安徒生童話英文
安徒生的文筆詼諧而又柔和，靈動輕巧而又飽含濃重的憂傷和哀挽，讓我們在看他的童話時看到不一樣的美。
歡樂家庭the HAPPY FAMILY
Really， the largest GREen leaf in this country is a dockleaf; if one holds it before one， it is like a whole apron， and if one holds it over one's head in rainy weather， it is almost as good as an umbrella， for it is so immensely large. The burdock never grows alone， but where there grows one there always grow several： it is a great delight， and all this delightfulness is snails' food. The great white snails which persons of quality in former times made fricassees of， ate， and said， "Hem， hem! how delicious!" for they thought it tasted so delicate——lived on dockleaves， and therefore burdock seeds were sown.
Now， there was an old manor-house， where they no longer ate snails， they were quite extinct; but the burdocks were not extinct， they GREw and grew all over the walks and all the beds; they could not get the mastery over them——it was a whole forest of burdocks. Here and there stood an apple and a plum-tree， or else one never would have thought that it was a garden; all was burdocks， and there lived the two last venerable old snails.
they themselves knew not how old they were， but they could remember very well that there had been many more; that they were of a family from foreign lands， and that for them and theirs the whole forest was planted. They had never been outside it， but they knew that there was still something more in the world， which was called the manor-house， and that there they were boiled， and then they became black， and were then placed on a silver dish; but what happened further they knew not; or， in fact， what it was to be boiled， and to lie on a silver dish， they could not possibly imagine; but it was said to be delightful， and particularly genteel. Neither the chafers， the toads， nor the earth-worms， whom they asked about it could give them any information——none of them had been boiled or laid on a silver dish.
the old white snails were the first persons of distinction in the world， that they knew; the forest was planted for their sake， and the manor-house was there that they might be boiled and laid on a silver dish.
Now they lived a very lonely and happy life; and as they had no children themselves， they had adopted a little common snail， which they brought up as their own; but the little one would not grow， for he was of a common family; but the old ones， especially Dame Mother Snail， thought they could observe how he increased in size， and she begged father， if he could not see it， that he would at least feel the little snail's shell; and then he felt it， and found the good dame was right.
One day there was a heavy storm of rain.
"Hear how it beats like a drum on the dock-leaves!" said Father Snail.
"there are also rain-drops!" said Mother Snail. "And now the rain pours right down the stalk! You will see that it will be wet here! I am very happy to think that we have our good house， and the little one has his also! There is more done for us than for all other creatures， sure enough; but can you not see that we are folks of quality in the world? We are provided with a house from our birth， and the burdock forest is planted for our sakes! I should like to know how far it extends， and what there is outside!"
"there is nothing at all，" said Father Snail. "No place can be better than ours， and I have nothing to wish for!"
"Yes，" said the dame. "I would willingly go to the manorhouse， be boiled， and laid on a silver dish; all our forefathers have been treated so; there is something extraordinary in it， you may be sure!"
"the manor-house has most likely fallen to ruin!" said Father Snail. "Or the burdocks have grown up over it， so that they cannot come out. There need not， however， be any haste about that; but you are always in such a tremendous hurry， and the little one is beginning to be the same. Has he not been creeping up that stalk these three days? It gives me a headache when I look up to him!"
"You must not scold him，" said Mother Snail. "He creeps so carefully; he will afford us much pleasure——and we have nothing but him to live for! But have you not thought of it? Where shall we get a wife for him? Do you not think that there are some of our species at a GREat distance in the interior of the burdock forest?"
"Black snails， I dare say， there are enough of，" said the old one. "Black snails without a house——but they are so common， and so conceited. But we might give the ants a commission to look out for us; they run to and fro as if they had something to do， and they certainly know of a wife for our little snail!"
"I know one， sure enough——the most charming one!" said one of the ants. "But I am afraid we shall hardly succeed， for she is a queen!"
"That is nothing!" said the old folks. "Has she a house?"
"She has a palace!" said the ant. "The finest ant's palace， with seven hundred passages!"
"I thank you!" said Mother Snail. "Our son shall not go into an ant-hill; if you know nothing better than that， we shall give the commission to the white gnats. They fly far and wide， in rain and sunshine; they know the whole forest here， both within and without."
"We have a wife for him，" said the gnats. "At a hundred human paces from here there sits a little snail in her house， on a gooseberry bush; she is quite lonely， and old enough to be married. It is only a hundred human paces!"
"Well， then， let her come to him!" said the old ones. "He has a whole forest of burdocks， she has only a bush!"
And so they went and fetched little Miss Snail. It was a whole week before she arrived; but therein was just the very best of it， for one could thus see that she was of the same species.
And then the marriage was celebrated. Six earth-worms shone as well as they could. In other respects the whole went off very quietly， for the old folks could not bear noise and merriment; but old Dame Snail made a brilliant speech. Father Snail could not speak， he was too much affected; and so they gave them as a dowry and inheritance， the whole forest of burdocks， and said——what they had always said——that it was the best in the world; and if they lived honestly and decently， and increased and multiplied， they and their children would once in the course of time come to the manor-house， be boiled black， and laid on silver dishes. After this speech was made， the old ones crept into their shells， and never more came out. They slept; the young couple governed in the forest， and had a numerous progeny， but they were never boiled， and never came on the silver dishes; so from this they concluded that the manor-house had fallen to ruins， and that all the men in the world were extinct; and as no one contradicted them， so， of course it was so. And the rain beat on the dock-leaves to make drum-music for their sake， and the sun shone in order to give the burdock forest a color for their sakes; and they were very happy， and the whole family was happy; for they， indeed were so.
安徒生童話英文篇二
A CHEERFUL TEMPER
by Hans Christian Andersen
FROM my father I received the best inheritance, namely a "goodtemper." "And who was my father?" That has nothing to do with the goodtemper; but I will say he was lively, good-looking round, and fat;he was both in appearance and character a complete contradiction tohis profession. "And pray what was his profession and his standingin respectable society?" Well, perhaps, if in the beginning of abook these were written and printed, many, when they read it, wouldlay the book down and say, "It seems to me a very miserable title, Idon't like things of this sort." And yet my father was not askin-dresser nor an executioner; on the contrary, his employmentplaced him at the head of the grandest people of the town, and itwas his place by right. He had to precede the bishop, and even theprinces of the blood; he always went first,- he was a hearse driver!there, now, the truth is out. And I will own, that when people sawmy father perched up in front of the omnibus of death, dressed inhis long, wide, black cloak, and his black-edged, three-cornered haton his head, and then glanced at his round, jocund face, round asthe sun, they could not think much of sorrow or the grave. That facesaid, "It is nothing, it will all end better than people think." SoI have inherited from him, not only my good temper, but a habit ofgoing often to the churchyard, which is good, when done in a properhumor; and then also I take in the Intelligencer, just as he used todo.
I am not very young, I have neither wife nor children, nor alibrary, but, as I said, I read the Intelligencer, which is enough forme; it is to me a delightful paper, and so it was to my father. Itis of GREat use, for it contains all that a man requires to know;the names of the preachers at the church, and the new books whichare published; where houses, servants, clothes, and provisions maybe obtained. And then what a number of subscriptions to charities, andwhat innocent verses! Persons seeking interviews and engagements,all so plainly and naturally stated. Certainly, a man who takes in theIntelligencer may live merrily and be buried contentedly, and by theend of his life will have such a capital stock of paper that he canlie on a soft bed of it, unless he prefers wood shavings for hisresting-place. the newspaper and the churchyard were always excitingobjects to me. My walks to the latter were like bathing-places to mygood humor. Every one can read the newspaper for himself, but comewith me to the churchyard while the sun shines and the trees areGREen, and let us wander among the graves. Each of them is like aclosed book, with the back uppermost, on which we can read the titleof what the book contains, but nothing more. I had a GREat deal ofinformation from my father, and I have noticed a GREat deal myself.I keep it in my diary, in which I write for my own use and pleasurea history of all who lie here, and a few more beside.
Now we are in the churchyard. Here, behind the white ironrailings, once a rose-tree GREw; it is gone now, but a little bit ofeverGREen, from a neighboring grave, stretches out its green tendrils,and makes some appearance; there rests a very unhappy man, and yetwhile he lived he might be said to occupy a very good position. He hadenough to live upon, and something to spare; but owing to hisrefined tastes the least thing in the world annoyed him. If he went toa theatre of an evening, instead of enjoying himself he would be quiteannoyed if the machinist had put too strong a light into one side ofthe moon, or if the representations of the sky hung over the sceneswhen they ought to have hung behind them; or if a palm-tree wasintroduced into a scene representing the Zoological Gardens of Berlin,or a cactus in a view of Tyrol, or a beech-tree in the north ofNorway. As if these things were of any consequence! Why did he notleave them alone? Who would trouble themselves about such trifles?specially at a comedy, where every one is expected to be amused. thensometimes the public applauded too much, or too little, to please him."they are like wet wood," he would say, looking round to see what sortof people were present, "this evening; nothing fires them." Then hewould vex and fret himself because they did not laugh at the righttime, or because they laughed in the wrong places; and so he frettedand worried himself till at last the unhappy man fretted himselfinto the grave.
Here rests a happy man, that is to say, a man of high birth andposition, which was very lucky for him, otherwise he would have beenscarcely worth notice. It is beautiful to observe how wisely natureorders these things. He walked about in a coat embroidered all over,and in the drawing-rooms of society looked just like one of those richpearl-embroidered bell-pulls, which are only made for show; and behindthem always hangs a good thick cord for use. This man also had astout, useful substitute behind him, who did duty for him, andperformed all his dirty work. And there are still, even now, theseserviceable cords behind other embroidered bell-ropes. It is all sowisely arranged, that a man may well be in a good humor.
Here rests,- ah, it makes one feel mournful to think of him!-but here rests a man who, during sixty-seven years, was neverremembered to have said a good thing; he lived only in the hope ofhaving a good idea. At last he felt convinced, in his own mind, thathe really had one, and was so delighted that he positively died of joyat the thought of having at last caught an idea.
Nobody got anythingby it; indeed, no one even heard what the good thing was. Now I canimagine that this same idea may prevent him from resting quietly inhis grave; for suppose that to produce a good effect, it isnecessary to bring out his new idea at breakfast, and that he can onlymake his appearance on earth at midnight, as ghosts are believedgenerally to do; why then this good idea would not suit the hour,and the man would have to carry it down again with him into the grave-that must be a troubled grave.
the woman who lies here was so remarkably stingy, that duringher life she would get up in the night and mew, that her neighborsmight think she kept a cat. What a miser she was!
Here rests a young lady, of a good family, who would always makeher voice heard in society, and when she sang "Mi manca la voce,"*it was the only true thing she ever said in her life.
* "I want a voice," or, "I have no voice."
Here lies a maiden of another description. She was engaged to bemarried,- but, her story is one of every-day life; we will leave herto rest in the grave.
Here rests a widow, who, with music in her tongue, carried gall inher heart. She used to go round among the families near, and searchout their faults, upon which she preyed with all the envy and maliceof her nature. This is a family grave. the members of this family heldso firmly together in their opinions, that they would believe in noother. If the newspapers, or even the whole world, said of a certainsubject, "It is so-and-so;" and a little schoolboy declared he hadlearned quite differently, they would take his assertion as the onlytrue one, because he belonged to the family. And it is well known thatif the yard-cock belonging to this family happened to crow atmidnight, they would declare it was morning, although the watchman andall the clocks in the town were proclaiming the hour of twelve atnight.
the GREat poet Goethe concludes his Faust with the words, "maybe continued;" so might our wanderings in the churchyard be continued.I come here often, and if any of my friends, or those who are not myfriends, are too much for me, I go out and choose a plot of groundin which to bury him or her. then I bury them, as it were; therethey lie, dead and powerless, till they come back new and bettercharacters. their lives and their deeds, looked at after my ownfashion, I write down in my diary, as every one ought to do. then,if any of our friends act absurdly, no one need to be vexed aboutit. Let them bury the offenders out of sight, and keep their goodtemper. they can also read the Intelligencer, which is a paper writtenby the people, with their hands guided. When the time comes for thehistory of my life, to be bound by the grave, then they will writeupon it as my epitaph- "the man with a cheerful temper."
And this is my story.
the END
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