getting on stage is no small achievement for him. He was stricken with polio as a child, and so he walks with the aid of two crutches.
The audience sit quietly while he makes his way across the stage to his chair and begins his play. But this time, something went wrong. Just as he finished the first few bars, one of the strings on his violin broke. We thought that he would have to stop the concert. But he didn't. Instead, he waited a moment, closed his eyes and then signaled the conductor to begin again.
The orchestra began and he played with such passion and such power and such purity as they had never heard before.
Of course, anyone knows that it is impossible to play a harmonious work with just three strings. I know that, and you know that, but that night Itzhak Perlman refused to know that.
When he finished, there was an awesome silence in the room. And then people rose and cheered. There was an extraordinary outburst of applause from every corner of the auditorium.
He smiled, wiped the sweat from this brow and then he said in a quiet, sacred tone, "You know, sometimes it is the artist's task to find out how much music you can still make with what you have left."
This powerful line has stayed in my mind ever since I heard it. Perhaps that is the definition of life—not just for artists but for all of us.
He has prepared all his life to make music on a violin of four strings, but all of a sudden, in the middle of a concert, he finds himself with only three strings; so he makes music with three strings, and the music he made that night with just three strings was more beautiful, more sacred, more memorable, than any that he had ever made before, when he had four strings.
So, perhaps our task in this shaky, fast-changing, bewildering world in which we live is to make music, at first with all that we have, and then, when that is no longer possible, to make music with what we have left.
斷弦的小提琴
佚 名
1995年11月18日，小提琴家伊扎克·帕爾曼舉辦了一場(chǎng)音樂(lè)會(huì)。如果你曾經(jīng)聽(tīng)過(guò)帕爾曼的音樂(lè)會(huì)，你就知道對(duì)他來(lái)說(shuō)走上舞臺(tái)可不是一件容易的事情。他小的時(shí)候患過(guò)小兒麻痹癥，所以他走路要借助雙拐。
觀眾在靜靜地等待著他穿過(guò)舞臺(tái)坐在椅子上開(kāi)始表演。但是這一次出了點(diǎn)意外。當(dāng)他剛剛演奏完前面幾小節(jié)的時(shí)候，一根琴弦斷了。我們以為他不得不結(jié)束這場(chǎng)演奏會(huì)，然而他卻沒(méi)有。他停了一下，閉上了眼睛，然后向指揮示意重新開(kāi)始。
樂(lè)隊(duì)再一次開(kāi)始演奏，他用前所未有的激情、力量和純潔的內(nèi)心而演奏著。
當(dāng)然，我們都知道僅用三根琴弦是無(wú)法演奏出和諧的樂(lè)曲的。你我都明白這一事實(shí)，但是那晚伊扎克·帕爾曼就是拒絕承認(rèn)。
當(dāng)演奏結(jié)束的時(shí)候，大廳里先是一陣可怕的沉寂。接著，人們從座位上起立并歡呼起來(lái)，從觀眾席的每一個(gè)角落都爆發(fā)出了熱烈的掌聲。
他微笑著，擦去了額頭的汗珠，他用平靜的、虔誠(chéng)的語(yǔ)氣說(shuō)道，“有些時(shí)候音樂(lè)家需要明白，用不完整的樂(lè)器，你還能演奏出怎樣的音樂(lè)。”
從那天起，我就一直銘記這句鏗鏘有力的話。要知道，也許這就是對(duì)生命的解釋——不僅是對(duì)音樂(lè)家，而且是對(duì)所有的人。
伊扎克·帕爾曼一生都在做著用四弦小提琴演奏音樂(lè)的準(zhǔn)備，然而，突然間，就在音樂(lè)會(huì)上，他發(fā)現(xiàn)他只剩下三根琴弦，于是他用三根琴弦演奏。那一晚他用三根琴弦演奏的音樂(lè)比他以往用四根琴弦演奏的音樂(lè)更美妙，更神圣，更難忘。
我們要學(xué)會(huì)在這個(gè)動(dòng)蕩多變、充滿迷惑的世界里演奏音樂(lè)，也許開(kāi)始的時(shí)候傾盡所有來(lái)演奏，當(dāng)有些東西不再擁有的時(shí)候，就用我們所剩下的來(lái)演奏音樂(lè)。
實(shí)戰(zhàn)提升
Practising & Exercise
導(dǎo)讀
伊扎克·帕爾曼（Itzak Perlman），以色列著名小提琴家。4歲時(shí)因患小兒麻痹癥成為終身殘廢。他自幼酷愛(ài)音樂(lè)，十歲上電臺(tái)演奏，后進(jìn)特拉維夫音樂(lè)學(xué)院學(xué)習(xí)。他的演奏準(zhǔn)確靈巧、輕松自如，善于以變幻無(wú)窮的音色表現(xiàn)各個(gè)不同時(shí)代作曲家的特點(diǎn)和心理。他很注意音樂(lè)處理的邏輯性，把浪漫主義的熱情和古典主義的勻稱感完美地結(jié)合在一起，是一位極有名望的小提琴演奏大師。該文描敘的就是伊扎克·帕爾曼在一次演出中的偶遇。
核心單詞
signal [?siɡnl] n. 信號(hào)；暗號(hào)
harmonious [hɑ??m?unj?s] adj. 調(diào)和的；和諧的；協(xié)調(diào)的
awesome [???s?m] adj. 令人敬畏的；可怕的；有威嚴(yán)的
outburst [?autb??st] n. （情感、力量等的）爆發(fā)，迸發(fā)
shaky [??eiki] adj. 不穩(wěn)固的；搖晃的；不堅(jiān)定的
bewilder [bi?wild?] v. 使迷惑；使糊涂；難住
翻譯
If you have ever been to a Perlman concert, you know that getting on stage is no small achievement for him.
The audience sit quietly while he makes his way across the stage to his chair and begins his play.
Of course, anyone knows that it is impossible to play a harmonious work with just three strings.
