IT was winter-time； the air was cold， the wind sharp；but indoors itwas snug and warm．Indoors lay the flower；
it lay in its bulb underthe earth and the snow．
One day rain fell；the drops trickled through thesnow-coverlet，down into the ground， touched the flower- bulb， and told about the bright world up above； soon asunbeam， fine andpointed， pierced its way through the snow，down to the bulb，and tapped on it．
"Come in！" said the flower．
"Ican't，" said the sunbeam，" Iam not strong enough to open the door；Ishall be strong when summer comes．"
"When will it be summer？"askedtheflower，andre－ peated it every time a new sunbeampierced down to it． But itwas alongtime， till summer： the snow still lay on the ground，and every night ice formed on the water．
"Howlong it is in coming！Howlong it is！" said the flower；"Ifeela prickling and tingling， Imust stretch my－self， Imust stir myself， Imust open up， Imust get out and nod good morning to the summer； that will be a happy time！"
And the flower stretched itself and strained itself in－side against the thin shell， which the water outside hadsoftened， which the snow and the earth had warmed， and the sunbeam had tapped upon；it shot out under the snow， with its whitey-green bud on its green stalk， with narrow，thick leaves， which seemed trying to shelter it． The snow was cold， but permeated with light and easy to push through；and here the sunbeams came with greater strength than before ．
"Welcome！ Welcome！" sang every sunbeam，and theflower raised itself above the snow， out into the world oflight．
The sunbeams patted and kissed it， so that it openeditself completely， white as snow， and adorned with greenstripes． It bowed its head in gladness and humility．
"Beautiful flower，" sang the sunbeams，"how freshand pure thou art！ Thou art the first； thou art the onlyone！ Thou art our darling！ Thou ringest in summer， love－ly summer， over town and field！ All the snow shall melt！The cold winds shall be chased away！ We shall rule！ Ev－erything will become green！And then thou wilt have com－pany， lilacs， andlaburnum， and last of all the roses ； butthou art the first，so fine and pure！"
It was a great delight． It seemed as if the air wasmusic，as if the beams of light penetrated into its leavesand stalk． There it stood， sofine and fragile，and yet sostrong，in its young beauty；it stood there in its white Kir-tle with green ribbons， and praised the summer．But itwas far from summer-time ， clouds hid the sun，and sharpwinds blew upon the flowers．
"Thou art come a little too early，" said Wind andWeather；"we still have power， and that thou shalt feeland submit to．Thou shouldst have kept indoors， not runout to make a show． It is not time yet！"
It was biting cold！ The days which came， broughtnot a single sunbeam；it was weather to freeze to piecesin，for such a little delicate flower． But there was morestrength in it than itknew of；it was strong in joy and faith in the summer， which must come， which was fore－told to it by its own deep longing， and confirmed by thewarm sunshine；and so it stood with confident hope，in itswhite dress， in the white snow， bowing its head， whenthe snow－flakes fell heavy and thick， whilst the icy windsswept over it．
"Thou wilt be broken！" said they，" wither andfreeze： what didstthou seek out here！Why wert thou lured abroad！The sunbeam has fooled thee！ Now canstthou enjoy thyself， thou summer-geck？"
"Summer-geck！" echoed in the cold morning hours．
"Summer－geck！" shouted some children who came down into the garden，"there stands one so pretty，so beautiful， thefirst， the only one！"
And these words did the flower so much good；theywere words like warm sunbeams．The flower did not evennotice in its gladness that it was being plucked： it lay in achild's hand， was kissed by a child's lips， was broughtinto a warm room， gazed at by kind eyes， and put in wa－ter，so strengthening， so enlivening． The flower believedthat it was come right into summer， all at once．
The daughter of the house， a pretty little girl， was just confirmed；she had a dear friend， and he was also justconfirmed．"He shall be my summer－geck，"said she； so she took the fragile little flower， laid it in a piece of scent－ed paper，onwhich were written verses，verses about the flower．Yes，it was all in the verses，and it was made upas a letter； the flower was laid inside， and it was all darkabout it，as dark as when it lay in the bulb． The flowerwent on a journey，lay in the post-bag，was pressed and squeezed， and that was not pleasant， but it came to an endat last．
The journey was over， the letter was opened and readby the dear friend； he was so delighted he kissed the flow－er，and laid it， with the verses around it， in a drawer， inwhich were many delightful letters， but all without a flow－er；this was the first，the only one，as the sunbeams had called it， and that was very pleasant to think about．
It got a long time to think about it，it thought whilstthe summer passed，and the long winer passed，and it was summer once more；then it was brought out again．But thistime the young man was not at all delighted；he gripped thepaper hard and threw away the verses， so that the flowerfell on the floor； it had become flat and withered， but itshould not have been thrown on the floor for all that； stillit was better lying there than on the fire，where the letterand verses were blazing． What had happened？ What so of－ ten happens．The flower had fooled him； it was jest， the maiden had fooled him，and that was no jest ；she had cho sen another sweet-heart in mid－summer． In the morning， the sun shone in onthe little flattened summer－geck，whichlooked as if it were painted on the floor． The girl who wassweeping took it up and put it in one of books on thetable；she thought ithad fallen out，when she was clear-ing up and putting things in order．And so the flower layagain amongst verses， printed verses， and they are grander than written ones； at least more is spent uponthem．
Years passed away，and the book stood on the shelf．At length it was taken down，opened and read； it was agood book，—songs and poems by the Danish poet， Am－ brosius Stub， who is well worth knowing． And the manwho read the book， turned the page．"Here is a flower！"said he，"a summer-geck！ not without some meaning doesit lie here． Poor Ambrosius Stub！ he was also a summer－geck， abefooled poet！ he was too early in his time；andso he got sleet and sharp winds，and went his rounds a－mongst the gentlemen of Fyen， like the flower in the flow－er－glass， the flower in the verses． A summer－geck， awinter－fool， all jest and foolery，and yetthe first， the on－ly， the youthfully fresh Danish poet． Yes， lie as a markin the book， little summer－geck！ Thou art laid there withsome meaning．"
And so the summer－geck was laid in the book again，and felt itself both honoured and delighted with the knowledge that it was a mark in the lovely song－book，andthat the one who had first sung and written about it， hadalso been a summer－geck， had been befooled in the win－ter．Of course the flower understood this in its own way，just as we understand anything in our own way．
This is the story of the summer－geck．
夏日痴
这正是冬天。天气是寒冷的，风是锐利的；但是屋子里却是舒适温暖的。花儿藏在屋子里：它藏在地里和雪下的球根里。
有一天下起雨来。雨滴渗入积雪，透进地里，接触到花儿的球根，同时告诉它说，上面有一个光明的世界。不久一丝又细又尖的太阳光穿过积雪，射到花儿的球根上，把它抚摸了一下。
“请进来吧！”花儿说。
“这个我可做不到，”太阳光说。“我还没有足够的气力把门打开。到了夏天我就会有气力了。”
“什么时候才是夏天呢？”花儿问。每次太阳光一射进来，它就重复地问这句话。不过夏天还早得很。地上仍然盖着雪；每天夜里水上都结了冰。
“夏天来得多么慢啊！夏天来得多么慢啊！”花儿说。“我感到身上发痒，我要伸伸腰，动一动，我要开放，我要走出去，对太阳说一声‘早安’！那才痛快呢！”
花儿伸了伸腰，抵着薄薄的外皮挣了几天。外皮已经被水浸得很柔软，被雪和泥土温暖过，被太阳光抚摸过。它从雪底下冒出来，绿梗子上结着淡绿的花苞，还长出又细又厚的叶子——它们好像是要保卫花苞似的。雪是很冷的，但是充满了光明而且很容易被冲破。这时太阳光射进来了，它的力量比从前要强大得多。
“欢迎！欢迎！”每一线阳光都这样唱着。花儿伸到雪上面来了，见到了光明的世界。
阳光抚摸并且吻着花儿，叫它开得更丰满。它像雪一样洁白，身上还饰着绿色的条纹。它怀着高兴和谦虚的心情低下头来。
“美丽的花儿啊！”阳光歌唱着。“你是多么新鲜和纯洁啊！你是第一朵花，你是唯一的花！你是我们的宝贝！你在田野里和城里预告夏天的到来！——美丽的夏天！所有的雪都会融化！冷风将会被驱走！我们将统治着！一切将会变绿！那时你将会有朋友：紫丁香和金链花，最后还有玫瑰花。但是你是第一朵花——那么细嫩，那么纯洁！”
这是最大的愉快。空气好像是唱着歌，奏着乐，阳光好像钻进了它的叶子和梗子。它立在那儿，是那么柔嫩，容易折断，但同时在它青春的美丽中又是那么健壮。它穿着带有绿条纹的短外衣，它赞美夏天。但是夏天还早得很呢：云块把太阳遮住了，寒风在花儿上吹。
“你来得太早了一点，”风和天气说。“我们仍然在统治着；你应该能感觉得到，你应该服从！你最好还是待在家里，不要跑到外面来表现你自己吧。时间还早呀！”
天气冷得厉害！日子一天一天地过去，一直没有一丝阳光。对于这样一朵柔嫩的小花儿说来，这样的天气只会使它冻得裂开。但是它是很健壮的，虽然它自己并不知道。它从快乐中，从对夏天的信心中获得了力量。夏天一定会到来的，它渴望的心情已经预示着这一点，温暖的阳光也肯定了这一点。因此它满怀信心地穿着它的白衣服，站在雪地上。当密集的雪花一层层地压下来的时候，当刺骨的寒风在它身上扫过去的时候，它就低下头来。
“你会裂成碎片！”它们说，“你会枯萎，会变成冰。你为什么要跑出来呢？你为什么要受诱惑呢？阳光骗了你呀！现在好了吧，你这个夏日痴！”
“夏日痴！”一个声音在寒冷的早晨回荡着。
“夏日痴！”有几个跑到花园里来的孩子兴高采烈地说。“这朵花是多么可爱啊，多么美丽啊！它是唯一的头一朵花！”
这几句话使这朵花儿感到真舒服；这几句话简直就像温暖的阳光。在快乐之中，这朵花儿一点也没有注意到自己已经被人摘下来了。它躺在一个孩子的手里，孩子用小嘴吻着它，带它到一个温暖的房间里去，用温柔的眼睛观看，并浸在水里——因此它获得了更强大的力量和生命。这朵花儿以为它已经一下子进入夏天了。
这一家的女儿——一个年轻的女孩子——刚刚受过坚信礼。她有一个好朋友；他也是刚刚受过坚信礼的。“他将是我的夏日痴”她说。她拿起这朵柔嫩的小花，把它放在一张芬芳的纸上，纸上写着诗——关于这朵花的诗。[这首诗是以“夏日痴”开头，也以“夏日痴”结尾的。“我的小朋友，就做一个冬天的痴人吧！”她用夏天来跟它开玩笑。]是的，它的周围全是诗。它被装进一个信封。这朵花儿躺在里面，四周是漆黑一团，正如躺在花球根里的时候一样。这朵花儿开始在一个邮袋里旅行。它被挤着，压着。这都是很不愉快的事情，但是任何旅程总是有个结束的时候。
旅程完了以后，信就被拆开了，被那位好朋友读着。他是那么高兴，他吻了这朵花儿；把花儿跟诗一起放在一个抽屉里。抽屉里装着许多可爱的信，但就是没有一朵花。它正像太阳光所说的，那唯一的、第一朵花。它一想起这就感到非常愉快。
它可以有许多时间来想这件事情。它想了一整个夏天。漫长的冬天过去了，现在又是夏天。这时它被取出来了。不过这一次那个年轻人并不是十分快乐的。他一把抓着那张信纸，连诗一道扔到一边，弄得这朵花儿也落到地上了。它已经变得扁平了，枯萎了，但是它不应该因此就被扔到地上呀。不过比起被火烧掉，躺在地上还算是很不坏的。那些诗和信就是被火烧掉的。究竟为了什么事情呢？嗨，就是平时常有的那种事情。这朵花儿曾经愚弄过他——这是一个玩笑。那个女孩愚弄了他，却不是开玩笑——她在六月间选择了另一位男友。
太阳在早晨照着这朵压平了的小“夏日痴”。这朵花儿看起来好像是被绘在地板上似的。扫地的女佣人把它捡起来，把它夹在桌上的一本书里。她以为它是在她收拾东西的时候落下来的。这样，这朵花儿就又回到诗——这次是印好的诗——中间去了。这些诗比那些手写的要伟大得多——至少，它们是花了更多的钱买来的。
许多年过去了。那本书立在书架上。最后它被取下来，翻开，读着。这是一本好书：里面全是丹麦诗人安卜洛休斯·斯杜卜所写的诗和歌。这个诗人是很值得认识的。读这书的人翻着书页。
“哎呀，这里有一朵花！”他说，“一朵‘夏日痴’！它躺在这儿决不是没有什么用意的。可怜的安卜洛休斯·斯杜卜！也是一朵‘夏日痴’，一个‘痴诗人’！他出现得太早了，所以就碰上了冰雹和刺骨的寒风。他在富恩岛上的一些大人先生们中间只不过像是瓶里的一朵花， 诗句中的一朵花。他是一个‘夏日痴’，一个‘冬日痴’，一个笑柄和傻瓜；然而他仍然是唯一的， 第一个年轻而有生气的丹麦诗人。是的，小小的‘夏日痴’，你就躺在这书里作为一个书签吧！
把你放在这里面是有用意的。”
这朵“夏日痴”于是便又被放到书里去了。
它感到很荣幸和愉快，因为它知道，它是一本美丽的诗集里的一个书签，而最初歌唱和写出这些诗的人也是一个“夏日痴”，一个在冬天里被愚弄的人。当然这朵花儿以自己的方式理解这一点，正如我们也以我们的方式理解我们的事情一样。
这就是“夏日痴”的故事。
这是一首散文诗，发表在1863年哥本哈根出版的《丹麦大众历书》上。关于这篇作品安徒生说：“这是按照我的朋友国务委员德鲁生的要求而写的。他酷爱丹麦的掌故和纯正的丹麦语言。有一天他发牢骚，说许多可爱的老名词常常被人歪曲、滥用。我们小时喜欢叫的‘夏日痴’的花——因为它幻想春天到来了，花圃的老板们在报纸上登广告时却把它称为‘冬日痴’。他请我写一篇童话，把这花儿原来的名称恢复过来，因此我就写了这篇《夏日痴》”。在这里安徒生也不过只恢复了花名，但内容却完全是安徒生的创造。它说明了花与诗的关系及创造诗的人的际遇。这同时说明安徒生可以从任何东西获得写童话的灵感。
