THE railway in Denmark extends as yet only from Copenhagen to Kors r；it is a string of pearls，such as Europe has abundance of；the most costly beads there are called Paris，London，Vienna and Naples．Yet many a one does not point to these great cities as his loveliest pearl，but on the contrary to a little，unimportant town；there is the home of homes，there his dear ones live！Yes，often it is only a single farm，a little house，hidden amongst green hedges，a mere point which disappears as the train flashes past it．
How many pearls are there on the string from Copenhagen to Kors r？We will consider six，which most people must take notice of；old memories and poetry itself give these pearls a lustre，so that they shine in our thoughts．
Close by the hill where the castle of Frederick the Sixth lies，the home of Oehlenschl ger's childhood，one of the pearls glitters in the shelter of S ndermarken's woods；it was called“The Cottage of Philemon and Baucis，”that is to say，the home of a lovable old couple．Here lived Rahbek with his wife Emma；here，under their hospitable roof，for a whole generation several men of genius came together from busy Copenhagen；here was a home of intel－lect，—and now！Say not：“Alas，how changed！”—no，it is still a home of intellect，a conservatory for pining plants！The flower－bud which is not strong enough to unfold itself yet contains，concealed，all the germs for leaf and seed．Here the sun of intellect shines into a carefully guarded home of intellect，enlivening and giving life．The world round about shines through the eyes into the unfathomable depths of the soul．The idiots’home，encompassed with human love，is a holy place，a conservatory for the pining plants，which shall at some time be transplanted and bloom in the garden of God．Here the weakest in intellect are now assembled，where at one time the greatest and most powerful minds met，exchanged ideas，and were lifted upward—and the soul's flame still mounts upwards in“The Cottage of Philemon and Baucis．”
The town of the royal tombs beside Hroar's well，the old Roskilde，lies before us！The slender spires of the cathedral towers soar above the low－built town，and mirror themselves in Isefiord．One grave only will we search for here，and regard it in the sheen of the pearl；it is not that of the great Queen Margaret—no，within the churchyard，close to whose white wall we fly past，is the grave；a common stone is laid over it；the master of the organ，the reviver of Danish romance，lies here．The old traditions be－came melodies in our soul；we learned that where“The clear waves rolled，”“there dwelt a king in Leire！”Roskilde，the burial place of kings！In thy pearl will we look at the simple grave，where on the stone is carved a lyre and the name of Weyse．
Now we come to Sigersted near the town of Ringsted；the river－bed lies low；the golden corn grows where Hagbarth's boat put in to the bank，not far from the maiden—bower of Signe．Who does not know the story of Hagbarth，who was hanged in the oak，and Little Signe's bower which stood in flames；the legend of strong love！
“Lovely Sor surrounded by woods！”the quiet cloister－town peeps out between the moss-grown trees；with the glance of youth it looks out from the academy over the lake to the world's highway，and hears the engine's dragon puff whilst it flies through the wood．Sor ，thou pearl of poetry，which preserves the dust of Holberg．Like a great white swan beside the deep woodland lake lies thy palace of learning，and near to it shines，like the white starwort in the woods，a little house to which our eyes turn；from it pious psalms sound through the land，words are uttered in it，even the peasant listens to them and learns of vanished times in Denmark．The green wood and the song of the birds go together；so also do the names of Sor and Ingemann．
On to the town of Slagelse—！What is reflected here in the sheen of the pearl？Vanished is the cloister of Antvorskov，vanished the rich halls of the castle，and even its soliary deserted wing；still one old relic remains，renewed and again renewed，a wooden cross on the hill over there，where in legendary times，St．Andrew，the priest of Slagelse，wakened up，borne hither in one night from Jerusalem．
Kors r—here wert thou born，who gave us
Jest with earnest blended
In songs of Knud the voyager．
Thou master of words and wit！The decaying old ramparts of the forsaken fortress are now the last visible witness of the home of thy childhood；when the sun sets，their shadows point to where thy birthplace stood；from these ramparts，looking towards the height of Sprog ，thou sawest，when thou wast small，“the moon glide down behind the isle，”and sang of it in immortal strains，as thou since hast sung of the mountains of Switzerland；thou，who didst wander about in the la byrinth of the world and found that
Nowhere is the rose so red，
And nowhere are the thorns so few，
And nowhere is the couch so soft
As those our simple childhood knew．
Thou lively singer of wit！We weave thee a garland of woodruff，and cast it in the lake，and the waves will bear it to Kielerfiord，on whose coast thy dust is laid；it brings a greeting from the young generation，a greeting from the town of thy birth，Kors r—where the string of pearls is broken．
“It is indeed a string of pearls from Copenhagen to Kors r，”said Grandmother，who had heard what we have just read．“It is a string of pearls for me，and it had already come to be that for me more than forty years ago，”said she．“We had no steam-engines then；we spent days on the way，where you now only spend hours．It was in 1815；I was twenty－one then—it is a delightful age！And yet up in the sixties is also a delightful age，so full of blessings！In my young days it was a greater event than now to get to Copenhagen，the town of all towns，as we considered it．My parents wished，after twenty years，once again to pay a visit to it，and I was to accompany them．We had talked of the journey for years，and now it was really to take place；I thought that quite a new life would begin，and，in a way，a new life really began for me．
There was such sewing and packing，and when it was time to depart，how many good friends came to bid us good-bye！It was a big journey we had before us！It was in the forenoon that we drove out of Odense in my parents' carriage；acquaintances nodded from the windows all the way up the street，almost until we were out of St．George's Gate．The weather was lovely，the birds sang，all was delightful；one forgot that it was a long，difficult road to Nyborg．Towards evening we came there．The post did not arrive until late in the night，and the boat did not leave before that，but we went on board．The great water lay before us，as far as we could see，so smooth and still．We lay down in our clothes and slept．
When I wakened and came on deck in the morning，nothing could be seen on either side，there was such a fog．I heard the cocks crowing，observed that the sun had risen，and heard the bells ringing．Where could we be？The fog lifted，and we actually were still lying just out from Nyborg．During the day a slight wind blew，but dead against us；we tacked and tacked，and finally we were fortunate enough to get to Kors r a little after eleven in the evening，after we had spent twenty-two hours in traversing the eighteen miles．
It was nice to get on land，but it was dark；the lamps burned badly，and everything was so perfectly strange to me，who had never been in any town except Odense．
“‘Look，’said my father，‘here Baggesen was born，and here Birckner lived’Then it seemed to me that the old town with the little houses grew at once brighter and larger；we also felt so glad to have firm land under us．I could not sleep that night for thinking of all that I had already seen and experienced since I left home the day before last．
“‘We had to rise early next morning，as we had before us a bad road with very steep hills and many holes，until we came to Slagelse，and beyond，on the other side of Slagelse，it was not much better，and we wished to arrive early at the‘Crab’，so that we might walk into Sor by daylight and visit the miller's Emil，as we called him；yes，it was your grandfather，my late husband，the dean；he was a student at Sor ，and had just passed his second examination．
“We came to the‘Crab’in the afternoon；it was a fashionable place at that time，the best inn on the whole of the journey，and the most charming district；yes，you must all allow it is stiff that．She was an active hostess，Mrs．Plambek；everything in the house was like a well-scoured table．On the wall hung Baggesen's letter to her，framed and under glass，and well worth seeing；to me it was something very notable．
Then we went up to Sor ，and there met Emil．You may suppose that he was glad to see us，and we to see him，and he was so good and attentive．With him we saw the church with Absalon's grave and Holberg's coffin；we saw the old monkish inscriptions，and we sailed over the lake to‘Parnassus’；the most beautiful evening I can remember！It seemed to me that if one could make poetry anywhere in the world，it must be at Sor ，in this peace and beauty of nature．
Then in the moonlight we went along the‘Philosopher's Walk’，as they call it，the lovely，lonely path by the lake and the stream，out towards the highroad leading to the‘Crab’．Emil stayed to supper with us；Father and Mother thought he had grown so sensible and looked so well．He promised us that he would be in Copenhagen in five days，at his own home and together with us，for Whitsuntide．These hours in Sor and the‘Crab’belong to my life's loveliest pearls．
“Next morning we set out very early，for we had a long way to go before we reached Roskilde，and we must get there betimes，so that the cathedral might be seen，and，in the evening father could have time to visit an old friend．This was duly carried out，and then we spent the night in Roskilde，and next day，but only by dinner-time，for it was the worst and most cut－up road that we had yet to travel，we arrived in Copenhagen．We had spent about three days from Kors r to Copenhagen；now the same distance is done in three hours．The beads have not become more precious，they could not be that；but the string is new and marvellous．I stayed with my parents in Copenhagen for three weeks．Emil was with us the whole time，and when we travelled back to Fyen，he accompanied us all the way from Copenhagen to Kors r；there we became engaged before we parted！So now you can understand that I also call from Copenhagen to Kors r a string of pearls．
“Afterwards，when Emil was called to Assens，we were married．We often talked of the journey to Copenhagen，and about doing it once again，but then first came your mother，and after that she got brothers and sisters，and there was much to look after and to take care of，and when father was promoted and became dean，of course everything was a pleasure and a joy，but to Copenhagen we never got．I never was there again，however often we thought and talked about it，and now I am too old，I have not the strength to travel on the railway；but I am glad of the railways．It is a blessing that we have them！With them you come all the quicker to me！
“Now Odense is not much farther from Copenhagen than it was from Nybory in my young days．You can now fly to Italy as quickly as we travelled to Copenhagen！Yes，that is something！—all the same I shall sit still，and let others travel，let them come to me！But you ought not to laugh either，because I sit so still！I have a great journey before me quite different from yours，one that is much quicker than by the railways．When our Father wills it，I shall go to join your grandfather，and when you have completed your work，and enjoyed yourselves here in this dear world，I know that you will come up to us，and if we talk there about our earthly days，believe me，children，I shall also say there as now，‘from Copenhagen to Kors r is in－deed a string of pearls！’
一串珍珠
一
从哥本哈根通到柯尔索尔的铁路，可算是丹麦唯一的铁路，这等于是一串珠子，而欧洲却有不少这样的珠子。最昂贵的几颗珠子的名字是：“巴黎”、“伦敦”、“维也纳”和“那不勒斯”。但是有许多人不把这些大都市当做最美丽的珠子，却把某个无声无息的小城市当作他们的最喜欢的家。他们最心爱的人住在这小城市里。的确，它常常只不过是一个朴素的庄园，一幢藏在绿篱笆里的小房子，一个小点。
当火车在它旁边经过的时候，谁也看不见它。
在哥本哈根和柯尔索尔之间的铁路线上，有多少颗这样的珠子呢？我们算一算，能够引起多数人注意的一共有6颗。旧的记忆和诗情使这几颗珠子发出光辉，因此它们也在我们的思想中射出光彩。
佛列德里克六世的宫殿是建筑在一座小山上；这里就是奥伦施拉格尔斯儿时的家。在这座山的附近就有这样一颗珠子藏在松得尔马根森林里面。大家把它叫“菲勒蒙和包茜丝茅庐”，这也就是说：两个可爱的老人之家。拉贝克和他的妻子珈玛就住在里面。
当代的学者从忙碌的哥布哈根特地到这个好客的屋子里来集会。这是知识界的家——唔，请不要说：“嗨，变得多快啊！”没有变，这儿仍然是学者之家，是病植物的温室！没有气力开放的花苞，在这儿得到保养和庇护，直到开花结子。精神的太阳带着生命力和欢乐，射进这安静的精神之家里来。周围的世界，通过眼睛，射进灵魂的无底的深处：这个浸在人间的爱里的白痴之家，是一个神圣的地方，是病植物的温室。这些植物将有一天被移植到上帝的花园里去，在那里开出花朵。这里现在住着智力最弱的人们。有个时候，最伟大和最能干的头脑在这里会面，交流思想，达到很高的境界——在这个“菲勒蒙和包茜丝茅庐”里，灵魂的火焰仍然在燃烧着。
我们现在看到了古老的罗斯吉尔得。它是洛亚尔泉旁的一个作为皇家墓地的小镇。在这有许多矮房屋的镇上，教堂的瘦长尖塔升向空中，同时也倒映在伊塞海峡里。我们在这儿只寻找一座坟墓，在珠子的闪光里来观察它。这不是那个伟大的皇后玛加列特的坟墓——不是的。这坟就在教堂的墓地里：我们刚刚就在它的白墙的外边经过。坟上盖着一块平凡的墓石，第一流的风琴手——丹麦传奇的复兴者——就躺在它下面。古代的传奇是我们的灵魂中的和谐音乐。我们从它知道，凡是有“滚滚白浪”的地方，就有一个国王驻扎的营地！罗斯吉尔得，你是一个埋葬帝王的城市！在你的珠子里我们要看到一个寒碜的坟墓；它的墓石上刻有一个竖琴和一个名字——魏塞。
我们现在来到西格尔斯得。它在林格斯得这个小镇的附近。河床是很低的。在哈巴特的船停过的地方，离茜格妮的闺房不远，长着许多金黄的玉蜀黍。谁不知道哈巴特的故事呢？正当茜格妮的闺房着火的时候，哈巴特在一株栎树上被绞死。这是一个伟大的爱情故事。
“美丽的苏洛是藏在深树林里！”这个安静的修道院小镇隐隐地在长满了青苔的绿树林里显露出来。年轻的眼睛从湖上的学院里朝外界的大路上凝望，静听火车的龙头轰轰地驰过树林。苏洛，你是一颗珠子，你保藏着荷尔堡的骨灰！你的学术之宫像一只伟大的白天鹅，立在树林中深沉的湖畔。在那附近，有一幢小小的房子，像树林中的一朵星形白花，射出闪烁的亮光。我们的眼睛都向着它望。虔诚的赞美诗的朗诵声从这里飘到各地。这里面有祈祷声。农民静静地听，于是他们知道了丹麦逝去了的那些日子。绿树林和鸟儿的歌声总是联在一起的；同样，苏洛和英格曼的名字永远也分不开。
再往前走就是斯拉格尔斯！在这颗珠子的光里，有什么东西反射出来呢？安特伏尔斯柯乌寺院早已没有了，宫殿里的华丽大厅也没有了，甚至它剩下的一个孤独的边屋现在也没有了。然而还是有一个古老的遗迹存留了下来。人们把它修理了无数次。它就是立在山上的一个木十字架。在远古时代的某一天夜里，斯拉格尔斯的牧师圣安得尔斯被神托着从耶路撒冷的空中起飞。他一睁开眼睛就发现自己落在这座山上。
柯尔索尔——你是在这地方出生的，你给我们：
在瑟蓝岛之文克努得的歌中，
戏谑中杂有诚意。
你是语言和风趣的大师！那个荒凉堡垒的古墙是你儿时之家的最后一个可以看得见的明证。当太阳落下去的时候，它的影子就映着你出生的那幢房子。你在这古墙上向斯卜洛戈的高地望；当你还是“很小的时候”，你看到“月亮沉到岛后”，你用不朽的调子歌颂它，正如你歌颂瑞士的群山一样。你在世界的《迷宫》里走过，你发现：
什么地方的玫瑰也没有这样鲜艳，
什么地方的荆棘也没有这样细小，
什么地方的床榻也没有这样柔软，
像我们天真的儿时睡过的那样好。
你这活泼的、风趣的歌手！我们为你扎一个车叶草的花环。我们把这花环抛到湖里，让波浪把它带到埋葬着你的骨灰的吉勒尔海峡的岸旁。这花环代表年轻的一代对你的敬意，代表你的出生地柯尔索尔对你的敬意——这串珠子在这儿断了。
二
“这的确是从哥本哈根牵到柯尔索尔的一串珠子，”外祖母听到我们刚才念的句子说。“这对于我说来是一串珠子，而且40多年以来一直是如此，”她说。“那时我们没有蒸汽机。现在我们只须几个钟头就可以走完的路程，那时得花好几天工夫。那是1815年；我才21岁。那是一个可爱的时代！现在虽然已经过了60年，时代仍然是可爱的，充满了幸福！在我年轻的时候，我们认为哥本哈根是一切城市中最大的城市。比起现在来，那时去哥本哈根一次就算是一件了不起的事情。我的父母还想过了20年以后再去看一次；我也得跟着同去。我们把这次旅行的计划谈论了好几年，现在这计划却真的要实现了！我觉得，一个完全不同的新生活快要开始；在某种意义上说，我的这种新生活也真的开始了。
“大家忙着缝东西和捆行李。当我们要动身的时候，的确，该有多少好朋友来送行啊！这是我们的一次伟大的旅行！在上午我们坐着爸爸和妈妈的［‘荷尔斯坦’式的］马车走出奥登塞来。我们在街上经过的时候，一直到我们走出圣雨尔根门为止；所有的熟人都在窗子里对我们点头。天气非常晴和，鸟儿在唱着歌，一切都显得非常可爱。我们忘记了去纽堡是一段艰苦的长途旅行。我们到达的时候天已经黑了。邮车要到深夜才能到来，而船却要等它来了以后才开行。但是我们却上了船。我们面前是一望无际的平静的水。
“我们和着衣服躺下睡了。我早晨一醒来就走上甲板。雾非常大，两边岸上什么也看不见。我听到公鸡的叫声，同时也注意到太阳升上来了，钟声响起来了。我们来到了什么地方呢？雾已经消散了。事实上我们仍然停泊在纽堡附近。一股轻微的逆风整天不停地吹着。我们一下把帆掉向这边，一下把帆掉向那边，最后我总算是很幸运：在晚间刚过11点钟的时候，我们到达了柯尔索尔。但是这18海里的路程已经使我们花了22个钟头。
“走上陆地是一件愉快的事情，但是天却很黑了；灯光也不亮。一切对我说来都是生疏的，因为我除了奥登塞以外，什么别的地方也没有去过。
“‘柏格生就是在这儿出生的！’我的父亲说，‘比尔克纳也在这儿住过。’
这时我就觉得，这个充满了矮小房子的小城市立刻变得光明和伟大起来。我们同时也觉得非常高兴，我们的脚是踏着坚实的地面。这天晚上我睡不着；我想着自从前天离家以后我所看过和经历过的这许多东西。
“第二天早晨我们很早就得爬起来，因为在没有到达斯拉格尔斯以前，我们还有一条充满了陡坡和泥坑的坏路要走。在斯拉格尔斯另一边的一段路也并不比这条好。我们希望早点到达‘螃蟹酒家’；我们可以从这儿在当天到苏洛去。我们可以拜访一下‘磨坊主的爱弥尔’——我们就是这样称呼他的。是的，他就是你的外祖父，是我的去世的丈夫，是乡下的牧师。他那时在苏洛念书，刚刚考完第二次考试，而且通过了。
“我们在中午过后到达‘螃蟹酒家’。这是那时一个漂亮的地方，是全部旅程中一个最好的酒店，一个可爱的处所。是的，大家都得承认，它现在还是如此。卜兰别克太太是一个勤快的老板娘；店里所有的东西都像擦洗得非常干净的切肉桌一样。墙上挂着的玻璃镜框里镶着柏格生写给她的信。这很值得一看！对我说来，这是一件了不起的东西。
“接着我们就到苏洛去；我们遇见爱弥尔。我相信，他看到我们非常高兴，就如我们看到他一样。他非常和蔼，也体贴人。我们同他一道去参观教堂；那里面有阿卜索伦的坟墓和荷尔堡的棺材，我们看到古代僧人的刻字；我们在湖上划船到帕那萨斯去。这是我记忆中最愉快的一个下午。我想，如果世界上有个什么地方可以写诗的话，这块地方一定是苏洛——处于安静而美丽的大自然中的苏洛。
于是我们在月光下向着人们所谓的‘哲学家漫步处’走去。这是湖旁和水边的一条美丽而幽静的小路。它与通向‘螃蟹酒家’的大路相联结。爱弥尔一直陪着我们，跟我们一起吃晚饭。爸爸和妈妈发现他已经长成一个聪明的美男子了，他答应五天后就回到哥本哈根去，跟他的家里的人和我们同住一些时候。的确，现在圣灵降临节快到了。在苏洛和‘螃蟹酒家’的那些时刻，要算是我的一生中最美丽的珍珠。
“第二天早晨我们很早就动身了，因为到罗斯吉尔得去还得走好长一段路。我们必须及时到达那里才能看见主教堂，同时在当天晚上爸爸还要去看一位老同学。这都按计划做到了。我们这天晚上在罗斯吉尔得过夜；第二天——但是在吃中饭的时候——才回到哥本哈根，因为这段路程最不好，最不完整。从柯尔索尔到哥本哈根的旅程花了我们将近三天工夫。现在同样的旅程只要三个钟头就够了。
“这一串珍珠并没有变得比以前更昂贵：因为这是不可能的；不过串着这些珍珠的线现在却是又新又奇异。我跟爸爸妈妈在哥本哈根住了三个星期，而爱弥尔和我们在一起整整待了18天。我们回到富恩岛上去的时候，他一直从哥本哈根陪着我们到柯尔索尔。在我们没有分手以前，我们就订婚了。所以现在你可以了解，我也把哥本哈根到柯尔索尔的这段路叫做一串珍珠。
“后来爱弥尔在阿森斯找到了一个职业，于是我们就结婚了。我们常常谈起到哥本哈根去的那次旅行，而且打算再去一次。但是很快你的母亲就出生了，接着她就有了弟弟和妹妹了。要照顾和关心的事情实在太多了。那时父亲升了职位，成为一个牧师。当然一切是非常愉快和幸福的。但是我们却再也没有机会到哥本哈根去了。不管我们怎样怀恋它和谈论它，我们一直没有再到那儿去过。现在我已经太老了，再也没有气力坐火车旅行了。不过我很喜欢火车。火车是人间的一件宝贵东西：有了火车，你们就可以更快地回到我身边来！
“现在从奥登塞到哥本哈根，并不比我在年轻时从纽堡到哥本哈根远。现在你可以坐快车到意大利去，所花的时间跟我们到哥本哈根去差不多！是的，这是一件了不起的事情！
虽然如此，我还是愿意坐下来，让别人去旅行，让别人来看我。但是你们却不要因为我坐着不动就笑我啦！我有一次更了不起的旅行在等着我：这跟你们的旅行不同，比你坐火车还要快。只要我们的上帝愿意，我将旅行到你们的外祖父那里去。等你们做完了工作，在这个幸福的世界上享受了你们的一生以后，我知道你们也会到我们那里去的；孩子，你们可以相信我，当我们谈起我们活在人间的日子的时候，我将也会在那儿说：‘从哥本哈根到柯尔索尔的确是一串珍珠！’”
这篇故事首先发表在1857年哥本哈根出版的《民众历书》上。安徒生在他1868年的手记中写道“《一串珍珠》说明我这一生所经历过的时代的变化。在我儿时，从奥登塞去哥本哈根，即使海上风平浪静，航行也得花五天的时间。现在只须五个钟头就可以完成这段旅程。”今天坐飞机，15分钟就够了。世界总是在向前迈进的。在这篇故事中安徒生所描写的那一条短短的铁路线，所经过的站口虽然不多，而且每个站都很小，可能是个小村，也可能只是一幢房子，但在这不显眼的小村和房子的背后可能隐藏着一段光荣的历史，甚至还可能出现过伟大的人物，如艺术家、科学家、音乐家……等，他们都对人类的进步做出过重要的贡献，只是一般人不知道罢了。安徒生却把这“一串珍珠”上出现的人物，通过这篇散文，使他们在我们的记忆中得到了永生。
