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安徒生童話故事第77篇：光榮的荊棘路The Thorny Road of Honor
引導(dǎo)語：我們每一個(gè)的人生之路必定會(huì)經(jīng)過荊棘路才會(huì)通往成功之道，下面是小編收集的一篇相關(guān)的安徒生童話故事也許會(huì)告訴你一下人生的道理與意義，歡迎大家閱讀!
從前有一個(gè)古老的故事：“光榮的荊棘路：一個(gè)叫做布魯?shù)碌墨C人得到了無上的光榮和尊嚴(yán)，但是他卻長(zhǎng)時(shí)期遇到極大的困難和冒著生命的危險(xiǎn)。”我們大多數(shù)的人在小時(shí)已經(jīng)聽到過這個(gè)故事，可能后來還讀到過它，并且也想起自己沒有被人歌誦過的“荊棘路”和“極大的困難”。故事和真事沒有什么很大的分界線。不過故事在我們這個(gè)世界里經(jīng)常有一個(gè)愉快的結(jié)尾，而真事常常在今生沒有結(jié)果，只好等到永恒的未來。
世界的歷史象一個(gè)幻燈。它在現(xiàn)代的黑暗背景上，放映出明朗的片子，說明那些造福人類的善人和天才的殉道者在怎樣走著荊棘路。
這些光耀的圖片把各個(gè)時(shí)代，各個(gè)國家都反映給我們看。每張片子只映幾秒鐘，但是它卻代表整個(gè)的一生——充滿了斗爭(zhēng)和勝利的一生。我們現(xiàn)在來看看這些殉道者行列中的人吧——除非這個(gè)世界本身遭到滅亡，這個(gè)行列是永遠(yuǎn)沒有窮盡的。
我們現(xiàn)在來看看一個(gè)擠滿了觀眾的圓形劇場(chǎng)吧。諷刺和幽默的語言象潮水一般地從阿里斯托芬①的“云”噴射出來。雅典最了不起的一個(gè)人物，在人身和精神方面，都受到了舞臺(tái)上的嘲笑。他是保護(hù)人民反抗“三十僭主”②的戰(zhàn)士。他名叫蘇格拉底③，他在混戰(zhàn)中救援了阿爾西比亞得和生諾風(fēng)，他的天才超過了古代的神仙。他本人就在場(chǎng)。他從觀眾的凳子上站起來，走到前面去，讓那些正在哄堂大笑的人可以看看，他本人和戲臺(tái)上嘲笑的那個(gè)對(duì)象究竟有什么相同之點(diǎn)。他站在他們面前，高高地站在他們面前。
你，多汁的，綠色的毒胡蘿卜，雅典的陰影不是橄欖樹而是你④!
七個(gè)城市國家⑤在彼此爭(zhēng)辯，都說荷馬是在自己城里出生的——這也就是說，在荷馬死了以后!請(qǐng)看看他活著的時(shí)候吧!他在這些城市里流浪，靠朗誦自己的詩篇過日子。他一想起明天的生活，他的頭發(fā)就變得灰白起來。他，這個(gè)偉大的先知者，是一個(gè)孤獨(dú)的瞎子。銳利的荊棘把這位詩中圣哲的衣服撕得稀爛。
但是他的歌仍然是活著的;通過這些歌，古代的英雄和神仙也獲得了生命。
圖畫一幅接著一幅地從日出之國，從日落之國現(xiàn)出來。這些國家在空間和時(shí)間方面彼此的距離很遠(yuǎn)，然而它們卻有著同樣的光榮的荊棘路。生滿了刺的薊只有在它裝飾著墳?zāi)沟臅r(shí)候，才開出第一朵花。
駱駝在棕櫚樹下面走過。它們滿載著靛青和貴重的財(cái)寶。這些東西是這國家的君主送給一個(gè)人的禮物——這個(gè)人是人民的歡樂，是國家的光榮。嫉妒和毀謗逼得他不得不從這國家逃走，只有現(xiàn)在人們才發(fā)現(xiàn)他。這個(gè)駱駝隊(duì)現(xiàn)在快要走到他避亂的那個(gè)小鎮(zhèn)。人們抬出一具可憐的尸體走出城門，駱駝隊(duì)停下來了。這個(gè)死人就正是他們所要尋找的那個(gè)人：費(fèi)爾杜西⑥——光榮的荊棘路在這兒告一結(jié)束!
在葡萄牙的京城里，在王宮的大理石臺(tái)階上，坐著一個(gè)圓面孔、厚嘴唇、黑頭發(fā)的非洲黑人，他在向人求乞。他是卡蒙斯⑦的忠實(shí)的奴隸。如果沒有他和他求乞得到的許多銅板，他的主人——敘事詩《盧濟(jì)塔尼亞人之歌》的作者——恐怕早就餓死了。
現(xiàn)在卡蒙斯的墓上立著一座貴重的紀(jì)念碑。
還有一幅圖畫!
鐵欄桿后面站著一個(gè)人。他像死一樣的慘白，長(zhǎng)著一臉又長(zhǎng)又亂的胡子。
“我發(fā)明了一件東西——一件許多世紀(jì)以來最偉大的發(fā)明，”他說。“但是人們卻把我放在這里關(guān)了二十多年!”
“他是誰呢?”
“一個(gè)瘋子!”瘋?cè)嗽旱目词卣f。“這些瘋子的怪想頭才多呢!他相信人們可以用蒸汽推動(dòng)?xùn)|西!”
這人名叫薩洛蒙·得·高斯⑧，黎塞留⑨讀不懂他的預(yù)言性的著作，因此他死在瘋?cè)嗽豪铩?/p>
現(xiàn)在哥倫布出現(xiàn)了。街上的野孩子常常跟在他后面譏笑他，因?yàn)樗氚l(fā)現(xiàn)一個(gè)新世界——而且他也就居然發(fā)現(xiàn)了。歡樂的鐘聲迎接著他的勝利的歸來，但嫉妒的鐘敲得比這還要響亮。他，這個(gè)發(fā)現(xiàn)新大陸的人，這個(gè)把美洲黃金的土地從海里撈起來的人，這個(gè)把一切貢獻(xiàn)給他的國王的人，所得到的酬報(bào)是一條鐵鏈。他希望把這條鏈子放在他的棺材上，讓世人可以看到他的時(shí)代所給予他的評(píng)價(jià)⑩。
圖畫一幅接著一幅的出現(xiàn)，光榮的荊棘路真是沒有盡頭。
在黑暗中坐著一個(gè)人，他要量出月亮里山岳的高度。他探索星球與行星之間的太空。他這個(gè)巨人懂得大自然的規(guī)律。他能感覺到地球在他的腳下轉(zhuǎn)動(dòng)。這人就是伽利略⑾。老邁的他，又聾又瞎，坐在那兒，在尖銳的苦痛中和人間的輕視中掙扎。他幾乎沒有氣力提起他的一雙腳：當(dāng)人們不相信真理的時(shí)候，他在靈魂的極度痛苦中曾經(jīng)在地上跺著這雙腳，高呼著：“但是地在轉(zhuǎn)動(dòng)呀!”
這兒有一個(gè)女子，她有一顆孩子的心，但是這顆心充滿了熱情和信念。她在一個(gè)戰(zhàn)斗的部隊(duì)前面高舉著旗幟;她為她的祖國帶來勝利和解放。空中起了一片狂樂的聲音，于是柴堆燒起來了：大家在燒死一個(gè)巫婆——貞德⑿。是的，在接著的一個(gè)世紀(jì)中人們唾棄這朵純潔的百合花，但智慧的鬼才伏爾泰卻歌頌“拉·比塞爾”⒀。
在微堡的宮殿里，丹麥的貴族燒毀了國王的法律。火焰升起來，把這個(gè)立法者和他的時(shí)代都照亮了，同時(shí)也向那個(gè)黑暗的囚樓送進(jìn)一點(diǎn)彩霞。他的頭發(fā)斑白，腰也彎了;他坐在那兒，用手指在石桌上刻出許多線條。他曾經(jīng)統(tǒng)治過三個(gè)王國。他是一個(gè)民眾愛戴的國王;他是市民和農(nóng)民的朋友：克利斯仙二世⒁。他是一個(gè)莽撞時(shí)代的一個(gè)有性格的莽撞人。敵人寫下他的歷史。我們一方面不忘記他的血腥的罪過，一方面也要記住：他被囚禁了二十七年。
有一艘船從丹麥開出去了。船上有一個(gè)人倚著桅桿站著，向汶島作最后的一瞥。他是杜卻·布拉赫⒂。他把丹麥的名字提升到星球上去，但他所得到的報(bào)酬是譏笑和傷害。他跑到國外去。他說：“處處都有天，我還要求什么別的東西呢?”他走了;我們這位最有聲望的人在國外得到了尊榮和自由。
“啊，解脫!只愿我身體中不可忍受的痛苦能夠得到解脫!”好幾世紀(jì)以來我們就聽到這個(gè)聲音。這是一張什么畫片呢?這是格里芬菲爾德⒃——丹麥的普洛米修士——被鐵鏈鎖在木克荷爾姆石島上的一幅圖畫。
我們現(xiàn)在來到美洲，來到一條大河的旁邊。有一大群人集攏來，據(jù)說有一艘船可以在壞天氣中逆風(fēng)行駛，因?yàn)樗旧砩暇哂锌咕茱L(fēng)雨的力量。那個(gè)相信能夠做到這件事的人名叫羅伯特·富爾敦⒄。他的船開始航行，但是它忽然停下來了。觀眾大笑起來，并且還“噓”起來——連他自己的父親也跟大家一起“噓”起來：“自高自大!糊涂透頂!他現(xiàn)在得到了報(bào)應(yīng)!就該把這個(gè)瘋子關(guān)起來才對(duì)!”
一根小釘子搖斷了——?jiǎng)偛艡C(jī)器不能動(dòng)就是因了它的緣故。輪子轉(zhuǎn)動(dòng)起來了，輪翼在水中向前推進(jìn)，船在開行!蒸汽機(jī)的杠桿把世界各國間的距離從鐘頭縮短成為分秒。
人類啊，當(dāng)靈魂懂得了它的使命以后，你能體會(huì)到在這清醒的片刻中所感到的幸福嗎?在這片刻中，你在光榮的荊棘路上所得到的一切創(chuàng)傷——即使是你自己所造成的——也會(huì)痊愈，恢復(fù)健康、力量和愉快;嘈音變成諧聲;人們可以在一個(gè)人身上看到上帝的仁慈，而這仁慈通過一個(gè)人普及到大眾。
光榮的荊棘路看起來象環(huán)繞著地球的一條燦爛的光帶。只有幸運(yùn)的人才被送到這條帶上行走，才被指定為建筑那座聯(lián)接上帝與人間的橋梁的、沒有薪水的總工程師。
歷史拍著它強(qiáng)大的翅膀，飛過許多世紀(jì)，同時(shí)在光榮的荊棘路的這個(gè)黑暗背景上，映出許多明朗的圖畫，來鼓起我們的勇氣，給予我們安慰，促進(jìn)我們內(nèi)心的平安。這條光榮的荊棘路，跟童話不同，并不在這個(gè)人世間走到一個(gè)輝煌和快樂的終點(diǎn)，但是它卻超越時(shí)代，走向永恒。
①阿里斯托芬(約公元前446-前385)，古代希臘喜劇家。他在劇本《云》里猛烈攻擊蘇格拉底。
②僭主統(tǒng)治，指用武力奪取政權(quán)而建立的個(gè)人統(tǒng)治。公元前七至六世紀(jì)，希臘各城邦形成時(shí)期，較廣泛地出現(xiàn)過這種政權(quán)形式。公元前404年，斯巴達(dá)打敗雅典，在雅典扶植一個(gè)30人的委員會(huì)，后來被稱為“三十僭主政府”。
③蘇格拉底(公元前470-前399)，古代希臘哲學(xué)家。他曾在一次戰(zhàn)爭(zhēng)中救過雅典政治家和軍事家阿爾基比阿德斯(約公元前450～前404)的性命。在另一次戰(zhàn)爭(zhēng)中又救過他的學(xué)生希臘的歷史學(xué)家、軍事家和政論家色諾芬(約公元前444-前354)的性命。
④雅典政府逼迫蘇格拉底喝毒葡萄酒自殺。
⑤古代希臘的每個(gè)城市是一個(gè)國家。
⑥這是波斯偉大詩人曼蘇爾(Abul Kasim Mansur，940-1020?)的筆名，敘事詩《王書》(Shahnama)的作者。這部詩有六萬行，是波斯國王請(qǐng)他寫的，并且答應(yīng)給他每行一塊金幣。但是詩完成后，國王的大臣卻給他每行一塊銀幣。他在盛怒之下寫了一首詩諷刺國王的惡劣。這首詩現(xiàn)在就成了《王書》的序言。待國王追捕他時(shí)，他已經(jīng)逃出了國境。
⑦全名是Luiz Yaz Camoes(1524?～1580)，葡萄牙的最偉大的詩人。他的敘事詩《盧濟(jì)塔尼亞人之歌》(Os Lusiadas)是葡萄牙最偉大的史詩。他生前曾多次被關(guān)進(jìn)監(jiān)獄。
⑧高斯(Salomon de Caus，1576～1626)，是法國的科學(xué)家，他的著作有《動(dòng)力與各種機(jī)器的關(guān)系》(Raisons des forces mouvantes avec diverses machines)，說明蒸汽的原理。
⑨黎塞留(Richelieu,1585-1642)是法國的首相，曾有一個(gè)時(shí)候擁有國家最高的權(quán)力。
⑩1500年8月24日西班牙政府派人到美洲去把哥倫布逮捕起來，用鐵鏈子把他套著，送回西班牙。
⑾伽利略(Galilei,1564-1642)是意大利著名的天文學(xué)家。
⑿貞德(Jeanne d'Are，1412-1431)一譯冉·達(dá)克，是法國的女英雄，她在1429年帶領(lǐng)6000人打退打退英國的侵略者。后來她被人出賣與英國人，因而當(dāng)做巫婆被燒死。
⒀伏爾泰(Voltaire,1694-1779)是法國著名的作家，《拉·比塞爾》是他寫的一部關(guān)于貞德的史詩。
⒁丹麥的國王克利斯仙二世(Christian den Anden，1481-1559)，聯(lián)合農(nóng)民和市民反對(duì)貴族的專權(quán)，但終于被貴族推翻，囚禁起來。他曾經(jīng)連年對(duì)外進(jìn)行過戰(zhàn)爭(zhēng)。
⒂布拉赫(1546-1601)丹麥著名天文學(xué)家，丹麥在汶島(Hveen)的天文臺(tái)就是他建立的。“杜卻星球”是他發(fā)現(xiàn)的。
⒃格里芬菲爾德(Peder Griffenfeld，1635-1699)，是丹麥的一個(gè)大政治家。他的政策是發(fā)展工商業(yè)以增加國家財(cái)富;但首要的條件是保持國際間的和平，特別是與丹麥的鄰邦瑞典保持和平。1675年丹麥對(duì)瑞典宣戰(zhàn)，1676年3月格里芬菲爾德被捕，被判處死刑，后改為終身囚禁。
⒄富爾敦(Robert Fulton，1765-1815)，美國的發(fā)明家，他設(shè)計(jì)和建造美國的第一艘用蒸汽機(jī)推動(dòng)的輪船。
光榮的荊棘路英文版：
The Thorny Road of Honor
AN old story yet lives of the “Thorny Road of Honor,” of a marksman, who indeed attained to rank and office, but only after a lifelong and weary strife against difficulties. Who has not, in reading this story, thought of his own strife, and of his own numerous “difficulties?” The story is very closely akin to reality; but still it has its harmonious explanation here on earth, while reality often points beyond the confines of life to the regions of eternity. The history of the world is like a magic lantern that displays to us, in light pictures upon the dark ground of the present, how the benefactors of mankind, the martyrs of genius, wandered along the thorny road of honor.
From all periods, and from every country, these shining pictures display themselves to us. Each only appears for a few moments, but each represents a whole life, sometimes a whole age, with its conflicts and victories. Let us contemplate here and there one of the company of martyrs—the company which will receive new members until the world itself shall pass away.
We look down upon a crowded amphitheatre. Out of the “Clouds” of Aristophanes, satire and humor are pouring down in streams upon the audience; on the stage Socrates, the most remarkable man in Athens, he who had been the shield and defence of the people against the thirty tyrants, is held up mentally and bodily to ridicule—Socrates, who saved Alcibiades and Xenophon in the turmoil of battle, and whose genius soared far above the gods of the ancients. He himself is present; he has risen from the spectator’s bench, and has stepped forward, that the laughing Athenians may well appreciate the likeness between himself and the caricature on the stage. There he stands before them, towering high above them all.
Thou juicy, green, poisonous hemlock, throw thy shadow over Athens—not thou, olive tree of fame!
Seven cities contended for the honor of giving birth to Homer—that is to say, they contended after his death! Let us look at him as he was in his lifetime. He wanders on foot through the cities, and recites his verses for a livelihood; the thought for the morrow turns his hair gray! He, the great seer, is blind, and painfully pursues his way—the sharp thorn tears the mantle of the king of poets. His song yet lives, and through that alone live all the heroes and gods of antiquity.
One picture after another springs up from the east, from the west, far removed from each other in time and place, and yet each one forming a portion of the thorny road of honor, on which the thistle indeed displays a flower, but only to adorn the grave.
The camels pass along under the palm trees; they are richly laden with indigo and other treasures of value, sent by the ruler of the land to him whose songs are the delight of the people, the fame of the country. He whom envy and falsehood have driven into exile has been found, and the caravan approaches the little town in which he has taken refuge. A poor corpse is carried out of the town gate, and the funeral procession causes the caravan to halt. The dead man is he whom they have been sent to seek—Firdusi—who has wandered the Thorny road of honor even to the end.
The African, with blunt features, thick lips, and woolly hair, sits on the marble steps of the palace in the capital of Portugal, and begs. He is the submissive slave of Camoens, and but for him, and for the copper coins thrown to him by the passers-by, his master, the poet of the “Lusiad,” would die of hunger. Now, a costly monument marks the grave of Camoens.
There is a new picture.
Behind the iron grating a man appears, pale as death, with long unkempt beard.
“I have made a discovery,” he says, “the greatest that has been made for centuries; and they have kept me locked up here for more than twenty years!”
Who is the man?
“A madman,” replies the keeper of the madhouse. “What whimsical ideas these lunatics have! He imagines that one can propel things by means of steam.”
It is Solomon de Cares, the discoverer of the power of steam, whose theory, expressed in dark words, is not understood by Richelieu; and he dies in the madhouse.
Here stands Columbus, whom the street boys used once to follow and jeer, because he wanted to discover a new world; and he has discovered it. Shouts of joy greet him from the breasts of all, and the clash of bells sounds to celebrate his triumphant return; but the clash of the bells of envy soon drowns the others. The discoverer of a world—he who lifted the American gold land from the sea, and gave it to his king—he is rewarded with iron chains. He wishes that these chains may be placed in his coffin, for they witness to the world of the way in which a man’s contemporaries reward good service.
One picture after another comes crowding on; the thorny path of honor and of fame is over-filled.
Here in dark night sits the man who measured the mountains in the moon; he who forced his way out into the endless space, among stars and planets; he, the mighty man who understood the spirit of nature, and felt the earth moving beneath his feet—Galileo. Blind and deaf he sits—an old man thrust through with the spear of suffering, and amid the torments of neglect, scarcely able to lift his foot—that foot with which, in the anguish of his soul, when men denied the truth, he stamped upon the ground, with the exclamation, “Yet it moves!”
Here stands a woman of childlike mind, yet full of faith and inspiration. She carries the banner in front of the combating army, and brings victory and salvation to her fatherland. The sound of shouting arises, and the pile flames up. They are burning the witch, Joan of Arc. Yes, and a future century jeers at the White Lily. Voltaire, the satyr of human intellect, writes “La Pucelle.”
At the Thing or Assembly at Viborg, the Danish nobles burn the laws of the king. They flame up high, illuminating the period and the lawgiver, and throw a glory into the dark prison tower, where an old man is growing gray and bent. With his finger he marks out a groove in the stone table. It is the popular king who sits there, once the ruler of three kingdoms, the friend of the citizen and the peasant. It is Christian the Second. Enemies wrote his history. Let us remember his improvements of seven and twenty years, if we cannot forget his crime.
A ship sails away, quitting the Danish shores. A man leans against the mast, casting a last glance towards the Island Hueen. It is Tycho Brahe. He raised the name of Denmark to the stars, and was rewarded with injury, loss and sorrow. He is going to a strange country.
“The vault of heaven is above me everywhere,” he says, “and what do I want more?”
And away sails the famous Dane, the astronomer, to live honored and free in a strange land.
“Ay, free, if only from the unbearable sufferings of the body!” comes in a sigh through time, and strikes upon our ear. What a picture! Griffenfeldt, a Danish Prometheus, bound to the rocky island of Munkholm.
We are in America, on the margin of one of the largest rivers; an innumerable crowd has gathered, for it is said that a ship is to sail against the wind and weather, bidding defiance to the elements. The man who thinks he can solve the problem is named Robert Fulton. The ship begins its passage, but suddenly it stops. The crowd begins to laugh and whistle and hiss—the very father of the man whistles with the rest.
“Conceit! Foolery!” is the cry. “It has happened just as he deserved. Put the crack-brain under lock and key!”
Then suddenly a little nail breaks, which had stopped the machine for a few moments; and now the wheels turn again, the floats break the force of the waters, and the ship continues its course; and the beam of the steam engine shortens the distance between far lands from hours into minutes.
O human race, canst thou grasp the happiness of such a minute of consciousness, this penetration of the soul by its mission, the moment in which all dejection, and every wound—even those caused by one’s own fault—is changed into health and strength and clearness—when discord is converted to harmony—the minute in which men seem to recognize the manifestation of the heavenly grace in one man, and feel how this one imparts it to all?
Thus the thorny path of honor shows itself as a glory, surrounding the earth with its beams. Thrice happy he who is chosen to be a wanderer there, and, without merit of his own, to be placed between the builder of the bridge and the earth—between Providence and the human race.
On mighty wings the spirit of history floats through the ages, and shows—giving courage and comfort, and awakening gentle thoughts—on the dark nightly background, but in gleaming pictures, the thorny path of honor, which does not, like a fairy tale, end in brilliancy and joy here on earth, but stretches out beyond all time, even into eternity!
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