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安徒生童話故事第41篇：瓦爾都窗前的一瞥By the Almshouse Windo
引導語：安徒生的童話故事瓦爾都窗前的一瞥，下面是小編收集的中英文版本，歡迎大家閱讀!
面對著圍著哥本哈根的、生滿了綠草的城堡，是一幢高大的紅房子。它的窗子很多，窗子上種著許多鳳仙花和青蒿一類的植物。房子內部是一副窮相;里邊住的也全是一些窮苦的老人。這就是“瓦爾都養老院”。
看吧!一位老小姐倚著窗檻站著，她摘下鳳仙花的一起枯葉，同時望著城堡上的綠草。許多小孩子就在那上面玩耍。這位老小姐有什么感想呢?這時一出人生的戲劇就在她的心里展開了。
“這些貧苦的孩子們，他們玩得多么快樂啊!多么紅潤的小臉蛋!多么幸福的眼睛!但是他們沒有鞋子，也沒有襪子穿。他們在這青翠的城堡上跳舞。根據一個古老的傳說，多少年以前，這兒的土老是在崩塌，直到一個天真的小寶寶，帶著她的花兒和玩具被誘到這個敞著的墳墓里去才停止;當她正在玩和吃著東西的時候，城堡就筑起來了②。從那一忽兒起，這座城堡就一直是堅固的;很快它上面就蓋滿了美麗的綠草。小孩子們一點也不知道這個故事，否則他們就會聽到那個孩子還在地底下哭，就會覺得草上的露珠是熱烘烘的眼淚。他們也不知道那個丹麥國王的故事：當敵人在外邊圍城的時候，他騎著馬走過這兒，作了一個誓言，說他要死在他的崗位上③。那時許多男人和女人齊集攏來，對那些穿著白衣服，在雪地里爬城的敵人潑下滾燙的開水。
“這些貧窮的孩子玩得非常快樂。
“玩吧，你這位小小的姑娘!歲月不久就要到來——是的，那些幸福的歲月：那些準備去受堅信禮的青年男女手挽著手漫步著。你穿著一件白色的長衣——這對你的媽媽說來真是費了不少的氣力，雖然它是一件寬大的舊衣服改出來的。你還披著一條紅披肩;它拖得太長了，所以人們一看就知道它是太寬大，太寬大了!你在想著你的打扮，想著善良的上帝。在城堡上漫步是多么痛快啊!
“歲月帶著許多陰暗的日子——但也帶著青春的心情——走過去了。你有了一個男朋友，你不知道是怎樣認識他的。你們常常會面。你們在早春的日子里到城堡上去散步，那時教堂的鐘為偉大的祈禱日發出悠揚的聲音。紫羅蘭花還沒有開，但是羅森堡宮外有一株樹已經發出新的綠芽。你們就在這兒停下步來。這株樹每年生出綠枝，心在人類的胸中可不是這樣!一層層陰暗的云塊在它上面浮過去，比在北國上空所見到的還要多。
“可憐的孩子，你的未婚夫的新房變成了一具棺材，而你自己也變成了一個老小姐。在瓦爾都，你從鳳仙花的后面看見了這些玩耍著的孩子，也看見了你一生的歷史的重演。”
這就是當這位老小姐望著城堡的時候，在她眼前所展開的一出人生的戲劇。太陽光在城堡上照著，紅臉蛋的、沒有襪子和鞋子穿的孩子們像天空的飛鳥一樣，在那上面發出歡樂的叫聲。
①瓦爾都(Vartou)是哥本哈根的一個收留孤寡人的養老院，建筑于1700年。
②丹麥詩人蒂勒編的《丹麥民間傳說》中有這樣一段記載：“很久很久以前，人們在哥本哈根周圍建立了一個城堡。城堡一直在不停地崩頹，后來簡直無法使它鞏固下來，最后大家把一個天真的女孩子放在一張椅子上，在她面前放一個桌子，上面擺著許多玩具和糖果。當她正在玩耍的時候，12個石匠在她上面建起一座拱門。大家在音樂和喊聲中把土堆到這拱門上，筑起一個城堡，從此以后城堡再也不崩塌了。”
③指丹麥國王佛列得里克三世(1609-1670)。這兒是指1659年2月11日，瑞典軍隊圍攻哥本哈根，但沒有奪下該城。
瓦爾都窗前的一瞥英文版：
By the Almshouse Window
NEAR the grass-covered rampart which encircles Copenhagen lies a great red house. Balsams and other flowers greet us from the long rows of windows in the house, whose interior is sufficiently poverty-stricken; and poor and old are the people who inhabit it. The building is the Warton Almshouse.
Look! at the window there leans an old maid. She plucks the withered leaf from the balsam, and looks at the grass-covered rampart, on which many children are playing. What is the old maid thinking of? A whole life drama is unfolding itself before her inward gaze.
“The poor little children, how happy they are—how merrily they play and romp together! What red cheeks and what angels’ eyes! but they have no shoes nor stockings. They dance on the green rampart, just on the place where, according to the old story, the ground always sank in, and where a sportive, frolicsome child had been lured by means of flowers, toys and sweetmeats into an open grave ready dug for it, and which was afterwards closed over the child; and from that moment, the old story says, the ground gave way no longer, the mound remained firm and fast, and was quickly covered with the green turf. The little people who now play on that spot know nothing of the old tale, else would they fancy they heard a child crying deep below the earth, and the dewdrops on each blade of grass would be to them tears of woe. Nor do they know anything of the Danish King who here, in the face of the coming foe, took an oath before all his trembling courtiers that he would hold out with the citizens of his capital, and die here in his nest; they know nothing of the men who have fought here, or of the women who from here have drenched with boiling water the enemy, clad in white, and ’biding in the snow to surprise the city.
“No! the poor little ones are playing with light, childish spirits. Play on, play on, thou little maiden! Soon the years will come—yes, those glorious years. The priestly hands have been laid on the candidates for confirmation; hand in hand they walk on the green rampart. Thou hast a white frock on; it has cost thy mother much labor, and yet it is only cut down for thee out of an old larger dress! You will also wear a red shawl; and what if it hang too far down? People will only see how large, how very large it is. You are thinking of your dress, and of the Giver of all good—so glorious is it to wander on the green rampart!
“And the years roll by; they have no lack of dark days, but you have your cheerful young spirit, and you have gained a friend—you know not how. You met, oh, how often! You walk together on the rampart in the fresh spring, on the high days and holidays, when all the world come out to walk upon the ramparts, and all the bells of the church steeples seem to be singing a song of praise for the coming spring.
“Scarcely have the violets come forth, but there on the rampart, just opposite the beautiful Castle of Rosenberg, there is a tree bright with the first green buds. Every year this tree sends forth fresh green shoots. Alas! It is not so with the human heart! Dark mists, more in number than those that cover the northern skies, cloud the human heart. Poor child! thy friend’s bridal chamber is a black coffin, and thou becomest an old maid. From the almshouse window, behind the balsams, thou shalt look on the merry children at play, and shalt see thine own history renewed.”
And that is the life drama that passes before the old maid while she looks out upon the rampart, the green, sunny rampart, where the children, with their red cheeks and bare shoeless feet, are rejoicing merrily, like the other free little birds.
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