安徒生童話:光棍漢的睡帽

HERE is a street in Copenhagen with a very strange name. It is called “Hysken” street. Where the name came from， and what it means is very uncertain. It is said to be German， but that is unjust to the Germans， for it would then be called “Hauschen，” not “Hysken.” “Hauschen，” means a little house； and for many years it consisted only of a few small houses， which were scarcely larger than the wooden booths we see in the market-places at fair time. They were perhaps a little higher， and had windows； but the panes consisted of horn or bladder-skins， for glass was then too dear to have glazed windows in every house. This was a long time ago， so long indeed that our grandfathers， and even GREat-grandfathers， would speak of those days as “olden times；” indeed， many centuries have passed since then.

the rich merchants in Bremen and Lubeck， who carried on trade in Copenhagen， did not reside in the town themselves， but sent their clerks， who dwelt in the wooden booths in the Hauschen street， and sold beer and spices. The German beer was very good， and there were many sorts—from Bremen， Prussia， and Brunswick—and quantities of all sorts of spices， saffron， aniseed， ginger， and especially pepper； indeed， pepper was almost the chief article sold here； so it happened at last that the German clerks in Denmark got their nickname of “pepper gentry.” It had been made a condition with these clerks that they should not marry； so that those who lived to be old had to take care of themselves， to attend to their own comforts， and even to light their own fires， when they had any to light. Many of them were very aged； lonely old boys， with strange thoughts and eccentric habits. From this， all unmarried men， who have attained a certain age， are called， in Denmark， “pepper gentry；” and this must be remembered by all those who wish to understand the story. These “pepper gentlemen，” or， as they are called in England， “old bachelors，” are often made a butt of ridicule； they are told to put on their nightcaps， draw them over their eyes， and go to sleep. The boys in Denmark make a song of it， thus：—

“Poor old bachelor， cut your wood，Such a nightcap was never seen；Who would think it was ever clean？

Go to sleep， it will do you good.”

So they sing about the “pepper gentleman；” so do they make sport of the poor old bachelor and his nightcap， and all because they really know nothing of either. It is a cap that no one need wish for， or laugh at. And why not？ Well， we shall hear in the story.

In olden times， Hauschen Street was not paved， and passengers would stumble out of one hole into another， as they generally do in unfrequented highways； and the street was so narrow， and the booths leaning against each other were so close together， that in the summer time a sail would be stretched across the street from one booth to another opposite. At these times the odor of the pepper， saffron， and ginger became more powerful than ever. Behind the counter， as a rule， there were no young men. The clerks were almost all old boys； but they did not dress as we are accustomed to see old men represented， wearing wigs， nightcaps， and knee-breeches， and with coat and waistcoat buttoned up to the chin. We have seen the portraits of our GREat-grandfathers dressed in this way； but the “pepper gentlemen” had no money to spare to have their portraits taken， though one of them would have made a very interesting picture for us now， if taken as he appeared standing behind his counter， or going to church， or on holidays. On these occasions， they wore high-crowned， broad-brimmed hats， and sometimes a younger clerk would stick a feather in his. The woollen shirt was concealed by a broad， linen collar； the close jacket was buttoned up to the chin， and the cloak hung loosely over it； the trousers were tucked into the broad， tipped shoes， for the clerks wore no stockings. They generally stuck a table-knife and spoon in their girdles， as well as a larger knife， as a protection to themselves； and such a weapon was often very necessary.

After this fashion was Anthony dressed on holidays and festivals， excepting that， instead of a high-crowned hat， he wore a kind of bonnet， and under it a knitted cap， a regular nightcap， to which he was so accustomed that it was always on his head； he had two， nightcaps I mean， not heads. Anthony was one of the oldest of the clerks， and just the subject for a painter. He was as thin as a lath， wrinkled round the mouth and eyes， had long， bony fingers， bushy， gray eyebrows， and over his left eye hung a thick tuft of hair， which did not look handsome， but made his appearance very remarkable. People knew that he came from Bremen； it was not exactly his home， although his master resided there. His ancestors were from Thuringia， and had lived in the town of Eisenach， close by Wartburg. Old Anthony seldom spoke of this place， but he thought of it all the more.

the old clerks of Hauschen Street very seldom met together； each one remained in his own booth， which was closed early enough in the evening， and then it looked dark and dismal out in the street. Only a faint glimmer of light struggled through the horn panes in the little window on the roof， while within sat the old clerk， generally on his bed， singing his evening hymn in a low voice； or he would be moving about in his booth till late in the night， busily employed in many things. It certainly was not a very lively existence. To be a stranger in a strange land is a bitter lot； no one notices you unless you happen to stand in their way. Often， when it was dark night outside， with rain or snow falling， the place looked quite deserted and gloomy. There were no lamps in the street， excepting a very small one， which hung at one end of the street， before a picture of the Virgin， which had been painted on the wall. The dashing of the water against the bulwarks of a neighboring castle could plainly be heard. Such evenings are long and dreary， unless people can find something to do； and so Anthony found it. There were not always things to be packed or unpacked， nor paper bags to be made， nor the scales to be polished. So Anthony invented employment； he mended his clothes and patched his boots， and when he at last went to bed，—his nightcap， which he had worn from habit， still remained on his head； he had only to pull it down a little farther over his forehead. Very soon， however， it would be pushed up again to see if the light was properly put out； he would touch it， press the wick together， and at last pull his nightcap over his eyes and lie down again on the other side. But often there would arise in his mind a doubt as to whether every coal had been quite put out in the little fire-pan in the shop below. If even a tiny spark had remained it might set fire to something， and cause GREat damage. Then he would rise from his bed， creep down the ladder—for it could scarcely be called a flight of stairs—and when he reached the fire-pan not a spark could be seen； so he had just to go back again to bed. But often， when he had got half way back， he would fancy the iron shutters of the door were not properly fastened， and his thin legs would carry him down again. And when at last he crept into bed， he would be so cold that his teeth chattered in his head. He would draw the coverlet closer round him， pull his nightcap over his eyes， and try to turn his thoughts from trade， and from the labors of the day， to olden times. But this was scarcely an agreeable entertainment； for thoughts of olden memories raise the curtains from the past， and sometimes pierce the heart with painful recollections till the agony brings tears to the waking eyes. And so it was with Anthony； often the scalding tears， like pearly drops， would fall from his eyes to the coverlet and roll on the floor with a sound as if one of his heartstrings had broken. Sometimes， with a lurid flame， memory would light up a picture of life which had never faded from his heart. If he dried his eyes with his nightcap， then the tear and the picture would be crushed； but the source of the tears remained and welled up again in his heart. The pictures did not follow one another in order， as the circumstances they represented had occurred； very often the most painful would come together， and when those came which were most full of joy， they had always the deepest shadow thrown upon them.

the beech woods of Denmark are acknowledged by every one to be very beautiful， but more beautiful still in the eyes of old Anthony were the beech woods in the neighborhood of Wartburg. More grand and venerable to him seemed the old oaks around the proud baronial castle， where the creeping plants hung over the stony summits of the rocks； sweeter was the perfume there of the apple-blossom than in all the land of Denmark. How vividly were represented to him， in a glittering tear that rolled down his cheek， two children at play—a boy and a girl. The boy had rosy cheeks， golden ringlets， and clear， blue eyes； he was the son of Anthony， a rich merchant； it was himself. The little girl had brown eyes and black hair， and was clever and courageous； she was the mayor‘s daughter， Molly. The children were playing with an apple； they shook the apple， and heard the pips rattling in it. Then they cut it in two， and each of them took half. They also divided the pips and ate all but one， which the little girl proposed should be placed in the ground.

“You will see what will come out，” she said； “something you don‘t expect. A whole apple-tree will come out， but not directly.” then they got a flower-pot， filled it with earth， and were soon both very busy and eager about it. The boy made a hole in the earth with his finger， and the little girl placed the pip in the hole， and then they both covered it over with earth.

“Now you must not take it out to-morrow to see if it has taken root，” said Molly； “no one ever should do that. I did so with my flowers， but only twice； I wanted to see if they were growing. I didn‘t know any better then， and the flowers all died.”

Little Anthony kept the flower-pot， and every morning during the whole winter he looked at it， but there was nothing to be seen but black earth. At last， however， the spring came， and the sun shone warm again， and then two little GREen leaves sprouted forth in the pot.

“they are Molly and me，” said the boy. “How wonderful they are， and so beautiful！”

Very soon a third leaf made its appearance.

“Who does that stand for？” thought he， and then came another and another. Day after day， and week after week， till the plant became quite a tree. And all this about the two children was mirrored to old Anthony in a single tear， which could soon be wiped away and disappear， but might come again from its source in the heart of the old man.

In the neighborhood of Eisenach stretches a ridge of stony mountains， one of which has a rounded outline， and shows itself above the rest without tree， bush， or grass on its barren summits. It is called the “Venus Mountain，” and the story goes that the “Lady Venus，” one of the heathen goddesses， keeps house there. She is also called “Lady Halle，” as every child round Eisenach well knows. She it was who enticed the noble knight， Tannhauser， the minstrel， from the circle of singers at Wartburg into her mountain.

Little Molly and Anthony often stood by this mountain， and one day Molly said， “Do you dare to knock and say， ‘Lady Halle， Lady Halle， open the door： Tannhauser is here！’” But Anthony did not dare. Molly， however， did， though she only said the words， “Lady Halle， Lady Halle，” loudly and distinctly； the rest she muttered so much under her breath that Anthony felt certain she had really said nothing； and yet she looked quite bold and saucy， just as she did sometimes when she was in the garden with a number of other little girls； they would all stand round him together， and want to kiss him， because he did not like to be kissed， and pushed them away. Then Molly was the only one who dared to resist him. “I may kiss him，” she would say proudly， as she threw her arms round his neck； she was vain of her power over Anthony， for he would submit quietly and think nothing of it. Molly was very charming， but rather bold； and how she did tease！

they said Lady Halle was beautiful， but her beauty was that of a tempting fiend. Saint Elizabeth， the tutelar saint of the land， the pious princess of Thuringia， whose good deeds have been immortalized in so many places through stories and legends， had GREater beauty and more real grace. Her picture hung in the chapel， surrounded by silver lamps； but it did not in the least resemble Molly.

the apple-tree， which the two children had planted， GREw year after year， till it became so large that it had to be transplanted into the garden， where the dew fell and the sun shone warmly. And there it increased in strength so much as to be able to withstand the cold of winter； and after passing through the severe weather， it seemed to put forth its blossoms in spring for very joy that the cold season had gone. In autumn it produced two apples， one for Molly and one for Anthony； it could not well do less. The tree after this grew very rapidly， and Molly grew with the tree. She was as fresh as an apple-blossom， but Anthony was not to behold this flower for long. All things change； Molly‘s father left his old home， and Molly went with him far away. In our time， it would be only a journey of a few hours， but then it took more than a day and a night to travel so far eastward from Eisenbach to a town still called Weimar， on the borders of Thuringia. And Molly and Anthony both wept， but these tears all flowed together into one tear which had the rosy shimmer of joy. Molly had told him that she loved him—loved him more than all the splendors of Weimar.

One， two， three years went by， and during the whole time he received only two letters. One came by the carrier， and the other a traveller brought. The way was very long and difficult， with many turnings and windings through towns and villages. How often had Anthony and Molly heard the story of Tristan and Isolda， and Anthony had thought the story applied to him， although Tristan means born in sorrow， which Anthony certainly was not； nor was it likely he would ever say of Molly as Tristan said of Isolda， “She has forgotten me.” But in truth， Isolda had not forgotten him， her faithful friend； and when both were laid in their graves， one， on each side of the church， the linden-trees that GREw by each grave spread over the roof， and， bending towards each other， mingled their blossoms together. Anthony thought it a very beautiful but mournful story； yet he never feared anything so sad would happen to him and Molly， as he passed the spot， whistling the air of a song， composed by the minstrel Walter， called the “Willow bird，” beginning—

“Under the linden-trees，Out on the heath.”

One stanza pleased him exceedingly—

“Through the forest， and in the vale，Sweetly warbles the nightingale.

This song was often in his mouth， and he sung or whistled it on a moonlight night， when he rode on horseback along the deep， hollow way， on his road to Weimar， to visit Molly. He wished to arrive unexpectedly， and so indeed he did. He was received with a hearty welcome， and introduced to plenty of grand and pleasant company， where overflowing winecups were passed about. A pretty room and a good bed were provided for him， and yet his reception was not what he had expected and dreamed it would be. He could not comprehend his own feelings nor the feelings of others； but it is easily understood how a person can be admitted into a house or a family without becoming one of them. We converse in company with those we meet， as we converse with our fellow-travellers in a stage-coach， on a journey； we know nothing of them， and perhaps all the while we are incommoding one another， and each is wishing himself or his neighbor away. Something of this kind Anthony felt when Molly talked to him of old times.

“I am a straightforward girl，” she said， “and I will tell you myself how it is. there have been GREat changes since we were children together； everything is different， both inwardly and outwardly. We cannot control our wills， nor the feelings of our hearts， by the force of custom. Anthony， I would not， for the world， make an enemy of you when I am far away. Believe me， I entertain for you the kindest wishes in my heart； but to feel for you what I now know can be felt for another man， can never be. You must try and reconcile yourself to this. Farewell， Anthony.”

Anthony also said， “Farewell.” Not a tear came into his eye； he felt he was no longer Molly‘s friend. Hot iron and cold iron alike take the skin from our lips， and we feel the same sensation if we kiss either； and Anthony’s kiss was now the kiss of hatred， as it had once been the kiss of love. Within four-and-twenty hours Anthony was back again to Eisenach， though the horse that he rode was entirely ruined.

“What matters it？” said he； “I am ruined also. I will destroy everything that can remind me of her， or of Lady Halle， or Lady Venus， the heathen woman. I will break down the apple-tree， and tear it up by the roots； never more shall it blossom or bear fruit.”

the apple-tree was not broken down； for Anthony himself was struck with a fever， which caused him to break down， and confined him to his bed. But something occurred to raise him up again. What was it？ A medicine was offered to him， which he was obliged to take： a bitter remedy， at which the sick body and the oppressed spirit alike shuddered. Anthony‘s father lost all his property， and， from being known as one of the richest merchants， he became very poor. Dark days， heavy trials， with poverty at the door， came rolling into the house upon them like the waves of the sea. Sorrow and suffering deprived Anthony’s father of his strength， so that he had something else to think of besides nursing his love-sorrows and his anger against Molly. He had to take his father‘s place， to give orders， to act with energy， to help， and， at last， to go out into the world and earn his bread. Anthony went to Bremen， and there he learnt what poverty and hard living really were. These things often harden the character， but sometimes soften the heart， even too much.

How different the world， and the people in it， appeared to Anthony now， to what he had thought in his childhood！ What to him were the minstrel‘s songs？ An echo of the past， sounds long vanished. At times he would think in this way； yet again and again the songs would sound in his soul， and his heart become gentle and pious.

“God‘s will is the best，” he would then say. “It was well that I was not allowed to keep my power over Molly’s heart， and that she did not remain true to me. How I should have felt it now， when fortune has deserted me！ She left me before she knew of the change in my circumstances， or had a thought of what was before me. That is a merciful providence for me. All has happened for the best. She could not help it， and yet I have been so bitter， and in such enmity against her.”

Years passed by： Anthony‘s father died， and strangers lived in the old house. He had seen it once again since then. His rich master sent him journeys on business， and on one occasion his way led him to his native town of Eisenach. The old Wartburg castle stood unchanged on the rock where the monk and the nun were hewn out of the stone. The GREat oaks formed an outline to the scene which he so well remembered in his childhood. The Venus mountain stood out gray and bare， overshadowing the valley beneath. He would have been glad to call out “Lady Halle， Lady Halle， unlock the mountain. I would fain remain here always in my native soil.” That was a sinful thought， and he offered a prayer to drive it away. Then a little bird in the thicket sang out clearly， and old Anthony thought of the minstrel’s song. How much came back to his remembrance as he looked through the tears once more on his native town！ The old house was still standing as in olden times， but the garden had been greatly altered； a pathway led through a portion of the ground， and outside the garden， and beyond the path， stood the old apple-tree， which he had not broken down， although he talked of doing so in his trouble. The sun still threw its rays upon the tree， and the refreshing dew fell upon it as of old； and it was so overloaded with fruit that the branches bent towards the earth with the weight. “That flourishes still，” said he， as he gazed. One of the branches of the tree had， however， been broken： mischievous hands must have done this in passing， for the tree now stood in a public thoroughfare. “The blossoms are often plucked，” said Anthony； “the fruit is stolen and the branches broken without a thankful thought of their profusion and beauty. It might be said of a tree， as it has been said of some men—it was not predicted at his cradle that he should come to this. How brightly began the history of this tree， and what is it now？ Forsaken and forgotten， in a garden by a hedge in a field， and close to a public road. There it stands， unsheltered， plundered， and broken. It certainly has not yet withered； but in the course of years the number of blossoms from time to time will grow less， and at last it was cease altogether to bear fruit； and then its history will be over.”

Such were Anthony‘s thoughts as he stood under the tree， and during many a long night as he lay in his lonely chamber in the wooden house in Hauschen Street， Copenhagen， in the foreign land to which the rich merchant of Bremen， his employer， had sent him on condition that he should never marry. “Marry！ ha， ha！” and he laughed bitterly to himself at the thought.

Winter one year set in early， and it was freezing hard. Without， a snowstorm made every one remain at home who could do so. Thus it happened that Anthony‘s neighbors， who lived opposite to him， did not notice that his house remained unopened for two days， and that he had not showed himself during that time， for who would go out in such weather unless he were obliged to do so. They were gray， gloomy days， and in the house whose windows were not glass， twilight and dark nights reigned in turns. During these two days old Anthony had not left his bed， he had not the strength to do so. The bitter weather had for some time affected his limbs. There lay the old bachelor， forsaken by all， and unable to help himself. He could scarcely reach the water jug that he had placed by his bed， and the last drop was gone. It was not fever， nor sickness， but old age， that had laid him low. In the little corner， where his bed lay， he was over-shadowed as it were by perpetual night. A little spider， which he could however not see， busily and cheerfully spun its web above him， so that there should be a kind of little banner waving over the old man， when his eyes closed. The time passed slowly and painfully. He had no tears to shed， and he felt no pain； no thought of Molly came into his mind. He felt as if the world was now nothing to him， as if he were lying beyond it， with no one to think of him. Now and then he felt slight sensations of hunger and thirst； but no one came to him， no one tended him. He thought of all those who had once suffered from starvation， of Saint Elizabeth， who once wandered on the earth， the saint of his home and his childhood， the noble Duchess of Thuringia， that highly esteemed lady who visited the poorest villages， bringing hope and relief to the sick inmates. The recollection of her pious deeds was as light to the soul of poor Anthony. He thought of her as she went about speaking words of comfort， binding up the wounds of the afflicted and feeding the hungry， although often blamed for it by her stern husband. He remembered a story told of her， that on one occasion， when she was carrying a basket full of wine and provisions， her husband， who had watched her footsteps， stepped forward and asked her angrily what she carried in her basket， whereupon， with fear and trembling， she answered， “Roses， which I have plucked from the garden.” Then he tore away the cloth which covered the basket， and what could equal the surprise of the pious woman， to find that by a miracle， everything in her basket—the wine， the bread— had all been changed into roses.

In this way the memory of the kind lady dwelt in the calm mind of Anthony. She was as a living reality in his little dwelling in the Danish land. He uncovered his face that he might look into her gentle eyes， while everything around him changed from its look of poverty and want， to a bright rose tint. The fragrance of roses spread through the room， mingled with the sweet smell of apples. He saw the branches of an apple-tree spreading above him. It was the tree which he and Molly had planted together. The fragrant leaves of the tree fell upon him and cooled his burning brow； upon his parched lips they seemed like refreshing bread and wine； and as they rested on his breast， a peaceful calm stole over him， and he felt inclined to sleep. “I shall sleep now，” he whispered to himself. “Sleep will do me good. In the morning I shall be upon my feet again， strong and well. Glorious！ wonderful！ That apple-tree， planted in love， now appears before me in heavenly beauty.” And he slept.

the following day， the third day during which his house had been closed， the snow-storm ceased. Then his opposite neighbor stepped over to the house in which old Anthony lived， for he had not yet showed himself. There he lay stretched on his bed， dead， with his old nightcap tightly clasped in his two hands. The nightcap， however， was not placed on his head in his coffin； he had a clean white one on then. Where now were the tears he had shed？ What had become of those wonderful pearls？ They were in the nightcap still. Such tears as these cannot be washed out， even when the nightcap is forgotten. The old thoughts and dreams of a bachelor‘s nightcap still remain. Never wish for such a nightcap. It would make your forehead hot， cause your pulse to beat with agitation， and conjure up dreams which would appear realities.

the first who wore old Anthony‘s cap felt the truth of this， though it was half a century afterwards. That man was the mayor himself， who had already made a comfortable home for his wife and eleven children， by his industry. The moment he put the cap on he dreamed of unfortunate love， of bankruptcy， and of dark days. “Hallo！ how the nightcap burns！” he exclaimed， as he tore it from his bead. Then a pearl rolled out， and then another， and another， and they glittered and sounded as they fell. “What can this be？ Is it paralysis， or something dazzling my eyes？” They were the tears which old Anthony had shed half a century before.

To every one who afterwards put this cap on his head， came visions and dreams which agitated him not a little. His own history was changed into that of Anthony till it became quite a story， and many stories might be made by others， so we will leave them to relate their own. We have told the first； and our last word is， don‘t wish for a “bachelor’s nightcap.”

哥本哈根有一條街，這街有一個奇特的名字“赫斯肯街”。爲甚麼它叫這麼個名字，它又是甚麼意思呢？它是德文。但是人們在這裏委屈德文了；應該讀成 HaAuschen，意思是：小屋子1；這兒的這些小屋，在當時以及許多年來，都和木棚子差不多大，大概就像我們在集市上搭的那些棚子一樣。是的；誠然是大一點，有窗子，但是窗框裏鑲的卻是牛角片，或者尿泡皮。因爲當時把所有的屋子都鑲上玻璃窗是太貴了一點，不過那已經是很久很久以前的事了，連曾祖父的曾祖父在講到它的時候，也都稱它爲：從前；已經幾百年了。

不來梅和呂貝克2的富商們在哥本哈根經商；他們自己不來，而是派小廝來。這些小廝們住在“小屋街”的木棚裏，銷售啤酒和調味品。德國啤酒真是好喝極了，種類很多很多。不來梅的，普魯星的，埃姆斯的啤酒——是啊，還有不倫瑞克的烈啤酒。再說還有各種各樣的調味品，譬如說番紅花，茴芹、姜，特別是胡椒；是啊，這一點是這裏最有意義的。就因爲這個，在丹麥的這些德國小廝得了一個名字：胡椒漢子。這些小廝必須回老家，在這邊不能結婚，這是約定他們必須遵守的條件。他們當中許多已經很老，他們得自己照管自己，自己料理自己的生活，撲滅他們自己的火，如果說還有火可言的話。有一些成了孤孤單單的老光棍，思想奇特，習慣怪僻。大夥兒把他們這種到了相當年紀沒有結婚的男人叫做胡椒漢子。對這一切必須有所瞭解，才能明白這個故事。

大夥兒和胡椒漢子開玩笑，說他應該戴上一頂睡帽，躺下睡覺時，把它拉下遮住眼：

砍喲砍喲把柴砍，唉，可憐可憐的光棍漢，——戴頂睡帽爬上牀，還得自個兒把燭點！——是啊，大夥兒就是這麼唱他們！大夥兒開胡椒漢子和他的睡帽的玩笑，——正是因爲大夥兒對他和他的睡帽知道得太少，——唉，那睡帽誰也不該有！這又是爲甚麼呢？是啊，聽着！

在小屋街那邊，早年時候，街道上沒有鋪上石塊，人們高一腳低一腳盡踩在坑裏，就像在破爛的坑洞道上走似的。那兒又很窄，住在那裏的人站着的時候真是肩挨着肩，和街對面住的人靠得這麼近。在夏日的時候，布遮蓬常常從這邊住家搭到對面住家那邊去，其間盡瀰漫着胡椒味、番紅花味、姜味。站在櫃檯後面的沒有幾個是年輕小夥子，不，大多數是些老傢伙。他們完全不像我們想的那樣戴着假髮、睡帽，穿着緊褲管的褲子，穿着背心，外衣的一排扣子顆顆扣得整整齊齊。不是的，那是曾祖父的曾祖父的穿着，人家是那樣畫的，胡椒漢子花不起錢找人畫像。要是有一幅他們當中某一個人站在櫃檯後面，或者在聖節的日子悠閒地走向教堂時的那副樣子的畫像，那倒真值得收藏起來。帽沿很寬，帽頂則很高，那些最年輕的小夥子還在自己的帽沿上插上一根羽毛；毛料襯衣被一副熨平貼着的麻料硬領遮着，上身緊緊地，釦子都全扣齊了，大氅鬆寬地罩在上面；褲管口塞在寬口鞋裏，因爲他們是不穿襪子的。腰帶上掛着食品刀和鑰匙，是的，那裏甚至還吊着一把大刀子以保衛自己，那些年代它是常用得着的。老安東，小屋那邊最老的一位胡椒漢子在喜慶的日子正是這樣穿着打扮的。只不過他沒有那高頂帽，而是戴着一頂便帽。便帽下有一頂針織的小帽，地地道道的睡帽。他對這睡帽很習慣了，總是戴着它，他有兩頂這樣的帽子。正是該畫他這樣的人。他身材瘦得像根桿子，嘴角、眼角全是皺紋。手指和手指節都很長；眉毛灰蓬蓬的，活像兩片矮叢；左眼上方耷拉着一撮頭髮，當然說不上漂亮，但是卻讓他非常容易辨認。大夥兒知道他是從不來梅來的，然而，他又不真是那個地方的人，他的東家住在那裏。他自己是圖林根人，是從艾森納赫城來的，緊挨着瓦爾特堡。這個地方老安東不太談到，可是他更加惦念這個地方。

街上的老傢伙並不常聚在一起，呆在各自的鋪子裏。鋪子在傍晚便早早地關了門，看去很黑，只是從棚頂那很小的牛角片窗子透出一絲微弱的光。在屋子裏，那老光棍經常是坐在自己的牀上，拿着他的德文讚美詩集，輕輕唱着他的晚禱讚美詩。有時他在屋裏東翻翻西找找一直折騰到深夜，根本談不上有趣。在異鄉爲異客的境況是很辛酸的！自己的事誰也管不着，除非你妨礙了別人。

在外面，夜漆黑一片又下着大雨小雨的時候，那一帶可真是昏暗荒涼。除去街頭畫在牆上的聖母像前掛着那唯一的一小盞燈外，別的光一點看不到。街的另一頭朝着斯洛特霍爾姆3，那邊不遠處，可以聽見水着實地沖刷着木水閘。這樣的夜是漫長寂寞的，要是你不找點事幹的話：把東西裝了起來再拿將出去，收拾收拾小屋，或者擦擦稱東西用的秤，可這又不是每天都必須做的，於是便再幹點別的。老安東就是這樣，他自己縫自己的衣服，補自己的鞋子。待到他終於躺到牀上的時候，他便習慣地戴上他的睡帽，把它拽得更朝下一些。但是不一會兒他又把它拉上去，看看燭火是不是完全熄了。他用手摸摸，捏一下燭芯，然後他又躺下，翻朝另一邊，又把睡帽拉下來。但往往又想着：不知那小火爐裏的煤是不是每一塊都燃盡了，是不是都完全弄滅了，一點小小的火星，也可能會燃起來釀成大禍。於是他又爬起來，爬下梯子，那還稱不上是樓梯，他走到火爐那裏，看不到火星，便又轉身回去。然而常常他只轉了一半，自己又弄不清門上的鐵栓是不是拴好了，窗子是不是插好了；是啊，他又得用他的瘦弱的腿走下來。爬回牀上的時候，他冷得發抖，牙直哆嗦，因爲寒氣這東西是在知道自己快無法肆虐的時候才特別猖狂起來的。他用被子蓋得嚴嚴實實的，睡帽拉得死死蓋住眼睛。這時候，一天的生意買賣和艱難苦楚的念頭全沒有了。可是隨之而來的並不是甚麼爽心的事，因爲這時候又會想起了許多往事。去放窗簾，窗簾上有時彆着縫衣針，一下子又被這針紮着；噢！他會叫起來。針扎進肉裏痛得要命，於是便會眼淚汪汪。老安東也常常挨扎，雙眼裏是大顆大顆的熱淚，粒粒像最明亮的珍珠。淚落到了被子上，有時落到了地上，那聲音就好像一根痛苦的絃斷了，很刺心。淚當然會乾的，它們燃燒發展爲火焰。但是它們便爲他照亮了自己一幅生活圖像，這圖像從來沒有從他的心中消失掉；於是他用睡帽擦乾眼淚。是啊，淚碎了，圖像也碎了，可是引起這圖像的緣由卻還在，沒有消失，它藏在他的心中。圖像並不如現實那樣，出現的往往是最令人痛苦的一幕，那些令人痛苦的快事也被照亮，也正是這些撒下了最深的陰影。“丹麥的山毛櫸林真美！”人們這麼說。可是對安東來說，瓦特堡一帶的山毛櫸林卻更美一些。在他看來，那山崖石塊上垂懸着爬籐的雄偉的騎士宮堡附近的老橡樹，更宏大更威嚴一些。那邊的蘋果花比丹麥的要更香一些；他現在都還可以觸摸、感覺到：一顆淚滾了出來，聲音清脆、光澤明亮。他清楚地看到裏面有兩個小孩，一個男孩和一個小姑娘，在玩耍。男孩的臉紅彤彤，頭髮捲曲金黃，眼睛是藍的，很誠摯，那是富有的商販的兒子，小安東，他自己。小姑娘長着棕色眼睛和黑頭髮，她看去很勇敢，又聰明，那是市長的女兒，莫莉。他們兩人在玩一個蘋果，他們在搖晃那隻蘋果，要聽裏面的核子的聲音。他們把蘋果割成兩半，每人得了一塊，他們把裏面的籽各分一份，把籽都吃掉，只留了一粒，小姑娘認爲應該把它埋在土裏。“你就瞧着它會長出甚麼來吧，它會長出你完全想不到的東西來，它會長出一整棵蘋果樹來，不過並不是馬上。”籽，他們把它埋在一個花盆裏。兩個人都非常地投入；小男孩用指頭在土裏刨了一個坑，小姑娘把籽放了進去，然後兩人一起用土蓋上。“你明天早晨可不能把它刨起來看看它是不是長根了，”她說道，“這是不可以的！我就對我的花這麼幹過，只幹過兩次，我要看看它們是不是在長，那時我不太懂事，那些花死了。”

花盆擱在安東那裏，每天早晨，整個冬天，他都去看它，但是隻看見那一？黑土。後來春天到了，太陽照曬得很暖和，於是花盆裏冒出了兩片小小的綠葉。“是我和莫莉！”安東說道，“它很漂亮，沒法比了！”不久長出了第三片葉子。這象徵誰呢？是的，接着又長出了一片，接着又是一片！它一天天一個星期一個星期地長着，越長越大，長成一小棵樹了。所有這些，現在都在一顆孤單的眼淚裏映出，眼淚碎了，不見了；但是它又會從泉眼涌出，——從老安東的心裏涌出。

艾森納赫附近有不少石山，其中一座圓圓地立在那裏，沒有長樹，沒有矮叢，也沒有草；它被人們叫做維納斯山4.裏面住着維納斯夫人，她那個時代的偶像女人，人家把她叫做霍勒夫人。艾森納赫所有的孩子當年知道她，現在還知道她；她曾把瓦特堡賽歌的民歌手、高貴的騎士湯豪舍5引誘到她那裏。

小莫莉和安東常到山跟前去。有一次她說：“你敢不敢敲一敲，喊：霍勒夫人！霍勒夫人！開開門，湯豪舍來了！”可是安東不敢，莫莉就敢。但只敢喊這幾個字：“霍勒夫人！霍勒夫人！”她高聲地喊；其他的字她只是對風哼了哼，很含糊，安東很肯定，她根本就沒有說甚麼。她看去很勇敢，有時她和其他小姑娘在花園裏和他碰上的時候，小姑娘們都想親吻他，而他又偏不願被人吻臉，要從姑娘羣中掙着逃開；就只有她一個人敢真去吻他。“我敢吻他！”她高傲地說道，摟着他的脖子；這是她的虛榮心，安東讓她吻了，一點沒有猶疑。她是多漂亮、多麼膽大啊！山上的霍勒夫人該也是很美的。但她那種美，大夥兒說過，是壞人的挑逗的美麗；最高境界的美相反應該是聖潔的伊麗莎白6身上的那種。她是保護這塊土地的女聖人，圖林根虔誠的公主，她的善行在這一帶許多地方的傳說和傳奇故事中廣爲人稱頌。教堂裏掛着她的畫像，四周裝點着銀燈；——可是她一點也不像莫莉。

兩個孩子種的那棵蘋果樹，一年年地長大了；它已經長大到必須移植到花園裏自然的空氣中去了。在自然空氣中有露水澆它，和暖的陽光照曬它，它得到了力量抗禦冬天。在嚴峻的冬天威逼之後，到了春天，它好像非常欣喜，開出了花；收穫的時候，它結了兩個蘋果。莫莉一個，安東一個；不會再少了。

樹匆匆長大，莫莉和樹一樣成長着，她清新得就和一朵蘋果花一般；但是他不可能更長久地看見這朵花了。一切都在變化，一切都在新陳代謝！莫莉的父親離開了老家，莫莉跟着去了，遠遠地去了。——是的，在我們今天，乘上汽船，那只是幾個小時的路程，但是那時候，人們要用比一天一夜還多的時間才能從艾森納赫往東走到那麼遠的地方，那是圖林根最邊緣的地方，去到那個今天仍叫做魏瑪的城市。

莫莉哭了，安東哭了；——那麼多眼淚，是啊，都包含在一顆淚珠裏了，它有着歡樂的紅色和美麗的光。莫莉說過她喜歡他勝過喜歡魏瑪的一切勝景。

一年過去了，兩年、三年過去了，在這期間來了兩封信，一封是運貨跑買賣的人帶來的，一封是一位遊客帶來的；那路又長又艱難，又彎彎曲曲，經過不少的城和鎮。

安東和莫莉經常聽到特里斯坦和伊索爾德的故事7.他每每由故事聯想到自己和莫莉，儘管特里斯坦這個名字的意思是“他生於痛苦之中”，而這一點不符合安東的情況，他也寧願永遠不像特里斯坦那樣會有“她已經把我忘記”的想法。可是你知道，伊索爾德也並沒有忘記自己心上的朋友。在他們兩人都死後，各被埋在教堂的一側的時候，墳上各長出了一棵椴樹，漫過了教堂頂，在上面結合開花了。真是美極了，安東這麼認爲，可是卻如此悽愴8——，而他和莫莉是不會悽愴的。但他卻哼起了雲遊詩人瓦爾特·馮·德·福格爾魏德9的一首小詩：

荒原椴樹下——！

這一段聽起來特別地美：

從樹林那邊，在靜靜的山谷中，坦達拉萊依！

傳來了夜鶯的歌聲！

這短詩總掛在他的嘴邊。月色明亮的夜晚，當他騎馬在滿是坑洞的道上奔向魏瑪去訪問莫莉的時候，他唱着這首小詩，打着口哨；他出於莫莉意料之外到達了那裏。

他受到了歡迎。杯子盛滿了酒，宴會上歡聲笑語，高貴的賓客，舒適的房間和舒適的牀，可是卻完全不像他想像的、夢寐以求的那樣；他不明白自己，他也不明白別人。但是我們卻能明白這一切！你可以進入那個屋子，你可以到那一家人中間去，但是卻不踏實。交談，就像是在驛郵馬車裏交談一樣；互相結識，就像在驛郵馬車裏互相結識一樣；互相干擾，心想最好自己走開或者我們的好鄰人離開。是啊，安東的感覺便是這樣。“我是一個有甚麼說甚麼的姑娘，”莫莉對他說道，“我要親自對你講清楚！當我們還是孩子時，在一起相處過，從那以後，經歷了漫長的時間，中間有了很大的變化，不論內心或是外表，都與當年大不一樣了，習慣和意志控制不住咱們的心！安東！我不願意你把我看成是可恨可憎的人。現在我要遠離這裏了——相信我，我對你很有好感。可是喜歡你，像我現在長大後所理解的，一個女人會怎麼喜歡一個男人那樣喜歡你，我卻從未做到過！——這一點你必須忍受！——再會了，安東！”

安東也道了別！他的眼中沒有一滴淚水。他感到，他再不是莫莉的朋友了。一根熾熱的鐵棍和一根冰凍的鐵棍在我們親吻它們的時候，引起我們嘴脣皮的感覺是相同的，它們咬噬着我們的嘴皮。他用同樣的力度吻着愛，也吻着恨。不到一個晝夜他便又回到了艾森納赫，可是他的乘騎卻也就毀了。“有甚麼說的！”他說道，“我也毀了，我要把能令我想起她來的一切東西都摧毀掉：霍勒夫人、維納斯夫人，不信仰基督的女人！——我要把蘋果樹折斷，把它連根刨起！它絕不能再開花，再結果！”

可是，蘋果樹並沒有被毀掉，他自身卻被毀了，躺在牀上發着高燒。甚麼能再救助他呢？送來了一種能救他的藥，能找到的最苦的藥，在他的有病的身軀裏，在他的那萎縮的靈魂裏翻騰的那種藥：安東的父親再不是那富有的商賈了。沉重的日子，考驗的日子來到了家門前。不幸衝了進來，像洶涌的巨浪一下子擊進了那富有的家庭。父親窮了，悲傷和不幸擊癱了他。這時安東不能再浸在愛情的苦痛裏，再想着怨恨莫莉，他有別的東西要想了。現在他要在家中又當父親又當母親了，他必須安頓家，必須料理家，必須真正動起手來，自己走進那大千世界，掙錢餬口。

他來到了不來梅，嚐盡了艱辛和度着困難的日子。這難熬的歲月令他心腸變硬，令他心腸變軟，常常是過於軟弱。世界和人與他在孩提時代所想是多麼的不一樣啊！詠唱詩人的詩現在對他如何：叮噹一陣響聲罷了！一陣饒舌罷了！是啊，有時他就是這樣想的。不過在另外的時候，那些詩歌又在他的心靈中鳴唱起來，他的思想又虔誠起來。“上帝的旨意是最恰當不過的！”他於是說道，“上帝沒有讓莫莉的心總是眷戀着我，這是件好事。會有甚麼樣的結果，幸福現在不是離我而去了嗎！在她知道或者想到我那富裕的生活會出現這樣的鉅變之前就離我而去。這是上帝對我的仁慈，所發生的一切都是最妥善的！一切正在發生的都是明智的！都不是她力所能及的，而我卻這麼尖刻地對她懷着敵意！”歲月流逝。安東的父親溘然離世，祖房裏住進了外人。然而安東很想再看看它，他的富有的東家派他出差，他順路經過他的出生城市艾森納赫。老瓦特堡依然矗立在山上，那“修士和修女十”山崖依舊和往日一個樣子；巨大的橡樹仍像他兒童時代那樣，顯露出同樣的輪廓。維納斯山在山谷裏兀立着，光禿禿地，發着灰色的光。他真想說：“霍勒夫人，霍勒夫人！把山打開，我便可以在家園故士安眠！”

這是有罪的想法，他在胸前劃了個十字。這時一隻小鳥在矮叢裏歌唱，他的腦中又浮現了那古老的短歌：

從樹林那邊，在靜靜的山谷中，坦達拉萊依！

傳來了夜鶯的歌聲！

他透過淚珠觀看自己這孩提時代的城市，回憶起許多往事。祖房猶如昔日，只是花園改變了，一條田間小道穿過了昔日花園的一角。那棵他沒有毀掉的蘋果樹還在，不過已經被隔在花園外面小道的另外一側了。只不過陽光仍和往日一樣照曬着它，露水依舊滋潤着它，它結着滿樹的果實，枝子都被壓彎垂向地面。“它很茂盛！”他說道，“它會的！”

有一根大枝則被折斷了，是一雙討厭的手乾的，你們知道，這樹離開公用的道路太近了。“他們摘它的花，連謝都不道一聲，他們偷果實，折樹枝。可以說，我們談論一棵樹，就和談論一個人是一樣的：一棵樹在自己的搖籃裏，哪裏想得到它會像今天這樣。一段經歷開始得那麼美好，可是結果又怎麼樣呢？被丟棄，被遺忘，成了溝邊的一棵普通樹，站到了田頭路邊！它長在那裏得不到一點保護，任人肆虐攀折！儘管它並沒有因此而枯萎，但是一年年它的花越來越少，不再結實，直到最後——是啊，這一段經歷便這樣結束了！”　　　　安東在那棵樹下想着這些，在孤寂的小屋裏，在木房子裏，在異鄉，在哥本哈根的小屋街裏，他在無數的夜晚想着這些。是他的富有的東家，不來梅的商人派他來的，條件是，他不可以結婚。“結婚！哈哈！”他深沉奇怪地大笑。

冬天來得早，寒氣刺人。屋外有暴風雪，所以只要可能便總是躲在家裏。這樣，安東對面居住的人就沒有注意到安東的屋子整整兩天沒有開門了，他自己根本沒有露面，只要能夠不出門，誰願在這樣的天氣跑到外面去？

天日灰暗，你知道對那些窗子上裝的不是玻璃的住家來說，時時都是烏黑的夜。老安東有整整兩天根本沒有下牀，他沒有氣力這麼做；外面那惡劣的天氣他的軀體早感覺到了。這老胡椒漢子躺在牀上無人照料，自己又沒法照料自己，他連伸手去夠水罐的力氣都沒有了。而那水罐，他把它就放在牀邊，裏面的最後一滴水也被喝光了。他沒有發燒，他沒有病，是衰邁的年齡打擊了他。在他躺着的地方的四周幾乎就是永無止境的夜。一隻小蜘蛛，那他看不見的蜘蛛，滿意地，忙碌地在他的身子上方織着網，就好像老人在闔上自己眼睛的時候，依然有一絲清新的悲紗在飄揚一樣。

時間是這麼長，死一般地空洞；淚已乾，痛楚也已消失；莫莉根本不存在他的思想裏。他有一種感覺，世界和世上的喧囂已不再是他的，他躺在那一切之外，沒有人想着他。在短暫的一瞬間，他感覺到了飢餓，也感到了渴，——是的，他感到了！可是沒有誰來喂他，誰也不會來。他想起那些生活艱難的人來，他想起那聖潔的伊麗莎白還生活在世上的時候，她，他家鄉和自己孩童時代的聖女，圖林根高貴的王子夫人，高貴的夫人，是怎麼樣親自走進最貧困的環境裏給病人帶去了希望和食物。她的虔誠的善行在他的思想中發光，他記得，她是怎麼樣走去對遭受苦難的人吐露安慰之詞的，怎麼樣給受傷的人醫治創傷，給挨飢受餓的人送去食物，儘管她的嚴厲的丈夫對於這些很惱怒。他記得關於她的傳說，在她提着滿裝着酒和食品的籃子出門的時候，他的丈夫怎麼樣監視着她，突然闖出來氣憤地問她，她提着的是甚麼。她在恐慌中回答說是她從花園裏摘的玫瑰。他把蓋布揭開，爲這位虔誠的婦女而出現了奇蹟，酒和麵包、籃子裏所有的東西，都變成了玫瑰。

這位女聖人就是這樣活在老安東的思想中，她就是這樣活生生地出現在他的疲憊的眼神裏，出現在丹麥國家他那簡陋的木棚裏他的牀前。他伸出他的頭來，用溫和的眼光看着她。四周都是光彩和玫瑰，是啊，這些色彩和花自己又展開成爲一片，氣味好聞極了。他感覺到一種特別美的蘋果香味，他看見那是一棵盛開花朵的蘋果樹，他和莫莉用種籽種下的。樹將自己芳香的花瓣散落到他的發燒的臉上，使它冷卻下來；葉子垂落到他的渴涸的嘴脣上，就像是使人神智煥發的酒和麵包；它們落在他的胸口上，他感到很輕鬆，很安詳，催人慾睡。“現在我要睡了！”他靜靜地細聲說道，“睡眠使人精神！明天我便痊癒了，便會好了起來！真好啊！真好啊！懷着愛心種下那棵蘋果樹，我看見它繁榮密茂！”

他睡去了。

第二天，那是這屋子的門關上的第三天，雪停了，對面的人家來探望壓根就沒有露面的老安東。他平躺着死去了，那頂老睡帽被他捏在手中。入殮時他沒有戴這一頂，他還有一頂，乾淨潔白的。

他落下的那些淚都到哪裏去了？那些珍珠哪裏去了？它們在睡帽裏，——真正的淚是洗不掉的——它們留在睡帽裏，被人遺忘了，——老的思想，老的夢，是啊，它們依舊在胡椒漢子的睡帽裏。別想要它！它會讓你的臉燒得緋紅，它會讓你的脈博加快，會叫你做夢，就像真的一樣。第一個人試了試它，那個把它戴上的人，不過那是安東死後半個世紀以後的事，是市長本人。這位市長夫人有十一個孩子，家裏日子很好；他一下子就夢見了婚變，破產和無衣無食。“呵！這睡帽真讓人發熱！”他說道，扯下了睡帽，一滴珍珠，又一滴珍珠滾了出來落地有聲有光。“我關節炎發了！”市長說道，“它很刺我的眼！”

那是淚，半個世紀以前哭出的淚，艾森納赫的老安東哭出的淚。

不論誰後來戴上這頂睡帽，他都真的墜入幻境，做起夢來，他自己的故事變成安東的，成了一個完整的童話，很多的童話，別人可以來講。現在我們講了第一篇，我們這一篇的最後的話是：永遠也不要想戴上胡椒漢子的睡帽。

題註：這裏的光棍漢的丹麥文原文的原意是“胡椒漢子”。爲甚麼這樣叫，安徒生在故事中有詳細的敘述。

1在丹麥文中“赫斯肯”一字只見於哥本哈根的赫斯肯街街名中。赫斯肯是丹麥人對德語HaAusehen（小屋）的訛讀。這條街之所以有個德語名字，安徒生在此篇故事中的敘述很詳盡。

2德國中北部的兩個城市。

3即哥本哈根的皇宮島。

4據中古時期德國流傳的說法，瓦特堡附近有維納斯山，是維納斯女神設神廷的地方。凡被誘誤入這座山的人均要交付鉅額贖金才得獲釋。把維納斯稱爲維納斯夫人則又建立在更古的傳說，說這山中藏着一位霍勒夫人。

5奧地利13世紀民歌手。據傳說，他曾一度居住在維納斯山中。關於湯豪舍和瓦特堡賽歌會的事請見《鳳凰鳥》注8. 6匈牙利公主（1207-1231），圖林根王子路德維希四世的王后。7克爾特人的傳說中的人物。馬爾克斯派遣他的侄子特里斯坦到愛爾蘭代表他向公主伊索爾德求婚。馬爾克斯的求婚得到接受。特里斯坦陪同伊索爾德返回的途中，兩人誤飲了伊索爾德的母親贈送給伊索爾德和馬爾克斯的魔酒。這種酒有魔力能使夫婦永遠相愛。回到馬爾克斯身旁後，三人之間發生了多次衝突，最後馬爾克斯將特里斯坦和伊索爾德趕出了森林。兩人在分手前，曾在這森林中共同艱苦地生活了一段時間。特里斯坦後來和另一個也叫伊索爾德的女子結婚。但特里斯坦始終未忘記前一個伊索爾德的舊情。後來特里斯坦在一次鬥毆中受重傷；這傷只有第一位伊索爾德能治療。她趕來救治特里斯坦但卻爲時已晚，特里斯坦已死去。

卡爾·因默曼曾寫過一部題爲《特里斯坦與伊索爾德》（1841年）的小說。安徒生有此書。

8特里斯坦這個字與丹麥文的悽愴同音。

9瓦爾特·馮·德·福格爾魏德（1168-1228），德國詠唱詩人，於1205-1211年間附從於圖林根赫爾曼王室。

十瓦特堡宮北500米的一段山。