Reading -- THE NAUGHTY BOY

 

THE NAUGHTY BOY

Along time ago, there lived an old poet, a thoroughly kind old poet. As he was
sitting one evening in his room, a dreadful storm arose without, and the rain
streamed down from heaven; but the old poet sat warm and comfortable in his
chimney-corner, where the fire blazed and the roasting apple hissed.

"Those who have not a roof over their heads will be wetted to the skin," said
the good old poet.

"Oh let me in! Let me in! I am cold, and I'm so wet!" exclaimed suddenly a
child that stood crying at the door and knocking for admittance, while the
rain poured down, and the wind made all the windows rattle.

"Poor thing!" said the old poet, as he went to open the door. There stood a
little boy, quite naked, and the water ran down from his long golden hair; he
trembled with cold, and had he not come into a warm room he would most
certainly have perished in the frightful tempest.

"Poor child!" said the old poet, as he took the boy by the hand. "Come in,
come in, and I will soon restore thee! Thou shalt have wine and roasted
apples, for thou art verily a charming child!" And the boy was so really. His
eyes were like two bright stars; and although the water trickled down his
hair, it waved in beautiful curls. He looked exactly like a little angel, but
he was so pale, and his whole body trembled with cold. He had a nice little
bow in his hand, but it was quite spoiled by the rain, and the tints of his
many-colored arrows ran one into the other.

The old poet seated himself beside his hearth, and took the little fellow on
his lap; he squeezed the water out of his dripping hair, warmed his hands
between his own, and boiled for him some sweet wine. Then the boy recovered,
his cheeks again grew rosy, he jumped down from the lap where he was sitting,
and danced round the kind old poet.

"You are a merry fellow," said the old man. "What's your name?"

"My name is Cupid," answered the boy. "Don't you know me? There lies my bow;
it shoots well, I can assure you! Look, the weather is now clearing up, and
the moon is shining clear again through the window."

"Why, your bow is quite spoiled," said the old poet.

"That were sad indeed," said the boy, and he took the bow in his hand and
examined it on every side. "Oh, it is dry again, and is not hurt at all; the
string is quite tight. I will try it directly." And he bent his bow, took aim,
and shot an arrow at the old poet, right into his heart. "You see now that my
bow was not spoiled," said he laughing; and away he ran.

The naughty boy, to shoot the old poet in that way; he who had taken him into
his warm room, who had treated him so kindly, and who had given him warm wine
and the very best apples!

The poor poet lay on the earth and wept, for the arrow had really flown into
his heart.

"Fie!" said he. "How naughty a boy Cupid is! I will tell all children about
him, that they may take care and not play with him, for he will only cause
them sorrow and many a heartache."

And all good children to whom he related this story, took great heed of this
naughty Cupid; but he made fools of them still, for he is astonishingly
cunning. When the university students come from the lectures, he runs beside
them in a black coat, and with a book under his arm. It is quite impossible
for them to know him, and they walk along with him arm in arm, as if he, too,
were a student like themselves; and then, unperceived, he thrusts an arrow to
their bosom. When the young maidens come from being examined by the clergyman,
or go to church to be confirmed, there he is again close behind them. Yes, he
is forever following people. At the play, he sits in the great chandelier and
burns in bright flames, so that people think it is really a flame, but they
soon discover it is something else. He roves about in the garden of the palace
and upon the ramparts: yes, once he even shot your father and mother right in
the heart. Ask them only and you will hear what they'll tell you. Oh, he is a
naughty boy, that Cupid; you must never have anything to do with him. He is
forever running after everybody. Only think, he shot an arrow once at your old
grandmother! But that is a long time ago, and it is all past now; however, a
thing of that sort she never forgets. Fie, naughty Cupid! But now you know
him, and you know, too, how ill-behaved he is!

 

顽皮的孩子
 

　　从前有一位老诗人——一位非常和善的老诗人。有一天晚上，他坐在家里，外面起了一阵可怕的风暴。雨在倾盆地下着；不过这位老诗人坐在炉旁，又温暖，又舒适。

　　火在熊熊地燎着，苹果烤得咝咝地发响。

　　"这样的天气，外面的穷苦人身上恐怕没有一根纱是干的了。"他说，因为他是一位心肠非常好的老诗人。

　　"啊，请开门！我非常冷，衣服也全湿透了。"外面有一个小孩子在叫。他哭起来，敲着门。这时雨正在倾盆地下着，风把所有的窗扉吹得呼呼地响。

　　"你这个可怜的小家伙！"老诗人说；他走过去把门开了。门口站着一个小小的孩子。他全身没有穿衣服，雨水从他长长的金发上滚下来。他冻得发抖；如果他没有走进来的话，一定会在这样的暴风雨中冻死的。

　　"你这个可怜的小家伙！"老诗人说，同时拉着他的手。

　　"到我这儿来吧，我可以使你温暖起来。我可以给你喝一点酒，吃一个苹果，因为你是一个美丽的孩子。"

　　他的确是很美丽的。他的眼睛亮得像两颗明亮的星星，他的金发虽然有水滴下来，可是卷卷曲曲的，非常好看。他像一个小小的天使，不过他冻得惨白，全身发抖。他手里拿着一把漂亮的弓，但是雨水已经把它弄坏了。涂在那些美丽箭上的色彩全都被雨淋得模糊不清了。

　　老诗人坐在炉边，把这小孩子抱到膝上，把雨水从他的卷发里挤出来，把他的手放到自己的手里暖着，同时为他热了一些甜酒。这孩子马上就恢复过来了。他的双颊也变得红润起来了。他跳到地上来，围着这位老诗人跳舞。

　　"你是一个快乐的孩子！"老诗人说。"你叫什么名字？"

　　"我叫阿穆尔①，"他回答说；"你不认识我吗？我的弓就在这儿。你知道，我就是用这把弓射箭哪！看啊，外面天晴了，月亮也出来了。"

　　①阿穆尔（Ａｍｏｒ）即希腊神话中的丘比特，是罗马神话中爱情之神。他是一个顽皮和快乐的孩子，经常带着弓和箭。当他的箭射到一个人的心里去的时候，这支箭就燃起爱情的火焰。

　　"不过你的弓已经坏了。"老诗人说。

　　"这倒是很可惜的，"小孩子回答说，同时把弓拿起来，看了一看。"哎，它还很干呢，并没有受到什么损害。弦还很紧——我倒要试它一试！"于是他把弓一拉，插上一支箭，对准了目标，向这位和善的老诗人的心中射去。“请你现在看看究竟我的弓损坏了没有！”他说，大笑了一声，就跑掉了。这小孩子该是多么顽皮啊！他居然向这位老诗人射了一箭，而这位老诗人还把他请进温暖的房间里来，对他非常和善，给他喝最好的酒，吃最好的苹果呢！

　　这位和善的老诗人躺在地上，哭起来了；他的心中了一箭，他说：“嗨，这个阿穆尔真是一个顽皮的孩子！我要把这事情告诉所有的好孩子们，叫他们当心，不要跟他一起玩耍，因为他会跟他们捣蛋！”

　　所有的好孩子们——女孩子和男孩子们——听到了他讲的这个故事，都对这个顽皮的孩子有了戒心；然而他还是骗过了他们，因为他非常地伶俐。当大学生听完了课走出来的时候，他就穿着一件黑上衣，腋下夹着一本书，在他们的旁边走，他们一点也没有看出他。于是他们就挽着他的手，以为他也是一个学生呢。过时他就把一支箭射进他们的心里去。当女孩子们到教堂去受“坚信礼”①的时候，他也在后面跟着她们。是的，他老是在跟着人！他坐在戏院里的蜡烛台上，光耀夺目，弄得人们把他当做一盏明灯。可是不久大家就知道完全不是这么一回事。他在御花园里，在散步场上跑来跑去。是的，他从前有过一次射中了你爸爸和妈妈的心啦。你只需问问他们。你就可以听到一段故事。咳，这个阿穆尔真是一个坏孩子；你们决不能跟他有任何来往！他在跟着每一个人。

　　你想想看，有一次他居然把一支箭射进老祖母的心里去啦

　　——不过这是很久以前的事了。那个创伤早已经治好了，但是老祖母一直忘不了它。呸，那个恶作剧的阿穆尔！不过你现在认识他了！你知道他是一个多么顽皮的孩子。

　　①在基督教里面，小孩子受了洗礼以后，到了青春发育期间、一般地都要再受一次“坚信礼”，以加强和巩固他对宗教的信心。受“坚信礼”是进入成人阶段的标记。

　　（１８３５年）

　　这实际上是一首散文诗，发表于１８３５年，它的调子是轻松愉快的。它借希腊神话中爱情之神的故事，说明爱情无所不在，在老年人和年轻人中都无例外。由于爱情的存在，人生才变得丰富多采，充满了生气和希望，当然也含有喜怒与哀愁。它也是文学和艺术创造推动力之一。因此作者在这篇作品中选出一位老诗人中上这爱情的一箭。