新編大學(xué)英語(yǔ)第一冊(cè)u(píng)nit12 Text B: Age and Youth

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UNIT 12 AFTER-CLASS READING 1; New College English (I)

Age and Youth

Pablo Casals

1 On my last birthday I was ninety-three years old. That is not young, of course. In fact, it is older than ninety. But age is a relative matter. If you continue to work and to absorb the beauty in the world about you, you find that age does not necessarily mean getting old. At least, not in the ordinary sense. I feel many things more intensely than ever before, and for me life grows more fascinating.

2 Not long ago my friend Sasha brought me a letter addressed to me by a group of musicians in the Caucasus Mountains. This was the text of the letter:

Dear Honourable Maestro -

I have the pleasure on behalf of the Georgian Caucasian Orchestra to invite you to conduct one of our concerts. You will be the first musician of your age who receives the distinction of conducting our orchestra.

Never in the history of our orchestra have we permitted a man under one hundred years to conduct. All of the members of our orchestra are over one hundred years old. But we have heard of your talents as a conductor, and we feel that, despite your youthfulness, an exception should be made in your case.

We expect a favourable response as soon as possible.

We pay travel expenses and of course shall provide living accommodations during your stay with us.

Respectfully,

Astan Shlarba

President, 123 years old

3 Sasha is a man with a sense of humour; he likes to play a joke. That letter was one of his jokes; he had written it himself. But I must admit I took it seriously at first. And why? Because it did not seem to me unbelievable that there should be an orchestra composed of musicians older than a hundred. And, indeed, I was right! That portion of the letter was not a joke. Sasha had read about it in the newspaper. He showed me the article, with photographs of the orchestra. There is such an orchestra in the Caucasus. All of its members were more than a hundred years old. There were about thirty of them they rehearse regularly and give periodic concerts. Most of them are farmers who continue to work in the fields. The oldest of the group, Astan Shlarba, is a tobacco grower who also trains horses. They are splendid-looking men, obviously full of vitality. I should like to hear them play sometime and, in fact, to conduct them, if the opportunity arose. Of course I am not sure they would permit this, in view of my inadequate age.

4 There is something to be learned from jokes, and it was so in this case. In spite of their age, those musicians have not lost their zest for life. How does one explain this? I do not think the answer lies simply in their physical constitutions or in something unique about the climate in which they live. It has to do with their attitude toward life; and I believe that their ability to work is largely due to the fact that they do work. Work helps prevent one from getting old. I, for one, cannot dream of retiring. Not now or ever. Retire? The word is alien and the idea inconceivable to me. I don't believe in retirement for anyone in my type of work, not while the spirit remains. My work is my life. I cannot think of one without the other. To "retire" means to me to begin to die. The man who works and is never bored is never old. Work and interest in worthwhile things are the best remedy for age. Each day I am reborn. Each day I must begin again.

5 For the past eighty years I have started each day in the same manner. It is not a mechanical routine but something essential to my daily life. I go to the piano, and I play two preludes and fugues of Bach. I cannot think of doing otherwise. It is sort of a benediction on the house. But that is not its only meaning for me. It is a rediscovery of the world of which I have the job of being a part. It fills me with awareness of the wonder of life, with a feeling of the incredible marvel of being a human being. The music is never the same for me. Each day it is something new, fantastic and unbelievable. That is Bach, like nature, a miracle.

6 I do not think a day passes in my life in which I fail to look with fresh amazement at the miracle of nature. It is there on every side. It can be simply a shadow on a mountainside, or a spider's web gleaming with dew, or sunlight on the leaves of a tree. I have always especially loved the sea. Whenever possible, I have lived by the sea. It has long been a custom of mine to walk along the beach each morning before I start work. True, my walks are shorter than they used to be, but that does not lessen the wonder of the sea. How mysterious and beautiful is the sea! How infinitely variable! It is never the same, never, not from one moment to the next, always in the process of change, always becoming something different and new.