The Neighbouring Families 邻居们

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.
the end