安徒生童话全集英文版
安徒生童话全集英文版篇一
ROUND about the garden ran a hedge of hazel bushes. Beyond the hedge were fields and meadows with cows and sheep, but in the middle of the garden stood a rosetree in bloom. Under the rose tree sat a snail, whose shell contained a great deal that is, himself.
"Only wait till my time comes," he said; "I shall do more than grow roses, bear nuts, or give milk, like the hazelbush, the cows and the sheep."
"I expect a great deal from you," said the rosetree. "May I ask when it will appear?"
"I take my time," said the snail. "You're always in such a hurry. That does not excite expectation."
The following year the snail lay in almost the same spot, in the sunshine under the rosetree, which was again budding and bearing roses as fresh and beautiful as ever. The snail crept half out of his shell, stretched out his horns, and drew them in again.
"Everything is just as it was last year! No progress at all; the rosetree sticks to its roses and gets no farther."
The summer and the autumn passed; the rosetree bore roses and buds till the snow fell and the weather became raw and wet; then it bent down its head, and the snail crept into the ground.
A new year began; the roses made their appearance, and the snail made his too.
"You are an old rosetree now," said the snail. "You must make haste and die. You have given the world all that you had in you; whether it was of much importance is a question that I have not had time to think about. But this much is clear and plain, that you have not done the least for your inner development, or you would have produced something else. Have you anything to say in defense? You will now soon be nothing but a stick. Do you understand what I say?"
"You frighten me," said the rose tree. "I have never thought of that."
"No, you have never taken the trouble to think at all. Have you ever given yourself an account why you bloomed, and how your blooming comes about why just in that way and in no other?"
"No," said the rosetree. "I bloom in gladness, because I cannot do otherwise. The sun shone and warmed me, and the air refreshed me; I drank the clear dew and the invigorating rain. I breathed and I lived! Out of the earth there arose a power within me, whilst from above I also received strength; I felt an everrenewed and everincreasing happiness, and therefore I was obliged to go on blooming. That was my life; I could not do otherwise."
"You have led a very easy life," remarked the snail.
"Certainly. Everything was given me," said the rosetree. "But still more was given to you. Yours is one of those deepthinking natures, one of those highly gifted minds that astonishes the world."
"I have not the slightest intention of doing so," said the snail.
"The world is nothing to me. What have I to do with the world? I have enough to do with myself, and enough in myself"
"But must we not all here on earth give up our best parts to others, and offer as much as lies in our power? It is true, I have only given roses. But you you who are so richly endowed what have you given to the world? What will you give it?"
"What have I given? What am I going to give? I spit at it; it's good for nothing, and does not concern me. For my part, you may go on bearing roses; you cannot do anything else. Let the hazel bush bear nuts, and the cows and sheep give milk; they have each their public. I have mine in myself. I retire within myself and there I stop. The world is nothing to me."
With this the snail withdrew into his house and blocked up the entrance.
"That's very sad," said the rose tree. "I cannot creep into myself, however much I might wish to do so; I have to go on bearing roses. Then they drop their leaves, which are blown away by the wind. But I once saw how a rose was laid in the mistress's hymnbook, and how one of my roses found a place in the bosom of a young beautiful girl, and how another was kissed by the lips of a child in the glad joy of life. That did me good; it was a real blessing. Those are my recollections, my life."
And the rose tree went on blooming in innocence, while the snail lay idling in his house the world was nothing to him.
Years passed by.
The snail had turned to earth in the earth, and the rose tree too. Even the souvenir rose in the hymnbook was faded, but in the garden there were other rose trees and other snails. The latter crept into their houses and spat at the world, for it did not concern them.
Shall we read the story all over again? It will be just the same.
安徒生童话全集英文版篇二
IT was bitterly cold, the sky glittered with stars, and not a breeze stirred. "Bump" an old pot was thrown at a neighbor's door; and "bang, bang," went the guns, for they were greeting the New Year.
It was New Year's Eve, and the church clock was striking twelve.
"Tantarara, tantarara," sounded the horn, and the mailcoach came lumbering up. The clumsy vehicle stopped at the gate of the town; all the places had been taken, for there were twelve passengers in the coach.
"Hurrah! hurrah!" cried the people in the town; for in every house the New Year was being welcomed; and as the clock struck, they stood up, the full glasses in their hands, to drink success to the new comer. "A happy New Year," was the cry; "a pretty wife, plenty of money, and no sorrow or care."
The wish passed round, and the glasses clashed together till they rang again; while before the towngate the mail coach stopped with the twelve strange passengers. And who were these strangers? Each of them had his passport and his luggage with him; they even brought presents for me, and for you, and for all the people in the town. "Who were they? what did they want? and what did they bring with them?"
"Goodmorning," they cried to the sentry at the towngate.
"Goodmorning," replied the sentry; for the clock had struck twelve. "Your name and profession?" asked the sentry of the one who alighted first from the carriage.
"See for yourself in the passport," he replied. "I am myself;" and a famous fellow he looked, arrayed in bearskin and fur boots.
"I am the man on whom many persons fix their hopes. Come to me tomorrow, and I'll give you a New Year's present. I throw shillings and pence among the people; I give balls, no less than thirtyone; indeed, that is the highest number I can spare for balls. My ships are often frozen in, but in my offices it is warm and comfortable. My name is JANUARY. I'm a merchant, and I generally bring my accounts with me."
Then the second alighted. He seemed a merry fellow. He was a director of a theatre, a manager of masked balls, and a leader of all the amusements we can imagine. His luggage consisted of a great cask.
"We'll dance the bung out of the cask at carnival time," said he;
"I'll prepare a merry tune for you and for myself too. Unfortunately I have not long to live the shortest time, in fact, of my whole family only twentyeight days. Sometimes they pop me in a day extra; but I trouble myself very little about that. Hurrah!"
"You must not shout so," said the sentry.
"Certainly I may shout," retorted the man; "I'm Prince Carnival, travelling under the name of FEBRUARY."
The third now got out. He looked a personification of fasting; but he carried his nose very high, for he was related to the "forty (k)nights," and was a weather prophet. But that is not a very lucrative office, and therefore he praised fasting. In his buttonhole he carried a little bunch of violets, but they were very small.
"MARCH, March," the fourth called after him, slapping him on the shoulder, "don't you smell something? Make haste into the guard room; they're drinking punch there; that's your favorite drink. I can smell it out here already. Forward, Master March." But it was not true; the speaker only wanted to remind him of his name, and to make an APRIL fool of him; for with that fun the fourth generally began his career. He looked very jovial, did little work, and had the more holidays. "If the world were only a little more settled," said he: "but sometimes I'm obliged to be in a good humor, and sometimes a bad one, according to circumstances; now rain, now sunshine. I'm kind of a house agent, also a manager of funerals. I can laugh or cry, according to circumstances. I have my summer wardrobe in this box here, but it would be very foolish to put it on now. Here I am. On Sundays I go out walking in shoes and white silk stockings, and a muff."
After him, a lady stepped out of the coach. She called herself Miss MAY. She wore a summer dress and overshoes; her dress was a light green, and she wore anemones in her hair. She was so scented with wildthyme, that it made the sentry sneeze.
"Your health, and God bless you," was her salutation to him.
How pretty she was! and such a singer! not a theatre singer, nor a ballad singer; no, but a singer of the woods; for she wandered through the gay green forest, and had a concert there for her own amusement.
"Now comes the young lady," said those in the carriage; and out stepped a young dame, delicate, proud, and pretty. It was Mistress JUNE, in whose service people become lazy and fond of sleeping for hours. She gives a feast on the longest day of the year, that there may be time for her guests to partake of the numerous dishes at her table. Indeed, she keeps her own carriage; but still she traveled by the mail, with the rest, because she wished to show that she was not highminded. But she was not without a protector; her younger brother, JULY, was with her. He was a plump young fellow, clad in summer garments and wearing a straw hat. He had but very little luggage with him, because it was so cumbersome in the great heat; he had, however, swimmingtrousers with him, which are nothing to carry. Then came the mother herself, in crinoline, Madame AUGUST, a wholesale dealer in fruit, proprietress of a large number of fish ponds and a land cultivator. She was fat and heated, yet she could use her hands well, and would herself carry out beer to the laborers in the field. "In the sweat of the face shalt thou eat bread," said she; "it is written in the Bible." After work, came the recreations, dancing and playing in the Greenwood, and the "harvest homes." She was a thorough housewife.
After her a man came out of the coach, who is a painter; he is the great master of colors, and is named SEPTEMBER. The forest, on his arrival, had to change its colors when he wished it; and how beautiful are the colors he chooses! The woods glow with hues of red and gold and brown. This great master painter could whistle like a blackbird. He was quick in his work, and soon entwined the tendrils of the hop plant around his beer jug. This was an ornament to the jug, and he has a great love for ornament. There he stood with his color pot in his hand, and that was the whole of his luggage. A landowner followed, who in the month for sowing seed attended to the ploughing and was fond of field sports. Squire OCTOBER brought his dog and his gun with him, and had nuts in his game bag. "Crack, crack." He had a great deal of luggage, even an English plough. He spoke of farming, but what he said could scarcely be heard for the coughing and gasping of his neighbor. It was NOVEMBER, who coughed violently as he got out. He had a cold, which caused him to use his pockethandkerchief continually; and yet he said he was obliged to accompany servant girls to their new places, and initiate them into their winter service. He said he thought his cold would never leave him when he went out woodcutting, for he was a master sawyer, and had to supply wood to the whole parish. He spent his evenings preparing wooden soles for skates, for he knew, he said, that in a few weeks these shoes would be wanted for the amusement of skating. At length the last passenger made her appearance, old Mother DECEMBER, with her firestool. The dame was very old, but her eyes glistened like two stars. She carried on her arm a flowerpot, in which a little firtree was growing.
"This tree I shall guard and cherish," she said, "that it may grow large by Christmas Eve, and reach from the ground to the ceiling, to be covered and adorned with flaming candles, golden apples, and little figures. The firestool will be as warm as a stove, and I shall then bring a story book out of my pocket, and read aloud till all the children in the room are quite quiet. Then the little figures on the tree will become lively, and the little waxen angel at the top spread out his wings of goldleaf, and fly down from his green perch. He will kiss every one in the room, great and small; yes, even the poor children who stand in the passage, or out in the street singing a carol about the 'Star of Bethlehem.'"
"Well, now the coach may drive away," said the sentry; "we have the whole twelve. Let the horses be put up."
"First, let all the twelve come to me," said the captain on duty, "one after another. The passports I will keep here. Each of them isavailable for one month; when that has passed, I shall write the behavior of each on his passport. Mr. JANUARY, have the goodness to come here." And Mr. January stepped forward.
When a year has passed, I think I shall be able to tell you what the twelve passengers have brought to you, to me, and to all of us. Now I do not know, and probably even they don't know themselves, for we live in strange times.
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