安徒生童话-第71章

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y　will　haveno　word　more　to　say　in　the　matter；　nor　will　I　speak　again　of　all　thewrong　that　my　mother　has　endured。〃

The　long　wicks　of　the　altar　lights　glimmer　red；　but　there　is　aredder　gleam　upon　the　pavement；　where　the　bishop　lies　with　clovenskull；　and　his　dead　warriors　around　him；　in　the　quiet　of　the　holyChristmas　night。

And　four　days　afterwards　the　bells　toll　for　a　funeral　in　theconvent　of　Borglum。　The　murdered　bishop　and　the　slain　warriors　andpriests　are　displayed　under　a　black　canopy；　surrounded　by　candelabradecked　with　crape。　There　lies　the　dead　man；　in　the　black　cloak　wroughtwith　silver；　the　crozier　in　the　powerless　hand　that　was　once　somighty。　The　incense　rises　in　clouds；　and　the　monks　chant　the　funeralhymn。　It　sounds　like　a　wail…　it　sounds　like　a　sentence　of　wrath　andcondemnation；　that　must　be　heard　far　over　the　land；　carried　by　thewind…　sung　by　the　wind…　the　wail　that　sometimes　is　silent；　but　neverdies；　for　ever　again　it　rises　in　song；　singing　even　into　our　owntime　this　legend　of　the　Bishop　of　Borglum　and　his　hard　nephew。　It　isheard　in　the　dark　night　by　the　frightened　husbandman；　driving　by　inthe　heavy　sandy　road　past　the　convent　of　Borglum。　It　is　heard　by　thesleepless　listener　in　the　thickly…walled　rooms　at　Borglum。　And　notonly　to　the　ear　of　superstition　is　the　sighing　and　the　tread　ofhurrying　feet　audible　in　the　long　echoing　passages　leading　to　theconvent　door　that　has　long　been　locked。　The　door　still　seems　toopen；　and　the　lights　seem　to　flame　in　the　brazen　candlesticks；　thefragrance　of　incense　arises；　the　church　gleams　in　its　ancientsplendor；　and　the　monks　sing　and　say　the　mass　over　the　slain　bishop；who　lies　there　in　the　black　silver…embroidered　mantle；　with　thecrozier　in　his　powerless　hand；　and　on　his　pale　proud　forehead　gleamsthe　red　wound　like　fire；　and　there　burn　the　worldly　mind　and　thewicked　thoughts。

Sink　down　into　his　grave…　into　oblivion…　ye　terrible　shapes　of　thetimes　of　old！

Hark　to　the　raging　of　the　angry　wind；　sounding　above　the　rollingsea！　A　storm　approaches　without；　calling　aloud　for　human　lives。　Thesea　has　not　put　on　a　new　mind　with　the　new　time。　This　night　it　is　ahorrible　pit　to　devour　up　lives；　and　to…morrow；　perhaps；　it　may　be　aglassy　mirror…　even　as　in　the　old　time　that　we　have　buried。　Sleepsweetly；　if　thou　canst　sleep！

Now　it　is　morning。

The　new　time　flings　sunshine　into　the　room。　The　wind　still　keepsup　mightily。　A　wreck　is　announced…　as　in　the　old　time。

During　the　night；　down　yonder　by　Lokken；　the　little　fishingvillage　with　the　red…tiled　roofs…　we　can　see　it　up　here　from　thewindow…　a　ship　has　e　ashore。　It　has　struck；　and　is　fast　embedded　inthe　sand；　but　the　rocket　apparatus　has　thrown　a　rope　on　board；　andformed　a　bridge　from　the　wreck　to　the　mainland；　and　all　on　board　aresaved；　and　reach　the　land；　and　are　wrapped　in　warm　blankets；　andto…day　they　are　invited　to　the　farm　at　the　convent　of　Borglum。　Infortable　rooms　they　encounter　hospitality　and　friendly　faces。They　are　addressed　in　the　language　of　their　country；　and　the　pianosounds　for　them　with　melodies　of　their　native　land；　and　before　thesehave　died　away；　the　chord　has　been　struck；　the　wire　of　thought　thatreaches　to　the　land　of　the　sufferers　announces　that　they　arerescued。　Then　their　anxieties　are　dispelled；　and　at　even　they　joinin　the　dance　at　the　feast　given　in　the　great　hall　at　Borglum。Waltzes　and　Styrian　dances　are　given；　and　Danish　popular　songs；　andmelodies　of　foreign　lands　in　these　modern　times。

Blessed　be　thou；　new　time！　Speak　thou　of　summer　and　of　purergales！　Send　thy　sunbeams　gleaming　into　our　hearts　and　thoughts！　On　thyglowing　canvas　let　them　be　painted…　the　dark　legends　of　the　rough　hardtimes　that　are　past！

THE　END。

　　1872

　FAIRY　TALES　OF　HANS　CHRISTIAN　ANDERSEN

THE　BOTTLE　NECK

　　　by　Hans　Christian　Andersen

CLOSE　to　the　corner　of　a　street；　among　other　abodes　of　poverty；stood　an　exceedingly　tall；　narrow　house；　which　had　been　so　knockedabout　by　time　that　it　seemed　out　of　joint　in　every　direction。　Thishouse　was　inhabited　by　poor　people；　but　the　deepest　poverty　wasapparent　in　the　garret　lodging　in　the　gable。　In　front　of　the　littlewindow；　an　old　bent　bird…cage　hung　in　the　sunshine；　which　had　not　evena　proper　water…glass；　but　instead　of　it　the　broken　neck　of　a　bottle；turned　upside　down；　and　a　cork　stuck　in　to　make　it　hold　the　water　withwhich　it　was　filled。　An　old　maid　stood　at　the　window；　she　had　hungchickweed　over　the　cage；　and　the　little　lin　which　it　containedhopped　from　perch　to　perch　and　sang　and　twittered　merrily。

〃Yes；　it's　all　very　well　for　you　to　sing；〃　said　the　bottle　neck：that　is；　he　did　not　really　speak　the　words　as　we　do；　for　the　neck　of　abottle　cannot　speak；　but　he　thought　them　to　himself　in　his　own　mind；just　as　people　sometimes　talk　quietly　to　themselves。

〃Yes；　you　may　sing　very　well；　you　have　all　your　limbs　uninjured；you　should　feel　what　it　is　like　to　lose　your　body；　and　only　have　aneck　and　a　mouth　left；　with　a　cork　stuck　in　it；　as　I　have：　youwouldn't　sing　then；　I　know。　After　all；　it　is　just　as　well　that　thereare　some　who　can　be　happy。　I　have　no　reason　to　sing；　nor　could　Ising　now　if　I　were　ever　so　happy；　but　when　I　was　a　whole　bottle；　andthey　rubbed　me　with　a　cork；　didn't　I　sing　then？　I　used　to　be　calleda　plete　lark。　I　remember　when　I　went　out　to　a　picnic　with　thefurrier's　family；　on　the　day　his　daughter　was　betrothed；…　it　seemsas　if　it　only　happened　yesterday。　I　have　gone　through　a　great　dealin　my　time；　when　I　e　to　recollect：　I　have　been　in　the　fire　and　inthe　water；　I　have　been　deep　in　the　earth；　and　have　mounted　higher　inthe　air　than　most　other　people；　and　now　I　am　swinging　here；　outsidea　bird…cage；　in　the　air　and　the　sunshine。　Oh；　indeed；　it　would　beworth　while　to　hear　my　history；　but　I　do　not　speak　it　aloud；　for　agood　reason…　because　I　cannot。〃

Then　the　bottle　neck　related　his　history；　which　was　reallyrather　remarkable；　he；　in　fact；　related　it　to　himself；　or；　at　least；thought　it　in　his　own　mind。　The　little　bird　sang　his　own　song　merrily；in　the　street　below　there　was　driving　and　running　to　and　fro；　everyone　thought　of　his　own　affairs；　or　perhaps　of　nothing　at　all；　butthe　bottle　neck　thought　deeply。　He　thought　of　the　blazing　furnace　inthe　factory；　where　he　had　been　blown　into　life；　he　remembered　howhot　it　felt　when　he　was　placed　in　the　heated　oven；　the　home　from　whichhe　sprang；　and　that　he　had　a　strong　inclination　to　leap　out　againdirectly；　but　after　a　while　it　became　cooler；　and　he　found　himselfvery　fortable。　He　had　been　placed　in　a　row；　with　a　whole　regimentof　his　brothers　and　sisters　all　brought　out　of　the　same　furnace；some　of　them　had　certainly　been　blown　into　champagne　bottles；　andothers　into　beer　bottles；　which　made　a　little　difference　between　them。In　the　world　it　often　happens　that　a　beer　bottle　may　contain　themost　precious　wine；　and　a　champagne　bottle　be　filled　with　blacking；but　even　in　decay　it　may　always　be　seen　whether　a　man　has　been　wellborn。　Nobility　remains　noble；　as　a　champagne　bottle　remains　thesame；　even　with　blacking　in　its　interior。　When　the　bottles　were　packedour　bottle　was　packed　amongst　them；　it　little　expected　then　tofinish　its　career　as　a　bottle　neck；　or　to　be　used　as　a　water…glassto　a　bird's…cage；　which　is；　after　all；　a　place　of　honor；　for　it　isto　be