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安徒生童話故事第109篇：在養鴨場里The Portuguese Duck
引導語：大家是否去過養鴨場呢?下面是安徒生童話故事《在養鴨場里》，我們一起閱讀與學習，看看是講了哪些內容?
有一只母鴨從葡萄牙到來了。有人說她是從西班牙來的，不過這也沒有什么了不起的分別。大家都把她叫葡萄牙的鴨子。她下蛋，被人殺掉，然后被做成菜拿出來吃——這就是她一生的事業。不過，從她的蛋里爬出的那些小鴨子居然也被叫做葡萄牙的鴨子——這里面倒頗有文章。這整個家族現在只剩下一只鴨子了。她住在養鴨場里，而這個場子雞也可以進去。有一只公雞就在里面趾高氣揚地走來走去。
“他的大聲啼叫倒使我怪討厭的，”葡萄牙的鴨子說。“不過，雖然他不是一只公鴨，他倒還是蠻漂亮的——誰也不能否認這一點。他應該把他的聲音略微節制一下，但是‘節制’是一種藝術，只有受過高等教育的人才能做得到。附近菩提樹上的那些小小歌鳥就是這樣。他們唱得才好聽呢!他們的歌里有某種感動人的特點。我認為這種特點才配得上‘葡萄牙’這個形容詞。如果我有這樣的一只小歌鳥，我倒很愿意做他的慈愛的母親呢，因為在我的血統里——葡萄牙的血統里——我有這種慈愛的心腸。”
當她正在說這話的時候，忽然有一只小小的歌鳥墜落下來了。他是從屋頂上倒栽蔥地墜落下來的。一只貓兒在追著他，但是鳥兒拍著受傷的翅膀逃脫了，最后落到養鴨場里來。
“你看貓兒這個壞東西，簡直原形畢露!”葡萄牙的鴨子說，“自從我有了孩子以后，我就領教過他了!這樣一個東西居然得到生存的權利，在屋頂上跑來跑去!我想這種事情在葡萄牙是不容許的。”
她可憐這只小歌鳥，別的非葡萄牙種的鴨子也可憐他。
“可憐的小東西!”她們說，于是她們一個接著一個地圍攏來了。“我們是不會唱歌的，”她們說，“不過我們有一種內在的‘歌唱感’——或者類似這樣的東西。這一點我們可以感覺得到，雖然我們不把它掛在嘴邊。”
“但是我可要講出來，”葡萄牙的鴨子說，“而且我要幫助他，這是我的責任。”于是她走進水槽里去，用翅膀在水里大拍一通。她拍出的水幾乎把這只小歌鳥淹死了，但是她的用意是好的。“這才是幫助人呢，”她說;“別的人可以仔細瞧瞧，向我學習。”
“吱!”小鳥說。他有一只翅膀受了傷，很難飛動，不過他知道，這次淋水完全是由善意所造成的。“太太，您是一個好心腸的人!”他說，不過他不希望再淋一次水。
“我從來沒有想到過我的心腸，”葡萄牙的鴨子說。“不過有一件事情我知道：我愛我周圍的一切生物——只有貓子是例外。誰也不能希望我愛他，因為他吃掉過我的兩個孩子!不過請你把這兒當作你的家吧，因為你可以這樣辦呀!我本人就是從外國來的——這一點你可以從我的態度和我的羽衣看得出來。我的鴨公是本地人，沒有我這樣的血統——但我并不因此而驕傲!如果這里有什么人了解你的話，我敢說這人就是我。”
“她的嗉子里全是葡萄拉①，”一只很有風趣的普通小鴨說。別的一些普通小鴨認為“馬齒覓”這個字用得非常妙，因為它的發音跟“葡萄牙”這名詞差不多。大家彼此輕輕地推了一下，同時說一聲“嘎!”這只小鴨真是滑稽透了!于是大家便開始注意那只小小的歌鳥了。
“葡萄牙鴨子在掌握語言方面真有本領，”大家說。“我們的嘴里就裝不住這樣大的字眼，不過我們的同情心卻并不比她小。如果我們不能替你做點什么事情，我們就一句話也不講——我們覺得這是一種最好的辦法!”
“你有一個很美麗的聲音，”最老的一只鴨子說。“你這樣能夠叫許多人快樂，你自己一定也很滿意的吧。我對于唱歌不內行，因此我就把我的嘴閉起來。這比講無聊的話好得多——別人就是喜歡對你講無聊話。”
“請不耍這樣麻煩他吧!”葡萄牙鴨子說。“他需要休息和保養呀。小小的歌鳥，要不要我們再給你淋一次水?”
“哎唷，不要!我愿意保持干燥!”他懇求說。
“就我說來，唯一有效的辦法是水療，”葡萄牙鴨子說。“不過游戲也有效!鄰近的雞子不久就要來拜訪我們。他們中間有兩只中國母雞。她們穿著長褲子，都受過很好的教育，而且是從外國來的。這在我看來，她們的地位提高不少。
于是母雞來了，公雞也來了。這只公雞今天算是相當客氣，沒有當場擺架子。
“你是一只真正的歌鳥，”他說。“凡是你的小聲音所能做到的事情，你全都做到了。不過你還得加一點勁兒，好使人家一聽就知道你是一只公鳥。”
這兩只中國雞被歌鳥的一副樣兒迷住了。他的毛淋了一番水后仍然是蓬著的，因此她們都覺得他很像一只中國小雞。
“他很可愛!”于是她們開始跟他聊起天來。她們用貴族的中國話——其中包括低聲和“呸”這類的聲音——和他交談。
“我們和你是同一個種族。鴨子——甚至葡萄牙的鴨子——是屬于水鳥這一族的，這一點你一眼就可以看得出來。你還不認識我們，不過有多少人認識我們或愿意花點工夫來認識我們呢?沒有一個人，連一個母雞也沒有，雖然比起大多數人來，我們生來就是要棲在更高一層的棲柱上的。不過這也沒有什么了不起的關系：我們跟大家一起安靜地過我們自己的日子。他們的理想跟我們的理想大不相同，但是我們只看好的一面，我們只談好的事情，雖然本來沒有什么好話而硬說好是很困難的。除了我們兩個和那只公雞以外，雞屋里再沒有一個有天才的人。談到‘誠實’，養鴨場里沒有一個人是誠實的。小小的歌鳥，我們忠告你：你切不要相信那邊的一個短尾巴的女人，她才狡猾呢。那個翅膀上長著彎線條的雜色女人專門找人吵架。雖然她自己沒有理，她可不讓別人講一句話。那邊的一只肥鴨子總是說人家的壞話，這是跟我們的性格相反的。如果我們不能說人家的好話，那末你把嘴閉起來好了。那只葡萄牙鴨子是唯一受過一點教育的人。你可以跟她來往，不過她太感情用事，老是談起葡萄牙。”
“那兩個中國女人的話真多!”有一對鴨子說。“她們真使我感到討厭!我從來沒有跟她們講過話。”
現在公鴨來了!他以為歌鳥是一只麻雀。
“嗯，我看不出什么分別，”他說，“全是半斤八兩!他是一個玩物。有他沒有他都是一樣。”
“不要理他說的這一套!”葡萄牙鴨子低聲說。“他做起生意來可是蠻有道理的，而且他只懂得生意。不過現在我要躺下來休息一下。我應該這樣辦，為的是要使我能長得胖些，好叫人能在我身上涂一層蘋果和梅子醬②。”
于是她眨著一只眼睛在太陽光里躺下來。她舒舒眼服地躺著，也感到非常舒服，也睡得非常舒服。歌鳥忙著啄他那只受了傷的翅膀，最后他也在他的恩人身邊躺下來。太陽照得又溫暖，又光明。這真是一塊好地方。
鄰家來的母雞在扒土。老實講，她們來拜訪完全是為了找點東西吃。那兩只中國雞先離開，其余的也跟著走了。那只風趣的小鴨談到葡萄牙鴨子的時候說，這個老太婆快要過她的“第二度童年”了。別的鴨子都笑起來：“第二度童年!他的話說得真妙!”于是大家又提起頭一次關于“葡萄拉”的玩笑。這真是非常滑稽!于是大家都躺下來了。
他們躺了一會兒以后，忽然有人拋了一點吃的東西到場子里來。這東西“砰”的一聲落到地上，弄得大家從睡夢中驚醒過來，拍起翅膀。葡萄牙鴨子也醒了，她翻了一個身，把那只小歌鳥壓得透不過氣來。
“吱!”他叫起來。“太太，您壓得太重了!”
“誰叫你躺在我面前呢?”她說。“你太神經過敏了!我也有神經呀，但是我從來不說一聲‘吱’!”
“請您不要生氣吧!”小鳥說。“這個‘吱’是不知不覺地從我的嘴里冒出來的。”
葡萄牙鴨子不理他，但是盡快地搶那食物吃，而且吃得很痛快。她吃完了以后又躺下來。小鳥走過來，想用歌聲引起她的好感：
滴——麗，滴——麗!
您的好心地
是我歌唱的主題，
我要飛起，飛起。
“吃完飯以后我得休息一下，”她說。“你住在這里，必須遵守這里的規矩!我現在要睡了。”
小歌鳥大吃一驚，因為他本來的用意是很好的。太太睡醒了以后，他銜著他所尋到的一顆麥粒站在她面前。他把麥粒放在她的腳下。但是她沒有睡好，因此她的心情自然不佳。
“把這送給小雞吃吧，”她說，“不要老呆在我旁邊呀!”
“但是您為什么要生我的氣呢?”他問。“我做了什么對不起您的事情呢?”
“做了什么對不起我的事情!”葡萄牙鴨子說。“你用的字眼不太文雅!這一點我請你注意。”
“昨天這里有太陽光，”小鳥說。“今天這里卻是陰暗的!這使我感到怪難過的。”
“你對于天氣的知識是一竅不通!”葡萄牙鴨子說。“這一天還沒有完呀。不要呆在這兒像一個傻瓜吧!”
“您看人的這副兇樣子，跟我落到這里時那些惡眼睛看我的兇樣子差不多。”
“簡直豈有此理!”葡萄牙鴨子說。“難道你把我跟那個強盜——那只貓相比嗎?我身體里一滴壞血也沒有。我得為你負責任，我要教你學些禮貌。”
于是她就把這歌鳥的頭咬掉了。他倒下死了。
“這是什么意思?”她說，“難道他這一點都受不了?這樣說來，他是不配活在這個世界上的了!我對他一直是像一個母親;這一點我知道，因為我有一顆母親的心。”
鄰家的公雞把頭伸進院子里來，像一個火車頭似地大叫了一聲。
“你這一叫簡直要把我嚇死了，”她說。“這完全要怪你。他嚇掉了他的頭，我也幾乎要嚇掉我的頭。”
“他這么點小的東西有什么值得一提，”公雞說。
“對他說話放客氣些吧!”葡萄牙鴨子說。“他有聲音，他會唱歌，他受過好的教育!他很體貼，也很溫柔——無論在動物中，或在你所謂的人類中，這都是很好的。”
所有的鴨子都擠到這只死去了的小歌鳥身邊來。不管他們是感到嫉妒或憐憫，這些鴨子都表現得非常熱情。但是現在這兒既然沒有什么東西可嫉妒，他們自然感到憐憫。甚至那兩只中國母雞都是這樣。
“我們再也找不到這樣的歌鳥了!他差不多算得是一只中國鳥。”于是母雞都嘎嘎地哭起來，不過鴨子只是把眼睛弄得紅了一點。
“我們都是好心腸的人，”她們說。“這一點誰也不能否認。”
“好心腸!”葡萄牙鴨子說，“是的，我們都有好心腸，差不多跟在葡萄牙一樣!”
“我們現在還是找點東西塞進嗉子里去吧，”鴨公說。“這才是重要的事情呢!一個玩物打碎了算什么?我們有的是!”
�、僭氖荋un har portulak i Kroen，無法翻譯。葡萄拉(portulak)在丹麥文里是“馬齒覓”，而portulak這個字跟“葡萄牙”(Portugal)的讀音相似。因此當葡萄牙的鴨子說她身體里有葡萄牙的血統時，這只小鴨就開她一個文字玩笑，說她的身體里全是“葡萄拉”(馬齒覓)。
�、跉W洲人吃烤鴨時經常用蘋果和梅子醬做作料。
在養鴨場里英文版：
The Portuguese Duck
ADUCK once arrived from Portugal, but there were some who said she came from Spain, which is almost the same thing. At all events, she was called the “Portuguese,” and she laid eggs, was killed, and cooked, and there was an end of her. But the ducklings which crept forth from the eggs were also called “Portuguese,” and about that there may be some question. But of all the family one only remained in the duckyard, which may be called a farmyard, as the chickens were admitted, and the cock strutted about in a very hostile manner. “He annoys me with his loud crowing,” said the Portuguese duck; “but, still, he’s a handsome bird, there’s no denying that, although he’s not a drake. He ought to moderate his voice, like those little birds who are singing in the lime-trees over there in our neighbor’s garden, but that is an art only acquired in polite society. How sweetly they sing there; it is quite a pleasure to listen to them! I call it Portuguese singing. If I had only such a little singing-bird, I’d be kind and good as a mother to him, for it’s in my nature, in my Portuguese blood.”
While she was speaking, one of the little singing-birds came tumbling head over heels from the roof into the yard. The cat was after him, but he had escaped from her with a broken wing, and so came tumbling into the yard. “That’s just like the cat, she’s a villain,” said the Portuguese duck. “I remember her ways when I had children of my own. How can such a creature be allowed to live, and wander about upon the roofs. I don’t think they allow such things in Portugal.” She pitied the little singing-bird, and so did all the other ducks who were not Portuguese.
“Poor little creature!” they said, one after another, as they came up. “We can’t sing, certainly; but we have a sounding-board, or something of the kind, within us; we can feel that, though we don’t talk about it.”
“But I can talk,” said the Portuguese duck; “and I’ll do something for the little fellow; it’s my duty;” and she stepped into the water-trough, and beat her wings upon the water so strongly that the bird was nearly drowned by a shower-bath; but the duck meant it kindly. “That is a good deed,” she said; “I hope the others will take example by it.”
“Tweet, tweet!” said the little bird, for one of his wings being broken, he found it difficult to shake himself; but he quite understood that the bath was meant kindly, and he said, “You are very kind-hearted, madam;” but he did not wish for a second bath.
“I have never thought about my heart,” replied the Portuguese duck, “but I know that I love all my fellow-creatures, except the cat, and nobody can expect me to love her, for she ate up two of my ducklings. But pray make yourself at home; it is easy to make one’s self comfortable. I am myself from a foreign country, as you may see by my feathery dress. My drake is a native of these parts; he’s not of my race; but I am not proud on that account. If any one here can understand you, I may say positively I am that person.”
“She’s quite full of ‘Portulak,’” said a little common duck, who was witty. All the common ducks considered the word “Portulak” a good joke, for it sounded like Portugal. They nudged each other, and said, “Quack! that was witty!”
Then the other ducks began to notice the little bird. “The Portuguese had certainly a great flow of language,” they said to the little bird. “For our part we don’t care to fill our beaks with such long words, but we sympathize with you quite as much. If we don’t do anything else, we can walk about with you everywhere, and we think that is the best thing we can do.”
“You have a lovely voice,” said one of the eldest ducks; “it must be great satisfaction to you to be able to give so much pleasure as you do. I am certainly no judge of your singing so I keep my beak shut, which is better than talking nonsense, as others do.”
“Don’t plague him so,” interposed the Portuguese duck; “he requires rest and nursing. My little singing-bird do you wish me to prepare another bath for you?”
“Oh, no! no! pray let me dry,” implored the little bird.
“The water-cure is the only remedy for me, when I am not well,” said the Portuguese. “Amusement, too, is very beneficial. The fowls from the neighborhood will soon be here to pay you a visit. There are two Cochin Chinese amongst them; they wear feathers on their legs, and are well educated. They have been brought from a great distance, and consequently I treat them with greater respect than I do the others.”
Then the fowls arrived, and the cock was polite enough to-day to keep from being rude. “You are a real songster,” he said, “you do as much with your little voice as it is possible to do; but there requires more noise and shrillness in any one who wishes it to be known who he is.”
The two Chinese were quite enchanted with the appearance of the singing-bird. His feathers had been much ruffled by his bath, so that he seemed to them quite like a tiny Chinese fowl. “He’s charming,” they said to each other, and began a conversation with him in whispers, using the most aristocratic Chinese dialect: “We are of the same race as yourself,” they said. “The ducks, even the Portuguese, are all aquatic birds, as you must have noticed. You do not know us yet,—very few know us, or give themselves the trouble to make our acquaintance, not even any of the fowls, though we are born to occupy a higher grade in society than most of them. But that does not disturb us, we quietly go on in our own way among the rest, whose ideas are certainly not ours; for we look at the bright side of things, and only speak what is good, although that is sometimes very difficult to find where none exists. Except ourselves and the cock there is not one in the yard who can be called talented or polite. It cannot even be said of the ducks, and we warn you, little bird, not to trust that one yonder, with the short tail feathers, for she is cunning; that curiously marked one, with the crooked stripes on her wings, is a mischief-maker, and never lets any one have the last word, though she is always in the wrong. That fat duck yonder speaks evil of every one, and that is against our principles. If we have nothing good to tell, we close our beaks. The Portuguese is the only one who has had any education, and with whom we can associate, but she is passionate, and talks too much about ‘Portugal.’”
“I wonder what those two Chinese are whispering about,” whispered one duck to another; “they are always doing it, and it annoys me. We never speak to them.”
Now the drake came up, and he thought the little singing-bird was a sparrow. “Well, I don’t understand the difference,” he said; “it appears to me all the same. He’s only a plaything, and if people will have playthings, why let them, I say.”
“Don’t take any notice of what he says,” whispered the Portuguese; “he’s very well in matters of business, and with him business is placed before everything. But now I shall lie down and have a little rest. It is a duty we owe to ourselves that we may be nice and fat when we come to be embalmed with sage and onions and apples.” So she laid herself down in the sun and winked with one eye; she had a very comfortable place, and felt so comfortable that she fell asleep. The little singing-bird busied himself for some time with his broken wing, and at last he lay down, too, quite close to his protectress. The sun shone warm and bright, and he found out that it was a very good place. But the fowls of the neighborhood were all awake, and, to tell the truth, they had paid a visit to the duckyard, simply and solely to find food for themselves. The Chinese were the first to leave, and the other fowls soon followed them.
The witty little duck said of the Portuguese, that the old lady was getting quite a “doting ducky,” All the other ducks laughed at this. “Doting ducky,” they whispered. “Oh, that’s too ‘witty!’” And then they repeated the former joke about “Portulak,” and declared it was most amusing. Then they all lay down to have a nap.
They had been lying asleep for some time, when suddenly something was thrown into the yard for them to eat. It came down with such a bang, that the whole company started up and clapped their wings. The Portuguese awoke too, and rushed over to the other side: in so doing she trod upon the little singing-bird.
“Tweet,” he cried; “you trod very hard upon me, madam.”
“Well, then, why do you lie in my way?” she retorted, “you must not be so touchy. I have nerves of my own, but I do not cry ‘tweet.’”
“Don’t be angry,” said the little bird; “the ‘tweet’ slipped out of my beak unawares.”
The Portuguese did not listen to him, but began eating as fast as she could, and made a good meal. When she had finished, she lay down again, and the little bird, who wished to be amiable, began to sing,—
“Chirp and twitter,
The dew-drops glitter,
In the hours of sunny spring,
I’ll sing my best,
Till I go to rest,
With my head behind my wing.”
“Now I want rest after my dinner,” said the Portuguese; “you must conform to the rules of the house while you are here. I want to sleep now.”
The little bird was quite taken aback, for he meant it kindly. When madam awoke afterwards, there he stood before her with a little corn he had found, and laid it at her feet; but as she had not slept well, she was naturally in a bad temper. “Give that to a chicken,” she said, “and don’t be always standing in my way.”
“Why are you angry with me?” replied the little singing-bird, “what have I done?”
“Done!” repeated the Portuguese duck, “your mode of expressing yourself is not very polite. I must call your attention to that fact.”
“It was sunshine here yesterday,” said the little bird, “but to-day it is cloudy and the air is close.”
“You know very little about the weather, I fancy,” she retorted, “the day is not over yet. Don’t stand there, looking so stupid.”
“But you are looking at me just as the wicked eyes looked when I fell into the yard yesterday.”
“Impertinent creature!” exclaimed the Portuguese duck: “would you compare me with the cat—that beast of prey? There’s not a drop of malicious blood in me. I’ve taken your part, and now I’ll teach you better manners.” So saying, she made a bite at the little singing-bird’s head, and he fell dead on the ground. “Now whatever is the meaning of this?” she said; “could he not bear even such a little peck as I gave him? Then certainly he was not made for this world. I’ve been like a mother to him, I know that, for I’ve a good heart.”
Then the cock from the neighboring yard stuck his head in, and crowed with steam-engine power.
“You’ll kill me with your crowing,” she cried, “it’s all your fault. He’s lost his life, and I’m very near losing mine.”
“There’s not much of him lying there,” observed the cock.
“Speak of him with respect,” said the Portuguese duck, “for he had manners and education, and he could sing. He was affectionate and gentle, and that is as rare a quality in animals as in those who call themselves human beings.”
Then all the ducks came crowding round the little dead bird. Ducks have strong passions, whether they feel envy or pity. There was nothing to envy here, so they all showed a great deal of pity, even the two Chinese. “We shall never have another singing-bird again amongst us; he was almost a Chinese,” they whispered, and then they wept with such a noisy, clucking sound, that all the other fowls clucked too, but the ducks went about with redder eyes afterwards. “We have hearts of our own,” they said, “nobody can deny that.”
“Hearts!” repeated the Portuguese, “indeed you have, almost as tender as the ducks in Portugal.”
“Let us think of getting something to satisfy our hunger,” said the drake, “that’s the most important business. If one of our toys is broken, why we have plenty more.”
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