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安徒生童話故事第67篇：柳樹下的夢Under the Willow-tree
引導(dǎo)語：關(guān)于安徒生的童話故事大家閱讀學(xué)習(xí)過哪些?會給大家?guī)硎裁礃拥膯⑹灸?下面是小編收集的一篇安徒生童話，有中英文版本，歡迎大家閱讀!
卻格附近一帶是一片荒涼的地區(qū)。這個小城市是在海岸的近旁——這永遠(yuǎn)要算是一個美麗的位置。要不是因為周圍全是平淡無奇的田野，而且離開森林很遠(yuǎn)，它可能還要更可愛一點。但是，當(dāng)你在一個地方真正住慣了的時候，你總會發(fā)現(xiàn)某些可愛的東西，你就是住在世界上別的最可愛的地方，你也會懷戀它的。我們還得承認(rèn)：在這個小城的外圍，在一條流向大海的小溪的兩岸，有幾個簡陋的小花園，這兒，夏天的風(fēng)景是很美麗的。這是兩個小鄰居，克努得和約翰妮的感覺。他們在那兒一起玩耍!他們穿過醋栗叢來彼此相會。
在這樣的一個小花園里，長著一棵接骨木樹;在另一個小花園里長著一棵老柳樹。這兩個小孩子特別喜歡在這株柳樹下面玩耍;他們也得到了許可到這兒來玩耍。盡管這樹長在溪流的近旁，很容易使他們落到水里去。不過上帝的眼睛在留神著他們，否則他們就可能出亂子。此外，他們自己是非常謹(jǐn)慎的。事實上，那個男孩子是一個非常怕水的懦夫，在夏天誰也沒有辦法勸他走下海去，雖然別的孩子很喜歡到浪花上去嬉戲。囟此他成了一個被別人譏笑的對象;他也只好忍受。不過有一次鄰家的那個小小的約翰妮做了一個夢，夢見她自己駕著一只船在卻格灣行駛。克努得涉水向她走來，水淹到他的頸上，最后淹沒了他的頭頂。自從克努得昕到了這個夢的時候起，他就再也不能忍受別人把他稱為怕水的懦夫。他常常提起約翰妮所做的那個夢——這是他的一件很得意的事情，但是他卻不走下水去。
他們的父母都是窮苦的人，經(jīng)常互相拜訪。
克努得和約翰妮在花園里和公路上玩耍。公路上沿著水溝長著一排柳樹。柳樹并不漂亮，因為它們的頂都剪禿了;不過它們栽在那兒并不是為了裝飾，而是為了實際的用處。花園里的那棵老柳樹要漂亮得多，因此他們常常喜歡坐在它的下面。
卻格城里有一個大市場。在趕集的日子，整條街都布滿了篷攤，出賣緞帶、靴子和人們所想要買的一切東西。來的人總是擁擠不堪，天氣經(jīng)常總是在下雨。這時你就可以聞到農(nóng)人衣服上所發(fā)出來的一股氣味，但是你也可以聞到蜜糕和姜餅的香氣——有一個篷攤子擺滿了這些東西。最可愛的事情是：每年在趕集的季節(jié)，賣這些蜜糕的那個人就來寄住在小克努得的父親家里。因此，他們自然能嘗得到一點姜餅，當(dāng)然小約翰妮也能分吃到一點。不過最妙的事情是，那個賣姜餅的人還會講故事：他可以講關(guān)于任何一件東西的故事，甚至于關(guān)于他的姜餅的故事。有一天晚上他就講了一個關(guān)于姜餅的故事。這故事給了孩子們一個很深刻的印象，他們永遠(yuǎn)忘記不了。因為這個緣故，我想我們最好也聽聽它，尤其是因為這個故事并不太長。
他說：“柜臺上放著兩塊姜餅。有一塊是一個男子的形狀，戴一頂禮帽;另一塊是一個小姑娘，沒有戴帽子，但是戴著一片金葉子。他們的臉都是在餅子朝上的那一面，好使人們一眼就能看清楚，不至于弄錯。的確，誰也不會從反面去看他們的。男子的左邊有一顆味苦的杏仁——這就是他的心;相反地，姑娘的全身都是姜餅。他們被放在柜臺上作為樣品。他們在那上面呆了很久，最后他們兩個人就發(fā)生了愛情，佴是誰也不說出口來。如果他們想得到一個什么結(jié)果的話，他們就應(yīng)該說出來才是。
“他是一個男子，他應(yīng)該先開口，”她想。不過她仍然感到很滿意，因為她知道他是同樣地愛她。
“他的想法卻是有點過分——男子一般都是這樣。他夢想著自己是一個真正有生命的街頭孩子，身邊帶著四枚銅板，把這姑娘買過來，一口吃掉了。
“他們就這樣在柜臺上躺了許多天和許多星期，終于變得又干又硬了。她的思想?yún)s越變越溫柔和越女子氣。
“‘我能跟他在柜臺上躺在一起，已經(jīng)很滿意了!她想。于是——啪!——她裂為兩半。
‘如果她知道我的愛情，她也許可以活得更久一點!他想。
“這就是耶個故事。他們兩個人現(xiàn)在都在這兒。”糕餅老板說。“就他們奇特的歷史和們沒有結(jié)果的沉默愛情說來，他們真是了不起!
現(xiàn)在我就把他們送給你們吧!”他這么說著，就把那個還是完整的男子送給約翰妮，把那個碎裂了的姑娘送給克努得。不過這個故事感動了他們，他們鼓不起勇氣來把這對戀人吃掉。
第二天他們帶著姜餅到卻格公墓去。教堂的墻上長滿了最茂盛的長春藤;它冬天和夏天懸在墻上，簡直像是一張華麗的掛毯。他們把姜餅放在太陽光中的綠葉里，然后把這個沒有結(jié)果的、沉默的愛情的故事講給一群小孩子聽。這叫“愛”，因為這故事很可愛——在這一點上大家都同意。不過，當(dāng)他們再看看這對姜餅戀人的時候，哎呀，一個存心拆爛污的大孩子己經(jīng)把那個碎裂的姑娘吃掉了。孩子們大哭了一通，然后——大概是為了要不讓那個男戀人在這世界上感到寂寞凄涼——他們也把他吃掉了。但是他們一直沒有忘掉這個故事。
孩子們經(jīng)常在接骨木樹旁和柳樹底下玩耍。那個小女孩用銀鈴一樣清脆的聲音唱著最美麗的歌。可是克努得沒有唱歌的天才;他只是知道歌中的詞句——不過這也不壞。當(dāng)約翰妮在唱著的時候，卻格的居民，甚至鐵匠鋪富有的老板娘，都靜靜地站著聽。“那個小姑娘有一個甜蜜的聲音!”她說。
這是人生最美麗的季節(jié)，但不能永遠(yuǎn)是這樣。鄰居已經(jīng)搬走了。小姑娘的媽媽已經(jīng)去世了;她的爸爸打算遷到京城里去，重新討一個太太，因為他在那兒可以找到一個職業(yè)——他要在一個機(jī)關(guān)里當(dāng)個送信人，這是一個收人頗豐的差使。因此兩個鄰居就流著眼淚分手了。孩子們特別痛哭了一陣;不過兩家的老人都答應(yīng)一年最少通信一次。
克努得做了一個鞋匠的學(xué)徒，因為一個大孩子不能再把日子荒廢下去;此外他已經(jīng)受過了堅信禮!
啊，他多么希望能在一個節(jié)日到哥本哈根去看看約翰妮啊!但他沒有去，他從來沒有到那兒去過，雖然它離卻格只不過70多里地的路程。不過當(dāng)天氣晴朗的時候，克努得從海灣望去，可以遙遙看到塔頂;在他受堅信禮曲那天，他還清楚地看見圣母院教堂上的發(fā)著閃光的十字架呢。
啊，他多么懷念約翰妮啊!也許她也記得他吧?是的，快到圣誕節(jié)的時候，她的父親寄了一封信給克努得的爸爸和媽媽。信上說，他們在哥本哈根生活得很好，尤其是約翰妮，因為她有美麗的嗓音，她可以期待有一個光明的前途。她已經(jīng)跟一個歌劇院訂了合同，而且已經(jīng)開始賺些錢了。她現(xiàn)在從她的收入中省下一塊大洋，寄給她住在卻格的親愛的鄰居過這個快樂的圣誕節(jié)。在“附言”中她親自加了一筆，請他們喝一杯祝她健康的酒;同時還有：“向克努得親切地致意。”
一家人全哭起來了，然而這是很愉快的——他們所流出來的是愉快的眼淚。克努得的思想每天環(huán)縈在約翰妮的身上;現(xiàn)在他知道她也在想念他。當(dāng)他快要學(xué)完手藝的時候，他就更清楚地覺得他愛約翰妮。她一定得成為他的親愛的妻子。當(dāng)他想到這點的時候，他的嘴唇上就飄出一絲微笑;于是他做鞋的速度也就加快了兩倍，同時用腳緊軸著膝蓋上的皮墊子。
他的錐子刺進(jìn)了他的手指，但是他也不在意。他下了決心不要像那對姜餅一樣，扮演一個啞巴戀人的角色;他從那個故事得到了一個很好的教訓(xùn)。
現(xiàn)在他成了一個皮鞋師傅。他打好背包淮備旅行了;他算是有生第一次終于要去哥本哈根了。他已經(jīng)在那兒接洽好了一個主人。嗨，約翰妮一定是非常奇怪和高興的!她現(xiàn)在是17歲了，他已經(jīng)19。
當(dāng)他還在卻格的時候，他就想為她買一個金戒指。不過他想，他可以在哥本哈根買到更漂亮的戒指。因此他就向他的父母告別了。這是一個晚秋下雨的天氣，他在微微的細(xì)雨中動身離開了生養(yǎng)他的小城。樹上的葉子在簌簌地下落;當(dāng)他到達(dá)哥本哈根新主人家里的時候，他已經(jīng)全身透濕了。
在接著的一個星期日里，他就去拜望約翰妮的父親。他穿上了一套手藝人的新衣服，戴上一頂卻格的新禮帽。這裝束對現(xiàn)在的克努得很相稱，從前他只戴一項小便帽。他找到了他所要拜訪的那座房子。他爬了好幾層樓，他的頭都幾乎要昏了。在這個人煙稠密的城市里，人們一層堆上一層地住在一起。這在他眼里真是太糟糕了。
房間里是一種富足的樣子;約翰妮的父親對他非常客氣。他的新太太對他說來，是一個生人，不過她仍跟他握手，請他吃咖啡。
“約翰妮看到你一定會很高興的!”親說。“你現(xiàn)在長成一個很漂亮的年輕人了……你馬上就可以看到她!她是一個使我快樂的孩子，上帝保佑，我希望她更快樂。她自己住一間小房，而且還付給我們房租!”
于是父親就在一個門上非常客氣地敲了一下，好像他是一個客人似的。然后他們走迸去了。嗨，這房間是多么漂亮啊!這樣的房間在整個的卻格都找不到的。就是皇后也不會有比這可愛的房悶!它地上鋪得有地毯，窗簾一直垂到地上;四周全是花和畫，還有一面鏡子——它大得像一扇門，人們一不留心就很容易朝它走進(jìn)去;甚至還有一把天鵝絨的椅子。
克努得一眼就看見了這些東西;不過他眼中只有約翰妮。她現(xiàn)在已經(jīng)是一個成年的小姐了。她跟克努得所想象的完全不向，但是更美麗。她不再是一個卻格的姑娘了，她是多么文雅啊!她朝克努得看了一眼，她的視線顯得多么奇怪和生疏啊!不過這情形只持續(xù)了片刻;不一會兒她向他跑過來，好像她想要吻他一下似的。事實上她沒有這樣做，但是她幾乎這樣做了。是的，她看到她兒時的朋友，心中感到非常高興!她的眼睛里亮著淚珠。她有許多話要說，她有許多事情要問——從克努得父母一直問到接骨木樹和柳樹——她把它們叫做接骨木樹媽媽和柳樹爸爸，好像它們就像人一樣。的確，像姜餅一樣，它們也可以當(dāng)作人看。她也談起姜餅，談起他們的沉默的愛情，他們怎樣躺在柜臺上，然后裂為兩半——這時她就哈哈大笑起來。不過克努得的血卻涌到臉上來了，他的心跳得比什么時候都快。不，她一點也沒有變得驕傲!他注意到，她的父母請他來玩一晚上，完全是由于她的示意。她親手倒茶，把杯子遞給他。后來她取出一本書，大聲地念給他們聽。克努得似乎覺得她所念的是關(guān)于他自己的愛情，因為那跟他的思想恰恰相吻合。于是她又唱了一支簡單的歌;在她的歌聲中，這支歌好像是一段歷史，好像是從她的心里傾倒出來的話語。是的，她一定是喜歡克努得的。眼淚從他的臉上流下來了——他抑制不住，他也說不出半個字來。他覺得自己很傻;但是她緊握著他的手，說：
“你有一顆善良的心，克努得——我希望你永遠(yuǎn)是這樣!”
這是克努得的元比幸福的一晚。要想睡是不可能的;實際上克努得也沒有睡。
在告別的時候，約翰妮的父親曾經(jīng)說過：“唔，你不會馬上就忘記我們吧!你不會讓這整個的冬天過去，不再來看我們一次吧?”因此他下個禮拜天又可以再去，而他也就決定去了。
每天晚上，工作完了以后——他們在燭光下做活——克努得就穿過這城市，走過街道，到約翰妮住的地方去。他抬起頭來朝她的窗子望，窗子差不多總是亮著的。有一天晚上他清楚地看到她的面孔映在窗簾上——這真是最可愛的一晚!他的老板娘不喜歡他每晚在外面“游蕩”——引用她的話——所以她常常搖頭。不過老板只是笑笑。
“他是一個年輕小伙子呀!”他說。
克努得心想，我們在禮拜天要見面。我要告訴她，說我整個的思想中只有她，她一定要做我親愛的妻子才成。我知道我不過是一個賣長工的鞋匠，但是我可以成為一個師傅，最低限度成為一個獨立的師傅。 我要工作和斗爭下去——是的，我要把這告訴她。沉默的愛情是不會有什么結(jié)果的：我從那兩塊姜餅已經(jīng)得到了教訓(xùn)了。”
星期天到來了。克努得大步地走去。不過，很不幸!他們一家人都要出去，而且不得不當(dāng)面告訴他。約翰妮握著他的手，問道：
“你到戲院去過沒有?你應(yīng)該去一次。星期三我將要上臺去唱歌”如果你那天晚上有時間的話，我將送你一張票子。我父親知道你的老板的住址。”
她的用意是多好啊!星期三中午，他收到了一個封好了的紙?zhí)祝厦嬉粋�字也沒有寫，但是里面卻有一張票。晚間，克努得有生第下次到戲院里去。他看到了什么呢?他看到了約翰妮——她是那么美麗，那么可愛!她跟一個生人結(jié)了婚，不過那是在做戲——克努得知道得很清楚，這不過是扮演而已，否則她決不會有那么大的勇氣送他一張票，讓他去看她結(jié)婚的!觀眾都在喝彩，鼓掌。克努得喊：“好!”
連國王也對約翰妮微笑起來，好像他也喜歡她似的。上帝啊!克努得感到自己多么渺小啊!不過他是那么熱烈地愛她，而且認(rèn)為她也喜歡他。但是男子應(yīng)該先開口——那個姜餅姑娘就是這樣想的。這個故事的意義是深長的。
當(dāng)星期天一到來的時候，克努得又去了。他的心情跟去領(lǐng)圣餐的時候差不多。約翰妮一個人單獨在家。她接待他——世界上再沒有比這更幸運的事情。
“你來得正好，”她說，“我原來想叫我的父親去告訴你，不過我有一個預(yù)感，覺得你今晚會來。我要告訴你，星期五我就要到法國去：如果我想要有一點成就的話，我非得這樣做不可。”
克努得覺得整個的房間在打轉(zhuǎn)，他的心好像要爆裂。不過他的眼睛里卻沒有涌出眼淚來，人們可以很清楚地看出，他感到多么悲哀。
約翰妮看到了這個情景，也幾乎要哭出來。
“你這老實的、忠誠的人啊!”她說。
她的這句話使克努得敢于開口了。他告訴她說，他怎樣始終如一地愛她，她一定要做他親愛的妻子才成。當(dāng)他說這話的時候，他看到約翰妮的面孔變得慘白。她放松了手，同時嚴(yán)肅地、悲哀地回答說：
“克努得，錆不要把你自己和我弄得痛苦吧。我將永遠(yuǎn)是你的一個好妹妹——你可以相信我。不過除此以外，我什么也辦不到。”
于是她把她柔嫩的手貼到他灼熱的額上。“上帝會給我們勇氣應(yīng)付一切，只要人有這個志愿。”
這時候她的繼母走到房間里來了。
“克努得難過得很，因為我要離去!”她說，“拿出男子氣概來吧!”她把手搭在他的肩上，好像他們在談?wù)撝P(guān)于旅行的事情而沒有談別的東西似的。“你還是一個孩子!”她說：“不過現(xiàn)在你必須要聽話，要有理智，像我們小時在那棵柳樹底下一樣。”
克努得覺得世界似乎有一塊已經(jīng)塌下去了。他的思想像一根無所歸依的線，在風(fēng)中飄蕩。他呆下沒有走，他不知道她們有沒有留他坐下來，但是他們一家人都是很和氣和善良的。約翰妮倒茶給他喝，對他唱歌。她的歌調(diào)跟以前不同，但是聽起來是分外美麗，使得他的心要裂成碎片。然后他們就告別了。克努得沒有向她伸出手來。但是她握著他的手，說：
“我小時一起玩的兄弟，你一定會握一下你的妹妹的手，作為告別吧!”
她微笑著，眼淚從她的臉上流下來。她又重復(fù)地說一次“哥哥”——好像這樣能起多大作用似的!——他們就這樣告別了。
她坐船到法國去了，克努得在滿地泥濘的哥本哈根街頭走著。皮鞋店里別的人問他為什么老是這樣心事重重地走來走去，他應(yīng)該跟大伙兒一塊去玩玩才對，因為他終究還是一個年輕人。
他們帶著他到跳舞的地方去。那兒有許多漂亮的女子，但是沒有一個像約翰妮。他想在這些地方把她忘記掉，而她卻更生動地在他的思想中顯現(xiàn)出來了。“上帝會給我們勇氣應(yīng)付一切，只要人有這個志愿”她曾經(jīng)這樣說過。這時他有一種虔誠的感覺，他疊著手什么也不玩。提琴在奏出音樂，年輕的姑娘在圍成圓圈跳舞。他怔了一下，因為他似乎覺得他不應(yīng)該把約翰妮帶到這地方來——因為她是活在他的心里。所以他就走出去了。他跑過許多街道，經(jīng)過她所住過的那個屋子。那兒是陰暗的——處處都是陰暗、空洞和孤寂。世界走著自己的道路，克努得也走著自己的道路。
冬天來了。水都結(jié)了冰。一切東西似乎都在準(zhǔn)備入葬。
不過當(dāng)春天到來的時候，當(dāng)?shù)谝凰逸喆_航的時候，他就有了一種遠(yuǎn)行的渴望，遠(yuǎn)行到遼遠(yuǎn)的世界里去，但是他不愿意走近法國。因此他把他的背包打好，流浪到德國去。他從這個城走到那個城，一點也不休息和安靜下來，只有當(dāng)他來到那個美麗的古老的城市紐倫堡的時候，他的不安的情緒才算穩(wěn)定下來。他決定住下來。
紐倫堡是一個稀有的古城。它好像是從舊畫冊里剪下來的一樣。它的街道隨意地伸展開來;它的房屋不是排成死板的直行。那些有小塔、蔓藤花紋和雕像裝飾的吊窗懸在人行道上;從奇形的尖屋頂上伸出來的水筧嘴，以飛龍或長腰犬的形式，高高地俯視著下邊的街道。
克努得背著背包站在這兒的一個市場上。他立在一個古老的噴泉塔旁邊。《圣經(jīng)》時代的、歷史性的莊嚴(yán)銅像立在兩股噴泉的中間。一個漂亮的女傭人正在用桶汲水。她給克努得一口涼爽的水喝。因為她手中滿滿地握著一束玫瑰花，所以她也給他一朵。他把它當(dāng)作一個好的預(yù)兆。
風(fēng)琴的聲昔從鄰近的一個教堂里飄到他的耳邊來;它的調(diào)子，對他說來，是跟他故鄉(xiāng)卻格風(fēng)琴的調(diào)子一樣地親切。他走進(jìn)一個大禮拜堂里去。日光透過繪有彩色畫的窗玻璃，照在高而細(xì)長的圓柱之間。他的心中有一種虔誠的感覺，他的靈魂變得安靜起來。
他在紐傖堡找到了一個很好的老板;于是他便安住下來;同時學(xué)習(xí)這個國家的語言。
城周圍的古老的塹壕已經(jīng)變成了許多小塊的菜園，不過高大的城墻和它上面的高塔仍然是存留著的。在城墻里邊，搓繩子的人正在一個木走廊或人行道上搓繩子。接骨木樹叢從城墻的縫隙里生長出來，把它們的綠枝伸展到它們下面的那些低矮的小屋上。克努得的老板就住在這樣的一座小屋里。在他睡覺的那個頂樓上——接骨木樹就在他的床前垂下枝子。
他在這兒住過了一個夏天和冬天。不過當(dāng)夏天到來的時候，他再也忍受不了。接骨木樹在開著花，而這花香使他記起了故鄉(xiāng)。他似乎回到了卻格的花園里去。因此克努得就離開了他的主人，搬到住在離城墻較遠(yuǎn)的一個老板家去工作;這個屋子上面沒有接骨木樹。
他的作坊離一座古老的石橋很近，面對著一個老是發(fā)出嗡嗡聲的水推磨房。外邊有一條激流在許多房子之間沖過去。這些房子上掛著許多腐朽的陽臺;它們好像隨時要倒進(jìn)水里去似的。這兒沒有接骨木樹——連栽著一點小綠植物的花缽子也沒有。不過這兒有一株高大的老柳樹。它緊緊地貼著那兒的一幢房子，生怕被水沖走。它像卻格河邊花園里的那稞柳樹一樣，也把它的枝子在激流上展開來。
是的，他從“接骨木樹媽媽”那兒搬到“柳樹爸爸”的近旁來了。這棵樹引起了某種觸動，尤其是在有月光的晚上。
這種丹麥的心情，在月光下面流露了出來。但是使他感觸的不是月光，不，是那棵老柳樹。
他住不下去。為什么住不下去呢?請你去問那棵柳樹。去問那棵開著花的接骨木樹吧!因此他跟主人告別，跟紐倫堡告別走到更遠(yuǎn)的地方去。
他對誰也不提起約翰妮——他只是把自己的憂愁秘密地藏在心里。那兩塊姜餅的故事對他特別有深刻的薏義。現(xiàn)在他懂得了那個男子為什么胸口上有一顆苦味的杏仁——他現(xiàn)在自己嘗到這苦味了。約翰妮永遠(yuǎn)是那么溫柔和善良，但她只是一塊姜餅。
他背包的帶子似乎在緊緊束縛著他，使他感到呼吸困難。他把它松開，但是仍然不感到舒暢。他的周圍只有半個世界;另外的一半壓在他的心里，這就是他的處境!
只有當(dāng)他看到了一群高山的時候，世界才似乎對他擴(kuò)大了一點。這時他的思想才向外面流露;他的眼中涌出了淚水。
阿爾卑斯山，對他說來，似乎是地球的一雙斂著的翅膀。假如這雙翅膀展開了，顯示出一片黑森林、涌泉、云塊和積雪的種種景色所組成的羽毛，那又會怎樣呢?
他想，在世界的末日那天，地球?qū)归_它龐大的翅膀，向天空飛去，同時在上帝的明朗的光中將會像肥皂泡似地爆裂!他嘆息：“啊，唯愿現(xiàn)在就是最后的末日!”
他靜默地走過這塊土地。在他看來，這塊土地像一個長滿了草的果木園。從許多屋子的木陽臺上，忙著織絲帶的女孩子們在對他點頭。許多山峰在落日的晚蜜中發(fā)出紅光。當(dāng)他看到深樹林中的綠湖的時候，他就想起了擲格灣的海岸。這時他感到一陣凄涼，但是他心中卻沒有痛苦。
萊茵河像一股很長的巨浪在滾流，在翻騰，在沖撞，在變成雪白的、閃光的云霧，好像云塊就是在這兒制造出來似的。虹在它上面ˉ飄著，像一條解開了的緞帶。他現(xiàn)在不禁想起了卻格的水?dāng)偰シ缓捅剂髦摹l(fā)出喧鬧聲的流水。
他倒是很愿意在這個安靜的、菜茵河畔的城市里住下來的，可惜這兒的接骨木樹和楊柳太多。因此他又繼續(xù)向前走。他爬過巨大的高山，越過石峽，走過像燕子窩似的、貼在山邊的山路。水在山峽里潺潺地流著，云塊在他的下面飛著。在溫暖夏天的太陽光下，他在光亮的薊草上、石楠屬植物上和雪上走著。他告別了北方的國家，來到了葡萄園和玉米田之間的栗樹陰下。這些山是他和他的回憶之間的一座墻——他希望的也正是這樣。
現(xiàn)在他面前出現(xiàn)了一座美麗的、雄偉的城市——人們把它叫做米蘭。他在這兒找到了一個德國籍的老板，同時也找到了工作。他們是一對和善的老年夫婦;他現(xiàn)在就在他們的作坊里工作著。這對老人很喜歡這個安靜的工人。他的話講得很少，但工作得很努力，同時過著一種虔誠的、基督徒的生活。就他自己說來，他也仿佛覺得上帝取去了他心中的一個重?fù)?dān)子。
他最心愛的消遣是不時去參觀那個雄偉的大理石教堂。在他看來，這教堂似乎是用他故國的雪所造成的，用雕像、尖塔和華麗的大廳所組合起來的。雪白的大理石雕像似乎在從每一個角落里、從每一個尖頂、從每一個拱門上對他微笑。他上面是蔚藍(lán)的天空，他下面是這個城市和廣闊的龍巴得平原。再朝北一點就是終年蓋著雪的高山。他不禁想起了卻格的教鱟和布滿了紅色長春藤的紅墻。不過他并不懷戀它們，他希望他被埋葬在這些高山的后面。
他在這兒住了一年。自從他離開家以后，三年己經(jīng)過去了。有一天他的老板帶他到城里去一土不是到馬戲場去看騎師的表演，不是的，而是去看一個大歌劇院。這是一個大建筑物，值得一看。它有七層大樓，每層樓上都懸著絲織的簾子。從第一層樓到那使人一看就頭昏的頂樓都坐滿了華貴的仕女。她們的手中拿著花束，好像她們是在參加一個舞會似的。紳士們都穿著禮服，有許多還戴著金質(zhì)或銀質(zhì)勛章。
這地方非常亮，如同在最明朗的太陽光下ˉ樣。響亮而悅耳的音樂奏起來了。這的確要比哥本哈根的劇院華麗得多!但是那卻是約翰妮演出的地方;而這兒呢——是的，這真是像魔術(shù)一樣——幕向兩邊分開了，約翰妮穿著絲綢，戴著金飾和皇冠也出現(xiàn)了。她的歌聲在他昕來只有上帝的安琪兒可以和她相比。她盡量走到舞臺前面來，同時發(fā)出只有約翰妮才能發(fā)出的微笑。她的眼睛向下望著克努得。
可憐的克努得緊握著他主人的手，高聲地喊出來：“約翰妮!不過誰也聽不見他。樂師在奏著響亮的音樂。老板只點點頭，說：“是的，是的，她的名字是叫做約翰妮。”
于是他拿出一張節(jié)目單來，他指著她的名字——她的全名。
不，這不是一個夢!所有的人都在為她鼓掌，在對她拋擲著花朵和花環(huán)。每次她回到后臺的時候，喝彩聲就又把她叫出來，所以她不停地在走出走進(jìn)。
在街上，人們圍著她的車子，欣喜若狂地拉著車子走。克努得站在最前面，也是最高興的。當(dāng)大家來到她那燈火通明的房子面前的時候，克努得緊緊地擠到她車子的門口。車門開了;她走了出來。燈光正照在她可愛的臉上，她微笑著，她溫柔地向大家表示謝意，她顯得非常感動。克努得朝她的臉上望，她也望著他，但是她不認(rèn)識他。一位胸前戴有星章的紳士伸出他的手臂來挾她——大家都說，他們已經(jīng)訂婚了。
克努得回到家來，收拾好他的背包，他決定回到他的老家去，回到接骨木樹和柳樹那兒去——啊，回到那棵柳樹下面去!
那對老年夫婦請他住下來，但是什么話也留不住他。他們告訴他，說是冬天快要到來了，山上已經(jīng)下雪了。但是他說他可以背著背包，拄著拐杖，只能在慢慢前進(jìn)的馬車后面的車轍里走——因為這是唯一可走的路。
這樣他就向山上走去，一會兒上爬，一會兒下坡。他的氣力沒有了，但是他還看不見一個村子或一間房屋。他不停地向北方走去古星星在他的頭上出現(xiàn)了，他的腳在搖擺，他的頭在發(fā)昏。在深深的山谷里，也有星星在閃耀著;天空也好像伸展到他的下面去了似的。他覺得他病了。他下面的星星越來越多，越閃越亮，而且還在前后移動。這原來是一個小小的城市;家家都點上了燈火。當(dāng)他了解到這情況以后，他就鼓起他一點殘留的氣力，最后到達(dá)了一個簡陋的客棧。
他在那兒呆了一天一夜，因為他的身體需要休息和恢復(fù)。天氣轉(zhuǎn)暖，冰雪正在融化，山谷里下起雨來。上午有一個奏手風(fēng)琴的人來了，他奏起一支丹麥的家鄉(xiāng)曲子，弄得克努得又住不下去了。他又踏上了北上的旅途，走了許多天，他匆忙地走著，好像想要在家里的人沒有死完以前，趕回去似的。不過他沒有對任何人說出他心中的渴望，誰也不會相信他心中的悲哀——個人的心中所能感覺到的、最深的悲哀。這種悲哀是不需要世人了解的，因為它并不有趣;也不需要朋友了解——而且他根本就沒有朋友。他是一個陌生人，在一些陌生的國度里旅行，向家鄉(xiāng)，向北國走去。他在許多年以前、從他父母接到的唯一的一封信里，有這樣的話語：“你和我們家里的人不一樣，你不是一個純粹的丹麥人。我們是太丹麥化了!你只喜歡陌生的國家!”這是他父母親手寫的——是的，他們最了解他!
現(xiàn)在是黃昏了。他在荒野的公路上向前走。天開始冷起來了。這地方漸漸變得很平坦，是一片田野和草原。路旁有一棵很大的柳樹。一切景物是那么親切，那么富有丹麥風(fēng)味!他在柳樹下坐下來。他感到疲倦，他的頭向下垂，他的眼睛閉起來休息。但是他在冥冥中感到，柳樹在向他垂下枝子。這樹像一個威嚴(yán)的老人，一個“柳樹爸爸”，它把它的因累了的兒子抱進(jìn)懷里，把他送回到那有廣闊的白色海岸的丹麥祖國去，送到卻格去，送到他兒時的花園里去。
是的，他夢見這就是卻格的那棵柳樹。這老樹正在世界各處奔走來尋找他，現(xiàn)在居然找到他了，把他帶回到小溪旁邊的那個小花園里來——約翰妮在這兒出現(xiàn)了;她全身穿著漂莞的衣服，頭上戴著金冠，正如他上次見到她的那個樣子。她對他喊道：“歡迎你!”
他面前立著兩個奇怪的人形，不過比起他在兒時所看到的那個樣子來，他們似乎是更像人了。他們也有些改變，但是他們?nèi)匀皇莾蓧K姜餅，一男一女。他們現(xiàn)在是正面朝上，顯出很快樂的樣子。
“我們感謝你!”他們兩人對克努得說。“你使我們有勇氣講出話來;你教導(dǎo)我們：一個人必須把心里想的事情自由地講出來，否則什么結(jié)果也不會有!現(xiàn)在總算是有一個結(jié)果了——我們已經(jīng)訂了婚。”
于是他們就手挽著手在卻格的街上走過去;他們無論從哪一面看都很像個樣子;你在他們身上找不出一點兒毛病!他們一直向卻格的教堂走去。克努得和約翰妮跟在他們后面;他們也是手挽著手的。教堂仍然像過去一樣，墻壁是紅的，墻上布滿了綠色的長春藤。教堂大門向兩邊分開，風(fēng)琴奏起來了。男的和女的雙雙地在教堂的通道上走進(jìn)去。
“主人請先進(jìn)去!”那對姜餅戀人說，同時退向兩邊，讓克努得和約翰妮先進(jìn)去。他們在圣壇前跪下來。約翰妮向克努得低下頭來;冰冷的淚珠從她的眼里滾滾地往外流。這是她心里的冰——他熱烈的愛情把它融化了;汨光滴到他灼熱的臉上。于是他醒來了。原來他是在一個嚴(yán)冬的晚上，坐在一棵異國的老柳樹下。一陣冰雹正在從云中打下來，打到他的臉上。
“這是我生命中最甜美的一個時刻”他說，“而這卻是一個夢!上帝啊，讓我再夢下去吧!”于是他又把他的眼睛閉起來，睡過去了，做起夢來。
天明的時候，落了一場大雪。風(fēng)把雪花卷到他的腳邊，但他還在睡著。村人到教堂去做禮拜，發(fā)現(xiàn)路旁坐著一個手藝人。他已經(jīng)死了，在這棵柳樹下凍死了。
柳樹下的夢英文版：
Under the Willow-tree
THE region round the little town of Kjøge is very bleak and cold. The town lies on the sea shore, which is always beautiful; but here it might be more beautiful than it is, for on every side the fields are flat, and it is a long way to the forest. But when persons reside in a place and get used to it, they can always find something beautiful in it,—something for which they long, even in the most charming spot in the world which is not home. It must be owned that there are in the outskirts of the town some humble gardens on the banks of a little stream that runs on towards the sea, and in summer these gardens look very pretty. Such indeed was the opinion of two little children, whose parents were neighbors, and who played in these gardens, and forced their way from one garden to the other through the gooseberry-bushes that divided them. In one of the gardens grew an elder-tree, and in the other an old willow, under which the children were very fond of playing. They had permission to do so, although the tree stood close by the stream, and they might easily have fallen into the water; but the eye of God watches over the little ones, otherwise they would never be safe. At the same time, these children were very careful not to go too near the water; indeed, the boy was so afraid of it, that in the summer, while the other children were splashing about in the sea, nothing could entice him to join them. They jeered and laughed at him, and he was obliged to bear it all as patiently as he could. Once the neighbor’s little girl, Joanna, dreamed that she was sailing in a boat, and the boy—Knud was his name—waded out in the water to join her, and the water came up to his neck, and at last closed over his head, and in a moment he had disappeared. When little Knud heard this dream, it seemed as if he could not bear the mocking and jeering again; how could he dare to go into the water now, after Joanna’s dream! He never would do it, for this dream always satisfied him. The parents of these children, who were poor, often sat together while Knud and Joanna played in the gardens or in the road. Along this road—a row of willow-trees had been planted to separate it from a ditch on one side of it. They were not very handsome trees, for the tops had been cut off; however, they were intended for use, and not for show. The old willow-tree in the garden was much handsomer, and therefore the children were very fond of sitting under it. The town had a large market-place; and at the fair-time there would be whole rows, like streets, of tents and booths containing silks and ribbons, and toys and cakes, and everything that could be wished for. There were crowds of people, and sometimes the weather would be rainy, and splash with moisture the woollen jackets of the peasants; but it did not destroy the beautiful fragrance of the honey-cakes and gingerbread with which one booth was filled; and the best of it was, that the man who sold these cakes always lodged during the fair-time with little Knud’s parents. So every now and then he had a present of gingerbread, and of course Joanna always had a share. And, more delightful still, the gingerbread seller knew all sorts of things to tell and could even relate stories about his own gingerbread. So one evening he told them a story that made such a deep impression on the children that they never forgot it; and therefore I think we may as well hear it too, for it is not very long.
“Once upon a time,” said he, “there lay on my counter two gingerbread cakes, one in the shape of a man wearing a hat, the other of a maiden without a bonnet. Their faces were on the side that was uppermost, for on the other side they looked very different. Most people have a best side to their characters, which they take care to show to the world. On the left, just where the heart is, the gingerbread man had an almond stuck in to represent it, but the maiden was honey cake all over. They were placed on the counter as samples, and after lying there a long time they at last fell in love with each other; but neither of them spoke of it to the other, as they should have done if they expected anything to follow. ‘He is a man, he ought to speak the first word,’ thought the gingerbread maiden; but she felt quite happy—she was sure that her love was returned. But his thoughts were far more ambitious, as the thoughts of a man often are. He dreamed that he was a real street boy, that he possessed four real pennies, and that he had bought the gingerbread lady, and ate her up. And so they lay on the counter for days and weeks, till they grew hard and dry; but the thoughts of the maiden became ever more tender and womanly. ‘Ah well, it is enough for me that I have been able to live on the same counter with him,’ said she one day; when suddenly, ‘crack,’ and she broke in two. ‘Ah,’ said the gingerbread man to himself, ‘if she had only known of my love, she would have kept together a little longer.’ And here they both are, and that is their history,” said the cake man. “You think the history of their lives and their silent love, which never came to anything, very remarkable; and there they are for you.” So saying, he gave Joanna the gingerbread man, who was still quite whole—and to Knud the broken maiden; but the children had been so much impressed by the story, that they had not the heart to eat the lovers up.
The next day they went into the churchyard, and took the two cake figures with them, and sat down under the church wall, which was covered with luxuriant ivy in summer and winter, and looked as if hung with rich tapestry. They stuck up the two gingerbread figures in the sunshine among the green leaves, and then told the story, and all about the silent love which came to nothing, to a group of children. They called it, “l(fā)ove,” because the story was so lovely, and the other children had the same opinion. But when they turned to look at the gingerbread pair, the broken maiden was gone! A great boy, out of wickedness, had eaten her up. At first the children cried about it; but afterwards, thinking very probably that the poor lover ought not to be left alone in the world, they ate him up too: but they never forgot the story.
The two children still continued to play together by the elder-tree, and under the willow; and the little maiden sang beautiful songs, with a voice that was as clear as a bell. Knud, on the contrary, had not a note of music in him, but knew the words of the songs, and that of course is something. The people of Kjøge, and even the rich wife of the man who kept the fancy shop, would stand and listen while Joanna was singing, and say, “She has really a very sweet voice.”
Those were happy days; but they could not last forever. The neighbors were separated, the mother of the little girl was dead, and her father had thoughts of marrying again and of residing in the capital, where he had been promised a very lucrative appointment as messenger. The neighbors parted with tears, the children wept sadly; but their parents promised that they should write to each other at least once a year.
After this, Knud was bound apprentice to a shoemaker; he was growing a great boy, and could not be allowed to run wild any longer. Besides, he was going to be confirmed. Ah, how happy he would have been on that festal day in Copenhagen with little Joanna; but he still remained at Kjøge, and had never seen the great city, though the town is not five miles from it. But far across the bay, when the sky was clear, the towers of Copenhagen could be seen; and on the day of his confirmation he saw distinctly the golden cross on the principal church glittering in the sun. How often his thoughts were with Joanna! but did she think of him? Yes. About Christmas came a letter from her father to Knud’s parents, which stated that they were going on very well in Copenhagen, and mentioning particularly that Joanna’s beautiful voice was likely to bring her a brilliant fortune in the future. She was engaged to sing at a concert, and she had already earned money by singing, out of which she sent her dear neighbors at Kjøge a whole dollar, for them to make merry on Christmas eve, and they were to drink her health. She had herself added this in a postscript, and in the same postscript she wrote, “Kind regards to Knud.”
The good neighbors wept, although the news was so pleasant; but they wept tears of joy. Knud’s thoughts had been daily with Joanna, and now he knew that she also had thought of him; and the nearer the time came for his apprenticeship to end, the clearer did it appear to him that he loved Joanna, and that she must be his wife; and a smile came on his lips at the thought, and at one time he drew the thread so fast as he worked, and pressed his foot so hard against the knee strap, that he ran the awl into his finger; but what did he care for that? He was determined not to play the dumb lover as both the gingerbread cakes had done; the story was a good lesson to him.
At length he become a journeyman; and then, for the first time, he prepared for a journey to Copenhagen, with his knapsack packed and ready. A master was expecting him there, and he thought of Joanna, and how glad she would be to see him. She was now seventeen, and he nineteen years old. He wanted to buy a gold ring for her in Kjøge, but then he recollected how far more beautiful such things would be in Copenhagen. So he took leave of his parents, and on a rainy day, late in the autumn, wandered forth on foot from the town of his birth. The leaves were falling from the trees; and, by the time he arrived at his new master’s in the great metropolis, he was wet through. On the following Sunday he intended to pay his first visit to Joanna’s father. When the day came, the new journeyman’s clothes were brought out, and a new hat, which he had brought in Kjøge. The hat became him very well, for hitherto he had only worn a cap. He found the house that he sought easily, but had to mount so many stairs that he became quite giddy; it surprised him to find how people lived over one another in this dreadful town.
On entering a room in which everything denoted prosperity, Joanna’s father received him very kindly. The new wife was a stranger to him, but she shook hands with him, and offered him coffee.
“Joanna will be very glad to see you,” said her father. “You have grown quite a nice young man, you shall see her presently; she is a good child, and is the joy of my heart, and, please God, she will continue to be so; she has her own room now, and pays us rent for it.” And the father knocked quite politely at a door, as if he were a stranger, and then they both went in. How pretty everything was in that room! a more beautiful apartment could not be found in the whole town of Kjøge; the queen herself could scarcely be better accommodated. There were carpets, and rugs, and window curtains hanging to the ground. Pictures and flowers were scattered about. There was a velvet chair, and a looking-glass against the wall, into which a person might be in danger of stepping, for it was as large as a door. All this Knud saw at a glance, and yet, in truth, he saw nothing but Joanna. She was quite grown up, and very different from what Knud had fancied her, and a great deal more beautiful. In all Kjøge there was not a girl like her; and how graceful she looked, although her glance at first was odd, and not familiar; but for a moment only, then she rushed towards him as if she would have kissed him; she did not, however, although she was very near it. Yes, she really was joyful at seeing the friend of her childhood once more, and the tears even stood in her eyes. Then she asked so many questions about Knud’s parents, and everything, even to the elder-tree and the willow, which she called “elder-mother and willow-father,” as if they had been human beings; and so, indeed, they might be, quite as much as the gingerbread cakes. Then she talked about them, and the story of their silent love, and how they lay on the counter together and split in two; and then she laughed heartily; but the blood rushed into Knud’s cheeks, and his heart beat quickly. Joanna was not proud at all; he noticed that through her he was invited by her parents to remain the whole evening with them, and she poured out the tea and gave him a cup herself; and afterwards she took a book and read aloud to them, and it seemed to Knud as if the story was all about himself and his love, for it agreed so well with his own thoughts. And then she sang a simple song, which, through her singing, became a true story, and as if she poured forth the feelings of her own heart.
“Oh,” he thought, “she knows I am fond of her.” The tears he could not restrain rolled down his cheeks, and he was unable to utter a single word; it seemed as if he had been struck dumb.
When he left, she pressed his hand, and said, “You have a kind heart, Knud: remain always as you are now.” What an evening of happiness this had been; to sleep after it was impossible, and Knud did not sleep.
At parting, Joanna’s father had said, “Now, you won’t quite forget us; you must not let the whole winter go by without paying us another visit;” so that Knud felt himself free to go again the following Sunday evening, and so he did. But every evening after working hours—and they worked by candle-light then—he walked out into the town, and through the street in which Joanna lived, to look up at her window. It was almost always lighted up; and one evening he saw the shadow of her face quite plainly on the window blind; that was a glorious evening for him. His master’s wife did not like his always going out in the evening, idling, wasting time, as she called it, and she shook her head.
But his master only smiled, and said, “He is a young man, my dear, you know.”
“On Sunday I shall see her,” said Knud to himself, “and I will tell her that I love her with my whole heart and soul, and that she must be my little wife. I know I am now only a poor journeyman shoemaker, but I will work and strive, and become a master in time. Yes, I will speak to her; nothing comes from silent love. I learnt that from the gingerbread-cake story.”
Sunday came, but when Knud arrived, they were all unfortunately invited out to spend the evening, and were obliged to tell him so.
Joanna pressed his hand, and said, “Have you ever been to the theatre? you must go once; I sing there on Wednesday, and if you have time on that day, I will send you a ticket; my father knows where your master lives.” How kind this was of her! And on Wednesday, about noon, Knud received a sealed packet with no address, but the ticket was inside; and in the evening Knud went, for the first time in his life, to a theatre. And what did he see? He saw Joanna, and how beautiful and charming she looked! He certainly saw her being married to a stranger, but that was all in the play, and only a pretence; Knud well knew that. She could never have the heart, he thought, to send him a ticket to go and see it, if it had been real. So he looked on, and when all the people applauded and clapped their hands, he shouted “hurrah.” He could see that even the king smiled at Joanna, and seemed delighted with her singing. How small Knud felt; but then he loved her so dearly, and thought she loved him, and the man must speak the first word, as the gingerbread maiden had thought. Ah, how much there was for him in that childish story. As soon as Sunday arrived, he went again, and felt as if he were about to enter on holy ground. Joanna was alone to welcome him, nothing could be more fortunate.
“I am so glad you are come,” she said. “I was thinking of sending my father for you, but I had a presentiment that you would be here this evening. The fact is, I wanted to tell you that I am going to France. I shall start on Friday. It is necessary for me to go there, if I wish to become a first-rate performer.”
Poor Knud! it seemed to him as if the whole room was whirling round with him. His courage failed, and he felt as if his heart would burst. He kept down the tears, but it was easy to see how sorrowful he was.
“You honest, faithful soul,” she exclaimed; and the words loosened Knud’s tongue, and he told her how truly he had loved her, and that she must be his wife; and as he said this, he saw Joanna change color, and turn pale. She let his hand fall, and said, earnestly and mournfully, “Knud, do not make yourself and me unhappy. I will always be a good sister to you, one in whom you can trust; but I can never be anything more.” And she drew her white hand over his burning forehead, and said, “God gives strength to bear a great deal, if we only strive ourselves to endure.”
At this moment her stepmother came into the room, and Joanna said quickly, “Knud is so unhappy, because I am going away;” and it appeared as if they had only been talking of her journey. “Come, be a man” she added, placing her hand on his shoulder; “you are still a child, and you must be good and reasonable, as you were when we were both children, and played together under the willow-tree.”
Knud listened, but he felt as if the world had slid out of its course. His thoughts were like a loose thread fluttering to and fro in the wind. He stayed, although he could not tell whether she had asked him to do so. But she was kind and gentle to him; she poured out his tea, and sang to him; but the song had not the old tone in it, although it was wonderfully beautiful, and made his heart feel ready to burst. And then he rose to go. He did not offer his hand, but she seized it, and said—
“Will you not shake hands with your sister at parting, my old playfellow?” and she smiled through the tears that were rolling down her cheeks. Again she repeated the word “brother,” which was a great consolation certainly; and thus they parted.
She sailed to France, and Knud wandered about the muddy streets of Copenhagen. The other journeymen in the shop asked him why he looked so gloomy, and wanted him to go and amuse himself with them, as he was still a young man. So he went with them to a dancing-room. He saw many handsome girls there, but none like Joanna; and here, where he thought to forget her, she was more life-like before his mind than ever. “God gives us strength to bear much, if we try to do our best,” she had said; and as he thought of this, a devout feeling came into his mind, and he folded his hands. Then, as the violins played and the girls danced round the room, he started; for it seemed to him as if he were in a place where he ought not to have brought Joanna, for she was here with him in his heart; and so he went out at once. As he went through the streets at a quick pace, he passed the house where she used to live; it was all dark, empty, and lonely. But the world went on its course, and Knud was obliged to go on too.
Winter came; the water was frozen, and everything seemed buried in a cold grave. But when spring returned, and the first steamer prepared to sail, Knud was seized with a longing to wander forth into the world, but not to France. So he packed his knapsack, and travelled through Germany, going from town to town, but finding neither rest or peace. It was not till he arrived at the glorious old town of Nuremberg that he gained the mastery over himself, and rested his weary feet; and here he remained.
Nuremberg is a wonderful old city, and looks as if it had been cut out of an old picture-book. The streets seem to have arranged themselves according to their own fancy, and as if the houses objected to stand in rows or rank and file. Gables, with little towers, ornamented columns, and statues, can be seen even to the city gate; and from the singular-shaped roofs, waterspouts, formed like dragons, or long lean dogs, extend far across to the middle of the street. Here, in the market-place, stood Knud, with his knapsack on his back, close to one of the old fountains which are so beautifully adorned with figures, scriptural and historical, and which spring up between the sparkling jets of water. A pretty servant-maid was just filling her pails, and she gave Knud a refreshing draught; she had a handful of roses, and she gave him one, which appeared to him like a good omen for the future. From a neighboring church came the sounds of music, and the familiar tones reminded him of the organ at home at Kjøge; so he passed into the great cathedral. The sunshine streamed through the painted glass windows, and between two lofty slender pillars. His thoughts became prayerful, and calm peace rested on his soul. He next sought and found a good master in Nuremberg, with whom he stayed and learnt the German language.
The old moat round the town had been converted into a number of little kitchen gardens; but the high walls, with their heavy-looking towers, are still standing. Inside these walls the ropemaker twisted his ropes along a walk built like a gallery, and in the cracks and crevices of the walls elderbushes grow and stretch their green boughs over the small houses which stand below. In one of these houses lived the master for whom Knud worked; and over the little garret window where he sat, the elder-tree waved its branches. Here he dwelt through one summer and winter, but when spring came again, he could endure it no longer. The elder was in blossom, and its fragrance was so homelike, that he fancied himself back again in the gardens of Kjøge. So Knud left his master, and went to work for another who lived farther in the town, where no elder grew. His workshop was quite close to one of the old stone bridges, near to a water-mill, round which the roaring stream rushed and foamed always, yet restrained by the neighboring houses, whose old, decayed balconies hung over, and seemed ready to fall into the water. Here grew no elder; here was not even a flower-pot, with its little green plant; but just opposite the workshop stood a great willow-tree, which seemed to hold fast to the house for fear of being carried away by the water. It stretched its branches over the stream just as those of the willow-tree in the garden at Kjøge had spread over the river. Yes, he had indeed gone from elder-mother to willow-father. There was a something about the tree here, especially in the moonlight nights, that went direct to his heart; yet it was not in reality the moonlight, but the old tree itself. However, he could not endure it: and why? Ask the willow, ask the blossoming elder! At all events, he bade farewell to Nuremberg and journeyed onwards. He never spoke of Joanna to any one; his sorrow was hidden in his heart. The old childish story of the two cakes had a deep meaning for him. He understood now why the gingerbread man had a bitter almond in his left side; his was the feeling of bitterness, and Joanna, so mild and friendly, was represented by the honeycake maiden. As he thought upon all this, the strap of his knapsack pressed across his chest so that he could hardly breathe; he loosened it, but gained no relief. He saw but half the world around him; the other half he carried with him in his inward thoughts; and this is the condition in which he left Nuremberg. Not till he caught sight of the lofty mountains did the world appear more free to him; his thoughts were attracted to outer objects, and tears came into his eyes. The Alps appeared to him like the wings of earth folded together; unfolded, they would display the variegated pictures of dark woods, foaming waters, spreading clouds, and masses of snow. “At the last day,” thought he, “the earth will unfold its great wings, and soar upwards to the skies, there to burst like a soap-bubble in the radiant glance of the Deity. Oh,” sighed he, “that the last day were come!”
Silently he wandered on through the country of the Alps, which seemed to him like a fruit garden, covered with soft turf. From the wooden balconies of the houses the young lacemakers nodded as he passed. The summits of the mountains glowed in the red evening sunset, and the green lakes beneath the dark trees reflected the glow. Then he thought of the sea coast by the bay Kjøge, with a longing in his heart that was, however, without pain. There, where the Rhine rolls onward like a great billow, and dissolves itself into snowflakes, where glistening clouds are ever changing as if here was the place of their creation, while the rainbow flutters about them like a many-colored ribbon, there did Knud think of the water-mill at Kjøge, with its rushing, foaming waters. Gladly would he have remained in the quiet Rhenish town, but there were too many elders and willow-trees.
So he travelled onwards, over a grand, lofty chain of mountains, over rugged,—rocky precipices, and along roads that hung on the mountain’s side like a swallow’s nest. The waters foamed in the depths below him. The clouds lay beneath him. He wandered on, treading upon Alpine roses, thistles, and snow, with the summer sun shining upon him, till at length he bid farewell to the lands of the north. Then he passed on under the shade of blooming chestnut-trees, through vineyards, and fields of Indian corn, till conscious that the mountains were as a wall between him and his early recollections; and he wished it to be so.
Before him lay a large and splendid city, called Milan, and here he found a German master who engaged him as a workman. The master and his wife, in whose workshop he was employed, were an old, pious couple; and the two old people became quite fond of the quiet journeyman, who spoke but little, but worked more, and led a pious, Christian life; and even to himself it seemed as if God had removed the heavy burden from his heart. His greatest pleasure was to climb, now and then, to the roof of the noble church, which was built of white marble. The pointed towers, the decorated and open cloisters, the stately columns, the white statues which smiled upon him from every corner and porch and arch,—all, even the church itself, seemed to him to have been formed from the snow of his native land. Above him was the blue sky; below him, the city and the wide-spreading plains of Lombardy; and towards the north, the lofty mountains, covered with perpetual snow. And then he thought of the church of Kjøge, with its red, ivy-clad walls, but he had no longing to go there; here, beyond the mountains, he would die and be buried.
Three years had passed away since he left his home; one year of that time he had dwelt at Milan.
One day his master took him into the town; not to the circus in which riders performed, but to the opera, a large building, itself a sight well worth seeing. The seven tiers of boxes, which reached from the ground to a dizzy height, near the ceiling, were hung with rich, silken curtains; and in them were seated elegantly-dressed ladies, with bouquets of flowers in their hands. The gentlemen were also in full dress, and many of them wore decorations of gold and silver. The place was so brilliantly lighted that it seemed like sunshine, and glorious music rolled through the building. Everything looked more beautiful than in the theatre at Copenhagen, but then Joanna had been there, and—could it be? Yes—it was like magic,—she was here also: for, when the curtain rose, there stood Joanna, dressed in silk and gold, and with a golden crown upon her head. She sang, he thought, as only an angel could sing; and then she stepped forward to the front and smiled, as only Joanna could smile, and looked directly at Knud. Poor Knud! he seized his master’s hand, and cried out loud, “Joanna,” but no one heard him, excepting his master, for the music sounded above everything.
“Yes, yes, it is Joanna,” said his master; and he drew forth a printed bill, and pointed to her name, which was there in full. Then it was not a dream. All the audience applauded her, and threw wreaths of flowers at her; and every time she went away they called for her again, so that she was always coming and going. In the street the people crowded round her carriage, and drew it away themselves without the horses. Knud was in the foremost row, and shouted as joyously as the rest; and when the carriage stopped before a brilliantly lighted house, Knud placed himself close to the door of her carriage. It flew open, and she stepped out; the light fell upon her dear face, and he could see that she smiled as she thanked them, and appeared quite overcome. Knud looked straight in her face, and she looked at him, but she did not recognize him. A man, with a glittering star on his breast, gave her his arm, and people said the two were engaged to be married. Then Knud went home and packed up his knapsack; he felt he must return to the home of his childhood, to the elder-tree and the willow. “Ah, under that willow-tree!” A man may live a whole life in one single hour.
The old couple begged him to remain, but words were useless. In vain they reminded him that winter was coming, and that the snow had already fallen on the mountains. He said he could easily follow the track of the closely-moving carriages, for which a path must be kept clear, and with nothing but his knapsack on his back, and leaning on his stick, he could step along briskly. So he turned his steps to the mountains, ascended one side and descended the other, still going northward till his strength began to fail, and not a house or village could be seen. The stars shone in the sky above him, and down in the valley lights glittered like stars, as if another sky were beneath him; but his head was dizzy and his feet stumbled, and he felt ill. The lights in the valley grew brighter and brighter, and more numerous, and he could see them moving to and fro, and then he understood that there must be a village in the distance; so he exerted his failing strength to reach it, and at length obtained shelter in a humble lodging. He remained there that night and the whole of the following day, for his body required rest and refreshment, and in the valley there was rain and a thaw. But early in the morning of the third day, a man came with an organ and played one of the melodies of home; and after that Knud could remain there no longer, so he started again on his journey toward the north. He travelled for many days with hasty steps, as if he were trying to reach home before all whom he remembered should die; but he spoke to no one of this longing. No one would have believed or understood this sorrow of his heart, the deepest that can be felt by human nature. Such grief is not for the world; it is not entertaining even to friends, and poor Knud had no friends; he was a stranger, wandering through strange lands to his home in the north.
He was walking one evening through the public roads, the country around him was flatter, with fields and meadows, the air had a frosty feeling. A willow-tree grew by the roadside, everything reminded him of home. He felt very tired; so he sat down under the tree, and very soon began to nod, then his eyes closed in sleep. Yet still he seemed conscious that the willow-tree was stretching its branches over him; in his dreaming state the tree appeared like a strong, old man—the “willow-father” himself, who had taken his tired son up in his arms to carry him back to the land of home, to the garden of his childhood, on the bleak open shores of Kjøge. And then he dreamed that it was really the willow-tree itself from Kjøge, which had travelled out in the world to seek him, and now had found him and carried him back into the little garden on the banks of the streamlet; and there stood Joanna, in all her splendor, with the golden crown on her head, as he had last seen her, to welcome him back. And then there appeared before him two remarkable shapes, which looked much more like human beings than when he had seen them in his childhood; they were changed, but he remembered that they were the two gingerbread cakes, the man and the woman, who had shown their best sides to the world and looked so good.
“We thank you,” they said to Knud, “for you have loosened our tongues; we have learnt from you that thoughts should be spoken freely, or nothing will come of them; and now something has come of our thoughts, for we are engaged to be married.” Then they walked away, hand-in-hand, through the streets of Kjøge, looking very respectable on the best side, which they were quite right to show. They turned their steps to the church, and Knud and Joanna followed them, also walking hand-in-hand; there stood the church, as of old, with its red walls, on which the green ivy grew.
The great church door flew open wide, and as they walked up the broad aisle, soft tones of music sounded from the organ. “Our master first,” said the gingerbread pair, making room for Knud and Joanna. As they knelt at the altar, Joanna bent her head over him, and cold, icy tears fell on his face from her eyes. They were indeed tears of ice, for her heart was melting towards him through his strong love, and as her tears fell on his burning cheeks he awoke. He was still sitting under the willow-tree in a strange land, on a cold winter evening, with snow and hail falling from the clouds, and beating upon his face.
“That was the most delightful hour of my life,” said he, “although it was only a dream. Oh, let me dream again.” Then he closed his eyes once more, and slept and dreamed.
Towards morning there was a great fall of snow; the wind drifted it over him, but he still slept on. The villagers came forth to go to church; by the roadside they found a workman seated, but he was dead! frozen to death under a willow-tree.
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