《世界上最优美的散文——人生短篇》第25/25页

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接下来，它被放到一只快速旋转着的转盘上，团团旋转起来，那种感觉就像自己就要被 甩得粉身碎骨了。在旋转之中，似乎有一种神力把它紧紧地『揉』捏在一起，因此，它虽然经历 了头晕目眩的痛苦，但它觉着自己开始变成了一种新的形状。

然后它被一只陌生的手放进了炉灶。周围有熊熊烈火在燃烧——那可真是痛心刺骨啊— —灼热的程度比盛夏时节河边最毒的太阳还要厉害很多。不过黏土始终十分坚强，经受了一 切考验，挺了过来，并且对自己的伟大前途依然坚信不疑。它想：“既然他们对我下了这么 大的功夫，那我肯定会有一番美好前程的。看来我如果不是去充当庙堂殿宇里的华美装饰， 就是将成为帝王几案上珍贵的花瓶。”

在烘焙完毕之后，黏土被从炉灶中取出了出来，被放置在一块木板上面，让它在晴空之 下、凉风之中慢慢冷却。既然经历了一番磨难，那离得到回报的日子也不太远了。

木板的旁边便有一泓潭水，水不深也不清，但水面上却波纹平静，能把潭边的事物如实 地反映出来。当黏土被人从板上拿起的时候，它终于第一次看到了自己的新形状，这就是它 历经千辛万苦后所得的回报，它的全部心愿的成果——只是一只很普通的花盆，线条粗糙， 又红又丑。在这个时候，它才发现自己既不可能荣登帝王之家，也不可能进入艺术的殿堂， 因为自己的容貌既不高雅也不华贵，于是它开始埋怨那位无名的制造者：“你为什么要把我 塑造成这个样子？”

于是，它一连几天都闷闷不乐。接着它被装上了土，还有另外一件东西——它弄不清是 什么，但灰黄粗糙，样子很难看——也被『插』到了土的中间，然后用东西盖上。这个新的屈辱 激起了黏土的更大的不满：“我的不幸可以说是到了极点，被人用来装脏土垃圾了。我这一 辈子算是没希望了。”

但是，不久之后，黏土又被人放进了一间温室，这里有和煦的阳光照『射』，还有人经常给 它洒水。于是就在它一天天耐心等待的时候，有一种变化终于来到了。有种东西正在它体内 萌动——莫非是希望重生？但它对此仍然不能理解，也不明白这希望意味着什么。

有一天，黏土又被人从原地搬起，送进了一座宏伟的教堂。它多年的梦想这次终于实现 了。它在世上真的是有所作为的。这时，空中有阵阵音乐，周围有百花飘香。但它仍然不明 白这一切。于是它就向旁边跟它一模一样的另一个黏土器皿悄声问道：“为什么我被他们放 在这里，为什么所有的人都在向我们凝望？”那个器皿答说：“怎么，你还不知道吗？你现 在身上正怀着一棵状如王杖的美丽百合。它的花瓣如同皎皎白雪，它的花心如同灿烂纯金。 人们的目光之所以集中到这里，是因为这株花是世界上最了不起的，而它的根就在你的心里 。”

这时黏土感到心满意足了，它暗暗地感激它的制造者，因为自己虽然只是一只普通泥土 器皿，但里面装的却是一件无比珍贵的宝物。

a handful of clay

henry van dyke

there was a handful of clay in the bank of a river. it was only ccmon clay , coarse and heavy; but it had high thoughts of its own value, and wonderful dre ams of the great place which it was to fill in the world when the time came for its virtues to be discovered.

overhead, in the spring sunshine, the trees whispered together of the glory which descended upon them when the delicate blossoms and leaves began to expand, and the forest glowed the fair, clear colors, as if the dust of thousands of ru bies and emeralds were hanging, in soft clouds, above the earth.

the flowers, surprised with the joy of beauty, bent their heads to one anoth er, as the wind caressed them, and said: “sisters, how lovely you have becce. you make the day bright."

the river, glad of new strength and rejoicing in the unison of all its water s, murmured to the shores in music, telling of its release from icy fetters, its swift flight from the snowclad mountains, and the mighty work to which it was hurrying — the wheels of many mills to be turned, and great ships to be floate d to the sea.

waiting blindly in its bed, the clay ccforted itself with lofty hopes. “my time will cce," it said. “i was not made to be hidden forever. glory and beau ty and honor are ccing to me in due season."

one day the clay felt itself taken from the place where it had waited so lon g. a fiat blade of iron passed beneath it, and lifted it, and tossed it into a c art with other lumps of clay, and it was carried far away, as it seemed, over a rough and stony road. but it was not afraid, nor discouraged, for it said to its elf: “this is necessary. the path to glory is always rugged. now i am on my way to play a great part in the world."

but the hard journey was nothing, ccpared with the tribulation and distress that came after it. the clay was put into a trough and mixed and beaten and sti rred and trampled. it seemed almost unbearable. but there was consolation in the thought that something very fine and noble was certainly ccing out of all this trouble. the clay felt sure that, if it could only wait long enough, a wonderfu l reward was in store for it.

then it was put upon a swiftly turning wheel, and whirled around until it se emed as if it must fly into a thousand pieces. a strange power pressed it and mo ulded it, as it revolved, and through all the dizziness and pain it felt that it was taking a new form.

then an unknown hand put it into an oven, and fires were kindled about it — fierce and penetrating — hotter than all the heats of summer that had ever bro oded upon the bank of the river. but through all, the clay held itself together and endured its trials, in the confidence of a great future. “surely," it thoug ht, “i am intended for something very splendid, since such pains are taken with me. perhaps i am fashioned for the ornament of a temple, or a precious vase for the table of a king."

at last the baking was finished. the clay was taken from the furnace and set down upon a board, in the cool air, under the blue sky. the tribulation was pas sed. the reward was at hand.

close beside the board there was a pool of water, not very deep, nor very cl ear, but calm enough to reflect, with impartial truth, every image that felt upo n it. there for the first time, as it was lifted from the board, the clay saw it s new shape, the reward of all its patience and pain, the consummation of its ho pes — a ccmon flowerpot straight and stiff, red and ugly. and then it felt t hat it was not destined for a king's house, nor for a palace of art, because it was made without glory or beauty or honor; and it murmured against the unknown m aker, saying, “why hast thou made me thus."

many days it passed in sullen discontent. then it was filled with earth, and something — it knew not what — but something rough and brown and deadlookin g, was thrust into the middle of the earth and covered over. the clay rebelled a t this new disgrace. “this is the worst of all that has happened to me, to be f illed with dirt and rubbish. surely i am a failure."

but presently it was set in a greenhouse, where the sunlight fell warm upon it, and water was sprinkled over it, and day by day as it waited, a change began to cce to it. something was stirring within it — a new hope. still it was ign orant, and knew not what the new hope meant.

one day the clay was lifted again from its place, and carried into a great c hurch. its dream was ccing true after all. it had a fine part to play in the wo rld. glorious music flowed over it. it was surrounded with flowers. still it cou ld not understand. so it whispered to another vessel of clay, like itself, close beside it, “why have they set me here. why do all the people look towards us." and the other vessel answered, “do you not know. you are carrying a royal scep ter of lilies. their petals are white as snow, and the heart of them is like pur e gold. the people look this way because the flower is the most wonderful in the world. and the root of it is in your heart."

then the clay was content, and silently thanked its maker, because, though a n earthen vessel, it held so great a treasure.



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