安徒生童話故事第85篇：老櫟樹的夢—個聖誕節的童話中英文版本
安徒生童話故事第85篇：老櫟樹的夢—個聖誕節的童話中英文版本
引導語：聖誕節馬上就要到來，下面是小編整理的一篇《老櫟樹的夢—個聖誕節的童話》的中英文版的安徒生童話故事，與大家分享。
在一個樹林裡，在寬廣的海岸旁的一個陡坡上，立著一株很老的櫟樹。它的年紀恰恰是三百六十五歲，不過對於這樹說來，這段時間也只是等於我們人的三百六十五個晝夜。我們白天醒過來，晚上睡過去，於是我們就做起夢來。樹可就不是這樣。它一年有三個季節是醒著的，只有到冬天，它才去睡覺。冬天是它睡眠的季節，是它度過了春、夏、秋這一個漫長的白晝以後的夜晚。
在許多夏天的日子裡，蜉蝣環繞著這樹的簇頂跳起舞來，生活著，飛舞著，感到幸福。然後這小小的生物就在安靜的幸福感中，躺在一片新鮮的大櫟樹葉子上休息。這時樹兒就說：
“可憐的小東西!你整個的生命也不過只有一天!太短了!這真是悲哀!”
“悲哀!”蜉蝣總是這樣回答說。“你這話是什麼意思?一切是這樣無比的光明、溫暖和美麗。我真感到快樂!”
“然而也不過只有一天，接著什麼都完了!”
“完了!”蜉蝣說。“什麼完了?你也完了嗎?”
“沒有。像你那樣的日子，我恐怕要活到幾千幾萬個。我的一天包括一年所有的季節!它是那麼長，你簡直沒有方法計算出來!”
“是嗎?那我就不瞭解你了!你說你有幾千幾萬個像我這樣的日子，可是我有幾千幾萬個片刻;在這些片刻中我能夠感到快樂和幸福。當你死了以後，難道這個世界的一切美景就會不再有嗎?”
“當然會有的，”樹兒說;“它會永遠地存在——存在得出乎我想像之外地久遠。”
“這樣說來.我們所有的時間是一樣的了，只不過我們計算的方法不同罷了!”
蜉蝣在空中飛著，舞著，欣賞它那像薄紗和天鵝絨一樣精緻的翅膀，欣賞帶來原野上的車軸草、籬笆上的野玫瑰、接骨木樹和金銀花的香氣的薰風，欣賞車葉草、櫻草花和野薄荷。這些花兒的香味是那麼強烈，蜉蝣覺得幾乎要醉了。日子是漫長而美麗的，充滿了快樂和甜蜜感。當太陽低低地沉落的時候，這隻小飛蟲感到一種歡樂後的愉快的倦意。它的翅膀已經不想再托住它了;於是它便輕輕地、慢慢地沿著柔軟的草葉溜下來，儘可能地點了幾下頭，然後便安靜地睡去——同時也死了。
“可憐的小蜉蝣!”櫟樹說。“這種生命真是短促得可怕!”
每年夏天它跳著同樣的舞，講著同樣的話，回答著同樣的問題，而且同樣地睡去。蜉蝣世世代代地重複著這同樣的事情;它們都感到同樣地快樂和幸福。老櫟樹在它春天的早晨、夏天的中午和秋天的晚上，一直是站在那兒，沒有睡。現在它的休息的時刻，它的夜，馬上就要來了，因為冬天一步一步地接近了。
暴風雨已經唱起了歌：“晚安!晚安!”這裡有一片葉子落下來，那裡又有一片葉子落下來了!“我們摘下葉子，我們摘下葉子!看你能不能睡著!我們唱歌使你睡著，我們把你搖得睡著，這對於你的老枝子是有好處的，是不是?它們似乎快樂得裂開了!甜蜜地睡去吧!甜蜜地睡去吧!這是你的第三百六十五個夜呀!按規矩說，你還不過是一個剛剛滿一歲的'孩子!甜蜜地睡去吧!雲塊撒下雪來，這是一層毯子，一層蓋在你腳上的溫暖的被子。願你甜蜜地睡去，做些愉快的夢吧!”
老櫟樹立在那兒，葉子都光了;它要睡過這漫長的冬天，要做許多夢——夢著它所經歷過的事情，像人類所做的夢一樣。
它曾經一度也是很小的——的確，那時它的搖籃不過是一顆櫧子。照人類的計算法，它現在正是在第四百個年頭之中。它是森林裡一株最大和最好的樹。它的頂高高地伸在所有的樹上，人們在海上就可以遠遠地看到它，因此它成了船隻的一個地形標記。它一點也不知道，該是有多少眼睛在尋找它。斑鳩在它綠色的頂上高高地建起窩來，杜鵑坐在它的枝丫裡唱著歌。在秋天，在樹葉看起來像薄薄的鋼片的時候，候鳥就飛來，在它們沒有到大海的彼岸去以前，停在這兒休息一下。不過現在是冬天了，誰也可以看得出來，這樹沒有剩下一片葉子;它的枝丫長得多麼彎，多麼曲啊，烏鴉和白嘴鴉輪流地到它的枝丫裡來，在那裡休息，談論著那快要開始的嚴寒的季節，談論著在冬天找食物是多麼困難。
這正是神聖的聖誕節的時候;這樹做了一個最美麗的夢。
這樹明顯地感覺到，這是一個歡樂的季節。它覺得它聽到周圍所有教堂的鐘都敲起來了。然而天氣仍然是像一個美麗的夏天，既柔和，又溫暖。它展開它莊嚴的、新鮮的、綠色的簇頂;太陽光在枝葉之間戲弄著;空氣充滿了草和灌木的香氣;五顏六色的蝴蝶在互相追逐。蜉蝣跳著舞，好像一切都是為了他們的跳舞和歡樂而存在似的。這樹多年來所經歷過的東西，以及在它周圍所發生過的東酉，像節日的行列一樣，在它面前遊行過去。它看到古代的騎士和貴婦人——他們的帽子上插著長羽毛，手腕上託著獵鷹，騎著馬走過樹林。狩獵的號角吹起來了，獵犬叫起來了。它看到敵對的武士，穿著各種顏色的服裝，拿著發亮的武器矛和戟，架起帳篷，收起帳篷。篝火燃起來了;人民在它展開的枝丫下面唱歌和睡覺。它看到一對一對的戀人在月光中幸福地相會，把他們名字的第一個字母刻在它灰綠色的樹皮上。有個時候——自此以後多少年過去了——快樂的遊蕩者把七絃琴和風奏琴①掛在它的枝子上，現在它們又在那上面掛起來了，又發出非常動聽的音調。斑鳩在喁喁私語，好像是在講這樹對這一切事物的觀感;杜鵑在唱它還能活多少個夏天。
這時它覺得彷彿有一種新的生命力在向它最遠的細根流去，然後又向它最高的枝子升上來，一直升到它葉子的尖上。這樹兒覺得它在伸展和擴大;透過它的根，它感到連土裡都有了生命和溫暖。它覺得它的氣力在增長。它長得更豐滿，更寬大。它越長越高。它的軀幹在上升，沒有一刻停止。它在不斷地生長。它的簇頂長得更豐滿，更寬大，更高。它越長得高，它的快樂就越增大;於是它就更有一種愉快的渴望。渴望要長得更高——長到跟明朗和溫暖的太陽一樣高。
它已經長到超出雲層之上了。雲塊在它的簇頂下浮過去，像密密成群的候鳥，或者像在它下面飛過去的白色的大天鵝。
這樹的每片葉子都能看到東西，好像它有眼睛一樣。它在白天可以看見星星——那麼巨大，那麼光耀。每顆星星像一對眼睛——那麼溫柔，那麼晶瑩。這使得它記起那些熟識的親切的眼睛，孩子的眼睛，在它的枝下幽會的戀人的眼睛。
這是一個幸福的片刻——一個充滿了快樂的片刻!然而在這幸福之中，它感到一種渴望;它希望看到樹林裡一切生長在它下面的樹、一切灌木叢、草兒和花兒，也能跟它一起長高，也能欣賞這種快樂和美景。這株巨大的櫟樹在它美麗的夢中並不感到太幸福，因為它沒有使它周圍大大小小的植物分享這種幸福。這種感覺在它的每個小枝裡，每片葉子裡，激動著，好像在人類的心裡一樣。
這樹的簇頂前後搖動著，好像它在尋找一件什麼東西而沒有找到。它朝下面望。於是它嗅到車葉草的香氣;不一會兒，它聞到金銀花和紫羅蘭的更強烈的香味。它相信它聽到杜鵑在對自己講話。
是的，樹林的一片綠頂透過了整個的雲層;櫟樹看到它上面其餘的樹也在生長，像自己一樣在向上伸展。灌木和草兒也長得很高，有些甚至把自己的根都拔起來，為的是想飛快地上長。樺樹長得最快。它細嫩的軀幹，像一條白色的閃電似地在向上伸;它的枝子搖動起來像綠色的細紗和旗子。樹林中的一切植物，甚至長著棕毛的燈心草，也跟著別的植物一齊在向上長。鳥兒跟著它們一起向上飛，唱著歌。一根草葉也在飛快地生長，像飄著的一條緞帶。一隻蚱蜢坐在它上面，用腿子擦著翅膀。小金蟲在嗡嗡地唱著歌，蜜蜂在低吟著。每隻鳥兒都用自己的嘴唱著歌。處處是一片直衝雲霄的歌聲和快樂聲。
“可是水邊的那朵小藍花在什麼地方呢?它應該和大家一起也在這兒。”櫟樹說，“那紫色的鐘形花和那小雛菊在什麼地方呢?”是的，老櫟樹希望這些東西都在它的周圍。
“我們都在這兒呀!我們都在這兒呀!”這是一片歌唱的聲音。
“不過去年夏天的那棵美麗的車葉草——而且去年這兒還有一棵鈴蘭花!還有那野蘋果樹，它是多麼美麗!還有那年年都出現的樹林勝景——如果這還存在，到現在還存在的話，那麼也請它來和我們在一起吧!”
“我們都在這兒呀!我們都在這兒呀!”更高的空中發出這麼一個合唱聲。這聲音似乎早就在那兒。
“唔，這真是說不出的可愛!”老櫟樹高聲說。“他們大大小小都在我的周圍!誰也沒有被忘記掉!人們怎麼能想象得到這麼多的幸福呢?這怎麼可能呢?”
“在天上這是可能的，也可以想象得到的!”高空中的聲音說。
這株不停地生長著的櫟樹覺得它的根從地上拔出來了。
“這是再好不過了!”這樹說。“現在再沒有什麼東西可以牽制住我了!我現在可以飛了，可以在燦爛的陽光中向最高的地方飛了!而且一切大大小小的心愛的東西都和我在一起!大家都和我在一起!”
這是老櫟樹做的一個夢。當它正在做這夢的時候，一陣狂暴的風雨，在這個神聖的聖誕節之夜，從海上和陸地上吹來了。海向岸上捲起一股巨大的浪潮，這樹在崩裂——當它正在夢著它的根從土裡解放出來的時候，它的根真的從地上拔出來了。它倒下來了。它的三百六十五歲現在跟蜉蝣的一日沒有兩樣。
在聖誕節的早晨，太陽一出來，暴風雨就停了。所有的教堂都發出節日的鐘聲。從每一個煙囪裡，甚至從最小茅屋頂上的煙囪裡升起了藍色的煙，像古代德魯伊②僧侶的祭壇上在感恩節升起的煙一樣。海漸漸地平靜了。海面停著的一條大船上——它昨夜曾經戰勝了暴風雨——懸起了各色的旗幟慶祝這個美麗的節日。
“這樹已經倒下來了——這株很老的、作為地形的指標的櫟樹!”水手們說。“它在昨夜的暴風雨中倒下來了!誰能再把它栽上呢?誰也不能!”
這是人們對於這櫟樹所作的悼辭。話雖然很短，但是用意很好。這樹在蓋滿了積雪的海岸上躺著;從船上飄來的聖詩的歌聲在它的軀體上盤旋著。這是聖誕節的愉快的頌歌，基督用血把人類的靈魂贖出來的頌歌，永恆的生命的頌歌。
唱喲，高聲唱喲，上帝的子民!
阿利路亞，大家齊聲歡慶，
啊，處處是無邊的歡樂!
阿利路亞!阿利路亞!
這是一首古老聖詩的調子。在這歌聲和祈禱中，船上的每個人都感到一種特有的超升的感覺。正如那株老樹在它最後的、最美的。聖誕節晚上的夢中所感到的那種超升的感覺一樣。
①這是一種放在風中就自動發出音調的古琴。
②德魯伊(Druids)是古代高盧人(Gaul)和不列顛人(Briton)享有特權的一種祭司階層。
老櫟樹的夢—個聖誕節的童話英文版：
The Last Dream of the Old Oak
IN the forest, high up on the steep shore, and not far from the open seacoast, stood a very old oak-tree. It was just three hundred and sixty-five years old, but that long time was to the tree as the same number of days might be to us; we wake by day and sleep by night, and then we have our dreams. It is different with the tree; it is obliged to keep awake through three seasons of the year, and does not get any sleep till winter comes. Winter is its time for rest; its night after the long day of spring, summer, and autumn. On many a warm summer, the Ephemera, the flies that exist for only a day, had fluttered about the old oak, enjoyed life and felt happy and if, for a moment, one of the tiny creatures rested on one of his large fresh leaves, the tree would always say, “Poor little creature! your whole life consists only of a single day. How very short. It must be quite melancholy.”
“Melancholy! what do you mean?” the little creature would always reply. “Everything around me is so wonderfully bright and warm, and beautiful, that it makes me joyous.”
“But only for one day, and then it is all over.”
“Over!” repeated the fly; “what is the meaning of all over? Are you all over too?”
“No; I shall very likely live for thousands of your days, and my day is whole seasons long; indeed it is so long that you could never reckon it out.”
“No? then I don’t understand you. You may have thousands of my days, but I have thousands of moments in which I can be merry and happy. Does all the beauty of the world cease when you die?”
“No,” replied the tree; “it will certainly last much longer,— infinitely longer than I can even think of.” “Well, then,” said the little fly, “we have the same time to live; only we reckon differently.” And the little creature danced and floated in the air, rejoicing in her delicate wings of gauze and velvet, rejoicing in the balmy breezes, laden with the fragrance of clover-fields and wild roses, elder-blossoms and honeysuckle, from the garden hedges, wild thyme, primroses, and mint, and the scent of all these was so strong that the perfume almost intoxicated the little fly. The long and beautiful day had been so full of joy and sweet delights, that when the sun sank low it felt tired of all its happiness and enjoyment. Its wings could sustain it no longer, and gently and slowly it glided down upon the soft waving blades of grass, nodded its little head as well as it could nod, and slept peacefully and sweetly. The fly was dead.
“Poor little Ephemera!” said the oak; “what a terribly short life!” And so, on every summer day the dance was repeated, the same questions asked, and the same answers given. The same thing was continued through many generations of Ephemera; all of them felt equally merry and equally happy.
The oak remained awake through the morning of spring, the noon of summer, and the evening of autumn; its time of rest, its night drew nigh—winter was coming. Already the storms were singing, “Good-night, good-night.” Here fell a leaf and there fell a leaf. “We will rock you and lull you. Go to sleep, go to sleep. We will sing you to sleep, and shake you to sleep, and it will do your old twigs good; they will even crackle with pleasure. Sleep sweetly, sleep sweetly, it is your three-hundred-and-sixty-fifth night. Correctly speaking, you are but a youngster in the world. Sleep sweetly, the clouds will drop snow upon you, which will be quite a cover-lid, warm and sheltering to your feet. Sweet sleep to you, and pleasant dreams.” And there stood the oak, stripped of all its leaves, left to rest during the whole of a long winter, and to dream many dreams of events that had happened in its life, as in the dreams of men. The great tree had once been small; indeed, in its cradle it had been an acorn. According to human computation, it was now in the fourth century of its existence. It was the largest and best tree in the forest. Its summit towered above all the other trees, and could be seen far out at sea, so that it served as a landmark to the sailors. It had no idea how many eyes looked eagerly for it. In its topmost branches the wood-pigeon built her nest, and the cuckoo carried out his usual vocal performances, and his well-known notes echoed amid the boughs; and in autumn, when the leaves looked like beaten copper plates, the birds of passage would come and rest upon the branches before taking their flight across the sea. But now it was winter, the tree stood leafless, so that every one could see how crooked and bent were the branches that sprang forth from the trunk. Crows and rooks came by turns and sat on them, and talked of the hard times which were beginning, and how difficult it was in winter to obtain food.
It was just about holy Christmas time that the tree dreamed a dream. The tree had, doubtless, a kind of feeling that the festive time had arrived, and in his dream fancied he heard the bells ringing from all the churches round, and yet it seemed to him to be a beautiful summer’s day, mild and warm. His mighty summits was crowned with spreading fresh green foliage; the sunbeams played among the leaves and branches, and the air was full of fragrance from herb and blossom; painted butterflies chased each other; the summer flies danced around him, as if the world had been created merely for them to dance and be merry in. All that had happened to the tree during every year of his life seemed to pass before him, as in a festive procession. He saw the knights of olden times and noble ladies ride by through the wood on their gallant steeds, with plumes waving in their hats, and falcons on their wrists. The hunting horn sounded, and the dogs barked. He saw hostile warriors, in colored dresses and glittering armor, with spear and halberd, pitching their tents, and anon striking them. The watchfires again blazed, and men sang and slept under the hospitable shelter of the tree. He saw lovers meet in quiet happiness near him in the moonshine, and carve the initials of their names in the grayish-green bark on his trunk. Once, but long years had intervened since then, guitars and Eolian harps had been hung on his boughs by merry travellers; now they seemed to hang there again, and he could hear their marvellous tones. The wood-pigeons cooed as if to explain the feelings of the tree, and the cuckoo called out to tell him how many summer days he had yet to live. Then it seemed as if new life was thrilling through every fibre of root and stem and leaf, rising even to the highest branches. The tree felt itself stretching and spreading out, while through the root beneath the earth ran the warm vigor of life. As he grew higher and still higher, with increased strength, his topmost boughs became broader and fuller; and in proportion to his growth, so was his self-satisfaction increased, and with it arose a joyous longing to grow higher and higher, to reach even to the warm, bright sun itself. Already had his topmost branches pierced the clouds, which floated beneath them like troops of birds of passage, or large white swans; every leaf seemed gifted with sight, as if it possessed eyes to see. The stars became visible in broad daylight, large and sparkling, like clear and gentle eyes. They recalled to the memory the well-known look in the eyes of a child, or in the eyes of lovers who had once met beneath the branches of the old oak. These were wonderful and happy moments for the old tree, full of peace and joy; and yet, amidst all this happiness, the tree felt a yearning, longing desire that all the other trees, bushes, herbs, and flowers beneath him, might be able also to rise higher, as he had done, and to see all this splendor, and experience the same happiness. The grand, majestic oak could not be quite happy in the midst of his enjoyment, while all the rest, both great and small, were not with him. And this feeling of yearning trembled through every branch, through every leaf, as warmly and fervently as if they had been the fibres of a human heart. The summit of the tree waved to and fro, and bent downwards as if in his silent longing he sought for something. Then there came to him the fragrance of thyme, followed by the more powerful scent of honeysuckle and violets; and he fancied he heard the note of the cuckoo. At length his longing was satisfied. Up through the clouds came the green summits of the forest trees, and beneath him, the oak saw them rising, and growing higher and higher. Bush and herb shot upward, and some even tore themselves up by the roots to rise more quickly. The birch-tree was the quickest of all. Like a lightning flash the slender stem shot upwards in a zigzag line, the branches spreading around it like green gauze and banners. Every native of the wood, even to the brown and feathery rushes, grew with the rest, while the birds ascended with the melody of song. On a blade of grass, that fluttered in the air like a long, green ribbon, sat a grasshopper, cleaning his wings with his legs. May beetles hummed, the bees murmured, the birds sang, each in his own way; the air was filled with the sounds of song and gladness.
“But where is the little blue flower that grows by the water?” asked the oak, “and the purple bell-flower, and the daisy?” You see the oak wanted to have them all with him.
“Here we are, we are here,” sounded in voice and song.
“But the beautiful thyme of last summer, where is that? and the lilies-of-the-valley, which last year covered the earth with their bloom? and the wild apple-tree with its lovely blossoms, and all the glory of the wood, which has flourished year after year? even what may have but now sprouted forth could be with us here.”
“We are here, we are here,” sounded voices higher in the air, as if they had flown there beforehand.
“Why this is beautiful, too beautiful to be believed,” said the oak in a joyful tone. “I have them all here, both great and small; not one has been forgotten. Can such happiness be imagined?” It seemed almost impossible.
“In heaven with the Eternal God, it can be imagined, and it is possible,” sounded the reply through the air.
And the old tree, as it still grew upwards and onwards, felt that his roots were loosening themselves from the earth.
“It is right so, it is best,” said the tree, “no fetters hold me now. I can fly up to the very highest point in light and glory. And all I love are with me, both small and great. All—all are here.”
Such was the dream of the old oak: and while he dreamed, a mighty storm came rushing over land and sea, at the holy Christmas time. The sea rolled in great billows towards the shore. There was a cracking and crushing heard in the tree. The root was torn from the ground just at the moment when in his dream he fancied it was being loosened from the earth. He fell—his three hundred and sixty-five years were passed as the single day of the Ephemera. On the morning of Christmas-day, when the sun rose, the storm had ceased. From all the churches sounded the festive bells, and from every hearth, even of the smallest hut, rose the smoke into the blue sky, like the smoke from the festive thank-offerings on the Druids’ altars. The sea gradually became calm, and on board a great ship that had withstood the tempest during the night, all the flags were displayed, as a token of joy and festivity. “The tree is down! The old oak,—our landmark on the coast!” exclaimed the sailors. “It must have fallen in the storm of last night. Who can replace it? Alas! no one.” This was a funeral oration over the old tree; short, but well-meant. There it lay stretched on the snow-covered shore, and over it sounded the notes of a song from the ship—a song of Christmas joy, and of the redemption of the soul of man, and of eternal life through Christ’s atoning blood.
“Sing aloud on the happy morn,
All is fulfilled, for Christ is born;
With songs of joy let us loudly sing,
‘Hallelujahs to Christ our King.’”
Thus sounded the old Christmas carol, and every one on board the ship felt his thoughts elevated, through the song and the prayer, even as the old tree had felt lifted up in its last, its beautiful dream on that Christmas morn.