ALFRED the sculptor—you know him？We all know him：he won the gold medal，went to Italy， and then came home again．He was young in those days，and in－deed he is young yet， though he is ten years older than he was then．
After his return he visited one of the little provincial towns on the island of Zealand．The whole town knew who the stranger was，and one of the richest persons gave a party in honour of him，and all who were of any consequence，or possessed any property，were invited．It was quite an event，and all the town knew of it without its being announced by beat of drum．Apprentice boys，and children of poor people，and even some of the poor people themselves，stood in front of the house，and looked at the lighted curtain；and the watchman could fancy that he was giving a party，so many people were in the streets．There was quite an air of festivity about， and in the house was festivity also， for Mr． Alfred the sculptor was there．
He talked，and told anecdotes，and all listened to him with pleasure and a certain kind of awe；but none felt such respect for him as did the elderly widow of an official：she seemed，so far as Mr． Alfred was concerned，like a fresh piece of blotting paper，that absorbed all that was spoken，and asked for more． She was very receptive and incredible ignorant——a kind of female Caspar Hauser．
“I should like to see Rome，”she said．“It must be a lovely city， with all the strangers who are continually arriving there．Now，do give us a description of Rome．How does the city look when you come in by the gate？”
“I cannot very well describe it，” replied the sculptor．“A great open place，and in the midst of it an obelisk，which is four thousand years old．”
“An organist！”exclaimed the lady，who had never met with the word obelisk．
A few of the guests could hardly keep from laughing，nor could the sculptor quite keep his countenance；but the smile that rose to his lips faded away，for he saw，close by the inquisitive dame，a pair of dark-blue eyes—they be－longed to the daughter of the speaker，and any one who has such a daughter cannot be silly！The mother was like a fountain of questions，and the daughter，who listened but never spoke，might pass for the beautiful Naiad of the fountain． How charming she was ！ She was a study for the sculptor to contemplate，but not to converse with；and， in－deed，she did not speak，or only very seldom．
“Has the Pope a large family？” asked the lady．
And the young man answered， as if the question could have been better put，
“No， he does not come of a great family．”
“That's not what I mean，” the widow persisted．“I mean，has he a wife and children？”
“The Pope is not allowed to marry，”said the gentle－man．
“I don't like that，” was the lady's comment．
She certainly might have put more sensible questions but if she had not spoken in just the manner she used，would her daughter have leaned so gracefully upon her shoulder， looking straight out with the almost mournful smile upon her face？
Then Mr．Alfred spoke again，and told of the glory of colour in Italy，of the purple hills， the blue Mediterranean，the azure sky of the South，whose brightness and glory was only to be surpassed in the North by a maiden's deep blue eyes． And this he said with a peculiar application；but she who should have understood his meaning，looked as if she were quite unconscious of it，and that again was charming！
“Italy！”sighed a few of the guests．
“Oh，to travel！”sighed others．
“Charming！Charming！
“Yes，if I win fifty thousand dollars in the lottery，”said the head tax－collector's lady，“then we will travel．I and my daughter， and you， Mr． Alfred； you must be our guide． We'll all three travel together，and one or two good friends more．” And she nodded such a friendly way at the company， that each one might imagine he or she was the person who was to be taken to Italy．“Yes，we will go to Italy！But not to those parts where there are robbers—we'll keep to Rome，and to the great high roads where one is safe．”
And the daughter sighed very quietly．And how much may lie in one little sigh，or be placed in it！The young man placed a great deal in it． The two blue eyes，lit up that evening in honour of him，must conceal treasures—treasures of the heart and mind—richer than all the glories of Rome；and when he left the party that night he had lost his heart—lost it completely to the young lady．
The house of the widow was now the one which Mr．Alfred the sculptor frequented；and it was understood that his visits were not intended for that lady，though he and she were the people who kept up the conversation ： he came for the daughter’ s sake． They called her Kala． Her name was really Karen Malena，and these two names had been contracted into the one name，Kala．She was beautiful；but a few said she was rather dull， and slept late of a morning．
“She has always been accustomed to that，”her mother said．“She's a beauty，and they always are easily tired．She sleeps rather late，but that makes her eyes so clear．”
What a power lay in those bright eyes！“Still waters run deep．”The young man felt the truth of this proverb，and his heart had sunk into the depths．He spoke and told his adventures，and the mamma was as simple and eager in her questioning as on the first evening of their meeting．
It was a pleasure to hear Alfred describe anything．He spoke of Naples，of excursions to Mount Vesuvius，and showed coloured prints of several of the eruptions．And the widow had never heard of them before， or taken time to consider the question
“Good heavens！”she exclaimed．“So that is a burn－ing mountain！But is it not dangerous to the people round about？”
“Whole cities have been destroyed，”he answered；“for instance，Pompeii and Herculaneum．”
“But the poor people！—And you saw all that with your own eyes？
“No， I did not see any of the eruptions represented in these pictures， but I will show yon a picture of my own of an eruption I saw．”
He laid a pencil sketch upon the table， and mamma，who had been absorbed in the contemplation of the highly coloured prints，threw a glance at the pale drawing，and cried in astonishment，
“Did you see it throw up white fire？”
For a moment Alfred's respect for Kala's mamma suffered a sudden diminution；but， dazzled by the light that illumined Kala，he soon found it quite natural that the old lady should have no eye for colour．After all，it was of no consequence，for Kala's mamma had the best of all things—namely，Kala herself．
And Alfred and Kala were betrothed，which was natural enough，and the betrothal was announced in the little newspaper of the town．Mamma purchased thirty copies of the paper，that she might cut out the paragraph and send it to their friends and acquaintances．And the betrothed pair were happy，and the mother-in-law elect was happy too，for it seemed like connecting herself with Thorwaldsen．
“For you are a continuation of Thorwaldsen，” she said to Alfred．
And it seemed to Alfred that mamma had in this in－stance said a clever thing．Kala said nothing；but her eyes shone，her lips smiled， her every movement was graceful．Yes，she was beautiful；that cannot be too often repeated．
Alfred undertook to make a bust pf Kala and of his mother-in-law．They sat to him accordingly，and saw how he moulded，and smoothed the soft clay with his fingers．
“I suppose it's only on our account，”said mamma-in-law，“that you undertake this commonplace work，and don't leave your servant to do all that sticking together？”
“It is necessary that I should mould the clay my-self，”he replied．
“Ah，yes，you are so very polite，”retorted mamma；and Kala silently pressed his hand ；still soiled by the clay．
And he unfolded to both of them the loveliness of nature in creation，how the living stood above the dead，the plant above the mineral， the animal above the plant，and man above the animal．How mind and beauty become manifest in outward form，and how the sculptor gave that beauty its manifestation in his works．
Kala stood silent，and nodded approbation of the ex－pressed thought，while mamma-in-law made the following confession：
“It's difficult to follow all that．But I manage to hobble after you with my thoughts，though they whirl round and round， but I contrive to hold them fast．”
And Kala's beauty held Alfred fast，filled his whole soul，and seized and mastered him．Beauty gleamed forth from Kala’ s every feature—from her look， from the corners of her mouth， and in every movement of her fingers．Alfred the sculptor saw this ：he spoke only of her，thought only of her， and the two became one ； and thus it may be said that she spoke much，for he spoke very much．
Such was the betrothal； and now came the wedding，with bridesmaids and wedding presents， all duly mentioned in the wedding speech．
Mamma－in－law had set up Thorwaldsen's bust at the end of the table，attired in a dressing-gown，for he was to be a guest；such was her whim．Songs were sung and cheers were given， for it was a gay wedding，and they were a handsome pair．“Pygmalion received his Galatea，”so one of the songs said．
“Ah， that's your mythology，”said mamma-in-law．
Next day the youthful pair started for Copenhagen，where they were to live．Mamma－in－law accompanied them，“to take care of the common place，”as she said，meaning the domestic economy．Kala was like a doll in a doll's house， all was so bright，so new，and so fine．There they sat， all three；and as for Alfred，to use a proverb that will describe his position，we may say that he sat like the friar in the goose－yard．
The magic of form had enchanted him．He had looked at the case， and cared not to inquire what the case contained， and that omission brings unhappiness，much unhappiness，into married life； for the case may be broken and the gilt may come off， and then the purchaser may repent his bargain．In a large party it is very disagreeable to observe that one’ s buttons are giving way，and that there are no buckles to fall back upon；but it is worse still in a great company to become aware that wife and mother-in-law are talking nonsense and that one cannot depend upon one－self for a happy piece of wit to carry off the stupidity of the thing．
The young married pair often sat hand in hand，he speaking and she letting fall a word here and there—the same melody，the same two or three tones of the bell．It was a mental relief when Sophy，one of her friends，came to pay a visit．
Sophy was not pretty．She was certainly free from bodily deformity， though Kala always asserted she was a little crooked；but no eye save a friend's would have re－marked it． She was a very sensible girl， and it never occurred to her that she might become at all dangerous here．Her appearance was like a pleasant breath of air in the doll's house； and air was certainly required there，as they all acknowledged．They felt they wanted airing，and consequently they came out into the air，and mamma-in-law and the young couple travelled to Italy．
“Thank Heaven that we are in our own four walls again，”was the exclamation of mother and daughter when they came home a year after．
“There's no pleasure in travelling，said mamma-in－law．“To tell the truth， it's very wearisome—I beg par－don for saying so． I found the time heavily，although I had my children with me；and its expensive work，travelling，very expensive！And all those galleries one has to see，and the quantity of things you are obliged to run after！You must do it for decency 's sake，for you 're sure to be asked when you come back； and then you 're sure to be told that you've omitted to see what was best worth seeing．I got tired at last of those endless Madonnas：one seemed to be turning a Madonna oneself！”
“And what bad living you get！” said Kala．
“Yes，”replied mamma，“no such thing as an honest meat soup．It's miserable trash， their cookery．”
And the travelling fatigued Kala：she was always fatigued，that was the worst of it．Sophy was taken into the house，and she did good there．
Mamma-in-law acknowledged that Sophy understood both housewifery and aft，though a knowledge of the latter could not be expected from a person of her limited means；and she was，moreover，an honest，faithful girl：she showed that thoroughly while Kala lay ill—fading away．
Where the case is everything，the case should be strong，or else all is over．And all was over with the case—Kala died．
“She was beautiful，”said mamma；“she was quite different from the antiques，for they are so damaged．Kala was whole，and a beauty should be whole．”
Alfred wept，and mamma wept， and both of them wore mourning． The black dress suited mamma very well，and she wore mourning the longest． Moreover，she had soon to experience another grief in seeing Alfred marry again—marry Sophy，who had no appearance at all．
“He 's gone to the very extreme，”cried mamma－in-law；he has gone from the most beautiful to the ugliest，and has forgotten his first wife．Men have no constancy．My husband was of a different stamp，and he died before me．”
“Pygmalion received his Galatea，” said Alfred：“yes，that's what they said in the wedding song． I had once really fallen in love with the beautiful statue，which awoke to life in my arms； but the kindred soul which Heaven sends down to us，the angel who can feel and sympathize with and elevate us， I have not found and won till now． You came，Sophy，not in the glory of outward beauty，though you are fair，fairer than is needful．The chief thing remains the chief．You came to teach the sculptor that his work is but clay and dust，only an outward form in a fabric that passes away，and that we must seek the essence，the eternal spirit．Poor Kala！Ours was but wayfarers' life． Yonder， where we shall know each other by sympathy，we shall be half strangers．”
“That was not lovingly spoken，” said Sophy，“not spoken like a true Christian． Yonder， where there is no giving in marriage， but where，as you say， souls attract each other by sympathy；there where everything beautiful develops itself and is elevated，her soul may acquire such completeness that it may sound more harmoniously than mine；and you will then once more utter the first rapturous exclamation of your love，‘Beautiful—most beautiful！’”
“美”
雕刻家阿尔夫勒得——是的，你认识他吧？
我们都认识他。他获得了金质奖章，到意大利去旅行过，然后又回到家里来。那时他很年轻。
事实上，他现在仍然很年轻，虽然已经大了10岁了。
他回家以后，又到瑟蓝岛上的一个小市镇上去游览过。镇上所有的人都知道这位来客，知道他是谁。一个非常富有的家庭甚至还为他开过一次宴会。一切有地位和有财产的人都被请来作陪。这真是一件大事情，全镇的人不须打鼓通知就都知道。学徒和穷人的孩子，还有他们几个人的爸爸和妈妈，都跑到门外来，望着那些拉下的、映着灯光的窗帘子。守夜人可以认为这个宴会是他举办的，因为他管辖的这条街上的居民来得特别多。处处是一片欢乐的景象。当然屋子里也是欢乐的，因为雕刻家阿尔夫勒得就在里面。
他谈话，讲故事。大家满怀热忱、高高兴兴地听他讲，但是谁的热忱也比不上一位官员的寡妇。就阿尔夫勒得先生说来，她简直像一张灰色的空白吸墨纸。所有的话她立刻就吸进去了，而且要求多吸一些。她是高度地敏感，出乎意外地无知——她是一种女性的加斯伯·好塞尔。
“我真想去看看罗马！”她说。“它经常有那么多的游客，一定是一个了不起的城市。请讲点罗马的事情给我们听听吧！当您从城门走进去的时候，这个城市究竟是个什么样子？”
“要描写出来可不太容易！”年轻的雕刻家说。“那里有一个很大的广场。广场*有一个方尖石塔。这塔有四千年的历史。”
“一位风琴师！”这位太太大叫一声，因为她从来没有听到过“方尖石塔”这个字。
有些客人几乎要笑起来。雕刻家也是一样，但是他的笑一来到嘴唇边就消逝了，因为他看到有一对深蓝色大眼睛紧挨着这位好奇的太太。这双眼睛属于刚才讲话的太太的女儿。一个人有这样的女儿决不会是一个糊涂虫。妈妈很像一个专门冒出问话的喷泉，但女儿则是静静地听着，类似一个美丽的、泉水女神。她是多么可爱啊！她是一个雕刻家应该静看、但是不应该与之交谈的人。事实上她很沉默，话讲得非常少。
“教皇的家庭很大吗？”太太问。
年轻人仿佛觉得这句话的提法不妥当。
答说：“他不是一个有大家庭的人！”
“我并不是这个意思！”太太说。“我的意思是说：他有太太和孩子吗？”
“教皇是不能结婚的呀！”他回答说。
“这个我不赞成！”太太说。
她可能作出比这还要聪明的发问和谈话。
但是如果她没有像刚才那样，发出这样的问题和讲出这样的话，也许就是因为她的女儿在靠着她的肩，发出那样略带忧郁的微笑吧？
阿尔夫勒得先生谈论起来。他谈论着：意大利的色彩是多么美，山是多么紫，地中海是多么绿，南方的天是多么蓝——这种明媚和灿烂只有北国的姑娘的蓝眼珠可以超过。他的这句话是有所为而发的，但是应该懂得这话的她却一点也没有现出懂的样子。这也可以算是“美”吧！
“意大利！”有几个人叹了一口气。
“旅行！”另外几个人也叹了一口气。
“美！美！”
“嗯，如果我中了五万块钱的彩，”寡妇说，“那么我们就可以去旅行了！我和我的女儿。还有你，阿尔夫勒得先生，你可以当我们的向导！我们三个人一块儿去旅行！我们还可以带一两个好朋友同去！”于是她对所有在场的人和和气气地点了点头，弄得每个人都胡思乱想，以为自己会被请去旅行。“我们都到意大利去！但是有强盗的地方可不能去。我们将待在罗马，只是到安全的公路上去看一看。”
女儿轻微地叹了一口气。一声轻微的叹息可能包含着许多意义。或被解释出许多意义！这位年轻人发现它里面的意义特别深长。她的这双蓝眼睛今晚特别为他而发亮；这双眼睛里一定蕴藏着比豪华的罗马更宝贵的内心和灵魂的美。当他离开宴会的时候，他完全被迷住了——被这个年轻的姑娘迷住了。
寡妇的住所现在成了雕刻家阿尔夫勒得先生最常去的地方。人们可以看得出来，他并不是专诚去拜访妈妈的，虽然他谈起话来总是和妈妈在一起。他是为了那个小姐才去的。大家把她叫做珈拉。她的真名字叫做珈伦·玛丽妮。这两个字省写起来就成了珈拉。她非常美丽，但是有人说她很迟钝。她喜欢在早晨睡睡懒觉。
“这是她在小时候养成的习惯！”妈妈说，“她是[像维纳斯一样]美丽的；一个美人是容易疲倦的。她喜欢多睡一会儿，正因为如此，她的眼睛才显得那么亮。”
这对清亮的眼睛——[这像海一样蓝的水！]这深不见底的静静的水！——该是有多大的魔力啊！年轻人现在感觉到了这一点：他已经深深地坠入水底。他在不停地谈；妈妈在不停地问一些天真的、索然无味的问题——像那天晚上他们初次见面时一样。
听阿尔夫勒得先生谈话是一桩愉快的事情。他谈起那不勒斯，谈起在维苏威火山上的漫游。他还拿出几张描绘火山爆发的彩色画片。寡妇从来没有听到过这样的事情，连想都没有想到过。
“上天保佑！”她说，“那原来是一座喷火的山！住在那儿的人不会受伤么？”
“整个城市都被毁灭了呢！”他回答说。“庞贝和赫库兰尼姆就是这样！”
“那些人真是不幸！你亲眼看见过那些事情吗？”
“没有。这些画片上画的火山爆发，我一次也没有看见过；不过我可以亲自画一张爆发的情景给您看——这是我亲眼看到的。”
他拿出一张铅笔画的速写。妈妈一直在坐着细看那几张鲜艳的彩色画。但她一看到铅笔素描就惊奇地大叫一声：
“你居然看到它喷出白火！”
有一会儿工夫，阿尔夫勒得先生对妈妈的尊敬似乎消逝了；不过他马上从珈拉的闪光中理解到，她的妈妈没有色彩的感觉。这也没有什么关系。她有最好和最美的东西；她有珈拉。
阿尔夫勒得终于和珈拉订婚了，这是很自然的。订婚的消息在镇上的报纸上登出来了。妈妈把报纸买了30份，因为她要把这消息剪下来，送给她的朋友和熟人。这对订婚的恋人是非常幸福的，未来的丈母娘也是如此——她觉得好像是跟多瓦尔生有了亲戚关系似的。
“无论如何，你将是他的继承人！”她说。
阿尔夫勒得觉得她这次倒说了一句聪明话。珈拉什么也没有说，不过她的眼睛在闪着光，她的嘴角上飘着一个微笑——她的每一个动作都是可爱的。是的，她是美丽的，但是这句话不能老是重复着说。
阿尔夫勒得开始为珈拉和丈母娘塑造一个半身像。她们坐着让他观察，同时望着他怎样用手指塑造和修整柔软的泥土。
“我想这次你是因为我们才做这种琐细的工作，”丈母娘说，“才不让你的佣人插手的。”
“我必须亲自使用泥土才能造像！”他说。
“是的，你的礼貌永远是非常周到！”妈妈说。这时珈拉把他有泥巴的手紧握了一下。
于是他在这件创作中把大自然的美揭露给她们两人看，同时解释着活的东西是怎样高于死的东西，植物是怎样高于矿物，动物是怎样高于植物，人是怎样高于禽兽，精神和美是怎样由形式所表达，一个雕刻师的任务是怎样用具体的形象把这种美表现出来。
珈拉坐着一句话也不讲，只对他的这种思想点头。丈母娘很坦白地说：
“这一套理论很不容易懂！不过我是在跟着你的思想摸索前进。你的思想在打旋转，但是我要紧钉着它不放。”
同时“美”却钉着他不放，充满了他的整个精神世界，征服了他，控制住了他的全身。“美”从珈拉的眼角眉梢、一举一动放射出来，从她的眼神里，从她的嘴角旁，甚至从她的手指的动作中放射出来。雕刻家阿尔夫勒得坦白地把这话讲出来了，而且他，作为一个雕刻家，也能体会这话的意义。他只是谈论着她，想着她，一直到他的思想和言论完全统一起来。因为他总是经常谈论着她，所以她也经常谈论着他。
这是订婚期间的事情。现在结婚的日子到了。伴娘和礼物都齐全——这在结婚的演讲辞中已提到了。
在新娘的屋子里，丈母娘在桌子的一端放了一尊半身像。这是多瓦尔生穿着便服的半身像。他应该也是一个客人——这是她的意思。大家唱歌，大家干杯，因为这是一个愉快的婚礼，而新婚夫妇也是一对美丽的人儿。有一支歌唱着：“皮格马利翁得到了珈拉苔娅”。
“这是神话里的一个故事！”丈母娘说。
第二天，这对年轻夫妇搬到哥本哈根去，因为他们将要在那儿住下来。丈母娘也跟着同去，为的是要照顾他们——这也就是说：为他们管家。珈拉将要过着少奶奶的日子。一切是新鲜、美好和幸福的！他们三个人住在一所房子里。至于阿尔夫勒得，我们可以引用一句成语来描写他的处境：他像坐在鹅窝里的一位主教。
形态的魔力把他迷惑住了。他看到了一只箱子，但是却没有看到箱子里到底装的是什么东西。这是一件不幸，而在婚姻的生活中这要算是一件绝大的不幸。如果箱子一旦裂开了，它上面的金褪掉了，买它的人一定要后悔不该做这桩交易的。在一个大宴会中，如果一个人发现自己吊带上的扣子落掉了、却没有裤带可以应急，他一定会感到狼狈不堪的。不过更糟糕的是：你在一个大宴会中发现你的妻子和丈母娘专门讲些无聊的傻话，而你一时又找不出聪明的办法把这些傻话遮掩过去。
这对年轻夫妇常常手握着手坐着。他谈论着，她偶尔之间吐出个把字眼——老是那么一个同样的声调，老是像钟一样敲两三下。只有当他们的一个朋友苏菲来拜访的时候，他的精神才算是得到一点解放。
苏菲不是太漂亮。她的身体当然也没有什么缺陷。珈拉说她的背有点驼，但是这只有女朋友才看得出来。她是一个头脑冷静的女子，她一点也没有想到自己在这家里可能是一个危险人物。她在这个玩偶之家里等于一股新鲜的空气，而新鲜的空气大家都认为是必需的。他们需要更多的新鲜空气，因此就走到新鲜空气中去。丈母娘和这新婚的一对到意大利去旅行。
“感谢上帝，我们又回到自己的家里来了！”一年以后妈妈和女儿跟阿尔夫勒得回到家里来时说。
“旅行一点意思也没有！”丈母娘说。“旅行真叫人感到腻味！请原谅我说这样的话。虽然我带着我的孩子在一起，我还是感到腻味。而且旅行费钱，太费了！你得去参观所有的画室，你得去看一切的东西！当你回到家来，别人问起你的时候，你简直没有别的办法回答！别人会告诉你，哪些是最美的东西，哪些东西你忘记看了。那些千篇一律的圣母像我真看厌了，我差不多自己都要变成圣母了。”
“而且那里的饮食才糟呢！”珈拉说。
“连一碗真正的肉汤都没有！”妈妈说。“他们做菜的手艺也真够糟！”
珈拉对于旅行感到厌倦了。她老是感到疲倦——这是最糟糕的事儿。苏菲来和他们住在一起；这对他们说来是一件愉快的事情。
丈母娘说：“你得承认，苏菲既精于管家，也懂得艺术。就她的家世来说，这是很不容易的。此外，她非常正派，绝对可靠。这一点，当珈拉躺在病床上，一天不如一天的时候，苏菲表现得特别明显。”
如果箱子真正是一只好箱子的话，那么它就应该很结实，否则它就应该完事。这箱子现在真的算完事了——珈拉死了。
“她是那么美！”妈妈说。“她跟古董完全不同，因为古董没有一件是完整的！珈拉是完整的——‘美’就应该是这样。”
阿尔夫勒得哭起来，妈妈也哭起来。他们两人都穿上丧服。她穿起丧服很好看，所以她一直穿着丧服，穿了很久。于是另一件悲痛的事情接上来了：阿尔夫勒得又结婚了。他跟苏菲结婚了；她的外表并不动人。
“他走向另一个极端！”丈母娘说，“他从最美走向最丑。他居然能把头一个妻子忘掉。男人真是靠不住。不过我的丈夫完全不是这样！他比我死得早。”
“皮格马利翁得到了珈拉苔娅！”阿尔夫勒得说。“是的，这是结婚曲中的话。我也对一尊美丽的塑像发生了爱情——它在我的怀抱中获得了生命。不过灵魂是上帝送给我们的一个安琪儿：她安慰我们，同情我们，使我们有高超的感觉；而这尊塑像的灵魂我现在才第一次发现和得到。苏菲！你并没有带着美丽的形体和光彩到我身边来——但是你已经够好了，你的美已经超过了必需的程度！主要的东西究竟还是主要的东西！你的到来教育了一个雕刻家。他的作品不过是泥土和灰尘；我们应该追寻那蕴藏在它内部的永恒的精神。可怜的珈拉！我们的一生不过是像一次旅行罢了！在天上，我们将通过彼此的同情聚集在一起，那时我们可能彼此达到一半的认识吧。”
“这话说得不太和善！”苏菲说，“这不像一个基督徒说的话！在天上人们是不结婚的；不过正如你说的一样，在那上边，灵魂通过彼此的同情而碰到一起，一切美的东西都在发展和提高，她的灵魂可能变得完美无缺，甚至比我的还要完美。那时——那时你将又会发生你在第一次恋爱时的那种赞叹声：美呀！美呀！”
这个小故事最先发表在《新的童话和故事集》第1卷第4部。安徒生在手记中写道：“《美》中那个寡妇的一些平庸、愚蠢、天真的话语基本上都是取自实际的生活。”但通过这个故事，安徒生作为一个童话作家，却提出了一个可能是他经常思考的一个问题：‘美’。在我们的生活中，丑和美、庸俗和高雅，表面和实质，经常混杂在一起，很难分辨。甚至这个故事中的“艺术家”阿尔夫勒得，也把庸俗当成美，而就是这样混过了一生，“感觉良好。”
