安徒生童話:the Neighbouring Families鄰居們

the Neighbouring Families

by Hans Christian Andersen（1847）

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.

人們一定以爲養鴨池裏有甚麼不平常的事情發生了，但是一丁點事兒也沒有。所有那些安靜地浮在水上、或者倒立在水裏（因爲它們有這套本領）的鴨兒忽然都衝向岸上來了。人們可以在潮溼的泥土上看到它們的足跡，人們在很遠的地方就可以聽到它們的叫聲。水也動盪起來了。不久以前，水還是像鏡子-樣光亮，人們可以看到倒映在水裏面的樹，岸旁的每一個灌木叢，那個有一堵滿是洞孔和燕子窠的三角牆的農舍，特別是那個開滿了花朵的大攻瑰花叢——花叢從牆上垂下來，懸在水上。這一切都在水裏映出來，像圖畫一樣，只不過是顛倒的罷了。當水在波動着的時候，一切東西就攪到一起，這整個的圖畫也就沒有了。

有兩根羽毛從幾隻拍着翅膀的鴨於身上落下來了。它們一起一伏地浮着，忽然間飛起來了，好像有一陣風吹起來，但是又沒有風。所以它們只好停下不動。於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牆和它上面的燕子窠，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，因爲沒有誰把這事告訴它們。它們細嫩的花瓣發出幽香，太陽在那上面照着。像我們在充滿了幸福感的時候一樣，每朵玫瑰花有一種怡然自得的感覺。“活着是多麼美好啊！”每一朵玫瑰花說，“我只是希望一件事——希望能夠吻一下太陽，因爲它是那麼光明和溫暖。我還希望吻一下水裏的玫瑰花——它們簡直跟我們沒有甚麼差別。我也希望吻一下案裏的那些可愛的小鳥。我們上面也有幾隻！它們把小頭伸出來，唱得那麼溫柔。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，生存是多麼美好啊！”

住在上面和下面的那些小鳥——住在下面的當然只不過是映在水裏的影子——都是麻雀。它們的爸爸和媽媽也都是麻雀。它們去年就把燕子的空窠佔領了，在裏面成家立業。“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着的羽毛，就這樣問。“你們要問問題，就應該問得聰明一點！”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裏來，因爲它們能保暖。我也很想知道，甚麼東西把鴨兒嚇成那個樣子。水裏面一定出了甚麼事情。它們決不至於怕我吧，雖然我對你們說”嘰“的時候，聲音未免大了一點。那些傻頭傻腦的玫瑰花應該知道，不過它們甚麼也不懂。它們只是互相呆望，發出一點香氣罷了。對於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。“它們也想學着唱唱歌。當然它們還不會唱，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！”

這時有兩匹馬兒飛奔過來了，它們是未喝水的。有一匹馬上騎着一個農家孩子。他把所有的衣服都脫掉了，只戴了那頂又大又寬的黑帽子。這孩子吹着口哨，像一隻小烏兒一樣。他一直騎到池子最深的地方。當他走過玫瑰花叢的時候，他摘下一朵玫瑰，把它插在自己的帽子上。他以爲自己打扮得很漂亮，就騎着馬走了。其餘的玫瑰花目送着它們的妹妹，同時相互問着：“它會旅行到甚麼地方去呢？”但是它們回答不出來。“我很想到外面的世界裏去見見世面，”這朵玫瑰對那朵玫瑰說。“不過住在我們自己家裏的綠葉子中間也是很愉快的。白天有溫暖的太陽照着、夜裏有更美麗的天空！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，因爲玫瑰只能想像到這一點。“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：”燕子察帶來運氣“，所以大家也願意我們在這兒住。不過請看那兒的一些鄰居！這麼一堆爬上牆來的玫瑰花叢，只能把這地方弄得發潮。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。農家婦人把它們用鹽保藏起來，於是它們就得到一個我既念不出、也不願意念出的法國名兒。然後它們就被扔進火裏，好叫它們發出一點好聞的氣味來。你們看，那就是它們的事業。它們只是爲人家的眼睛和鼻子活着。現在你們懂得了！”

當黃昏到來、蚊蚋在映着晚霞的溫暖空氣中跳着好的時候，夜鶯就飛來對玫瑰花唱着歌，說：“美”就像這個世界的太陽光一樣，是永遠不變的。玫魂花兒都以爲夜鶯是在歌唱自己。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。“我完全能聽懂那隻鳥兒的歌，”小麻雀說。“只是有一個字我聽不懂。”美“是甚麼意思？”“甚麼意思也沒有，”麻雀媽媽回答說。“那不過是一種表面的東西罷了。在那兒的一個公館裏，鴿子都有它們自己的房子，院子裏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。你只須告訴我你跟甚麼人來往，我就可以說出你是甚麼人。那公館裏還住着兩隻雀子。它們的頸項是綠的，頭上還長着一個冠子。它們能把尾巴展開來，像一個巨大的輪子一樣。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，那麼它們跟我們也就沒有甚麼兩樣了。要不是它們長得麼大的話，我自己就可以拔掉它們的毛的。”“我要拔掉它們的毛！”最小的那個麻雀說，它連毛還沒有長出來。

在那個農舍裏面住着一對年輕人。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，那個年輕的妻子走出來，摘了一大把最美麗的玫瑰花，放在一個玻璃杯裏，然後把這杯子放在碗櫃上。“現在我可以知道這是禮拜天了！”丈夫說，同時把他甜蜜的小妻子吻了一下。於是他們坐下來，兩人緊緊地握着手，讀着一本《聖詩集》。太陽從窗子裏射進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，因爲它從窠裏可以直接望到這房間裏的東西。所以它就飛走了。

第二個禮拜天又是這樣，那個玻璃杯裏每個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。

那些小麻雀現在長好羽毛了，它們想要向外飛，不過媽媽說：“不准你們動！”於是它們只好不動了。麻雀媽媽獨自個兒飛走了。但是，不知怎的，它忽然被樹枝上一個圈套絆住了，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。“這原來不過是一隻麻雀！”他們說，但是並不放走它，卻把它帶到家裏來。它每叫一聲，他們就在它的嘴上打一下。

在那個農舍裏有一個老頭兒。他會做刮臉和洗手的肥皂——肥皂球或肥皂片。他是一個樂天的、隨隨便便的老傢伙。當他看到那些孩子把這隻灰麻雀帶回來、同時聽說他們並不喜歡它的時候。他就說：“咱們把它美化一下，好嗎？”

當他說出這句話的時候，麻雀媽媽身上就冷了半截。

老頭兒從一個裝滿了各色耀眼的東西的匣子裏取出許多閃亮的金葉子來。他又叫孩子們去拿一個雞蛋來。他把這麻雀塗了滿身的蛋清，於是他把金葉子粘上去，這麼一來，麻雀媽媽就算是鍍金了。不過它並沒有想到漂亮，它只是四肢發抖。這位肥皂專家從他的舊衣上拉下一片紅布來，肥它剪成一個公雞冠子的形狀，然後把它貼在這鳥兒的頭上。“你們現在可以看到一隻金鳥飛翔了！”老頭兒說，於是把這隻麻雀放走了。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，連那個大烏鴉——它已經不是一個年輕小夥子了——看到它也不禁大驚失色起來，不過它們仍然在它的後面窮追，因爲它們想要知道，這究竟是一個甚麼怪鳥兒。

從甚麼地方飛來的？從甚麼地方飛來？烏鴉大聲喊着。“請停一下！請停一下！”許多麻雀一齊喊着。　　　　但是那雀子卻不願意停下來。它懷着害怕和恐怖的心情，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！”當麻雀媽媽飛近它的窠時，那些小麻雀也喊。“這一定是一個小孔雀，它射出種種不同的色彩，正像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！”

它們開始用小嘴啄着這鳥兒，弄得它簡直沒有辦法飛進窠裏來。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，把它的羽毛一根接着一根地啄得精光。最後麻雀媽媽全身流血，墜落到玫瑰花叢裏去了。“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。請把你的頭靠着我們吧。”

麻雀把翅膀張開了一下，接着馬上就縮回去了，緊貼着身子。它在這些鄰居們——這些美麗新鮮的玫瑰花旁邊死了。“嘰！嘰！”窠裏的麻雀說。“媽媽到甚麼地方去了呢？我們連影子都不知道！該不會是它玩了一個花樣，叫我們自己去找出路吧？它留下這麼一個房子給我們作爲遺產！不過當我們都成家的時候，究竟誰來繼承它呢？”“是的，等我有了妻子和小孩，把家庭擴大了的時候，你們想要跟我住在一起可不行啦，”最小的那隻麻雀說。“我的妻子和孩子將會比你的還要多！”另一隻說。“但是我是長子呀！”第三隻說。

它們吵起來了，用翅膀打，用嘴啄着，於是，“拍！”的一聲，它們一個跟着一個地從窠裏滾出來了。它們躺在地上，氣得不可開支。它們把頭偏向一邊，同時眨着朝上的那個眼睛——這就是它們生氣的表示。

它們能夠飛一點兒了，又進一步練習了一陣子。最後，爲了使它們今後在世界上碰頭的時候可以彼此認得出來，它們一致同意到那時應該說：“嘰！嘰！”同時用左腳在地上扒三次。

那個仍然留在窠裏的小麻雀，儘量擺出一副神氣十足的架子，因爲它現在成了這屋子的主人，不過它沒有當家很久。在這天晚上，一股紅色的火在窗玻璃裏閃耀着，火焰從屋頂下燎出來，乾草嘩啦嘩啦地燒起來，整個屋子都着火了，連這個小麻雀也在內。不過別的麻雀都逃出來，保住了性命。

第二天早晨，當太陽又升起來的時候，一切東西顯得非常新鮮，好像安靜地睡了一覺似的。那個農舍甚麼也沒有剩下了，只有幾根燒焦的屋樑，靠着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豔。，開得很茂盛，每一朵花，每一根枝條都映照在那平靜的水裏。“咳，這座燒塌了的房子面前的玫瑰花開得多麼美啊！”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！”

於是這人從衣袋裏取出一本白紙本子，他拿起鉛筆，因爲他是一個畫家。他畫出這冒煙的廢墟，燒焦的屋樑，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，這幅畫完全是爲它而畫的。

這天的傍晚、原來在那兒出生的兩個麻雀經過這兒“”那房子到甚麼地方去了？“它們問。”那個窠到甚麼地方去了，嘰！嘰！甚麼都燒掉了，連我們那個強壯的老弟也被燒掉了！這就是它獨佔那個窠的結果，那些玫瑰花兒倒是安然地逃脫了——它們仍然立在那兒，滿臉紅潤。它們當然不會爲鄰居的倒黴而難過的。我們不跟它們講話。這地方真醜——這是我們的意見。“於是它們就飛走了。

當秋天來了的時候，有一天太陽照得非常燦爛，人們很可能以爲這還是夏天。在一個公館面前的一排大臺階下面有一個院子，它是乾燥和清潔的。有一羣鴿子在院子裏散着步：黑色的，白色的和紫色的，它們都在太陽光裏閃着光。年老的鴿子媽媽特別提高嗓子對它們的孩子說：“要成羣地站着！要成羣地站着！”——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甚麼，”一隻眼睛裏顯出紅綠二色的老鴿子問。“它們是麻雀呀！——一種沒有甚麼害處的動物。我們素來是以和善馳名的，所以我們還是讓它們啄點我們的東西吃吧。它們不會跟我們講話的，而且它們的腳扒得也滿客氣！”鴿子媽媽回答說。

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出它們是那個燒塌了的房子裏一窠生出來的三隻麻雀。“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，而且只是談論着它們自己的事情。“你看到那個凸胸脯的鴿子嗎？”一隻麻雀對另一隻麻雀說。“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。“站成羣呀！站成羣呀！灰色的小東西！灰色的小東西！咕嚕，咕嚕！咕嚕！”

鴿子的嘴巴就是這麼不停地囉嗦着；一千年以後，它們還會這麼囉嗦。

麻雀們大吃了一通，它們也聽了許多話。是的，它們甚至還“站成羣”，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，彼此還發表了對於鴿子的意見，然後就跳到花園的柵欄下面去。當它們發現花園門是開着的時候，有一隻就跳進門欄裏去。它因爲吃得非常飽，所以膽子也就大了。“嘰嘰！”它說，“我敢這樣做！”“嘰嘰！”另一隻說，“我也敢，而且還要超過你。”於是它就徑直跳到人家的房間裏去。

房間裏沒有人。第三隻麻雀看到這情形，也飛進去，而且飛到頂裏面去，同時說。“要不就素性飛進去，要不就索性不進去！這是一個多麼滑稽的”人窠“！那上面掛的是甚麼東西？嗨，那是甚麼東西？”　　　　麻雀看到自己面前有許多盛開的玫瑰，它們都倒映在水裏，那燒焦了的屋樑斜倚着那隨時都可以倒下來的煙囪。——乖乖，這是甚麼？它們怎麼會跑到一個公館裏的房間裏來了呢？

這三隻麻雀想在煙囪和玫瑰花上飛過去，但是卻碰到了一堵硬牆。這原來是一幅畫，一幅美麗的巨畫。它是畫家根據他的速寫完成的。“嘰嘰！”這些麻雀說，“這沒有甚麼！只不過看起來像真東西罷了。嘰嘰！這就是”美“呀！你們能看出這是甚麼道理嗎？我看不出甚麼道理！”

於是它們就飛走了，因爲這時有幾個人走進房間裏來了。

許多歲月過去了。鴿子不知咕嚕咕嚕了多少次，且不提它們的囉嗦——這些脾氣暴躁的東西！麻雀們在冬天捱過凍，在夏天裏享受過舒服的日子。它們現在都訂了婚，或者結了婚。它們都生了小寶寶。當然每一隻麻雀總認爲自己的孩子最漂亮，最聰明。這個孩子飛到東，那個孩子飛到西，當它們相遇的時候，便會一聲“嘰！”同時用左腳扒三下，彼此就認出來了。它們中間一隻最老的麻雀現在是一個老姑娘，它既沒有窠，也沒有孩子。它非常想到一個大城市去看看，因此就飛到哥本哈根去。

那兒有一幢五光十色的大房子。它處在皇官和運河的近旁。河上有許多裝載着蘋果和陶器的船來往。房子的窗子都是下面寬，上面窄。麻雀朝裏面看去，覺得每個房間像一朵鬱金香，甚麼色彩和裝飾都有，在這朵鬱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，上面還套着幾匹鐵馬，由一個鐵鑄的勝利女神趕着。這原來是多瓦爾生博物館。“你看它是多麼光彩，你看它是多麼光彩！”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！”

它還記得小時候它媽媽所知道的最美的東西是甚麼。於是它飛到院子裏來。這兒也很美麗：牆上畫着棕櫚樹和枝條；院子中央長着一個盛開的大玫瑰花叢——那開滿了花朵的新鮮枝子在一個墳墓上面伸展開來。它飛進這花叢裏去，因爲裏面有許多別的麻雀。“嘰嘰！”接着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，因爲大家一分手，就不一定每天都可以碰到。現在這種敬禮不過成了一種習慣罷了。但是今天卻有兩個老麻雀和一個小麻雀回答一聲：“嘰嘰！”同時用左腳扒了三下土。“啊！日安！日安！”它們是老窠裏的兩隻老麻雀和這個家族的一隻小麻雀。“我們居然在這兒會面了！”它們說。“這真是一個好地方，可惜沒有甚麼東西可吃。這就是”美“呀！嘰嘰！”

許多人從兩邊的房間裏走出來——那裏面陳列着許多美麗的大理石像。他們走到墳墓旁邊來。雕刻這些美麗的石像的那位藝術家就躺在這裏。他們臉上現出欣悅的表情，站在多瓦爾生的墓旁。他們拾起落下的玫瑰花瓣，保存起來作爲紀念。他們有的是從很遠的地方來的：有的來自強大的英國，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，藏在自己的懷裏。

這些麻雀以爲玫瑰花成了這地方的主人，以爲這整個房子就是爲玫瑰花而建築的。它們覺得這未免有點做得太過份。不過人類既然這樣重視玫瑰花，它們當然也不甘落後。“嘰嘰！”它們說，同時把尾巴在地上一掃，用一隻眼睛對這些玫瑰花斜望一下。它們沒有望多久馬上就認出來了，這些花兒原來是它們的老鄰居，事實上也沒有錯，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，後來得到許可把玫瑰挖起來，送給這個博物館的建築師，因爲比這更美麗的玫瑰花在任何地方都不容易找到，那位建築師把這花栽在多瓦爾生的墓上。現在玫瑰在這兒開了。作爲美的具體形象，它貢獻出又紅又香的花瓣，讓人們帶到遙遠的國度裏去，作爲紀念。“你們在這城裏找到了一個位置嗎？”麻雀們問。

這些玫瑰花都點點頭，認出了灰色的鄰居們。它們看到麻雀，覺得非常高興。“活着和開着花，碰到舊時的朋友，每天看到和善的面孔——這是多麼幸福啊！這兒每天都好像是一個節日！”“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池塘旁邊的原形。嘰！它們真是發跡了！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裏有甚麼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！”

於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着。它們的美跟他不朽的名字永遠聯在一起。

（1847）