安徒生童话-第150章

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where　it　may　stillbe　seen；　if　no　one　has　stolen　it。

There；　that　is　a　true　story。

THE　END。

　　1872

　FAIRY　TALES　OF　HANS　CHRISTIAN　ANDERSEN

　　　THE　PSYCHE

　　　by　Hans　Christian　Andersen

IN　the　fresh　morning　dawn；　in　the　rosy　air　gleams　a　great　Star；the　brightest　Star　of　the　morning。　His　rays　tremble　on　the　white　wall；as　if　he　wished　to　write　down　on　it　what　he　can　tell；　what　he　has　seenthere　and　elsewhere　during　thousands　of　years　in　our　rolling　world。Let　us　hear　one　of　his　stories。

〃A　short　time　ago〃…　the　Star's　〃short　time　ago〃　is　called　amongmen　〃centuries　ago〃…　〃my　rays　followed　a　young　artist。　It　was　in　thecity　of　the　Popes；　in　the　world…city；　Rome。　Much　has　been　changedthere　in　the　course　of　time；　but　the　changes　have　not　e　soquickly　as　the　change　from　youth　to　old　age。　Then　already　the　palaceof　the　Caesars　was　a　ruin；　as　it　is　now；　fig　trees　and　laurels　grewamong　the　fallen　marble　columns；　and　in　the　desolate　bathing…halls；where　the　gilding　still　clings　to　the　wall；　the　Coliseum　was　agigantic　ruin；　the　church　bells　sounded；　the　incense　sent　up　itsfragrant　cloud；　and　through　the　streets　marched　processions　withflaming　tapers　and　glowing　canopies。　Holy　Church　was　there；　and　artwas　held　as　a　high　and　holy　thing。　In　Rome　lived　the　greatestpainter　in　the　world；　Raphael；　there　also　dwelt　the　first　ofsculptors；　Michael　Angelo。　Even　the　Pope　paid　homage　to　these　two；　andhonored　them　with　a　visit。　Art　was　recognized　and　honored；　and　wasrewarded　also。　But；　for　all　that；　everything　great　and　splendid　wasnot　seen　and　known。

〃In　a　narrow　lane　stood　an　old　house。　Once　it　had　been　a　temple；　ayoung　sculptor　now　dwelt　there。　He　was　young　and　quite　unknown。　Hecertainly　had　friends；　young　artists；　like　himself；　young　in　spirit；young　in　hopes　and　thoughts；　they　told　him　he　was　rich　in　talent；and　an　artist；　but　that　he　was　foolish　for　having　no　faith　in　hisown　power；　for　he　always　broke　what　he　had　fashioned　out　of　clay；and　never　pleted　anything；　and　a　work　must　be　pleted　if　it　is　tobe　seen　and　to　bring　money。

〃'You　are　a　dreamer；'　they　went　on　to　say　to　him；　'and　that's　yourmisfortune。　But　the　reason　of　this　is；　that　you　have　never　lived；you　have　never　tasted　life；　you　have　never　enjoyed　it　in　greatwholesome　draughts；　as　it　ought　to　be　enjoyed。　In　youth　one　mustmingle　one's　own　personality　with　life；　that　they　may　bee　one。　Lookat　the　great　master　Raphael；　whom　the　Pope　honors　and　the　worldadmires。　He's　no　despiser　of　wine　and　bread。'

〃'And　he　even　appreciates　the　baker's　daughter；　the　prettyFornarina；'　added　Angelo；　one　of　the　merriest　of　the　young　friends。

〃Yes；　they　said　a　good　many　things　of　the　kind；　according　to　theirage　and　their　reason。　They　wanted　to　draw　the　young　artist　out　withthem　into　the　merry　wild　life；　the　mad　life　as　it　might　also　becalled；　and　at　certain　times　he　felt　an　inclination　for　it。　He　hadwarm　blood；　a　strong　imagination；　and　could　take　part　in　the　merrychat；　and　laugh　aloud　with　the　rest；　but　what　they　called　'Raphael'smerry　life'　disappeared　before　him　like　a　vapor　when　he　saw　the　divineradiance　that　beamed　forth　from　the　pictures　of　the　great　master；and　when　he　stood　in　the　Vatican；　before　the　forms　of　beauty　which　themasters　had　hewn　out　of　marble　thousands　of　years　since；　his　breastswelled；　and　he　felt　within　himself　something　high；　something　holy；something　elevating；　great　and　good；　and　he　wished　that　he　couldproduce　similar　forms　from　the　blocks　of　marble。　He　wished　to　make　apicture　of　that　which　was　within　him；　stirring　upward　from　his　heartto　the　realms　of　the　Infinite；　but　how；　and　in　what　form？　The　softclay　was　fashioned　under　his　fingers　into　forms　of　beauty；　but　thenext　day　he　broke　what　he　had　fashioned；　according　to　his　wont。

〃One　day　he　walked　past　one　of　those　rich　palaces　of　which　Romehas　many　to　show。　He　stopped　before　the　great　open　portal；　andbeheld　a　garden　surrounded　by　cloistered　walks。　The　garden　bloomedwith　a　goodly　show　of　the　fairest　roses。　Great　white　lilies　with　greenjuicy　leaves　shot　upward　from　the　marble　basin　in　which　the　clearwater　was　splashing；　and　a　form　glided　past；　the　daughter　of　theprincely　house；　graceful；　delicate；　and　wonderfully　fair。　Such　aform　of　female　loveliness　he　had　never　before　beheld…　yet　stay：　he　hadseen　it；　painted　by　Raphael；　painted　as　a　Psyche；　in　one　of　theRoman　palaces。　Yes；　there　it　had　been　painted；　but　here　it　passed　byhim　in　living　reality。

〃The　remembrance　lived　in　his　thoughts；　in　his　heart。　He　went　hometo　his　humble　room；　and　modelled　a　Psyche　of　clay。　It　was　the　richyoung　Roman　girl；　the　noble　maiden；　and　for　the　first　time　he　lookedat　his　work　with　satisfaction。　It　had　a　meaning　for　him；　for　it　wasshe。　And　the　friends　who　saw　his　work　shouted　aloud　for　joy；　theydeclared　that　this　work　was　a　manifestation　of　his　artistic　power；of　which　they　had　long　been　aware；　and　that　now　the　world　should　bemade　aware　of　it　too。

〃The　clay　figure　was　lifelike　and　beautiful；　but　it　had　not　thewhiteness　or　the　durability　of　marble。　So　they　declared　that　thePsyche　must　henceforth　live　in　marble。　He　already　possessed　a　costlyblock　of　that　stone。　It　had　been　lying　for　years；　the　property　ofhis　parents；　in　the　courtyard。　Fragments　of　glass；　climbing　weeds；　andremains　of　artichokes　had　gathered　about　it　and　sullied　its　purity；but　under　the　surface　the　block　was　as　white　as　the　mountain　snow；　andfrom　this　block　the　Psyche　was　to　arise。〃

Now；　it　happened　one　morning…　the　bright　Star　tells　nothingabout　this；　but　we　know　it　occurred…　that　a　noble　Roman　pany　cameinto　the　narrow　lane。　The　carriage　stopped　at　the　top　of　the　lane；　andthe　pany　proceeded　on　foot　towards　the　house；　to　inspect　theyoung　sculptor's　work；　for　they　had　heard　him　spoken　of　by　chance。　Andwho　were　these　distinguished　guests？　Poor　young　man！　or　fortunateyoung　man　he　might　be　called。　The　noble　young　lady　stood　in　the　roomand　smiled　radiantly　when　her　father　said　to　her；　〃It　is　your　livingimage。〃　That　smile　could　not　be　copied；　any　more　than　the　look　couldbe　reproduced；　the　wonderful　look　which　she　cast　upon　the　youngartist。　It　was　a　fiery　look；　that　seemed　at　once　to　elevate　and　tocrush　him。

〃The　Psyche　must　be　executed　in　marble；〃　said　the　wealthypatrician。　And　those　were　words　of　life　for　the　dead　clay　and　theheavy　block　of　marble；　and　words　of　life　likewise　for　the　deeply…movedartist。　〃When　the　work　is　finished　I　will　purchase　it；〃　continuedthe　rich　noble。

A　new　era　seemed　to　have　arisen　in　the　poor　studio。　Life　andcheerfulness　gleamed　there；　and　busy　industry　plied　its　work。　Thebeaming　Morning　Star　beheld　how　the　work　progressed。　The　clay　itselfseemed　inspired　since　she　had　been　there；　and　moulded　itself；　inheightened　beauty；　to　a　likeness　of　the　well…known　features。

〃Now　I　know　what　life　is；〃　cried　the　artist　rejoicingly；　〃it　isLove！　It　is　the　lofty　abandonment　of　self　for　the　dawning　of　thebeautiful　in　the　soul！　What　my　friends　call　life　and　enjoyment　is　apassing　shadow；　it　is　like　bubbles　among　seething　dregs；　not　thepure　heavenly　wine　that　consecrates　us　to　life。〃

The　marble　block　was　reared　in　its　place。　The　chisel　struckgreat　fragments　from　it；　the　measurements　were　taken；　points　and　lineswere　made；　the　mechanical　part　was　executed；　till　gradually　thestone　assumed　a　human　female　form；　a　shape　of　beauty；　and　becameconverted　into　the　Psyche；　fair　and　glorious…　a　divine　being　inhuman　shape。　The　heavy　stone　appeared　as　a　gliding；　dancing；　airyPsyche；　with　the　heavenly　innocent　smile…　the　smile　that　hadmirrored　itself　in　the　soul　of　the　young　artist。

The　Star　of　the　roseate　dawn　beheld　and　understood　what　wasstirring　within　the　young　man；　and　could　read　the　meaning　of　thechanging　color　of　his　cheek；　of　the　light　that　flashed　from　his　eye；as　he　stood　busily　working；　reproducing　what　had　been　put　into　hissoul　from　above。

〃Thou　art　a　master　like　those　masters　among　the　ancient　Greeks；〃exclaimed　his　delighted　friends；　〃soon　shall　the　whole　world　admirethy　Psyche。〃

〃My　Psyche！〃　he　repeated。　〃Yes；　mine。　She　must　be　mine。　I；　too；　aman　artist；　like　those　great　men　who　are　gone。　Providence　has　grantedme　the　boon；　and　has　made　me　the　equal　of　that　lady　of　noble　birth。〃

And　he　knelt　down　and　breathed　a　prayer　of　thankfulnesss　toHeaven；　and　then　he　forgot　Heaven　for　her　sake…　for　the　sake　of　herpicture　in　stone…　for　her　Psyche　which　stood　there　as　if　formed　ofsnow；　blushing　in　the　morning　dawn。

He　was　to　see　her　in　reality；　the　living；　graceful　Psyche；　whosewords　sounded　like　music　in　his　ears。　He　could　now　carry　the　news　intothe　rich　palace　that　the　marble　Psyche　was　finished。　He　betook　himselfthither；　strode　through　the　open　courtyard　where　the　waters　ransplashing　from　the　dolphin's　jaws　into　the　marble　basins；　where　thesnowy　lilies　and　the　fresh　roses　bloomed　in　abundance。　He　stepped　intothe　great　lofty　hall；　whose　walls　and　ceilings　shone　with　gildingand　bright　colors　and　heraldic　devices。　Gayly…dressed　serving…men；adorned　with　trappings　like　sleigh　horses；　walked　to　and　fro；　and　somereclined　at　their　ease　upon　the　carved　oak　seats；　as　if　they　werethe　masters　of　the　house。　He　told　them　what　had　brought　him　to　thepalace；　and　was　conducted　up　the　shining　marble　staircase；　coveredwith　soft　carpets　and　adorned　with　many　a　statue。　Then　he　went　onthrough　ri