安徒生童话THE WILLOTHE WISP IS IN THE TOWN SAYS THE MOOR WOMAN.docx
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安徒生童话THE WILLOTHE WISP IS IN THE TOWN SAYS THE MOOR WOMAN.docx
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安徒生童话THEWILLOTHEWISPISINTHETOWNSAYSTHEMOORWOMAN
1872
FAIRYTALESOFHANSCHRISTIANANDERSEN
THEWILL-O-THEWISPISINTHETOWN,
SAYSTHEMOORWOMAN
byHansChristianAndersen
THEREwasamanwhoonceknewmanystories,buttheyhadslipped
awayfromhim-sohesaid.TheStorythatusedtovisithimofitsown
accordnolongercameandknockedathisdoor.Andwhydiditcome
nolonger?
Itistrueenoughthatfordaysandyearsthemanhadnot
thoughtofit,hadnotexpectedittocomeandknock;andifhehad
expectedit,itwouldcertainlynothavecome;forwithouttherewas
war,andwithinwasthecareandsorrowthatwarbringswithit.
Thestorkandtheswallowscamebackfromtheirlongjourney,
fortheythoughtofnodanger;and,behold,whentheyarrived,the
nestwasburnt,thehabitationsofmenwereburnt,thehedgeswereall
indisorder,andeverythingseemedgone,andtheenemy'shorseswere
stampingintheoldgraves.Thosewerehard,gloomytimes,butthey
cametoanend.
Andnowtheywerepastandgone-sopeoplesaid;yetnoStorycame
andknockedatthedoor,orgaveanytidingsofitspresence.
"Isupposeitmustbedead,orgoneawaywithmanyother
things,"saidtheman.
Butthestoryneverdies.Andmorethanawholeyearwentby,
andhelonged-oh,soverymuch!
-fortheStory.
"IwonderiftheStorywillevercomebackagainandknock?
"
Andheremembereditsowellinallthevariousformsinwhich
ithadcometohim,sometimesyoungandcharming,likespring
itself,sometimesasabeautifulmaiden,withawreathofthymeinher
hair,andabeechenbranchinherhand,andwitheyesthatgleamed
likedeepwoodlandlakesinthebrightsunshine.
Sometimesithadcometohimintheguiseofapeddler,andhad
openeditsboxandletsilverribboncomeflutteringout,with
versesandinscriptionsofoldremembrances.
Butitwasmostcharmingofallwhenitcameasanold
grandmother,withsilveryhair,andsuchlarge,sensibleeyes.She
knewsowellhowtotellabouttheoldesttimes,longbeforethe
princessesspunwiththegoldenspindles,andthedragonslay
outsidethecastles,guardingthem.Shetoldwithsuchanairof
truth,thatblackspotsdancedbeforetheeyesofallwhoheardher,
andthefloorbecameblackwithhumanblood;terribletoseeandto
hear,andyetsoentertaining,becausesuchalongtimehadpassed
sinceitallhappened.
"Williteverknockatmydooragain?
"saidtheman,andhe
gazedatthedoor,sothatblackspotscamebeforehiseyesandupon
thefloor;hedidnotknowifitwasblood,ormourningcrapefromthe
darkheavydays.
Andashesatthus,thethoughtcameuponhimwhethertheStory
mightnothavehiddenitself,liketheprincessintheoldtale.And
hewouldnowgoinsearchofit;ifhefoundit,itwouldbeamin
newsplendor,lovelierthanever.
"Whoknows?
Perhapsithashiddenitselfinthestrawthat
balancesonthemarginofthewell.Carefully,carefully!
Perhapsit
lieshiddeninacertainflower-thatflowerinoneofthegreatbooks
onthebook-shelf."
Andthemanwentandopenedoneofthenewestbooks,togain
informationonthispoint;buttherewasnoflowertobefound.
TherehereadaboutHolgerDanske;andthemanreadthatthetale
hadbeeninventedandputtogetherbyamonkinFrance,thatitwas
aromance,"translatedintoDanishandprintedinthatlanguage;"that
HolgerDanskehadneverreallylived,andconsequentlycouldnever
comeagain,aswehavesung,andhavebeensogladtobelieve.And
WilliamTellwastreatedjustlikeHolgerDanske.Thesewereall
onlymyths-nothingonwhichwecoulddepend;andyetitisall
writteninaverylearnedbook.
"Well,IshallbelievewhatIbelieve!
"saidtheman."Theregrows
noplantainwherenofoothastrod."
Andheclosedthebookandputitbackinitsplace,andwentto
thefreshflowersatthewindow.PerhapstheStorymighthavehidden
itselfintheredtulips,withthegoldenyellowedges,orinthe
freshrose,orinthebeamingcamellia.Thesunshinelayamongthe
flowers,butnoStory.
Theflowerswhichhadbeenhereinthedarktroubloustimehad
beenmuchmorebeautiful;buttheyhadbeencutoff,oneafter
another,tobewovenintowreathsandplacedincoffins,andthe
flaghadwavedoverthem!
PerhapstheStoryhadbeenburiedwiththe
flowers;butthentheflowerswouldhaveknownofit,andthecoffin
wouldhaveheardit,andeverylittlebladeofgrassthatshotforth
wouldhavetoldofit.TheStoryneverdies.
Perhapsithasbeenhereonce,andhasknocked;butwhohadeyes
orearsforitinthosetimes?
Peoplelookeddarkly,gloomily,and
almostangrilyatthesunshineofspring,atthetwitteringbirds,and
allthecheerfulgreen;thetonguecouldnotevenbeartheold
merry,popularsongs,andtheywerelaidinthecoffinwithsomuch
thatourhearthelddear.TheStorymayhaveknockedwithoutobtaining
ahearing;therewasnonetobiditwelcome,andsoitmayhavegone
away.
"Iwillgoforthandseekit.Outinthecountry!
outinthewood!
andontheopenseabeach!
"
Outinthecountryliesanoldmanorhouse,withredwalls,
pointedgables,andaredflagthatfloatsonthetower.The
nightingalesingsamongthefinely-fringedbeech-leaves,lookingat
thebloomingappletreesofthegarden,andthinkingthattheybear
roses.Herethebeesaremightilybusyinthesummer-time,andhover
roundtheirqueenwiththeirhummingsong.Theautumnhasmuchtotell
ofthewildchase,oftheleavesofthetrees,andoftheracesofmen
thatarepassingawaytogether.Thewildswanssingat
Christmas-timeontheopenwater,whileintheoldhalltheguests
bythefiresidegladlylistentosongsandtooldlegends.
Downintotheoldpartofthegarden,wherethegreatavenueof
wildchestnuttreesluresthewanderertotreaditsshades,wentthe
manwhowasinsearchoftheStory;forherethewindhadonce
murmuredsomethingtohimof"WaldemarDaaandhisDaughters."The
Dryadinthetree,whowastheStory-motherherself,hadheretoldhim
the"DreamoftheOldOakTree."Here,inthetimeoftheancestral
mother,hadstoodclippedhedges,butnowonlyfernsandstinging
nettlesgrewthere,hidingthescatteredfragmentsofoldsculptured
figures;themossisgrowingintheireyes,buttheycanseeaswell
asever,whichwasmorethanthemancoulddowhowasinsearchofthe
Story,forhecouldnotfindthat.Wherecoulditbe?
Thecrowsflewpasthimbyhundredsacrosstheoldtrees,and
screamed,"Krah!
da!
-Krah!
da!
"
Andhewentoutofthegardenandoverthegrass-plotoftheyard,
intothealdergrove;therestoodalittlesix-sidedhouse,witha
poultry-yardandaduck-yard.Inthemiddleoftheroomsattheold
womanwhohadthemanagementofthewhole,andwhoknewaccurately
abouteveryeggthatwaslaid,andabouteverychickenthatcould
creepoutofanegg.ButshewasnottheStoryofwhichthemanwasin
search;thatshecouldattestwithaChristiancertificateof
baptismandofvaccinationthatlayinherdrawer.
Without,notfarfromthehouse,isahillcoveredwith
red-thornandbroom.Hereliesanoldgrave-stone,whichwasbrought
heremanyyearsagofromthechurchyardoftheprovincialtown,a
remembranceofoneofthemosthonoredcouncillorsoftheplace;his
wifeandhisfivedaughters,allwithfoldedhandsandstiffruffs,
standroundhim.Onecouldlookatthemsolong,thatithadaneffect
uponthethoughts,andthesereacteduponthestones,asifthey
weretellingofoldtimes;atleastithadbeensowiththemanwho
wasinsearchoftheStory.
Ashecamenearer,henoticedalivingbutterflysittingonthe
foreheadofthesculpturedcouncillor.Thebutterflyflappedits
wings,andflewalittlebitfarther,andthenreturnedfatiguedto
situponthegrave-stone,asiftopointoutwhatgrewthere.
Four-leavedshamrocksgrewthere;thereweresevenspecimensclose
toeachother.Whenfortunecomes,itcomesinaheap.Heplucked
theshamrocksandputtheminhispocket.
"Fortuneisasgoodasredgold,butanewcharmingstorywouldbe
betterstill,"thoughttheman;buthecouldnotfindithere.
Andthesunwentdown,roundandlarge;themeadowwascovered
withvapor.Themoor-womanwasatherbrewing.
Itwasevening.Hestoodaloneinhisroom,andlookedoutupon
thesea,overthemeadow,overmoorandcoast.Themoonshone
bright,amistwasoverthemeadow,makingitlooklikeagreat
lake;and,indeed,itwasonceso,asthelegendtells-andinthe
moonlighttheeyerealizesthesemyths.
Thenthemanthoughtofwhathehadbeenreadinginthetown,that
WilliamTellandHolgerDanskeneverreallylived,butyetlivein
popularstory,likethelakeyonder,alivingevidenceforsuchmyths.
Yes,HolgerDanskewillreturnagain!
Ashestoodthusandthought,somethingbeatquitestrongly
againstthewindow.Wasitabird,abatoranowl?
Thosearenot
letin,evenwhentheyknock.Thewindowflewopenofitself,andan
oldwomanlookedinattheman.
"What'syourpleasure?
"saidhe."Whoareyou?
You'relookingin
atthefirstfloorwindow.Areyoustandingonaladder?
"
"Youhaveafour-leavedshamrockinyourpocket,"shereplied.
"Indeed,youhaveseven,andoneofthemisasix-leavedone."
"Whoareyou?
"askedthemanagain.
"TheMoor-woman,"shereplied."TheMoor-womanwhobrews.Iwasat
it.Thebungwasinthecask,butoneofthelittlemoor-impspulled
itoutinhismischief,andflungitupintotheyard,whereitbeat
againstthewindow;andnowthebeer'srunningoutofthecask,and
thatwon'tdogoodtoanybody."
"Praytellmesomemore!
"saidtheman.
"Yes,waitalittle,"answeredtheMoor-woman.
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