by the high road in the forest lay a lonely farm； the road went right through the farm－yard．the sun shone down，and all the windows were open．in the house was bustle and movement；but in the yard，in an arbor of blossoming lilac，stood an open coffin．a dead man had been carried out here，and he was to be buried this morning． nobody stood by the coffin and looked sorrowfully at the dead man； no one shed a tear for him：his face was covered with a white cloth，and under his head lay a great thick book，whose leaves consisted of whole sheets of gray paper，and on each leaf lay a faded flower．it was a comma－pelt herbarium，gathered by him in various places；it was to be buried with him， for so he had wished it． with each flower a chapter in his life was associated．

“who is the dead man？” we asked；and the answer was：

“the old student from upscale．they say he was once a brisk lad， and studied the old languages，and sang， and even wrote poems．then something happened to him that made him turn his thoughts to brandy，and take to it；and when at last he had ruined his health， he came out here into the country， where somebody paid for his board and lodging．he was as gentle as a child， except when the dark mood came upon him；but when it came he became like a giant，and then ran about in the woods like a hunted stag；but when we once got him home again，and prevailed with him so far that he opened the book with the dried plants，he often sat whole days， and looked sometimes at one plant and sometimes at another，and at times the tears rolled over his cheeks：heaven knows what he was thinking of．but he begged us to put the book into the coffin， and now he lies there，and in a little while the lid will be nailed down，and he will have his quiet rest in the grave．”

the face－cloth was raised，and there was peace upon the features of the dead man， and a sunbeam played upon it；a swallow shot with arrow flight into the arbor，and turned rapidly， and twittered over the dead man's head．

what a strange feeling it is—and we have doubtless all experienced it—that of turning over old letters of the days of our youth！—a whole life seems to come up with them，with all its hopes and sorrows. how many persons with whom we were intimate in those days，are as it were dead to us！and yet they are alive， but for a long time we have not thought of them —of them whom we then thought to hold fast for ages， and with whom we were to share sorrow and joy.

here the withered oak-leaf in the book reminded the owner of the friend，the school fellow，who was to be a friend for life： he fastened the green leaf in the student's cap in the green wood， when the bond was made “for life”：where does he live now？ the leaf is preserved， but the friendship has perished！and here is a foreign hot-house plant，too delicate for the gardens of the north；the leaves almost seem to keep their fragrance still. she gave it to him，the young lady in the nobleman's garden．

here is the water-rose， which he plucked himself，and moistened with salt tears—the rose of the sweet waiters. and here is a nettle—what tale may its leaves have to tell？ what were his thoughts when he plucked it and kept it？

here is a lily of the valley from the solitude's of the forest．here's an evergreen from the flower－pot of the tavern；and here's a sharp bare blade of grass.

the blooming lilac waves its fresh fragrant blossoms over the dead man's head， and the swallow flies past again．“pee－wit！ pee－wit！”and now the men come with nails and hammers，and the lid is laid over the dead man， that his head may rest upon the dumb book—put away—forgotten！

一本不说话的书

在公路旁的一个树林里，有一个孤独的农庄。人们沿着公路可以一直走进这农家的大院子里去。太阳在这儿照着；所有的窗子都是开着的。房子里面一片忙碌；但在院子里，在一个开满了花的紫丁香组成的凉亭下，停着一口敞着的棺材。一个死人已经躺在里面，这天上午就要入葬。棺材旁没有守着任何一个悼念死者的人；没有任何人对他流一滴眼泪。他的面孔是用一块白布盖着的，他的头底下垫着一大本厚书。书页是由整张的灰纸叠成的；每一页上夹着一朵萎谢了的花。这是一本完整的植物标本，在许多不同的地方搜集得来的。它要陪死者一起被埋葬掉，因为这是他的遗嘱。每朵花都联系到他生命的一章。

“死者是谁呢？”我们问。回答是：“他是乌卜萨拉的一个老学生人们说：他曾经是一个活泼的年轻人；他懂得古代的文字，他会唱歌，他甚至还写诗。但是由于他曾经遭遇到某种事故，他把他的思想和他的生命沉浸在烧酒里。当他的健康最后也毁在酒里的时候，他就搬到这个乡下来。别人供给他膳宿。只要阴郁的情绪不来袭击他的时候，他温和得像一个孩子；但是一旦来了坏情绪，他就成了一个不驯的巨人，在森林里跑来跑去，像一只被追逐着的雄鹿。不过，只要我们把他喊回家来，让他看看这本装满了干植物的书，他就能坐一整天，一会儿看看这种植物，一会儿看看那种植物。有时他的眼泪就沿着他的脸滚下来：只有上帝知道他在想什么东西！但是他要求把这本书装进他的棺材里去。因此现在它就躺在那里面。不一会儿棺材盖子就会钉上，那么他将在坟墓里得到他的安息。”

他的面布揭开了。死人的面上露出一种和平的表情。一丝太阳光射在它上面。一只燕子像箭似地飞进凉亭里来，很快地掉转身，在死人的头上喃喃地叫了几声。

我们都知道，假如我们把我们年轻时代的旧信拿出来读读，我们会产生一种多么奇怪的感觉啊！整个的一生和这生命中的希望和哀愁都会浮现出来。我们在那时来往很亲密的一些人，现在该是有多少已经死去了啊！然而他们还是活着的，只不过我们长久没有想到他们罢了。那时我们以为永远会跟他们亲密地生活在一起，会跟他们一起共甘苦。

这书里面有一片枯萎了的栎树叶子。它使这书的主人记起一个老朋友——一个老同学，一个终身的友伴。他在一个绿树林里面把这片叶子插在学生帽上，从那时起他们结为“终身的”朋友。现在他住在什么地方呢？这片叶子被保存了下来，但是友情已经忘记了！

这儿有一棵异国的、在温室里培养出来的植物；对于北国的花园说来，它是太娇嫩了；它的叶子似乎还保留着它的香气。这是一位贵族花园里的小姐把它摘下来送给他的。

这儿有一朵睡莲。它是他亲手摘下来的，并且用他的咸眼泪把它润湿过——这朵在甜水里生长的睡莲。

这儿有一根荨麻——它的叶子说明什么呢？当他把它采下来和把它保存下来的时候，他心中在想些什么呢？

这儿有一朵幽居在森林里的铃兰花；这儿有一朵从酒店的花盆里摘下来的金银花；这儿有一片尖尖的草叶！

开满了花的紫丁香在死者的头上轻轻垂下它新鲜的、芬芳的花簇。燕子又飞过去了。“唧唧！唧唧！”这时人们拿着钉子和锤子走来了。

棺材盖在死者身上盖下了——他的头在这本不说话的书上安息。埋葬了——遗忘了！

这是一首散文诗，收进安徒生于1851年出版的游记《在瑞典》一书中，为该书的第18章。这本“不说话的书”实际上说了许多话——说明了一个“老学生”的一生：“假如我们把我们年轻时代的旧信拿出来读读，我们会产生一种多么奇怪的感觉啊！整个的一生和这生命中的希望和哀愁都会浮现出来。”正因为那个“老学生”就要把保留着他“一生的希望和哀愁”的那本书装进他的棺材里去……那么他将在坟墓里得到他的安息。