Something

by Hans Christian Andersen（1858）

　　MEAN to be somebody， and do something useful in the world，“ said the eldest of five brothers. ”I don't care how humble my position is， so that I can only do some good， which will be something. I intend to be a brickmaker； bricks are always wanted， and I shall be really doing something.“

　　“Your 'something' is not enough for me，” said the second brother； “what you talk of doing is nothing at all， it is journeyman's work， or might even be done by a machine. No！ I should prefer to be a builder at once， there is something real in that. A man gains a position， he becomes a citizen， has his own sign， his own house of call for his workmen： so I shall be a builder. If all goes well， in time I shall become a master， and have my own journeymen， and my wife will be treated as a master's wife. This is what I call something.”

　　“I call it all nothing，” said the third； “not in reality any position. There are many in a town far above a master builder in position. You may be an upright man， but even as a master you will only be ranked among common men. I know better what to do than that. I will be an architect， which will place me among those who possess riches and intellect， and who speculate in art. I shall certainly have to rise by my own endeavors from a bricklayer's laborer， or as a carpenter's apprentice—a lad wearing a paper cap， although I now wear a silk hat. I shall have to fetch beer and spirits for the journeymen， and they will call me 'thou，' which will be an insult. I shall endure it， however， for I shall look upon it all as a mere representation， a masquerade， a mummery， which to-morrow， that is， when I myself as a journeyman， shall have served my time， will vanish， and I shall go my way， and all that has passed will be nothing to me. Then I shall enter the academy， and get instructed in drawing， and be called an architect. I may even attain to rank， and have something placed before or after my name， and I shall build as others have done before me. By this there will be always 'something' to make me remembered， and is not that worth living for？”

　　“Not in my opinion，” said the fourth； “I will never follow the lead of others， and only imitate what they have done. I will be a genius， and become GREater than all of you together. I will create a new style of building， and introduce a plan for erecting houses suitable to the climate， with material easily obtained in the country， and thus suit national feeling and the developments of the age， besides building a storey for my own genius.”

　　“But supposing the climate and the material are not good for much，” said the fifth brother， “that would be very unfortunate for you， and have an influence over your experiments. Nationality may assert itself until it becomes affectation， and the developments of a century may run wild， as youth often does. I see clearly that none of you will ever really be anything worth notice， however you may now fancy it. But do as you like， I shall not imitate you. I mean to keep clear of all these things， and criticize what you do. In every action something imperfect may be discovered， something not right， which I shall make it my business to find out and expose； that will be something， I fancy.” And he kept his word， and became a critic.

　　People said of this fifth brother， “There is something very precise about him； he has a good head-piece， but he does nothing.” And on that very account they thought he must be something.

　　Now， you see， this is a little history which will never end； as long as the world exists， there will always be men like these five brothers. And what became of them？ Were they each nothing or something？ You shall hear； it is quite a history.

　　the eldest brother， he who fabricated bricks， soon discovered that each brick， when finished， brought him in a small coin， if only a copper one； and many copper pieces， if placed one upon another， can be changed into a shining shilling； and at whatever door a person knocks， who has a number of these in his hands， whether it be the baker's， the butcher's， or the tailor's， the door flies open， and he can get all he wants. So you see the value of bricks. Some of the bricks， however， crumbled to pieces， or were broken， but the elder brother found a use for even these.

　　On the high bank of earth， which formed a dyke on the sea-coast， a poor woman named Margaret wished to build herself a house， so all the imperfect bricks were given to her， and a few whole ones with them； for the eldest brother was a kind-hearted man， although he never achieved anything higher than making bricks. The poor woman built herself a little house—it was small and narrow， and the window was quite crooked， the door too low， and the straw roof might have been better thatched. But still it was a shelter， and from within you could look far over the sea， which dashed wildly against the sea-wall on which the little house was built. The salt waves sprinkled their white foam over it， but it stood firm， and remained long after he who had given the bricks to build it was dead and buried.

　　the second brother of course knew better how to build than poor Margaret， for he served an apprenticeship to learn it. When his time was up， he packed up his knapsack， and went on his travels， singing the journeyman's song，—

　　While young， I can wander without a care，And build new houses everywhere；Fair and bright are my dreams of home，Always thought of wherever I roam.

　　Hurrah for a workman's life of glee！

　　there's a loved one at home who thinks of me；Home and friends I can ne'er forget，And I mean to be a master yet.

　　And that is what he did. On his return home， he became a master builder，—built one house after another in the town， till they formed quite a street， which， when finished， became really an ornament to the town. These houses built a house for him in return， which was to be his own. But how can houses build a house？ If the houses were asked， they could not answer； but the people would understand， and say， “Certainly the street built his house for him.” It was not very large， and the floor was of lime； but when he danced with his bride on the lime-covered floor， it was to him white and shining， and from every stone in the wall flowers seemed to spring forth and decorate the room as with the richest tapestry. It was really a pretty house， and in it were a happy pair. The flag of the corporation fluttered before it， and the journeymen and apprentices shouted “Hurrah.” He had gained his position， he had made himself something， and at last he died， which was “something” too.

　　Now we come to the architect， the third brother， who had been first a carpenter's apprentice， had worn a cap， and served as an errand boy， but afterwards went to the academy， and risen to be an architect， a high and noble gentleman. Ah yes， the houses of the new street， which the brother who was a master builder erected， may have built his house for him， but the street received its name from the architect， and the handsomest house in the street became his property. That was something， and he was “something，” for he had a list of titles before and after his name. His children were called “wellborn，” and when he died， his widow was treated as a lady of position， and that was “something.” His name remained always written at the corner of the street， and lived in every one's mouth as its name. Yes， this also was “something.”

　　And what about the genius of the family—the fourth brother—who wanted to invent something new and original？ He tried to build a lofty storey himself， but it fell to pieces， and he fell with it and broke his neck. However， he had a splendid funeral， with the city flags and music in the procession； flowers were strewn on the pavement， and three orations were spoken over his grave， each one longer than the other. He would have liked this very much during his life， as well as the poems about him in the papers， for he liked nothing so well as to be talked of. A monument was also erected over his grave. It was only another storey over him， but that was “something，” Now he was dead， like the three other brothers.

　　the youngest—the critic—outlived them all， which was quite right for him. It gave him the opportunity of having the last word， which to him was of GREat importance. People always said he had a good head-piece. At last his hour came， and he died， and arrived at the gates of heaven. Souls always enter these gates in pairs； so he found himself standing and waiting for admission with another； and who should it be but old dame Margaret， from the house on the dyke！ “It is evidently for the sake of contrast that I and this wretched soul should arrive here exactly at the same time，” said the critic. “Pray who are you， my good woman？” said he； “do you want to get in here too？”

　　And the old woman curtsied as well as she could； she thought it must be St. Peter himself who spoke to her. “I am a poor old woman，” she said， “without my family. I am old Margaret， that lived in the house on the dyke.”

　　“Well， and what have you done—what GREat deed have you performed down below？”

　　“I have done nothing at all in the world that could give me a claim to have these doors open for me，” she said. “It would be only through mercy that I can be allowed to slip in through the gate.”

　　“In what manner did you leave the world？” he asked， just for the sake of saying something； for it made him feel very weary to stand there and wait.

　　“How I left the world？” she replied； “why， I can scarcely tell you. During the last years of my life I was sick and miserable， and I was unable to bear creeping out of bed suddenly into the frost and cold. Last winter was a hard winter， but I have got over it all now. There were a few mild days， as your honor， no doubt， knows. The ice lay thickly on the lake， as far one could see. The people came from the town， and walked upon it， and they say there were dancing and skating upon it， I believe， and a GREat feasting. The sound of beautiful music came into my poor little room where I lay. Towards evening， when the moon rose beautifully， though not yet in her full splendor， I glanced from my bed over the wide sea； and there， just where the sea and sky met， rose a curious white cloud. I lay looking at the cloud till I observed a little black spot in the middle of it， which gradually grew larger and larger， and then I knew what it meant—I am old and experienced； and although this token is not often seen， I knew it， and a shuddering seized me. Twice in my life had I seen this same thing， and I knew that there would be an awful storm， with a spring tide， which would overwhelm the poor people who were now out on the ice， drinking， dancing， and making merry. Young and old， the whole city， were there； who was to warn them， if no one noticed the sign， or knew what it meant as I did？ I was so alarmed， that I felt more strength and life than I had done for some time. I got out of bed， and reached the window； I could not crawl any farther from weakness and exhaustion； but I managed to open the window. I saw the people outside running and jumping about on the ice； I saw the beautiful flags waving in the wind； I heard the boys shouting， 'Hurrah！' and the lads and lasses singing， and everything full of merriment and joy. But there was the white cloud with the black spot hanging over them. I cried out as loudly as I could， but no one heard me； I was too far off from the people. Soon would the storm burst， the ice break， and all who were on it be irretrievably lost. They could not hear me， and to go to them was quite out of my power. Oh， if I could only get them safe on land！ Then came the thought， as if from heaven， that I would rather set fire to my bed， and let the house be burnt down， than that so many people should perish miserably. I got a light， and in a few moments the red flames leaped up as a beacon to them. I escaped fortunately as far as the threshold of the door； but there I fell down and remained： I could go no farther. The flames rushed out towards me， flickered on the window， and rose high above the roof. The people on the ice became aware of the fire， and ran as fast as possible to help a poor sick woman， who， as they thought， was being burnt to death. There was not one who did not run. I heard them coming， and I also at the same time was conscious of a rush of air and a sound like the roar of heavy artillery. The spring flood was lifting the ice covering， which brake into a thousand pieces. But the people had reached the sea-wall， where the sparks were flying round. I had saved them all； but I suppose I could not survive the cold and fright； so I came up here to the gates of paradise. I am told they are open to poor creatures such as I am， and I have now no house left on earth； but I do not think that will give me a claim to be admitted here.”

　　then the gates were opened， and an angel led the old woman in. She had dropped one little straw out of her straw bed， when she set it on fire to save the lives of so many. It had been changed into the purest gold—into gold that constantly GREw and expanded into flowers and fruit of immortal beauty.

　　“See，” said the angel， pointing to the wonderful straw， “this is what the poor woman has brought. What dost thou bring？ I know thou hast accomplished nothing， not even made a single brick. Even if thou couldst return， and at least produce so much， very likely， when made， the brick would be useless， unless done with a good will， which is always something. But thou canst not return to earth， and I can do nothing for thee.”

　　then the poor soul， the old mother who had lived in the house on the dyke， pleaded for him. She said， “His brother made all the stone and bricks， and sent them to me to build my poor little dwelling， which was a GREat deal to do for a poor woman like me. Could not all these bricks and pieces be as a wall of stone to prevail for him？ It is an act of mercy； he is wanting it now； and here is the very fountain of mercy.”

　　“then，” said the angel， “thy brother， he who has been looked upon as the meanest of you all， he whose honest deeds to thee appeared so humble，—it is he who has sent you this heavenly gift. Thou shalt not be turned away. Thou shalt have permission to stand without the gate and reflect， and repent of thy life on earth； but thou shalt not be admitted here until thou hast performed one good deed of repentance， which will indeed for thee be something.”

　　“I could have expressed that better，” thought the critic； but he did not say it aloud， which for him was SOMETHING， after all.

　　“我要做出点样子来！”五兄弟中最年长的那位说，“我要对世界有用处，那怕是最微不足道的地位，只要有好处就行，我干一样，就会干出点样子来。我要烧砖，这东西人是不能少的，这样我总算做出点样子来了！”“可是你做的那点样子太不足道了！”二弟这么说，“你那点样子几乎等於零；那是打下手的活，可以用机器做。不行，最好还是当泥水匠，那总算有点样子，我要做泥水匠。这是一种地位！当上了泥水匠，就可以进入行会，成市民，可以挂起自己的幡子，进自家本行的小酒馆。是的，要是干得不错，我还可以雇学徒工，被人称做师傅1，我的妻子也就成了师母。这才像做出了点样子！”“那根本不算甚么！”老三说道，“那是排在等级之外的，城市里等级多着呢，师傅上面一大串，你可以是个忠诚的老好人，可是即使当上了师傅，你还只不过是大家说的”普通人“！

　　不行，我知道一种更好一点的！我要去做建筑师，踏进艺术界、思想界，在精神世界里上到高一些的层次里去。诚然我得从下面开始，是的，我可以直说：我开始可以干木匠小工，戴顶便帽，虽然我习惯戴丝帽，为那些普通学徒跑腿拿啤酒、拿烧酒，他们会直呼我为你2，这很不体面！但是我可以把这一切当成一场化装表演，是一张带脸谱的执照！转天——也就是说，我正式成了学徒之后，我便会走我自己的路，别人跟我没关系！我进艺术学院、学绘画，别人称我为建筑设计师—— 这才算做出了点样子！这是了不起的！我可以跻身“高贵的、尊敬先生”的级别里3.是啊，名字前、名字后都加上了这么点头衔，我不停地建，不断地建，就像我前面的那些人一样！总有点甚么可以信赖的东西！这一切才是有了点样子！“”可是我却不在乎你那点样子！“老四说道，”我不随大流，不愿人家干甚么我就干甚么。我要成为一个天才，比你们加在一起都更能干一些！我要创造新的风格4，为建筑而创意，要适合本国的气候和材料、本国的民族性、我们时代的发展，上面再盖上一层留给我自己的天才！“”可是要是气候和材料都不行又怎么办呢！“第五个说道，”那就糟了，因为这是有影响的！至於民族性嘛，那可以随意被人夸张成为虚假的东西；时代的发展会令你发狂，就像青年人常常发狂那样。我可以看得出，你们谁也不能真正做出点甚么样子来的，不管你们自己怎么想。不过想干甚么便干你们的，我不想学你们，我要站在局外，我要把你们所干的事研究一番！甚么事情总有不对头的地方，我要挑剔出来，评说一番，这才是做出了点样子！“

　　他就这样做了，人们在谈到这位老五的时候说道：“他肯定有点名堂！头脑很好使唤！可是他不做事！”——不过正是这样，他才有点样子。

　　瞧，这只不过是一小段故事。然而，只要世界存在，它就没有个结尾！

　　可是，这五兄弟有个下文没有呢？这算不上甚么样子！听下去，故事可好玩呢！

　　大哥哥，那个烧砖的，感觉到每烧好一块砖，从砖那儿就滚出一小枚铜板。可是把许多小铜板摞在一起，就变成了一块亮堂堂的银币。拿上它随便往那儿敲，麵包房、肉店、五金店，是啊，不论敲到哪儿，哪儿的大门便打开了，可以得到自己要用的东西。瞧，砖就能有这样的本事！有的砖也可能碎掉，或者从中断掉，可是这样的砖也是有用的。

　　海堤那边玛格丽特老妈妈，那贫寒的妇人，非常想砌一间小屋；她得到了所有那些破砖，还有几块整的，因为老大哥的心肠很好，尽管他干的事只不过是做砖。贫苦妇人自己砌起了房子。屋子很窄，有一扇窗子还装歪了，门也太矮，草顶也可以铺得更好一些。但总算是一个蔽身之所，从那儿还可以看到海外远方，大海凶猛地冲击着海堤；鹹涩的水花溅撒在屋子上。那个烧了那些砖的人死了离开了人世，那所屋子今天还在那里。

　　二哥，是啊，他现在能与众不同地乾泥水活儿了。要知道，他就是学这种活儿的。在他学徒工期满测试活儿完成了以后，他便背上行囊，唱起手工匠的歌来：

　　我要跑，趁着我还年轻力壮，到外面去把房屋建；手艺是我的钱袋，年轻的心是我的幸福；我要重返故里，我对我心爱的人说过！

　　妙啊！一个勤劳的手工匠要做出点样子并不难5！

　　他做到了。在城里，在他当了师傅回来的时候，他一所房子挨着一所房子地造，整整造了一条街。这街建完了，看去很漂亮，给城市添了光彩。於是这些房子为他建了一所小屋，归他自己所有。可是房子怎么会建小屋呢？是啊，问问它们好了！它们不回答，可是人民回答了，说：“是的，不错，那条街看来是为他建了他的屋子！”的确不大，泥土铺的地面。可是当他和他的新娘在上面跳舞的时候，地面却变得光滑，像打了蜡一样；从墙上每一块石头里都冒出一朵花，漂亮得就像铺过最值钱的贴面一样。是一所很精巧的小屋，一对幸福的夫妇。行会的旗幡在外面飘扬，学徒工和小工喊道：“妙啊！是啊，真是做出了点样子！”后来他去世了！这也真有点样子！现在再说建筑设计师，老三，他先当了木工的学徒，戴上了便帽，当差到处跑。但是经过艺术学院，他升为建筑设计师，成了“高贵的、尊敬的先生”！是啊，要是说那条街的房子曾为他的哥哥，那位泥水匠师傅，造了一所房子的话，那么现在那条街就以这位兄弟的名字命了名，这算有了点样子。他做出了点样子，他的名字前名字后有了一大串头衔；他的孩子被称为尊贵的孩子；他去世后，他的遗孀也成了有地位的寡妇——是那么回事！他的名字今天还在街角上，在人们的嘴边上挂着，作为街名——是的，真有了点样子！

　　现在轮到说那位天才，第四位哥哥了，那位想搞出点新名堂，想有点出人头地，想上面再加上一层的那一位。可是他多出的那一层塌了，他摔了下来，摔断了脖子。——不过行会为他很像样的出了殡；打着行会的旗幡，还有乐队。报纸刊登关於他去世的文章还特别做了花边，在街头的桥上还挂了花环。为他念了三篇悼词，一篇比一篇长一大截；这会让他很高兴的，因为他非常喜欢被人谈论。坟头上竖了一块纪念碑，只有一层，但它总是有点样子的。

　　现在他和其他三位哥哥一样地死掉了。可是那最后一个，那个要研究一番他的诸位哥哥所干的事的那一个，他活的时间长过了其他四位，你知道这是最恰当不过的。因为这样他便可以作出定论，作定论对他是至关重要的。你知道他是有好使唤的头脑的！人们是这样说的。后来他也寿终正寝了，他死了来到了天国的大门。这儿总是一对一对来的！他和另外一个也想进天国门的魂灵一起到了那儿，那人正是海堤小屋的玛格丽特老妈妈。“这肯定是为了加强对比，我才和这个可怜的魂灵同时来到这里！”这位研究专家说道。“噢，她是谁？这小老太婆！她也要进这里面去吗？”他问道。

　　老妇人尽可能地恭恭敬敬向他行了个屈膝礼，她以为站在她面前说话的是圣彼得6呢。“我是一个贫寒的可怜人，甚么亲人都没有！海堤上住的那个老玛格丽特！”“噢，她在世上做了甚么，干了甚么事？”“在世上我甚么事也没有干！没有甚么像样的东西可以令天国之门为我打开！如果真允许我进到里面去，那对我真是最大的恩德了！”“她是怎么离开这个世界的？”他问道。为了找点话说，因为站在那儿等，很令他心烦。“是啊，我是怎么离开的，我真不清楚！要知道，最后几年我病得不成样子。后来，我大概连爬下床，爬到那冰雪遍地的寒冷的外面都做不到了。那是一个极寒冷的冬天，不过现在我已经战胜它了。有几天风雪平静极了，但是却冷得要命，您尊贵的大人一定知道。从海滩往外看，一望无际的大海都为冰雪所覆盖，城里人全出来跑到冰上面；那是他们所谓的滑冰，冰上跳舞。我相信那边还有音乐和许多食品；音乐声在我的那个破屋子里躺着就能清楚地听到。后来到了傍晚，月亮升起来了，不过还苍白无力。我在我的床上透过窗子一直看到海滩上，在远处，在天海交接的地方，飘来了一块奇怪的白云。我躺在那里看着它，看着这块云的中心处的那个黑点。这黑点越来越大，马上我就明白是甚么意思了。我年迈，有经验，尽管那样的徵兆人们是不常见的。我知道它，害怕起来！以前我一生里曾经两次看到过这样的事。我知道，马上便会有可怕的风暴和狂浪击来，它会淹没外边那些这阵子正在那里喝酒、跳蹦、欢乐的可怜人。老老少少，全城的人你知道都在那儿。要是谁也没有看出，谁也不知道我现在知道的情况，那谁去警告他们呢。我害怕极了，我多年来没有像现在这样有活力！我从床上下来，来到窗前，再远的地方我没力去了；可是窗子我还是打开了，可以看到那边人们在冰上跑，在蹦跳，看见彩旗飘扬，听到孩子们高声喊叫喝采，姑娘和小伙子们在歌唱，大家快活极了。然而那白云带着中心的那黑圈越升越高；我尽我自己最大的力量大声喊叫，可是没有人听见我，我离开他们太远了。很快风暴便要来临，冰便要破裂，那边的人全都会沉下去无法得救。他们听不见我，我又不可能到他们那里去；但是我却能把他们引到陆地上来！这时上帝让我想到把我的床单点燃，宁可让屋子烧掉，也不能让这么多人惨死。我点燃了火，於是冒起了红色的火焰——是的，我及时出了门，可是我在门外倒下了，再也不行了！火舌向我伸来，从窗子伸出，盖过了屋子。他们在那边看见了，全都尽快地奔跑过来，来帮助我这可怜人，他们以为我被火围在里面了，所有的人都跑了过来。我听到他们跑来了，我也听见空中怎么突然一下子呼啸起来；我听到轰隆的巨响，就像重炮的声音一样，狂飙掀起了冰块，冰块碎裂。不过他们已到达了海堤，火星溅到了我的身上。我把他们都保住了，可是我再忍受不住那寒冷和受到的那惊恐，於是我便来到这天国的大门。他们说，这门也会为我这么一个可怜的人开启的！现在下面海堤上我已经没有屋子了，可是这里却没有我的入口。”

　　这时，天国的门打开了，天使把老妇人引了进去。她的一根谷草掉落在外面，这谷草是她用来铺床，是她点燃用来拯救那许多人的，现在变成纯金的了，不过是在变幻的金子，它长出了许多最美丽的花饰。“瞧，这是那位贫寒妇人带来的！”天使说道。“可你带来了甚么？是的，我当然知道，你甚么也没有干，连一块砖都没有做过。你可以再回去，至少带点甚么来。这是不行的，只要你做点甚么，有个善意，那总是像点样子的；可是你不能回去了，我帮不了你甚么！”

　　这时，那贫苦的魂灵，海堤上的妇人为他求乞了：“他的哥哥先前把好多碎石碎砖送给我，我的那间简陋的屋子全是用那些砖盖的，对我这个可怜人真是天大的恩德！那些碎砖碎块是不是可以为他顶算一块砖？这是一种善事！现在他需要它，这里不正是善行之家吗！”“你的哥哥，他，那个你说的最没出息的人。”天使说道，“他，那个在你看来他的最忠诚勤劳只不过是最藐小的事的人，现在却为你进天国的门尽了力。不把你撵走，你可以在这外面呆着，想一想，改正一下你在下面的生活。但是在你做出点好事——做出点样子之前，你是进不了门的！”“这话我可以讲得更好一些！”这位研究家想道，不过他没有大声说出来，这已经算是做出点样子来了。

　　1丹麦处在封建社会时期的时候，手工业存在着严格的行会制度，只有在把持行会的人认可时，手工业艺人才能成为师傅，加入同业公会，僱佣小工。有一些手工艺人虽然很有本事，但在不为行会把持人认可时，不得加入同业公会，不得雇工，这种手工艺人叫“自由师傅”。安徒生的父亲便是做鞋的自由师傅。

　　2“你”是与“您”相异的不够尊重的称号。参见《飞箱》注3.3这里指当上艺术学院的教授。

　　4这里指的是丹麦艺术史家豪伊恩（1798-1870）在1850年前后所倡导风行的民族风格。

　　5安徒生自己所作的《手工艺人之歌》的一段。他曾於1854年1月28日在“工人协会”周年纪念会上朗颂过这首诗的全文。

　　6欧洲民间常说把守天堂大门的是耶苏的信徒圣彼得。