安徒生童话故事第38篇：丹麦人荷尔格Holger Danske
引导语：关于安徒生童话故事，大家知道哪些?下面是一篇丹麦人荷尔格还有英文版的，欢迎大家阅读!
丹麦有一个古老的宫殿，名叫克龙堡。它在厄勒海峡①的近旁。这儿每天有成千成百的大船经过——英国的、俄国和普鲁士的船只。它们鸣炮向这个古老的宫殿致敬：轰!这个古老的宫殿也放起炮来作为回礼：轰!因为这就是炮所说的“日安!”和“谢谢您!”的意思。冬天没有船只在这儿经过，因为整个的海面结了冰，一直结到瑞典的海岸。不过这很像一条完整的公路。那上面飘着丹麦和瑞典的国旗，同时丹麦人和瑞典人相互说“日安!”和“谢谢您!”不过他们不是放炮，而是友爱地握着手。这国的人向那国的人买白面包和点心吃——因为异国的食物的味道总是最香的。
不过这一切里面最美丽的东西是那个古老的克龙堡。丹麦人荷尔格就坐在它里面一个深黑的地窖里——谁也不到这儿来。他穿着一身铠甲，用强壮的手臂枕着头。他的长胡子垂到一张大理石桌子上，在那上面生了根。他睡着，梦着;不过他在梦里可以看见丹麦所发生的一切事情。每年圣诞节的前夕总有一个上帝的安琪儿到来，告诉他说：他所梦见的东西全是真的，他可以安静地睡觉，因为丹麦还没有遭到严重的危险。不过假如有危险到来的时候，年老的丹麦人荷尔格就会醒来。当他把胡子从桌上拉出来的时候，这个桌子就要裂开。这时他就要走出来，挥动拳头，让世界各国都能听到他挥动拳头的声音。
年老的祖父把丹麦人荷尔格的故事全都讲给他的小孙子听。这些孩子都知道，祖父所讲的话是真的。当这老人坐着讲的时候，他就雕出一个木像来。它代表丹麦人荷尔格。他把它放在船头上。老祖父是一个雕船头像的专家——这也就是说，他雕出放在船头上的像来，而船就以这个雕像来命名。现在他雕出了丹麦人荷尔格。这是一个有长胡子的雄赳赳的人。他一只手拿着长剑，另一只手倚在一个丹麦的国徽上。
老祖父讲了许多丹麦著名的男子和女子的故事，所以后来这个小孙子就觉得他所知道的东西跟丹麦人荷尔格所知道的一样多——而后者只能在梦里知道。当这小家伙躺在床上的时候，他老是想着这些东西，弄得他真的把下巴贴在被子上，幻想着自己也有了长胡子，并且还在被子上生了根哩!
不过老祖父坐在那里不停地工作;他把最后的一部分雕好了：这是丹麦的一个国徽。当他做完了以后，便把它全部看了一下;于是想起了他读到过的、听到过的、和今晚对孙子讲过的东西。于是他点点头，把眼镜擦了一下，然后又戴上。他说：
“是的，丹麦人荷尔格可能在我这一生中不会再来了。不过躺在床上的这个男孩子可能会看到他，而且在真正需要的时候，可能和他一起保卫丹麦。”
老祖父又点了点头。他越看他的丹麦人荷尔格，就越清楚地觉得他雕的这个像很好。他似乎觉得它身上射出了光彩，国徽像钢铁似地发着光。这个丹麦国徽里面的心变得更鲜红，同时戴着金色王冠的那个狮子在跳跃②。
他把顶上面的那只狮子看了一下，于是想起了曾经把强大的英国和丹麦的王位联到一起的那个国王克努特③。当他看到那第二只狮子的时候，就想起了统一丹麦和征服过温得人④的国土的瓦尔得马尔大帝⑤。当他看到那第三只狮子的时候，就想起统一丹麦、瑞典和挪威的玛加利特王后⑥。不过当他看到那几颗鲜红的心的时候，它们就发出比以前更明亮的光辉，它们变成了闪动着的火焰。于是他的思想就跟随着它们每一颗心飞翔。
第一个火焰把他引导到一个黑暗而狭窄的监狱里去;有一个囚犯——一个美丽的女人——坐在这里面。她叫爱伦诺尔·乌尔菲德⑦;她是国王克利斯仙四世⑧的女儿。这个火焰变成了一朵玫瑰花贴在她的胸口上，与她的心连成一气开出花来——她是丹麦的一个最高贵。最好的'女人。
“是的，这是丹麦国徽中的一颗心!”老祖父说。
他的思想跟着第二个火焰飞。它把他引导到大海上去：这儿大炮在轰轰地响着;许多船只被笼罩在烟火里面。这个火焰变成一个勋章，紧贴在微特菲尔得⑨的胸前;这时这个男子为了要救整个的舰队，正在把自己和他的船炸毁。
那第三个火焰把他领到格陵兰岛上的一堆破烂的茅屋中去。这儿住着一位名叫汉斯·爱格德⑩的牧师;他的语言和行动充满了爱的感情。这个火焰是他胸前的一颗星，也是丹麦国徽上的一颗心。
老祖父的思想在闪动着的火焰前面走，因为他的思想知道火焰要到什么地方去。佛列得里克六世⑾站在一个农妇的简陋房间里，用粉笔把自己的名字写在屋梁上。火焰在他的胸前闪动着，也在他的心里闪动着。在这个农妇的简陋房间里，他的心成了丹麦国徽上面的一颗心。老祖父把眼睛揩干，因为他曾经认识这位长有银色卷发的、有一对诚实的蓝眼睛的国王佛列得里克，而且曾经为他而活过。他把他的双手叠在一起，静静地向自己前面望。这时老祖父的儿媳妇走过来了。她说，时间已经不早，他现在应该休息，而且晚餐已经准备好了。
“不过你雕出的这件东西非常美丽，祖父!”她说。“丹麦人荷尔格和我们古老的国徽!我仿佛觉得以前看见过这个面孔似的!’”
“不对，那是不可能的，”老祖父说;“不过我倒是看到过的。因此我凭我的记忆，把它用木头雕了出来。那是很久以前的事了，英国的舰队停在哥本哈根海面上;丹麦历书上写的是四月二日;在这天⑿我们才知道我们是真正的丹麦人。我正在斯丁·比列统率的舰队上服务。我站在‘丹麦’号上，我的身旁还站着另一个男子——枪弹好像是害怕他似的!他愉快地唱着古代的歌，开着炮，战斗着，好像他不仅仅是一个男子。我还能记得他的面孔。不过他是从什么地方来的，又到什么地方去了，我一点也不知道——谁也不知道。我常常想，他一定是古代丹麦人荷尔格的化身一一那位从克龙堡游下水去、在危急的关头来救援我们的人。这是我的想法，他的形影就在这儿。”
这个雕像的大影子映在墙上，甚至还映到一部分的天花板上去。真正的丹麦人荷尔格就好像站在它后面，因为这影子在动：不过这也可能是因为燃着的蜡烛在摇晃着的缘故。儿媳妇吻了老祖父一下，然后把他扶到桌子旁的一张大靠椅上。她和她的丈夫——就是这个老人的儿子和睡在床上的那个小孩子的父亲——坐下来吃晚饭。老祖父谈着丹麦的狮子和丹麦的心、谈着威力和感情。他毫不含糊地说，那把宝剑，除了代表武力以外，还代表一种别的东西;于是他指着书架上的一堆古书——荷尔堡⒀所写的剧本全都在里面。这些剧本经常被人阅读着，因为很有趣。在剧本里面，人们仿佛能认出古时人民的面貌。
“你要知道，他还晓得怎么去战斗呢，”老祖父说。“他花了一生的精力去揭露人们的愚蠢和偏见!”于是老祖父向镜子点点头——那儿挂着一个绘有圆塔⒁的日历。他说：“蒂却·布拉赫是另一位会使用这把宝剑的人——不是用来砍人的肌肉和腿子，而是用来砍出一条通到天上星星的康庄大道!另一个人——他的父亲也是干我这个行业的人——多瓦尔生⒂，一个老雕刻匠的儿子。我们亲眼看见过他，他的银白的鬈发、宽阔的肩膀。他的名字全世界的人都知道!——是的，他是一个雕刻师，而我不过是一个普通的木刻匠而已!的确，丹麦人荷尔格以种种的形式出现，好使全世界的人都知道丹麦的力量。我们来为贝特尔·多瓦尔生干杯好吗?”
不过睡在床上的那个孩子清楚地看到了古老的克龙堡和厄勒海峡，以及坐在这个古堡地下室里的那个真正的丹麦人荷尔格——他的胡子在大理石的桌子上生了根，同时他在梦着外面所发生的事情。丹麦人荷尔格也在梦着这位坐在一间简陋的小房间里的木刻匠;他听到了人们所说的一切话，他在梦中点头，说：
“是的，你们丹麦的人民请记住我吧!请你们在思想中记住，在你们危急的时候，我就会来的!”
克龙堡外面是晴朗的天气。风吹来邻国猎人的号角声。船只在旁边开过去，同时鸣起礼炮：“轰!轰!”克龙堡同时也鸣炮作为回礼：“轰!轰!”不过，不管人们怎样喧闹地放着炮，丹麦人荷尔格并不醒来，因为这些炮声只不过表示“日安!”和“谢谢您!”的意思罢了。只有在另外一种炮声响起来的时候他才醒来，而且他是会醒来的，因为丹麦人荷尔格的身体中充满了力量。
①厄勒海峡(Oresund)是哥本哈根的瑞典的马尔摩(Malmo)之间的一条很狭的海峡，也是丹麦的大门。
②丹麦的国徽是三头狮子和九颗心所组成的。“这是世界上一个最美丽的国徽!”老人说。“这些狮子代表力量，而这些心代表善和爱!”
③克努特二世(Knut Ⅱ，994?-1035)是丹麦的国王。他在1018年征服了全英国，因此也成了英国国王。
④温得人(Vendiske)是住在德国境内的一个斯拉夫系民族。
⑤瓦尔得马尔大帝(ValdemarⅠ，1131-1182)是丹麦的一个能干的国王。
⑥玛加利特王后(Margrethe，1353-1412)是丹麦瓦尔得马尔四世的女儿。她后来成为丹麦、瑞典和挪威的共同女王。
⑦她是柯尔菲兹·乌尔菲德(Corfits Ulfeld)的妻子。她因爱她的丈夫而被诬陷下狱，在一个地窖里关了22年，直到迫害她的人苏菲亚·亚玛莉亚死后才恢复自由。
⑧克利斯仙(Christian Ⅳ，1577～1648)是丹麦和挪威的共同国王。
⑨1710年丹麦和瑞典的舰队在却格湾海战。微特菲尔得(Hvidtfeldts)的船“丹麦国旗号”被炸起火。丹麦舰队中其他的舰船被大风吹向这艘起火的船为了拯救整个舰队，他炸沉了自己的船，本人也同归于尽。
⑩这是丹麦的一个牧师，他从1721-1736年之间在格林兰工作。
⑾佛列得里克六世(Frederick Ⅵ，1768-1839)是丹麦和挪威的共同国王。他废除农奴制和奴隶贩卖的贸易。
⑿这是1808年。在4月2日英国和丹麦的海军激战。英国舰队在纳尔逊将军的指挥下把丹麦海军击败。
⒀荷尔堡(Ludvig Holberg，1684-1754)是丹麦的作家，丹麦文学的创始者。
⒁这是哥本哈根的一个天文台。丹麦著名的天文学家蒂却·布拉赫(1546-1601)在这里观察天象。
⒂多瓦尔生(Bertel Thorwaldsen，1770-1844)是丹麦一个雕刻师。他的雕刻杰作散见于欧洲各大教堂和公共建筑物里。
丹麦人荷尔格英文版：
Holger Danske
IN Denmark there stands an old castle named Kronenburg, close by the Sound of Elsinore, where large ships, both English, Russian, and Prussian, pass by hundreds every day. And they salute the old castle with cannons, “Boom, boom,” which is as if they said, “Good-day.” And the cannons of the old castle answer “Boom,” which means “Many thanks.” In winter no ships sail by, for the whole Sound is covered with ice as far as the Swedish coast, and has quite the appearance of a high-road. The Danish and the Swedish flags wave, and Danes and Swedes say, “Good-day,” and “Thank you” to each other, not with cannons, but with a friendly shake of the hand; and they exchange white bread and biscuits with each other, because foreign articles taste the best.
But the most beautiful sight of all is the old castle of Kronenburg, where Holger Danske sits in the deep, dark cellar, into which no one goes. He is clad in iron and steel, and rests his head on his strong arm; his long beard hangs down upon the marble table, into which it has become firmly rooted; he sleeps and dreams, but in his dreams he sees everything that happens in Denmark. On each Christmas-eve an angel comes to him and tells him that all he has dreamed is true, and that he may go to sleep again in peace, as Denmark is not yet in any real danger; but should danger ever come, then Holger Danske will rouse himself, and the table will burst asunder as he draws out his beard. Then he will come forth in his strength, and strike a blow that shall sound in all the countries of the world.
An old grandfather sat and told his little grandson all this about Holger Danske, and the boy knew that what his grandfather told him must be true. As the old man related this story, he was carving an image in wood to represent Holger Danske, to be fastened to the prow of a ship; for the old grandfather was a carver in wood, that is, one who carved figures for the heads of ships, according to the names given to them. And now he had carved Holger Danske, who stood there erect and proud, with his long beard, holding in one hand his broad battle-axe, while with the other he leaned on the Danish arms. The old grandfather told the little boy a great deal about Danish men and women who had distinguished themselves in olden times, so that he fancied he knew as much even as Holger Danske himself, who, after all, could only dream; and when the little fellow went to bed, he thought so much about it that he actually pressed his chin against the counterpane, and imagined that he had a long beard which had become rooted to it. But the old grandfather remained sitting at his work and carving away at the last part of it, which was the Danish arms. And when he had finished he looked at the whole figure, and thought of all he had heard and read, and what he had that evening related to his little grandson. Then he nodded his head, wiped his spectacles and put them on, and said, “Ah, yes; Holger Danske will not appear in my lifetime, but the boy who is in bed there may very likely live to see him when the event really comes to pass.” And the old grandfather nodded again; and the more he looked at Holger Danske, the more satisfied he felt that he had carved a good image of him. It seemed to glow with the color of life; the armor glittered like iron and steel. The hearts in the Danish arms grew more and more red; while the lions, with gold crowns on their heads, were leaping up.1 “That is the most beautiful coat of arms in the world,” said the old man. “The lions represent strength; and the hearts, gentleness and love.” And as he gazed on the uppermost lion, he thought of King Canute, who chained great England to Denmark’s throne; and he looked at the second lion, and thought of Waldemar, who untied Denmark and conquered the Vandals. The third lion reminded him of Margaret, who united Denmark, Sweden, and Norway. But when he gazed at the red hearts, their colors glowed more deeply, even as flames, and his memory followed each in turn. The first led him to a dark, narrow prison, in which sat a prisoner, a beautiful woman, daughter of Christian the Fourth, Eleanor Ulfeld,2 and the flame became a rose on her bosom, and its blossoms were not more pure than the heart of this noblest and best of all Danish women. “Ah, yes; that is indeed a noble heart in the Danish arms,” said the grandfather. and his spirit followed the second flame, which carried him out to sea,3 where cannons roared and the ships lay shrouded in smoke, and the flaming heart attached itself to the breast of Hvitfeldt in the form of the ribbon of an order, as he blew himself and his ship into the air in order to save the fleet. And the third flame led him to Greenland’s wretched huts, where the preacher, Hans Egede,4 ruled with love in every word and action. The flame was as a star on his breast, and added another heart to the Danish arms. And as the old grandfather’s spirit followed the next hovering flame, he knew whither it would lead him. In a peasant woman’s humble room stood Frederick the Sixth,5 writing his name with chalk on the beam. The flame trembled on his breast and in his heart, and it was in the peasant’s room that his heart became one for the Danish arms. The old grandfather wiped his eyes, for he had known King Frederick, with his silvery locks and his honest blue eyes, and had lived for him, and he folded his hands and remained for some time silent. Then his daughter came to him and said it was getting late, that he ought to rest for a while, and that the supper was on the table.
“What you have been carving is very beautiful, grandfather,” said she. “Holger Danske and the old coat of arms; it seems to me as if I have seen the face somewhere.”
“No, that is impossible,” replied the old grandfather; “but I have seen it, and I have tried to carve it in wood, as I have retained it in my memory. It was a long time ago, while the English fleet lay in the roads, on the second of April,6 when we showed that we were true, ancient Danes. I was on board theDenmark, in Steene Bille’s squadron; I had a man by my side whom even the cannon balls seemed to fear. He sung old songs in a merry voice, and fired and fought as if he were something more than a man. I still remember his face, but from whence he came, or whither he went, I know not; no one knows. I have often thought it might have been Holger Danske himself, who had swam down to us from Kronenburg to help us in the hour of danger. That was my idea, and there stands his likeness.”
The wooden figure threw a gigantic shadow on the wall, and even on part of the ceiling; it seemed as if the real Holger Danske stood behind it, for the shadow moved; but this was no doubt caused by the flame of the lamp not burning steadily. Then the daughter-in-law kissed the old grandfather, and led him to a large arm-chair by the table; and she, and her husband, who was the son of the old man and the father of the little boy who lay in bed, sat down to supper with him. And the old grandfather talked of the Danish lions and the Danish hearts, emblems of strength and gentleness, and explained quite clearly that there is another strength than that which lies in a sword, and he pointed to a shelf where lay a number of old books, and amongst them a collection of Holberg’s plays, which are much read and are so clever and amusing that it is easy to fancy we have known the people of those days, who are described in them.
“He knew how to fight also,” said the old man; “for he lashed the follies and prejudices of people during his whole life.”
Then the grandfather nodded to a place above the looking-glass, where hung an almanac, with a representation of the Round Tower7 upon it, and said “Tycho Brahe was another of those who used a sword, but not one to cut into the flesh and bone, but to make the way of the stars of heaven clear, and plain to be understood. And then he whose father belonged to my calling,—yes, he, the son of the old image-carver, he whom we ourselves have seen, with his silvery locks and his broad shoulders, whose name is known in all lands;—yes, he was a sculptor, while I am only a carver. Holger Danske can appear in marble, so that people in all countries of the world may hear of the strength of Denmark. Now let us drink the health of Bertel.”8
But the little boy in bed saw plainly the old castle of Kronenburg, and the Sound of Elsinore, and Holger Danske, far down in the cellar, with his beard rooted to the table, and dreaming of everything that was passing above him.
And Holger Danske did dream of the little humble room in which the image-carver sat; he heard all that had been said, and he nodded in his dream, saying, “Ah, yes, remember me, you Danish people, keep me in your memory, I will come to you in the hour of need.”
The bright morning light shone over Kronenburg, and the wind brought the sound of the hunting-horn across from the neighboring shores. The ships sailed by and saluted the castle with the boom of the cannon, and Kronenburg returned the salute, “Boom, boom.” But the roaring cannons did not awake Holger Danske, for they meant only “Good morning,” and “Thank you.” They must fire in another fashion before he awakes; but wake he will, for there is energy yet in Holger Danske.
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