English Original
BUT how fared little Gerda during Kay’s absence? What had become of him, no one knew, nor could any one give the slightest information, excepting the boys, who said that he had tied his sledge to another very large one, which had driven through the street, and out at the town gate. Nobody knew where it went; many tears were shed for him, and little Gerda wept bitterly for a long time. She said she knew he must be dead; that he was drowned in the river which flowed close by the school. Oh, indeed those long winter days were very dreary. But at last spring came, with warm sunshine. "Kay is dead and gone," said little Gerda.
"I don't believe it," said the sunshine.
"He is dead and gone," she said to the sparrows.
"We don't believe it," they replied; and at last little Gerda began to doubt it herself. "I will put on my new red shoes," she said one morning, "those that Kay has never seen, and then I will go down to the river, and ask for him." It was quite early when she kissed her old grandmother, who was still asleep; then she put on her red shoes, and went quite alone out of the town gates toward the river. "Is it true that you have taken my little playmate away from me?" said she to the river. "I will give you my red shoes if you will give him back to me." And it seemed as if the waves nodded to her in a strange manner. Then she took off her red shoes, which she liked better than anything else, and threw them both into the river, but they fell near the bank, and the little waves carried them back to the land, just as if the river would not take from her what she loved best, because they could not give her back little Kay. But she thought the shoes had not been thrown out far enough. Then she crept into a boat that lay among the reeds, and threw the shoes again from the farther end of the boat into the water, but it was not fastened. And her movement sent it gliding away from the land. When she saw this she hastened to reach the end of the boat, but before she could so it was more than a yard from the bank, and drifting away faster than ever. Then little Gerda was very much frightened, and began to cry, but no one heard her except the sparrows, and they could not carry her to land, but they flew along by the shore, and sang, as if to comfort her, "Here we are! Here we are!" The boat floated with the stream; little Gerda sat quite still with only her stockings on her feet; the red shoes floated after her, but she could not reach them because the boat kept so much in advance. The banks on each side of the river were very pretty. There were beautiful flowers, old trees, sloping fields, in which cows and sheep were grazing, but not a man to be seen. Perhaps the river will carry me to little Kay, thought Gerda, and then she became more cheerful, and raised her head, and looked at the beautiful green banks; and so the boat sailed on for hours. At length she came to a large cherry orchard, in which stood a small red house with strange red and blue windows. It had also a thatched roof, and outside were two wooden soldiers, that presented arms to her as she sailed past. Gerda called out to them, for she thought they were alive, but of course they did not answer; and as the boat drifted nearer to the shore, she saw what they really were. Then Gerda called still louder, and there came a very old woman out of the house, leaning on a crutch. She wore a large hat to shade her from the sun, and on it were painted all sorts of pretty flowers. "You poor little child," said the old woman, "how did you manage to come all this distance into the wide world on such a rapid rolling stream?" And then the old woman walked in the water, seized the boat with her crutch, drew it to land, and lifted Gerda out. And Gerda was glad to feel herself on dry ground, although she was rather afraid of the strange old woman. "Come and tell me who you are," said she, "and how came you here."
Then Gerda told her everything, while the old woman shook her head, and said, "Hem-hem;" and when she had finished, Gerda asked if she had not seen little Kay, and the old woman told her he had not passed by that way, but he very likely would come. So she told Gerda not to be sorrowful, but to taste the cherries and look at the flowers; they were better than any picture-book, for each of them could tell a story. Then she took Gerda by the hand and led her into the little house, and the old woman closed the door. The windows were very high, and as the panes were red, blue, and yellow, the daylight shone through them in all sorts of singular colors. On the table stood beautiful cherries, and Gerda had permission to eat as many as she would. While she was eating them the old woman combed out her long flaxen ringlets with a golden comb, and the glossy curls hung down on each side of the little round pleasant face, which looked fresh and blooming as a rose. "I have long been wishing for a dear little maiden like you," said the old woman, "and now you must stay with me, and see how happily we shall live together." And while she went on combing little Gerda's hair, she thought less and less about her adopted brother Kay, for the old woman could conjure, although she was not a wicked witch; she conjured only a little for her own amusement, and now, because she wanted to keep Gerda. Therefore she went into the garden, and stretched out her crutch towards all the rose-trees, beautiful though they were; and they immediately sunk into the dark earth, so that no one could tell where they had once stood. The old woman was afraid that if little Gerda saw roses she would think of those at home, and then remember little Kay, and run away. Then she took Gerda into the flower-garden. How fragrant and beautiful it was! Every flower that could be thought of for every season of the year was here in full bloom; no picture-book could have more beautiful colors. Gerda jumped for joy, and played till the sun went down behind the tall cherry-trees; then she slept in an elegant bed with red silk pillows, embroidered with colored violets; and then she dreamed as pleasantly as a queen on her wedding day. The next day, and for many days after, Gerda played with the flowers in the warm sunshine. She knew every flower, and yet, although there were so many of them, it seemed as if one were missing, but which it was she could not tell. One day, however, as she sat looking at the old woman's hat with the painted flowers on it, she saw that the prettiest of them all was a rose. The old woman had forgotten to take it from her hat when she made all the roses sink into the earth. But it is difficult to keep the thoughts together in everything; one little mistake upsets all our arrangements. "What, are there no roses here?" cried Gerda; and she ran out into the garden, and examined all the beds, and searched and searched. There was not one to be found. Then she sat down and wept, and her tears fell just on the place where one of the rose-trees had sunk down. The warm tears moistened the earth, and the rose-tree sprouted up at once, as blooming as when it had sunk; and Gerda embraced it and kissed the roses, and thought of the beautiful roses at home, and, with them, of little Kay. "Oh, how I have been detained!" said the little maiden, "I wanted to seek for little Kay. Do you know where he is?" she asked the roses; "do you think he is dead?"
And the roses answered, "No, he is not dead. We have been in the ground where all the dead lie; but Kay is not there."
"Thank you," said little Gerda, and then she went to the other flowers, and looked into their little cups, and asked, "Do you know where little Kay is?" But each flower, as it stood in the sunshine, dreamed only of its own little fairy tale of history. Not one knew anything of Kay. Gerda heard many stories from the flowers, as she asked them one after another about him.
And what, said the tiger-lily? "Hark, do you hear the drum?— 'turn, turn,'—there are only two notes, always, 'turn, turn.' Listen to the women's song of mourning! Hear the cry of the priest! In her long red robe stands the Hindoo widow by the funeral pile. The flames rise around her as she places herself on the dead body of her husband; but the Hindoo woman is thinking of the living one in that circle; of him, her son, who lighted those flames. Those shining eyes trouble her heart more painfully than the flames which will soon consume her body to ashes. Can the fire of the heart be extinguished in the flames of the funeral pile?"
"I don't understand that at all," said little Gerda.
"That is my story," said the tiger-lily.
What, says the convolvulus? "Near yonder narrow road stands an old knight's castle; thick ivy creeps over the old ruined walls, leaf over leaf, even to the balcony, in which stands a beautiful maiden. She bends over the balustrades, and looks up the road. No rose on its stem is fresher than she; no apple-blossom, wafted by the wind, floats more lightly than she moves. Her rich silk rustles as she bends over and exclaims, 'Will he not come?'
"Is it Kay you mean?" asked Gerda.
"I am only speaking of a story of my dream," replied the flower.
What, said the little snow-drop? "Between two trees a rope is hanging; there is a piece of board upon it; it is a swing. Two pretty little girls, in dresses white as snow, and with long green ribbons fluttering from their hats, are sitting upon it swinging. Their brother who is taller than they are, stands in the swing; he has one arm round the rope, to steady himself; in one hand he holds a little bowl, and in the other a clay pipe; he is blowing bubbles. As the swing goes on, the bubbles fly upward, reflecting the most beautiful varying colors. The last still hangs from the bowl of the pipe, and sways in the wind. On goes the swing; and then a little black dog comes running up. He is almost as light as the bubble, and he raises himself on his hind legs, and wants to be taken into the swing; but it does not stop, and the dog falls; then he barks and gets angry. The children stoop towards him, and the bubble bursts. A swinging plank, a light sparkling foam picture,—that is my story."
"It may be all very pretty what you are telling me," said little Gerda, "but you speak so mournfully, and you do not mention little Kay at all."
What do the hyacinths say? "There were three beautiful sisters, fair and delicate. The dress of one was red, of the second blue, and of the third pure white. Hand in hand they danced in the bright moonlight, by the calm lake; but they were human beings, not fairy elves. The sweet fragrance attracted them, and they disappeared in the wood; here the fragrance became stronger. Three coffins, in which lay the three beautiful maidens, glided from the thickest part of the forest across the lake. The fire-flies flew lightly over them, like little floating torches. Do the dancing maidens sleep, or are they dead? The scent of the flower says that they are corpses. The evening bell tolls their knell."
"You make me quite sorrowful," said little Gerda; "your perfume is so strong, you make me think of the dead maidens. Ah! is little Kay really dead then? The roses have been in the earth, and they say no."
"Cling, clang," tolled the hyacinth bells. "We are not tolling for little Kay; we do not know him. We sing our song, the only one we know."
Then Gerda went to the buttercups that were glittering amongst the bright green leaves.
"You are little bright suns," said Gerda; "tell me if you know where I can find my play-fellow."
And the buttercups sparkled gayly, and looked again at Gerda. What song could the buttercups sing? It was not about Kay.
"The bright warm sun shone on a little court, on the first warm day of spring. His bright beams rested on the white walls of the neighboring house; and close by bloomed the first yellow flower of the season, glittering like gold in the sun's warm ray. An old woman sat in her arm chair at the house door, and her granddaughter, a poor and pretty servant-maid came to see her for a short visit. When she kissed her grandmother there was gold everywhere: the gold of the heart in that holy kiss; it was a golden morning; there was gold in the beaming sunlight, gold in the leaves of the lowly flower, and on the lips of the maiden. There, that is my story," said the buttercup.
"My poor old grandmother!" sighed Gerda; "she is longing to see me, and grieving for me as she did for little Kay; but I shall soon go home now, and take little Kay with me. It is no use asking the flowers; they know only their own songs, and can give me no information."
And then she tucked up her little dress, that she might run faster, but the narcissus caught her by the leg as she was jumping over it; so she stopped and looked at the tall yellow flower, and said, "Perhaps you may know something."
Then she stooped down quite close to the flower, and listened; and what did he say?
"I can see myself, I can see myself," said the narcissus. "Oh, how sweet is my perfume! Up in a little room with a bow window, stands a little dancing girl, half undressed; she stands sometimes on one leg, and sometimes on both, and looks as if she would tread the whole world under her feet. She is nothing but a delusion. She is pouring water out of a tea-pot on a piece of stuff which she holds in her hand; it is her bodice. 'Cleanliness is a good thing,' she says. Her white dress hangs on a peg; it has also been washed in the tea-pot, and dried on the roof. She puts it on, and ties a saffron-colored handkerchief round her neck, which makes the dress look whiter. See how she stretches out her legs, as if she were showing off on a stem. I can see myself, I can see myself."
"What do I care for all that," said Gerda, "you need not tell me such stuff." And then she ran to the other end of the garden. The door was fastened, but she pressed against the rusty latch, and it gave way. The door sprang open, and little Gerda ran out with bare feet into the wide world. She looked back three times, but no one seemed to be following her. At last she could run no longer, so she sat down to rest on a great stone, and when she looked round she saw that the summer was over, and autumn very far advanced. She had known nothing of this in the beautiful garden, where the sun shone and the flowers grew all the year round. "Oh, how I have wasted my time?" said little Gerda; "it is autumn. I must not rest any longer," and she rose up to go on. But her little feet were wounded and sore, and everything around her looked so cold and bleak. The long willow-leaves were quite yellow. The dew-drops fell like water, leaf after leaf dropped from the trees, the sloe-thorn alone still bore fruit, but the sloes were sour, and set the teeth on edge. Oh, how dark and weary the whole world appeared!
中文翻译
但是，在凯不在的这段时间里，小格尔达过得怎么样呢？他怎么样了，没有人知道，也没有人能提供丝毫信息，除了那些男孩们，他们说他把自己的雪橇绑在了另一辆非常大的雪橇上，那辆雪橇驶过街道，出了城门。没有人知道它去了哪里；许多人为他流泪，小格尔达也伤心地哭了很久。她说她知道他一定是死了；他淹死在流过学校旁边的河里了。哦，那些漫长的冬日确实非常沉闷。但春天终于来了，带着温暖的阳光。“凯死了，走了，”小格尔达说。
“我不相信，”阳光说。
“他死了，走了，”她对麻雀们说。
“我们不相信，”它们回答；最后小格尔达自己也开始怀疑了。“我要穿上我的新红鞋，”一天早上她说，“那双凯从未见过的鞋，然后我要去河边，问问他。”她亲吻了还在熟睡的老祖母，时间还很早；然后她穿上红鞋，独自一人走出城门，朝河边走去。“你真的把我的小伙伴从我身边带走了吗？”她对河说。“如果你把他还给我，我就把我的红鞋给你。”波浪似乎以一种奇怪的方式向她点头。然后她脱下她最喜欢的红鞋，把它们都扔进了河里，但它们落在靠近岸边的地方，小波浪又把它们带回了陆地，就好像河不愿意拿走她最爱的东西，因为它们无法把小凯还给她。但她觉得鞋子扔得不够远。于是她爬进芦苇丛中的一条小船，再次从船的另一端把鞋子扔进水里，但船没有系牢。她的动作使船滑离了陆地。当她看到这个，她急忙想够到船尾，但还没等她够到，船已经离岸一码多远了，并且漂得比以往任何时候都快。小格尔达非常害怕，开始哭起来，但除了麻雀没有人听到她的哭声，而麻雀无法把她带到岸上，但它们沿着岸边飞，唱着歌，好像在安慰她，“我们在这里！我们在这里！”小船顺流而下；小格尔达只穿着袜子，静静地坐着；红鞋在她身后漂浮，但她够不到，因为小船领先太多了。河两岸的景色非常美丽。有美丽的花朵，古老的树木，倾斜的田野，牛羊在吃草，但看不到一个人。也许这条河会把我带到小凯那里，格尔达想，然后她变得高兴起来，抬起头，看着美丽的绿色河岸；小船就这样航行了几个小时。最后，她来到一个大樱桃园，里面有一座小红房子，窗户是奇怪的红蓝两色。它还有一个茅草屋顶，外面有两个木头士兵，在她驶过时向她举枪致敬。格尔达向他们呼喊，因为她以为他们是活的，但他们当然没有回答；当船漂近岸边时，她看清了它们到底是什么。然后格尔达叫得更响了，一个非常老的老妇人拄着拐杖从房子里走了出来。她戴着一顶大帽子遮阳，帽子上画着各种漂亮的花。“你这可怜的小孩子，”老妇人说，“你是怎么乘着这样一条湍急的河流，走了这么远来到这广阔世界的？”然后老妇人走进水里，用拐杖钩住小船，把它拉到岸边，把格尔达抱了出来。格尔达很高兴自己踏上了干燥的土地，尽管她对这位陌生的老妇人有些害怕。“过来告诉我你是谁，”她说，“你是怎么来到这里的。”
然后格尔达告诉了她一切，老妇人摇着头，说，“哼-哼；”当格尔达讲完后，她问老妇人有没有见过小凯，老妇人告诉她他没有经过这条路，但他很可能会来。所以她告诉格尔达不要悲伤，尝尝樱桃，看看花；它们比任何图画书都好，因为每一朵花都能讲一个故事。然后她牵着格尔达的手，把她领进小房子，老妇人关上了门。窗户很高，由于窗玻璃是红色、蓝色和黄色的，日光透过它们照射进来，呈现出各种奇异的颜色。桌子上摆着漂亮的樱桃，格尔达被允许想吃多少就吃多少。当她吃樱桃的时候，老妇人用一把金梳子梳理她长长的亚麻色卷发，光泽的卷发垂在小圆脸的两侧，那张脸看起来像玫瑰一样清新、红润。“我一直希望能有一个像你这样可爱的小姑娘，”老妇人说，“现在你必须留在我身边，看看我们在一起生活会多么幸福。”当她继续梳理小格尔达的头发时，格尔达越来越少地想起她的义兄凯，因为老妇人会施法，虽然她不是邪恶的女巫；她只是为了自娱自乐而施一点法，而现在，因为她想留住格尔达。于是她走进花园，把拐杖伸向所有的玫瑰树，尽管它们很美；它们立刻沉入了黑暗的泥土中，以至于没有人能说出它们曾经生长在哪里。老妇人担心如果小格尔达看到玫瑰，她会想起家里的那些，然后想起小凯，就会跑掉。然后她带格尔达进了花园。多么芬芳和美丽啊！一年中每个季节能想到的每一种花都在这里盛开；没有图画书能有更美丽的颜色。格尔达高兴得跳了起来，一直玩到太阳落到高高的樱桃树后面；然后她睡在一张优雅的床上，枕着红色的丝绸枕头，上面绣着彩色的紫罗兰；然后她像婚礼上的女王一样愉快地做梦。第二天，以及之后的许多天，格尔达在温暖的阳光下和花儿玩耍。她认识每一朵花，然而，尽管有这么多花，似乎还是少了一朵，但她说不出来是哪一朵。然而有一天，当她坐着看老妇人帽子上画的花时，她发现其中最漂亮的一朵是玫瑰。老妇人让所有的玫瑰沉入地下时，忘了把它从帽子上取下来。但很难事事都考虑周全；一个小小的错误就会打乱我们所有的安排。“什么，这里没有玫瑰吗？”格尔达叫道；她跑进花园，检查了所有的花坛，找啊找。一朵也找不到。然后她坐下来哭泣，她的眼泪正好落在一棵玫瑰树沉下去的地方。温暖的泪水湿润了泥土，玫瑰树立刻发芽了，像沉下去时一样盛开；格尔达拥抱它，亲吻玫瑰，想起了家里美丽的玫瑰，随之想起了小凯。“哦，我被耽搁了多久啊！”小姑娘说，“我想去找小凯。你知道他在哪里吗？”她问玫瑰；“你觉得他死了吗？”
玫瑰回答说：“不，他没有死。我们曾在地下，所有死者所在的地方；但凯不在那里。”
“谢谢你们，”小格尔达说，然后她走到其他花那里，看着它们的小花杯，问道：“你们知道小凯在哪里吗？”但每一朵花，当它站在阳光下时，只梦想着自己的小童话故事。没有一朵知道凯的任何事。格尔达从花儿那里听到了许多故事，她一个接一个地向它们打听他。
那么，卷丹花说了什么？“听，你听到鼓声了吗？——‘咚，咚，’——只有两个音符，总是，‘咚，咚。’听听妇女们的哀歌！听听祭司的呼喊！穿着长长的红袍，印度寡妇站在火葬柴堆旁。当她把自己放在丈夫的尸体上时，火焰在她周围升起；但那个印度女人想的是那个圈里的活人；是他，她的儿子，点燃了那些火焰。那双闪亮的眼睛比即将把她的身体烧成灰烬的火焰更痛苦地困扰着她的心。心中的火焰能在火葬柴堆的火焰中熄灭吗？”
“我一点也不明白，”小格尔达说。
“那是我的故事，”卷丹花说。
旋花说了什么？“在那边狭窄的路旁，矗立着一座古老的骑士城堡；厚厚的常春藤爬满了古老的破墙，一片叶子叠着一片叶子，一直爬到阳台上，阳台上站着一位美丽的少女。她俯身在栏杆上，望着那条路。茎上的玫瑰没有她新鲜；被风吹拂的苹果花，飘动起来也没有她轻盈。她俯身时，华丽的丝绸沙沙作响，她喊道，‘他不会来吗？’
“你指的是凯吗？”格尔达问。
“我只是在讲我梦里的一个故事，”花回答。
小雪莲花说了什么？“两棵树之间挂着一根绳子；上面有一块木板；那是一个秋千。两个漂亮的小女孩，穿着雪白的衣服，帽子上飘着长长的绿丝带，正坐在上面荡秋千。她们那个比她们高的哥哥站在秋千上；他一只手臂挽着绳子以稳住自己；一只手拿着一个小碗，另一只手拿着一支陶土烟斗；他在吹泡泡。随着秋千荡起，泡泡向上飞，反射出最美丽的变化色彩。最后一个泡泡还挂在烟斗的碗上，在风中摇摆。秋千继续荡着；然后一只小黑狗跑了过来。它几乎和泡泡一样轻，它用后腿站起来，想被抱上秋千；但秋千没有停，狗摔倒了；然后它叫起来，生气了。孩子们向它弯下腰，泡泡破了。一块摇摆的木板，一幅轻快闪亮的泡沫图画，——那就是我的故事。”
“你告诉我的可能都很美，”小格尔达说，“但你说得那么悲伤，而且你根本没提小凯。”
风信子说了什么？“从前有三个美丽的姐妹，白皙而娇嫩。一个的衣服是红色的，第二个是蓝色的，第三个是纯白色的。她们手拉手在明亮的月光下，在平静的湖边跳舞；但她们是人类，不是仙女精灵。甜美的芬芳吸引了她们，她们消失在树林里；在这里，香气变得更浓了。三副棺材，里面躺着三位美丽的少女，从森林最茂密的地方滑过湖面。萤火虫轻盈地飞过她们，像小小的浮动火炬。跳舞的少女们是睡着了，还是死了？花的气味说她们是尸体。晚钟为她们敲响了丧钟。”
“你让我很难过，”小格尔达说；“你的香味太浓了，让我想起了死去的少女们。啊！那么小凯真的死了吗？玫瑰曾在地下，它们说没有。”
“叮，当，”风信子的钟声敲响。“我们不是为小凯敲钟；我们不认识他。我们唱我们的歌，我们唯一会唱的歌。”
然后格尔达走到在鲜绿的叶子间闪闪发光的毛茛花那里。
“你们是明亮的小太阳，”格尔达说；“告诉我你们是否知道我在哪里能找到我的玩伴。”
毛茛花欢快地闪烁着，又看了看格尔达。毛茛花能唱什么歌？那不是关于凯的。
“明亮温暖的阳光照耀着一个小院子，那是春天第一个温暖的日子。他明亮的光束停留在邻家房子的白墙上；近旁盛开着这个季节第一朵黄色的花，在温暖的阳光下像金子一样闪闪发光。一位老妇人坐在家门口的扶手椅上，她的孙女，一个贫穷而漂亮的女仆，来看望她一小会儿。当她亲吻她的祖母时，到处都是金子：那个神圣的吻里心的金子；那是一个金色的早晨；在灿烂的阳光里有金子，在卑微的花的叶子里有金子，在少女的嘴唇上有金子。瞧，那就是我的故事，”毛茛花说。
“我可怜的老祖母！”格尔达叹息道；“她渴望见到我，为我悲伤，就像她为小凯悲伤一样；但我现在很快就要回家了，带着小凯一起。问这些花没有用；它们只知道自己的歌，不能给我任何信息。”
然后她撩起小裙子，以便跑得更快，但当她跳过水仙花时，水仙花绊住了她的腿；于是她停下来看着那高高的黄花，说：“也许你知道些什么。”
然后她弯下腰，凑近那朵花，听着；他说了什么？
“我能看见我自己，我能看见我自己，”水仙花说。“哦，我的香味多么甜美！在一个有凸窗的小房间里，站着一个跳舞的小女孩，半裸着；她有时单腿站立，有时双腿站立，看起来好像要把整个世界踩在脚下。她不过是个幻影。她正从茶壶里往手里拿着的一块布料上倒水；那是她的紧身胸衣。‘清洁是件好事，’她说。她的白裙子挂在挂钩上；它也在茶壶里洗过，在屋顶上晾干。她穿上它，在脖子上系了一条藏红花色的手帕，这让裙子看起来更白。看她如何伸展双腿，好像她在茎上炫耀一样。我能看见我自己，我能看见我自己。”
“我才不在乎那些呢，”格尔达说，“你不用告诉我这些废话。”然后她跑到花园的另一头。门是闩着的，但她用力推那生锈的门闩，它松开了。门弹开了，小格尔达光着脚跑进了广阔的世界。她回头看了三次，但似乎没有人跟着她。最后她再也跑不动了，于是她坐在一块大石头上休息，当她环顾四周时，她发现夏天已经过去，秋天已经很深了。在那个美丽的、阳光普照、鲜花常年盛开的花园里，她对这一切一无所知。“哦，我浪费了多少时间？”小格尔达说；“已经是秋天了。我不能再休息了，”她站起来继续走。但她的小脚受伤了，很痛，周围的一切看起来都那么寒冷荒凉。长长的柳叶完全变黄了。露珠像水一样落下，树叶一片接一片地从树上掉落，只有黑刺李还结着果实，但李子很酸，让牙齿发酸。哦，整个世界显得多么黑暗和疲惫！