安徒生童話故事第58篇：世上最美麗的一朵玫瑰花中英文版本

　　引導語：玫瑰花似乎是愛情的象徵，是浪漫的愛情，下面是安徒生的童話故事《世上最美麗的一朵玫瑰花》，我們一起來閱讀學習這篇童話故事吧。

　　從前有一位權力很大的皇后。她的花園裡種植著每季最美麗的、從世界各國移來的花。但是她特別喜愛玫瑰花，因此她有各種各色的玫瑰花：從那長著能發出蘋果香味的綠葉的野玫瑰，一直到最可愛的、普羅旺斯①的玫瑰，樣樣都有。它們爬上宮殿的牆壁，攀著圓柱和窗架，伸進走廊，一直長到所有大殿的天花板上去。這些玫瑰有不同的香味，形狀和色彩。

　　但是這些大殿裡充滿了憂慮和悲哀。皇后睡在病床上起不來，御醫宣稱她的生命沒有希望。

　　“只有一件東西可以救她，”御醫之中一位最聰明的人說。“送給她一朵世界上最美麗的玫瑰花——一朵表示最高尚、最純潔的愛情的玫瑰花。這朵花要在她的眼睛沒有閉上以前就送到她面前來.那麼她就不會死掉。”

　　各地的年輕人和老年人送來許多玫瑰花——所有的花園裡開著的最美麗的玫瑰花。然而這卻不是那種能治病的玫瑰花。那應該是在愛情的花園裡摘下來的一朵花;但是哪朵玫瑰真正表示出最高尚、最純潔的愛情呢?

　　詩人們歌唱著世界上最美麗的玫瑰花;每個詩人都有自己的一朵。訊息傳遍全國，傳到每一顆充滿了愛情的心裡，傳給每一種年齡和從事每種職業的人。

　　“至今還沒有人能說出這朵花，”那個聰明人說，“誰也指不出盛開著這朵花的那塊地方。這不是羅密歐和朱麗葉棺材上的玫瑰花，也不是瓦爾堡②墳上的玫瑰花，雖然這些玫瑰在詩歌和傳說中永遠是芬芳的。這也不是從文克里得③的血跡斑斑的長矛上開出的那些玫瑰花——從一個為祖國而死去的英雄的心裡所流出的血中開出的玫瑰花，雖然什麼樣的死也沒有這種死可愛，什麼樣的花也沒有他所流出的血那樣紅。這也不是人們在靜寂的房間裡，花了無數不眠之夜和寶貴的生命所培養出的那朵奇異之花——科學的奇花。”

　　“我知道這朵花開在什麼地方，”一個幸福的母親說。她帶著她的嬌嫩的孩子走到這位皇后的床邊來，“我知道在什麼地方可以找到世界上最美麗的玫瑰花!那朵表示最高尚和最純潔的愛情的玫瑰，是從我甜蜜的孩子的鮮豔的臉上開出來的。這時他睡足了覺，睜開他的眼睛，對我發出充滿了愛情的微笑!”

　　“這朵玫瑰是夠美的，不過還有一朵比這更美，”聰明人說。

　　“是的，比這更要美得多，”另一個女人說。“我曾經看到過一朵，再沒有任何一朵開得比這更高尚、更神聖的花，不過它像庚申玫瑰的'花瓣，白得沒有血色。我看到它在皇后的臉上開出來。她取下了她的皇冠，她在悲哀的長夜裡抱著她的病孩子哭泣，吻他，祈求上帝保佑他——像一個母親在苦痛的時刻那樣祈求。”

　　“悲哀中的白玫瑰是神聖的，具有神奇的力量;但是它不是我們所尋找的那朵玫瑰花。”

　　“不是的，我只是在上帝的祭壇上看到世界上最美的那朵玫瑰花，”虔誠的老主教說。“我看到它像一個安琪兒的面孔似的射出光彩。年輕的姑娘走到聖餐的桌子面前，重複她們在受洗時聽作出的諾言，於是玫瑰花開了——她們的鮮嫩的臉上開出淡白色的玫瑰花。一個年輕的女子站在那兒。她的靈魂充滿了純潔的愛，她抬頭望著上帝——這是一個最純潔和最高尚的愛的表情。”

　　“願上帝祝福她!”聰明人說。“不過你們誰也沒有對我說出世界上最美麗的玫瑰花。”

　　這時有一個孩子——皇后的小兒子——走進房間裡來了。他的眼睛裡和他的臉上全是淚珠。他捧著一本開啟的厚書。這書是用天鵝絨裝訂的，上面還有銀質的大釦子。

　　“媽媽!”小傢伙說，“啊，請聽我念吧!”

　　於是這孩子在床邊坐下來，念著書中關於他的事情——他，為了拯救人類，包括那些還沒有出生的人，在十字架上犧牲了自己的生命。

　　“沒有什麼愛能夠比這更偉大!”

　　皇后的臉上露出一片玫瑰色的光彩，她的眼睛變得又大又明亮，因為她在這書頁上看到世界上最美麗的玫瑰花——從十字架上的基督的血裡開出的一朵玫瑰花。

　　“我看到它了!”她說，“看到了這朵玫瑰花——這朵地上最美麗的玫瑰花——的人，永遠不會死亡!”

　　①普羅旺斯(Provence)是法國東南部的一個地區。這兒的天氣溫和，各種各色的花草很多。

　　②瓦爾堡(Valborg)是八世紀在德國傳道的一個修女，在傳說中被神化成為“聖者”，她在傳說中是保護人民反對魔術侵害的神仙。

　　③文克里得(Arnold von Winkelried)是瑞士的一個愛國志士。1386年瑞士在山巴赫(Sempach)戰勝英國時，據說他起了決定性的作用。他把好幾個敵人的長矛抱在一起，使它們刺進自己的胸口裡而失去作用。這樣他就造成一個缺口，使瑞士軍隊可以在他身上踩過去，攻擊敵人的陣地。

　　世上最美麗的一朵玫瑰花英文版：

　　The Loveliest Rose in the World

　　THERE lived once a great queen, in whose garden were found at all seasons the most splendid flowers, and from every land in the world. She specially loved roses, and therefore she possessed the most beautiful varieties of this flower, from the wild hedge-rose, with its apple-scented leaves, to the splendid Provence rose. They grew near the shelter of the walls, wound themselves round columns and window-frames, crept along passages and over the ceilings of the halls. They were of every fragrance and color.

　　But care and sorrow dwelt within these halls; the queen lay upon a sick bed, and the doctors declared that she must die. “There is still one thing that could save her,” said one of the wisest among them. “Bring her the loveliest rose in the world; one which exhibits the purest and brightest love, and if it is brought to her before her eyes close, she will not die.”

　　Then from all parts came those who brought roses that bloomed in every garden, but they were not the right sort. The flower must be one from the garden of love; but which of the roses there showed forth the highest and purest love? The poets sang of this rose, the loveliest in the world, and each named one which he considered worthy of that title; and intelligence of what was required was sent far and wide to every heart that beat with love; to every class, age, and condition.

　　“No one has yet named the flower,” said the wise man. “No one has pointed out the spot where it blooms in all its splendor. It is not a rose from the coffin of Romeo and Juliet, or from the grave of Walburg, though these roses will live in everlasting song. It is not one of the roses which sprouted forth from the blood-stained fame of Winkelreid. The blood which flows from the breast of a hero who dies for his country is sacred, and his memory is sweet, and no rose can be redder than the blood which flows from his veins. Neither is it the magic flower of Science, to obtain which wondrous flower a man devotes many an hour of his fresh young life in sleepless nights, in a lonely chamber.”

　　“I know where it blooms,” said a happy mother, who came with her lovely child to the bedside of the queen. “I know where the loveliest rose in the world is. It is seen on the blooming cheeks of my sweet child, when it expresses the pure and holy love of infancy; when refreshed by sleep it opens its eyes, and smiles upon me with childlike affection.”

　　“This is a lovely rose,” said the wise man; “but there is one still more lovely.”

　　“Yes, one far more lovely,” said one of the women. “I have seen it, and a loftier and purer rose does not bloom. But it was white, like the leaves of a blush-rose. I saw it on the cheeks of the queen. She had taken off her golden crown, and through the long, dreary night, she carried her sick child in her arms. She wept over it, kissed it, and prayed for it as only a mother can pray in that hour of her anguish.”

　　“Holy and wonderful in its might is the white rose of grief, but it is not the one we seek.”

　　“No; the loveliest rose in the world I saw at the Lord’s table,” said the good old bishop. “I saw it shine as if an angel’s face had appeared. A young maiden knelt at the altar, and renewed the vows made at her baptism; and there were white roses and red roses on the blushing cheeks of that young girl. She looked up to heaven with all the purity and love of her young spirit, in all the expression of the highest and purest love.”

　　“May she be blessed!” said the wise man: “but no one has yet named the loveliest rose in the world.”

　　Then there came into the room a child—the queen’s little son. Tears stood in his eyes, and glistened on his cheeks; he carried a great book and the binding was of velvet, with silver clasps. “Mother,” cried the little boy; “only hear what I have read.” And the child seated himself by the bedside, and read from the book of Him who suffered death on the cross to save all men, even who are yet unborn. He read, “Greater love hath no man than this,” and as he read a roseate hue spread over the cheeks of the queen, and her eyes became so enlightened and clear, that she saw from the leaves of the book a lovely rose spring forth, a type of Him who shed His blood on the cross.

　　“I see it,” she said. “He who beholds this, the loveliest rose on earth, shall never die.”