EAR the grass-covered rampart which encircles Copenhagen lies a great red house. Balsams and other flowers greet us from the long rows of windows in the house, whose interior is sufficiently poverty-stricken; and poor and old are the people who inhabit it. The building is the Warton Almshouse.
Look! at the window there leans an old maid. She plucks the withered leaf from the balsam, and looks at the grass-covered rampart, on which many children are playing. What is the old maid thinking of? A whole life drama is unfolding itself before her inward gaze.
“The poor little children, how happy they are—how merrily they play and romp together! What red cheeks and what angels’ eyes! but they have no shoes nor stockings. They dance on the green rampart, just on the place where, according to the old story, the ground always sank in, and where a sportive, frolicsome child had been lured by means of flowers, toys and sweetmeats into an open grave ready dug for it, and which was afterwards closed over the child; and from that moment, the old story says, the ground gave way no longer, the mound remained firm and fast, and was quickly covered with the green turf. The little people who now play on that spot know nothing of the old tale, else would they fancy they heard a child crying deep below the earth, and the dewdrops on each blade of grass would be to them tears of woe. Nor do they know anything of the Danish King who here, in the face of the coming foe, took an oath before all his trembling courtiers that he would hold out with the citizens of his capital, and die here in his nest; they know nothing of the men who have fought here, or of the women who from here have drenched with boiling water the enemy, clad in white, and ’biding in the snow to surprise the city.
“No! the poor little ones are playing with light, childish spirits. Play on, play on, thou little maiden! Soon the years will come—yes, those glorious years. The priestly hands have been laid on the candidates for confirmation; hand in hand they walk on the green rampart. Thou hast a white frock on; it has cost thy mother much labor, and yet it is only cut down for thee out of an old larger dress! You will also wear a red shawl; and what if it hang too far down? People will only see how large, how very large it is. You are thinking of your dress, and of the Giver of all good—so glorious is it to wander on the green rampart!
“And the years roll by; they have no lack of dark days, but you have your cheerful young spirit, and you have gained a friend—you know not how. You met, oh, how often! You walk together on the rampart in the fresh spring, on the high days and holidays, when all the world come out to walk upon the ramparts, and all the bells of the church steeples seem to be singing a song of praise for the coming spring.
“Scarcely have the violets come forth, but there on the rampart, just opposite the beautiful Castle of Rosenberg, there is a tree bright with the first green buds. Every year this tree sends forth fresh green shoots. Alas! It is not so with the human heart! Dark mists, more in number than those that cover the northern skies, cloud the human heart. Poor child! thy friend’s bridal chamber is a black coffin, and thou becomest an old maid. From the almshouse window, behind the balsams, thou shalt look on the merry children at play, and shalt see thine own history renewed.”
And that is the life drama that passes before the old maid while she looks out upon the rampart, the green, sunny rampart, where the children, with their red cheeks and bare shoeless feet, are rejoicing merrily, like the other free little birds.

（注：瓦尔都（Ｖａｒｔｏｕ）是哥本哈根的一个收留孤寡人的养老院，建筑于１７００年。）
面对着围着哥本哈根的、生满了绿草的城堡，是一幢高大的红房子。它的窗子很多，窗子上种着许多凤仙花和青蒿一类的植物。房子内部是一副穷相；里边住的也全是一些穷苦的老人。这就是“瓦尔都养老院”。
看吧！一位老小姐倚着窗槛站着，她摘下凤仙花的一起枯叶，同时望着城堡上的绿草。许多小孩子就在那上面玩耍。这位老小姐有什么感想呢？这时一出人生的戏剧就在她的心里展开了。
“这些贫苦的孩子们，他们玩得多么快乐啊！多么红润的小脸蛋！多么幸福的眼睛！但是他们没有鞋子，也没有袜子穿。他们在这青翠的城堡上跳舞。根据一个古老的传说，多少年以前，这儿的土老是在崩塌，直到一个天真的小宝宝，带着她的花儿和玩具被诱到这个敞
着的坟墓里去才停止；当她正在玩和吃着东西的时候，城堡就筑起来了（注：丹麦诗人蒂勒（Ｊ．Ｍ．Ｔｈｉｅｌｅ）编的《丹麦民间传说》（Ｄａｎｓｋｅ?Eｏｌｋｅｓａｇｎ）中有这样一段记载：“很久很久以前，人们在哥本哈根周围建立了一个城堡。城堡一直在不停地崩颓，后来简直无法使它巩固下来，最后大家把一个天真的女孩子放在一张椅子上，在她面前放一个桌子，上面摆着许多玩具和糖果。当她正在玩耍的时候，１２个石匠在她上面建起一座拱门。大家在音乐和喊声中把土堆到这拱门上，筑起一个城堡，从此以后城堡再也不崩塌了。”）。从那一忽儿起，这座城堡一直是坚固的；很快它上面就盖满了美丽的绿草。小孩子们一点也不知道这个故事，否则他们就会听到那个孩子还在地底下哭，就会觉得草上的露珠是热烘烘的眼泪。他们也不知道那个丹麦国王的故事：当敌人在外边围城的时候，他骑着马走过这儿，作了一个誓言，说他要死在他的岗位上（注：指丹麦国王佛列得里克三世（?EｒｅｄｅｒｉｃｋⅡ，１６０９—１６７０）。这儿是指１６５９年２月１１日，瑞典军队围攻哥本哈根，但没有夺下该城。）。那时许多男人和女人齐集拢来，对那些穿着白衣服，在雪地里爬城的敌人泼下滚烫的开水。
“这些贫穷的孩子玩得非常快乐。
“玩吧，你这位小小的姑娘！岁月不久就要到来——是的，那些幸福的岁月：那些准备去受坚信礼的青年男女手挽着手漫步着。你穿着一件白色的长衣——这对你的妈妈说来真是费了不少的气力，虽然它是一件宽大的旧衣服改出来的。你还披着一条红披肩；它拖得太长了，所以人们一看就知道它是太宽大，太宽大了！你在想着你的打扮，想着善良的上帝。在城堡上漫步是多么痛快啊！
“岁月带着许多阴暗的日子——但也带着青春的心情——走过去了。你有了一个男朋友，你不知道是怎样认识他的。你们常常会面。你们在早春的日子里到城堡上去散步，那时教堂的钟为伟大的祈祷日发出悠扬的声音。紫罗兰花还没有开，但是罗森堡宫外有一株树已经发出新的绿芽。你们就在这儿停下步来。这株树每年生出绿枝，心在人类的胸中可不是这样！一层层阴暗的云块在它上面浮过去，比在北国上空所见到的还要多。
“可怜的孩子，你的未婚夫的新房变成了一具棺材，而你自己也变成了一个老小姐。在瓦尔都，你从凤仙花的后面看见了这些玩耍着的孩子，也看见了你一生的历史的重演。”
这就是当这位老小姐望着城堡的时候，在她眼前所展开的一出人生的戏剧。太阳光在城堡上照着，红脸蛋的、没有袜子和鞋子穿的孩子们像天空的飞鸟一样，在那上面发出欢乐的叫声。（１８４７年）
这篇散文发表于１８４７年一个名为《加埃亚》的杂志上。瓦尔都是哥本哈根的一个收留孤寡人的养老院，建于１７００年。文中的女主人公可能曾经也有过快乐的童年，甚至有一个很快乐的青年期。但这个快乐的青年期很短，以悲剧告终，最后她只好在这个孤寡人的养老院结束她的老年。人生就是如此。但活着究竟还是幸福的，因为还有一些美好的回忆不时涌上心来。这值得称诵。这篇散文实际上是一首颂歌——但是一首充满了惆怅的颂歌。