连最有学问的人也没有办法把自己不知道的事情解释清楚澳门新葡亰网站注册:,所以这一次我对鹳鸟说

比尔的脸上有红有白,身材矮小,相貌平常。他在一朵雏菊里睡过。当别的孩子打他的时候,他从来不还手。他说他是一个最讲道理的人,而最讲道理的人总是让步的。他是一个收藏家;他先收集石笔,然后收集印章,最后他弄到一个收藏博物的小匣子,里面装着一条棘鱼的全部骸骨,三只用酒精浸着的小耗子和一只剥制的鼹鼠。比尔对于科学很感兴趣,对于大自然很能欣赏。这对于他的父母和自己说来,都是很好的事情。

贝脱、比脱和比尔的简介

老鹳鸟给一家人送了三个小孩,分别叫贝脱、比脱和比尔,这三个小孩性格各不相同,拥有不同理想,最后长大成为不同的人物。

  他情愿到山林里去,而不愿进学校;他爱好大自然而不喜欢纪律。他的兄弟都已经订婚了,而他却只想着怎样完成收集水鸟蛋的工作。他对于动物的知识比对于人的知识要丰富得多。他认为在我们最重视的一个问题——爱情问题上,我们赶不上动物。他看到当母夜莺在孵卵的时候,公夜莺就整夜守在旁边,为他亲爱的妻子唱歌:嘀嘀!吱吱!咯咯——丽!像这类事儿,比尔就做不出来,连想都不会想到。当鹳鸟妈妈跟孩子们睡在窠里的时候,鹳鸟爸爸就整夜用一只腿站在屋顶上。比尔这样连一个钟头都站不了。
  有一天当他在研究一个蜘蛛网里面的东西时,他忽然完全放弃了结婚的念头。蜘蛛先生忙着织网,为的是要网住那些粗心的苍蝇——年轻的、年老的、胖的和瘦的苍蝇。他活着是为了织网养家,但是蜘蛛太太却只是专为丈夫而活着。她为了爱他就一口把他吃掉:她吃掉他的心、他的头和肚皮。只有他的一双又瘦又长的腿还留在网里,作为他曾经为全家的衣食奔波过一番的纪念。这是他从博物学中得来的绝对真理。比尔亲眼看见这事情,他研究过这个问题。“这样被自己的太太爱,在热烈的爱情中这样被自己的太太一口吃掉。不,人类之中没有谁能够爱到这种地步,不过这样爱值不值得呢?”
  比尔决定终身不结婚!连接吻都不愿意,他也不希望被别人吻,因为接吻可能是结婚的第一步呀。但是他却得到了一个吻——我们大家都会得到的一个吻:死神的结实的一吻。等我们活了足够长的时间以后,死神就会接到一个命令:“把他吻死吧!”于是人就死了。上帝射出一丝强烈的太阳光,把人的眼睛照得看不见东西。人的灵魂,到来的时候像一颗流星,飞走的时候也像一颗流星,但是它不再躺在一朵花里,或睡在睡莲花瓣下做梦。它有更重要的事情要做。它飞到永恒的国度里去;不过这个国度是什么样子的,谁也说不出来。谁也没有到它里面去看过,连鹳鸟都没有去看过,虽然他能看得很远,也知道很多东西。他对于比尔所知道的也不多,虽然他很了解贝脱和比脱。不过关于他们,我们已经听得够多了,我想你也是一样。所以这一次我对鹳鸟说:“谢谢你。”但是他对于这个平凡的小故事要求三个青蛙和一条小蛇的报酬,因为他是愿意得到食物作为报酬的。你愿不愿意给他呢?
  我是不愿意的。我既没有青蛙,也没有小蛇呀。   (1868年)
  这篇作品,发表在哥本哈根1868年1月12日出版的《费加罗》(AEigaro)杂志。安徒生在他的手记中写道:“《贝脱·比脱和比尔》,像《小小的绿东西》一样,来源于一个舒适的住处,可以使人产生得意和自满之感的这种情境。”但这里却是写平凡的人生。一个人从出生到成长,以及他在一生中所追求的东西都不一样,但殊途同归,“等我们活了足够长的时间以后,死神就会接到一个命令:把他吻死吧!于是人就死了。”他的灵魂就“飞到永恒的国度里去;不过这个国度是什么样子的,谁也说不出来。”安徒生对此也不能解答。

英文版:Peiter, Peter and Pee

It is unbelievable all that children know nowadays; one can scarcely say
what they don’t know. They no longer believe the old story that the
stork brought them to father and mother out of the well or the millpond
when they were little, and yet it is really true.

But how did the little ones get down into the millpond or the well? Ah,
not everyone knows that, but there are some who do. Have you ever gazed
at the sky on a clear, starry night and watched the many shooting
stars? It is as if the stars fall from and disappear into nowhere. Even
the most learned persons can’t explain what they don’t know themselves;
but one can explain this when he knows it. It is like a little
Christmas-tree candle that falls from heaven and is blown out. It is a
soul spark from our Lord that flies toward the earth, and when it
reaches our thick, heavy air, it loses its brilliancy, becoming
something that our eyes cannot see, something much finer than air
itself; it is a little child from heaven, a little angel, but without
wings, for it is to become a human child.

Softly it glides through the air, and the wind carries it into a
flower, which may be an orchid, a dandelion, a rose, or a cowslip,
and there it lies and rests itself. And so light and airy is it that a
fly can carry it off, as, of course, a bee can, when they
alternately come to seek the sweetness of the flower. If the little air
child lies in their way, they do not brush it aside. That they wouldn’t
have the heart to do! They take it and lay it under the leaf of a water
lily in the sunshine, and from there it crawls and creeps into the
water, where it sleeps and grows until it is large enough for the stork
to see and bring to a human family that has been longing for a sweet
little child. But whether it becomes sweet or not depends on whether it
has drunk pure clean water or has swallowed mud and duckweed the wrong
way; that makes one so filthy!

The stork, always without preference, takes the first one he sees. One
goes to kind and loving parents in a fine home; another comes to
unpleasant people in such misery that it would have been much better for
it to have remained in the millpond.

The little ones can never remember afterward what they dreamed while
they were lying under the water-lily leaf, listening to the frogs in
the evening singing, Coax! Coax! Coax! In human language that means,
Now you go to sleep and dream! Nor can they remember the flower where
they first lay, nor how it smelled; and yet there is always something
inside them, even when they are grown people, which makes them say, I
like this flower the best. That’s because it is the one in which they
were placed when they were air children.

The stork lives to be a very old bird, and he always has interest in
the little ones he has brought and watches how they get along in the
world and how they behave themselves. Of course, he can’t do much for
them or change anything in their lives, for he has his own family to
look after, but at least he never lets them get out of his thoughts.

I know a very worthy, honest old stork who has had a great deal of
experience, and has brought many little ones out of the water, and
knows their stories – in which there is always a little mud and duckweed
from the millpond. I begged him to tell me the story of one of them,
and he said I should have three instead of one, and all from the
Pietersens’ house.

The Pietersens were an extremely nice family; the father was one of the
thirty-two members of the town council, and that was an honor; he was
completely wrapped up in his work with the thirty-two councilmen. When
the stork brought a little fellow to this home he was named Peiter; the
next year the stork brought another, and they named him Peter, and
when the third one came they called him Peer – for all three names –
Peiter, Peter, and Peer – are parts of the name Pietersen. So there
were three brothers here – three shooting stars – and each had been
cradled in a flower, then laid under the water-lily leaf in the
millpond, and brought from there by the stork to the Pietersen family,
whose house is on the corner, as you surely know.

They grew in body and mind, and wanted to become something more than
the thirty-two councilmen were. Peiter had decided he wanted to be a
robber; he had just seen the play Fra Diavolo, and that had convinced
him that a robber’s life was the most delightful in the world. Peter
wanted to be a trash collector. And Peer, who was such a sweet and good
boy, round and plump, whose only fault was biting his nails, wanted
to be Papa. That was what each of them said he was going to be in life,
whenever anybody asked them about it.

Then they went to school. One was at the head of the class, and one at
the foot, and one in the middle, but in spite of that they could be
equally good and clever, and they were, said their very clearsighted
parents. The three went to children’s parties; they smoked when nobody
was watching. They gained knowledge and made acquaintances.

From the time he was quite small, Peiter was quarrelsome, just the way
a robber ought to be. He was a very naughty boy, but his mother said
that came from worms – naughty children always have worms – or from mud
in the stomach. And one day his mother’s new silk dress suffered from
his obstinacy and naughtiness.

Don’t push the tea table, my good little lamb, she had said. You might
tip over the cream pitcher, and then I’d get spots on my new silk
dress.

And so the good little lamb firmly took up the cream pitcher and firmly
poured all the cream right into Mamma’s lap. Mamma couldn’t help
saying, Oh, lamb, lamb, that was careless of you, lamb! But she had
to admit that the child had a will of his own. A will means character,
and that’s very promising to a mother.

He might, of course, have become a robber, but he didn’t, in the
actual sense of the word; he only came to look like one, with his
slouch hat, bare throat, and long, lank hair. He was supposed to be
an artist, but he only got as far as the clothes. He looked like a
hollyhock, and all the people he made drawings of looked like
hollyhocks, so lanky were they. He was very fond of hollyhocks, and
the stork said he had lain in that flower when he was an air child.

Peter must have lain in a buttercup. He looked buttery around the
corners of his mouth, and his skin was so yellow that one would think
that if his cheek were cut, butter would ooze out. He should have been
a butter dealer, and could have been his own signboard; but on the
inside he was a trash collector with a rattle. He was a musician of the
Pietersen family – musical enough for all of them, the neighbors said.
He composed seventeen new polkas in one week, and then put them all
together and made an opera out of them, with a trumpet and rattle
accompaniment. Ugh! How delightful that was!

Peer was white and red, small and quite ordinary; he had lain in a
daisy. He never hit back when the other boys beat him up; he said he was
the most sensible, and the most sensible always gives way first.

He was a collector, first of slate pencils, and later of letter seals.
Then he got a little cabinet of curiosities of natural history, in
which were the skeleton of a stickleback, three blind baby rats
preserved in alcohol, and a stuffed mole. Peer had a keen appreciation
of science and an eye for the beauties of nature, and that was a
comfort to his parents and to him, too. He preferred wandering in the
woods to going to school, preferred nature to education.

Both his brothers were engaged to be married, but he could think of
nothing but completing his collection of water-bird eggs. He knew much
more about animals than he did about human beings; he even thought we
could never reach the heights of the animals in the feeling we consider
the loftiest of all – love. He saw that when the female nightingale was
setting on the nest, Papa Nightingale would perch on a branch close by
and sing to his little wife all night, Kluk-kluk! Zi-Zi! Lo-lo-li! Peer
knew he could never do that or even think of doing such a thing. When
Mamma Stork had her babies in the nest, Father Stork stood guard on the
edge of the roof all night, on one leg. Peer couldn’t have stood that
way for an hour!

Then one day when he examined a spider’s web, and saw what was in it,
he gave up completely any idea of marriage. Mr. Spider weaves his web
for catching thoughtless flies, old and young, fat and lean; he lives
only to weave and to support his family. But Madam Spider lives only for
him. Out of sheer love she eats him up; she eats his heart, his head,
his stomach, until only his long thin legs are left in the web where he
used to sit, anxious for the welfare of his family. Now that’s the real
truth, right out of the natural-history book! When Peer saw all this he
grew very thoughtful; to be so dearly loved by a wife that she eats one
up out of violent love? No! No human being could love like that, and
would it be desirable, anyway?

Peer resolved never to marry, or even to give or take a kiss, for that
might seem the first step toward marriage. But he did receive a kiss,
anyway, the same kiss we all get someday, the great kiss of Death.
When we have lived long enough, Death is given the order, kiss him
away, and so away the human goes. A ray of sunshine comes straight from
our Lord, so bright that it almost blinds one. Then the soul that came
from heaven as a shooting star goes back like a shooting star, but this
time not to sleep in a flower or dream beneath the leaf of the water
lily; it has more important things than that to do. It enters the great
land of eternity; but what that is like and what it looks like there,
no one can say. No one has looked into it, not even the stork, though
he sees far and knows much.

The stork knew nothing more of Peer, whereas he could have told me lots
more about Peiter and Peter. But I had heard enough of them, and I
suppose you have, too, so I thanked him and bade him good-by for this
time. But now he demands three frogs and a little snake as payment for
this simple little story – you see, he takes his pay in food. Will you
pay him? I can’t; I have neither frogs nor snakes.

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