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安徒生童话范文1
童话大师安徒生
我们熟悉的童话大师安徒生,全名汉斯·克里斯蒂安·安徒生.他1805年生于丹麦菲英岛欧登塞的贫民区.1875年病逝于商人麦尔乔家中他的父亲是个穷鞋匠,安徒生童年丧父,母亲改嫁,从小就被贫困折磨,先后在几家店铺里做学徒,没有受过正规教育.
他少年时代就对舞台产生了兴趣.1819年在哥本哈根皇家剧院当了一名小配角,后因嗓子失润被解雇.1822年,他得到剧院导演纳斯·科林的资助,就读于斯莱厄尔瑟的一所文法学院.1829年4月,安徒生的一部创作喜剧《在尼古拉耶夫塔上的爱情》正式在皇家剧院上演的那一天,这位年轻的剧作静静的地坐在大剧院的一个角落里，望着他所创作的人物活生生的出现在观众的面前，听着观众的喝彩，他的眼中不禁流出一行行的热泪。十年前，他几次想在这个剧院里找到一个小小的职位，都遭到奚落和否定。从那时到现在舞台上的演出为止，这是一段多么艰苦和漫长的过程!今天，他终于成功了，得到了公众的承认。
安徒生是从写成年人的文学作品开始的，不过他对丹麦文学—也对世界文学的最大贡献，却是童话。1835年，他在创作了诗歌、小说、剧本，并受到社会承认之后，他认真的思考一个问 题:谁最需要他写作呢？他感到最许要他写作的人莫过于丹麦的孩子，特别是穷苦的孩子，他们是多么的寂寞，不但没有上学的机会，没有玩具，甚至还没有朋友。他自己曾经就是一个这样的孩子，为使这些孩子凄惨的生活有一点温暖,同时通过这些东西来教育他们,使他们热爱生活.他觉得最表他的这个思想的文学形式就是童话.于是他立志要写童话,要做一个童话作家.
他已经成为赫赫有名的童话大师,这说明他以前的努力没有白费.
安徒生童话范文2
指导老师:吴龙辉
联系地址:湖南省平江县长寿镇太平小学
一本好书就像是我们最亲密的伙伴，就像一盏指路的明灯，就像一位良师益友。它能使我把阅读当成一种享受，感受心灵的激动，品味幸福，学会珍惜，伴随我成长。
安徒生童话范文3
From very humble1 beginnings, Hans Christian Andersen became one of the world's best loved storytellers. The Emperor's New Clothes, Thumbelina, and The Ugly Duckling (小鸭) are the titles of children's stories that should ring a bell(大受欢迎) with all of us. His 156 different stories are the most translated fiction in history. Even now, 200 years after his death,his stories are being told and re-told all over the world.
Andersen was born in a one-room house in Odense, Denmark on April 2,1805.His father was a shoemaker and his mother had been a washerwoman before she married Hans' father.As for the facts about his family,Andersen wrote much about them in his autobiography （自传）. His father died when Hans was only eleven years old. Young Andersen was wasting his time in school,daydreaming( 空想，白日梦 ) about the theater and the stories he would imagine.His mother sent him to work in a tailor's shop and later a tobacco factory to help support the family.Unhappy with these jobs,he left home at the age of fourteen to seek his fortune2 in Copenhagen.He nearly starved3 to death trying to earn a living as an artist, actor, dancer and singer.
Jonas Collin, a director of the Royal Theater and an influential （有影响的）govern- ment official, noticed Andersen when he was 17.Collin had read one of Andersen's plays and saw that the young man had talent （天才）. Collin sent him to a school near Copenhagen and eventually arranged private tutoring（私人教师）in Copenhagen.In 1828,at age 23, Andersen entered university in Copenhagen. Andersen began to be published in Denmark in 1829.In 1833 the king gave him travel money and he spent16 months traveling through Germany,France,Switzerland and Italy.As Andersen traveled he wrote many books about his experiences. Andersen wrote three different books about his own life. Some of his plays were big hits in Denmark and Danish children still sing some of his poems set to（为……设置背景）music. His best known stories were published between 1835 and 1850. Some are his own creations and others are his re-tellingof previously known Danish folk tales（民间故事）.
Andersen considered himself ugly all his life. He was tall and thin with a long nose. It was this self-view that inspired The Ugly Duckling. Andersen proposed（求婚） to several women during his life and was rejected4 by all of them.In spite of his lonely life he was able to create some of the most wonderful stories ever written. Andersen died on August 4, 1875.
注释：
1．humble adj．地位低下的
2．fortune n．好运，成功
3．starve vi.挨饿
4．reject vt．拒绝……的求婚
安徒生出身非常卑微，但他却成了世界上最受喜爱的作家之一。《皇帝的新装》、《拇指姑娘》和《丑小鸭》都是非常受大家喜爱的儿童故事。他所写的156个故事是历史上被翻译次数最多的作品。即使在其去世200年后的今天，他的作品还在世界各地被一遍遍地传诵。
1805年4月2日，安徒生出生在丹麦欧登塞一个只有一间房子的小屋里。他父亲是名鞋匠，而母亲出嫁前一直是个洗衣妇。关于家庭的这些情况，安徒生在自传中有过许多描述。安徒生年仅1l岁时，父亲就死了。小安徒生在学校里打发时光，成天只想着自己虚构的戏剧和故事。为维持家中的生计，母亲起初把他送到一家裁缝店干活，后来又让他到烟厂做工。安徒生并不喜欢这些工作，14岁那年他离家到哥本哈根寻找好运。他想通过当过艺术家、演员、舞者和歌手来谋生，为此却几乎饿死。
安徒生童话范文4
complexion, glittering white teeth, and clear soft eyes; and her
footstep was light in the dance, but her mind was lighter still. She
had a little child, not at all pretty; so he was put out to be
nursed by a laborer's wife, and his mother went to the count's castle.
She sat in splendid rooms, richly decorated with silk and velvet;
not a breath of air was allowed to blow upon her, and no one was
allowed to speak to her harshly, for she was nurse to the count's
child. He was fair and delicate as a prince, and beautiful as an
angel; and how she loved this child! Her own boy was provided for by being at the laborer's where the mouth watered more frequently than the pot boiled, and where in general no one was at home to take care of the child. Then he would cry, but what nobody knows nobody cares for; so he would cry till he was tired, and then fall asleep; and while we are asleep we can feel neither hunger nor thirst. Ah, yes; sleep is a capital invention.
As years went on, Anne Lisbeth's child grew apace like weeds,
although they said his growth had been stunted. He had become quite
a member of the family in which he dwelt; they received money to
keep him, so that his mother got rid of him altogether. She had become quite a lady; she had a comfortable home of her own in the town; and out of doors, when she went for a walk, she wore a bonnet; but she never walked out to see the laborer: that was too far from the town, and, indeed, she had nothing to go for, the boy now belonged to these laboring people. He had food, and he could also do something towards earning his living; he took care of Mary's red cow, for he knew how to tend cattle and make himself useful.
The great dog by the yard gate of a nobleman's mansion sits
proudly on the top of his kennel when the sun shines, and barks at
every one that passes; but if it rains, he creeps into his house,
and there he is warm and dry. Anne Lisbeth's boy also sat in the
sunshine on the top of the fence, cutting out a little toy. If it
was spring-time, he knew of three strawberry-plants in blossom,
which would certainly bear fruit. This was his most hopeful thought,
though it often came to nothing. And he had to sit out in the rain
in the worst weather, and get wet to the skin, and let the cold wind
dry the clothes on his back afterwards. If he went near the farmyard
belonging to the count, he was pushed and knocked about, for the men and the maids said he was so horrible ugly; but he was used to all this, for nobody loved him. This was how the world treated Anne
Lisbeth's boy, and how could it be otherwise. It was his fate to be
beloved by no one. Hitherto he had been a land crab; the land at
last cast him adrift. He went to sea in a wretched vessel, and sat
at the helm, while the skipper sat over the grog-can. He was dirty and
ugly, half-frozen and half-starved; he always looked as if he never
had enough to eat, which was really the case.
Late in the autumn, when the weather was rough, windy, and wet,
and the cold penetrated through the thickest clothing, especially at
sea, a wretched boat went out to sea with only two men on board, or,
more correctly, a man and a half, for it was the skipper and his
boy. There had only been a kind of twilight all day, and it soon
grew quite dark, and so bitterly cold, that the skipper took a dram to
warm him. The bottle was old, and the glass too. It was perfect in the
upper part, but the foot was broken off, and it had therefore been
fixed upon a little carved block of wood, painted blue. A dram is a
great comfort, and two are better still, thought the skipper, while
the boy sat at the helm, which he held fast in his hard seamed
hands. He was ugly, and his hair was matted, and he looked crippled
and stunted; they called him the field-laborer's boy, though in the
church register he was entered as Anne Lisbeth's son. The wind cut
through the rigging, and the boat cut through the sea. The sails,
filled by the wind, swelled out and carried them along in wild career.
It was wet and rough above and below, and might still be worse.
Hold! what is that? What has struck the boat? Was it a waterspout,
or a heavy sea rolling suddenly upon them?
"Heaven help us!" cried the boy at the helm, as the boat heeled
over and lay on its beam ends. It had struck on a rock, which rose
from the depths of the sea, and sank at once, like an old shoe in a
puddle. "It sank at once with mouse and man," as the saying is.
There might have been mice on board, but only one man and a half,
the skipper and the laborer's boy. No one saw it but the skimming
sea-gulls and the fishes beneath the water; and even they did not
see it properly, for they darted back with terror as the boat filled
with water and sank. There it lay, scarcely a fathom below the
surface, and those two were provided for, buried, and forgotten. The
glass with the foot of blue wood was the only thing that did not sink,
for the wood floated and the glass drifted away to be cast upon the
shore and broken; where and when, is indeed of no consequence. It
had served its purpose, and it had been loved, which Anne Lisbeth's
boy had not been. But in heaven no soul will be able to say, "Never
loved."
Anne Lisbeth had now lived in the town many years; she was
called "Madame," and felt dignified in consequence; she remembered the old, noble days, in which she had driven in the carriage, and had
associated with countess and baroness. Her beautiful, noble child
had been a dear angel, and possessed the kindest heart; he had loved
her so much, and she had loved him in return; they had kissed and
loved each other, and the boy had been her joy, her second life. Now
he was fourteen years of age, tall, handsome, and clever. She had
not seen him since she carried him in her arms; neither had she been
for years to the count's palace; it was quite a journey thither from
the town.
"I must make one effort to go," said Anne Lisbeth, "to see my
darling, the count's sweet child, and press him to my heart. Certainly
he must long to see me, too, the young count; no doubt he thinks of me and loves me, as in those days when he would fling his angel-arms
round my neck, and lisp 'Anne Liz.' It was music to my ears. Yes, I
must make an effort to see him again." She drove across the country in a grazier's cart, and then got out, and continued her journey on foot, and thus reached the count's castle. It was as great and magnificent as it had always been, and the garden looked the same as ever; all the servants were strangers to her, not one of them knew Anne Lisbeth, nor of what consequence she had once been there; but she felt sure the countess would soon let them know it, and her darling boy, too: how she longed to see him!
Now that Anne Lisbeth was at her journey's end, she was kept
waiting a long time; and for those who wait, time passes slowly. But
before the great people went in to dinner, she was called in and
spoken to very graciously. She was to go in again after dinner, and
then she would see her sweet boy once more. How tall, and slender, and thin he had grown; but the eyes and the sweet angel mouth were still beautiful. He looked at her, but he did not speak, he certainly did
not know who she was. He turned round and was going away, but she seized his hand and pressed it to her lips.
"Well, well," he said; and with that he walked out of the room. He
who filled her every thought! he whom she loved best, and who was
her whole earthly pride!
Anne Lisbeth went forth from the castle into the public road,
feeling mournful and sad; he whom she had nursed day and night, and
even now carried about in her dreams, had been cold and strange, and had not a word or thought respecting her. A great black raven darted down in front of her on the high road, and croaked dismally.
"Ah," said she, "what bird of ill omen art thou?" Presently she
passed the laborer's hut; his wife stood at the door, and the two
women spoke to each other.
"You look well," said the woman; "you're fat and plump; you are
well off."
"Oh yes," answered Anne Lisbeth.
"The boat went down with them," continued the woman; "Hans the
skipper and the boy were both drowned; so there's an end of them. I
always thought the boy would be able to help me with a few dollars.
He'll never cost you anything more, Anne Lisbeth."
"So they were drowned," repeated Anne Lisbeth; but she said no
more, and the subject was dropped. She felt very low-spirited, because her count-child had shown no inclination to speak to her who loved him so well, and who had travelled so far to see him. The journey had cost money too, and she had derived no great pleasure from it. Still she said not a word of all this; she could not relieve her heart by telling the laborer's wife, lest the latter should think she did not enjoy her former position at the castle. Then the raven flew over her, screaming again as he flew.
"The black wretch!" said Anne Lisbeth, "he will end by frightening
me today." She had brought coffee and chicory with her, for she
thought it would be a charity to the poor woman to give them to her to boil a cup of coffee, and then she would take a cup herself.
The woman prepared the coffee, and in the meantime Anne Lisbeth
seated her in a chair and fell asleep. Then she dreamed of something
which she had never dreamed before; singularly enough she dreamed of her own child, who had wept and hungered in the laborer's hut, and had been knocked about in heat and in cold, and who was now lying in the depths of the sea, in a spot only known by God. She fancied she was still sitting in the hut, where the woman was busy preparing the coffee, for she could smell the coffee-berries roasting. But suddenly it seemed to her that there stood on the threshold a
beautiful young form, as beautiful as the count's child, and this
apparition said to her, "The world is passing away; hold fast to me,
for you are my mother after all; you have an angel in heaven, hold
me fast;" and the child-angel stretched out his hand and seized her.
Then there was a terrible crash, as of a world crumbling to pieces,
and the angel-child was rising from the earth, and holding her by
the sleeve so tightly that she felt herself lifted from the ground;
but, on the other hand, something heavy hung to her feet and dragged
her down, and it seemed as if hundreds of women were clinging to
her, and crying, "If thou art to be saved, we must be saved too.
Hold fast, hold fast." And then they all hung on her, but there were
too many; and as they clung the sleeve was torn, and Anne Lisbeth fell down in horror, and awoke. Indeed she was on the point of falling over in reality with the chair on which she sat; but she was so startled
and alarmed that she could not remember what she had dreamed, only
that it was something very dreadful.
They drank their coffee and had a chat together, and then Anne
Lisbeth went away towards the little town where she was to meet the
carrier, who was to drive her back to her own home. But when she
came to him she found that he would not be ready to start till the
evening of the next day. Then she began to think of the expense, and
what the distance would be to walk. She remembered that the route by the sea-shore was two miles shorter than by the high road; and as
the weather was clear, and there would be moonlight, she determined to make her way on foot, and to start at once, that she might reach
home the next day.
The sun had set, and the evening bells sounded through the air
from the tower of the village church, but to her it was not the bells,
but the cry of the frogs in the marshes. Then they ceased, and all
around became still; not a bird could be heard, they were all at rest,
even the owl had not left her hiding place; deep silence reigned on
the margin of the wood by the sea-shore. As Anne Lisbeth walked on she could hear her own footsteps in the sands; even the waves of the sea were at rest, and all in the deep waters had sunk into silence.
There was quiet among the dead and the living in the deep sea. Anne
Lisbeth walked on, thinking of nothing at all, as people say, or
rather her thoughts wandered, but not away from her, for thought is
never absent from us, it only slumbers. Many thoughts that have lain
dormant are roused at the proper time, and begin to stir in the mind
and the heart, and seem even to come upon us from above. It is
written, that a good deed bears a blessing for its fruit; and it is
also written, that the wages of sin is death. Much has been said and
much written which we pass over or know nothing of. A light arises
within us, and then forgotten things make themselves remembered; and thus it was with Anne Lisbeth. The germ of every vice and every virtue lies in our heart, in yours and in mine; they lie like little grains
of seed, till a ray of sunshine, or the touch of an evil hand, or
you turn the corner to the right or to the left, and the decision is
made. The little seed is stirred, it swells and shoots up, and pours
its sap into your blood, directing your course either for good or
evil. Troublesome thoughts often exist in the mind, fermenting
there, which are not realized by us while the senses are as it were
slumbering; but still they are there. Anne Lisbeth walked on thus with
her senses half asleep, but the thoughts were fermenting within her.
From one Shrove Tuesday to another, much may occur to weigh down the heart; it is the reckoning of a whole year; much may be forgotten, sins against heaven in word and thought, sins against our neighbor, and against our own conscience. We are scarcely aware of their existence; and Anne Lisbeth did not think of any of her errors.
She had committed no crime against the law of the land; she was an
honorable person, in a good position- that she knew.
She continued her walk along by the margin of the sea. What was it
she saw lying there? An old hat; a man's hat. Now when might that have been washed overboard? She drew nearer, she stopped to look at the hat; "Ha! what was lying yonder?" She shuddered; yet it was nothing save a heap of grass and tangled seaweed flung across a long stone, but it looked like a corpse. Only tangled grass, and yet she was
frightened at it. As she turned to walk away, much came into her
mind that she had heard in her childhood: old superstitions of
spectres by the sea-shore; of the ghosts of drowned but unburied
people, whose corpses had been washed up on the desolate beach.
The body, she knew, could do no harm to any one, but the spirit could pursue the lonely wanderer, attach itself to him, and demand to be carried to the churchyard, that it might rest in consecrated ground.
"Hold fast! hold fast!" the spectre would cry; and as Anne Lisbeth
murmured these words to herself, the whole of her dream was suddenly recalled to her memory, when the mother had clung to her, and uttered these words, when, amid the crashing of worlds, her sleeve had been torn, and she had slipped from the grasp of her child, who wanted to hold her up in that terrible hour. Her child, her own child, which she had never loved, lay now buried in the sea, and might rise up, like a spectre, from the waters, and cry, "Hold fast; carry me
to consecrated ground!"
As these thoughts passed through her mind, fear gave speed to
her feet, so that she walked faster and faster. Fear came upon her
as if a cold, clammy hand had been laid upon her heart, so that she
almost fainted. As she looked across the sea, all there grew darker; a
heavy mist came rolling onwards, and clung to bush and tree,
distorting them into fantastic shapes. She turned and glanced at the
moon, which had risen behind her. It looked like a pale, rayless
surface, and a deadly weight seemed to hang upon her limbs. "Hold,"
thought she; and then she turned round a second time to look at the
moon. A white face appeared quite close to her, with a mist, hanging
like a garment from its shoulders. "Stop! carry me to consecrated
earth," sounded in her ears, in strange, hollow tones. The sound did
not come from frogs or ravens; she saw no sign of such creatures.
"A grave! dig me a grave!" was repeated quite loud. Yes, it was indeed the spectre of her child. The child that lay beneath the ocean, and whose spirit could have no rest until it was carried to the
churchyard, and until a grave had been dug for it in consecrated
ground. She would go there at once, and there she would dig. She
turned in the direction of the church, and the weight on her heart
seemed to grow lighter, and even to vanish altogether; but when she
turned to go home by the shortest way, it returned. "Stop! stop!"
and the words came quite clear, though they were like the croak of a
frog, or the wail of a bird. "A grave! dig me a grave!"
The mist was cold and damp, her hands and face were moist and
clammy with horror, a heavy weight again seized her and clung to
her, her mind became clear for thoughts that had never before been
there.
In these northern regions, a beech-wood often buds in a single
night and appears in the morning sunlight in its full glory of
youthful green. So, in a single instant, can the consciousness of
the sin that has been committed in thoughts, words, and actions of our past life, be unfolded to us. When once the conscience is awakened, it springs up in the heart spontaneously, and God awakens the conscience when we least expect it. Then we can find no excuse for ourselves; the deed is there and bears witness against us. The
thoughts seem to become words, and to sound far out into the world.
We are horrified at the thought of what we have carried within us, and at the consciousness that we have not overcome the evil which has its
origin in thoughtlessness and pride. The heart conceals within
itself the vices as well as the virtues, and they grow in the shallowest ground. Anne Lisbeth now experienced in thought what we have clothed in words. She was overpowered by them, and sank down
and crept along for some distance on the ground. "A grave! dig me a
grave!" sounded again in her ears, and she would have gladly buried
herself, if in the grave she could have found forgetfulness of her
actions.
It was the first hour of her awakening, full of anguish and
horror. Superstition made her alternately shudder with cold or burn
with the heat of fever. Many things, of which she had feared even to
speak, came into her mind. Silently, as the cloud-shadows in the
moonshine, a spectral apparition flitted by her; she had heard of it
before. Close by her galloped four snorting steeds, with fire flashing
from their eyes and nostrils. They dragged a burning coach, and within it sat the wicked lord of the manor, who had ruled there a hundred years before. The legend says that every night, at twelve o'clock, he drove into his castleyard and out again. He was not as pale as dead men are, but black as a coal. He nodded, and pointed to
Anne Lisbeth, crying out, "Hold fast! hold fast! and then you may ride again in a nobleman's carriage, and forget your child."
She gathered herself up, and hastened to the churchyard; but black
crosses and black ravens danced before her eyes, and she could not
distinguish one from the other. The ravens croaked as the raven had
done which she saw in the daytime, but now she understood what they said. "I am the raven-mother; I am the raven-mother," each raven
croaked, and Anne Lisbeth felt that the name also applied to her;
and she fancied she should be transformed into a black bird, and
have to cry as they cried, if she did not dig the grave. And she threw
herself upon the earth, and with her hands dug a grave in the hard
ground, so that the blood ran from her fingers. "A grave! dig me a
grave!" still sounded in her ears; she was fearful that the cock might
crow, and the first red streak appear in the east, before she had
finished her work; and then she would be lost. And the cock crowed,
and the day dawned in the east, and the grave was only half dug. An
icy hand passed over her head and face, and down towards her heart.
"Only half a grave," a voice wailed, and fled away. Yes, it fled
away over the sea; it was the ocean spectre; and, exhausted and
overpowered, Anne Lisbeth sunk to the ground, and her senses left her.
It was a bright day when she came to herself, and two men were
raising her up; but she was not lying in the churchyard, but on the
sea-shore, where she had dug a deep hole in the sand, and cut her hand with a piece of broken glass, whose sharp stern was stuck in a
little block of painted wood. Anne Lisbeth was in a fever.
Conscience had roused the memories of superstitions, and had so
acted upon her mind, that she fancied she had only half a soul, and
that her child had taken the other half down into the sea. Never would
she be able to cling to the mercy of Heaven till she had recovered
this other half which was now held fast in the deep water.
Anne Lisbeth returned to her home, but she was no longer the woman
she had been. Her thoughts were like a confused, tangled skein; only
one thread, only one thought was clear to her, namely that she must
carry the spectre of the sea-shore to the churchyard, and dig a
grave for him there; that by so doing she might win back her soul.
Many a night she was missed from her home, and was always found on the sea-shore waiting for the spectre.
In this way a whole year passed; and then one night she vanished
again, and was not to be found. The whole of the next day was spent in a useless search after her.
Towards evening, when the clerk entered the church to toll the
vesper bell, he saw by the altar Anne Lisbeth, who had spent the whole day there. Her powers of body were almost exhausted, but her eyes flashed brightly, and on her cheeks was a rosy flush. The last rays of the setting sun shone upon her, and gleamed over the altar upon the shining clasps of the Bible, which lay open at the words of the prophet Joel, "Rend your hearts and not your garments, and turn unto the Lord."
"That was just a chance," people said; but do things happen by
chance? In the face of Anne Lisbeth, lighted up by the evening sun,
could be seen peace and rest. She said she was happy now, for she
had conquered. The spectre of the shore, her own child, had come to
her the night before, and had said to her, "Thou hast dug me only half
a grave: but thou hast now, for a year and a day, buried me altogether
in thy heart, and it is there a mother can best hide her child!" And
then he gave her back her lost soul, and brought her into the church. "Now I am in the house of God," she said, "and in that house
we are happy."
When the sun set, Anne Lisbeth's soul had risen to that region
where there is no more pain; and Anne Lisbeth's troubles were at an
end.
THE END
安徒生童话范文5
“Spring is come.” Wild-flowers in profusion1 covered the hedges. Under the little apple-tree, Spring seemed busy, and told
his tale from one of the branches which hung fresh and blooming, and covered with delicate pink blossoms that were just ready
to open. The branch well knew how beautiful it was; this knowledge exists as much in the leaf as in the blood; I was
therefore not surprised when a nobleman’s carriage, in which sat the young countess, stopped in the road just by. She said
that an apple-branch was a most lovely object, and an emblem2 of spring in its most charming aspect. Then the branch was
broken off for her, and she held it in her delicate hand, and sheltered it with her silk parasol. Then they drove to the
castle, in which were lofty halls and splendid drawing-rooms. Pure white curtains fluttered before the open windows, and
beautiful flowers stood in shining, transparent3 vases; and in one of them, which looked as if it had been cut out of newly
fallen snow, the apple-branch was placed, among some fresh, light twigs4 of beech5. It was a charming sight. Then the branch
became proud, which was very much like human nature.
People of every description entered the room, and, according to their position in society, so dared they to express their
admiration6. Some few said nothing, others expressed too much, and the apple-branch very soon got to understand that there was
as much difference in the characters of human beings as in those of plants and flowers. Some are all for pomp and parade,
others have a great deal to do to maintain their own importance, while the rest might be spared without much loss to society.
So thought the apple-branch, as he stood before the open window, from which he could see out over gardens and fields, where
there were flowers and plants enough for him to think and reflect upon; some rich and beautiful, some poor and humble7 indeed.
“Poor, despised herbs,” said the apple-branch; “there is really a difference between them and such as I am. How
unhappy they must be, if they can feel as those in my position do! There is a difference indeed, and so there ought to be, or
we should all be equals.”
And the apple-branch looked with a sort of pity upon them, especially on a certain little flower that is found in fields
and in ditches. No one bound these flowers together in a nosegay; they were too common; they were even known to grow between
the paving-stones, shooting up everywhere, like bad weeds; and they bore the very ugly name of “dog-flowers” or
“dandelions.”
“Poor, despised plants,” said the apple-bough, “it is not your fault that you are so ugly, and that you have such an
ugly name; but it is with plants as with men,—there must be a difference.”
“A difference!” cried the sunbeam, as he kissed the blooming apple-branch, and then kissed the yellow dandelion out in
the fields. All were brothers, and the sunbeam kissed them—the poor flowers as well as the rich.
The apple-bough had never thought of the boundless9 love of God, which extends over all the works of creation, over
everything which lives, and moves, and has its being in Him; he had never thought of the good and beautiful which are so
often hidden, but can never remain forgotten by Him,—not only among the lower creation, but also among men. The sunbeam, the
ray of light, knew better.
“You do not see very far, nor very clearly,” he said to the apple-branch. “Which is the despised plant you so
specially8 pity?”
“The dandelion,” he replied. “No one ever places it in a nosegay; it is often trodden under foot, there are so many of
them; and when they run to seed, they have flowers like wool, which fly away in little pieces over the roads, and cling to
the dresses of the people. They are only weeds; but of course there must be weeds. O, I am really very thankful that I was
not made like one of these flowers.”
There came presently across the fields a whole group of children, the youngest of whom was so small that it had to be carried
by the others; and when he was seated on the grass, among the yellow flowers, he laughed aloud with joy, kicked out his
little legs, rolled about, plucked the yellow flowers, and kissed them in childlike innocence10. The elder children broke off
the flowers with long stems, bent11 the stalks one round the other, to form links, and made first a chain for the neck, then
one to go across the shoulders, and hang down to the waist, and at last a wreath to wear round the head, so that they looked
quite splendid in their garlands of green stems and golden flowers. But the eldest12 among them gathered carefully the faded
flowers, on the stem of which was grouped together the seed, in the form of a white feathery coronal. These loose, airy wool
-flowers are very beautiful, and look like fine snowy feathers or down. The children held them to their mouths, and tried to
blow away the whole coronal with one puff13 of the breath. They had been told by their grandmothers that who ever did so would
be sure to have new clothes before the end of the year. The despised flower was by this raised to the position of a prophet
or foreteller14 of events.
“Do you see,” said the sunbeam, “do you see the beauty of these flowers? do you see their powers of giving pleasure?”
“Yes, to children,” said the apple-bough.
By-and-by an old woman came into the field, and, with a blunt knife without a handle, began to dig round the roots of
some of the dandelion-plants, and pull them up. With some of these she intended to make tea for herself; but the rest she was
going to sell to the chemist, and obtain some money.
“But beauty is of higher value than all this,” said the apple-tree branch; “only the chosen ones can be admitted into
the realms of the beautiful. There is a difference between plants, just as there is a difference between men.”
Then the sunbeam spoke15 of the boundless love of God, as seen in creation, and over all that lives, and of the equal
distribution of His gifts, both in time and in eternity16.
“That is your opinion,” said the apple-bough.
Then some people came into the room, and, among them, the young countess,—the lady who had placed the apple-bough in the
transparent vase, so pleasantly beneath the rays of the sunlight. She carried in her hand something that seemed like a
flower. The object was hidden by two or three great leaves, which covered it like a shield, so that no draught17 or gust18 of
wind could injure it, and it was carried more carefully than the apple-branch had ever been. Very cautiously the large leaves
were removed, and there appeared the feathery seed-crown of the despised dandelion. This was what the lady had so carefully
plucked, and carried home so safely covered, so that not one of the delicate feathery arrows of which its mist-like shape was
so lightly formed, should flutter away. She now drew it forth19 quite uninjured, and wondered at its beautiful form, and airy
lightness, and singular construction, so soon to be blown away by the wind.
“See,” she exclaimed, “how wonderfully God has made this little flower. I will paint it with the apple-branch
together. Every one admires the beauty of the apple-bough; but this humble flower has been endowed by Heaven with another
kind of loveliness; and although they differ in appearance, both are the children of the realms of beauty.”
Then the sunbeam kissed the lowly flower, and he kissed the blooming apple-branch, upon whose leaves appeared a rosy20
blush.
那正是五月。风吹来仍然很冷；但是灌木和大树，田野和草原，都说春天已经到来了。处处都开满了花，一直开到灌木丛组成的篱笆上。春
天就在这儿讲它的故事。它在一棵小苹果树上讲——这棵树有一根鲜艳的绿枝：它上面布满了粉红色的、细嫩的、随时就要开放的花苞。它知
道它是多么美丽——它这种先天的知识深藏在它的叶子里，好像是流在血液里一样。因此当一位贵族的车子在它面前的路上停下来的时候，当
年轻的伯爵夫人说这根柔枝是世界上最美丽的东西、是春天最美丽的表现的时候，它一点也不感到惊奇。接着这枝子就被折断了。她把它握在
柔嫩的手里，并且还用绸阳伞替它遮住太阳。他们回到他们华贵的公馆里来。这里面有许多高大的厅堂和美丽的房间。洁白的窗帘在敞着的窗
子上迎风飘荡；好看的花儿在透明的、发光的花瓶里面亭亭地立着。有一个花瓶简直像是新下的雪所雕成的。这根苹果枝就插在它里面几根新
鲜的山毛榉枝子中间。看它一眼都使人感到愉快。
这根枝子变得骄傲气来；这也是人之常情。
各色各样的人走过这房间。他们可以根据自己的身份来表示他们的赞赏。有些人一句话也不讲；有些人却又讲得太多。苹果枝子知道，在
人类中间，正如在植物中间一样，也存在着区别。
“有些东西是为了好看；有些东西是为了实用；但是也有些东西却是完全没有用，”苹果树枝想。
正因为它是被放在一个敞着的窗子面前，同时又因为它从这儿可以看到花园和田野，因此它有许多花儿和植物供它思索和考虑。植物中有
富的，也有贫贱的——有的简直是太贫贱了。
“可怜没有人理的植物啊！”苹果枝说。“一切东西的确都有区别！如果这些植物也能像我和我一类的那些东西那样有感觉，它们一定会
感到多么不愉快啊。一切东西的确有区别，而且的确也应该如此，否则大家就都是一样的了！”
苹果枝对某些花儿——像田里和沟里丛生的那些花儿——特别表示出怜悯的样子。谁也不把他们扎成花束。它们是太普通了，人们甚至在
铺地石中间都可以看得到。它们像野草一样，在什么地方都冒出来，而且它们连名字都很丑，叫做什么“魔鬼的奶桶”（注：即蒲公英，因为
它折断后可以冒出像牛奶似的白浆。）。
“可怜被人瞧不起的植物啊！”苹果枝说。“你们的这种处境，你们的平凡，你们所得到的这些丑名字，也不能怪你们自己！在植物中间
，正如在人类中间一样，一切都有个区别啦！”
“区别？”阳光说。它吻着这盛开的苹果枝，但是它也吻着田野里的那些黄色的“魔鬼的奶桶”。阳光的所有弟兄们都吻着它们——吻着
下贱的花，也吻着富贵的花。
苹果枝从来就没想到，造物主对一切活着和动着的东西都一样给以无限的慈爱。它从来没有想到，美和善的东西可能会被掩盖住了，但是
并没有被忘记——这也是合乎人情的。
太阳光——明亮的光线——知道得更清楚：
“你的眼光看得不远，你的眼光看得不清楚！你特别怜悯的、没有人理的植物，是哪些植物呢？”
“魔鬼的奶桶！”苹果枝说。“人们从来不把它扎成花束。人们把它踩在脚底下，因为它们长得太多了。当它们在结子的时候，它们就像
小片的羊毛，在路上到处乱飞，还附在人的衣上。它们不过是野草罢了！——它们也只能是野草！啊，我真要谢天谢地，我不是它们这类植物
中的一种！”
从田野那儿来了一大群孩子。他们中最小的一个是那么小，还要别的孩子抱着他。当他被放到这些黄花中间的时候，他乐得大笑起来。他的小
腿踢着，遍地打滚。他只摘下这种黄花，同时天真烂漫地吻着它们。那些较大的孩子把这些黄花从空梗子上折下来，并且把这根梗子插到那根
梗子上，一串一串地联成链子。他们先做一个项链，然后又做一个挂在肩上的链子，一个系在腰间的链子，一个悬在胸脯上的链子，一个戴在
头上的链子。这真成了绿环子和绿链子的展览会。但是那几个大孩子当心地摘下那些落了花的梗子——它们结着以白绒球的形式出现的果实。
这松散的、缥缈的绒球，本身就是一件小小的完整的艺术品；它看起来像羽毛、雪花和茸毛。他们把它放在嘴面前，想要一口气把整朵的花球
吹走，因为祖母曾经说过：谁能够这样做，谁就可以在新年到来以前得到一套新衣。
所以在这种情况下，这朵被瞧不起的花就成了一个真正的预言家。
“你看到没有？”太阳光说。“你看到它的美没有？你看到它的力量没有？”
“看到了，它只能和孩子在一道时是这样！”苹果枝说。
这时有一个老太婆到田野里来了。她用一把没有柄的钝刀子在这花的周围挖着，把它从土里取出来。她打算把一部分的根子用来煮咖啡吃
；把另一部分拿到一个药材店里当做药用。
“不过美是一种更高级的东西呀！”苹果枝说。“只有少数特殊的人才可以走进美的王国。植物与植物之间是有区别的，正如人与人之间
有区别一样。”
于是太阳光就谈到造物主对于一切造物和有生命的东西的无限的爱，和对于一切东西永恒公平合理的分配。
“是的，这不过是你的看法！”苹果枝说。
这时有人走进房间里来了。那位美丽年轻的伯爵夫人也来了——把苹果枝插在透明的花瓶中，放在太阳光里的人就是她。她手里拿着一朵
花——或者一件类似花的东西。这东西被三四片大叶子掩住了：它们像一顶帽子似地在它的周围保护着，使微风或者大风都伤害不到它。它被
小心翼翼地端在手中，那根娇嫩的苹果枝从来也没受过这样的待遇。
那几片大叶子现在轻轻地被挪开了。人们可以看到那个被人瞧不起的黄色“魔鬼的奶桶”的柔嫩的白绒球！这就是它！她那么小心地把它
摘下来！她那么谨慎地把这带回家，好使那个云雾一般的圆球上的细嫩柔毛不致被风吹散。她把它保护得非常完整。她赞美它漂亮的形态，它
透明的外表，它特殊的构造，和它不可捉摸的、被风一吹即散的美。
“看吧，造物主把它创造得多么可爱！”她说。“我要把这根苹果枝画下来。大家现在都觉得它非凡地漂亮，不过这朵微贱的花儿，以另
一种方式也从上天得到了同样多的恩惠。虽然它们两者都有区别，但它们都是美的王国中的孩子。”
于是太阳光吻了这微贱的花儿，也吻了这开满了花的苹果枝——它的花瓣似乎泛出了一阵难为情的绯红。（1852年）
这也是一首散文诗，最初发表在1852年哥本哈根出版的《丹麦大众历书》上。“植物与植物之间是有区别的，正如人与人之间有区别
一样”。这里所说的“区别”是指“尊贵”和“微贱”之分。开满了花的苹果枝是“尊贵”的，遍地丛生的蒲公英是“微贱”的。虽然它们都
安徒生童话范文6
FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN1 ANDERSEN
HOLGER DANSKE
by Hans Christian Andersen
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 salute2 the old castle
with cannons3, "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 asunder5 as he draws out his beard. Then he will come forth6 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 carving7 an
image in wood to represent Holger Danske, to be fastened to the prow8 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 erect9 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 distinguished10 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.
"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 untied11 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, and the flame became a rose on her bosom12, 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, where cannons roared and the ships lay shrouded13 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, 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 hovering14 flame, he knew whither it would lead him. In a
peasant woman's humble15 room stood Frederick the Sixth, 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, when we showed that we were true, ancient Danes. I was on board the Denmark, in Steene Bille's squadron; I had a man by my side whom even the cannon4 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 likeness16."
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 steadily17. 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, emblems18 of strength and gentleness, and explained quite clearly that there is another strength than that which lies in a
sword, and he pointed19 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 follies20 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 Tower 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 sculptor21, 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."
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 saluted22 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.
THE END