我本不是喜愛音樂的人，但我內(nèi)心深處卻時(shí)常響起一首曲子。這曲子講述了一個(gè)特別的故事，故事中有一張世人再熟悉不過的面孔——一團(tuán)舉世聞名的亂蓬蓬的白發(fā)，一支從不離嘴的煙斗和一雙令人倍感溫暖的眼睛。每當(dāng)曲子響起，那故事中的人和事便鮮活了起來??

When I was a very young man， just beginning to make my way1)， I was invited to dine at the home of a distinguished New York philanthropist. After dinner， our hostess led us to an enormous drawing room. Other guests were pouring in， and my eyes beheld two unnerving sights: Servants were arranging small gilt chairs in long， neat rows; and up front， leaning against the wall， were musical instruments.

Apparently I was in for2) an evening of chamber music.

I use the phrase “in for” because music meant nothing to me. I am almost tone deaf—only with great effort can I carry the simplest tune， and serious music was to me no more than an arrangement of noises. So I did what I always did when trapped: I sat down， and when the music started， I fixed my face in what I hoped was an expression of intelligent appreciation， closed my ears from the inside， and submerged myself in my own completely irrelevant thoughts.

After a while， becoming aware that the people around me were applauding， I concluded it was safe to unplug my ears. At once I heard a gentle but surprisingly penetrating voice on my right: “You are fond of Bach3)?”

I knew as much about Bach as I know about nuclear fission4). But I did know one of the most famous faces in the world， with the renowned shock5) of untidy white hair and the ever-present pipe between the teeth. I was sitting next to Albert Einstein.

“Well，” I said uncomfortably and hesitated. I had been asked a casual question. All I had to do was be equally casual in my reply. But I could see from the look in my neighbor’s extraordinary eyes that their owner was not merely going through the perfunctory6) duties of elementary politeness. Regardless of what value I placed on my part in the verbal exchange， to this man his part in it mattered very much. Above all， I could feel that this was a man to whom you did not tell a lie， however small.

“I don’t know anything about Bach，” I said awkwardly. “I’ve never heard any of his music.”

A look of perplexed astonishment washed across Einstein’s mobile face.

“You have never heard Bach?”

He made it sound as though I had said I’d never taken a bath.

“It isn’t that I don’t want to like Bach，” I replied hastily. “It’s just that I’m tone deaf， or almost tone deaf， and I’ve never really heard anybody’s music.”

A look of concern came into the old man’s face. “Please，” he said abruptly. “You will come with me?”

He stood up and took my arm. I stood up. As he led me across that crowded room， I kept my embarrassed glance fixed on the carpet. A rising murmur of puzzled speculation followed us out into the hall. Einstein paid no attention to it.

Resolutely， he led me upstairs. He obviously knew the house well. On the floor above， he opened the door into a book-lined study， drew me in， and shut the door.

“Now，” he said with a small， troubled smile. “You will tell me， please， how long you have felt this way about music?”

“All my life，” I said， feeling awful. “I wish you would go back downstairs and listen， Dr. Einstein. The fact that I don’t enjoy it doesn’t matter.”

Einstein shook his head and scowled7)， as though I had introduced an irrelevance.

“Tell me， please，” he said. “Is there any kind of music that you do like?”

“Well，” I answered， “I like songs that have words， and the kind of music where I can follow the tune.”

He smiled and nodded， obviously pleased. “You can give me an example， perhaps?”

“Well，” I ventured， “almost anything by Bing Crosby8).”

He nodded again， briskly. “Good!”

He went to a corner of the room， opened a phonograph9)， and started pulling out records. I watched him uneasily. At last， he beamed. “Ah!” he said.

He put the record on， and in a moment， the study was filled with the relaxed， lilting strains10) of Bing Crosby’s When the Blue of the Night Meets the Gold of the Day. Einstein beamed at me and kept time with the stem of his pipe. After three or four phrases， he stopped the phonograph.

“Now，” he said. “Will you tell me， please， what you have just heard?”

The simplest answer seemed to be to sing the lines. I did just that， trying desperately to stay in tune and keep my voice from cracking11). The expression on Einstein’s face was like the sunrise.

“You see!” he cried with delight when I finished. “You do have an ear!”

I mumbled12) something about this being one of my favorite songs， something I had heard hundreds of times so that it didn’t really prove anything.

“Nonsense!” said Einstein. “It proves everything! Do you remember your first arithmetic13) lesson in school? Suppose， at your very first contact with numbers， your teacher had ordered you to work out a problem in， say， long division or fractions14). Could you have done so?”

“No， of course not.”

“Precisely!” Einstein made a triumphant wave with his pipe stem. “It would have been impossible， and you would have reacted in panic. You would have closed your mind to long division and fractions. As a result， because of that one small mistake by your teacher， it is possible your whole life you would be denied the beauty of long division and fractions.”

The pipe stem went up and out in another wave.

“But on your first day， no teacher would be so foolish. He would start you with elementary things—then， when you had acquired skill with the simplest problems， he would lead you up to long division and to fractions.

“So it is with music.” Einstein picked up the Bing Crosby record. “This simple， charming little song is like simple addition or subtraction. You have mastered it. Now we go on to something more complicated.”

He found another record and set it going. The golden voice of John McCormack15) singing The Trumpeter filled the room. After a few lines， Einstein stopped the record.

“So!” he said. “You will sing that back to me， please?”

I did—with a good deal of self-consciousness16) but with， for me， a surprising degree of accuracy.

Einstein stared at me with a look on his face that I had seen only once before in my life: on the face of my father as he listened to me deliver the valedictory17) address at my high school graduation ceremony.

“Excellent!” Einstein remarked when I finished. “Wonderful! Now this!”

“This” turned out to be Caruso18) in what was to me a completely unrecognizable fragment from Cavalleria Rusticana， a one-act opera. Nevertheless， I managed to reproduce an approximation of the sounds the famous tenor had made. Einstein beamed his approval. Caruso was followed by at least a dozen others. I could not shake my feeling of awe over the way this great man， into whose company I had been thrown by chance， was completely preoccupied by what we were doing， as though I were his sole concern.

We came at last to recordings of music without words， which I was instructed to reproduce by humming. When I reached for a high note， Einstein’s mouth opened， and his head went back as if to help me attain what seemed unattainable. Evidently I came close enough， for he suddenly turned off the phonograph.

“Now， young man，” he said， putting his arm through mine. “We are ready for Bach!”

As we returned to our seats in the drawing room， the players were tuning up for a new selection. Einstein smiled and gave me a reassuring pat on the knee.

“Just allow yourself to listen，” he whispered. “That is all.”

It wasn’t really all， of course. Without the effort he had just poured out for a total stranger I would never have heard， as I did that night for the first time in my life， Bach’s Sheep May Safely Graze. I have heard it many times since. I don’t think I shall ever tire of it. Because I never listen to it alone. I am sitting beside a small， round man with a shock of untidy white hair， a dead pipe clamped between his teeth， and eyes that contain in their extraordinary warmth all the wonder of the world.

When the concert was finished， I added my genuine applause to that of the others.

Suddenly our hostess confronted us. “I’m so sorry， Dr. Einstein，” she said with an icy glare at me， “that you missed so much of the performance.”

Einstein and I came hastily to our feet19). “I am sorry too，” he said. “My young friend here and I， however， were engaged in the greatest activity of which man is capable.”

She looked puzzled. “Really?” she said. “And what is that?”

Einstein smiled and put his arm across my shoulders. And he uttered ten words that—for at least one person who is in his endless debt—are his epitaph20):

“Opening up yet another fragment of the frontier of beauty.”

那時(shí)我還是個(gè)小青年，剛剛踏入社會(huì)，應(yīng)邀前往紐約市一位非常著名的慈善家家中出席晚宴。晚宴后，女主人領(lǐng)我們來到一間特別寬敞的會(huì)客廳。在其他賓客紛紛涌入的時(shí)候，我看到了兩件令人不安的事情：一是傭人們正在將金色的小椅子整整齊齊地排成幾個(gè)長排；一是在前方的墻壁上，斜倚著一件件樂器。

很顯然，一場室內(nèi)音樂會(huì)即將開始，看來今晚我注定要遭罪了。

我使用“遭罪”一詞，因?yàn)橐魳穼?duì)我來說如同對(duì)牛彈琴。我?guī)缀趼牪怀鋈魏吻{(diào)——費(fèi)盡九牛二虎之力我才能哼出最簡單的調(diào)子，而嚴(yán)肅音樂對(duì)我來說只不過是聒噪之音。所以我就使出了每當(dāng)深陷音樂困局時(shí)的拿手好戲：我坐了下來，音樂聲起時(shí)，臉上就擺出一副我期望中的充滿智慧、癡迷沉醉的表情，但內(nèi)心卻將耳朵封閉，沉浸在與音樂完全無關(guān)的自我的思緒中。

過了一陣，感覺到周圍的人們?cè)诠恼?，我便認(rèn)定可以敞開耳朵了。就在這時(shí)，我聽到一個(gè)溫和但卻具有驚人穿透力的聲音在我右邊響起：“你喜歡巴赫嗎？”

我對(duì)巴赫的了解并不比我對(duì)核裂變的了解多。但我卻認(rèn)識(shí)這世上最著名的一張面孔：那一團(tuán)舉世聞名的亂蓬蓬的白發(fā)，還有那支從不離嘴的煙斗。原來，我正坐在阿爾伯特·愛因斯坦旁邊。

“呃……”我有點(diǎn)尷尬，不知該怎樣回答才好。他問的是一個(gè)很隨意的問題，我只要做出一個(gè)同樣隨意的回答即可。但我從他那雙異乎尋常的眼睛里看得出來，這雙眼睛的主人并不只是出于基本的禮貌隨口問問而已。在這一語言交流中，我自己扮演的角色有何價(jià)值倒無關(guān)緊要，重要的是對(duì)愛因斯坦來說，他扮演的是什么角色。尤為重要的是，我感到對(duì)于這么一個(gè)人，你是不能撒謊的，不管這個(gè)謊言有多么不值一提。

“我對(duì)巴赫其實(shí)一無所知，”我有點(diǎn)尷尬地說，“我從未聽過他寫的任何一首樂曲?！?/p>

一種震驚但又困惑不解的表情漫過愛因斯坦那張表情豐富的臉。

“你從來沒有聽過巴赫的音樂？”

他那語氣好像聽到我說我從未洗過澡一樣。

“并不是我不想喜歡巴赫，”我趕忙回答道，“只是因?yàn)槲沂莻€(gè)樂盲，或者說幾乎是個(gè)樂盲。我從來沒有真正地聽過任何人的音樂?！?/p>

老人的臉上露出關(guān)切的神情，他突然說道：“請(qǐng)跟我來好嗎？”

他站起身來，拉住我的胳膊。我也站了起來。他拉著我穿過擁擠的房間，我神情尷尬，眼睛一直盯著地毯。人群中響起了一陣半是困惑半是猜疑的嗡嗡聲，一直尾隨著我們進(jìn)入大廳。愛因斯坦對(duì)此毫不理睬。

他果斷地帶著我上了樓梯。很顯然，他對(duì)這棟房子很熟悉。到了樓上，他打開一扇門，走入一間擺滿書籍的房間，把我拉進(jìn)去，關(guān)上了門。

“現(xiàn)在，”他淡淡地笑了下，有點(diǎn)困惑地問，“請(qǐng)告訴我，你對(duì)音樂的這種感覺有多長時(shí)間了？”

“一直都是這樣，”我苦惱地回答道，“愛因斯坦博士，請(qǐng)您下樓去聽音樂吧。我不喜歡聽也沒關(guān)系的?！?/p>

愛因斯坦搖了搖頭，皺了一下眉，好像我剛才說的是句不相干的話。

“請(qǐng)告訴我，”他說，“有沒有什么音樂是你喜歡的呢？”

“呃，我喜歡有歌詞的歌曲，”我回答說，“還有我能跟得上曲調(diào)的音樂。”

他笑了，點(diǎn)了點(diǎn)頭，顯然非常高興?！澳敲?，你可以舉個(gè)例子嗎？”

“呃，”我鼓足勇氣答道，“幾乎所有平·克勞斯貝的作品我都喜歡?！?/p>

他又輕快地點(diǎn)了點(diǎn)頭：“很好！”

他走到房間的一個(gè)角落，打開一臺(tái)留聲機(jī)，開始翻找唱片。我局促不安地望著他。終于，他臉上露出了笑容?！罢业搅耍　彼f。

他放入唱片，書房里隨即飄蕩起舒緩、輕快的旋律，那是平·克勞斯貝的《藍(lán)瑩瑩的夜遇見金燦燦的天》。愛因斯坦笑瞇瞇地看著我，一邊用煙斗柄打著拍子。播放了三四個(gè)短樂句之后，他將留聲機(jī)停了下來。

“現(xiàn)在，請(qǐng)告訴我，你聽到了什么？”他問。

最簡單的回答也許就是把歌曲唱出來。于是我唱了起來，拼命讓自己不跑調(diào)，讓聲音不那么粗啞。愛因斯坦臉上的表情就像初升的太陽般明朗。

“你瞧！”聽我唱完，他驚喜地喊了起來，“你還是有樂感的！”

我嘀咕著說這是我最喜歡的一首歌，都聽過幾百遍了，所以不能說明任何問題。

“胡說！”愛因斯坦說，“它很能說明問題！你還記得你上學(xué)時(shí)的第一堂算術(shù)課嗎？假如在你第一次接觸數(shù)字時(shí)，老師就要你解一道長除法題或者分?jǐn)?shù)題，你能解出來嗎？”

“不能，當(dāng)然不能?！?/p>

“你說得很對(duì)！”愛因斯坦揮舞了一下手中的煙斗，一副勝利的樣子，“你是不可能解出來的，那樣只會(huì)讓你感到驚恐。你會(huì)從此排斥長除法和分?jǐn)?shù)。結(jié)果呢，由于你的老師所犯的一個(gè)小小錯(cuò)誤，你可能一輩子都無法領(lǐng)略到長除法和分?jǐn)?shù)的妙處了。”

他又一次揮舞了一下煙斗。

“不過，在你上學(xué)的第一天，沒有哪個(gè)老師會(huì)那么愚蠢。他會(huì)先教你最基本的東西。然后，當(dāng)你掌握了技巧，能夠算出最簡單的題目時(shí)，他才會(huì)帶著你更進(jìn)一步，學(xué)習(xí)長除法和分?jǐn)?shù)的解題技巧?！?/p>

“音樂也是如此，”愛因斯坦拿起了平·克勞斯貝的唱片，“這首簡單而動(dòng)聽的歌曲就像是簡單的加減法。既然你已經(jīng)掌握了這個(gè)，我們就再來聽點(diǎn)更為復(fù)雜的?！?/p>

他找到另一張唱片，放在留聲機(jī)里。約翰·麥科馬克那金色的嗓音立刻充滿了整個(gè)房間——他唱的是《小號(hào)手》。播放了幾句之后，愛因斯坦把唱片停了下來。

“好了！”他說，“這個(gè)你能唱幾句給我聽嗎？”

我唱了——雖然很難為情，但就我的水平來說，卻是出人意料地準(zhǔn)確。

愛因斯坦盯著我，他臉上的那種表情我這輩子只在一個(gè)場合見到過：那是父親在我中學(xué)畢業(yè)典禮上聽我作告別演講時(shí)臉上出現(xiàn)的表情。

“太棒了！”愛因斯坦聽我唱完贊嘆道，“好極了！下面再聽聽這個(gè)！”

“這個(gè)”是獨(dú)幕劇《鄉(xiāng)間騎士》中卡魯索演唱的一個(gè)片段，這個(gè)片段在我聽來完全無法辨認(rèn)。不過，對(duì)于這位著名男高音發(fā)出的聲音，我還是盡力模仿了個(gè)大概。愛因斯坦以滿臉的笑容表達(dá)了他的肯定。聽完卡魯索的音樂之后，我們又聽了至少十幾位其他歌手的音樂。雖說我是由于偶然的原因才和他在一起的，但他做事的那種專心致志的樣子就好像我是他唯一需要關(guān)注的對(duì)象，每念及此，我對(duì)這位偉大的人物都不禁肅然起敬。

最后，我們開始聽沒有歌詞的音樂，他要我用哼唱的方式來模仿。在哼唱到一個(gè)高音時(shí)，愛因斯坦張開了嘴巴，頭向后傾，似乎要幫我達(dá)到那看似無法達(dá)到的高度。顯然，我模仿得還很接近，因?yàn)樗蝗魂P(guān)掉了留聲機(jī)。

“現(xiàn)在，年輕人，”他挽住我的胳膊說，“我們可以去聽巴赫了！”

當(dāng)我們回到會(huì)客廳在座位上坐下時(shí)，演奏者們正在為新選的樂曲進(jìn)行調(diào)音。愛因斯坦微笑著在我膝蓋上拍了一下，為我鼓勁。

“你只管讓自己去傾聽，”他小聲說，“就這么簡單?！?/p>

當(dāng)然不可能就那么簡單。如果沒有他為我——一個(gè)完全的陌生人——付出的一切，我永遠(yuǎn)都不可能聽到巴赫的《羊兒可以安詳?shù)爻圆荨罚赡且煌砦矣猩詠淼谝淮温牭搅?。從那以后，我又聽到過許多次。這是我百聽不厭的一支曲子，因?yàn)槲覐膩矶疾皇且粋€(gè)人在聽。在我身邊，總是坐著一位身材矮小、體態(tài)發(fā)胖的男人，他有著一頭亂蓬蓬的白發(fā)，嘴上叼著一支沒有點(diǎn)燃的煙斗，一雙令人倍感溫暖的眼睛里蘊(yùn)含著世上所有的奇跡。

音樂會(huì)結(jié)束時(shí)，我發(fā)自內(nèi)心地和別人一起鼓起掌來。

突然，女主人出現(xiàn)在我們面前?！昂鼙?，愛因斯坦博士，”她一邊冷冰冰地怒視著我一邊說，“你錯(cuò)過了大部分的演出?！?/p>

愛因斯坦和我趕忙站了起來。“我也很抱歉，”他說，“但是我和我這位年輕的朋友剛才在做一件人類所能做到的最偉大的事情?！?/p>

她看起來很困惑?！笆菃幔俊彼龁柕?，“是什么事呢？”

愛因斯坦微笑著摟住我的肩膀，說了一句可以作為他墓志銘的話——至少在我這個(gè)對(duì)他永遠(yuǎn)感激不盡、無以回報(bào)的人看來可以作為墓志銘：

“在美的疆域里開辟了又一塊疆土?！?/p>

1.make one’s way：朝著特定的(方向或)目標(biāo)行進(jìn)

2.be in for：肯定會(huì)經(jīng)歷；注定會(huì)遭受

3.Bach：約翰·塞巴斯蒂安·巴赫(Johann Sebastian Bach， 1685～1750)，德國著名音樂家，享有“西方音樂之父”的美譽(yù)。

4.nuclear fission：原子核分裂，核裂變

5.shock [??k] n. 蓬亂的一堆

6.perfunctory [p?(r)?f??kt(?)ri] adj. 馬馬虎虎的，敷衍的

7.scowl [ska?l] vi. 皺眉頭，怒目而視

8.Bing Crosby：平·克勞斯貝(1903～1977)，美國歌手、演員、笑星，曾有14年被連續(xù)評(píng)選為全美十大明星之一。

9.phonograph [?f??n?ɡrɑ?f] n. 留聲機(jī)，電唱機(jī)

10.strain [stre?n] n. 旋律、曲調(diào)

11.crack [kr?k] vi. (因感情強(qiáng)烈而嗓音)變沙啞

12.mumble [?m?mb(?)l] vt. 喃喃而語

13.arithmetic [??r?θm?t?k] n. 算術(shù)，算法

14.fraction [?fr?k?(?)n] n. [數(shù)學(xué)]分?jǐn)?shù)

15.John McCormack：約翰·麥科馬克(1884～1945)，愛爾蘭籍美國男高音歌唱家，以演唱莫扎特和威爾第的歌劇而名揚(yáng)遐邇。同時(shí)他又是一位音樂會(huì)歌唱家，他演唱的英國敘事歌曲和客廳歌曲深受人們歡迎。

16.self-consciousness：難為情

17.valedictory [?v?l??d?kt(?)ri] adj. 告別的，辭別的

18.Caruso：恩里科·卡魯索(Enrico Caruso， 1873～1921)，意大利著名男高音歌唱家

19.come to one’s feet：(相當(dāng)于to stand up)站起來

20.epitaph：請(qǐng)參見33頁注釋6。