There was once a little man whose mother made him a beautiful suit of clothes. It was green and gold and woven so that I cannot describe how delicate and fine it was, and there was a tie of orange 1)fluffiness that tied up under his chin. And the buttons, in their newness, shone like stars. He was proud and pleased by his suit beyond measure, and stood before the long 2)looking-glass when first he put it on, so astonished and delighted with it that he could hardly turn himself away.
He wanted to wear it everywhere and show it to all sorts of people. But his mother told him, “No.” She told him he must take great care of his suit, for never would he have another nearly so fine; he must save it and save it and only wear it on rare and great occasions. It was his wedding suit, she said. And she took his buttons and twisted them up with tissue paper for fear their bright newness should be 3)tarnished, and she 4)tacked little 5)guards over the 6)cuffs and 7)elbows and wherever the suit was most likely to come to harm. He hated and resisted these things, but what could he do? And at last her warnings and persuasions had effect and he 8)consented to take off his beautiful suit and fold it into its proper 9)creases and put it away. But he was always thinking of wearing it and of the supreme occasion when some day it might be worn without the guards, without the tissue paper on the buttons, utterly and delightfully, never caring, beautiful beyond measure.
One strange night he woke up and saw the moonlight shining outside his window. It seemed to him the moonlight was not common moonlight, nor the night a common night, and for a while he lay quite 10)drowsily with this odd persuasion in his mind. Thought joined onto thought like things that whisper warmly in the shadows. Then he sat up in his little bed suddenly, very alert, with his heart beating very fast and a 11)quiver in his body from top to toe. He had made up his mind. He knew now that he was going to wear his suit as it should be worn. He had no doubt about the matter. He was afraid, terribly afraid, but glad, very glad.
He got out of his bed and stood a moment by the window looking at the moonshine-flooded garden and trembling at the thing he meant to do. The air was full of a 12)minute 13)clamor of 14)crickets and murmurings, of the 15)infinitesimal shouting of little living things.
He went very gently across the creaking boards, for fear that he might wake the sleeping house, to the big dark 16)clothes-press wherein his beautiful suit lay folded, and he took it out garment by garment and softly and very eagerly tore off its tissue-paper covering and its tacked protections, until there it was, perfect and delightful as he had seen it when first his mother had given it to him—a long time it seemed ago. He was glad enough for weeping, as in a noiseless hurry he put it on. And then back he went, soft and quick, to the window and looked out upon the garden and stood there for a minute, shining in the moonlight, with his buttons twinkling like stars, before he got out on the sill and, making as little of a rustling as he could, 17)clambered down to the garden path below.
The garden in the moonlight was very different from the garden by day; moonshine was 18)tangled in the hedges and stretched in 19)phantom 20)cobwebs from spray to spray. Every flower was gleaming white or crimson black, and the air was 21)aquiver with the 22)thridding of small crickets and 23)nightingales singing unseen in the depths of the trees.
The little man did not shout nor sing for all his infinite gladness. He stood for a time like one awe-stricken, and then, with a 24)queer small cry and holding out his arms, he ran out as if he would embrace at once the whole warm round 25)immensity of the world. He did not follow the neat set paths that cut the garden squarely, but 26)thrust across the beds, through the thickets of 27)southern-wood and 28)lavender, and knee-deep across a wide space of 29)mignonette. He came to the great hedge and he thrust his way through it, and though the thorns of the 30)brambles scored him deeply and tore threads from his wonderful suit, and though 31)burs and 32)goose grass caught and clung to him, he did not care. He did not care, for he knew it was all part of the wearing for which he had longed. “I am glad I put on my suit,” he said; “I am glad I wore my suit.”
Beyond the hedge he came to the duck-pond, or at least to what was the duck-pond by day. But by night it was a great bowl of silver moonshine all noisy with singing frogs, of wonderful silver moonshine twisted and 33)clotted with strange patternings, and the little man ran down into its waters between the thin black 34)rushes, knee-deep and waist-deep and to his shoulders, 35)smiting the water to black and shining 36)wavelets with either hand. He waded until he swam, and so he crossed the pond and came out upon the other side. And up he went through the 37)transfigured tangles of the 38)willow-herb and the seeding grass of the farther bank. And so he came glad and breathless into the highroad. “I am glad,” he said, “beyond measure, that I had clothes that fitted this occasion.”
The highroad ran straight as an arrow flies, straight into the deep blue pit of sky beneath the moon, a white and shining road between the singing nightingales, and along it he went, running now and leaping, and now walking and rejoicing, in the clothes his mother had made for him with tireless, loving hands. The road was deep in dust, but that for him was only soft whiteness, and as he went a great 39)moth came 40)fluttering round his wet and 41)shimmering and 42)hastening figure. At first he did not 43)heed the moth, and then he waved his hands at it and made a sort of dance with it as it circled round his head. “Soft moth!” he cried, “dear moth! And wonderful night, wonderful night of the world! Do you think my clothes are beautiful, dear moth? As beautiful as your 44)scales and all this silver 45)vesture of the earth and sky?”
And the moth circled closer and closer until at last its 46)velvet wings just brushed his lips...
And next morning they found him dead with his
neck broken in the bottom of the stone pit, with his beautiful clothes a little
bloody and foul and stained with the 47)duckweed
from the pond.
But his face was a face of such happiness that, had you seen it, you
would have understood indeed how that he had died happy, never knowing the cool
and streaming silver for the duckweed in the pond.
从前有一个平凡的男人，他的妈妈为他做了一套非常好看的衣服。那套衣服是绿色与金黄色相间的，手艺十分精巧，我都不知道该如何形容它才对。衣服的领口有一个柔软的橙色领带，正好在他的颏下。崭新的钮扣闪闪亮，就像天上的星星一般。看到这套新衣服，他无比的骄傲和高兴，他第一次穿上衣服后站在高高的镜子前，他被自己穿上新衣后的样子惊得目瞪口呆，又禁不住喜气洋洋，他的视线几乎不愿意离开镜子。
他想去到哪儿都穿着这套新衣服，让所有的人都看到。但他的妈妈告诉他说：“不行。”她说，他一定要小心保护这套衣服，因为他再也不会有这么漂亮的衣服了，他得把它留起来，留着它，只能在很难得、很重要的节庆才能穿上它。她说，这是他的结婚礼服。接着，她用纱纸包住衣服的钮扣，拧紧，生怕闪亮的新扣子会失去光泽，她还在衣服的袖口、肘部，还有其它容易磨损的地方用大头针别上防护衬布。他恨透了这些东西，也很抗拒，但他能怎么办呢？最后，她的警告和劝说起了作用，他答应把这身好看的衣服脱下来，折好放好。不过，他总是想穿上这身衣服，总是盼着极其重要节庆的到来，这样他就可以无忧无虑地穿上新衣服，穿上那摘了防护衬布和纽扣纱纸的衣服，整个人都会兴高采烈、光彩照人。
在一个奇怪的晚上，他醒来，看到窗外耀眼的月光。在他看来，那月色可不是一般的月色，那一晚也绝非寻常的一晚，这个奇怪的想法，有那么一阵子萦绕在他心中，他迷迷糊糊地躺在那里，思潮起伏，就像什么东西在阴影里热切地私语。接着，他突然从床上坐起来，脑子很清醒，心跳得飞快，他浑身上下都在发抖。他打定主意了。他现在知道到了他应该穿上那身衣服的时候了，对此他深信不疑。他害怕了，非常害怕，可他也很兴奋，非常兴奋。
他下了床，在窗前站一会儿，看着铺洒着月光的花园，想到自己马上要做的事情，身子就颤抖不已。夜空回响着蟋蟀轻轻的吵闹声，还有小动物的耳语声。
他蹑足走过嘎吱作响的地板，生怕吵醒了沉睡中的房子，他走到黑色大衣橱那里，他那套漂亮的衣服就叠放在里面。他一件一件地把它取出来，轻轻地，又迫不及待地撕下盖在上面的纱纸和别在上面的防护衬布。啊，看，那衣服还是像当初他妈妈给他时那么完美无瑕，那么令人愉快——不过那感觉是好久以前的事了。他匆匆地、轻轻地把衣服穿上时，高兴得都要哭了。然后，他静悄悄地迅速回到窗前，看着窗外的花园，在月光下，他全身闪着光芒，衣服上的扣子就像夜空的星星一样一闪一闪，他站了一分钟后，就蹑手蹑脚地从窗台爬了出去，到达窗下的花园小径上。
月色中的花园与白天很不一样，投在篱笆上的月光斑驳纷乱，月光在幽灵般的蜘蛛网上沿着一根根的蜘蛛丝延伸。花儿不是泛着白光，就是黝黑色；四处伏着小蟋蟀，树丛深处藏着高歌的夜莺，空气里充满兴奋的气息。
他并没有因为无穷的快乐而大声叫嚷，或者放声歌唱。他像被吓坏了般站在那里，然后，他有点神经质地轻叫一声，张开双臂跑了起来，就好像他要马上去拥抱这个广阔无垠的温暖世界。他并没有沿着那些把花园整齐地划分成一个个正方形的小路跑，而是冲过花床，穿过老人蒿和薰衣草的灌木丛，还有大片没膝的木犀草。他来到一堵大篱笆前，不顾一切地冲了过去，荆棘的刺划伤了他，留下了深深的伤口，扯断了他华丽衣服上的线，芒刺和蟋蟀草绊住他，缠住他，他一点儿也不在乎。他确实不在意，因为他知道穿上这身他渴望已久的衣服就要付出这些代价。“我很高兴我穿上了这身衣服，”他说，“我很高兴我穿着这身衣服。”
穿过了篱笆，他来到了养鸭池前，白天，这里是放鸭子的地方。但到了晚上，这里变成了一个盛着银白月色的大碗，碗里装满了呱呱叫的青蛙，装满了银色月光扭曲成的奇特图案；他穿过稀疏的黑色灯芯草丛走进水里，水没过膝盖，再到腰部，然后浸到肩膀，他用双手击水，水面立即形成一波波发黑闪亮的涟漪。他从淌水到游泳，最终他横越池塘，到了对岸。在岸的那边，他穿过一堆缠绕杂乱的柳兰和结籽的青草，终于来到了大路上，他异常兴奋，还没来得及喘过气来。“我高兴极了，”他说，“我的这身衣服跟这个场合很配呢。”
他如箭般在大路上一直往前冲，冲向月亮下深蓝色的天际；他身穿着母亲不知疲倦、满怀爱心为他缝制的衣服，沿着这条莺语夹道、地面雪白闪亮的大路一直前行，时而跑，时而跳，时而走，兴奋莫名。大路积尘甚厚，但他觉得那只不过是柔软的白色而已。他正走着，一只大飞蛾飞了过来，绕着他湿漉漉的、闪着微光的匆忙身影拍打翅膀。一开始他并没有留意到它，后来，他对它挥挥手，与在自己头顶的飞蛾一起共舞。“柔软的飞蛾啊！”他叫道，“亲爱的飞蛾，这是一个多么美好的夜晚，这是世界上一个美好的夜晚！亲爱的飞蛾，你觉得我的衣服好看吗？是不是像你身上的鳞片一样漂亮呢？是不是像天地穿着的银色衣服一样美丽呢？”
那只飞蛾绕着他飞，越飞越近，直到它丝绒般的翅膀扫过他的双唇……
第二天早上，人们发现他死在一个石坑里，他的脖子断了。他身上穿着的那套美丽衣裳上沾着一些血迹，并发出难闻的恶臭，身上还粘着池塘里的浮萍。不过，他的脸是一张幸福无比的脸。如果你看到的话，你也会明白，他死的时候确实是非常幸福的，完全没留意到洒在池塘里浮萍上的寒冷的银光。