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安徒生童話故事第116篇：風磨The Windmill
引導語：關于著名作家安徒生法人童話故，大家知道哪些？下面是小編整理的一篇中英文版本的，我們一起來學習。
山上有一個風車。它的樣子很驕傲，它自己也真的感到很驕傲。
“我一點也不驕傲!”它說，“不過我的里里外外都很明亮。太陽和月亮照在我的外面，也照著我的里面，我還有混合蠟燭①鯨油燭和牛油燭。我敢說我是明亮②的。我是一個有思想的人;我的構造很好，一看就叫人感到愉快。我的懷里有一塊很好的磨石;我有四個翅膀——它們生在我的頭上，恰恰在我的帽子底下。雀子只有兩個翅膀，而且只生在背上。“我生出來就是一個荷蘭人③;這點可以從我的形狀看得出來——‘一個飛行的荷蘭人’我知道，大家把這種人叫做‘超自然’④的東西，但是我卻很自然。我的肚皮上圍著一圈走廊，下面有一個住室——我的‘思想’就藏在這里面。別的‘思想’把我一個最強大的主導‘思想’叫做‘磨坊人’。他知道他的要求是什么，他管理面粉和麩子。他也有一個伴侶：名叫‘媽媽’。她是我真正的心。她并不傻里傻氣地亂跑。她知道自己要求什么，知道自己能做些什么。她像微風一樣溫和，像暴風雨一樣強烈。她知道怎樣應付事情，而且她總會達到自己的目的。她是我的溫柔的一面，而‘爸爸’卻是我的堅強的一面。他們是兩個人，但也可以說是一個人。他們彼此稱為‘我的老伴’。
“這兩個人還有小孩子——‘小思想’。這些‘小思想’也能長大成人。這些小家伙老是鬧個不休!最近我曾經嚴肅地叫‘爸爸’和孩子們把我懷里的磨石和輪子檢查一下。我希望知道這兩件東西到底出了什么毛病，因為我的內部現在是有毛病了。一個人也應該把自己檢查一下。這些小家伙又在鬧出一陣可怕的聲音來。對我這樣一個高高立在山上的人說來，這的確是太不像樣子了，一個人應該記住，自己是站在光天化日之下，而在光天化日之下，一個人的毛病是一下子就可以看出來的。
“我剛才說過，這些小家伙鬧出可怕的聲音來。最小的那幾個鉆到我的帽子里亂叫，弄得我怪不舒服的。小‘思想’可以長大起來，這一點我知道得清清楚楚。外面也有別的‘思想’來訪，不過他們不是屬于我這個家族，因為據我看來，他們跟我沒有共同之點。那么沒有翅膀的屋子——你聽不見他們磨石的聲音——也有些‘思想’。他們來看我的‘思想’并且跟我的‘思想’鬧起所謂戀愛來。這真是奇怪;的確，怪事也真多。
“我的身上——或者身子里——最近起了某種變化：磨石的活動有些異樣。我似乎覺得‘爸爸’換了一個‘老伴’：他似乎得到了一個脾氣更溫和、更熱情的配偶——非常年輕和溫柔。但人還是原來的人，只不過時間使她變得更可愛，更溫柔罷了。不愉快的事情現在都沒有了，一切都非常愉快。
“日子過去了，新的日子又到來了。時間一天一天地接近光明和快樂，直到最后我的一切完了為止——但不是絕對地完了。我將被拆掉，好使我又能夠變成一個新的、更好的磨坊。我將不再存在，但是我將繼續活下去!我將變成另一個東西，但同時又沒有變!這一點我卻難得理解，不管我是被太陽、月亮、混合燭、獸燭和蠟燭照得怎樣‘明亮’。我的舊木料和磚土將會又從地上立起來。
“我希望我仍能保持住我的老‘思想’們：磨坊里的爸爸、媽媽、大孩和小孩——整個的家庭。我把他們大大小小都叫做‘思想的家屬’，因為我沒有他們是不成的。但是我也要保留住我自己——保留住我胸腔里的磨石，我頭上的翅膀，我肚皮上的走廊，否則我就不會認識我自己，別人也不會認識我，同時會說：‘山上有一個磨坊，看起來倒是蠻了不起，但是也沒有什么了不起。’”
這是磨坊說的話。事實上，它說的比這還多，不過這是最重要的一部分罷了。
日子來，日子去，而昨天是最后的一天。
這個磨坊著了火。火焰升得很高。它向外面燎，也向里面燎。它舔著大梁和木板。結果這些東西就全被吃光了。磨坊倒下來了，它只剩下一堆火灰。燃過的地方還在冒著煙，但是風把它吹走了。
磨坊里曾經活著過的東西，現在仍然活著，并沒有因為這件意外而被毀掉。事實上它還因為這個意外事件而得到許多好處。磨坊主的一家——一個靈魂，許多“思想”，但仍然只是一個思想——又新建了一個新的、漂亮的磨坊。這個新的跟那個舊的沒有任何區別，同樣有用。人們說：“山上有一個磨坊，看起來很像個樣兒!”不過這個磨坊的設備更好，比前一個更近代化，因為事情總歸是進步的。那些舊的木料都被蟲蛀了，潮濕了。現在它們變成了塵土。它起初想象的完全相反，磨坊的軀體并沒有重新站起來。這是因為它太相信字面上的意義了，而人們是不應該從字面上看一切事情的意義的。
①原文是Stearinlys，即用獸油和蠟油混合做成的蠟燭。
②明亮(Oplyst)在丹麥文里同時又有“開明”，“聰明”，“受過教育”等意思，因此這兒有雙關的意義。
③因為荷蘭的風車最多。
④這是原文Overnaturlige這個字的直譯，它可以轉化成為“神奇”，“鬼怪”的意思。)
風磨英文版：
The Windmill
AWINDMILL stood upon the hill, proud to look at, and it was proud too.
“I am not proud at all,” it said, “but I am very much enlightened without and within. I have sun and moon for my outward use, and for inward use too; and into the bargain I have stearine candles, train oil and lamps, and tallow candles. I may well say that I’m enlightened. I’m a thinking being, and so well constructed that it’s quite delightful. I have a good windpipe in my chest, and I have four wings that are placed outside my head, just beneath my hat. The birds have only two wings, and are obliged to carry them on their backs. I am a Dutchman by birth, that may be seen by my figure—a flying Dutchman. They are considered supernatural beings, I know, and yet I am quite natural. I have a gallery round my chest, and house-room beneath it; that’s where my thoughts dwell. My strongest thought, who rules and reigns, is called by others ‘The Man in the Mill.’ He knows what he wants, and is lord over the meal and the bran; but he has his companion, too, and she calls herself ‘Mother.’ She is the very heart of me. She does not run about stupidly and awkwardly, for she knows what she wants, she knows what she can do, she’s as soft as a zephyr and as strong as a storm; she knows how to begin a thing carefully, and to have her own way. She is my soft temper, and the father is my hard one. They are two, and yet one; they each call the other ‘My half.’ These two have some little boys, young thoughts, that can grow. The little ones keep everything in order. When, lately, in my wisdom, I let the father and the boys examine my throat and the hole in my chest, to see what was going on there,—for something in me was out of order, and it’s well to examine one’s self,—the little ones made a tremendous noise. The youngest jumped up into my hat, and shouted so there that it tickled me. The little thoughts may grow—I know that very well; and out in the world thoughts come too, and not only of my kind, for as far as I can see, I cannot discern anything like myself; but the wingless houses, whose throats make no noise, have thoughts too, and these come to my thoughts, and make love to them, as it is called. It’s wonderful enough—yes, there are many wonderful things. Something has come over me, or into me,—something has changed in the mill-work. It seems as if the one half, the father, had altered, and had received a better temper and a more affectionate helpmate—so young and good, and yet the same, only more gentle and good through the course of time. What was bitter has passed away, and the whole is much more comfortable.
“The days go on, and the days come nearer and nearer to clearness and to joy; and then a day will come when it will be over with me; but not over altogether. I must be pulled down that I may be built up again; I shall cease, but yet shall live on. To become quite a different being, and yet remain the same! That’s difficult for me to understand, however enlightened I may be with sun, moon, stearine, train oil, and tallow. My old wood-work and my old brick-work will rise again from the dust!
“I will hope that I may keep my old thoughts, the father in the mill, and the mother, great ones and little ones—the family; for I call them all, great and little, the company of thoughts, because I must, and cannot refrain from it.
“And I must also remain ‘myself,’ with my throat in my chest, my wings on my head, the gallery round my body; else I should not know myself, nor could the others know me, and say, ‘There’s the mill on the hill, proud to look at, and yet not proud at all.’”
That is what the mill said. Indeed, it said much more, but that is the most important part.
And the days came, and the days went, and yesterday was the last day.
Then the mill caught fire. The flames rose up high, and beat out and in, and bit at the beams and planks, and ate them up. The mill fell, and nothing remained of it but a heap of ashes. The smoke drove across the scene of the conflagration, and the wind carried it away.
Whatever had been alive in the mill remained, and what had been gained by it has nothing to do with this story.
The miller’s family—one soul, many thoughts, and yet only one—built a new, a splendid mill, which answered its purpose. It was quite like the old one, and people said, “Why, yonder is the mill on the hill, proud to look at!” But this mill was better arranged, more according to the time than the last, so that progress might be made. The old beams had become worm-eaten and spongy—they lay in dust and ashes. The body of the mill did not rise out of the dust as they had believed it would do. They had taken it literally, and all things are not to be taken literally.
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