雪花莲 第11期

It was wintertime; the air was cold, the wind sharp, but inside it was warm and comfortable. There lay the flower; it lay in its bulb, under the snow-covered earth.

One day the rain fell. The raindrops fell onto the bulb, telling it of the world of light up above. Soon a sunbeam pierced its way through the snow, down to the bulb, and tapped on it.

“Come in,” said the Flower.

“I can’t,” said the Sunbeam. “I’m not strong enough. When summer comes, I shall be strong.”

“When will it be summer?” asked the Flower, and repeated this every time a new sunbeam came down to it. But summer was far off; snow remained on the earth.

“What a long time it takes! What a long time it takes!” said the Flower. “I must stretch myself; I must open up; I must come out and wave good morning to the summer. What a wonderful time that will be!”

And the Flower extended itself against the thin shell that had been softened by the rainwater. It burst forth beneath the snow, with a white and green bud on its green stalk, and with narrow thick leaves for protection. Now the Sunbeam streamed down with greater strength than before.

“Welcome!” sang every sunbeam when the Flower rose above the snow, out into the world of light. The Sunbeams caressed and kissed it, so that it opened itself fully, white as snow.

“Beautiful flower!” sang the Sunbeams. “How fresh and pure you are! You are the first; you are the only one! You are our love! You ring out the call of summer, lovely summer! All the snow shall melt, the cold winds be driven away! Everything shall grow green! And then you will have company, the lilacs and laburnums and finally the roses. But you are the first, so tender and pure!” This was a great delight to the Flower. It was as if the air itself was singing, as if the Sunbeams were all penetrating the leaves and stem of the Flower. There it stood, beautiful and fragile, and yet so strong, in all its youthful beauty, praising the summer. But summertime was far off; clouds shrouded the sun; sharp winds blew on the Flower.

“You have come a little too early!” said Wind and Weather. “We still have power. You shall feel this! You should have remained inside, instead of rushing out here to display your finery! It is not the time for that yet!”

It was very cold, and the following days didn’t bring a sunbeam. It was the weather to freeze such a little flower. But it had more strength than it realized. That strength was in its happy faith that summer must come. And so with patient hope, it stood there in its white dress, in the white snow, bowing its head when the snowflakes fell thick and heavy or while the icy winds swept over it.

“Youl’vl break!” they said. “What did you want out here?” Why did you let yourself be enticed?” The Sunbeam has hoaxed you! Now you have what you deserve, you snowdrop, summer fool!

“Nowdrop, summer fool!” repeated the Flower there in the cold morning.

“Snowdrop!” rejoiced some children who came into the garden. “There stands one, so sweet, so beautiful” the first, the only one! “And these words made the Flower feel so well; they were like the warm Sunbeams. In its gladness, it never noticed that it was being plucked. Then it lay in a child’s hand, was kissed by a child’s lips, brought into a warm room, gazed upon by kindly eyes, and set in water. The Flower thought that it had all of a sudden come into midsummer.

The daughter of the house was a lovely little girl who had just been confirmed. And she had a dear boyfriend who was studying to equip himself for earning a living. “He shall be my snowdrop!” she told herself. Then she took the lovely Flower and laid it on a piece of paper that had a verse written on it. It was a verse about the Flower, beginning with nowdrop and ending with nowdrop. The paper was then folded up like a letter, with the Flower placed inside; it was dark in there, as dark as when it had been in the bulb. The Flower was sent on a journey. It lay in a mail sack, was pressed and squeezed. It was not pleasant at all, but finally this came to an end.

When the journey was over, the letter was opened and read by her dear friend. He was so delighted that he kissed the Flower. And then it was locked up in a drawer, where there lay many charming letters, though none had a flower in it. Here, too, it was the first, the only one, as the Sunbeams had called it, and that was pleasant to think about.

The Flower had a long period to think about it; while it thought, summer passed, and the long winter passed. When it was summer again, it was brought out from the drawer. But this time the young man was not happy. He seized up the letters very harshly, and flung away the verse, so that the Flower fell onto the floor. It had become flattened and withered, but why should it be thrown on the ground? Though it was better to be here than in the fire, where the paper was being burnt to ashes. What had happened? The girl had mocked him. She had chosen another boyfriend this midsummer.

In the morning, the sun shone in on the little flattened Snowdrop, which looked as if it were painted on the floor. The maid who swept the room picked it up and placed it in one of the books. And so once again the Flower lay among verses.

Years passed. The book stood on its shelf. But now at last it was taken down, opened, and read. It was a good book the songs and poems of the Danish poet Ambrosius Stub. The man who was reading the book turned a page.

Oh, here is a flower!he said. snowdrop! The flower must have been put in there with a meaning!Poor Ambrosius Stub!He was a snowdrop, too, a poet-snowdrop. He came too early before his time, and therefore he had to face sharp winds and sleet. He was like a flower in a water glass, a summer fool, a winter fool, full of fun and drollery yet he was the first, the only young Danish poet of those days. Yes, you are laid here with meaning! And then the Snowdrop again was placed in the book. It felt both honored and delighted to know that it was a marker in the beautiful book of poetry, and that the poet had also been a snowdrop and been mocked in the winter. Now the Flower understood this in its own way, just as we understand things in our way.

That is the fairy story of the Snowdrop.

这是一个冬天；寒气逼人，风吹得很急，但在里面却温暖舒适。在那里躺着一朵花；它躺在自己的鳞茎里，就在大雪覆盖的土地下。

一天，下雨了。雨点落在鳞茎上，告诉花朵外面有一个明亮的世界。不久，一缕阳光穿过雪层落到鳞茎上，轻轻地敲打着它。

“进来吧，”花儿说。

“不行，”阳光说道，“我还不够强壮。当夏天到来，我就会变强壮的。”

“夏天什么时候才到来？”花儿问。每当一有阳光射下来，它都要重复问这个问题。但是现在离夏天还很远；大雪仍旧覆盖大地。

“这等的时间太长了！这等的时间太长了！”花儿说道，“我一定要伸伸腰；我一定要开放；我一定要出去向夏季道早安。那将是多么美好啊！”

于是，花儿伸展自己的身体，顶着那薄薄的、被雨水软化了的躯壳。它从雪下迸发出来，绿色的茎上长着一个白绿色的花蕾，周围有窄而厚的叶子保护。现在那缕阳光泻下来，比以前有力得多了。

“欢迎！”当花儿冲出雪层来到光明的世界时，每道阳光都这样唱道。阳光它、亲吻它，花儿也努力绽放，像雪一样白。

“美丽的花朵！”阳光唱道，“你是多么清爽和纯洁！你是第一朵；你是惟一一朵！你是我们的爱！你呼唤着夏日，美好的夏天！所有的雪将溶化，寒风将被驱走！一切都将变成绿色！而那时你将会有同伴，丁香、金链花，还有玫瑰。但你是第一朵，你是那么柔嫩、纯洁！” 花儿感到十分快乐，就像空气在唱歌，就像所有阳光都穿透了花儿的叶和茎。它就站在那里，美丽而脆弱，但又是如此坚强；它用自己年轻的美丽赞颂着夏天。但夏天还很遥远；云层遮盖了太阳；刺骨的寒风吹打在花儿上。

“你来得太早了一点！”风和天气说道，“我们仍然很强大。你应该感觉到这点！你应该留在里面，而不是这么早就急着出来炫耀自己华丽的服饰！现在还不是时候！”

天气很寒冷，接下来的几天没有一丝阳光，这种天气会把小花冻死的。然而它的力量比自己意识到的要强。那股力量来自于它坚信夏天一定会到来的信念。所以，带着耐心的希望，它穿着一身白衣站在那里，在白雪当中。当雪花沉沉地压在它身上，或是冰冷的寒风掠过时，它只是弯了弯头。

“你会被折断的！”他们说。“你在外面究竟想得到什么？你为什么让自己受诱惑？阳光把你愚弄了！现在你得到了应得的下场，你这雪花莲，夏天的傻子！”

“雪花莲，夏天的傻子！”在冰冷的早晨，花儿重复着。

“雪花莲！”几个兴高采烈的小孩来到花园，“那里有一朵，多么可爱、多么美丽啊――第一朵，惟一一朵！”

这些话语让花儿感到十分高兴；他们就像那些温暖的阳光。它太高兴了，并没有察觉自己被摘了下来。然后它躺在一个小孩的手上，被小孩的双唇亲吻。花儿被带到一间温暖的房间里，被和善的眼睛凝视着，最后被放进了水中。花儿觉得自己仿佛突然间来到了仲夏。

房子的女儿是一个可爱的小姑娘，她刚刚行了坚信礼。她有一个很要好的男朋友，他正在学习，以便为将来的生活做准备。“他将是我的雪花莲！”她自语道。于是她拿起可爱的花儿，把它放在一张写着一首诗的纸上。诗写的是花儿，以“雪花莲”开头，以“雪花莲”结束。纸随后像信那样被折好，花儿也被放了进去；里面很黑暗，暗得像在鳞茎时那样。花儿被送上了旅途。它躺在一个邮袋里，不断被挤压。虽然这很不好受，但不久终于结束了。

当旅程结束，女孩亲爱的朋友打开并阅读了信，他高兴得亲吻了花儿。然后，它被锁在抽屉里，在那里有很多动人的信，但没有一封是夹着花朵的。在这里，它是第一个，它也是惟一的，正如阳光曾经这样称呼它。一想到这里它就很高兴。

花儿有很长时间去想这个问题；当它在思考的时候，夏天过去了，连漫长的冬天也过去了。当夏天再次到来的时候，它从抽屉里被拿了出来。然而这次年轻人很不高兴。他狠狠地抓起信，并把诗扔掉，花儿随之掉在了地上。它被压平了、凋谢了，但为什么他把它扔在地上呢？虽然这里比在火里要好，在那儿纸被烧成了灰烬。发生什么事情了？原来女孩嘲弄了他。这个仲夏，她选择了另一个男朋友。

早上，太阳照射在被压扁了的小雪花莲上，它看起来就像是画在地上的。扫地的女仆把它捡起，放在其中一本书里。花儿又一次躺在了诗篇之中。

许多年过去了，那本书站在架子上。而现在，它终于被人拿下来打开阅读了。这是一本好书――是丹麦诗人安布罗修斯•斯图的歌曲和诗。正在看这本书的人翻到其中一页。

“啊，这里有一朵花！”他说道，“一朵雪花莲！这朵花放在这里一定有某种用意！可怜的安布罗修斯•斯图！他也是一朵雪花莲，一朵诗歌界的雪花莲。对于他的时代来说他来得太早了，所以他必须面对严酷的寒风和冰雨。他就像水杯中的一朵花，夏天的愚人，冬天的愚人，充满乐趣和稀奇古怪的幽默――然而他却是当时第一位、惟一一位年轻的丹麦诗人。没错，你被放在这里是有意义的！”

然后，雪花莲被重新放在书里。知道自己是一本美丽诗集的标记，还知道那位诗人也是一朵在寒冬被嘲笑的雪花莲，它感到既荣幸又兴奋。现在，花儿以自己的方式明白了这点，就像我们以我们的方式明白事情一样。

这就是雪花莲的童话故事。