安徒生童話:the Old Street Lamp老路燈

the Old Street Lamp

by Hans Christian Andersen（1847）

DID you ever hear the story of the old street lamp？ It is not remarkably interesting， but for once in a way you may as well listen to it. It was a most respectable old lamp， which had seen many， many years of service， and now was to retire with a pension. It was this evening at its post for the last time， giving light to the street. His feelings were something like those of an old dancer at the theatre， who is dancing for the last time， and knows that on the morrow she will be in her garret， alone and forgotten. The lamp had very GREat anxiety about the next day， for he knew that he had to appear for the first time at the town hall， to be inspected by the mayor and the council， who were to decide if he were fit for further service or not；—whether the lamp was good enough to be used to light the inhabitants of one of the suburbs， or in the country， at some factory； and if not， it would be sent at once to an iron foundry， to be melted down. In this latter case it might be turned into anything， and he wondered very much whether he would then be able to remember that he had once been a street lamp， and it troubled him exceedingly. Whatever might happen， one thing seemed certain， that he would be separated from the watchman and his wife， whose family he looked upon as his own. The lamp had first been hung up on that very evening that the watchman， then a robust young man， had entered upon the duties of his office. Ah， well， it was a very long time since one became a lamp and the other a watchman. His wife had a little pride in those days； she seldom condescended to glance at the lamp， excepting when she passed by in the evening， never in the daytime. But in later years， when all these，—the watchman， the wife， and the lamp— had grown old， she had attended to it， cleaned it， and supplied it with oil. The old people were thoroughly honest， they had never cheated the lamp of a single drop of the oil provided for it.

This was the lamp's last night in the street， and to-morrow he must go to the town-hall，—two very dark things to think of. No wonder he did not burn brightly. Many other thoughts also passed through his mind. How many persons he had lighted on their way， and how much he had seen； as much， very likely， as the mayor and corporation themselves！ None of these thoughts were uttered aloud， however； for he was a good， honorable old lamp， who would not willingly do harm to any one， especially to those in authority. As many things were recalled to his mind， the light would FLASH up with sudden brightness； he had， at such moments， a conviction that he would be remembered. “There was a handsome young man once，” thought he； “it is certainly a long while ago， but I remember he had a little note， written on pink paper with a gold edge； the writing was elegant， evidently a lady's hand： twice he read it through， and kissed it， and then looked up at me， with eyes that said quite plainly， 'I am the happiest of men！' Only he and I know what was written on this his first letter from his lady-love. Ah， yes， and there was another pair of eyes that I remember，—it is really wonderful how the thoughts jump from one thing to another！ A funeral passed through the street； a young and beautiful woman lay on a bier， decked with garlands of flowers， and attended by torches， which quite overpowered my light. All along the street stood the people from the houses， in crowds， ready to join the procession. But when the torches had passed from before me， and I could look round， I saw one person alone， standing， leaning against my post， and weeping. Never shall I forget the sorrowful eyes that looked up at me.” These and similar reflections occupied the old street lamp， on this the last time that his light would shine. The sentry， when he is relieved from his post， knows at least who will succeed him， and may whisper a few words to him， but the lamp did not know his successor， or he could have given him a few hints respecting rain， or mist， and could have informed him how far the moon's rays would rest on the pavement， and from which side the wind generally blew， and so on.

On the bridge over the canal stood three persons， who wished to recommend themselves to the lamp， for they thought he could give the office to whomsoever he chose. The first was a herring's head， which could emit light in the darkness. He remarked that it would be a GREat saving of oil if they placed him on the lamp-post. Number two was a piece of rotten wood， which also shines in the dark. He considered himself descended from an old stem， once the pride of the forest. The third was a glow-worm， and how he found his way there the lamp could not imagine， yet there he was， and could really give light as well as the others. But the rotten wood and the herring's head declared most solemnly， by all they held sacred， that the glow-worm only gave light at certain times， and must not be allowed to compete with themselves. The old lamp assured them that not one of them could give sufficient light to fill the position of a street lamp； but they would believe nothing he said. And when they discovered that he had not the power of naming his successor， they said they were very glad to hear it， for the lamp was too old and worn-out to make a proper choice.

At this moment the wind came rushing round the corner of the street， and through the air-holes of the old lamp. “What is this I hear？” said he； “that you are going away to-morrow？ Is this evening the last time we shall meet？ Then I must present you with a farewell gift. I will blow into your brain， so that in future you shall not only be able to remember all that you have seen or heard in the past， but your light within shall be so bright， that you shall be able to understand all that is said or done in your presence.”

“Oh， that is really a very， very GREat gift，” said the old lamp； “I thank you most heartily. I only hope I shall not be melted down.”

“That is not likely to happen yet，” said the wind； “and I will also blow a memory into you， so that should you receive other similar presents your old age will pass very pleasantly.”

“That is if I am not melted down，” said the lamp. “But should I in that case still retain my memory？”

“Do be reasonable， old lamp，” said the wind， puffing away.

At this moment the moon burst forth from the clouds. “What will you give the old lamp？” asked the wind.

“I can give nothing，” she replied； “I am on the wane， and no lamps have ever given me light while I have frequently shone upon them.” And with these words the moon hid herself again behind the clouds， that she might be saved from further importunities. Just then a drop fell upon the lamp， from the roof of the house， but the drop explained that he was a gift from those gray clouds， and perhaps the best of all gifts. “I shall penetrate you so thoroughly，” he said， “that you will have the power of becoming rusty， and， if you wish it， to crumble into dust in one night.”

But this seemed to the lamp a very shabby present， and the wind thought so too. “Does no one give any more？ Will no one give any more？” shouted the breath of the wind， as loud as it could. Then a bright falling star came down， leaving a broad， luminous streak behind it.

“What was that？” cried the herring's head. “Did not a star fall？ I really believe it went into the lamp. Certainly， when such high-born personages try for the office， we may as well say 'Good-night，' and go home.”

And so they did， all three， while the old lamp threw a wonderfully strong light all around him.

“This is a glorious gift，” said he； “the bright stars have always been a joy to me， and have always shone more brilliantly than I ever could shine， though I have tried with my whole might； and now they have noticed me， a poor old lamp， and have sent me a gift that will enable me to see clearly everything that I remember， as if it still stood before me， and to be seen by all those who love me. And herein lies the truest pleasure， for joy which we cannot share with others is only half enjoyed.”

“That sentiment does you honor，” said the wind； “but for this purpose wax lights will be necessary. If these are not lighted in you， your particular faculties will not benefit others in the least. The stars have not thought of this； they suppose that you and every other light must be a wax taper： but I must go down now.” So he laid himself to rest.

“Wax tapers， indeed！” said the lamp， “I have never yet had these， nor is it likely I ever shall. If I could only be sure of not being melted down！”

the next day. Well， perhaps we had better pass over the next day. The evening had come， and the lamp was resting in a grandfather's chair， and guess where！ Why， at the old watchman's house. He had begged， as a favor， that the mayor and corporation would allow him to keep the street lamp， in consideration of his long and faithful service， as he had himself hung it up and lit it on the day he first commenced his duties， four-and-twenty years ago. He looked upon it almost as his own child； he had no children， so the lamp was given to him. There it lay in the GREat arm-chair near to the warm stove. It seemed almost as if it had grown larger， for it appeared quite to fill the chair. The old people sat at their supper， casting friendly glances at the old lamp， whom they would willingly have admitted to a place at the table. It is quite true that they dwelt in a cellar， two yards deep in the earth， and they had to cross a stone passage to get to their room， but within it was warm and comfortable and strips of list had been nailed round the door. The bed and the little window had curtains， and everything looked clean and neat. On the window seat stood two curious flower-pots which a sailor， named Christian， had brought over from the East or West Indies. They were of clay， and in the form of two elephants， with open backs； they were hollow and filled with earth， and through the open space flowers bloomed. In one grew some very fine chives or leeks； this was the kitchen garden. The other elephant， which contained a beautiful geranium， they called their flower garden. On the wall hung a large colored print， representing the congress of Vienna， and all the kings and emperors at once. A clock， with heavy weights， hung on the wall and went “tick， tick，” steadily enough； yet it was always rather too fast， which， however， the old people said was better than being too slow. They were now eating their supper， while the old street lamp， as we have heard， lay in the grandfather's arm-chair near the stove. It seemed to the lamp as if the whole world had turned round； but after a while the old watchman looked at the lamp， and spoke of what they had both gone through together，—in rain and in fog； during the short bright nights of summer， or in the long winter nights， through the drifting snow-storms， when he longed to be at home in the cellar. Then the lamp felt it was all right again. He saw everything that had happened quite clearly， as if it were passing before him. Surely the wind had given him an excellent gift. The old people were very active and industrious， they were never idle for even a single hour. On Sunday afternoons they would bring out some books， generally a book of travels which they were very fond of. The old man would read aloud about Africa， with its great forests and the wild elephants， while his wife would listen attentively， stealing a glance now and then at the clay elephants， which served as flower-pots.

“I can almost imagine I am seeing it all，” she said； and then how the lamp wished for a wax taper to be lighted in him， for then the old woman would have seen the smallest detail as clearly as he did himself. The lofty trees， with their thickly entwined branches， the naked negroes on horseback， and whole herds of elephants treading down bamboo thickets with their broad， heavy feet.

“What is the use of all my capabilities，” sighed the old lamp， “when I cannot obtain any wax lights； they have only oil and tallow here， and these will not do.” One day a GREat heap of wax-candle ends found their way into the cellar. The larger pieces were burnt， and the smaller ones the old woman kept for waxing her thread. So there were now candles enough， but it never occurred to any one to put a little piece in the lamp.

“Here I am now with my rare powers，” thought the lamp， “I have faculties within me， but I cannot share them； they do not know that I could cover these white walls with beautiful tapestry， or change them into noble forests， or， indeed， to anything else they might wish for.” The lamp， however， was always kept clean and shining in a corner where it attracted all eyes. Strangers looked upon it as lumber， but the old people did not care for that； they loved the lamp. One day—it was the watchman's birthday—the old woman approached the lamp， smiling to herself， and said， “I will have an illumination to-day in honor of my old man.” And the lamp rattled in his metal frame， for he thought， “Now at last I shall have a light within me，” but after all no wax light was placed in the lamp， but oil as usual. The lamp burned through the whole evening， and began to perceive too clearly that the gift of the stars would remain a hidden treasure all his life. Then he had a dream； for， to one with his faculties， dreaming was no difficulty. It appeared to him that the old people were dead， and that he had been taken to the iron foundry to be melted down. It caused him quite as much anxiety as on the day when he had been called upon to appear before the mayor and the council at the town-hall. But though he had been endowed with the power of falling into decay from rust when he pleased， he did not make use of it. He was therefore put into the melting-furnace and changed into as elegant an iron candlestick as you could wish to see， one intended to hold a wax taper. The candlestick was in the form of an angel holding a nosegay， in the centre of which the wax taper was to be placed. It was to stand on a GREen writing table， in a very pleasant room； many books were scattered about， and splendid paintings hung on the walls. The owner of the room was a poet， and a man of intellect； everything he thought or wrote was pictured around him. Nature showed herself to him sometimes in the dark forests， at others in cheerful meadows where the storks were strutting about， or on the deck of a ship sailing across the foaming sea with the clear， blue sky above， or at night the glittering stars. “What powers I possess！” said the lamp， awaking from his dream； “I could almost wish to be melted down； but no， that must not be while the old people live. They love me for myself alone， they keep me bright， and supply me with oil. I am as well off as the picture of the congress， in which they take so much pleasure.” And from that time he felt at rest in himself， and not more so than such an honorable old lamp really deserved to be.

你聽見過那個老路燈的故事嗎？它並不是怎麼特別有趣，不過聽它一次也沒有關係。

這是一個非常和善的老路燈。它服務了許多許多年，但是現在沒有人要它了。現在是它最後一晚待在桿子上，照着這條街。它的心情很像一個跳芭蕾舞的老舞女：現在是她最後一晚登臺，她知道明天她就要回到頂樓1裏去了。這個“明天”引起路燈的恐怖，因爲它知道它將第一次要在市政府出現，被“36位先生”2審查一番，看它是不是還能繼續服務。

1即屋頂下的那間低矮的房間。一般是當作儲藏室使用的。只有窮學生和藝術家住在裏面。

2這是丹麥市政府裏參議員的總數。

那時就要決定：要不要把它送去照亮一座橋，還是送到鄉下的一個工廠裏去，也可能直接送到一個鍊鐵廠去被熔掉。在這種情形下，它可能被改造成爲任何東西。不過，它不知道，它是不是還能記得它曾經一度做過路燈——這問題使它感到非常煩惱。

不管情形怎樣，它將會跟那個守夜人和他的妻子分開——它一直把他們當做自己的家屬。它當路燈的時候也正是他當守夜人的時候。那時他的老婆頗有點自負。她只有在晚上走過路燈的時候，才瞧它一眼；在白天她是不睬它的。不過最近幾年間，他們三個人——守夜人、老婆和路燈——都老了；這位太太也來照料它，洗擦它，在它裏面加加油。這對夫婦是非常誠實的；他們從來不揩路燈的一滴油。

現在是路燈在街上的最後一晚了；明天它就得到市政府去。這兩件事情它一想起就難過！人們不難想像，它現在點燃的勁頭不大。不過它的腦子裏面也起了許多別的感想。它該是看過多少東西，該是照過多少東西啊，可能它看過的東西還比得上那“36位先生”呢。不過它不願意講出來，因爲它是一個和善的老路燈。它不願意觸怒任何人，更不願意觸怒那些當權的人。它想起許多事情；偶爾之間，它的亮光就閃一下，好像它有這樣的感覺：“是的，人們也會記得我！曾經有一位美貌的年輕人——是的，那是很久很久以前的事了！他拿着一封信走來——一封寫在有金邊的、粉紅色的紙上的信，它的字跡是那麼美麗，像是一位小姐的手筆。他把它讀了兩次，吻了它一下，然後擡起頭來看着我，他的眼睛在說：”我是一個最幸福的人！“只有他和我知道他的戀人的第一封信所寫的是甚麼東西。我還記起了另一對眼睛。說來也真妙，我們的思想會那麼漫無邊際！街上有一個盛大的送葬的行列。有一個年輕美麗的少婦躺在一個棺材裏。棺材擱在鋪滿了天鵝絨的、蓋滿了花朵和花圈的柩車上，許多火炬幾乎把我的眼睛都弄昏了。整個人行道上都擠滿了人，他們都跟在柩車後面。不過當火炬看不見了的時候，我向周圍望了一眼：還有一個人倚着路燈桿子在哭泣呢。我永遠也忘記不了那雙望着我的悲傷的眼睛！”

許多這類的回憶在老路燈的思想中閃過——這個今晚最後一次照着的老路燈。

一個要下班的哨兵最低限度會知道誰來接他的班，還可以和接班的人交代幾句話。但是路燈卻不知道它的繼承人；它可能供給一點關於雨和霧這類事情的情況，關於月亮在人行道上能照多遠、風兒多半會從哪方吹來這類材料。

有三個東西站在排水溝的橋上，它們把自己介紹給路燈，因爲它們以爲路燈可以讓位給它們。一個是青魚的頭——它在黑暗中可以發出亮光。它覺得如果有它待在路燈桿子上，人們可以節省許多油。另一個是一塊朽木——它也可以發出閃光。它對自己說，它的光起碼比魚頭的光要亮一點；何況它還是森林中一株最漂亮的樹的最後遺體。第三個是螢火蟲。這一位是甚麼地方的，路燈想像不出來。但是它卻居然來了，而且還在發着光。不過朽木和青魚頭髮誓說，螢火蟲只能在一定的時刻內發光，因此不能考慮它。

老路燈說它們哪個也發不出足夠的光，來完成一個路燈的任務。但是它們都不相信這話。當它們聽說老路燈自己不能把位置讓給別人的時候，它們很高興，覺得這是因爲路燈老糊塗了，不會選擇繼承人。

在這同時，風兒從街角那邊走來，向老路燈的通風口裏吹，並且說：“我剛纔聽到的這些話是甚麼意思呢？難道你明天就要離開嗎？難道這就是我看到你的最後一晚麼？那麼我送給你一件禮物吧！我將用一種特殊的方式向你的腦蓋骨裏吹，使你不僅能清楚地記得你看見過或聽到過的一切東西，同時還要使你有一個清醒的頭腦，使你能看到人們在你面前談到或講到的事情。”“是的，那真是太好了！”老路燈說。“我感謝你，只要我不會被熔掉！”“大概還不會的，”風兒說。“現在我將吹起你的記憶。如果你能多有幾件這樣的禮物，你的老年就可以過得很愉快了！”“只要我不會被熔掉！”路燈說。“也許，即使如此，你還能保證我有記憶吧！”“老路燈，請放得有理智些吧！”風兒說。於是風就吹起來。這時月亮走出來了。　　　　“你將送點甚麼禮物呢？”風兒問。“我甚麼也不送，”月亮說。“我快要缺口了。燈兒從來不借光給我。相反地，我倒常常借光給他。”

說完這話以後，月亮就又鑽到雲塊後面去了，它不願意人們來麻煩它。

有一滴水從通風口裏落進來。這滴水好像是從屋頂上滴下來的。不過它說它是從烏雲上滴下來的，而且還有一件禮物——可能是一件最好的禮物。“我將浸潤你的全身，使得你——如果你願意的話——獲得一種力量，叫你一夜就把全身鏽掉，化成灰塵。”

不過路燈認爲這是一件很不好的禮物；風兒也同意這種看法。“再沒有更好的嗎？再沒有更好的嗎？”風呼呼地使勁吹着。

這時一顆明亮的流星落下來了，形成一條長長的光帶。“那是甚麼？”青魚頭大聲說。“不是一顆星落下來了麼？我以爲它落到路燈裏去了！如果地位這樣高的人物也來要他的位置，那麼我們最好還是回去睡覺的好！”

它這樣做了，其餘的兩位也這樣做了！不過老路燈忽然發出一道強烈的光來。“這是一件可愛的禮物，”它說。“我一直非常喜愛這些明星，他們發出那麼美麗的光，不管我怎樣努力和爭取，我自己是怎麼也做不到的；他們居然注意起我這個寒磣的老路燈來，派一顆星送一件禮物給我，使我有一種機能把我所能記得的和看見的東西也讓我所喜歡的人能夠看到。這纔是真正的快樂哩。因爲凡是我們不能跟別人共享的快樂，只能算是一半的快樂。”“這是一種值得尊敬的想法！”風兒說。“不過你不知道，爲了達到這種目的，蠟燭是必要的。如果你的身體裏沒有燃着一支蠟燭，別人也不會看見你的任何東西。星星沒有想到這一點，他們以爲凡是發光的東西，身體裏都有一根蠟燭。但是我現在困了！”風兒說，“我要睡了！”於是風就睡下了。

第二天——是的，我們可以把第二天跳過去。第二天晚上，路燈躺在一張椅子上。這是在甚麼地方呢？在那個老守夜人的屋子裏。他曾經請求過那“36位先生”准許他保留住這盞燈，作爲他長期忠實服務的一種報酬。他們對他的要求大笑了一通；他們把這路燈送給了他。現在這燈就躺在一個溫暖的火爐旁的靠椅上。路燈彷彿比以前長得更大了，因爲它幾乎把整個椅子都塞滿了。

這對老夫婦正在坐着吃晚飯，同時用溫柔的眼光望着這個老路燈。他們倒很想讓它坐上飯桌呢。

他們住的地方事實上是一個地窖，比地面要低兩碼。要走進這房間裏去，人們得通過一個有石子鋪地的過道。不過這裏是很舒適的；門上貼着許多布條，一切東西都顯得清潔和整齊；牀的周圍和小窗上都掛着簾子。窗臺上放着兩個奇怪的花盆——是水手克利斯仙從東印度或西印度帶回來的。

那是用泥土燒成的兩隻象。這兩隻動物都沒有背；不過代替背的是人們放在它們身軀中的土，土裏還開出了花：一隻象里長出美麗的青蔥——這是這對老年人的菜園；另一隻象里長出一棵大天竺葵——這是他們的花園。牆上掛着一張大幅的彩色畫，描寫維也納會議1的情景。你一眼就可以看到所有的國王和皇帝。那架有沉重的鉛擺的、波爾霍爾姆鍾2在“滴答！滴答！”地走着，而它老是走得太快。不過這對老年人說，這比走得慢要好得多。

1維也納會議，是法國拿破崙帝國崩潰的時候，英、俄、普、奧等歐洲國家於1814-1815年在維也納召開的重新瓜分歐洲領土的會議。但這個會議沒有解決甚麼問題。參加的要人們只是開跳舞會，舒服了一陣子。

2波爾霍爾姆（Bornholm）是丹麥的一個小島，以制鐘着名。

他們吃着晚飯。這個路燈，正如剛纔說過了的，是躺在火爐旁邊的一個靠椅上。對路燈說來，這就好像整個世界翻了一個面。不過這個老守夜人望着它，談起他們兩人在雨和霧中，在短短的明朗的夏夜裏，在那雪花紛飛、使人想要回到地窖裏的家去的那些生活經歷，這時候，老路燈的頭腦就又變得清醒起來。那些生活又清清楚楚地在他面前出現。是的，風兒把它弄得亮起來了。

這對老人是很樸素和勤儉的。他們沒有浪費過一分鐘。在星期日下午他們總是拿出一兩本書來讀——一般說來，總是遊記一類的讀物。老頭兒高聲地讀着關於非洲、關於藏有大森林和野象的故事。老太太總是注意地聽着，同時偷偷地望着那對作爲花盆的泥像。“我幾乎像是親眼看到過的一樣！”她說。

這時路燈特別希望它身體裏能有一根蠟燭在燃着，好叫這個老太太像它一樣能把一切東西都看得清清楚楚：那些枝丫交叉在一起的、高大的樹啦，騎在馬上的裸體黑人啦，用又寬又笨的腳在蘆葦和灌木上踩過去的一羣一羣的象啦。“如果我沒有蠟燭，那麼我的機能又有甚麼用呢？”路燈歎了一口氣。“他們只有清油和牛油燭，這個不成！”

有一天，地窖裏有了一紮蠟燭頭，頂大的那幾根被點着了；最小的那幾根老太太要在做針線時用來擦線。這樣一來，蠟燭倒是有了，但是沒有人想起放一小根到路燈裏面去。“我現在和我稀有的機能全在這兒！”路燈想。“我身體裏面甚麼都有，但是我沒有辦法讓他們來分享！他們不知道，我能在這白色的牆上變出最美麗的壁氈、豐茂的森林，和他們所能希望看到的一切東西。”

但是路燈待在牆角里，被擦得乾乾淨淨，弄得整整齊齊，引起所有的眼睛注意。人們說它是一件老廢料；不過那對老年夫婦倒不在乎，仍然愛這路燈。

有一天老守夜人的生日到來了。老太太走近這盞燈，溫和地微笑了一下，說：“我今晚要爲他把燈點一下！”

路燈把它的鐵蓋嘎嘎地響了一下，因爲它想：“現在我要爲他們亮起來了。”但是它裏面只是加進了油，而沒有放蠟燭。路燈點了一整晚，只有現在它才懂得，星星所送給它的禮物——一切禮物之中最好一件禮物——恐怕只能算是它餘生中一件專用的“祕寶”了。這時它做了一個夢——凡是一個有稀有機能的人，做夢是不太難的。它夢見這對老夫婦都死了，它自己則被送進一個鐵鋪裏被熔掉了。它驚恐的程度，跟它那天要到市政府去、要被那“36位先生”檢查時差不多。雖然假如它願意的話，它有一種能力可以使自己生鏽和化爲灰塵，但是它並不這樣做。它卻走進熔爐裏去，被鑄成了一架可以插蠟燭的最漂亮的燭臺。它的形狀是一個抱着花束的安琪兒；而蠟燭就插在這個花束的中央。這燭臺在一張綠色的寫字檯上佔了一個地位。這房間是非常舒適的；房間裏有許多書籍，牆上掛着許多名畫。這是一個詩人的房間。他所想的和寫的東西都在它的周圍展開。這房間有時變成深鬱的森林，有時變成太陽光照着的、有顴鳥在漫步的草原，有時變成在波濤洶涌的海上航行着的船。“我有多麼奇妙的機能啊！”老路燈醒來的時候說。“我幾乎想要熔化了！不成！只要這對老夫婦還活着，我決不能這樣做！他們因爲我是一個路燈才愛我。我像他們的一個孩子。

他們洗擦我，餵我油吃。我現在情況好得像整個維也納會議，1這真是一件了不起的事情！“

從那時候起，它享受着內心的平安，而這個和善的老路燈也應當有這種享受。

1這裏安徒生說的是一句諷刺的話。

（1847年）

這個故事最初收集在《新的童話》第二卷第一輯裏。1847年哥本哈根的舊式路燈被新式的燃煤氣的路燈所代替，因此安徒生就寫了這篇故事。舊的路燈被淘汰了，成爲廢鐵，面臨進熔鐵爐的命運——當然這也不一定是最悲慘的命運：它可能重新被鑄成一架可以插蠟燭的最漂亮的燭臺。老路燈就在做着這樣的夢。但守夜人與它長期相處，對它產生了感情，把它擦得“乾乾淨淨”，讓它“躺在一個溫暖的火爐邊的靠椅上”，“用溫柔的眼光望着”它，很想“讓它坐上飯桌吃”。老路燈做了那些美妙而荒唐的夢後，最後也不想要熔化了！“不成！只要這對老夫婦還活着，我決不能這樣做！他們因爲我是一個路燈才愛我。我像他們的一個孩子……這真是一件了不起的事情！”但是這種“了不起的事情，”一般講求實際的人恐怕很難理解；更說不上欣賞。