這可惹上了我的火。她們使我看上去像個笨瓜。我一直希望我能弄任何的東西。

如今我開始感覺一種決心要熟悉它的技巧。歷史告訴我們許多人下錯決心的例子——他們是人生最黑暗的一面，它們分佈了許多不必要的煩惱；但是我對歷史知道得太少。而我對於我所知道那一點，也是用傳奇式的眼光來看的。任何略帶英雄色彩的角色都能吸引我，無論他是何等的無意義。

當然，這並不是說我在我家前面的地下室看到了做英雄的機會。你必須要有戰場才行，我只看到我顯得很可笑，這一點傷了我的自尊心。我並不要學提琴或音樂，但既然學了，我就學到底，讓她們看出我是學得會的。一個男孩常會花許多的時間來證明，他並不像人家所想得那麽可笑。

同時，麥先生又發現了我是近視眼。因爲小提琴橫在前面，我不能站得離琴譜很近，因此看不清音符。他起初不明白我是為這個原因而拉錯了。等到他和我終於知道了我這個缺點，他忽然生了新希望，認爲毛病全在這裡，等這一點改正後，我就可以像常人一般演奏。

我們兩人都不敢去和父親提這件事。我們知道要使他相信我的眼睛並非完善，是一件難事，既然我是他的兒子而凡事都應該像他；我們知道他一定立刻會感到我們在替他添痲煩而表示相當的憤怒，我們都想避免這一點。於是麥先生將他的眼鏡借給我。這還不錯，原本是灰色的音符變成奇異鮮明的怪形狀，但主要的是它們的確顯得鮮明些，如今我看得多些了。.....麥先生有時將我放在一張小凳上，叮囑我千萬別掉下來。等我一切都準備好而他取下眼鏡成爲盲人時，我開始拉起音階。

在悠長的冬季幾個月裏，我努力這樣做。當然我不曾想到家裏的人。但他們卻想到我。我家的暖氣，由一個裝著大暖氣管的爐子供給，這些管子由牆中通到每一間房裏的出口，由它們空洞的鐵皮通道中，聲音很容易傳播。每間房都能聽到我的琴聲。我練琴時沒有人可以做事。假如有客來，他們也匆匆告辭。母親都不能向嬰兒唱歌。她只得等著，望著鐘，等我練習音階那長長的一小時過去，然後下樓來嚷著說我練習的時間到了。.....

那一年的冬天母親可夠苦的。我相信她也為嬰兒擔心。她有時向父親求情，但誰也無法改變父親的意思。他如岩石一般，堅決反對我停止學習。

叔本華在寫辯論的規律時，告訴人如何將一個理由不甚充足的事情，偷偷地轉移立場，再挑一個不相干而無懈可擊的角度來討論，便可轉敗爲勝。父親從不知叔本華其人，也不會偷偷地做什麽，但是他卻有天生的辯論口才。第一，他的聲音有力而如大風暴，他用力地嚷，打起精神嚷得對方發呆。第二，他一直深信對方是錯了。當母親說我顯然沒有分辨音樂的耳朵時，他如何回答！唔，他說小提琴是人類所發明的最高尚的樂器。既然用這確實的前提使她無言，他宣佈說任何能得到學習它的特權的孩子實在是幸運，不應希望孩子一學就會，那還需要毅力。他還發現了每一件事都需要毅力。他的座右銘是：永不放棄。

和父親所經過的巨大困難一比，我學習提琴的小小困難就算不得什麽。我忠實地鼓勵自己，再去研究這個謎。連我的老師都認爲他對於堅持的看法很有道理。雖然他比父親年紀大些，卻沒有賺過這樣多錢，他對於一位成功而實際的人的經驗談不得不低頭。假如他，麥先生，成功的話，他就不必教男孩拉小提琴了；當父親舉起食指點著他，教他如何登峰造極去得到經濟方面的酬報時，他全神貫注地聼著，如聞神的旨意。他得到的結論是：堅持到底必可發財。

因此我家前面的地下室仍然是抱著理想而失敗者之家。

當然，我不住地要求麥先生讓我學一個曲子。雖然我難得會用口哨吹出曲調，我還是很愛它們；也知道，在我練習時，曲子可以安慰我。麥先生也曾考慮再三，我都一一恭敬地聼著——雖然話不是對我說的，他卻悲觀地這樣自語著。在一本破舊的選集裏，經過許久遲疑摸索，挑了一個他能找到的最簡單的曲子。——爲了我，也爲了我的鄰居。

如今已是春天，家家窗戶洞開。這個曲子就此出名。

多年以前親切地做這個曲子的那位音樂家，若早知今日他在美迪生街如此下場，而且在它臨終前，還要被曾一度安靜的鄰居咒駡，不知將作何感想。我將它刻在他們的心裏；不是它真正的形式，而是我造的怪誕的一套。這我會奏的唯一曲調。當然我奏了又奏。

最可怕的東西再重複幾次後便不算新奇，也失去一部分可厭處。但是我所奏的怪調卻是每次不同的。當然，即使是在我這雙出汗的手下，這曲子的大致是不變的。總有一處我不穩地往尖頂爬，還有一處最難，先是躊躇，再猶疑，終於停下；然後忽然跳起再拉——我過了這一關又很起勁了。每天下午我拉到這個難關，鄰居們放下他們所做的事來等這一下，想避過這一刻，卻又熱烈而不耐煩地等它來臨。

但爲何曲子與痛苦會每日不同呢？我來説明一下。小提琴的弦是繞在栓上，每根弦必須扭緊，使每根弦的音都正確。麥先生臨走時總會將我的琴調好音。但若有一根弦斷了，或我不小心將一根弦弄鬆了，它的弦便變得鬆而無音。我必須將弦再扭緊。我的耳朵不靈，這一點實在拿不穩。

我們的鄰居從來不知道我會將弦扭得多緊。我也不知道。我僅將它扭得很緊使它能發出一個響而可靠的聲音。他們和我都不能知道那一根弦會要發出新的音來，也不能預測曲調將有何種的高深變化。

這一個春天，這個不快樂而苦命的曲調由我的窗口飄揚出去，無論晴雨，每日在空氣間受苦一小時。這一個春天，我們的鄰居和我每天辛苦地跑上尖端，在高崗上躊躇，然後可説是嘆著氣掉入空間。

有人對母親說些話使得她不得不採取行動。她向父親説明，結束的時間終於來臨。絕對的。這個可怕的惡夢實在不能維持下去。

父親啐她兩聲。

她哭了。她告訴他說這件事對她如何不好。他說她太激動了，她所形容的我奏的那些音調都是過分而神經質的——一定是的。她素來就太激動了，他嚷道。她必須多學習得安詳些。

「可是你在城裏，你不必聼呀！」

父親仍然表示懷疑。

她試著令他難堪。她告訴他鄰居說他些什麽壞話，因爲我發出這些噪聲，都該由他負責。

他是不肯接受這種看法的。假如真有不快的情緒，那我應該負責。他替我預備了一位好老師和一把好琴——這是他的辯辭。總之，他已盡了他的力量，別的父親還沒有這樣盡責。假如我還是要發出怪音，錯一定在我。她說母親應該對我嚴一點，若必須的話，我還應更努力一點。

這實在是太過分了。我無法再更努力。母親告訴我他的判決時，我不作聲，但我的身體卻起了反抗。自我訓練是有限度的——這是春天，我想出去玩。我聽見同伴在外面遊戲，便縮短了練習的時間。我回家學琴時常晚到——有時完全忘記。漸漸地，學習停止了。

父親大怒。我記得他最後的論調是：我的小提琴十二十五元買來的，我若不學，這筆錢便白花了，他不能這樣浪費錢。但是我們也曾向他提起，以後我的弟弟裘林可以學習。反正，不久夏天來了，我們去海邊住了三個月；在這陣混亂中，父親戰敗了，我便得了自由。

秋天的一個下午，小裘林被帶進前面的地下室。我不記得他們要他在底下逗留多久，反正後來他學了幾年。他倒還有聼音調的耳朵，我相信他後來還奏得不壞。對於麥先生，這原該是個快樂的收場，但我們卻另外請了一位年輕的老師來教裘林。父親說麥先生是失敗者。

I now began to feel a determination to master this thing. History shows us many examples of the misplaced determinations of men – they are one of the darkest aspects of human life, they spread so much needles pain: but I knew little history. And I viewed what little I did know romantically – I should have seen in such episodes their heroism, not their futility. Any role that seemed heroic attracted me, no matter how senseless.
Not that I was any chance for heroism in our front basement, of course. You had to have a battlefield or something, I saw only that I was appearing to learn anything whatever about fiddles or music, but since I was in for it, I’d do it, and show them I could. A boy will often put in enormous amounts of his time trying to prove he isn’t as ridiculous as he thinks people think him.

Meanwhile Herr M. and I had discovered that I was nearsighted. On account of the violin’s being an instrument that sticks out in front of one, I couldn’t stand close enough to the music book to see the notes clearly. He didn’t at first realize that I often made mistakes from that cause. When he and I finally comprehended that I had this defect, he had a sudden new hope that this might have been the whole trouble, and that when it was corrected I might play like a human being at last.

Neither of us ventured to take up this matter with father. We knew that it would have been hard to convince him that my eyes were not perfect, I being a son of his and presumably made in his image; and we knew that he immediately would have felt we were trying to make trouble for him, and would have shown an amount of resentment which it was best to avoid. So Herr M. instead lent me his glasses. These did fairly well. They turned the dim grayness of the notes into a queer bright distortion, but the main thing was they did make them brighter, so that in now saw more of them. How well I remember those little glasses. Poor, dingy old things. Herr M. was nervous about lending them tome; he feared that id drop them. it would have been safer if they had been spectacles; but no, they were pince-nez; and I had to learn to balance them across my nose as well as I could. I couldn’t wear them up near my eyes because my nose was too thin there; I had to put them about half-way down where there was enough flesh to hold them. I also had to tilt my head back, for the music-stand was a little too tall for me. Herr M. Sometimes mounted me on a stool, warning me not to step off. Then when I was all set, and when he without his glasses was blind, I would smash my way into the scales again.

All during the long winter months I worked away at this job. I gave no thought, of course, to the family. But they did to me. Our house was heated by a furnace, which had big warm air pipes; these ran up through the walls with wide outlets into each room, and sound traveled easily and ringingly through their roomy, tin passages. My violin could be heard in every part of the house. No one could settle down to anything while I was practicing. If visitors came they soon left. Mother couldn’t even sing to the baby. She would wait, watching the clock, until my long hour of scale-work was over, and then come downstairs and shriek at me that my time was up. She would find me sawing away with my forehead wet, and my hair wet and stringy, and even my clothes slowly getting damp from my exertions, which was done for, and say I must change it. “Qh, Mother! Please!” – For I was in a hurry now to run out and play. But she wasn’t being fussy about my collar, I can see, looking back; she was using it merely as a barometer or gauge of my pores. She thought I had better dry myself before going out in the snow.

It was a hard winter for mother. I believe she also had fears for the baby. She sometimes pleaded with father; but no one could ever tell father anything. He continued to stand like a rock against stopping by lessons.