爲什麼小提琴如此美 What makes a violin beautiful

A cloud of dust swirled as I took down from the shelf the violin I crafted over the past two months. Bumping into an oily machine on the way, I squeezed through the dark workshop towards the farmland outside. The violin shined in the sunlight, and I admitted, reluctantly, that it looked good. But I knew it was a flaunting mockery of my failure to find beauty.

木屑四散飛揚，我從架子上取下了這把我花了兩個月製作的提琴。我小心翼翼地側身穿過這個幽暗狹窄的作坊，推開門走向外面的田野。在陽光下，琴身的油漆閃耀着，晶瑩剔透。我不得不承認它很好看。但同時我深知，這“好看”僅僅流於膚淺，不過是在譏諷着我再一次無功而返罷了：我未能找到真正的美。

“What makes a violin beautiful?”

“爲什麼小提琴如此美？”

I first asked this question as a three-year-old child and now again as a 17-year-old teenager. When I listened to a violin for the first time, I was so stunned by its beauty that I imagined a fairy living within the wooden frame. But fairies faded when I grew older. I wanted a rational answer. In the past, I discovered the beauty of theater by writing scripts and producing shows. Perhaps the violin’s beauty could be found in a similar way.

我第一次問起這個問題的時候，還只是個三歲的孩子。那天，我第一次聽到琴聲時，它的美是如此震撼，以至於我確信那木盒子裏一定住着一位仙女。然而，兒時的童話隨着時間慢慢消逝，現在的我渴求一個理性的答案。物，何以感人？琴身按照一定頻率的機械振動，卻如何使我們共鳴，產生美的感受？我曾以參與制作戲劇的方式探索過舞臺的美。也許，我也能以同樣的方式體驗小提琴的美？

I consulted Professor Ruan. My violin teacher and mentor since he introduced the violin to me 14 years ago, this 85-year-old man rhapsodized about the legend of Antonio Stradivari. “His violins are the most beautiful works humanity has ever crafted.” Captivated, I imagined a brightly-lit workshop with fine resin scents and a dedicated craftsman pouring his life’s passion into each violin. My excitement peaked when Professor Ruan introduced to me a violin workshop in the outskirts of Beijing.

我向阮老師尋求點撥。這位85歲的老人，我的恩師，正是14年前啓蒙我音樂的人。他並沒有直接回答我的問題，卻娓娓道來，向我講起制琴師安東尼奧·斯特拉迪瓦里的傳說：“斯氏的提琴是人類創造美的巔峯。”我不禁想象着窗明几淨的工作室裏松脂的幽香，以及傾注一生心血追求每一把琴極致的大師。當阮老師把我介紹到京郊的一家小提琴作坊當學徒的時候，我難掩興奮之情。

“Make a violin with your own hands,” Professor Ruan suggested. “When you play it, you will know.”

“用你自己的雙手做一把琴吧，”阮老師說道，“當你第一次拉響它的時候，你就會明白了。”

What I saw though, was far from my expectation. The workshop was squalid, dark, and hot, its thick air pierced only by the machine noise. In front of me was a stout migrant worker, shirtless and sunburned, soon to become my master. “We produce fast. One hundred per month” he bragged, pointing at piles of wood reaching the rooftop. “All produced after Stradivari. Precisely.” Precise indeed, as I soon found that even two asymmetrical F holes, an accidental mistake of Stradivari, were meticulously copied. What shocked me most, though, was that the “master” knew nearly nothing about music. His rough hands had been tending crops, not instruments, for most of his life.

然而我見到的，卻與我的期待天差地別。這作坊裏骯髒，幽暗，悶熱；那渾濁的空氣似乎只有機器的轟鳴聲才能穿透。在我面前迎接我的是一矮胖的農民工，光着膀子，渾身曬得黝黑：他是帶我的師傅。“我們出活快得很，一個月能出一百把！”他誇耀着，指着從院子裏堆到屋頂的一堆堆原木。“每把都是照着斯特拉迪瓦里來的，一分不差。”沒錯，的確是分毫不差：哪怕是斯氏晚年不小心切出的一個不對稱音孔，也被仔仔細細的照搬了下來。每年全世界百分之九十的小提琴都在遍佈在全國的類似的作坊裏被批量生產，再被成批運到歐洲貼上牌子。最令我難以置信的是，我的“師傅”對音樂可以說是一竅不通。他粗糙的雙手大半生都不是在製作樂器，而是在照顧莊稼。

Two months later, standing outside the workshop, I was disappointed. Yes, I just finished, or more accurately, copied, a Stradivarius violin. But how could I answer my question in a place utterly desolate of beauty?

兩個月後，站在作坊門外，手拿着剛剛完成的提琴，我失望透頂。是的，我剛剛完成了，或者更準確的說，照抄了，一把斯氏小提琴。然而，在這個與美絕緣的城鄉結合帶，我又能如何找到我問題的答案呢？

Then I remembered Professor Ruan’s mysterious smile when he said, “When you play it, you will know.”

我突然想起了阮老師說“當你第一次拉響它的時候，你就會明白了”時，那捉摸不透的微笑。

I closed my eyes, and focused on where my fingers and strings touched. Music flowed suddenly, music so beautiful and so inconsistent with the violin’s humble origin that for a moment I doubted my own ears.

我合上雙眼，聚精會神於指尖與琴絃交觸的地方。忽然，音樂無端地開始流淌。這音樂是如此之美，然而這琴卻來自於如此鄙陋的地方，我簡直無法相信自己的耳朵。

Slowly I opened my eyes, and with surprise found the fairy of my childhood fantasy dancing with my music – the two-year-old daughter of the master. Her dress drifted, her smile beamed in a shower of golden sunlight. When she looked up at me with her eyes shining with excitement, a strange sense of deja vu overwhelmed me.

我慢慢睜開眼睛，驚訝的發現，我童年幻想中的仙女正在我面前伴着琴聲起舞 —— 她是我師傅兩歲多的女兒。她裙邊搖擺，步子蹣跚，她的笑臉在金色的陽光中熠熠生輝。當她望向我的時候，眼中閃爍的激動讓我突然覺得是如此的似曾相識。

I was reminded of that fine morning when Professor Ruan showed me the violin for the first time, back when I was three. An instrument with elegant curves and amber hue rested gently under his chin. Music flowed. My eyes opened wide, with an expression curiously similar to that of the dancing girl 14 years later. Memories, vivid and overpowering, revived and flooded inside me. My wet eyes felt warm in the brisk autumn wind.

我想起了那個晴朗的早晨，當阮老師第一次拉小提琴給我聽的時候。我那時三歲。在他的頸間，枕着一把有着優美的曲線和琥珀般的光華的樂器。陽光灑進室內。琥珀閃耀着，晶瑩剔透。音樂流淌。我睜大眼睛，眼睛裏激動與生機與14年後小女孩的眼睛是如此相似。鮮活的回憶在我心中復活，難以抑制地噴薄而出。我的眼睛不覺在秋季清朗的風中溼潤髮熱。

Professor Ruan was right. I didn't find beauty until I played music with the violin, because beauty is not in the instrument itself. It also has nothing to do with the surroundings, nor even the listener. When I caressed the strings, when the girl danced her spontaneous dance, when two souls met and inspired each other, beauty was incarnated. It’s just here, deep down, in ourselves.

阮老師是對的。直到我拉響小提琴的時候，我才終於找到美，因爲美本就不在樂器中。美也與周遭的事物無關，甚至連和聆聽的人是誰都沒有關係。詩，言其志也。歌，詠其聲也。舞，動其容也。三者本於心，然後樂器從之。當我撫摸琴絃；當那小女孩興之所致，形諸舞詠；當兩個靈魂相遇且相和，美就誕生了。它就在這兒，深深的，在我們這裏。