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安徒生童話故事第51篇：襯衫領子The Shirt-Collar
引導語：襯衫領子在我們的生活中是常見的，那么下面是小編收集的一篇相關的安徒生童話故事，有中英文版本的，歡迎大家閱讀!
從前有一位漂亮的紳士;他所有的動產(chǎn)只是一個脫靴器和一把梳子。但他有一個世界上最好的襯衫領子。我們現(xiàn)在所要聽到的就是關于這個領子的故事。
襯衫領子的年紀已經(jīng)很大，足夠考慮結(jié)婚的問題。事又湊巧，他和襪帶在一塊兒混在水里洗。
“我的天!”襯衫領子說，“我從來沒有看到過這么苗條和細嫩、這么迷人和溫柔的人兒。請問你尊姓大名?”
“這個我可不能告訴你!”襪帶說。
“你府上在什么地方?”襯衫領子問。
不過襪帶是非常害羞的。要回答這樣一個問題，她覺得非常困難。
“我想你是一根腰帶吧?”襯衫領子說——“一種內(nèi)衣的腰帶!親愛的小姐，我可以看出，你既有用，又可以做裝飾品!”
“你不應該跟我講話!”襪帶說。“我想，我沒有給你任何理由這樣做!”
“咳，一個長得像你這樣美麗的人兒，”襯衫領子說，“就是足夠的理由了。”
“請不要走得離我太近!”襪帶說，“你很像一個男人!”
“我還是一個漂亮的紳士呢!”襯衫領子說。“我有一個脫靴器和一把梳子!”
這完全不是真話，因為這兩件東西是屬于他的主人的。他不過是在吹牛罷了。
“請不要走得離我太近!”襪帶說，“我不習慣于這種行為。”
“這簡直是在裝腔作勢!”襯衫領子說。這時他們就從水里被取出來，上了漿，掛在一張椅子上曬，最后就被拿到一個熨斗板上。現(xiàn)在一個滾熱的熨斗來了。
“太太!”襯衫領子說，“親愛的寡婦太太，我現(xiàn)在頗感到有些熱了。我現(xiàn)在變成了另外一個人;我的皺紋全沒有了。你燙穿了我的身體，噢，我要向你求婚!”
“你這個老破爛!”熨斗說，同時很驕傲地在襯衫領子上走過去，因為她想象自己是一架火車頭，拖著一長串列車，在鐵軌上馳過去。
“你這個老破爛!”熨斗說。
襯衫領子的邊緣上有些破損。因此有一把剪紙的剪刀就來把這些破損的地方剪平。
“哎喲!”襯衫領子說，“你一定是一個芭蕾舞舞蹈家!你的腿子伸得那么直啊!我從來沒有看見過這樣美麗的姿態(tài)!世界上沒有任何人能模仿你!”
“這一點我知道!”剪刀說。
“你配得上做一個伯爵夫人!”襯衫領子說。“我全部的財產(chǎn)是一位漂亮紳士，一個脫靴器和一把梳子。我只是希望再有一個伯爵的頭銜!”
“難道他還想求婚不成?”剪刀說。她生氣起來，結(jié)結(jié)實實地把他剪了一下，弄得他一直復元不了。
“我還是向梳子求婚的好!”襯衫領子說。“親愛的姑娘!你看你把牙齒①保護得多么好，這真了不起。你從來沒有想過訂婚的問題嗎?”
“當然想到過，你已經(jīng)知道，”梳子說，“我已經(jīng)跟脫靴器訂婚了!”
“訂婚了!”襯衫領子說。
現(xiàn)在他再也沒有求婚的機會了。因此他瞧不起愛情這種東西。
很久一段時間過去了。襯衫領子來到一個造紙廠的箱子里。周圍是一堆爛布朋友：細致的跟細致的人在一起，粗魯?shù)母拄數(shù)娜嗽谝黄穑媸俏镆灶惥�。他們要講的事情可真多，但是襯衫領子要講的事情最多，因為他是一個可怕的牛皮大王。
“我曾經(jīng)有過一大堆情人!”襯衫領子說。“我連半點鐘的安靜都沒有!我又是一個漂亮紳士，一個上了漿的人。我既有脫靴器，又有梳子，但是我從來不用!你們應該看看我那時的樣子，看看我那時不理人的神情!我永遠也不能忘記我的初戀——那是一根腰帶。她是那么細嫩，那么溫柔，那么迷人!她為了我，自己投到一個水盆里去!后來又有一個寡婦，她變得火熱起來，不過我沒有理她，直到她變得滿臉青黑為止!接著來了芭蕾舞舞蹈家。她給了我一個創(chuàng)傷，至今還沒有好——她的脾氣真壞!我的那把梳子倒是鐘情于我，她因為失戀把牙齒都弄得脫落了。是的，像這類的事兒，我真是一個過來人!不過那根襪帶子使我感到最難過——我的意思是說那根腰帶，她為我跳進水盆里去，我的良心上感到非常不安。我情愿變成一張白紙!”
事實也是如此，所有的爛布都變成了白紙，而襯衫領子卻成了我們所看到的這張紙——這個故事就是在這張紙上——被印出來的。事情要這么辦，完全是因為他喜歡把從來沒有過的事情瞎吹一通的緣故。這一點我們必須記清楚，免得我們干出同樣的事情，因為我們不知道，有一天我們也會來到一個爛布箱里，被制成白紙，在這紙上，我們?nèi)康臍v史，甚至最秘密的事情也會被印出來，結(jié)果我們就不得不像這襯衫領子一樣，到處講這個故事。
�、偌词嶙育X。
襯衫領子英文版：
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.
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