in a little provincial town，in the house of a man who owned his own home， the whole family was sitting together in a circle one evening，in the time of the year when people say “the evenings are drawing in”.the weather was still mild and warmth lamp was lighted；the long cur-tans hung down in front of the windows，by which stood many flower－pots；and outside there was the most beautiful moonshine．but they were not talking about this．they were talking about the old great stone which lay below in the courtyard， close by the kitchen door， and on which the maids often laid the cleaned copper kitchen utensils that they might dry in the sun，and where the children were fond of playing．it was，in fact，an old gravestone.
“yes，” said the master of the house， “i believe the stone comes from the old convent church； for from the old convent church yonder，which was taken down，the pulpit，the memorial boards，and the gravestones were sold．my father bought several of the latter，and they were cut in two to be used as paving-stones；but that old stone was left over， and has been lying in the courtyard ever since．”
“one can very well see that it is a gravestone，”bo－served the eldest of the children；“we can still see on it an hourglass and a piece of an angel；but the inscription which stood below it is almost quite effaced， except that you may read the name of preen，and a great s close be-hind it，and a little farther down the name of martha．but nothing more can be distinguished，and even that is only plain when it has been raining，or when we have washed the stone．” “on my word，that must be the gravestone of preen sane and his wife！” these words were spoken by an old man；so old，that he might well have been the grandfather of all who were present in the room．
“yes，they were one of the last pairs that were buried in the old churchyard of the convent． they were an honest old couple． i can remember them from the days of my boyhood. every one knew them，and every one es-teemed them． they were the oldest pair here in the town．the people declared that they had more than a tub－full of gold；and yet they went about very plainly dressed，in the coarsest stuffs， but always with splendidly clean linen．they were a fine old pair， preen and martha！when both of them sat on the bench at the top of the steep stone stairs in front of the house，with the old linden tree spreading its branches above them，and nodded at one in their kind gentle way，it seemed quite to do one good．they were very kind to the poor； they fed them and clothed them； and there was judgment in their benevo－lance and true christianity．”
the old woman died first： that day is still quite clear before my mind． i was a little boy， and had accompanied my father over there，and we were just there when she fell asleep．the old man was very much moved，and wept like a child．the body lay in the room next to the one where we sat； and he spoke to my father and to a few neighbours who were there， and said how lonely it would be now in his house， and how good and faithful she （his dead wife） had been， how many years they had wandered together through life， and how it had come about that they came to know each other and to fall in love． i was， as i have told you， a boy，and only stood by and listened to what the others said；but it filled me with quite a strange emotion to listen to the old man，and to watch how his cheeks gradually flushed red when he spoke of the days of their courtship， and told how beautiful she was， and how many little innocent pretexts he had invented to meet her．and then he talked of the wedding-day，and his eyes gleamed； he seemed to talk himself back into that time of joy． and yet she was lying in the next room—dead—an old woman； and he was an old man，speaking of the past days of hope！yes，yes，thus it is！
then i was but a child，and now i am old—as old as preen sane was then．time passes away，and all things change i can very well remember the day when she was buried，and how preen sane walked close behind the coffin． a few years before， the couple had caused their gravestone to be prepared， and their names to be engraved on it， with the inscription， all but the date． in the evening the stone was taken to the churchyard， and laid over the grave；and the year afterwards it was taken up，that old preen might be laid to rest beside his wife．
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they did not leave behind them anything like the wealth people had attributed to them：what there was went to families distantly related to them—to people of whom，until then， one had known nothing．the old wooden house，with the seat at the top of the steps， beneath the lime tree，was taken down by the corporation；it was too old and rot-ten to be left standing． afterwards， when the same fate be fell the convent church，and the graveyard was leveled，preen and martha's tombstone was sold，like everything else， to any one who would buy it； and now it has so happened that this stone was not broken in pieces and used，but that it still lies below in the yard as a scouring-bench for the maids and a plaything for the children． the high road now goes over the resting－place of old preen and his wife． no one thinks of them any more.”
and the old man who had told all this shook his head mournfully．
“forgotten！everything will be forgotten！” he said．
and then they spoke in the room of other things； but the youngest child，a boy with great serious eyes，mounted up on a chair behind the window－curtains， and looked out into the yard， where the moon was pouring its radiance over the old stone—the old stone that had always appeared to him so empty and flat，but which lay there now like a great leaf out of a book of chronicles. all that the boy had heard about old preen and his wife seemed to be in the stone；and he gazed at it， and looked at the pure bright moon and up into the clear air， and it seemed as though the countenance of the creator was beaming over the world．
“forgotten！ everything will be forgotten！” was repeated in the room．
but in that moment an invisible an invisible angel kissed the boy's forehead，and whispered to him：
“preserve the seed－corn that has been entrusted to the．guard it well till the time of ripeness！through the， my child， the obliterated inscription on the old tombstone shall be chronicled in golden letters to future generations！the old pair shall wander again arm in arm through the streets，and smile， and sit with their fresh healthy faces under the lime tree on the bench by the steep stairs， and nod at rich and poor． the seed－corn of this hour shall ripen in the course of time to a blooming poem．the beautiful and the good shall not be forgotten；it shall live on in legend and in song．”
老墓碑
在一个小乡镇里，有一个人自己拥有一幢房子。有一天晚上，他全家的人围坐在一起。这正是人们所常说的“夜长”的季节。这种时刻既温暖，又舒适。灯亮了；长长的窗帘拉下来了。窗子上摆着许多花盆；外面是一片美丽的月光。不过他们并不是在谈论这件事。他们是在谈论着一块古老的大石头。这块石头躺在院子里、紧靠着厨房门旁边。女佣人常常把擦过了的铜制的用具放在上面晒；孩子们也喜欢在上面玩耍。事实上它是一个古老的墓碑。
“是的，”房子的主人说，“我相信它是从那个拆除了的老修道院搬来的。人们把里面的宣讲台、纪念牌和墓碑全都卖了！我去世了的父亲买了好几块墓石，每块都打断了，当作铺道石用，不过这块墓石留下来了，一直躺在院子那儿没有动。”
“人们一眼就可以看出，这是一块墓石，”最大的一个孩子说，“我们仍然可以看出它上面刻得有一个滴漏和一个安琪儿的片断。不过它上面的字差不多全都模糊了，只剩下卜列本这个名字和后边的一个大字母s，以及离此更远一点的‘玛尔塔’！此外什么东西也看不见了。只有在下了雨，或者当我们把它洗净了以后，我们才能看得清楚。”
“天哪，这就是卜列本·斯万尼和他妻子的墓石！”一个老人插进来说。他是那么老，简直可以作为这所房子里所有的人的祖父。
“是的，他们是最后埋在这个老修道院墓地里的一对夫妇。他们从我小时起就是一对老好人。大家都认识他们，大家都尊重他们。他们是这小城里的一对元老。大家都说他们所有的金子一个桶也装不完。但是他们穿的衣服却非常朴素，总是粗料子做的；不过他们的桌布、被单等总是雪白的。他们——卜列本和玛尔塔——是一对可爱的老夫妇！当他们坐在屋子前面那个很高的石台阶上的一条凳子上时，老菩提树就把枝子罩在他们头上；他们和善地、温柔地对你点着头——这使你感到愉快。他们对穷人非常好，给他们饭吃，给他们衣服穿。他们的慈善行为充分地表示出他们的善意和真正的基督精神。”
“太太先去世！那一天我记得清清楚楚。我那时是一个很小的孩子，跟着爸爸一起到老卜列本家里去，那时她刚刚合上眼睛。这老头儿非常难过，哭得像一个小孩子。她的尸体还放在睡房里，离我们现在坐的这地方不远。他那时对我的爸爸和几个邻人说，他此后将会多么孤独，她曾经多么好，多么忠实，他们曾经怎样在一起生活了多少年，他们是怎样先认识的，然后又怎样相爱起来。我已经说过，我那时很小，只能站在旁边听。我听到这老人讲话，我也注意到，当他一讲起他们的订婚经过、她是怎样的美丽、他怎样找出许多天真的托词去会见她的时候，[他就活泼起来，]他的双颊就渐渐红润起来；这时我就感到一种异样的感情。接着他就谈起他结婚的那个日子；他的眼睛这时也发出闪光来。他似乎又回到那个快乐的年代里去了。但是她——一个老女人——却躺在隔壁房间里，死去了。他自己也是一个老头儿，谈论着过去那些充满了希望的日子！是的，是的，世事就是这样！”
“那时候我还不过是一个小孩子，不过现在我也老了，老了——像当时的卜列本·斯万尼一样。时间过去了，一切事情都改变了！我记得她入葬那天的情景：卜列本·斯万尼紧跟在棺材后边。好几年以前，这对夫妇就准备好了他们的墓碑，在那上面刻好了他们的名字和碑文——只是没有填上死的年月。在一天晚间，这墓碑被抬到教堂的墓地里去，放在坟上。一年以后，它又被揭开了，老卜列本又在他妻子的身边躺下去了。”
“他们不像人们所想象的和所讲的那样，身后并没有留下许多钱财。剩下的一点东西都送给了远房亲戚——直到那时人们才知道有这些亲戚。那座木房子——和它的台阶顶上菩提树下的一条凳子——已经被市政府拆除了，因为它太腐朽，不能再让它存留下去，后来那个修道院也遭受到同样的命运：那个墓地也铲平了，卜列本和玛尔塔的墓碑，像别的墓碑一样也卖给任何愿意买它的人了。现在事又凑巧，这块墓石居然没有被打碎，给人用掉；它却仍然躺在这院子里，作为女佣人放厨房用具和孩子们玩耍的地方。在卜列本和他的妻子安息的地上现在铺出了一条街道。谁也不再记起他们了。”
讲这故事的老人悲哀地摇摇头。
“被遗忘了！一切东西都会被遗忘的！”他说。
于是他们在这房间里谈起别的事情来。不过那个最小的孩子——那个有一双严肃的大眼睛的孩子——爬到窗帘后边的一个椅子上去，朝院子里眺望。月光明朗地正照在这块大墓石上——对他说来，这一直是一块空洞和单调的老石头。不过它现在躺在那儿像一整部历史中的一页。这孩子所听到的关于老卜列本和他的妻子的故事似乎就写在它上面。他望了望它，然后又望了望那个洁白的月亮，那个明朗高阔的天空。这很像造物主的面孔，向这整个的世界微笑。
“被遗忘了！一切东西都会被遗忘的！”这是房间里的人所说的一句话。
这时候，有一个看不见的安琪儿飞进来，吻了这孩子的前额，同时低声地对他说：“好好地保管着这颗藏在你身体内的种子吧，一直到它成熟的时候！通过你，我的孩子，那块老墓石上模糊的碑文，它的每个字，将会射出金光，传到后代！那对老年夫妇将会手挽着手，又在古老的街上走过，微笑着，现出他们新鲜和健康的面孔，在菩提树下，在那个高台阶上的凳子上坐着，对过往的人点头——不论是贫或是富。从这时开始，这颗种子，到了适当的时候，将会成熟，开出花来，成为一首诗。美的和善的东西是永远不会给遗忘的；它在传说和歌谣中将会获得永恒的生命。”
这是一首散文诗，最初是用德文发表在《巴伐利亚历书》上，后来才在丹麦的刊物《学校与家庭》上发表。“墓碑”代表一对老夫妇所度过的一生，很平凡，但也充满了美和善。墓碑虽然流落到他方，作为铺路石之用，但这并不说明：“一切东西都会被遗忘！”同样，人生将会在新的一代传续下去，被永远地记忆着。“美和善的东西是永远不会给遗忘的，它在传说和歌谣中将获得永恒的生命。”