THE story of the girl who trod on the loaf to avoid soiling her shoes，and of the misfortune that befell this girl，is well known．It has been written，and even printed．
She was a poor child，but proud and presumptuous；there was a bad foundation in her，as the saying is．When she was quite a little child，it was her delight to catch flies and tear off their wings，so as to make them into creeping things．She would take cockchafers and beetles，and spit them on pins．Then she pushed a green leaf or a little scrap of paper towards their feet，and the poor creatures seized it，and held it fast，and turned it over and over，struggling to get free from the pin．
“The cockchafer is reading，”said little Inger．“See how he turns the leaf！”
With years she grew worse rather than better；but she was pretty，and that was her misfortune；otherwise she would have been more sharply reproved than she was．
“Your headstrong will requires something strong to break it！”her own mother often said．“As a little chila，you used to trample on my apron；but I fear you will one day trample on my heart．”
And that is what she really did．
She was sent into the country，into service in the house of rich people，who treated her as their own child，and dressed her accordingly．She looked well，and her presumption increased．
When she had been there about a year，her mistress said to her，“You ought now to visit your parents，Inger．”
And she went too，but it was only to show herself，that they might see how grand she had become；but when she came to the entrance of the village，and the young husband men and maids stood there chatting，and her own mother appeared among them，sitting on a stone to rest，and with a faggot of sticks before her that she had picked up in the wood，then Inger turned back，for she felt ashamed that she，who was so finely dressed，should have for a mother a ragged woman，who picked up wood in the forest．She did not in the least feel sorry for having turned back，she was only annoyed．
And anther half-year went by，and her mistress said again，“you ought to go to your home，and visit your old parents，Inger．I'll make you a present of a great wheaten loaf that you may give to them：they will certainly be glad to see you again．”
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And Inger put on her best clothes，and her new shoes，and drew her skirts around her，and set out，stepping very carefully，that she might be clean and neat about the feet；and there was no harm in that．But when she came to the place where the footwear led across the marsh，and where there was mud and puddles，she threw the loaf into the mud，and trod upon it to pass over without wetting her feet．But as she stood there with one foot upon the loaf and the other uplifted to step farther，the loaf sank with her，deeper and deeper，till she disappeared altogether，and only a great puddle，from which the bubbles rose，remained where she had been．
And that's the story．
But whither did Inger go？She went down to the marsh woman［，who is always brewing there．］The marsh woman is cousin to the elf maidens，who are well enough known，of whom songs are sung，and of whom pictures are painted；but concerning the marsh woman it is only known that when the meadows steam in summer-time it is because she is brewing．Into the marsh woman's brewery did Inger sink down；and no one can endure that place long．A box of mud is a palace compared with the marsh woman's brewery．Every barrel there had an odour that almost takes away one's senses；and the barrels stand close to each other；and wherever there is a little opening among them，through which one might push one's way，then one cannot get through for the number of damp toads and fat snakes who are all in a tangle there．Among this company did Inger fall；and all the horrible mass of living creeping things was so icy cold，that she shuddered in all her limbs，and became stark and stiff．She continued fastened to the loaf，and the loaf drew her down as an amber button draws a fragment of straw．
The marsh woman was at home，and on that day the Devil and his grandmother had come to inspect the brewery；and she is a venomous old woman，who is never idle：she never rides out to pay a visit without taking her work with her；she also had it here She sewed gadding leather to be worked into men's shoes，and that makes them wander about unable to settle anywhere．She wove webs of lies，and strung together hastily-spoken words that had fall-en to the ground and all this was done for the injury and ruin of mankind．Yes，indeed，she knew how to sew，to weave，and to string，did this old grandmother！
Catching sight of Inger，she put up her double eye-glass，and took another look at the girl．
“That's a girl who has ability！”she observed，“and I beg you will give me the little one as a memento of my visit here．She'll make a capital statue to stand in my grand-son's antechamber．”
And Inger was given up to her，and this is how Inger came into Hell．People don't always go there by the direct path，but they can get there by roundabout routes if they have a tendency in that direction．
That was a never-ending antechamber．The visitor be-came giddy who looked forward，and doubly giddy when he looked back，and saw a whole crowd of people，almost utterly exhausted，waiting till the gate of mercy should be opened to them—they had to wait a long time！Great fat waddling spiders spun webs of a thousand years over their feet，and these webs cut like wire，and bound them like bronze fetters；and，moreover，there was an eternal unrest working in every heart—a miserable unrest．The miserstood there，and had forgotten the key of his strong box，and he knew the key was sticking in the lock．It would take too long to describe the various sorts of torture that were found there together．Inger felt a terrible pain while she had to stand there as a statue，for she was tied fast to the loaf．
“That's the fruit of wishing to keep one's feet neat and tidy，”she said to herself．“Just look how they're all staring at me！”
Yes，certainly，the eyes of all were fixed upon her，and their evil thoughts gleamed fortb from their eyes，and they spoke to one another，moving their lips，from which no sound whatever came forth：they were very horrible to behold．
“It must be a great pleasure to look at me！”thought Inger，“and indeed I have a pretty face and fine clothes．”And she turned her eyes；her neck was too stiff to turn．But she had not considered how her olothes had been soiled in the marsh woman's brewhouse．Her garments were covered with mud；a snake had fastened in her hair，and dangled down her back；and out of each fold of her frock a great toad looked forth，croaking like an asthmatic poodle．That was very unpleasant．But all the rest of them down here also look horrible，“she observed to herself，and de-rived consolation from the thought．
The worst of all was the terrible hunger that tormented her．But could she not stoop and break off a piece of the loaf，on which she stood？No，her back was too stiff，her bands and arms were benumbed，and her whole body was like a pillar of stone；she was only able to turn her eyes in her head，to turn them quite round，so that she could see backwards：it was an ugly sight．And then the flies came up，and crept to and fro over her eyes，and she blinked her eyes but the flies would not go away，for they could not go away，for they could not fly：their wings had been pulled out，so that they were converted into creeping in-sects：it was horrible torment added to the hunger，for she felt empty，quite，entirely empty．
“If this lasts much longer，”she said，“I shall not be able to bear it．”
But she had to hear it，and it lasted on and on．
Then a hot tear fell down upon her head，rolled over her face and neck，down on to the loaf on which she stood and then another tear rolled down，followed by many more．Who might be weeping for Inger？Had she not still a mother in the world？The tears of sorrow which a mother weeps for her child always make their way to the child；but they do not relieve it，they only increase its torment．And now to bear this unendurable hunger，and yet not to be able to touch the loaf on which she stood！She felt as if she had been feeding on herself，and had become like a thin hollow reed that takes in every sound，for she heard everything that was said of her up in the world，and all that she heard was hard and evil．Her mother，indeed，wept much and sorrowed for her，but for all that she said，“A haughty spirit goes before a fall．That was thy ruin，Inger．Thou hast sorely grieved they mother．”
Her mother and all on earth knew of the sin she had committed；knew that she had trodden upon the loaf，and had sunk and disappeared；for the cowherd had seen it from the hill beside the marsh．
“Greatly hast thou grieved they mother，Inger，”said the mother；“yes，yes，I thought it would be thus．”
“Oh that I had never been born！”thought Inger；“it would have been far better．But what use is my mother's weeping now？”
And she heard how her master and mistress，who had kept and cherished her like kind parents，now said she was a sinful child，and did not value the gifts of God，but trampled them under her feet，and that the gates of mercy would only open slowly to her．
“They should have punished me，”thought Inger，and have driven out the whims I had in my head．”
She heard how a complete song was made about her，a song of the proud girl who trod upon the loaf to keep her shoes clean，and she heard how the song was sung every-where．
“That I should have to bear so much evil for that！”thought Inger；“the others ought to be punished，too，for their sins．Yes，then there would be plenty of punishing to do．Ah，how I'm being tortured！”
And her heart became harder than her outward form．
“Here in this company one can't even become better，”she said，“and I don't want to become better！Look，how they're all staring at me！”And her heart was full of anger and malice against all men．“Now they've something to talk about at last up yonder．Ah，how I'm being tortured！”
And then she heard how her story was told to the little children，and the little ones called her the godless Inger，and said she was so naughty and ugly that she must be well punished．
Thus even the children's mouths spoke hard words of her．
But one day，while grief and hunger gnawed her hollow frame，and she heard her name mentioned and her story told to an innocent child，a little girl，she became aware that the little one burst into tears at the tale of the haughty，vain Inger．
“But will Inger never come up here again？”asked the little girl．
And the reply was，“She will never come up again．”
“But if she were to beg for forgiveness，and say she would never do so again？”
“But she will not beg for forgiveness，”was the reply．
“I should be so glad if she would，”said the little girl；and she was quite inconsolable．“I'll give my doll and all my playthings if she may only come up．It's too dreadful—poor Inger！”
And these words penetrated to Inger's heart，and seemed to do her good．It was the first time any one had said，“Poor Inger，”without adding anything about her faults：a little innocent child was weeping and praying for her．It made her feel quite strangely，and she herself would gladly have wept，but she could not weep，and that was a torment in itself．
While years were passing above her，for where she was there was no change，she heard herself spoken of more and more seldom．At last one day a sigh struck on her ear：“Inger，Inger，how you have grieved me！I said how it would be！”It was the last sigh of her dying mother．
Occasionally she heard her name spoken by her former employers，and they were pleasant words when the woman said，“Shall I ever see thee again，Inger？One knows not what may happen．”
But Inger knew right well that her good mistress would never come to the place where she was．
And again time went on—a long，bitter time．Then Inger heard her name pronounced once more，and saw two bright stars that seemed gleaming above her．They were two gentle eyes closing upon earth．So many years had gone by since the little girl had been inconsolable and wept about“poor Inger”，that the child had become an old woman，who was now to be called home to heaven；and in the last hour of existence，when the events of the whole life stand at once before us，the old woman remembered how as a child she had cried heartily at the story of Inger．That time and that impression came so clearly be-fore the old woman in her last hour，that she called out quite loud：“have not I also，like Inger，often trod upon the gifts of heaven without thinking？have not I also gone about with pride at my heart？Yet Thou in Thy mercy hast not let me sink，but hast held me up．Leave me not in last hour！”
And the eyes of the old woman closed，and the eye of her soul was opened to look upon the hidden things．She，in whose last thoughts Inger had been present so vividly，saw how deeply the poor girl had sunk，and burst into tears at the sight；in heaven she stood like a child，and wept for poor Inger．And her tears and prayers sounded like an echo in the dark empty space that surrounded the tormented captive soul，and the unhoped—for love from above conquered her，for an angel was weeping for her．Why was this vouchsafed to her？The tormented soul seemed to gather in her thoughts every deed she had done on earth，and she，Inger，trembled and wept such tears as she had never yet wept．She was filled with sorrow about herself：it seemed as though the gate of mercy could never open to her；and while in deep penitence she ac-knowledged this，a beam of light shot radiantly down into the depths to her，with a greater force than that of the sun beam which melt the snow man the boys have built up；and quicker than the snow-flake melts，and becomes a drop of water that falls on the warm lips of a child，the stony form of Inger was changed to mist，and a little bird soared with the speed of lightning upward into the world of men．But the bird was timid and shy towards all things around；it was ashamed of itself，ashamed to encounter any living thing，and hurriedly sought to conceal itself in a dark hole in an old crumbling wall；there it sat cowering，trembling through its whole frame，and unable to utter a sound，for it had no voice．Long it sat there before it could rightly see all the beauty around it；for beauty there was．The air was fresh and mild，the moon shone so clear；trees and bushes exhaled fragrance，and it was right pleasant where it sat，and its coat of feathers was clean and pure．How all creation seemed to speak of beneficence and love！The bird wanted to sing of the thoughts that stirred in its breast，but it could not；gladly would it have sung as the cuckoo and the nightingale sang in spring-time．But Heaven，that hears the mute song of praise of the worm，could hear the notes of praise which now trembled in the breast of the bird，as David's psalms were heard before they had fashioned themselves into words and song．
For weeks these toneless songs stirred within the bird；at last，the holy Christmas-time approached．The peasant who dwelt near set up a pole by the old wall，with some ears of corn bound to the top，that the birds of heaven might have a good meal，and rejoice in the happy，blessed time．
And on Christmas morning the sun arose and shone upon the ears of corn，which were surrounded by a number of twittering birds．Then out of the hole in the wall streamed forth the voice of another bird，and the bird soared forth from its hiding-place；and in heaven it was well known what bird this was．
It was a hard winter．The ponds were covered with ice，and the beasts of the field and the birds of the air were stinted for food．Our little bird flew away over the high road，and in the ruts of the sledges it found here and there a grain of corn，and at the halting-places some crumbs．
Of these it ate only a few，but it called all the other hungry sparrows around it，that they，too，might have some food．It flew into the towns，and looked round about；and where ever a kind hand had strewn bread on the window sill for the birds，it only ate a single crumb itself，and gave all the rest to the other birds．
In the course of the winter，the bird had collected so many bread crumbs，and given them to the other birds，that they equaled the weight of the loaf on which Inger had trod to keep her shoes clean；and when the last bread crumb had been found and given，the grey wings of the bird became white，and spread far out．
“Yonder is a sea-swallow，flying away across the water，”said the children when they saw the white bird．Now it dived into the sea，and now it rose again into the clear sunlight．It gleamed white；but no one could tell whither it went，though some asserted that it flew straight into the sun．
踩着面包走的女孩
你早就听见说过，有一个女子，为了怕弄脏鞋，就踩在面包上走路；后来她可吃了苦头。这件事被写下来了，也被印出来了。
她是一个穷苦的孩子，但是非常骄傲，自以为了不起，正如俗话所说的，她的本性不好。当她是一个小孩子的时候，她最高兴做的事是捉苍蝇；她把它们的翅膀拉掉，使它们变成爬虫。她还喜欢捉金龟子和甲虫，把它们一个个串在针上，然后在它们脚旁边放一片绿叶子或一片纸。这些可怜的生物就抓着纸，而且抓得很紧，把它翻来翻去，挣扎着，想摆脱这根针。“金龟子在读书啦！”小英格儿说。“你看，它在翻这张纸！”
她越长大就越变得顽皮。但是她很美丽；这正是她的不幸。要不然的话，她也许会被管教得不像现在这个样子。
“你的顽固需要一件厉害的东西来打破它！”她的妈妈说。“你小时常常踩在我的围裙上；恐怕有一天你会踩在我的心上。”
这正是她所做的事情。
现在她来到乡下，在一个有钱人家里当佣人。主人待她像自己的孩子，把她打扮得也像自己的孩子。她的外表很好看，结果她就更放肆了。
她工作了将近一年以后，女主人对她说：“英格儿，你应该去看看你的父母了！”
她当真去了，不过她是为了要表现自己，叫他们看看她现在是多么文雅才去的。她来到村边的时候，看见许多年轻的农夫和女人站在那儿闲谈；她自己的妈妈也在他们中间，正坐在一块石头上休息，面前放着她在树林里捡的一捆柴。英格儿这时转身就走，因为她觉得很羞耻；像她这样一个穿得漂亮的女子，居然有这样一个褴褛的母亲，而且要到树林里去捡柴！她回头走了，并不觉得难过，她只是感到有些烦恼。
又有半年过去了。“英格儿，你应该回家去一趟，去看看你年老的父母！”女主人说。“我给你一条长面包，你可以把它送给他们。他们一定很高兴看到你的。”
英格儿穿上她最好的衣服和新鞋子。
她提起衣襟小心翼翼地走，为的是要使她的脚不沾上脏东西。
这当然是不能责备她的。不过她来到一块沼泽地，有好长一段路要经过泥巴和水坑。于是她便把那条面包扔进泥巴里，在上面踩过去，以免把脚打湿。不过，当她的一只脚踏在面包上、另一只脚跷起来打算向前走的时候，面包就和她一道沉下去了，而且越沉越深，直到她沉得没了顶。
现在只剩下一个冒着泡的黑水坑。
这就是那个故事。英格儿到什么地方去了呢？她到熬酒的沼泽女人那儿去了。沼泽女人是许多小女妖精的姨妈——这些小妖精是相当驰名的，关于她们的歌已经写得不少了，关于她们的图画也绘得不少了，不过，关于这个沼泽女人，人们所知道的只有这一点：在夏天，凡是草地冒出蒸汽，那就是因为她在熬酒。英格儿恰恰是陷落到她的酒厂里去了；在这儿谁也忍受不了多久。跟沼泽女人的酒厂相比，一个泥巴坑要算是一个漂亮的房间。每一个酒桶都发出一种怪味，可以使人昏倒。这些酒桶紧紧地挨在一起。如果它们之间有什么空隙可以使人走过去的话，你也没有办法通过，因为这儿有许多癞蛤蟆和火蛇，纠作一团。英格儿恰恰落到这些东西中间去了。这一大堆可怕的爬行的活物是冰冷的，弄得她四肢发抖。的确，她慢慢地冻得僵硬起来。她紧紧地踏着面包，而面包拉着她往下沉，像一颗琥珀钮扣吸住一根稻草一样。
沼泽女人正在家里。这天魔鬼和他的老祖母来参观酒厂。老祖母是一个恶毒的女人；她是永远不会闲着的。她出来拜访别人的时候，手头总是带着工作做；她来到这儿也是一样。她正在男人的鞋子上缝“游荡的皮”，使得他们东飘西荡，在任何地方也安居不下来。她编一些谎话，把人们所讲的一些谰言收集到一起。她所做的一切都是为了要损害人类。的确，这个老祖母知道怎样缝，怎样编，怎样收集！
她一看到英格儿，就戴起双层眼镜，把这个女孩仔细地看了又看：“这是一个很能干的女孩子！”她说。“我要求你把这小东西送给我，作为我来拜访的一个纪念品。她可以成为一个很好的石像立在我孙子的前房里。”
英格儿就这样被送给她了。英格儿就是这样走进地狱里来的。人们并不是直接落进那里去的。只要你有那个倾向，你总会间接走进那里的。
那是一个没有止境的前房。你如果向前望，你的头就会发昏；你如果向后望，你的头更会发昏。一大堆面黄肌瘦的人正在等待慈善的门向他们打开——他们要等很久！庞大的、肥胖的、蹒跚地走着的蜘蛛，在他们的脚上织出有1000年那样陈旧的蛛网。这些网像脚镣似地磨痛他们，像铜链子似地绑着他们。每个人的心里有一种不安的情绪——一种苦痛的不安的心情。这儿有一个守财奴，他忘记了把保险箱的钥匙带来，他知道钥匙插在锁里没有拿下来。要把人们在这里所体验到的形形色色的苦痛心情描写出来，的确得花很多时间。英格儿作为一尊石像站在那儿，不免也感觉到这种痛苦，因为她是紧紧地焊在这条面包上的。
“一个人如果怕弄脏脚，就会得到这个结果，”她对自己说。“你看大家在怎样死死地望着我！”是的，大家的确在望着她；他们的罪恶思想在眼睛里射出光来。他们在讲着话，但是嘴唇上却没有什么声音发出来：他们的样子真可怕。
“瞧着我一定很愉快！”英格儿想，“的确，我有漂亮的面孔和整齐的衣服。”于是她把眼睛掉转过去；她的脖子太硬了，掉转不动。嗨，她的衣服在沼泽女人的酒厂里弄得多脏啊，她真没有想到。她的衣服全糊满了泥；她的头发里盘着一条蛇，并且悬在她的背上。她衣服的每个褶纹里有一只癞蛤蟆在朝外面望，像一个患喘息病的狮子狗。这真是非常难看。“不过这儿一切别的东西也都可怕得很！”她自己安慰着自己。
最糟糕的是，她感到十分饥饿。她能不能弯下腰来，把她踩着的面包弄一块下来吃呢？不能，她的背是僵硬的，她整个身体像一尊石像。她只能尽量把脑袋上的眼睛向一侧瞟过去，以便看到她的后面；这可难看极了。苍蝇飞过来，在她的眉间爬来爬去。她眨着眼睛，但是苍蝇并不飞开，因为飞不动；它的翅膀被拉掉了，变成了爬虫。这是一种痛苦；饥饿则是另一种痛苦。［是的，最后她觉得她的内脏在吃掉自己，］她的内部完全空了，可怕地空了。
“假如一直这样下去，那么我就支持不住了！”她说。
但是她得支持下去。事情就是这个样子，而且将会一直是这个样子。
这时一滴热泪落到她的头上来了，沿着她的脸和胸脯流下来，一直流到她踩着的面包上面。另一滴眼泪也流下来了。接着许多许多颗流下来了，谁在为英格儿哭呢？她不是在人世间有一个妈妈吗？母亲为儿女流的悲痛的眼泪，总会流到自己孩子身边去的；但是眼泪并不会减轻悲痛，它会［燃烧起来，］把悲痛扩大。再加上这无法忍受的饥饿，同时又摸不到她的脚所踩着的那条面包！最后她感觉到她身体里的一切已经把自己吃光了，她自己就好像一根又薄又空的芦苇，能够收到所有的声音，因为她能清楚地听到上面世界里的人们所谈的关于她的一切话语，而人们所谈的都很苛刻和怀有恶意。她的母亲的确为她哭得又可怜又伤心。但是她还是说：“骄傲是你掉下去的根由。英格儿，这就是你的不幸。你使你的母亲多难过啊！”
她的母亲和地上所有的人都知道她的罪过，都知道她曾经踩着一条面包沉下去了，不见了，这是山坡上的一个牧童讲出来的。
“英格儿，你使你的母亲多难过啊！”母亲说。“是的，我早就想到了！”
“我只愿我没有生到这个世界上来！”英格儿想。“那么事情就会好得多了。不过现在妈妈哭又有什么用处呢？”
于是她听到曾经对她像慈爱的父母一样的主人这样说：“她是一个有罪过的孩子！”他们说，“她不珍爱上帝的礼物，把它们踩在脚下，她是不容易走进宽恕的门的。”
“他们要是早点惩罚我倒好了，”英格儿想。“把我脑子里的那些怪思想赶出去［——假如我有的话］。”
她听到人们怎样为她编了一支完整的歌：“一个怕弄脏鞋子的傲慢姑娘。”这支歌全国的人都在唱。
“［为了这件事我得听多少人唱啊！］为了这件事我得忍受多少痛苦啊！”英格儿想。“别的人也应该为他们自己的罪过而得到惩罚呀。是的，应该惩罚的人多着呢。啊，我是多么痛苦啊！”
她的内心比她的身体变得更僵硬。
“在这里，跟这些东西在一起，一个人是没有办法变好的！而我也不希望变好！看吧，他们是怎样在瞪着我啊！”
现在她的心对一切的人都感到愤怒和憎恨。
“现在他们总算有些闲话可以聊了！啊，我是多么痛苦啊！”
于是她听到人们把她的故事讲给孩子们听，那些小家伙把她叫做不信神的英格儿——“她是多么可憎啊！”他们说，“多么坏，应该重重地受到惩罚！”
连孩子们也严厉地指责她。
不过有一天，当悲哀和饥饿正在咬噬着她空洞的身躯的时候，当她听到她的名字和故事被讲给一个天真的小孩听的时候，她发现这个小女孩为了这个骄傲和虚荣的英格儿的故事而流出眼泪来。
“难道她再也不能回到这地面上来吗？”小女孩问。回答是：“她永远也不能回来了。”
“不过假如她请求赦罪，答应永远不再像那个样子呢！”
“但是她不会请求赦罪的，”回答说。
“如果她会的话，我将是多么高兴啊，”小女孩说。她是非常难过的。“只要她能够回到地上来，我愿献出我所有的玩具。可怜的英格儿——这真可怕！”
这些话透进英格儿的心里去，似乎对她起了好的作用。这算是第一次有人说出“可怜的英格儿！”这几个字，而一点也没有强调她的罪过。现在居然有一个天真的孩子在为她哭，为她祈祷。这使得她有一种奇怪的感觉！她自己也想哭一场，但是她哭不出来——这本身就是一种痛苦。
地上的岁月一年一年地过去了，而下边的世界却一点也没有改变。她不再听到上面的人谈起她的事情了。人们不大谈到她。最后有一天她听到一声叹息：“英格儿！英格儿！你使我多伤心啊！我早就想到了！”这是她将死的母亲的叹息声。
她可以偶尔听到，她以前的老主人提起了她的名字。女主人说的话是最和善的。她说：“英格儿，难道我再也看不到你么？人们不知道你到什么地方去了。”
不过英格儿知道得很清楚，好心的女主人决没有办法到她这儿来的。
时间慢慢地过去——漫长和苦痛的时间。
英格儿又听到别人提起她的名字，并且看到头上好像有两颗明亮的星星在照耀着。这是地上闭着的两颗温柔的眼睛。自从那个小女孩伤心地哭着“可怜的英格儿”的时候起，已经有许多年过去了。小女孩现在已经成了一个老太婆，快要被上帝召回去了。在弥留之际正当她一生的事情都在眼前出现的时候，这位老太婆记起，当她是一个小姑娘的时候，她曾经听到英格儿的遭遇，并且为她痛哭过。那个时刻，那个情景，都在这位老太婆最后的一分钟里出现了。她差不多大声地叫起来：“上帝啊，我不知道我是否也像英格儿一样，常常无心地踩着您赐给我的礼物，我不知道我心里是否也充满了傲慢的思想，但是您在慈悲之中并没有让我坠下去，却把我托了起来！请您不要在我最后的一瞬间离开我！”
这个老太婆的眼睛合起来了，但她的灵魂的眼睛却是对着一切隐藏着的东西张开着的。英格儿在她最后的思想中生动地出现，她现在看到了她，看到她沉得多么深。这景象使这个虔诚的女人流出泪来。她像一个小孩子似地在天国里站着，为可怜的英格儿流泪。她的眼泪和祈祷，在这个受苦的、被*的、无望的女子周围的暗空中，听起来像一个回声。这种来自上面的、不曾想到过的爱，把她征服了，因为有一个安琪儿在为她流泪！为什么会有这样的东西赐给她呢？这个苦难中的灵魂似乎回忆起了她在地上所做的每件事情；她哭得全身抽动起来，英格儿从来没有这样哭过。她对于自己感到非常悲哀。她觉得宽恕的门永远不会为她打开。当她在悔恨中认识到这一点的时候，马上一线光明就向地下的深渊射来。它的力量比那融掉孩子们在花园里所做的雪人的太阳光还强，它比落在孩子们的热嘴唇上的雪花融化成水滴的速度还要快。于是僵化了的英格儿就变成了一阵烟雾；于是一只小鸟，以闪电的速度，飞到人世间去。不过这只鸟儿对于周围的一切感到非常羞怯，它对自己感到惭愧，害怕遇见任何生物，它飞进一个倒塌的墙上的黑洞里去躲藏起来。它在里面缩作一团，全身发抖，一点声音也发不出来，这是因为它没有声音。它在那里藏了很久以后才能安静地看出和辨别出周围的美丽景物。的确，周围是很美的：空气是新鲜和温和的；月亮照得那么明朗；树和灌木发出清香。它栖身的那个地方是那么舒适；它的羽衣是那么净洁。啊，天地万物都表示出美和爱！这只鸟儿想把在它心里激动着的思想全都唱出来，但是它没有这种力量。它真希望能像春天的杜鹃和夜莺那样唱一阵歌呢。我们的上帝，他能听出蠕虫无声的颂歌，也能听出这鸟儿胸中颤动着的赞美曲，正如他能听出大卫心里还没有形成歌词的圣诗一样。
这些无声的歌，在鸟儿的心中波动了好几个星期。［只要好的行为一开始，这些歌马上就要飞翔出来，而现在也应该有一件好的行为了。］最后，神圣的圣诞节到来了。一个农人在一口古井旁竖起一根竿子，上面绑了些麦穗，好叫天上的鸟儿也过一个愉快的圣诞节，在我们救主的这个节日里能满意地吃一餐。
圣诞节的早晨，太阳升起来了，照在麦穗上面。所有歌唱着的小鸟绕着竿子飞。这时那个墙洞里也发出“叽叽”的声音。［那动荡着的思想现在变成了歌。那柔弱的叽叽声现在成了一首完整的欢乐颂。要做出一件好的行为——这思想已经活跃起来了。］这只鸟儿从它藏身处飞出来。天国里的人都知道这是一只什么鸟儿。
这是一个严峻的冬天。水池里都结满了冰。田野里的动物和高空中的鸟儿都因为没有食物而感到苦恼。这只小鸟儿飞到公路上去；它在雪橇的辙印里找到一些麦粒，在停留站里找到一些面包屑。
在它找到的这些东西中，它自己只吃很少的一部分，却把大部分用来请许多别的饥饿的鸟儿来共享。它飞到城里去，在四处寻找。当它看到窗台上有许多慈善的手为鸟儿撒了一些面包屑时，它自己只吃一丁点，而把其余的都送给别的鸟儿。
在这整个冬天，这只鸟儿收集得来和送给别的鸟儿的面包屑，已经比得上英格儿为了怕弄脏鞋子而踩着的那条面包。当它找到了最后一块面包屑，把它献出来的时候，它的灰色的翅膀就变成了白色的，并且伸展开来。
“请看那一只海燕，它在横渡大海，”孩子们看到这只白鸟的时候说。它一会儿向海面低飞，一会儿向明朗的太阳光上升。它发出闪光。
谁也不知道它飞向什么地方去了；有的人说，它直接飞向了太阳。
这篇故事发表在1859年哥本哈根出版的《新的童话和故事集》第1卷第3部里。安徒生在他的手记中写道：“我在早期的童年时代听到一个故事：一个女孩子踩着一块面包走路，结果面包变成了石头，她就和石头一起沉到沼泽地下面去了。由此我产生了一个问题——怎样通过思想上的和解与救助，使她能得到超升。于是我就写了这篇故事。”这个故事实际上是安徒生式的宗教信念和人道主义思想的体现。从虚荣到傲慢，直至沉沦。只有怜悯和同情——也就是慈悲——可以使沉沦得到超升，但这必须本人能够醒悟，进行反思，知道悔恨作出善行，才能“向明朗的太阳光上升。它发出闪光。谁也不知道它飞向什么地方去了，有的人说，它直接飞向了太阳。”这就是天国，也就是安徒生对我们人生所作的天真的、童心式的理想主义的追求。这个特点使他成为一个浪漫主义者。充满了幻想的伟大诗人和童话作家——但他同时又是一个现实主义大师：像《皇帝的新装》这样的作品说明他对现实生活的洞察力是多么尖锐和深沉。这是一种颇有意思的混合。
