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安徒生童話故事第84篇：一點成績Something
引導語：成績是經過自己的努力收獲的回報，下面是小編整理的一篇相關的安徒生童話故事中英文版的，歡迎大家閱讀!
“我要作出一點成績!”五兄弟之中最大的一位說，“因為我想成為世界上一個有用的人。只要我能發揮一點作用，哪怕我的地位很低也沒有什么關系。我情愿這樣，因為這總算是一點成績。我愿意去做磚，因為這是人們非要不可的東西!我也算真正做了某些事情了!”
“不過你的這‘一點成績’真是微不足道!”第二位兄弟說。“這簡直等于什么也沒有做。這是一種手藝人的工作，機器也可以做得出來。哎，我倒想當一個泥瓦匠呢。這才是真正重要的工作;我要這樣辦。這可以使你有一種社會地位：你可以參加一種同業工會，成為一個市民，有自己的會旗和自己的酒店①。是的，如果我的生意好的話，我還可以雇一個幫手。我可以成為一個師傅，我的太太也可以成為一個師娘了。這才算得上一點成績呢!”
“這真是一文不值!”第三位兄弟說，“因為這是列在階級之外的東西。這個城里有許多階級是列在‘師傅’之上的。你可以是一個正直的人;不過作為一個‘師傅’，你仍然不過是大家所謂的‘平民’罷了。不，我知道還有比這更好的東西。我要做一個建筑師。這樣，我就可以進入藝術和想象的領域，那么我也可以跟文化界的上層人物并列了。我必須從頭做起——的確，我可以坦白地這樣講：我要先當一個木匠的學徒。我要戴一頂便帽，雖然我平常是習慣于戴絲織禮帽的。我要替一些普通人跑腿，替他們取啤酒和燒酒，同時讓他們把我稱為‘你’——這當然是很糟糕的。不過我可以把這整個事兒當做一種表演——一種化裝表演。明天——這也就是說，當我成了師傅以后——我就走我自己的道路，別的人都不在我的眼下!我將上專門學校，學習繪圖，成為一個建筑師。這才算得上‘一點成績’呢!非常有用的成績!我將會變成‘閣下’和‘大人’。是的。我的名字前面和后面還會加一個頭銜呢。我將像我的前輩一樣，不停地建筑。這樣的事情才可靠呢!這就是我所謂的‘一點成績’!”
“不過你的所謂的一點成績對我說來算不了什么!”第四位說。“我決不隨波逐流，成為一個模仿者。我是一個天才，比你們所有的人都高明!我要成為一個新的設計專家，創造出新的設計思想，使建筑適合于各國的氣候、材料、民族性和我們的時代的趨勢——此外還要加上能表現我的天才的一層樓!”
“不過假如材料和氣候不對頭又怎么辦呢?”第五位說。
“這樣可就糟了，因為這兩件東西都是很重要的——至于民族性，它可以被夸大到虛偽的程度。時代也可以變得瘋狂，正如青年時代一樣。我可以看得出來，不管你們怎樣自命不凡，你們誰也不是什么了不起的東西。不過，隨你們怎樣吧，我決不跟你們一樣。我要站在一切事情之外，只是研究你們所做的事情。每件事情總免不了有錯誤。我將挑剔和研究錯誤，這才是重要的事情呢!”
他能說到就能做到。關于這第五位兄弟，大家都說：“這人頗有點道理!他有一個很好的頭腦，可是他什么事情也不做!”
但是正因為如此，他才算是“重要”。
你要知道，這不過是一個小小的故事。但是只要世界存在，這種故事是不會有結尾的。
但是除此以外，這五位兄弟還做了些什么呢?什么也沒有做!請聽下去吧，現在書歸正傳。
最大的那位哥哥是做磚的。他發現每塊磚做成以后，可以賺一塊小錢——一塊銅做的錢。不過許多銅板堆在一起就積成一塊漂亮的銀洋。無論在什么地方——在面包房里也好，在屠戶店里也好，在裁縫店里也好，只要你用這塊錢去敲門，門立刻就開了。于是你需要什么，就能得到什么。你看，這就是磚所能做到的事情。有的磚裂成碎片或者分做兩半，雖然如此，它還是有用。
一個窮苦的女人瑪珈勒特希望在海邊的堤岸上造一個小屋子。那位最大的哥哥把所有的碎磚頭都送給她，此外還送給她少數的整磚，因為他是一個好心腸的人，雖然他除了做磚以外，沒有干出什么別的了不起的事來。這個窮苦的女人親手造起了她自己的屋子。屋子很小，那個唯一的窗子也很狹窄，門也很低，草頂也不太漂亮。但是它究竟可以避風雨，而且是面對著一望無際的大海。海的浪花沖擊著堤岸，咸泡沫洗刷著屋子。但這屋子仍然屹立不動，雖然那個做磚的人已經死亡，化為塵土。
至于第二位兄弟，是的，他有一套與眾不同的建筑方法，因為他已經學習過這行手藝。在他當完了學徒以后，他就背上他的背包，哼出一支手藝人的小調來：
我要在年輕的時候到處跑跑，
住在異地也跟在家一樣高興。
我的手藝也就等于我的錢包，
我最大的幸福就是我的青春。
然后我要回來看看我的故鄉，
因為我這樣答應過我的愛人。
好，這手藝是有出息的一行，
我要成為一個師傅而出名!
事實上也就是這樣。當他回到家來以后，他就在城里成為一個師傅了。他建筑了這幢房子，又馬上建筑那一幢;他建筑了一整條街。這條整齊的街非常好看，使這個城市增光不少。于是別的房子又為他建筑了一幢小房子。不過房子怎么能建筑房子呢?假如你去問它們，它們是不會回答的。但是人能夠回答：“當然這幢房子是整個的街為他建筑的羅!”
這是一幢小房子，有土鋪的地。不過當他跟他的愛人在那上面跳舞的時候，這土鋪的地就變得非常光滑。墻上的每顆石子開出一朵花。這是很美麗的，比得上最貴重的掛錦。這是一幢美麗的房子，里面住著一對幸福的夫婦，外面飄著一面同業工會的旗幟。伙計和學徒都喊：“恭喜!”是的，這是一件重要的事情!于是他就死去了——這也算是一點成績。
現在當建筑師的第三位兄弟來了。他曾經當過木匠的學徒，常常戴著一頂便帽，而且專門跑腿。不過他后來進了一個專門學校，爬上了建筑師、“閣下和大人”的地位。他的哥哥是一個石匠師傅，但是整條街為他建筑了一幢房子。現在這條街當然就以他的名字命名，而街上最美麗的一幢房子也就是他的房子。這是一件成績，而他是一個重要的人物。他的名字前面和后面都有一個很長的頭銜。他的孩子被稱為少爺。他死了以后，他的太太成了貴婦人。這是一件成績!他的名字，作為一個街名，在街頭永垂不朽，而且掛在人們的嘴上。是的，這是一件成績!
現在作為一個天才的第四位兄弟來了。他要發明創造性的新東西，此外還要加上一層樓，但是那層最高的樓卻塌下來了;他也倒栽蔥地滾下來，跌斷了脖子。但是人們卻為他舉行了一個隆重的葬禮，揚起同業工會的旗幟，奏起音樂;報紙上印了許多頌辭，街上的鋪道上都撒滿了鮮花。此外還有三篇追悼的演說，一篇比一篇長。這使他感到愉快，因為他素來就喜歡人家談論他。他的墳上還建立了一座紀念碑塔。它只有一層樓，但這總算得是一件成績!
現在他像其他三位兄弟一樣，也死掉了。不過作為批評家的最后的那位兄弟活得最長。這是理所當然，因為這樣他就可以下最后的定論。對他說來，下最后的定論是再重要不過的事情。大家都說他有一副很好的頭腦!現在他的時間也到頭了：他死了。他來到天國的大門外。在這兒，人們總是成對地走進去的!這兒還有另外一個靈魂，也想走進去。這不是別人，而是住在堤岸上那個屋子里的老瑪珈勒特。
“這個寒傖的靈魂跟我同時到來，其目的莫非是要作一個對照吧!”批評家說。
“吶，姥姥，你是什么人?”他問。“你也想進去么?”
老太婆恭恭敬敬地行了一個屈膝禮;她以為現在跟她講話的這個人就是圣·彼得②。
“我是一個沒有什么親人的窮苦的老太婆，”她說。“我就是住在堤岸上的老瑪珈勒特!”
“吶，你做了些什么事情?你完成了一些什么工作?”
“我在人世間什么事情也沒有做過!沒有做過任何值得叫這門為我打開的事情。如果有人能讓我進去，那真是做一樁好事!”
“你是怎樣離開人世間的?”他說，其目的無非是想說幾句消磨時間的話，因為站在門外等待是很膩的。
“是的，我的確不知道是怎樣離開人世間的!我最后幾年又窮又病，連爬下床都不能，更不能走到外面的寒冷中去。那個冬天真是冷極了，我現在總算是挨過去了。有幾天是很風
平浪靜的，但是非常寒冷——這點先生你是知道的。海上眼睛所望見的地方全蓋滿了冰。城里的人都跑到冰上去;有的在舉行他們所謂的溜冰比賽，有的在跳舞。我相信他們還有音樂和茶點。我睡在我那個寒傖的小房里，還能聽見他們的喧鬧聲。
“那時正是天黑不久。月光剛剛升起來了，但是還沒有完全發出光彩。我在床上從窗子里向海上望。在遠處海天相接的地方，我看到一層奇怪的白云。我躺著靜靜地望，我看到它里面有一個黑點，這黑點越變越大。我知道這是一個什么意思。我是一個老年人，我懂得這種現象，雖然這是不常見的。我一眼就看出來了，同時嚇了一跳。這樣的事情我一生看過兩次。我知道很快就會有一陣可怕的暴風雨，春洪就要爆發。這些跳舞、吃喝和歡樂的可憐人馬上就會被淹死。全城的人，包括年輕的和年老的，全都出來了。假如沒有什么人像我一樣看見或知道前面正在發生的事情。誰會去告訴他們呢?
“我非常害怕。我從前好久沒有像現在這樣感到興奮。我爬下床來，走到窗子那兒去——向前再走一步的氣力就沒有了。我設法把窗子推開，我可以看到大家在冰上又跑又跳，我可以看到美麗的旗幟在空中飄揚，我可以聽到年輕人在喝彩，女子和男子在唱歌。他們真是在狂歡，不過那塊帶有黑點子的白云越升越高。我使盡我的氣力大聲叫喊，但是誰也聽不見我。我離他們太遠了。
“馬上暴風雨就要到來了，冰塊就要裂開了，冰上的人就要無情地被吞沒了。他們聽不見我的聲音，我也沒有氣力走到他們那里去。我多么希望我能夠使他們走到陸地上來啊!這時我們的上帝給我一個啟示：把我的床放一把火燒起來。我寧愿把我的屋子燒掉，也不愿讓那么多的人悲慘地死掉。我終于把火點起來了，我看到一股鮮紅的火焰……是的，我向門那邊逃，但是我一走到門邊就倒下來了，再也不能向前移動一步。火焰在后面追著我，燎出窗外，一直燎到屋頂上。
“冰上的人都看到了火;他們拼命地跑來救我這個可憐的老太婆，因為他們以為我快要被燒死了。他們沒有一個人留在后面。我聽到他們跑來，但同時我也聽到空中起了一陣颯颯的聲音。我聽到一陣像大炮似的雷聲。春潮把冰蓋托起來，崩成碎片。但是大家已經跑到堤岸上來了;這時火花正在我身上飛舞。我把他們大家都救出來了。但是我想我受不了這陣寒冷和驚恐，因此我現在就來到天國的門口。據說天國的門也會為我這樣的窮人打開的。現在我在堤岸上的房子已經沒有了——當然這并不是說我因此就可以走進天國。”
這時天國的門開了;安琪兒把這個老太婆領進去。她在門外遺下一根干草。這根草原先是鋪在她為救那些人而燒掉的那張床上的。這根草現在變成了純凈的金子，不過這金子在擴大，變成了最美麗的花紋。
“看吧，這是一個窮苦的女人帶來的東西!”安琪兒說。
“你帶來了什么呢?是的，我知道你什么也沒有做過——你連一塊磚也沒有做過。唯愿你能再回去，就是帶來這一點兒東西都好。你把這塊磚做出來后，可能它值不了什么。不過假如你是用善意把它做出來，那么它究竟還算是一點東西呀。但是你回不去了，因此我也沒有辦法幫你的忙!”
于是那個可憐的靈魂——住在堤岸上的那個老太婆——為他求情說：
“我那個小房子所用的整磚和碎磚，都是他的兄弟做出來的。對于我這樣的一個窮苦老太婆說來，這是一樁了不起的事情!你能不能把這些整磚和碎磚看做是他的那一塊磚呢?這是一件慈悲的行為!他現在需要慈悲，而這正是一個慈悲的地方!”
“你所認為最渺小的那個兄弟，”安琪兒說，“他的勤勞的工作你認為毫不足道，現在他卻送給你一件走進天國的禮物。
現在沒有人把你送回去了，你可以站在門外面仔細想一想，考慮一下你在人世間的行為。不過你現在還不能進來，你得先誠懇地做出一點成績來!”
“這個意思我可以用更好的字眼表達出來!”這位批評家想。不過他沒有高聲地講。就他看來，這已經算得是“一點成績”了。
①在舊時的歐洲，同業工會的會員有專門為自己行業開的酒店;他們可以自由地到這種酒店里去吃酒和聊天。
②耶穌十二門徒之一。
一點成績英文版：
Something
I MEAN to be somebody, and do something useful in the world,” said the eldest of five brothers. “I don’t care how humble my position is, so that I can only do some good, which will be something. I intend to be a brickmaker; bricks are always wanted, and I shall be really doing something.”
“Your ‘something’ is not enough for me,” said the second brother; “what you talk of doing is nothing at all, it is journeyman’s work, or might even be done by a machine. No! I should prefer to be a builder at once, there is something real in that. A man gains a position, he becomes a citizen, has his own sign, his own house of call for his workmen: so I shall be a builder. If all goes well, in time I shall become a master, and have my own journeymen, and my wife will be treated as a master’s wife. This is what I call something.”
“I call it all nothing,” said the third; “not in reality any position. There are many in a town far above a master builder in position. You may be an upright man, but even as a master you will only be ranked among common men. I know better what to do than that. I will be an architect, which will place me among those who possess riches and intellect, and who speculate in art. I shall certainly have to rise by my own endeavors from a bricklayer’s laborer, or as a carpenter’s apprentice—a lad wearing a paper cap, although I now wear a silk hat. I shall have to fetch beer and spirits for the journeymen, and they will call me ‘thou,’ which will be an insult. I shall endure it, however, for I shall look upon it all as a mere representation, a masquerade, a mummery, which to-morrow, that is, when I myself as a journeyman, shall have served my time, will vanish, and I shall go my way, and all that has passed will be nothing to me. Then I shall enter the academy, and get instructed in drawing, and be called an architect. I may even attain to rank, and have something placed before or after my name, and I shall build as others have done before me. By this there will be always ‘something’ to make me remembered, and is not that worth living for?”
“Not in my opinion,” said the fourth; “I will never follow the lead of others, and only imitate what they have done. I will be a genius, and become greater than all of you together. I will create a new style of building, and introduce a plan for erecting houses suitable to the climate, with material easily obtained in the country, and thus suit national feeling and the developments of the age, besides building a storey for my own genius.”
“But supposing the climate and the material are not good for much,” said the fifth brother, “that would be very unfortunate for you, and have an influence over your experiments. Nationality may assert itself until it becomes affectation, and the developments of a century may run wild, as youth often does. I see clearly that none of you will ever really be anything worth notice, however you may now fancy it. But do as you like, I shall not imitate you. I mean to keep clear of all these things, and criticize what you do. In every action something imperfect may be discovered, something not right, which I shall make it my business to find out and expose; that will be something, I fancy.” And he kept his word, and became a critic.
People said of this fifth brother, “There is something very precise about him; he has a good head-piece, but he does nothing.” And on that very account they thought he must be something.
Now, you see, this is a little history which will never end; as long as the world exists, there will always be men like these five brothers. And what became of them? Were they each nothing or something? You shall hear; it is quite a history.
The eldest brother, he who fabricated bricks, soon discovered that each brick, when finished, brought him in a small coin, if only a copper one; and many copper pieces, if placed one upon another, can be changed into a shining shilling; and at whatever door a person knocks, who has a number of these in his hands, whether it be the baker’s, the butcher’s, or the tailor’s, the door flies open, and he can get all he wants. So you see the value of bricks. Some of the bricks, however, crumbled to pieces, or were broken, but the elder brother found a use for even these.
On the high bank of earth, which formed a dyke on the sea-coast, a poor woman named Margaret wished to build herself a house, so all the imperfect bricks were given to her, and a few whole ones with them; for the eldest brother was a kind-hearted man, although he never achieved anything higher than making bricks. The poor woman built herself a little house—it was small and narrow, and the window was quite crooked, the door too low, and the straw roof might have been better thatched. But still it was a shelter, and from within you could look far over the sea, which dashed wildly against the sea-wall on which the little house was built. The salt waves sprinkled their white foam over it, but it stood firm, and remained long after he who had given the bricks to build it was dead and buried.
The second brother of course knew better how to build than poor Margaret, for he served an apprenticeship to learn it. When his time was up, he packed up his knapsack, and went on his travels, singing the journeyman’s song,—
“While young, I can wander without a care,
And build new houses everywhere;
Fair and bright are my dreams of home,
Always thought of wherever I roam.
Hurrah for a workman’s life of glee!
There’s a loved one at home who thinks of me;
Home and friends I can ne’er forget,
And I mean to be a master yet.”
And that is what he did. On his return home, he became a master builder,—built one house after another in the town, till they formed quite a street, which, when finished, became really an ornament to the town. These houses built a house for him in return, which was to be his own. But how can houses build a house? If the houses were asked, they could not answer; but the people would understand, and say, “Certainly the street built his house for him.” It was not very large, and the floor was of lime; but when he danced with his bride on the lime-covered floor, it was to him white and shining, and from every stone in the wall flowers seemed to spring forth and decorate the room as with the richest tapestry. It was really a pretty house, and in it were a happy pair. The flag of the corporation fluttered before it, and the journeymen and apprentices shouted “Hurrah.” He had gained his position, he had made himself something, and at last he died, which was “something” too.
Now we come to the architect, the third brother, who had been first a carpenter’s apprentice, had worn a cap, and served as an errand boy, but afterwards went to the academy, and risen to be an architect, a high and noble gentleman. Ah yes, the houses of the new street, which the brother who was a master builder erected, may have built his house for him, but the street received its name from the architect, and the handsomest house in the street became his property. That was something, and he was “something,” for he had a list of titles before and after his name. His children were called “wellborn,” and when he died, his widow was treated as a lady of position, and that was “something.” His name remained always written at the corner of the street, and lived in every one’s mouth as its name. Yes, this also was “something.”
And what about the genius of the family—the fourth brother—who wanted to invent something new and original? He tried to build a lofty storey himself, but it fell to pieces, and he fell with it and broke his neck. However, he had a splendid funeral, with the city flags and music in the procession; flowers were strewn on the pavement, and three orations were spoken over his grave, each one longer than the other. He would have liked this very much during his life, as well as the poems about him in the papers, for he liked nothing so well as to be talked of. A monument was also erected over his grave. It was only another storey over him, but that was “something,” Now he was dead, like the three other brothers.
The youngest—the critic—outlived them all, which was quite right for him. It gave him the opportunity of having the last word, which to him was of great importance. People always said he had a good head-piece. At last his hour came, and he died, and arrived at the gates of heaven. Souls always enter these gates in pairs; so he found himself standing and waiting for admission with another; and who should it be but old dame Margaret, from the house on the dyke! “It is evidently for the sake of contrast that I and this wretched soul should arrive here exactly at the same time,” said the critic. “Pray who are you, my good woman?” said he; “do you want to get in here too?”
And the old woman curtsied as well as she could; she thought it must be St. Peter himself who spoke to her. “I am a poor old woman,” she said, “without my family. I am old Margaret, that lived in the house on the dyke.”
“Well, and what have you done—what great deed have you performed down below?”
“I have done nothing at all in the world that could give me a claim to have these doors open for me,” she said. “It would be only through mercy that I can be allowed to slip in through the gate.”
“In what manner did you leave the world?” he asked, just for the sake of saying something; for it made him feel very weary to stand there and wait.
“How I left the world?” she replied; “why, I can scarcely tell you. During the last years of my life I was sick and miserable, and I was unable to bear creeping out of bed suddenly into the frost and cold. Last winter was a hard winter, but I have got over it all now. There were a few mild days, as your honor, no doubt, knows. The ice lay thickly on the lake, as far one could see. The people came from the town, and walked upon it, and they say there were dancing and skating upon it, I believe, and a great feasting. The sound of beautiful music came into my poor little room where I lay. Towards evening, when the moon rose beautifully, though not yet in her full splendor, I glanced from my bed over the wide sea; and there, just where the sea and sky met, rose a curious white cloud. I lay looking at the cloud till I observed a little black spot in the middle of it, which gradually grew larger and larger, and then I knew what it meant—I am old and experienced; and although this token is not often seen, I knew it, and a shuddering seized me. Twice in my life had I seen this same thing, and I knew that there would be an awful storm, with a spring tide, which would overwhelm the poor people who were now out on the ice, drinking, dancing, and making merry. Young and old, the whole city, were there; who was to warn them, if no one noticed the sign, or knew what it meant as I did? I was so alarmed, that I felt more strength and life than I had done for some time. I got out of bed, and reached the window; I could not crawl any farther from weakness and exhaustion; but I managed to open the window. I saw the people outside running and jumping about on the ice; I saw the beautiful flags waving in the wind; I heard the boys shouting, ‘Hurrah!’ and the lads and lasses singing, and everything full of merriment and joy. But there was the white cloud with the black spot hanging over them. I cried out as loudly as I could, but no one heard me; I was too far off from the people. Soon would the storm burst, the ice break, and all who were on it be irretrievably lost. They could not hear me, and to go to them was quite out of my power. Oh, if I could only get them safe on land! Then came the thought, as if from heaven, that I would rather set fire to my bed, and let the house be burnt down, than that so many people should perish miserably. I got a light, and in a few moments the red flames leaped up as a beacon to them. I escaped fortunately as far as the threshold of the door; but there I fell down and remained: I could go no farther. The flames rushed out towards me, flickered on the window, and rose high above the roof. The people on the ice became aware of the fire, and ran as fast as possible to help a poor sick woman, who, as they thought, was being burnt to death. There was not one who did not run. I heard them coming, and I also at the same time was conscious of a rush of air and a sound like the roar of heavy artillery. The spring flood was lifting the ice covering, which brake into a thousand pieces. But the people had reached the sea-wall, where the sparks were flying round. I had saved them all; but I suppose I could not survive the cold and fright; so I came up here to the gates of paradise. I am told they are open to poor creatures such as I am, and I have now no house left on earth; but I do not think that will give me a claim to be admitted here.”
Then the gates were opened, and an angel led the old woman in. She had dropped one little straw out of her straw bed, when she set it on fire to save the lives of so many. It had been changed into the purest gold—into gold that constantly grew and expanded into flowers and fruit of immortal beauty.
“See,” said the angel, pointing to the wonderful straw, “this is what the poor woman has brought. What dost thou bring? I know thou hast accomplished nothing, not even made a single brick. Even if thou couldst return, and at least produce so much, very likely, when made, the brick would be useless, unless done with a good will, which is always something. But thou canst not return to earth, and I can do nothing for thee.”
Then the poor soul, the old mother who had lived in the house on the dyke, pleaded for him. She said, “His brother made all the stone and bricks, and sent them to me to build my poor little dwelling, which was a great deal to do for a poor woman like me. Could not all these bricks and pieces be as a wall of stone to prevail for him? It is an act of mercy; he is wanting it now; and here is the very fountain of mercy.”
“Then,” said the angel, “thy brother, he who has been looked upon as the meanest of you all, he whose honest deeds to thee appeared so humble,—it is he who has sent you this heavenly gift. Thou shalt not be turned away. Thou shalt have permission to stand without the gate and reflect, and repent of thy life on earth; but thou shalt not be admitted here until thou hast performed one good deed of repentance, which will indeed for thee be something.”
“I could have expressed that better,” thought the critic; but he did not say it aloud, which for him was SOMETHING, after all.
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