安徒生童话:完全是真的

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所属分类:民间故事

完全是真的简介

一只白母鸡在自己身上啄下了一根羽毛,消息一传出去,结果就变成:“五只母鸡把她们的羽毛都啄得精光,为的是要表示出她们之中谁因为和那只公鸡失了恋而变得最消瘦。后来,她们相互啄得流血,弄得五只鸡全都死掉。” 原先掉落一根羽毛的那只白母鸡,为了表示自己有身份,认为这种现象应该公布,以“教育”大众。“这故事终于在报纸上被刊登出来了。这完全是真的:一根小小的羽毛可以变成五只母鸡。”当时的新闻舆论界也可能就是如此,是安徒生有感而发,写了这篇小故事。

完全是真的故事

“那真是一件可怕的事情!”母鸡说。她讲这话的地方不是城里发生这个故事的那个区域。“那是鸡屋里的一件可怕的事情!我今夜不敢一个人睡觉了!真是幸运,我们今晚大伙儿都栖在一根栖木上!”于是她讲了一个故事,弄得别的母鸡羽毛根根竖起,而公鸡的冠却垂下来了。这完全是真的!

不过我们还是从头开始吧。事情是发生在城里另一区的鸡屋里面。太阳落下了,所有的母鸡都飞上了栖木。有一只母鸡,羽毛很白,腿很短;她总是按规定的数目下蛋。在各方面说起来,她是一只很有身份的母鸡。当她飞到栖木上去的时候,她用嘴啄了自己几下,弄得有一根小羽毛落下来了。

“事情就是这样!”她说,“我越把自己啄得厉害,我就越漂亮!”她说这话的神情是很快乐的,因为她是母鸡中一个心情愉快的人物,虽然我刚才说过她是一只很有身份的鸡。不久她就睡着了。

周围是一起漆黑。母鸡跟母鸡站在一边,不过离她最近的那只母鸡却睡不着。她在静听——一只耳朵进,一只耳朵出;一个人要想在世界上安静地活下去,就非得如此做不可。不过她禁不住要把她所听到的事情告诉她的邻居:

“你听到过刚才的话吗?我不愿意把名字指出来。不过有一只母鸡,她为了要好看,啄掉自己的羽毛。假如我是公鸡的话,我才真要瞧不起她呢。”

在这些母鸡的上面住着一只猫头鹰和她的丈夫以及孩子。她这一家人的耳朵都很尖:邻居刚才所讲的话,他们都听见了。他们翻翻眼睛;于是猫头鹰妈妈就拍拍翅膀说:wωw奇Qìsuu書com网

“不要听那类的话!不过我想你们都听到了刚才的话吧?我是亲耳听到过的;你得听了很多才能记住。有一只母鸡完全忘记了母鸡所应当有的礼貌:她甚至把她的羽毛都啄掉了,好让公鸡把她看个仔细。”

“PRENEZGARDEAUXEN?eANTS,”①猫头鹰爸爸说。“这不是孩子们可以听的话。”

“我还是要把这话告诉对面的猫头鹰!她是一个很正派的猫头鹰,值得来往!”于是猫头鹰妈妈就飞走了。

“呼!呼!呜——呼!”他们俩都喊起来,而喊声就被下边鸽子笼里面的鸽子听见了。“你们听到过那样的话没有?呼!呼!有一只母鸡,她把她的羽毛都啄掉了,想讨好公鸡!她一定会冻死的——如果她现在还没有死的话。呜——呼!”

“在什么地方?在什么地方?”鸽子咕咕地叫着。

“在对面的那个屋子里!我几乎可说是亲眼看见的。把它讲出来真不像话,不过那完全是真的!”

“真的!真的!每个字都是真的!”所有的鸽子说,同时向下边的养鸡场咕咕地叫:“有一只母鸡,也有人说是两只,她们都把所有的羽毛都啄掉,为的是要与众不同,借此引起公鸡的注意。这是一种冒险的玩意儿,因为这样她们就容易伤风,结果一定会发高热死掉。她们两位现在都死了。”

“醒来呀!醒来呀!”公鸡大叫着,同时向围墙上飞去。他的眼睛仍然带着睡意,不过他仍然在大叫。”三只母鸡因为与一只公鸡在爱情上发生不幸,全都死去了。她们把她们的羽毛啄得精光。这是一件很丑的事情。我不愿意把它关在心里;让大家都知道它吧!”

“让大家都知道它吧!”蝙蝠说。于是母鸡叫,公鸡啼。“让大家都知道它吧!让大家都知道它吧!”于是这个故事就从这个鸡屋传到那个鸡屋,最后它回到它原来所传出的那个地方去。

这故事变成:"五只母鸡把她们的羽毛都啄得精光,为的是要表示出她们之中谁因为和那只公鸡失了恋而变得最消瘦。后来她们相互啄得流血,弄得五只鸡全都死掉。这使得她们的家庭蒙受羞辱,她们的主人蒙受极大的损失。”

那只落掉了一根羽毛的母鸡当然不知道这个故事就是她自己的故事。因为她是一只很有身份的母鸡,所以她就说:

“我瞧不起那些母鸡;不过像这类的贼东西有的是!我们不应该把这类事儿掩藏起来。我尽我的力量使这故事在报纸上发表,让全国都知道。那些母鸡活该倒霉!她们的家庭也活该倒霉!”

这故事终于在报纸上被刊登出来了。这完全是真的:一根小小的羽毛可以变成五只母鸡。

①这是法文,意义是“提防孩子们听到”,在欧洲人的眼中,猫头鹰是一种很聪明的鸟儿。它是鸟类中的所谓“上流社会人士”,故此讲法文。

完全是真的读后感

这个童话故事告诉我们有些事情不能盲目的随从,要讲究耳听为虚,眼见为实。外面流传的东西无论说的有多么的信誓旦旦,凡是要讲究一个原则,一个准确,不能只是道听途说。人应该诚实守信,不要胡乱的编造谎言。

英文版:“There Is No Doubt About It.”

THAT was a terrible affair!” said a hen, and in a quarter of the town, too, where it had not taken place. “That was a terrible affair in a hen-roost. I cannot sleep alone to-night. It is a good thing that many of us sit on the roost together.” And then she told a story that made the feathers on the other hens bristle up, and the cock’s comb fall. There was no doubt about it.

But we will begin at the beginning, and that is to be found in a hen-roost in another part of the town. The sun was setting, and the fowls were flying on to their roost; one hen, with white feathers and short legs, used to lay her eggs according to the regulations, and was, as a hen, respectable in every way. As she was flying upon the roost, she plucked herself with her beak, and a little feather came out.

“There it goes,” she said; “the more I pluck, the more beautiful do I get.” She said this merrily, for she was the best of the hens, and, moreover, as had been said, very respectable. With that she went to sleep.

It was dark all around, and hen sat close to hen, but the one who sat nearest to her merry neighbour did not sleep. She had heard and yet not heard, as we are often obliged to do in this world, in order to live at peace; but she could not keep it from her neighbour on the other side any longer. “Did you hear what was said? I mention no names, but there is a hen here who intends to pluck herself in order to look well. If I were a cock, I should despise her.”

Just over the fowls sat the owl, with father owl and the little owls. The family has sharp ears, and they all heard every word that their neighbour had said. They rolled their eyes, and mother owl, beating her wings, said: “Don’t listen to her! But I suppose you heard what was said? I heard it with my own ears, and one has to hear a great deal before they fall off. There is one among the fowls who has so far forgotten what is becoming to a hen that she plucks out all her feathers and lets the cock see it.”

“Prenez garde aux enfants!” said father owl; “children should not hear such things.”

“But I must tell our neighbour owl about it; she is such an estimable owl to talk to.” And with that she flew away.

“Too-whoo! Too-whoo!” they both hooted into the neighbour’s dove-cot to the doves inside. “Have you heard? Have you heard? Too-whoo! There is a hen who has plucked out all her feathers for the sake of the cock; she will freeze to death, if she is not frozen already. Too-whoo!”

“Where? where?” cooed the doves.

“In the neighbour’s yard. I have as good as seen it myself. It is almost unbecoming to tell the story, but there is no doubt about it.”

“Believe every word of what we tell you,” said the doves, and cooed down into their poultry-yard. “There is a hen—nay, some say that there are two—who have plucked out all their feathers, in order not to look like the others, and to attract the attention of the cock. It is a dangerous game, for one can easily catch cold and die from fever, and both of these are dead already.”

“Wake up! wake up!” crowed the cock, and flew upon his board. Sleep was still in his eyes, but yet he crowed out: “Three hens have died of their unfortunate love for a cock. They had plucked out all their feathers. It is a horrible story: I will not keep it to myself, but let it go farther.”

“Let it go farther,” shrieked the bats, and the hens clucked and the cocks crowed, “Let it go farther! Let it go farther!” In this way the story travelled from poultry-yard to poultry-yard, and at last came back to the place from which it had really started.

“Five hens,” it now ran, “have plucked out all their feathers to show which of them had grown leanest for love of the cock, and then they all pecked at each other till the blood ran down and they fell down dead, to the derision and shame of their family, and to the great loss of their owner.”

The hen who had lost the loose little feather naturally did not recognise her own story, and being a respectable hen, said: “I despise those fowls; but there are more of that kind. Such things ought not to be concealed, and I will do my best to get the story into the papers, so that it becomes known throughout the land; the hens have richly deserved it, and their family too.”

It got into the papers, it was printed; and there is no doubt about it, one little feather may easily grow into five hens.

文章来源:安徒生童话

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