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安徒生童話故事第38篇：丹麥人荷爾格Holger Danske
引導語：關于安徒生童話故事，大家知道哪些?下面是一篇丹麥人荷爾格還有英文版的，歡迎大家閱讀!
丹麥有一個古老的宮殿，名叫克龍堡。它在厄勒海峽①的近旁。這兒每天有成千成百的大船經過——英國的、俄國和普魯士的船只。它們鳴炮向這個古老的宮殿致敬：轟!這個古老的宮殿也放起炮來作為回禮：轟!因為這就是炮所說的“日安!”和“謝謝您!”的意思。冬天沒有船只在這兒經過，因為整個的海面結了冰，一直結到瑞典的海岸。不過這很像一條完整的公路。那上面飄著丹麥和瑞典的國旗，同時丹麥人和瑞典人相互說“日安!”和“謝謝您!”不過他們不是放炮，而是友愛地握著手。這國的人向那國的人買白面包和點心吃——因為異國的食物的味道總是最香的。
不過這一切里面最美麗的東西是那個古老的克龍堡。丹麥人荷爾格就坐在它里面一個深黑的地窖里——誰也不到這兒來。他穿著一身鎧甲，用強壯的手臂枕著頭。他的長胡子垂到一張大理石桌子上，在那上面生了根。他睡著，夢著;不過他在夢里可以看見丹麥所發生的一切事情。每年圣誕節的前夕總有一個上帝的安琪兒到來，告訴他說：他所夢見的東西全是真的，他可以安靜地睡覺，因為丹麥還沒有遭到嚴重的危險。不過假如有危險到來的時候，年老的丹麥人荷爾格就會醒來。當他把胡子從桌上拉出來的時候，這個桌子就要裂開。這時他就要走出來，揮動拳頭，讓世界各國都能聽到他揮動拳頭的聲音。
年老的祖父把丹麥人荷爾格的故事全都講給他的小孫子聽。這些孩子都知道，祖父所講的話是真的。當這老人坐著講的時候，他就雕出一個木像來。它代表丹麥人荷爾格。他把它放在船頭上。老祖父是一個雕船頭像的專家——這也就是說，他雕出放在船頭上的像來，而船就以這個雕像來命名。現在他雕出了丹麥人荷爾格。這是一個有長胡子的雄赳赳的人。他一只手拿著長劍，另一只手倚在一個丹麥的國徽上。
老祖父講了許多丹麥著名的男子和女子的故事，所以后來這個小孫子就覺得他所知道的東西跟丹麥人荷爾格所知道的一樣多——而后者只能在夢里知道。當這小家伙躺在床上的時候，他老是想著這些東西，弄得他真的把下巴貼在被子上，幻想著自己也有了長胡子，并且還在被子上生了根哩!
不過老祖父坐在那里不停地工作;他把最后的一部分雕好了：這是丹麥的一個國徽。當他做完了以后，便把它全部看了一下;于是想起了他讀到過的、聽到過的、和今晚對孫子講過的東西。于是他點點頭，把眼鏡擦了一下，然后又戴上。他說：
“是的，丹麥人荷爾格可能在我這一生中不會再來了。不過躺在床上的這個男孩子可能會看到他，而且在真正需要的時候，可能和他一起保衛丹麥。”
老祖父又點了點頭。他越看他的丹麥人荷爾格，就越清楚地覺得他雕的這個像很好。他似乎覺得它身上射出了光彩，國徽像鋼鐵似地發著光。這個丹麥國徽里面的心變得更鮮紅，同時戴著金色王冠的那個獅子在跳躍②。
他把頂上面的那只獅子看了一下，于是想起了曾經把強大的英國和丹麥的王位聯到一起的那個國王克努特③。當他看到那第二只獅子的時候，就想起了統一丹麥和征服過溫得人④的國土的瓦爾得馬爾大帝⑤。當他看到那第三只獅子的時候，就想起統一丹麥、瑞典和挪威的瑪加利特王后⑥。不過當他看到那幾顆鮮紅的心的時候，它們就發出比以前更明亮的光輝，它們變成了閃動著的火焰。于是他的思想就跟隨著它們每一顆心飛翔。
第一個火焰把他引導到一個黑暗而狹窄的監獄里去;有一個囚犯——一個美麗的女人——坐在這里面。她叫愛倫諾爾·烏爾菲德⑦;她是國王克利斯仙四世⑧的女兒。這個火焰變成了一朵玫瑰花貼在她的胸口上，與她的心連成一氣開出花來——她是丹麥的一個最高貴。最好的女人。
“是的，這是丹麥國徽中的一顆心!”老祖父說。
他的思想跟著第二個火焰飛。它把他引導到大海上去：這兒大炮在轟轟地響著;許多船只被籠罩在煙火里面。這個火焰變成一個勛章，緊貼在微特菲爾得⑨的胸前;這時這個男子為了要救整個的艦隊，正在把自己和他的船炸毀。
那第三個火焰把他領到格陵蘭島上的一堆破爛的茅屋中去。這兒住著一位名叫漢斯·愛格德⑩的牧師;他的語言和行動充滿了愛的感情。這個火焰是他胸前的一顆星，也是丹麥國徽上的一顆心。
老祖父的思想在閃動著的火焰前面走，因為他的思想知道火焰要到什么地方去。佛列得里克六世⑾站在一個農婦的簡陋房間里，用粉筆把自己的名字寫在屋梁上。火焰在他的胸前閃動著，也在他的心里閃動著。在這個農婦的簡陋房間里，他的心成了丹麥國徽上面的一顆心。老祖父把眼睛揩干，因為他曾經認識這位長有銀色卷發的、有一對誠實的藍眼睛的國王佛列得里克，而且曾經為他而活過。他把他的雙手疊在一起，靜靜地向自己前面望。這時老祖父的兒媳婦走過來了。她說，時間已經不早，他現在應該休息，而且晚餐已經準備好了。
“不過你雕出的這件東西非常美麗，祖父!”她說。“丹麥人荷爾格和我們古老的國徽!我仿佛覺得以前看見過這個面孔似的!’”
“不對，那是不可能的，”老祖父說;“不過我倒是看到過的。因此我憑我的記憶，把它用木頭雕了出來。那是很久以前的事了，英國的艦隊停在哥本哈根海面上;丹麥歷書上寫的是四月二日;在這天⑿我們才知道我們是真正的丹麥人。我正在斯丁·比列統率的艦隊上服務。我站在‘丹麥’號上，我的身旁還站著另一個男子——槍彈好像是害怕他似的!他愉快地唱著古代的歌，開著炮，戰斗著，好像他不僅僅是一個男子。我還能記得他的面孔。不過他是從什么地方來的，又到什么地方去了，我一點也不知道——誰也不知道。我常常想，他一定是古代丹麥人荷爾格的化身一一那位從克龍堡游下水去、在危急的關頭來救援我們的人。這是我的想法，他的形影就在這兒。”
這個雕像的大影子映在墻上，甚至還映到一部分的天花板上去。真正的丹麥人荷爾格就好像站在它后面，因為這影子在動：不過這也可能是因為燃著的蠟燭在搖晃著的緣故。兒媳婦吻了老祖父一下，然后把他扶到桌子旁的一張大靠椅上。她和她的丈夫——就是這個老人的兒子和睡在床上的那個小孩子的父親——坐下來吃晚飯。老祖父談著丹麥的獅子和丹麥的心、談著威力和感情。他毫不含糊地說，那把寶劍，除了代表武力以外，還代表一種別的東西;于是他指著書架上的一堆古書——荷爾堡⒀所寫的劇本全都在里面。這些劇本經常被人閱讀著，因為很有趣。在劇本里面，人們仿佛能認出古時人民的面貌。
“你要知道，他還曉得怎么去戰斗呢，”老祖父說。“他花了一生的精力去揭露人們的愚蠢和偏見!”于是老祖父向鏡子點點頭——那兒掛著一個繪有圓塔⒁的日歷。他說：“蒂卻·布拉赫是另一位會使用這把寶劍的人——不是用來砍人的肌肉和腿子，而是用來砍出一條通到天上星星的康莊大道!另一個人——他的父親也是干我這個行業的人——多瓦爾生⒂，一個老雕刻匠的兒子。我們親眼看見過他，他的銀白的鬈發、寬闊的肩膀。他的名字全世界的人都知道!——是的，他是一個雕刻師，而我不過是一個普通的木刻匠而已!的確，丹麥人荷爾格以種種的形式出現，好使全世界的人都知道丹麥的力量。我們來為貝特爾·多瓦爾生干杯好嗎?”
不過睡在床上的那個孩子清楚地看到了古老的克龍堡和厄勒海峽，以及坐在這個古堡地下室里的那個真正的丹麥人荷爾格——他的胡子在大理石的桌子上生了根，同時他在夢著外面所發生的事情。丹麥人荷爾格也在夢著這位坐在一間簡陋的小房間里的木刻匠;他聽到了人們所說的一切話，他在夢中點頭，說：
“是的，你們丹麥的人民請記住我吧!請你們在思想中記住，在你們危急的時候，我就會來的!”
克龍堡外面是晴朗的天氣。風吹來鄰國獵人的號角聲。船只在旁邊開過去，同時鳴起禮炮：“轟!轟!”克龍堡同時也鳴炮作為回禮：“轟!轟!”不過，不管人們怎樣喧鬧地放著炮，丹麥人荷爾格并不醒來，因為這些炮聲只不過表示“日安!”和“謝謝您!”的意思罷了。只有在另外一種炮聲響起來的時候他才醒來，而且他是會醒來的，因為丹麥人荷爾格的身體中充滿了力量。
①厄勒海峽(Oresund)是哥本哈根的瑞典的馬爾摩(Malmo)之間的一條很狹的海峽，也是丹麥的大門。
②丹麥的國徽是三頭獅子和九顆心所組成的。“這是世界上一個最美麗的國徽!”老人說。“這些獅子代表力量，而這些心代表善和愛!”
③克努特二世(Knut Ⅱ，994?-1035)是丹麥的國王。他在1018年征服了全英國，因此也成了英國國王。
④溫得人(Vendiske)是住在德國境內的一個斯拉夫系民族。
⑤瓦爾得馬爾大帝(ValdemarⅠ，1131-1182)是丹麥的一個能干的國王。
⑥瑪加利特王后(Margrethe，1353-1412)是丹麥瓦爾得馬爾四世的女兒。她后來成為丹麥、瑞典和挪威的共同女王。
⑦她是柯爾菲茲·烏爾菲德(Corfits Ulfeld)的妻子。她因愛她的丈夫而被誣陷下獄，在一個地窖里關了22年，直到迫害她的人蘇菲亞·亞瑪莉亞死后才恢復自由。
⑧克利斯仙(Christian Ⅳ，1577～1648)是丹麥和挪威的共同國王。
⑨1710年丹麥和瑞典的艦隊在卻格灣海戰。微特菲爾得(Hvidtfeldts)的船“丹麥國旗號”被炸起火。丹麥艦隊中其他的艦船被大風吹向這艘起火的船為了拯救整個艦隊，他炸沉了自己的船，本人也同歸于盡。
⑩這是丹麥的一個牧師，他從1721-1736年之間在格林蘭工作。
⑾佛列得里克六世(Frederick Ⅵ，1768-1839)是丹麥和挪威的共同國王。他廢除農奴制和奴隸販賣的貿易。
⑿這是1808年。在4月2日英國和丹麥的海軍激戰。英國艦隊在納爾遜將軍的指揮下把丹麥海軍擊敗。
⒀荷爾堡(Ludvig Holberg，1684-1754)是丹麥的作家，丹麥文學的創始者。
⒁這是哥本哈根的一個天文臺。丹麥著名的天文學家蒂卻·布拉赫(1546-1601)在這里觀察天象。
⒂多瓦爾生(Bertel Thorwaldsen，1770-1844)是丹麥一個雕刻師。他的雕刻杰作散見于歐洲各大教堂和公共建筑物里。
丹麥人荷爾格英文版：
Holger Danske
IN Denmark there stands an old castle named Kronenburg, close by the Sound of Elsinore, where large ships, both English, Russian, and Prussian, pass by hundreds every day. And they salute the old castle with cannons, “Boom, boom,” which is as if they said, “Good-day.” And the cannons of the old castle answer “Boom,” which means “Many thanks.” In winter no ships sail by, for the whole Sound is covered with ice as far as the Swedish coast, and has quite the appearance of a high-road. The Danish and the Swedish flags wave, and Danes and Swedes say, “Good-day,” and “Thank you” to each other, not with cannons, but with a friendly shake of the hand; and they exchange white bread and biscuits with each other, because foreign articles taste the best.
But the most beautiful sight of all is the old castle of Kronenburg, where Holger Danske sits in the deep, dark cellar, into which no one goes. He is clad in iron and steel, and rests his head on his strong arm; his long beard hangs down upon the marble table, into which it has become firmly rooted; he sleeps and dreams, but in his dreams he sees everything that happens in Denmark. On each Christmas-eve an angel comes to him and tells him that all he has dreamed is true, and that he may go to sleep again in peace, as Denmark is not yet in any real danger; but should danger ever come, then Holger Danske will rouse himself, and the table will burst asunder as he draws out his beard. Then he will come forth in his strength, and strike a blow that shall sound in all the countries of the world.
An old grandfather sat and told his little grandson all this about Holger Danske, and the boy knew that what his grandfather told him must be true. As the old man related this story, he was carving an image in wood to represent Holger Danske, to be fastened to the prow of a ship; for the old grandfather was a carver in wood, that is, one who carved figures for the heads of ships, according to the names given to them. And now he had carved Holger Danske, who stood there erect and proud, with his long beard, holding in one hand his broad battle-axe, while with the other he leaned on the Danish arms. The old grandfather told the little boy a great deal about Danish men and women who had distinguished themselves in olden times, so that he fancied he knew as much even as Holger Danske himself, who, after all, could only dream; and when the little fellow went to bed, he thought so much about it that he actually pressed his chin against the counterpane, and imagined that he had a long beard which had become rooted to it. But the old grandfather remained sitting at his work and carving away at the last part of it, which was the Danish arms. And when he had finished he looked at the whole figure, and thought of all he had heard and read, and what he had that evening related to his little grandson. Then he nodded his head, wiped his spectacles and put them on, and said, “Ah, yes; Holger Danske will not appear in my lifetime, but the boy who is in bed there may very likely live to see him when the event really comes to pass.” And the old grandfather nodded again; and the more he looked at Holger Danske, the more satisfied he felt that he had carved a good image of him. It seemed to glow with the color of life; the armor glittered like iron and steel. The hearts in the Danish arms grew more and more red; while the lions, with gold crowns on their heads, were leaping up.1 “That is the most beautiful coat of arms in the world,” said the old man. “The lions represent strength; and the hearts, gentleness and love.” And as he gazed on the uppermost lion, he thought of King Canute, who chained great England to Denmark’s throne; and he looked at the second lion, and thought of Waldemar, who untied Denmark and conquered the Vandals. The third lion reminded him of Margaret, who united Denmark, Sweden, and Norway. But when he gazed at the red hearts, their colors glowed more deeply, even as flames, and his memory followed each in turn. The first led him to a dark, narrow prison, in which sat a prisoner, a beautiful woman, daughter of Christian the Fourth, Eleanor Ulfeld,2 and the flame became a rose on her bosom, and its blossoms were not more pure than the heart of this noblest and best of all Danish women. “Ah, yes; that is indeed a noble heart in the Danish arms,” said the grandfather. and his spirit followed the second flame, which carried him out to sea,3 where cannons roared and the ships lay shrouded in smoke, and the flaming heart attached itself to the breast of Hvitfeldt in the form of the ribbon of an order, as he blew himself and his ship into the air in order to save the fleet. And the third flame led him to Greenland’s wretched huts, where the preacher, Hans Egede,4 ruled with love in every word and action. The flame was as a star on his breast, and added another heart to the Danish arms. And as the old grandfather’s spirit followed the next hovering flame, he knew whither it would lead him. In a peasant woman’s humble room stood Frederick the Sixth,5 writing his name with chalk on the beam. The flame trembled on his breast and in his heart, and it was in the peasant’s room that his heart became one for the Danish arms. The old grandfather wiped his eyes, for he had known King Frederick, with his silvery locks and his honest blue eyes, and had lived for him, and he folded his hands and remained for some time silent. Then his daughter came to him and said it was getting late, that he ought to rest for a while, and that the supper was on the table.
“What you have been carving is very beautiful, grandfather,” said she. “Holger Danske and the old coat of arms; it seems to me as if I have seen the face somewhere.”
“No, that is impossible,” replied the old grandfather; “but I have seen it, and I have tried to carve it in wood, as I have retained it in my memory. It was a long time ago, while the English fleet lay in the roads, on the second of April,6 when we showed that we were true, ancient Danes. I was on board theDenmark, in Steene Bille’s squadron; I had a man by my side whom even the cannon balls seemed to fear. He sung old songs in a merry voice, and fired and fought as if he were something more than a man. I still remember his face, but from whence he came, or whither he went, I know not; no one knows. I have often thought it might have been Holger Danske himself, who had swam down to us from Kronenburg to help us in the hour of danger. That was my idea, and there stands his likeness.”
The wooden figure threw a gigantic shadow on the wall, and even on part of the ceiling; it seemed as if the real Holger Danske stood behind it, for the shadow moved; but this was no doubt caused by the flame of the lamp not burning steadily. Then the daughter-in-law kissed the old grandfather, and led him to a large arm-chair by the table; and she, and her husband, who was the son of the old man and the father of the little boy who lay in bed, sat down to supper with him. And the old grandfather talked of the Danish lions and the Danish hearts, emblems of strength and gentleness, and explained quite clearly that there is another strength than that which lies in a sword, and he pointed to a shelf where lay a number of old books, and amongst them a collection of Holberg’s plays, which are much read and are so clever and amusing that it is easy to fancy we have known the people of those days, who are described in them.
“He knew how to fight also,” said the old man; “for he lashed the follies and prejudices of people during his whole life.”
Then the grandfather nodded to a place above the looking-glass, where hung an almanac, with a representation of the Round Tower7 upon it, and said “Tycho Brahe was another of those who used a sword, but not one to cut into the flesh and bone, but to make the way of the stars of heaven clear, and plain to be understood. And then he whose father belonged to my calling,—yes, he, the son of the old image-carver, he whom we ourselves have seen, with his silvery locks and his broad shoulders, whose name is known in all lands;—yes, he was a sculptor, while I am only a carver. Holger Danske can appear in marble, so that people in all countries of the world may hear of the strength of Denmark. Now let us drink the health of Bertel.”8
But the little boy in bed saw plainly the old castle of Kronenburg, and the Sound of Elsinore, and Holger Danske, far down in the cellar, with his beard rooted to the table, and dreaming of everything that was passing above him.
And Holger Danske did dream of the little humble room in which the image-carver sat; he heard all that had been said, and he nodded in his dream, saying, “Ah, yes, remember me, you Danish people, keep me in your memory, I will come to you in the hour of need.”
The bright morning light shone over Kronenburg, and the wind brought the sound of the hunting-horn across from the neighboring shores. The ships sailed by and saluted the castle with the boom of the cannon, and Kronenburg returned the salute, “Boom, boom.” But the roaring cannons did not awake Holger Danske, for they meant only “Good morning,” and “Thank you.” They must fire in another fashion before he awakes; but wake he will, for there is energy yet in Holger Danske.
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