The Rest of the Story

A wonderful true life account from Paul Harvey:
Christmas Eve in Princeton, New Jersey, usually fulfills the picture postcard promise of Christmas. And it was so, on that particular Christmas Eve, long ago. Church bells pealed in the distance. A light snowfall kissed the quaint Princeton houses, and door to door carol singers made their way . . . to one particular door. The violinist's home. The gentle violinist. "O Little Town of Bethlehem," the boys sang,"how still we see thee lie . . ." In moments the door opened . . . and the gentle violinist stood in the doorway to greet the carolers." Above thy deep and dreamless sleep, the silent stars go by . . ." The musician turned away . . . turned back into the house. Shortly he reappeared . . . with his violin! There he completed a picture too intimate for a postcard . . . a sound too inspiring for any but this story. The great man . . . the gentle old musician . . . accompanied the midnight carolers on his beloved instrument through each verse of the age-old hymn. Then, without a word to break the spell, the young people turned away silently and the old man slowly closed the door. At once there was only the distant pealing of the bells, and the snowfall.

And as this story is true . . . this real life scene from a year long past . . . if it is made more wonderful, it is not because a seasoned violin was brought out of retirement for one last spontaneous recital, but because the violinist himself had the best reason of all not to celebrate that snowy Christmas scene. The great genius was a Jew, and so revered was he that the very presidency of Israel once could have been his. But here is THE REST OF THE STORY.

Musicians will tell you, every great genius has their idol. This violinist's was Mozart. In his own words, the musician described the turning point in his early musical career; "I really began to learn only when I was about thrirteen years old . . . mainly, after I had fallen in love with Mozart's sonatas. The attempt to reproduce their singular grace compelled me to improve my technique. I believe, on the whole, that love is a better teacher than sense of duty . . . with me, at least, it certainly was. "Once, a freind asked the violinist to comment on modern times. When the musician was a boy, wars were fought with rifles and cannons. Now the entire world might be devestated. What did that mean to the old man? The violinist hesitated, sat back thoughtfully in his chair. "It would mean," he said at last, "that people would no longer hear Mozart."

For him, this most deeply conveyed the end of civilization. On many an occasion, he would break an hourslong chamber music session with the same observation. Mozart's music was so pure that it seemed to have been ever-present in the universe, waiting to be discovered by the master. So the great genius had an idol . . . and that idol was Mozart. For him, Mozart was what the world was all about.And when this violinist was offered the highest Jewish honor . . . the presidency of Israel . . . he declined, saying that he felt unqualified for a role that involved human relations. Yet who could have felt human warmth more deeply than the musician who worshipped Mozart than the old Jewish gentelman who serenaded Christmas carolers from his last home? For him, Mozart was not a compser, but a discoverer, a discoverer of celestial music that lay waiting in the universe. So when the violinist began to explore the universe, those closest to him believed that he was merely searching . . . for what Mozart had found. More logically this musician's idol might well have been Sir Isaac Newton, but he counted himself first as a violinist. For the musician who worshipped Mozart . . . the revered genius who could have been president of Israel . . . was the man who literally altered the meaning of infinity, hoping to discover . . . music. He was Dr. Albert Einstein