鬼火进城了
这篇故事发表在1865年11月11日哥本哈根出版的《新的童话和故事集》第二卷第三部。关于这篇故事的写作背景，安徒生在1868年他的《童话全集》的附注中写道：“1864年——战争的一年——是很沉重和苦痛的。这一年丹麦的施勒斯威克地区被德国夺去了。谁还能够想些什么别的事情呢？我有好久写不出作品。《鬼火进城了》是我在战时极度沉重的心情下动笔的……1865年6月我在巴斯纳斯农庄写完，故事中地理环境的描写源自巴斯纳斯周围的景物。”很明显这是一篇讽刺作品，矛头是指向一些评论家、报刊编辑和文化人。国难当头，他们还在作些不切实际，相互小圈子吹捧把“人引到邪路上去”的空论。我国在抗日战争时也出现过类似的人和类似的讽刺作品，如张天翼的《华威先生》。
THERE was a man who once knew many stories，but they had slipped away from him—so he said.The story that used to visit him of its own accord no longer came and knocked at his door.And why did it come no longer？It is true enough that for days and years the man had not thought of it，had not expected it to come and knock.And if he had expected it，it would certainly not have come，for without there was war，and within was the care and sorrow that war brings with it.
从前有一个人会讲很多新的童话：不过照他的说法，这些童话都偷偷地离开他了。那个常常来拜访他的童话不再来了，也不再敲他的门了。为什么它不再来呢？是的，这人确实有很久没空闲想到它，也没有盼望它来敲他的门，而它也就没来拜访，因为外面有战争，同时家里又有战争带来的悲哀和忧虑。
The stork and the swallows came back from their long journey，for they thought of no danger.And，behold，when they arrived，the nest was burnt，the habitations(habitation n.居住，生活环境，住所)of men were burnt，the hedges were all in disorder，and everything seemed gone，and the enemys horses were stamping in the old graves.Those were hard，gloomy times，but they came to an end.
从长途旅行中鹳鸟与燕子回来了，它们也没有想到什么危险。当它们到来的时候，巢被烧掉了，人类的住屋也被烧掉了，门都倒了，有的门简直就不见了：敌人的马匹在古老的坟墓上横冲直撞。这是一个艰难黑暗的时代，但这样的时代也总有一天会结束。
And now they were past and gone—so people said.Yet no story came and knocked at the door，or gave any tidings of its presence.
正如人们所言，它现在已经结束了。但是童话还没有来敲门，也没有送来什么消息。
“I suppose it must be dead，or gone away with many other things.”said the man.
“我猜测，它一定已经死了，或者跟别的东西一起消灭了。”这人说道。
But the Story never dies.And more than a whole year went by，and he longed—oh，so very much！—for the Story.“I wonder if the Story will ever come back again and knock？”
不过童话是永远不会死的！一整年又过去了。他很想念童话！“我不知道，童话是不是会再来敲响我的门？”
And he remembered it so well in all the various forms in which it had come to him，sometimes young and charming，like spring itself，sometimes as a beautiful maiden，with a wreath of thymethyme n.麝香草属的植物，[植］百里香in her hair，and a beechen branch in her hand，and with eyes that gleamed like deep woodland lakes in the bright sunshine.
他还能生动地想起，曾经童话以种种不同的姿态来拜访他：有时它像春天一样的年轻而动人，有时它像一个美丽的姑娘，戴在头上的是一个车叶草编的花环，手中拿着一根山毛榉的枝子，眼睛亮得好像深树林里的照在明亮的太阳光下的湖。
Sometimes it had come to him in the guise of a peddler，and had opened its box and let silver ribbon come fluttering out，with verses and inscriptions of old remembrances.
有时它假扮成一个小贩到来。它打开它的背包，银色的缎带从里头飘出来——上头写着诗和充满了回忆的字句。
But it was most charming of all when it came as an old grandmother，with silvery hair，and such large，sensible eyes.She knew so well how to tell about the oldest times，long before the princesses spun with the golden spindles，and the dragons lay outside the castles，guarding them.She told with such an air of truth，that black spots danced before the eyes of all who heard her，and the floor became black with human blood；terrible to see and to hear，and yet so entertaining，because such a long time had passed since it all happened.
不过当它装作一个老祖母到来时，它要算是最可爱的了。银白色的发，聪慧的大眼睛。她能讲远古时代的故事——比公主用金纺锤纺纱、巨龙在宫门外守护着的那个时代还要更古老。她讲得活灵活现，弄得听的人仿佛觉得有黑点子在眼前跳舞，仿佛觉得地上被人血染黑了。看到这样的情景并且听到这样的故事，真有些吓人，但同时它又十分有趣，因为它是发生在那么一个远古的时代里。
“Will it ever knock at my door again？”said the man，and he gazed at the door，so that black spots came before his eyes and upon the floor.He did not know if it was blood，or mourning crape from the dark heavy days.
“她不会再来敲我的门吧！”这人说道。于是，他凝望着门，结果黑点子又在他眼前和地上出现了。他搞不清楚这是血呢，抑或是那个艰难的黑暗时代的丧服上用的黑纱。
And as he sat thus，the thought came upon him whether the Story might not have hidden itself，like the princess in the old tale.And he would now go in search of it.If he found it，it would beam in new splendor，lovelier than ever.
当他这样坐着时，就想起童话是不是像那些古老的童话中的公主一样，藏起来了，等着人将它找出来呢？如果它被找出来了，那么它又可以发出新的光彩，比以前还更美丽。
“Who knows？Perhaps it has hidden itself in the straw that balances on the margin of the well.Carefully，carefully！Perhaps it lies hidden in a certain flower—that flower in one of the great books on the bookshelf.”
“谁知道呢？也许它就藏在别人随便扔在井边的一根草里。小心！小心！可能它就藏在一朵枯萎的花里——夹在书架上的那本大书里的花里。”
And the man went and opened one of the newest books，to gain information on this point.But there was no flower to be found.There he read about Holger Danske，and the man read that the tale had been invented and put together by a monk in France，that it was a romance，“translated into Danish and printed in that language，”that Holger Danske had never really lived，and consequently could never come again，as we have sung，and have been so glad to believe.And William Tell was treated just like Holger Danske.These were all only myths—nothing on which we could depend，and yet it is all written in a very learned book.
这人为了要弄清楚，就打开一本最新的书：但这里面并没有一朵花。他在这里读到丹麦人荷尔格的故事，他同时还读到：这个故事是一个法国修道士杜撰的，是一本“译成丹麦文并用丹麦文印出来”的传奇，因此从来就没有真正存在过丹麦人荷尔格这个人，同时也永远不会如我们所歌颂的和相信的那样，又回到我们这儿来。丹麦人荷尔格和威廉·退尔一样，不过是一个口头相传的故事，根本靠不住，虽然它是花了很大一番考据功夫，写进书本的。
“Well，I shall believe what I believe！”said the man，“There grows no plantain(plantain n.[植］车前草，香蕉之一种)where no foot has trod.”
“唔，我要相信我所相信的东西，”这人说，“脚没有踏过的地方，路也不会越变越宽的。”
And he closed the book and put it back in its place，and went to the fresh flowers at the window.Perhaps the Story might have hidden itself in the red tulips，with the golden yellow edges，or in the fresh rose，or in the beaming camellia(camellia n.[植］茶属，茶花，山茶)。The sunshine lay among the flowers，but no Story.
于是他就把书合上，放到书架上去，然后就走到窗前的新鲜花朵那儿去：童话可能就躲在那些有黄色金边的红郁金香中，又或者在鲜艳的玫瑰花里，或者在颜色绚丽的茶花里。花瓣里盛满阳光，可是没有童话。
