安徒生童话故事第130篇：夏日痴The Snowdrop

　　这正是冬天。天气是寒冷的，风是锐利的;但是屋子里却是舒适和温暖的。花儿藏在屋子里：它藏在地里和雪下的球根里。

　　有一天下起雨来。雨滴渗入积雪，透进地里，接触到花儿的球根，同时告诉它说，上面有一个光明的世界。不久一丝又细又尖的太阳光穿过积雪，射到花儿的球根上，把它抚摸了一下。

　　“请进来吧!”花儿说。

　　“这个我可做不到，”太阳光说。“我还没有足够的气力把门打开。到了夏天我就会有气力了。”

　　“什么时候才是夏天呢?”花儿问。每次太阳光一射进来，它就重复地问这句话。不过夏天还早得很。地上仍然盖着雪;每天夜里水上都结了冰。

　　“夏天来得多么慢啊!夏天来得多么慢啊!”花儿说。“我感到身上发痒，我要伸伸腰，动一动，我要开放，我要走出去，对太阳说一声'早安'!那才痛快呢?”

　　花儿伸了伸腰，抵着薄薄的外皮挣了几下。外皮已经被水浸得很柔软，被雪和泥土温暖过，被太阳光抚摸过。它从雪底下冒出来，绿梗子上结着淡绿的花苞，还长出又细又厚的叶子——它们好像是要保卫花苞似的。雪是很冷的，但是很容易被冲破。这时太阳光射进来了，它的力量比从前要强大得多。

　　花儿伸到雪上面来了，见到了光明的世界。“欢迎!欢迎!”每一线阳光都这样唱着。

　　阳光抚摸并且吻着花儿，叫它开得更丰满。它像雪一样洁白，身上还饰着绿色的条纹。它怀着高兴和谦虚的心情昂起头来。

　　“美丽的花儿啊!”阳光歌唱着。“你是多么新鲜和纯洁啊!你是第一朵花，你是唯一的花!你是我们的宝贝!你在田野里和城里预告夏天的到来!——美丽的夏天!所有的雪都会融化!冷风将会被驱走!我们将统治着!一切将会变绿!那时你将会有朋友：紫丁香和金链花，最后还有玫瑰花。但是你是第一朵花——那么细嫩，那么可爱!”

　　这是最大的愉快。空气好像是在唱着歌和奏着乐，阳光好像钻进了它的叶子和梗子。它立在那儿，是那么柔嫩，容易折断，但同时在它青春的愉快中又是那么健壮。它穿着带有绿条纹的短外衣，它称赞着夏天。但是夏天还早得很呢：雪块把太阳遮住了，寒风在花儿上吹。

　　“你来得太早了一点，”风和天气说。“我们仍然在统治着;你应该能感觉得到，你应该忍受!你最好还是待在家里，不要跑到外面来表现你自己吧。时间还早呀!”

　　天气冷得厉害!日子一天一天地过去，一直没有一丝阳光。对于这样一朵柔嫩的小花儿说来，这样的天气只会使它冻得裂开。但是它是很健壮的，虽然它自己并不知道。它从快乐中，从对夏天的信心中获得了力量。夏天一定会到来的，它渴望的心情已经预示着这一点，温暖的阳光也肯定了这一点。因此它满怀信心地穿着它的白衣服，站在雪地上。当密集的雪花一层层地压下来的时候，当刺骨的寒风在它身上扫过去的时候，它就低下头来。

　　“你会裂成碎片!”它们说，“你会枯萎，会变成冰。你为什么要跑出来呢?你为什么要受诱惑呢?阳光骗了你呀!你这个夏日痴!”

　　“夏日痴!”有一个声音在寒冷的早晨回答说。

　　“夏日痴!”有几个跑到花园里来的孩子兴高采烈地说。

　　“这朵花是多么可爱啊，多么美丽啊!它是唯一的头一朵花!”

　　这几句话使这朵花儿感到真舒服;这几句话简直就像温暖的阳光。在快乐之中，这朵花儿一点也没有注意到已经被人摘下来了。它躺在一个孩子的手里，孩子的小嘴吻着，带它到一个温暖的房间里去，用温柔的眼睛观看，并浸在水里——因此它获得了更强大的力量和生命。这朵花儿以为它已经进入夏天了。

　　这一家的女儿——一个年轻的女孩子——刚刚受过坚信礼。她有一个亲爱的朋友;他也是刚刚受过坚信礼的。“他将是我的夏日痴!”她说。她拿起这朵柔嫩的小花，把它放在一张芬芳的纸上，纸上写着诗——关于这朵花的诗。这首诗是以“夏日痴”开头，也以“夏日痴”结尾的。“我的小朋友，就作一个冬天的痴人吧!”她用夏天来跟它开玩笑。是的，它的周围全是诗。它被装进一个信封。这朵花儿躺在里面，四周是漆黑一团，它正如躺在花球根里的时候一样。这朵花儿开始在一个邮袋里旅行，它被挤着，压着。这都是很不愉快的事情，但是任何旅程总是有一个结束的。

　　旅程完了以后，信就被拆开了，被那位亲爱的朋友读着。他是那么高兴，他吻着这朵花儿;把花儿跟诗一起放在一个抽屉里。抽屉里装着许多可爱的信，但就是缺少一朵花。它正像太阳光所说的，那唯一的、第一朵花。它一想起这事情就感到非常愉快。

　　它可以有许多时间来想这件事情。它想了一整个夏天。漫长的冬天过去了，现在又是夏天。这时它被取出来了。不过这一次那个年轻人并不是十分快乐的。他一把抓着那张信纸，连诗一道扔到一边，弄得这朵花儿也落到地上了。它已经变得扁平了，枯萎了，但是它不应该因此就被扔到地上呀。不过比起被火烧掉，躺在地上还算是很不坏的。那些诗和信就是被火烧掉的。究竟为了什么事情呢?嗨，就是平时常有的那种事情。这朵花儿曾经愚弄过他——这是一个玩笑。她在六月间爱上了另一位男朋友了。

　　太阳在早晨照着这朵压迫了的“夏日痴”。这朵花儿看起来好像是被绘在地板上似的。扫地的女佣人把它捡起来，把它夹在桌上的一本书里。她以为它是在她收拾东西的时候落下来的。这样，这朵花儿就又回到诗——印好的诗——中间去了。这些诗比那些手写的要伟大得多——最低限度，它们是花了更多的钱买来的.。

　　许多年过去了。那本书立在书架上。最后它被取下来，翻开，读着。这是一本好书：里面全是丹麦诗人安卜洛休斯·斯杜卜②所写的诗和歌。这个诗人是值得认识的。读这书的人翻着书页。

　　“哎呀，这里有一朵花!”他说，“一朵‘夏日痴’!它躺在这儿决不是没有什么用意的。可怜的安卜洛休斯·斯杜卜!他也是一朵‘夏日痴’，一个‘痴诗人’!他出现得太早了，所以就碰上了冰雹和刺骨的寒风。他在富恩岛上的一些大人先生们中间只不过像是瓶里的一朵花，诗句中的一朵花。他是一个‘夏日痴’，一个‘冬日痴’，一个笑柄和傻瓜;然而他仍然是唯一的，第一个年轻而有生气的丹麦诗人。是的，小小的‘夏日痴’，你就躺在这书里作为一个书签吧!把你放在这里面是有用意的。”

　　这朵“夏日痴”于是便又被放到书里去了。它感到很荣幸和愉快。因为它知道，它是一本美丽的诗集里的一个书签，而当初歌唱和写出这些诗的人也是一个“夏日痴”，一个在冬天里被愚弄的人。这朵花儿懂得这一点，正如我们也懂得我们的事情一样。

　　这就是“夏日痴”的故事。

　　①这是照原文Sommergjaekken直译出来的。“夏日痴”是丹麦人对于雪花莲所取的俗名。雪花莲在冬天痴想以为夏天来了，所以在大雪天里开出花来。

　　②安卜洛休斯·斯杜卜(1705-1758)是一个杰出的抒情诗人。他的作品一直被人忽视，直到1850年才引起大家重视。

 

　　《夏日痴》英文版

　　The Snowdrop

　　IT was winter-time; the air was cold, the wind was sharp, but within the closed doors it was warm and comfortable, and within the closed door lay the flower; it lay in the bulb under the snow-covered earth.

　　One day rain fell. The drops penetrated through the snowy covering down into the earth, and touched the flower-bulb, and talked of the bright world above. Soon the Sunbeam pierced its way through the snow to the root, and within the root there was a stirring.

　　“Come in,” said the flower.

　　“I cannot,” said the Sunbeam. “I am not strong enough to unlock the door! When the summer comes I shall be strong!”

　　“When will it be summer?” asked the Flower, and she repeated this question each time a new sunbeam made its way down to her. But the summer was yet far distant. The snow still lay upon the ground, and there was a coat of ice on the water every night.

　　“What a long time it takes! what a long time it takes!” said the Flower. “I feel a stirring and striving within me; I must stretch myself, I must unlock the door, I must get out, and must nod a good morning to the summer, and what a happy time that will be!”

　　And the Flower stirred and stretched itself within the thin rind which the water had softened from without, and the snow and the earth had warmed, and the Sunbeam had knocked at; and it shot forth under the snow with a greenish-white blossom on a green stalk, with narrow thick leaves, which seemed to want to protect it. The snow was cold, but was pierced by the Sunbeam, therefore it was easy to get through it, and now the Sunbeam came with greater strength than before.

　　“Welcome, welcome!” sang and sounded every ray, and the Flower lifted itself up over the snow into the brighter world. The Sunbeams caressed and kissed it, so that it opened altogether, white as snow, and ornamented with green stripes. It bent its head in joy and humility.

　　“Beautiful Flower!” said the Sunbeams, “how graceful and delicate you are! You are the first, you are the only one! You are our love! You are the bell that rings out for summer, beautiful summer, over country and town. All the snow will melt; the cold winds will be driven away; we shall rule; all will become green, and then you will have companions, syringas, laburnums, and roses; but you are the first, so graceful, so delicate!”

　　That was a great pleasure. It seemed as if the air were singing and sounding, as if rays of light were piercing through the leaves and the stalks of the Flower. There it stood, so delicate and so easily broken, and yet so strong in its young beauty; it stood there in its white dress with the green stripes, and made a summer. But there was a long time yet to the summer-time. Clouds hid the sun, and bleak winds were blowing.

　　“You have come too early,” said Wind and Weather. “We have still the power, and you shall feel it, and give it up to us. You should have stayed quietly at home and not have run out to make a display of yourself. Your time is not come yet!”

　　It was a cutting cold! The days which now come brought not a single sunbeam. It was weather that might break such a little Flower in two with cold. But the Flower had more strength than she herself knew of. She was strong in joy and in faith in the summer, which would be sure to come, which had been announced by her deep longing and confirmed by the warm sunlight; and so she remained standing in confidence in the snow in her white garment, bending her head even while the snow-flakes fell thick and heavy, and the icy winds swept over her.

　　“You’ll break!” they said, “and fade, and fade! What did you want out here? Why did you let yourself be tempted? The Sunbeam only made game of you. Now you have what you deserve, you summer gauk.”

　　“Summer gauk!” she repeated in the cold morning hour.

　　“O summer gauk!” cried some children rejoicingly; “yonder stands one—how beautiful, how beautiful! The first one, the only one!”

　　These words did the Flower so much good, they seemed to her like warm sunbeams. In her joy the Flower did not even feel when it was broken off. It lay in a child’s hand, and was kissed by a child’s mouth, and carried into a warm room, and looked on by gentle eyes, and put into water. How strengthening, how invigorating! The Flower thought she had suddenly come upon the summer.

　　The daughter of the house, a beautiful little girl, was confirmed, and she had a friend who was confirmed, too. He was studying for an examination for an appointment. “He shall be my summer gauk,” she said; and she took the delicate Flower and laid it in a piece of scented paper, on which verses were written, beginning with summer gauk and ending with summer gauk. “My friend, be a winter gauk.” She had twitted him with the summer. Yes, all this was in the verses, and the paper was folded up like a letter, and the Flower was folded in the letter, too. It was dark around her, dark as in those days when she lay hidden in the bulb. The Flower went forth on her journey, and lay in the post-bag, and was pressed and crushed, which was not at all pleasant; but that soon came to an end.

　　The journey was over; the letter was opened, and read by the dear friend. How pleased he was! He kissed the letter, and it was laid, with its enclosure of verses, in a box, in which there were many beautiful verses, but all of them without flowers; she was the first, the only one, as the Sunbeams had called her; and it was a pleasant thing to think of that.

　　She had time enough, moreover, to think about it; she thought of it while the summer passed away, and the long winter went by, and the summer came again, before she appeared once more. But now the young man was not pleased at all. He took hold of the letter very roughly, and threw the verses away, so that the Flower fell on the ground. Flat and faded she certainly was, but why should she be thrown on the ground? Still, it was better to be here than in the fire, where the verses and the paper were being burnt to ashes. What had happened? What happens so often:—the Flower had made a gauk of him, that was a jest; the girl had made a fool of him, that was no jest, she had, during the summer, chosen another friend.

　　Next morning the sun shone in upon the little flattened Snowdrop, that looked as if it had been painted upon the floor. The servant girl, who was sweeping out the room, picked it up, and laid it in one of the books which were upon the table, in the belief that it must have fallen out while the room was being arranged. Again the flower lay among verses—printed verses—and they are better than written ones—at least, more money has been spent upon them.

　　And after this years went by. The book stood upon the book-shelf, and then it was taken up and somebody read out of it. It was a good book; verses and songs by the old Danish poet, Ambrosius Stub, which are well worth reading. The man who was now reading the book turned over a page.

　　“Why, there’s a flower!” he said; “a snowdrop, a summer gauk, a poet gauk! That flower must have been put in there with a meaning! Poor Ambrosius Stub! he was a summer fool too, a poet fool; he came too early, before his time, and therefore he had to taste the sharp winds, and wander about as a guest from one noble landed proprietor to another, like a flower in a glass of water, a flower in rhymed verses! Summer fool, winter fool, fun and folly—but the first, the only, the fresh young Danish poet of those days. Yes, thou shalt remain as a token in the book, thou little snowdrop: thou hast been put there with a meaning.”

　　And so the Snowdrop was put back into the book, and felt equally honored and pleased to know that it was a token in the glorious book of songs, and that he who was the first to sing and to write had been also a snowdrop, had been a summer gauk, and had been looked upon in the winter-time as a fool. The Flower understood this, in her way, as we interpret everything in our way.

　　That is the story of the Snowdrop.