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安徒生童話故事第43篇：鄰居們The Neighbouring Families
引導(dǎo)語：鄰居們，大家是否知道或者閱讀過這篇安徒生童話故事呢?
人們一定以為養(yǎng)鴨池里有什么不平常的事情發(fā)生了，但是一丁點(diǎn)事兒也沒有。所有那些安靜地浮在水上、或者用頭倒立在水里(因?yàn)樗鼈冇羞@套本領(lǐng))的鴨兒忽然都沖向岸上來了。人們可以在潮濕的泥土上看到它們的足跡，人們在很遠(yuǎn)的地方就可以聽到它們的叫聲。水也動(dòng)蕩起來了。不久以前，水還是像鏡子—樣光亮，人們可以看到倒映在水里面的樹，岸旁的每一個(gè)灌木叢，那個(gè)有一堵滿是洞孔和燕子窠的三角墻的農(nóng)舍，特別是那個(gè)開滿了花朵的大攻瑰花叢——花叢從墻上垂下來，懸在水上。這一切都在水里映出來，像圖畫一樣，只不過是顛倒的罷了。當(dāng)水在波動(dòng)著的時(shí)候，一切東西就攪到一起，這整個(gè)的圖畫也就沒有了。
有兩根羽毛從幾只拍著翅膀的鴨于身上落下來了。它們一起一伏地浮著，忽然間飛起來了，好像有一陣風(fēng)吹起來，但是又沒有風(fēng)。所以它們只好停下不動(dòng)。于是水就又變得像鏡子一樣光滑。人們又可以很清楚地看出三角墻和它上面的燕子窠，人們也可以看出玫瑰花叢。每朵玫瑰花都被映出來了——它們是非常美麗的，但是它們自己不知道，因?yàn)闆]有誰把這事告訴它們。它們細(xì)嫩的花瓣發(fā)出幽香，太陽在那上面照著。像我們在充滿了幸福感的時(shí)候一樣，每朵玫瑰花有一種怡然自得的感覺。
“活著是多么美好啊!”每一朵玫瑰花說，“我只是希望一件事——希望能夠吻一下太陽，因?yàn)樗悄敲垂饷骱蜏嘏�。我還希望吻一下水里的玫瑰花——它們簡直跟我們沒有什么差別。我也希望吻一下案里的那些可愛的小鳥。我們上面也有幾只!它們把小頭伸出來，唱得那么溫柔。它們和它們的爸爸媽媽不一樣，連一根羽毛都沒有。住在上面也好，住在下面也好，它們都要算是我們的好鄰居。啊，生存是多么美好啊!”
住在上面和下面的那些小鳥——住在下面的當(dāng)然只不過是映在水里的影子——都是麻雀。它們的爸爸和媽媽也都是麻雀。它們?nèi)ツ昃桶蜒嘧拥目振秸碱I(lǐng)了，在里面成家立業(yè)。
“那兒是鴨子的小寶寶在游泳嗎?”那幾只小麻雀一看到水上浮著的羽毛，就這樣問。
“你們要問問題，就應(yīng)該問得聰明一點(diǎn)!”麻雀媽媽說。”你們沒有看到那是羽毛嗎?那是活的衣服呀，像我穿的和你們不久就要穿的衣服一樣，不過我們的可要漂亮得多!我倒很想把它們搬到我們窠里來，因?yàn)樗鼈兡鼙Ｅ�。我也很想知道，什么東西把鴨兒嚇成那個(gè)樣子。水里面一定出了什么事情。它們決不至于怕我吧，雖然我對你們說‘嘰’的時(shí)候，聲音未免大了一點(diǎn)。那些傻頭傻腦的玫瑰花應(yīng)該知道，不過它們什么也不懂。它們只是互相呆望，發(fā)出一點(diǎn)香氣罷了。對于這類鄰居我真感到膩煩了。”
“請聽聽上面那些可愛的小鳥吧!”玫瑰花說。“它們也想學(xué)著唱唱歌。當(dāng)然它們還不會唱，但是它們不久就會的。那一定是非常幸福的事情!有這樣快樂的鄰居真是有趣得很!”
這時(shí)有兩匹馬兒飛奔過來了，它們是未喝水的。有一匹馬上騎著一個(gè)農(nóng)家孩子。他把所有的衣服都脫掉了，只戴了那頂又大又寬的黑帽子。這孩子吹著口哨，像一只小烏兒一樣。他一直騎到池子最深的地方。當(dāng)他走過玫瑰花叢的時(shí)候，他摘下一朵玫瑰，把它插在自己的帽子上。他以為自己打扮得很漂亮，就騎著馬走了。其余的玫瑰花目送著它們的妹妹，同時(shí)相互問著：“它會旅行到什么地方去呢?”但是它們回答不出來。
“我很想到外面的世界里去見見世面，”這朵玫瑰對那朵玫瑰說。”不過住在我們自己家里的綠葉子中間也是很愉快的。白天有溫暖的太陽照著、夜里有更美麗的天空!我以瞭望它上面的那些小洞!”
玫瑰花們所謂的小洞就是星星，因?yàn)槊倒逯荒芟胂竦竭@一點(diǎn)。
“我們使得這房子周圍的一切都活躍起來了!”麻雀媽媽說。“人們常說：‘燕子察帶來運(yùn)氣’，所以大家也愿意我們在這兒住。不過請看那兒的一些鄰居!這么一堆爬上墻來的玫瑰花叢，只能把這地方弄得發(fā)潮。我想它們會被移走，好叫這兒能種些麥子。玫瑰花只不過給人看看，聞聞罷了，最多也不過是插在帽子上。我聽我的母親說過，它們每年凋謝一次。農(nóng)家婦人把它們用鹽保藏起來，于是它們就得到一個(gè)我既念不出、也不愿意念出的法國名兒。然后它們就被扔進(jìn)火里，好叫它們發(fā)出一點(diǎn)好聞的氣味來。你們看，那就是它們的事業(yè)。它們只是為人家的眼睛和鼻子活著�，F(xiàn)在你們懂得了!”
當(dāng)黃昏到來、蚊蚋在映著晚霞的溫暖空氣中跳著好的時(shí)候，夜鶯就飛來對玫瑰花唱著歌，說：“美”就像這個(gè)世界的太陽光一樣，是永遠(yuǎn)不變的。玫魂花兒都以為夜鶯是在歌唱自己。它們聽到這歌都感到非常愉快。它們甚至幻想，那些小麻雀也可能會變成夜鶯。
“我完全能聽懂那只鳥兒的歌，”小麻雀說。“只是有一個(gè)字我聽不懂。‘美’是什么意思?”
“什么意思也沒有，”麻雀媽媽回答說。“那不過是一種表面的東西罷了。在那兒的一個(gè)公館里，鴿子都有它們自己的房子，院子里每天有人撒許多小麥和豌豆粒給它們吃。我親自跟它們一同吃過飯，而且我還要再去。你只須告訴我你跟什么人來往，我就可以說出你是什么人。那公館里還住著兩只雀子。它們的頸項(xiàng)是綠的，頭上還長著一個(gè)冠子。它們能把尾巴展開來，像一個(gè)巨大的輪子一樣。它們顯出種種不同的顏色，弄得你的眼睛都要發(fā)昏。它們的名字叫做孔雀，它們就是所謂‘美’。人們只須把它們的毛扯些下來，那么它們跟我們也就沒有什么兩樣了。要不是它們長得么大的話，我自己就可以拔掉它們的毛的。”
“我要拔掉它們的毛!”最小的那個(gè)麻雀說，它連毛還沒有長出來。
在那個(gè)農(nóng)舍里面住著一對年輕人。他們彼此的感情非常好，他們非常勤儉和活潑，他們家顯得非常可愛。在禮拜天的早晨，那個(gè)年輕的妻子走出來，摘了一大把最美麗的玫瑰花，放在一個(gè)玻璃杯里，然后把這杯子放在碗柜上。
“現(xiàn)在我可以知道這是禮拜天了!”丈夫說，同時(shí)把他甜蜜的小妻子吻了一下。于是他們坐下來，兩人緊緊地握著手，讀著一本《圣詩集》。太陽從窗子里射進(jìn)來照在那些新鮮的玫瑰花上，照在這對年輕人的臉上。
“這樣子真叫我感到討厭!”麻雀媽媽說，因?yàn)樗鼜鸟嚼锟梢灾苯油竭@房間里的東西。所以它就飛走了。
第二個(gè)禮拜天又是這樣，那個(gè)玻璃杯里每個(gè)禮拜天都插上了新鮮的玫瑰花，而玫瑰花叢又老是開得那樣的美麗。
那些小麻雀現(xiàn)在長好羽毛了，它們想要向外飛，不過媽媽說：“不準(zhǔn)你們動(dòng)!”于是它們只好不動(dòng)了。麻雀媽媽獨(dú)自個(gè)兒飛走了。但是，不知怎的，它忽然被樹枝上一個(gè)圈套絆住了，那是小孩子用馬尾做的。這圈套牢牢地纏住它的雙腿。啊，纏得才緊呢，簡直要把它的腿割斷似的。這真叫人痛心!這真叫人害怕!孩子們跑過來，把這鳥兒捉住，而且把它捏得很緊，緊到殘酷的程度。
“這原來不過是一只麻雀!”他們說，但是并不放走它，卻把它帶到家里來。它每叫一聲，他們就在它的嘴上打一下。
在那個(gè)農(nóng)舍里有一個(gè)老頭兒。他會做刮臉和洗手的肥皂——肥皂球或肥皂片。他是一個(gè)樂天的、隨隨便便的老家伙。當(dāng)他看到那些孩子把這只灰麻雀帶回來、同時(shí)聽說他們并不喜歡它的時(shí)候。他就說：
“咱們把它美化一下，好嗎?”
當(dāng)他說出這句話的時(shí)候，麻雀媽媽身上就冷了半截。
老頭兒從一個(gè)裝滿了各色耀眼的東西的匣子里取出許多閃亮的金葉子來。他又叫孩子們?nèi)ツ靡粋�(gè)雞蛋來。他把這麻雀涂了滿身的蛋清，于是他把金葉子粘上去，這么一來，麻雀媽媽就算是鍍金了。不過它并沒有想到漂亮，它只是四肢發(fā)抖。這位肥皂專家從他的舊衣上拉下一片紅布來，肥它剪成一個(gè)公雞冠子的形狀，然后把它貼在這鳥兒的頭上。
“你們現(xiàn)在可以看到一只金鳥飛翔了!”老頭兒說，于是把這只麻雀放走了。它在明朗的太陽光中趕快逃命，嚇得要死。
嗨，它才耀眼哩!所有的麻雀，連那個(gè)大烏鴉——它已經(jīng)不是一個(gè)年輕小伙子了——看到它也不禁大驚失色起來，不過它們?nèi)匀辉谒暮竺娓F追，因?yàn)樗鼈兿胍溃@究竟是一個(gè)什么怪鳥兒。
從什么地方飛來的?從什么地方飛來?烏鴉大聲喊著。
“請停一下!請停一下!”許多麻雀一齊喊著。
但是那雀子卻不愿意停下來。它懷著害怕和恐怖的心情，一口氣飛回家來。它幾乎墜到地上來了，追逐的鳥兒越集越多，大的小的都有，有些甚至緊緊逼到它身邊來，要啄掉它的毛。
“看它呀!看它呀!”大家都喊。
“看它呀!看它呀!”當(dāng)麻雀媽媽飛近它的窠時(shí)，那些小麻雀也喊。“這一定是一個(gè)小孔雀，它射出種種不同的色彩，正象媽媽告訴我們的一樣，簡直把我們的眼睛都弄昏了。嘰!這就是‘美’呀!”
它們開始用小嘴啄著這鳥兒，弄得它簡直沒有辦法飛進(jìn)窠里來。它嚇得魂不附體，弄得連“嘰”都說不出來，更談不上說“我是你們的媽媽呀!”
別的雀子們都涌過來，把它的羽毛一根接著一根地啄得精光。最后麻雀媽媽全身流血，墜落到玫瑰花叢里去了。
“你這可憐的東西!”玫瑰花說：“請不要急吧。我們可以把你隱藏起來呀。請把你的頭靠著我們吧。”
麻雀把翅膀張開了一下，接著馬上就縮回去了，緊貼著身子。它在這些鄰居們——這些美麗新鮮的玫瑰花旁邊死了。
“嘰!嘰!”窠里的麻雀說。“媽媽到什么地方去了呢?我們連影子都不知道!該不會是它玩了一個(gè)花樣，叫我們自己去找出路吧?它留下這么一個(gè)房子給我們作為遺產(chǎn)!不過當(dāng)我們都成家的時(shí)候，究竟誰來繼承它呢?”
“是的，等我有了妻子和小孩，把家庭擴(kuò)大了的時(shí)候，你們想要跟我住在一起可不行啦，”最小的那只麻雀說。
“我的妻子和孩子將會比你的還要多!”另一只說。
“但是我是長子呀!”第三只說。
它們吵起來了，用翅膀打，用嘴啄著，于是，“拍!”的一聲，它們一個(gè)跟著一個(gè)地從窠里滾出來了。它們躺在地上，氣得不可開支。它們把頭偏向一邊，同時(shí)眨著朝上的那個(gè)眼睛——這就是它們生氣的表示。
它們能夠飛一點(diǎn)兒了，又進(jìn)一步練習(xí)了一陣子。最后，為了使它們今后在世界上碰頭的時(shí)候可以彼此認(rèn)得出來，它們一致同意到那時(shí)應(yīng)該說：“嘰!嘰!”同時(shí)用左腳在地上扒三次。
那個(gè)仍然留在窠里的小麻雀，盡量擺出一副神氣十足的架子，因?yàn)樗F(xiàn)在成了這屋子的主人，不過它沒有當(dāng)家很久。在這天晚上，一股紅色的火在窗玻璃里閃耀著，火焰從屋頂下燎出來，干草嘩啦嘩啦地?zé)饋�，整個(gè)屋子都著火了，連這個(gè)小麻雀也在內(nèi)。不過別的麻雀都逃出來，保住了性命。
第二天早晨，當(dāng)太陽又升起來的時(shí)候，一切東西顯得非常新鮮，好像安靜地睡了一覺似的。那個(gè)農(nóng)舍什么也沒有剩下了，只有幾根燒焦的屋梁，靠著那根沒有人管的煙囪。濃厚的煙從廢墟升上來，不過外邊的玫瑰花叢仍然很鮮艷。，開得很茂盛，每一朵花，每一根枝條都映照在那平靜的水里。
“咳，這座燒塌了的房子面前的玫瑰花開得多么美啊!”一位路過的人說。“這是一幅最美麗的小小畫面，我要把它畫下來!”
于是這人從衣袋里取出一本白紙本子，他拿起鉛筆，因?yàn)樗且粋�(gè)畫家。他畫出這冒煙的廢墟，燒焦的屋梁，傾斜的、幾乎要坍下來的煙囪。不過最突出的是一叢盛開的玫瑰花。它的確非常美麗，這幅畫完全是為它而畫的。
這天的傍晚、原來在那兒出生的兩個(gè)麻雀經(jīng)過這兒”
“那房子到什么地方去了?”它們問。“那個(gè)窠到什么地方去了，嘰!嘰!什么都燒掉了，連我們那個(gè)強(qiáng)壯的老弟也被燒掉了!這就是它獨(dú)占那個(gè)窠的結(jié)果，那些玫瑰花兒倒是安然地逃脫了——它們?nèi)匀涣⒃谀莾�，滿臉紅潤。它們當(dāng)然不會為鄰居的倒霉而難過的。我們不跟它們講話。這地方真丑——這是我們的意見。”于是它們就飛走了。
當(dāng)秋天來了的時(shí)候，有一天太陽照得非常燦爛，人們很可能以為這還是夏天。在一個(gè)公館面前的一排大臺階下面有一個(gè)院子，它是干燥和清潔的。有一群鴿子在院子里散著步：黑色的，白色的和紫色的，它們都在太陽光里閃著光。年老的鴿子?jì)寢屘貏e提高嗓子對它們的孩子說：
“要成群地站著!要成群地站著!”——只有這樣才顯得更好看。
“那些在我們中間跳來跳去的灰色小東西是什么，”一只眼睛里顯出紅綠二色的老鴿子問。
“它們是麻雀呀!——一種沒有什么害處的動(dòng)物。我們素來是以和善馳名的，所以我們還是讓它們啄點(diǎn)我們的東西吃吧。它們不會跟我們講話的，而且它們的腳扒得也滿客氣!”鴿子?jì)寢尰卮鹫f。
是的，它們都會扒，它們會用左腿扒三下，還會說：“嘰!”它們用這種辦法可以認(rèn)出它們是那個(gè)燒塌了的房子里一窠生出來的三只麻雀。
“這兒真叫人吃得痛快!”麻雀們說。
鴿子們只是跟自己的人在一起高視闊步地走來走去，而且只是談?wù)撝鼈冏约旱氖虑椤?/p>
“你看到那個(gè)凸胸脯的鴿子嗎?”一只麻雀對另一只麻雀說。“你看到它啄豌豆吃的那副樣兒嗎?它吃得太多了!而且老是挑最好的吃!咕嚕!咕嚕!你們看它的冠子禿得多厲害!一你看這個(gè)可愛又可氣的東西!咕嚕!咕嚕!”
它們的眼睛都紅起來，射出氣憤的光芒。
“站成群呀!站成群呀!灰色的小東西!灰色的小東西!咕嚕，咕嚕!咕嚕!”
鴿子的嘴巴就是這么不停地啰嗦著;一千年以后，它們還會這么啰嗦。
麻雀們大吃了一通，它們也聽了許多話。是的，它們甚至還“站成群”，不過這對它們是不相稱的。它們都吃飽了，所以就離開了鴿子，彼此還發(fā)表了對于鴿子的意見，然后就跳到花園的柵欄下面去。當(dāng)它們發(fā)現(xiàn)花園門是開著的時(shí)候，有一只就跳進(jìn)門欄里去。它因?yàn)槌缘梅浅ｏ枺阅懽右簿痛罅恕?ldquo;嘰嘰!”它說，“我敢這樣做!”
“嘰嘰!”另一只說，”我也敢，而且還要超過你。”于是它就徑直跳到人家的房間里去。
房間里沒有人。第三只麻雀看到這情形，也飛進(jìn)去，而且飛到頂里面去，同時(shí)說。
“要不就素性飛進(jìn)去，要不就索性不進(jìn)去!這是一個(gè)多么滑稽的‘人窠’!那上面掛的是什么東西?嗨，那是什么東西?”
麻雀看到自己面前有許多盛開的玫瑰，它們都倒映在水里，那燒焦了的屋梁斜倚著那隨時(shí)都可以倒下來的煙囪。——乖乖，這是什么?它們怎么會跑到一個(gè)公館里的房間里來了呢?
這三只麻雀想在煙囪和玫瑰花上飛過去，但是卻碰到了一堵硬墻。這原來是一幅畫，一幅美麗的巨畫。它是畫家根據(jù)他的速寫完成的。
“嘰嘰!”這些麻雀說，“這沒有什么!只不過看起來像真東西罷了。嘰嘰!這就是‘美’呀!你們能看出這是什么道理嗎?我看不出什么道理!”
于是它們就飛走了，因?yàn)檫@時(shí)有幾個(gè)人走進(jìn)房間里來了。
許多歲月過去了。鴿子不知咕嚕咕嚕了多少次，且不提它們的啰嗦——這些脾氣暴躁的東西!麻雀們在冬天挨過凍，在夏天里享受過舒服的日子。它們現(xiàn)在都訂了婚，或者結(jié)了婚。它們都生了小寶寶。當(dāng)然每一只麻雀總認(rèn)為自己的孩子最漂亮，最聰明。這個(gè)孩子飛到東，那個(gè)孩子飛到西，當(dāng)它們相遇的時(shí)候，便會一聲“嘰!”同時(shí)用左腳扒三下，彼此就認(rèn)出來了。它們中間一只最老的麻雀現(xiàn)在是一個(gè)老姑娘，它既沒有窠，也沒有孩子。它非常想到一個(gè)大城市去看看，因此就飛到哥本哈根去。
那兒有一幢五光十色的大房子。它處在皇官和運(yùn)河的近旁。河上有許多裝載著蘋果和陶器的船來往。房子的窗子都是下面寬，上面窄。麻雀朝里面看去，覺得每個(gè)房間像一朵郁金香，什么色彩和裝飾都有，在這朵郁金香的中央有些雪白的人像，是用大理石雕的，但還有幾座是用石膏塑的，不過在麻雀的眼中看來，它們都是一樣的。屋頂上有一架鐵車，上面還套著幾匹鐵馬，由一個(gè)鐵鑄的勝利女神趕著。這原來是多瓦爾生博物館。
“你看它是多么光彩，你看它是多么光彩!”麻雀老姑娘說。“這一定就是所謂‘美’了。嘰嘰!不過比孔雀要大一點(diǎn)!”
它還記得小時(shí)候它媽媽所知道的最美的東西是什么。于是它飛到院子里來。這兒也很美麗：墻上畫著棕櫚樹和枝條;院子中央長著一個(gè)盛開的大玫瑰花叢——那開滿了花朵的新鮮枝子在一個(gè)墳?zāi)股厦嫔煺归_來。它飛進(jìn)這花叢里去，因?yàn)槔锩嬗性S多別的麻雀。“嘰嘰!”接著它用左腳扒了三下土——這種敬禮它在過去的歲月中不知作過多少次，但是誰也不懂得，因?yàn)榇蠹乙环质郑筒灰欢刻於伎梢耘龅健，F(xiàn)在這種敬禮不過成了一種習(xí)慣罷了。但是今天卻有兩個(gè)老麻雀和一個(gè)小麻雀回答一聲：“嘰嘰!”同時(shí)用左腳扒了三下土。
“啊!日安!日安!”它們是老窠里的兩只老麻雀和這個(gè)家族的一只小麻雀。“我們居然在這兒會面了!”它們說。“這真是一個(gè)好地方，可惜沒有什么東西可吃。這就是‘美’呀!嘰嘰!”
許多人從兩邊的房間里走出來——那里面陳列著許多美麗的大理石像。他們走到墳?zāi)古赃厑�。雕刻這些美麗的石像的那位藝術(shù)家就躺在這里。他們臉上現(xiàn)出欣悅的表情，站在多瓦爾生的墓旁。他們拾起落下的玫瑰花瓣，保存起來作為紀(jì)念。他們有的是從很遠(yuǎn)的地方來的：有的來自強(qiáng)大的英國，有的來自德國和法國。他們之中有一位最美麗的太太摘下一朵玫瑰，藏在自己的懷里。
這些麻雀以為玫瑰花成了這地方的主人，以為這整個(gè)房子就是為玫瑰花而建筑的。它們覺得這未免有點(diǎn)做得太過份。不過人類既然這樣重視玫瑰花，它們當(dāng)然也不甘落后。“嘰嘰!”它們說，同時(shí)把尾巴在地上一掃，用一只眼睛對這些玫瑰花斜望一下。它們沒有望多久馬上就認(rèn)出來了，這些花兒原來是它們的老鄰居，事實(shí)上也沒有錯(cuò)，這些玫瑰花的確是的。繪下這叢長在那間塌屋旁的玫瑰的畫家，后來得到許可把玫瑰挖起來，送給這個(gè)博物館的建筑師，因?yàn)楸冗@更美麗的玫瑰花在任何地方都不容易找到，那位建筑師把這花栽在多瓦爾生的墓上�，F(xiàn)在玫瑰在這兒開了。作為美的具體形象，它貢獻(xiàn)出又紅又香的花瓣，讓人們帶到遙遠(yuǎn)的國度里去，作為紀(jì)念。
“你們在這城里找到了一個(gè)位置嗎?”麻雀們問。
這些玫瑰花都點(diǎn)點(diǎn)頭，認(rèn)出了灰色的鄰居們。它們看到麻雀，覺得非常高興。
“活著和開著花，碰到舊時(shí)的朋友，每天看到和善的面孔——這是多么幸福啊!這兒每天都好像是一個(gè)節(jié)日!”
“嘰嘰!”這些麻雀齊聲說。“是的，它們的確是我們的老鄰居，我們記得起它們在那個(gè)池塘旁邊的原形。嘰!它們真是發(fā)跡了!是的，有人一覺醒來就成了貴人。我們不懂，在它們那一大堆紅顏色里有什么了不起的高貴的東西?咳，那上面就有一片枯萎的葉子——我們一眼就看得出來!”
于是它們把這葉子啄了一下，弄得落下來了。不過玫瑰樹倒反而變得更新鮮，更綠了。玫瑰花兒在多瓦爾生的墓上的太陽光中芬芳地開著。它們的美跟他不朽的名字永遠(yuǎn)聯(lián)在一起。
鄰居們英文版：
The Neighbouring Families
ONE would have thought that something important was going on in the duck-pond, but it was nothing after all. All the ducks lying quietly on the water or standing on their heads in it—for they could do that—at once swarm to the sides; the traces of their feet were seen in the wet earth, and their cackling was heard far and wide. The water, which a few moments before had been as clear and smooth as a mirror, became very troubled. Before, every tree, every neighbouring bush, the old farmhouse with the holes in the roof and the swallows’ nest, and especially the great rose-bush full of flowers, had been reflected in it. The rose-bush covered the wall and hung out over the water, in which everything was seen as if in a picture, except that it all stood on its head; but when the water was troubled everything got mixed up, and the picture was gone. Two feathers which the fluttering ducks had lost floated up and down; suddenly they took a rush as if the wind were coming, but as it did not come they had to lie still, and the water once more became quiet and smooth. The roses were again reflected; they were very beautiful, but they did not know it, for no one had told them. The sun shone among the delicate leaves; everything breathed forth the loveliest fragrance, and all felt as we do when we are filled with joy at the thought of our happiness.
“How beautiful existence is!” said each rose. “The only thing that I wish for is to be able to kiss the sun, because it is so warm and bright. I should also like to kiss those roses down in the water, which are so much like us, and the pretty little birds down in the nest. There are some up above too; they put out their heads and pipe softly; they have no feathers like their father and mother. We have good neighbours, both below and above. How beautiful existence is!”
The young ones above and below—those below were really only shadows in the water—were sparrows; their parents were sparrows too, and had taken possession of the empty swallows’ nest of last year, and now lived in it as if it were their own property.
“Are those the duck’s children swimming here?” asked the young sparrows when they saw the feathers on the water.
“If you must ask questions, ask sensible ones,” said their mother. “Don’t you see that they are feathers, such as I wear and you will wear too? But ours are finer. Still, I should like to have them up in the nest, for they keep one warm. I am very curious to know what the ducks were so startled about; not about us, certainly, although I did say ‘peep’ to you pretty loudly. The thick-headed roses ought to know why, but they know nothing at all; they only look at themselves and smell. I am heartily tired of such neighbours.”
“Listen to the dear little birds up there,” said the roses; “they begin to want to sing too, but are not able to manage it yet. But it will soon come. What a pleasure that must be! It is fine to have such cheerful neighbours.”
Suddenly two horses came galloping up to be watered. A peasant boy rode on one, and he had taken off all his clothes except his large broad black hat. The boy whistled like a bird, and rode into the pond where it was deepest, and as he passed the rose-bush he plucked a rose and stuck it in his hat. Now he looked dressed, and rode on. The other roses looked after their sister, and asked each other, “Where can she be going to?” But none of them knew.
“I should like to go out into the world for once,” said one; “but here at home among our green leaves it is beautiful too. The whole day long the sun shines bright and warm, and in the night the sky shines more beautifully still; we can see that through all the little holes in it.”
They meant the stars, but they knew no better.
“We make it lively about the house,” said the sparrow-mother; “and people say that a swallows’ nest brings luck; so they are glad of us. But such neighbours as ours! A rose-bush on the wall like that causes damp. I daresay it will be taken away; then we shall, perhaps, have some corn growing here. The roses are good for nothing but to be looked at and to be smelt, or at most to be stuck in a hat. Every year, as I have been told by my mother, they fall off. The farmer’s wife preserves them and strews salt among them; then they get a French name which I neither can pronounce nor care to, and are put into the fire to make a nice smell. You see, that’s their life; they exist only for the eye and the nose. Now you know.”
In the evening, when the gnats were playing about in the warm air and in the red clouds, the nightingale came and sang to the roses that the beautiful was like sunshine to the world, and that the beautiful lived for ever. The roses thought that the nightingale was singing about itself, and that one might easily have believed; they had no idea that the song was about them. But they were very pleased with it, and wondered whether all the little sparrows could become nightingales.
“I understand the song of that bird very well,” said the young sparrows. “There was only one word that was not clear to me. What does ‘the beautiful’ mean?”
“Nothing at all,” answered their mother; “that’s only something external. Up at the Hall, where the pigeons have their own house, and corn and peas are strewn before them every day—I have dined with them myself, and that you shall do in time, too; for tell me what company you keep and I’ll tell you who you are—up at the Hall they have two birds with green necks and a crest upon their heads; they can spread out their tails like a great wheel, and these are so bright with various colours that it makes one’s eyes ache. These birds are called peacocks, and that is ‘the beautiful.’ If they were only plucked a little they would look no better than the rest of us. I would have plucked them already if they had not been so big.”
“I’ll pluck them,” piped the young sparrow, who had no feathers yet.
In the farmhouse lived a young married couple; they loved each other dearly, were industrious and active, and everything in their home looked very nice. On Sundays the young wife came down early, plucked a handful of the most beautiful roses, and put them into a glass of water, which she placed upon the cupboard.
“Now I see that it is Sunday,” said the husband, kissing his little wife. They sat down, read their hymn-book, and held each other by the hand, while the sun shone down upon the fresh roses and upon them.
“This sight is really too tedious,” said the sparrow-mother, who could see into the room from her nest; and she flew away.
The same thing happened on the following Sunday, for every Sunday fresh roses were put into the glass; but the rose-bush bloomed as beautifully as ever. The young sparrows now had feathers, and wanted very much to fly with their mother; but she would not allow it, and so they had to stay at home. In one of her flights, however it may have happened, she was caught, before she was aware of it, in a horse-hair net which some boys had attached to a tree. The horse-hair was drawn tightly round her leg—as tightly as if the latter were to be cut off; she was in great pain and terror. The boys came running up and seized her, and in no gentle way either.
“It’s only a sparrow,” they said; they did not, however, let her go, but took her home with them, and every time she cried they hit her on the beak.
In the farmhouse was an old man who understood making soap into cakes and balls, both for shaving and washing. He was a merry old man, always wandering about. On seeing the sparrow which the boys had brought, and which they said they did not want, he asked, “Shall we make it look very pretty?”
At these words an icy shudder ran through the sparrow-mother.
Out of his box, in which were the most beautiful colours, the old man took a quantity of shining leaf-gold, while the boys had to go and fetch some white of egg, with which the sparrow was to be smeared all over; the gold was stuck on to this, and the sparrow-mother was now gilded all over. But she, trembling in every limb, did not think of the adornment. Then the soap-man tore off a small piece from the red lining of his old jacket, and cutting it so as to make it look like a cock’s comb, he stuck it to the bird’s head.
“Now you will see the gold-jacket fly,” said the old man, letting the sparrow go, which flew away in deadly fear, with the sun shining upon her. How she glittered! All the sparrows, and even a crow—and an old boy he was too—were startled at the sight; but still they flew after her to learn what kind of strange bird she was.
Driven by fear and horror, she flew homeward; she was almost sinking fainting to the earth, while the flock of pursuing birds increased, some even attempting to peck at her.
“Look at her! Look at her!” they all cried.
“Look at her! Look at her” cried her little ones. as she approached the nest. “That is certainly a young peacock, for it glitters in all colours; it makes one’s eyes ache, as mother told us. Peep! that’s ‘the beautiful’.” And then they pecked at the bird with their little beaks so that it was impossible for her to get into the nest; she was so exhausted that she couldn’t even say “Peep!” much less “I am your own mother!” The other birds, too, now fell upon the sparrow and plucked off feather after feather until she fell bleeding into the rose-bush.
“Poor creature!” said all the roses; “only be still, and we will hide you. Lean your little head against us.”
The sparrow spread out her wings once more, then drew them closely to her, and lay dead near the neighbouring family, the beautiful fresh roses.
“Peep!” sounded from the nest. “Where can mother be so long? It’s more than I can understand. It cannot be a trick of hers, and mean that we are now to take care of ourselves. She has left us the house as an inheritance; but to which of us is it to belong when we have families of our own?”
“Yes, it won’t do for you to stay with me when I increase my household with a wife and children,” said the smallest.
“I daresay I shall have more wives and children than you,” said the second.
“But I am the eldest!” exclaimed the third. Then they all got excited; they hit out with their wings, pecked with their beaks, and flop! one after another was thrown out of the nest. There they lay with their anger, holding their heads on one side and blinking the eye that was turned upwards. That was their way of looking foolish.
They could fly a little; by practice they learned to improve, and at last they agreed upon a sign by which to recognise each other if they should meet in the world later on. It was to be one “Peep!” and three scratches on the ground with the left foot.
The young one who had remained behind in the nest made himself as broad as he could, for he was the proprietor. But this greatness did not last long. In the night the red flames burst through the window and seized the roof, the dry straw blazed up high, and the whole house, together with the young sparrow, was burned. The two others, who wanted to marry, thus saved their lives by a stroke of luck.
When the sun rose again and everything looked as refreshed as if it had had a quiet sleep, there only remained of the farmhouse a few black charred beams leaning against the chimney, which was now its own master. Thick smoke still rose from the ruins, but the rose-bush stood yonder, fresh, blooming, and untouched, every flower and every twig being reflected in the clear water.
“How beautifully the roses bloom before the ruined house,” exclaimed a passer-by. “A pleasanter picture cannot be imagined. I must have that.” And the man took out of his portfolio a little book with white leaves: he was a painter, and with his pencil he drew the smoking house, the charred beams and the overhanging chimney, which bent more and more; in the foreground he put the large, blooming rose-bush, which presented a charming view. For its sake alone the whole picture had been drawn.
Later in the day the two sparrows who had been born there came by. “Where is the house?” they asked. “Where is the nest? Peep! All is burned and our strong brother too. That’s what he has now for keeping the nest. The roses got off very well; there they still stand with their red cheeks. They certainly do not mourn at their neighbours’ misfortunes. I don’t want to talk to them, and it looks miserable here—that’s my opinion.” And away they went.
On a beautiful sunny autumn day—one could almost have believed it was still the middle of summer—there hopped about in the dry clean-swept courtyard before the principal entrance of the Hall a number of black, white, and gaily-coloured pigeons, all shining in the sunlight. The pigeon-mothers said to their young ones: “Stand in groups, stand in groups! for that looks much better.”
“What kind of creatures are those little grey ones that run about behind us?” asked an old pigeon, with red and green in her eyes. “Little grey ones! Little grey ones!” she cried.
“They are sparrows, and good creatures. We have always had the reputation of being pious, so we will allow them to pick up the corn with us; they don’t interrupt our talk, and they scrape so prettily when they bow.”
Indeed they were continually making three foot-scrapings with the left foot and also said “Peep!” By this means they recognised each other, for they were the sparrows from the nest on the burned house.
“Here is excellent fare!” said the sparrow. The pigeons strutted round one another, puffed out their chests mightily, and had their own private views and opinions.
“Do you see that pouter pigeon?” said one to the other. “Do you see how she swallows the peas? She eats too many, and the best ones too. Curoo! Curoo! How she lifts her crest, the ugly, spiteful creature! Curoo! Curoo!” And the eyes of all sparkled with malice. “Stand in groups! Stand in groups! Little grey ones, little grey ones! Curoo, curoo, curoo!”
So their chatter ran on, and so it will run on for thousands of years. The sparrows ate lustily; they listened attentively, and even stood in the ranks with the others, but it did not suit them at all. They were full, and so they left the pigeons, exchanging opinions about them, slipped in under the garden palings, and when they found the door leading into the house open, one of them, who was more than full, and therefore felt brave, hopped on to the threshold. “Peep!” said he; “I may venture that.”
“Peep!” said the other; “so may I, and something more too!” and he hopped into the room. No one was there; the third sparrow, seeing this, flew still farther into the room, exclaiming, “All or nothing! It is a curious man’s nest all the same; and what have they put up here? What is it?”
Close to the sparrows the roses were blooming; they were reflected in the water, and the charred beams leaned against the overhanging chimney. “Do tell me what this is. How comes this in a room at the Hall?” And all three sparrows wanted to fly over the roses and the chimney, but flew against a flat wall. It was all a picture, a great splendid picture, which the artist had painted from a sketch.
“Peep!” said the sparrows, “it’s nothing. It only looks like something. Peep! that is ‘the beautiful.’ Do you understand it? I don’t.”
And they flew away, for some people came into the room.
Days and years went by. The pigeons had often cooed, not to say growled—the spiteful creatures; the sparrows had been frozen in winter and had lived merrily in summer: they were all betrothed, or married, or whatever you like to call it. They had little ones, and of course each one thought his own the handsomest and cleverest; one flew this way, another that, and when they met they recognised each other by their “Peep!” and the three scrapes with the left foot. The eldest had remained an old maid and had no nest nor young ones. It was her pet idea to see a great city, so she flew to Copenhagen.
There was a large house painted in many gay colours standing close to the castle and the canal, upon which latter were to be seen many ships laden with apples and pottery. The windows of the house were broader at the bottom than at the top, and when the sparrows looked through them, every room appeared to them like a tulip with the brightest colours and shades. But in the middle of the tulip stood white men, made of marble; a few were of plaster; still, looked at with sparrows’ eyes, that comes to the same thing. Up on the roof stood a metal chariot drawn by metal horses, and the goddess of Victory, also of metal, was driving. It was Thorwaldsen’s Museum.
“How it shines! how it shines!” said the maiden sparrow. “I suppose that is ‘the beautiful.’ Peep! But here it is larger than a peacock.” She still remembered what in her childhood’s days her mother had looked upon as the greatest among the beautiful. She flew down into the courtyard: there everything was extremely fine. Palms and branches were painted on the walls, and in the middle of the court stood a great blooming rose-tree spreading out its fresh boughs, covered with roses, over a grave. Thither flew the maiden sparrow, for she saw several of her own kind there. A “peep” and three foot-scrapings—in this way she had often greeted throughout the year, and no one here had responded, for those who are once parted do not meet every day; and so this greeting had become a habit with her. But to-day two old sparrows and a young one answered with a “peep” and the thrice-repeated scrape with the left foot.
“Ah! Good-day! good-day!” They were two old ones from the nest and a little one of the family. “Do we meet here? It’s a grand place, but there’s not much to eat. This is ‘the beautiful.’ Peep!”
Many people came out of the side rooms where the beautiful marble statues stood and approached the grave where lay the great master who had created these works of art. All stood with enraptured faces round Thorwaldsen’s grave, and a few picked up the fallen rose-leaves and preserved them. They had come from afar: one from mighty England, others from Germany and France. The fairest of the ladies plucked one of the roses and hid it in her bosom. Then the sparrows thought that the roses reigned here, and that the house had been built for their sake. That appeared to them to be really too much, but since all the people showed their love for the roses, they did not wish to be behindhand. “Peep!” they said sweeping the ground with their tails, and blinking with one eye at the roses, they had not looked at them long before they were convinced that they were their old neighbours. And so they really were. The painter who had drawn the rose-bush near the ruined house, had afterwards obtained permission to dig it up, and had given it to the architect, for finer roses had never been seen. The architect had planted it upon Thorwaldsen’s grave, where it bloomed as an emblem of ‘the beautiful’ and yielded fragrant red rose-leaves to be carried as mementoes to distant lands.
“Have you obtained an appointment here in the city?” asked the sparrows. The roses nodded; they recognized their grey neighbours and were pleased to see them again. “How glorious it is to live and to bloom, to see old friends again, and happy faces every day. It is as if every day were a festival.” “Peep!” said the sparrows. “Yes, they are really our old neighbours; we remember their origin near the pond. Peep! how they have got on. Yes, some succeed while they are asleep. Ah! there’s a faded leaf; I can see that quite plainly.” And they pecked at it till it fell off. But the tree stood there fresher and greener than ever; the roses bloomed in the sunshine on Thorwaldsen’s grave and became associated with his immortal name.
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