Жемчужины перед завтраком |
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Pearls Before Breakfast | ||
Can one of the nation's great musicians cut through the fog of a D.C. rush hour? Let's find out. | Может ли один из величайших музыкантов нации обратить на себя внимание в час пик в Вашингтоне? Давайте проверим | |
HE EMERGED FROM THE METRO AT THE L'ENFANT PLAZA STATION AND POSITIONED HIMSELF AGAINST A WALL BESIDE A TRASH BASKET. By most measures, he was nondescript: a youngish white man in jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt and a Washington Nationals baseball cap. From a small case, he removed a violin. Placing the open case at his feet, he shrewdly threw in a few dollars and pocket change as seed money, swiveled it to face pedestrian traffic, and began to play. | ОН ПОЯВИЛСЯ НА СТАНЦИИ МЕТРО "L'ENFANT PLAZA" И РАСПОЛОЖИЛСЯ У САМОЙ СТЕНЫ, РЯДОМ С МУСОРНОЙ КОРЗИНОЙ. Он был ничем не примечателен: белый молодой человек в джинсах, футболке и бейсболке. Из небольшого футляра он достал скрипку. Сам футляр он открытым поставил у ног, резким движением бросил туда несколько долларов и мелких монет для затравки, повернулся лицом к потоку людей и начал играть. | |
It was 7:51 a.m. on Friday, January 12, the middle of the morning rush hour. In the next 43 minutes, as the violinist performed six classical pieces, 1,097 people passed by. Almost all of them were on the way to work, which meant, for almost all of them, a government job. L'Enfant Plaza is at the nucleus of federal Washington, and these were mostly mid-level bureaucrats with those indeterminate, oddly fungible titles: policy analyst, project manager, budget officer, specialist, facilitator, consultant. | Это происходило в 7:51 утра, была пятница, 12 января, в самый разгаз утренней суеты. В следующие 43 минуты, в то время как скрипач исполнилнял шесть классических пьес, мимо него прошло 1 097 человек. Почти все из них шли на работу, что значит практически все были государственными служащими. | |
Each passerby had a quick choice to make, one familiar to commuters in any urban area where the occasional street performer is part of the cityscape: Do you stop and listen? Do you hurry past with a blend of guilt and irritation, aware of your cupidity but annoyed by the unbidden demand on your time and your wallet? Do you throw in a buck, just to be polite? Does your decision change if he's really bad? What if he's really good? Do you have time for beauty? Shouldn't you? What's the moral mathematics of the moment? | ||
On that Friday in January, those private questions would be answered in an unusually public way. No one knew it, but the fiddler standing against a bare wall outside the Metro in an indoor arcade at the top of the escalators was one of the finest classical musicians in the world, playing some of the most elegant music ever written on one of the most valuable violins ever made. His performance was arranged by The Washington Post as an experiment in context, perception and priorities -- as well as an unblinking assessment of public taste: In a banal setting at an inconvenient time, would beauty transcend? |
