安徒生童话故事第：衬衫领子The Shirt-Collar

安徒生童话故事第51篇：衬衫领子The Shirt-Collar

　　引导语：衬衫领子在我们的生活中是常见的，那么下面是小编收集的一篇相关的安徒生童话故事，有中英文版本的，欢迎大家阅读!

　　从前有一位漂亮的绅士;他所有的动产只是一个脱靴器和一把梳子。但他有一个世界上最好的衬衫领子。我们现在所要听到的就是关于这个领子的故事。

　　衬衫领子的年纪已经很大，足够考虑结婚的问题。事又凑巧，他和袜带在一块儿混在水里洗。

　　“我的天!”衬衫领子说，“我从来没有看到过这么苗条和细嫩、这么迷人和温柔的人儿。请问你尊姓大名?”

　　“这个我可不能告诉你!”袜带说。

　　“你府上在什么地方?”衬衫领子问。

　　不过袜带是非常害羞的。要回答这样一个问题，她觉得非常困难。

　　“我想你是一根腰带吧?”衬衫领子说——“一种内衣的腰带!亲爱的小姐，我可以看出，你既有用，又可以做装饰品!”

　　“你不应该跟我讲话!”袜带说。“我想，我没有给你任何理由这样做!”

　　“咳，一个长得像你这样美丽的人儿，”衬衫领子说，“就是足够的理由了。”

　　“请不要走得离我太近!”袜带说，“你很像一个男人!”

　　“我还是一个漂亮的绅士呢!”衬衫领子说。“我有一个脱靴器和一把梳子!”

　　这完全不是真话，因为这两件东西是属于他的主人的。他不过是在吹牛罢了。

　　“请不要走得离我太近!”袜带说，“我不习惯于这种行为。”

　　“这简直是在装腔作势!”衬衫领子说。这时他们就从水里被取出来，上了浆，挂在一张椅子上晒，最后就被拿到一个熨斗板上。现在一个滚热的熨斗来了。

　　“太太!”衬衫领子说，“亲爱的寡妇太太，我现在颇感到有些热了。我现在变成了另外一个人;我的皱纹全没有了。你烫穿了我的身体，噢，我要向你求婚!”

　　“你这个老破烂!”熨斗说，同时很骄傲地在衬衫领子上走过去，因为她想象自己是一架火车头，拖着一长串列车，在铁轨上驰过去。

　　“你这个老破烂!”熨斗说。

　　衬衫领子的边缘上有些破损。因此有一把剪纸的剪刀就来把这些破损的地方剪平。

　　“哎哟!”衬衫领子说，“你一定是一个芭蕾舞舞蹈家!你的腿子伸得那么直啊!我从来没有看见过这样美丽的姿态!世界上没有任何人能模仿你!”

　　“这一点我知道!”剪刀说。

　　“你配得上做一个伯爵夫人!”衬衫领子说。“我全部的财产是一位漂亮绅士，一个脱靴器和一把梳子。我只是希望再有一个伯爵的头衔!”

　　“难道他还想求婚不成?”剪刀说。她生气起来，结结实实地把他剪了一下，弄得他一直复元不了。

　　“我还是向梳子求婚的好!”衬衫领子说。“亲爱的姑娘!你看你把牙齿①保护得多么好，这真了不起。你从来没有想过订婚的问题吗?”

　　“当然想到过，你已经知道，”梳子说，“我已经跟脱靴器订婚了!”

　　“订婚了!”衬衫领子说。

　　现在他再也没有求婚的机会了。因此他瞧不起爱情这种东西。

　　很久一段时间过去了。衬衫领子来到一个造纸厂的箱子里。周围是一堆烂布朋友：细致的跟细致的人在一起，粗鲁的跟粗鲁的人在一起，真是物以类聚。他们要讲的事情可真多，但是衬衫领子要讲的事情最多，因为他是一个可怕的牛皮大王。

　　“我曾经有过一大堆情人!”衬衫领子说。“我连半点钟的安静都没有!我又是一个漂亮绅士，一个上了浆的人。我既有脱靴器，又有梳子，但是我从来不用!你们应该看看我那时的样子，看看我那时不理人的神情!我永远也不能忘记我的初恋——那是一根腰带。她是那么细嫩，那么温柔，那么迷人!她为了我，自己投到一个水盆里去!后来又有一个寡妇，她变得火热起来，不过我没有理她，直到她变得满脸青黑为止!接着来了芭蕾舞舞蹈家。她给了我一个创伤，至今还没有好——她的脾气真坏!我的那把梳子倒是钟情于我，她因为失恋把牙齿都弄得脱落了。是的，像这类的事儿，我真是一个过来人!不过那根袜带子使我感到最难过——我的意思是说那根腰带，她为我跳进水盆里去，我的良心上感到非常不安。我情愿变成一张白纸!”

　　事实也是如此，所有的烂布都变成了白纸，而衬衫领子却成了我们所看到的这张纸——这个故事就是在这张纸上——被印出来的。事情要这么办，完全是因为他喜欢把从来没有过的事情瞎吹一通的缘故。这一点我们必须记清楚，免得我们干出同样的事情，因为我们不知道，有一天我们也会来到一个烂布箱里，被制成白纸，在这纸上，我们全部的历史，甚至最秘密的事情也会被印出来，结果我们就不得不像这衬衫领子一样，到处讲这个故事。

　　①即梳子齿。

　　衬衫领子英文版：

　　The Shirt-Collar

　　THERE was once a fine gentleman who possessed among other things a boot-jack and a hair-brush; but he had also the finest shirt-collar in the world, and of this collar we are about to hear a story. The collar had become so old that he began to think about getting married; and one day he happened to find himself in the same washing-tub as a garter. “Upon my word,” said the shirt-collar, “I have never seen anything so slim and delicate, so neat and soft before. May I venture to ask your name?”

　　“I shall not tell you,” replied the garter.

　　“Where do you reside when you are at home?” asked the shirt-collar. But the garter was naturally shy, and did not know how to answer such a question.

　　“I presume you are a girdle,” said the shirt-collar, “a sort of under girdle. I see that you are useful, as well as ornamental, my little lady.”

　　“You must not speak to me,” said the garter; “I do not think I have given you any encouragement to do so.”

　　“Oh, when any one is as beautiful as you are,” said the shirt-collar, “is not that encouragement enough?”

　　“Get away; don’t come so near me,” said the garter, “you appear to me quite like a man.”

　　“I am a fine gentleman certainly,” said the shirt-collar, “I possess a boot-jack and a hair-brush.” This was not true, for these things belonged to his master; but he was a boaster.

　　“Don’t come so near me,” said the garter; “I am not accustomed to it.”

　　“Affectation!” said the shirt-collar.

　　Then they were taken out of the wash-tub, starched, and hung over a chair in the sunshine, and then laid on the ironing-board. And now came the glowing iron. “Mistress widow,” said the shirt-collar, “little mistress widow, I feel quite warm. I am changing, I am losing all my creases. You are burning a hole in me. Ugh! I propose to you.”

　　“You old rag,” said the flat-iron, driving proudly over the collar, for she fancied herself a steam-engine, which rolls over the railway and draws carriages. “You old rag!” said she.

　　The edges of the shirt-collar were a little frayed, so the scissors were brought to cut them smooth. “Oh!” exclaimed the shirt-collar, “what a first-rate dancer you would make; you can stretch out your leg so well. I never saw anything so charming; I am sure no human being could do the same.”

　　“I should think not,” replied the scissors.

　　“You ought to be a countess,” said the shirt collar; “but all I possess consists of a fine gentleman, a boot-jack, and a comb. I wish I had an estate for your sake.”

　　“What! is he going to propose to me?” said the scissors, and she became so angry that she cut too sharply into the shirt collar, and it was obliged to be thrown by as useless.

　　“I shall be obliged to propose to the hair-brush,” thought the shirt collar; so he remarked one day, “It is wonderful what beautiful hair you have, my little lady. Have you never thought of being engaged?”

　　“You might know I should think of it,” answered the hair brush; “I am engaged to the boot-jack.”

　　“Engaged!” cried the shirt collar, “now there is no one left to propose to;” and then he pretended to despise all love-making.

　　A long time passed, and the shirt collar was taken in a bag to the paper-mill. Here was a large company of rags, the fine ones lying by themselves, separated from the coarser, as it ought to be. They had all many things to relate, especially the shirt collar, who was a terrible boaster. “I have had an immense number of love affairs,” said the shirt collar, “no one left me any peace. It is true I was a very fine gentleman; quite stuck up. I had a boot-jack and a brush that I never used. You should have seen me then, when I was turned down. I shall never forget my first love; she was a girdle, so charming, and fine, and soft, and she threw herself into a washing tub for my sake. There was a widow too, who was warmly in love with me, but I left her alone, and she became quite black. The next was a first-rate dancer; she gave me the wound from which I still suffer, she was so passionate. Even my own hair-brush was in love with me, and lost all her hair through neglected love. Yes, I have had great experience of this kind, but my greatest grief was for the garter—the girdle I meant to say—that jumped into the wash-tub. I have a great deal on my conscience, and it is really time I should be turned into white paper.”

　　And the shirt collar came to this at last. All the rags were made into white paper, and the shirt collar became the very identical piece of paper which we now see, and on which this story is printed. It happened as a punishment to him, for having boasted so shockingly of things which were not true. And this is a warning to us, to be careful how we act, for we may some day find ourselves in the rag-bag, to be turned into white paper, on which our whole history may be written, even its most secret actions. And it would not be pleasant to have to run about the world in the form of a piece of paper, telling everything we have done, like the boasting shirt collar.