这是语言翻译群里夏神给一众小伙伴奉上的一篇英语美文。因为十分喜爱这篇文章，所以虽有它的中译文本珠玉在前，仍想斗胆试译，也因为同样的原因，悖反常理，把译文放在原文之前，希望大家都能释放出内心被囚禁的爱和喜悦。
去年圣诞节我和妻子及三个儿子去了法国，当时正从巴黎赶去奈斯。那五天真是糟透了，诸事不顺。住的旅馆尽是些讹人的地方，租来的车又半路抛锚，我们焦躁地挤在那辆小车里，窝着一肚子火。平安夜那天住进奈斯一家阴暗邋遢的旅馆时，大家心里已经全无过圣诞节的兴致。
出去吃晚饭时，正下着雨，天气阴冷。我们找到了一家狭小沉闷的店，里面只简陋地做了些圣诞的装饰，空气里有股油腻腻的味道。偌大的店里只有五只桌子有人，四只桌旁分别坐着两对德国夫妇和两家法国人，第五只孤伶伶地坐着一个美国水手。饭店角落里，一个钢琴师无精打采地弹着应景的圣诞音乐。
妻子用法语点了餐，男侍应端上来的却不是我们想点的。我责怪她愚笨，她开始抽泣，儿子们都护着她，我感觉糟透了！
然后在我们左边坐着法国一家人那桌，父亲因为儿子的淘气扇了他一巴掌，男孩开始大哭。我们右边那桌，那位德国妻子也开始责骂起她的丈夫。
眼看一切就要被突然冒出来的旧模式搅黄了。这时打门口进来了一位卖花的法国老妪，她身上破烂的外套被雨淋得湿嗒嗒的，脚上趿拉着一双潮湿的旧鞋。她提着花篮，走过我们每张桌旁。
“买花吗，先生？只要一法郎一朵。”
没有人搭理。
老妪委顿地坐在我们和那个水手之间的桌子旁，对侍者说：“给我来碗汤吧，一整个下午一朵花都没卖出去。”又对钢琴师声音嘶哑地喊道：“你能想到有人在平安夜只能喝汤吗，约瑟夫？”
约瑟夫沉默地指了指面前的空空的放小费的罐子。
年轻的水手吃好了，起身准备离开。他穿上外套，走向那个卖花老妪的桌子。
“圣诞快乐，”他微笑着拿起两朵胸花。“这要多少钱？”
“两法郎，先生。”
他把一朵胸花压平，放进之前写好的一封信中，然后给了那个老妪一张二十法郎的纸币。
“我没有零钱，先生，”老妪说道，“我去跟那个侍应换一下。”
“不用了，夫人，”水手俯过身吻了吻她苍老的面颊。“那是我给您的圣诞礼物。”
直起身来，他走向我们这桌，手里举着另外的那朵胸花对我说：“先生，我能蒙您恩准把这些花献给您漂亮的女儿吗？”他飞快地把胸花给了我妻子，祝我们圣诞快乐，然后离开了。
大家都停住了手中的刀叉，怔怔地看着那个水手，餐厅里一时鸦雀无声。几秒钟后，像炸弹爆炸一般，圣诞的气浪轰然地充满了整个餐厅。那个卖花老妪跳了起来，挥舞着那张二十法郎，跌跌撞撞地来到屋子中间，快乐地跳了起来，对钢琴师大声喊道：“约瑟夫，这是我的圣诞礼物！我要分你一半，这样你今晚也有大餐吃了。”
钢琴师开始大声地弹起了《好国王Wenceslaus》，边有节奏地点着头，边用仿佛魔术师般的手敲打着琴键。
妻子和着音乐轻轻地摆动胸花，光彩照人的她仿佛一下子年轻了二十岁。泪水不知何时消失了，嘴角随着笑声情不自禁地上扬。她开始唱了起来，三个儿子也跟着唱了起来，歌声里洋溢着抑制不住的热情。
“好！好！”那对德国夫妇大声叫道。他们跳到椅子上开始用德语唱这首歌，侍者拥着老妪，两人挥舞着胳膊用法语一起唱起来。那个法国父亲用叉子有节律地敲打着酒瓶，他的儿子爬到了他腿上，用童稚的声音唱起了和声里的女高音。
德国夫妇替所有人点了酒，亲自给每个人端上来，并附上拥抱。一个法国家庭叫了香槟，给大家都斟上，并亲吻了每个人的双颊。餐厅老板唱起了《第一支圣诞歌》，大家也纷纷跟着唱了起来，多半人热泪盈眶。
从街上涌进来很多人直至很多顾客都只能站着，大家伙儿和着圣诞颂歌的拍手和跺脚几乎要把屋顶都掀翻！
那个简陋餐厅里的凄冷之夜最终却成为了我们迄彼为止最棒的圣诞平安夜，只因了一个灵魂里永驻着圣诞精灵的年轻水手，因他释放了我们被愤怒和失望禁锢在心底的爱和喜悦，因他带给了我们——圣诞节！
英文原版：
Last year at Christmas time my wife，three boys，and I were in France，on our way from Paris to Nice．For five wretched days everything had gone wrong．Our hotels were “tourist traps”；our rented car broke down；we were all restless and irritable in the crowded car．On Christmas Eve，when we checked into a dingy hotel in Nice，there was no Christmas spirit in our hearts．
It was raining and cold when we went out to eat．We found a drab little joint shoddily.decorated for the holiday．It smelled greasy. Only five tables in the restaurant were occupied．There were two German couples，two French families，and an American sailor，by himself．In the corner a piano player listlessly played Christmas music．
My wife ordered our meal in French．The waiter brought us the wrong thing. I scolded my wife for being stupid．She began to cry．The boys defended her，and I felt even worse．
Then，at the table with the French family on our left，the father slapped one of his children for some minor infraction,and the boy began to cry．On our right，the German wife began berating her husband．
All of us were interrupted by an unpleasant blast of old air．Through the front door came an old French flower woman．She wore a dripping，tattered.overcoat，and shuffled in on wet，rundown shoes．Carrying her basket of flowers，she went from one table to the other．
"Flowers，monsieur？Only one franc．"
No one bought any．
Wearily she sat down at a table between the sailor and us．To the waiter she said，"A bowl of soup．I haven't sold a flower all afternoon．" To the piano player she said hoarsely，"Can you imagine，Joseph， soup on Christmas Eve？"
He pointed to his empty "tipping plate"．
The young sailor finished his meal and got up to leave．Putting on his coat，he walked over to the flower woman's table．
"Happy Christmas，" he said，smiling and picking out two corsages．"How much are they？"
"Two francs，monsieur．"
Pressing one of the small corsages flat，he put it into the letter he had written，then handed the woman a twenty franc note．
"I don't have change，monsieur，" she said．"I'll get some from the waiter．"
"No，ma'am，" said the sailor, leaning over and kissing the ancient cheek．"This is my Christmas present to you．"
Straightening up, he came to our table, holding the other corsage in front of him．"Sir," he said to me, "may I have permission to present these flowers to your beautiful daughter?"In one quick motion he gave my wife the corsage, wished us a Merry Christmas, and departed．
Everyone had stopped eating．Everyone had been watching the sailor．Everyone was silent．A few seconds later, Christmas exploded throughout the restaurant like a bomb．The old flower woman jumped up, waving the twenty－ franc note. Hobbling to the middle of the floor she did a merry jig and shouted to the piano player, "Joseph, my Christmas present! And you shall have half, so you can have a feast, too．"
The piano player began to belt out “Good King Wenceslaus," beating the keys with magic hands, nodding his head in rhythm．
My wife waved her corsage in time to the music．She was radiant and appeared twenty years younger．The tears had left her eyes, and the corners of her mouth turned up in laughter．She began to sing, and our three sons joined her, bellowing the song with uninhibited enthusiasm．
"Gut! Gut! "shouted the Germans. They jumped on their chairs and began singing the words in German． The waiter embraced the flower woman．Waving their arms, they sang in French. The Frenchman who had slapped the boy beat rhythm with his fork against a bottle．The lad climbed on his lap, singing in a youthful soprano．
The Germans ordered wine for everyone．They delivered it themselves, hugging the other customers．One of the French families called for champagne－made the rounds, kissing each of us on both cheeks．The owner of the restaurant started "The First Noel," and we all joined in, half of us crying．
People crowded in from the street until many were standing．The walls shook as hands and feet kept time to the Christmas carols.
The miserable evening in a shoddy restaurant ended up being the very best Christmas Eve we had ever experienced just because of a young sailor who had Christmas spirit in his soul．He released the love and joy that had been smothered within us by anger and disappointment．He gave us Christmas．
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