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安徒生童話故事第104篇：古教堂的鐘-為席勒紀(jì)念冊而作中英文
引導(dǎo)語：《古教堂的鐘——為席勒紀(jì)念冊而作》這篇著名作家安徒生的童話故事，大家閱讀學(xué)習(xí)過?下面是小編整理的中英文版本，歡迎大家閱讀!
在德國瓦爾登堡地方，槐樹在大路旁邊開滿了美麗的花朵，蘋果樹和梨樹在秋天被成熟的果實壓彎了枝條，這兒有一個小城市，瑪爾巴赫。它是那些微不足道的城市之一，但它是在涅加爾河邊，處在一個美麗的位置上。這條河匆忙地流過許多村莊，古老的騎士城堡和青翠的葡萄園，為的是要把它的水傾瀉到萊茵河里去。
這正是歲暮的時候，葡萄的葉子已經(jīng)紅了，天上在下著陣雨，寒風(fēng)在吹。對于窮人來說，這并不是一個愉快的時節(jié)。日子一天比一天變得陰暗，而那些老式的房子內(nèi)部更顯得陰暗。街上就有這樣的一幢房子，它的山形墻面向前街，它的窗子很矮，它的外表很寒酸。它里面住的一家人也的確很貧寒，但是非常正直和勤儉;在他們心的深處，他們懷著對于上帝的敬愛。
上帝很快就要送一個孩子給他們。時刻已經(jīng)要到了，母親躺在床上，感到陣痛和難過。這時她聽到教堂塔上飄來的鐘聲——洪亮和快樂的鐘聲。這是一個快樂的時刻。鐘聲充滿了這個在祈禱著的女人的虔誠的心。她內(nèi)心的思想飛向上帝。正在這時候，她生了一個男孩;她感到無限的快樂。教堂塔上的鐘聲似乎在把她的歡樂向全市，向全國播送。兩顆明亮的眼睛在向她凝望，這個小家伙的頭發(fā)發(fā)著光亮，好像是鍍了金似的。在十一月的一個陰暗的日子里，這個孩子就在鐘聲中被送到世界上來了。媽媽和爸爸吻了他，同時在他們的《圣經(jīng)》上寫道：“一七五九年十一月十日，上帝送給我們一個男孩。”后來他加了一句，說孩子在受洗禮時起名為約翰·克里斯朵夫·佛里得利西。
這個小家伙，寒酸的瑪爾巴赫城里的一個窮孩子，成了怎樣的一個人呢?
的確，在那個時候誰也不知道。甚至那個老教堂的鐘也不知道，雖然它懸得那樣高，最先為他唱著歌——后來他自己也唱出一支非常美麗的歌：《鐘》①。
這個小家伙在生長，這個世界也為他在生長。他的父母搬到另一個城里去了，但是他們在小小的瑪爾巴赫還留下一些親愛的朋友，因此有一天媽媽就帶著兒子回去作一次拜訪。孩子還只不過六周歲，但是他已經(jīng)知道了《圣經(jīng)》里的許多章節(jié)和虔誠的贊美詩。他常常在晚間坐在小凳上聽爸爸讀格勒爾特②的寓言和關(guān)于救世主的詩。當(dāng)他們聽到這個人為了救我們而上十字架上的時候，他流出眼淚，比他大兩歲的姐姐就哭起來。
在他們第一次拜訪瑪爾巴赫的時候，這個城市還沒有很大的改變。的確，他們離開它還沒有多久。房子仍然跟以前一樣，有尖尖的山形墻，傾斜的墻和低矮的窗子;但是教堂的墓地里卻有了新的墳?zāi)梗夷莻�老鐘也躺在這兒墻邊的草里。這鐘是從塔上落下來的。它已經(jīng)跌出一個裂口，再也發(fā)不出聲音來了。因為這個緣故，現(xiàn)在有一個新鐘來代替它。
媽媽和兒子一起走到教堂里去，他們站在這個老鐘面前。媽媽告訴孩子，許多世紀(jì)以來這個鐘該是做了多少事情：它在人們受洗、結(jié)婚和入葬的時候，奏出音樂;它為慶祝、歡樂和火警發(fā)出聲音;事實上，這個鐘歌唱著人的整個一生。媽媽講的話，這孩子永遠沒有忘記。這些話在他的心里盤旋著，直到后來他成人以后不得不把它唱出來。媽媽還告訴他，這鐘怎樣在她苦痛不安的時候發(fā)出安慰和快樂的聲音，怎樣在她生小孩子的時候奏出音樂和歌。孩子懷著虔誠的心情望著這個偉大的、古老的鐘。他彎下腰來吻它，雖然它躺在亂草和蕁麻之間，裂了口，滿身是銹。
孩子在貧困中長大了，這個鐘深深地留在他的記憶里。他是又瘦又高，長了一頭紅發(fā)，滿臉雀斑，是的，這就是他的外貌，但是他有兩顆明亮的、像深水一樣的眼睛。他的發(fā)展怎樣呢?他的發(fā)展很好，好得叫人羨慕!他進了軍官學(xué)校，而且受到優(yōu)待，進了世家子弟所進的那一科。這是一種光榮和幸運。他穿起皮靴和硬領(lǐng)，戴著撲了粉的假發(fā)。他在學(xué)習(xí)知識——“開步走!”“立定!”和“向前看!”這個范疇里的知識。這大概不會是白學(xué)的。
那個被人忘記了的老教堂的鐘總有一天會走進熔爐。它會變成什么呢?這是很難說的。但是那個年輕人心里的鐘會變成什么呢?這也同樣是很難說的。他心里有一個聲音洪亮的金屬品——它總有一天要向世界唱出歌來。學(xué)校的空間越窄狹，“開步走!立定!向前走!”的聲音越緊張，這個年輕人心里的歌聲就越強壯。他在同學(xué)中間把這個歌聲唱出來，而這歌聲越過了國境。但他在這兒受教育、領(lǐng)制服和食宿并不就是為了唱歌呀。他是一座大鐘里一個固定的螺絲釘——我們都是一架機器的零件。我們對于自己了解得多么少啊!別的人——即使是最好的人——怎么會了解我們呢?但是寶石只有在壓力下才能形成。這里現(xiàn)在有的是壓力。世界在時間的過程中會不會認識這顆寶石呢?
有一個盛大的慶祝會在這國家的首都舉行。無數(shù)的燈光亮起來了，焰火照耀著天空。人們現(xiàn)在還記得那次輝煌的景象，因為正是在那個時候他帶著眼淚和苦痛的心情想要逃到外國去。他不得不離開祖國、母親和所有親愛的人，否則他就得在一個平凡的生活旋渦中淹沒掉。
那個古老的鐘仍然是完好如故。它藏在瑪爾巴赫教堂的墻邊，完全被人忘記了!風(fēng)在它身上吹過去，可能告訴它一點關(guān)于他的消息，因為這鐘在他出生的時候曾經(jīng)唱過歌。風(fēng)可能告訴它自己怎樣寒冷地在他身上吹過去，他怎樣因為疲勞過度而在鄰近的森林里倒下來，他怎樣擁抱著他的寶物——他對未來的希望，已經(jīng)完成的那幾頁《斐愛斯柯》③。風(fēng)可能說出，當(dāng)他在讀這部悲劇的時候，他的支持者——全是些藝術(shù)家——都偷偷溜走而去玩九柱戲④。風(fēng)可能說出，這個面色蒼白的逃亡者整星期、整月地住在一個寒酸的客棧里，老板不是吵鬧就是喝酒;當(dāng)他正在唱著理想之歌的時候，人們卻在周圍粗暴地作樂。這是艱難的日子，陰暗的日子!心兒得為它所要唱出的東西先受一番苦和考驗。
那個古老的鐘也經(jīng)歷過陰暗的日子和寒冷的夜，但是它感覺不到，人類胸懷中的鐘可是能感覺得到困苦的時刻。這個年輕人的情形怎樣呢?是的，這個鐘飛得很遠，比它在高塔上發(fā)出的聲音所能達到的地方還遠。至于這個年輕人，他心里的鐘聲所達到的地方，比他的腿步所能走到和他的眼睛所能看到的地方還要遠。它在大洋上，在整個的地球上響著。
現(xiàn)在讓我們先聽聽這個教堂的鐘吧。它從瑪爾巴赫被運走了。它被當(dāng)作舊銅賣了。它得走到巴恩州的熔爐里去。它究竟是怎樣到那里去的呢?什么時候去的呢?唔，這只好讓鐘自己來講——如果它能講的話。這當(dāng)然不是一件頂重要的事。不過有一件事是很肯定的：它來到了巴恩的首府。自從它從鐘樓上跌下來的時候起，有許多年已經(jīng)過去了。它現(xiàn)在得被熔化，作為一座新鑄的紀(jì)念碑的材料的一部分——德國人民的一個偉大的雕像�，F(xiàn)在請聽這事情是怎樣發(fā)生的吧!這個世界上有的是奇異和美麗的事情!
在丹麥一個布滿了山毛櫸和墳?zāi)沟木G島上住著一個窮苦的孩子。他拖著一雙木鞋，常常用一塊舊布包著飯食送給他的父親吃。父親在碼頭上專門為船只雕刻“破浪神”。這個窮苦的孩子成了這個國家的財寶：他成大理石刻出的美麗東西，使全世界的人看到都非常驚訝。
現(xiàn)在他接受了一件光榮的工作，用泥土雕塑出一個莊嚴(yán)美麗的人像，然后再從這個人像鑄出一個銅像。這個人像的名字，他的父親曾經(jīng)在《圣經(jīng)》上寫過的：約翰·克里斯朵夫·佛里得利西。
火熱的古銅流進模子里去。是的，誰也沒有想起那個古教堂的鐘的故鄉(xiāng)和它的逝去了的聲音。這鐘流進模子里去，形成一個人像的頭和胸部。這尊像現(xiàn)在已經(jīng)揭幕了。它現(xiàn)在已經(jīng)立在斯杜特加爾特的古宮面前。它所代表的那個人，活著的時候，曾經(jīng)在這塊地方走來走去;他感到外界的壓迫，他的內(nèi)心在做尖銳的斗爭。他——瑪爾巴赫出生的一個孩子，軍事學(xué)校的一個學(xué)生，逃亡者，德國不朽的偉大詩人——他歌唱瑞士的解放者和法國的一位得到上天感召的姑娘⑤。
這是一個美麗的晴天。在這個莊嚴(yán)的斯杜特加爾特城里，旗幟在屋頂上和尖塔上飄揚。教堂所有的鐘都發(fā)出節(jié)日和歡樂的聲音。只有一個鐘是沉默的。但是它在明朗的太陽光中射出光輝，它從一尊高貴的人像的面上和胸前射出光輝。自從瑪爾巴赫塔上的鐘為一個受難的母親發(fā)出快樂和安慰的鐘聲那天起。一整個世紀(jì)已經(jīng)過去了。那一天，這個母親在窮困中和簡陋的房子中生出了一個男孩。這孩子后來成為一個富有的人——他的精神財富給世界帶來幸福。他——一個善良的女人所生的詩人，一個偉大、光榮的歌手：約翰·克里斯朵夫·佛里得利西·席勒。
�、僦赶盏臄⑹略姟剁娭琛�(DasLied von der Glocke)。
�、诟窭諣柼�(Christian Furchtegott Gellert,1715～1769)德國詩人。
�、邸鹅硱鬯箍隆�(Fiesko)是席勒所寫的一個劇本。
�、芫胖鶓�(Keglespillet)是德國的一種游戲：九根一尺來長的柱子豎在地上，圍成一個小圈，然后把一個圓球滾過去，看是否能把這些柱子打倒。
�、葜赶盏膬蓚�名劇本《威廉·退爾》(Vilhelm Tell)和《奧爾良的姑娘》(Die Jung frauvon Orleans)。
《古教堂的鐘——為席勒紀(jì)念冊而作》英文版：
The Old Church Bell
IN the country of Wurtemburg, in Germany, where the acacias grow by the public road, where the apple-trees and the pear-trees in autumn bend to the earth with the weight of the precious fruit, lies the little town of Marbach. As is often the case with many of these towns, it is charmingly situated on the banks of the river Neckar, which rushes rapidly by, passing villages, old knights’ castles, and green vineyards, till its waters mingle with those of the stately Rhine. It was late in the autumn; the vine-leaves still hung upon the branches of the vines, but they were already tinted with red and gold; heavy showers fell on the surrounding country, and the cold autumn wind blew sharp and strong. It was not at all pleasant weather for the poor. The days grew shorter and more gloomy, and, dark as it was out of doors in the open air, it was still darker within the small, old-fashioned houses of the village. The gable end of one of these houses faced the street, and with its small, narrow windows, presented a very mean appearance. The family who dwelt in it were also very poor and humble, but they treasured the fear of God in their innermost hearts. And now He was about to send them a child. It was the hour of the mother’s sorrow, when there pealed forth from the church tower the sound of festive bells. In that solemn hour the sweet and joyous chiming filled the hearts of those in the humble dwelling with thankfulness and trust; and when, amidst these joyous sounds, a little son was born to them, the words of prayer and praise arose from their overflowing hearts, and their happiness seemed to ring out over town and country in the liquid tones of the church bells’ chime. The little one, with its bright eyes and golden hair, had been welcomed joyously on that dark November day. Its parents kissed it lovingly, and the father wrote these words in the Bible, “On the tenth of November, 1759, God sent us a son.” And a short time after, when the child had been baptized, the names he had received were added, “John Christopher Frederick.”
And what became of the little lad?—the poor boy of the humble town of Marbach? Ah, indeed, there was no one who thought or supposed, not even the old church bell which had been the first to sound and chime for him, that he would be the first to sing the beautiful song of “The Bell.” The boy grew apace, and the world advanced with him.
While he was yet a child, his parents removed from Marbach, and went to reside in another town; but their dearest friends remained behind at Marbach, and therefore sometimes the mother and her son would start on a fine day to pay a visit to the little town. The boy was at this time about six years old, and already knew a great many stories out of the Bible, and several religious psalms. While seated in the evening on his little cane-chair, he had often heard his father read from Gellert’s fables, and sometimes from Klopstock’s grand poem, “The Messiah.” He and his sister, two years older than himself, had often wept scalding tears over the story of Him who suffered death on the cross for us all.
On his first visit to Marbach, the town appeared to have changed but very little, and it was not far enough away to be forgotten. The house, with its pointed gable, narrow windows, overhanging walls and stories, projecting one beyond another, looked just the same as in former times. But in the churchyard there were several new graves; and there also, in the grass, close by the wall, stood the old church bell! It had been taken down from its high position, in consequence of a crack in the metal which prevented it from ever chiming again, and a new bell now occupied its place. The mother and son were walking in the churchyard when they discovered the old bell, and they stood still to look at it. Then the mother reminded her little boy of what a useful bell this had been for many hundred years. It had chimed for weddings and for christenings; it had tolled for funerals, and to give the alarm in case of fire. With every event in the life of man the bell had made its voice heard. His mother also told him how the chiming of that old bell had once filled her heart with joy and confidence, and that in the midst of the sweet tones her child had been given to her. And the boy gazed on the large, old bell with the deepest interest. He bowed his head over it and kissed it, old, thrown away, and cracked as it was, and standing there amidst the grass and nettles. The boy never forgot what his mother told him, and the tones of the old bell reverberated in his heart till he reached manhood. In such sweet remembrance was the old bell cherished by the boy, who grew up in poverty to be tall and slender, with a freckled complexion and hair almost red; but his eyes were clear and blue as the deep sea, and what was his career to be? His career was to be good, and his future life enviable. We find him taking high honors at the military school in the division commanded by the member of a family high in position, and this was an honor, that is to say, good luck. He wore gaiters, stiff collars, and powdered hair, and by this he was recognized; and, indeed, he might be known by the word of command—“March! halt! front!”
The old church bell had long been quite forgotten, and no one imagined it would ever again be sent to the melting furnace to make it as it was before. No one could possibly have foretold this. Equally impossible would it have been to believe that the tones of the old bell still echoed in the heart of the boy from Marbach; or that one day they would ring out loud enough and strong enough to be heard all over the world. They had already been heard in the narrow space behind the school-wall, even above the deafening sounds of “March! halt! front!” They had chimed so loudly in the heart of the youngster, that he had sung them to his companions, and their tones resounded to the very borders of the country. He was not a free scholar in the military school, neither was he provided with clothes or food. But he had his number, and his own peg; for everything here was ordered like clockwork, which we all know is of the greatest utility—people get on so much better together when their position and duties are understood. It is by pressure that a jewel is stamped. The pressure of regularity and discipline here stamped the jewel, which in the future the world so well knew.
In the chief town of the province a great festival was being celebrated. The light streamed forth from thousands of lamps, and the rockets shot upwards towards the sky, filling the air with showers of colored fiery sparks. A record of this bright display will live in the memory of man, for through it the pupil in the military school was in tears and sorrow. He had dared to attempt to reach foreign territories unnoticed, and must therefore give up fatherland, mother, his dearest friends, all, or sink down into the stream of common life. The old church bell had still some comfort; it stood in the shelter of the church wall in Marbach, once so elevated, now quite forgotten. The wind roared around it, and could have readily related the story of its origin and of its sweet chimes, and the wind could also tell of him to whom he had brought fresh air when, in the woods of a neighboring country, he had sunk down exhausted with fatigue, with no other worldly possessions than hope for the future, and a written leaf from “Fiesco.” The wind could have told that his only protector was an artist, who, by reading each leaf to him, made it plain; and that they amused themselves by playing at nine-pins together. The wind could also describe the pale fugitive, who, for weeks and months, lay in a wretched little road-side inn, where the landlord got drunk and raved, and where the merry-makers had it all their own way. And he, the pale fugitive, sang of the ideal.
For many heavy days and dark nights the heart must suffer to enable it to endure trial and temptation; yet, amidst it all, would the minstrel sing. Dark days and cold nights also passed over the old bell, and it noticed them not; but the bell in the man’s heart felt it to be a gloomy time. What would become of this young man, and what would become of the old bell?
The old bell was, after a time, carried away to a greater distance than any one, even the warder in the bell tower, ever imagined; and the bell in the breast of the young man was heard in countries where his feet had never wandered. The tones went forth over the wide ocean to every part of the round world.
We will now follow the career of the old bell. It was, as we have said, carried far away from Marbach and sold as old copper; then sent to Bavaria to be melted down in a furnace. And then what happened?
In the royal city of Bavaria, many years after the bell had been removed from the tower and melted down, some metal was required for a monument in honor of one of the most celebrated characters which a German people or a German land could produce. And now we see how wonderfully things are ordered. Strange things sometimes happen in this world.
In Denmark, in one of those green islands where the foliage of the beech-woods rustles in the wind, and where many Huns’ graves may be seen, was another poor boy born. He wore wooden shoes, and when his father worked in a ship-yard, the boy, wrapped up in an old worn-out shawl, carried his dinner to him every day. This poor child was now the pride of his country; for the sculptured marble, the work of his hands, had astonished the world.1 To him was offered the honor of forming from the clay, a model of the figure of him whose name, “John Christopher Frederick,” had been written by his father in the Bible. The bust was cast in bronze, and part of the metal used for this purpose was the old church bell, whose tones had died away from the memory of those at home and elsewhere. The metal, glowing with heat, flowed into the mould, and formed the head and bust of the statue which was unveiled in the square in front of the old castle. The statue represented in living, breathing reality, the form of him who was born in poverty, the boy from Marbach, the pupil of the military school, the fugitive who struggled against poverty and oppression, from the outer world; Germany’s great and immortal poet, who sung of Switzerland’s deliverer, William Tell, and of the heaven-inspired Maid of Orleans.
It was a beautiful sunny day; flags were waving from tower and roof in royal Stuttgart, and the church bells were ringing a joyous peal. One bell was silent; but it was illuminated by the bright sunshine which streamed from the head and bust of the renowned figure, of which it formed a part. On this day, just one hundred years had passed since the day on which the chiming of the old church bell at Marbach had filled the mother’s heart with trust and joy—the day on which her child was born in poverty, and in a humble home; the same who, in after-years, became rich, became the noble woman-hearted poet, a blessing to the world—the glorious, the sublime, the immortal bard, John Christoper Frederick Schiller!
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