TeacherGwen 我们一起神翻译|12.9

The grandchildren asked her to play the piano. She played Schumann. "Now some Beethoven" called Cecil, when the querulous beauty of the music had died. She shook her head and played Schumann again. The melody rose, unprofitably magical. It broke; it was resumed broken, not marching once from the cradle to the grave. The sadness of the incomplete--the sadness that is often life, but should never be art--throbbed in its disjected phrases, and made the nerves of the audience throb. 孙子孙女请求她演奏钢琴。她弹奏了舒曼的曲子。“现在弹一些贝多芬”，Cecil在音乐的哀怨美消亡的时候说。她摇摇头，再次弹起了舒曼的曲子。升起来的旋律魔幻却无益处。乐曲中断了，它又中断了，而不是同行进乐一样从头到尾地演奏完。不完整的悲哀常常是生活的悲哀，但从来不该是艺术的悲哀。不完整的悲哀在切分开的乐句中悸动，也让听众的神经为之阵阵作痛。