中英双语童话故事:蝴蝶

时间:2022-07-09 09:02:39 其他 我要投稿
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中英双语童话故事:蝴蝶

  蝴蝶双语童话故事

中英双语童话故事:蝴蝶

  中文版

  一只蝴蝶想要找一个恋人。自然,他想要在群花中找到一位可爱的小恋人。因此他就把她们都看了一遍。

  每朵花都是安静地、端庄地坐在梗子上,正如一个姑娘在没有订婚时那样坐着。可是她们的数目非常多,选择很不容易。蝴蝶不愿意招来麻烦,因此就飞到雏菊那儿去。法国人把这种小花叫做“玛加丽特”(注:原文是“Margreth”,这个字是“雏菊”的意思;欧美有许多女子用这个字作为名字。)。

  他们知道,她能作出预言。她是这样作的:情人们把她的花瓣一起一起地摘下来,每摘一起情人就问一个关于他们恋人的事情:“热情吗?——痛苦吗?——非常爱我吗?只爱一点吗?——完全不爱吗?”以及诸如此类的问题。每个人可以用自己的语言问。蝴蝶也来问了;但是他不摘下花瓣,却吻起每片花瓣来。因为他认为只有善意才能得到最好的回答。

  “亲爱的‘玛加丽特’雏菊!”他说,“你是一切花中最聪明的女人。你会作出预言!我请求你告诉我,我应该娶这一位呢,还是娶那一位?我到底会得到哪一位呢?如果我知道的话,就可以直接向她飞去,向她求婚。”

  可是“玛加丽特”不回答他。她很生气,因为她还不过是一个少女,而他却已把她称为“女人”;这究竟有一个分别呀。他问了第二次,第三次。当他从她得不到半个字的回答的时候,就不再愿意问了。他飞走了,并且立刻开始他的求婚活动。

  这正是初春的时候,番红花和雪形花正在盛开。

  “她们非常好看,”蝴蝶说,“简直是一群情窦初开的可爱的小姑娘,但是太不懂世事。”他像所有的年轻小伙子一样,要寻找年纪较大一点的女子。

  于是他就飞到秋牡丹那儿去。照他的胃口说来,这些姑娘未免苦味太浓了一点。紫罗兰有点太热情;郁金香太华丽;黄水仙太平民化;菩提树花太小,此外她们的亲戚也太多;苹果树花看起来倒很像玫瑰,但是她们今天开了,明天就谢了——只要风一吹就落下来了。

  他觉得跟她们结婚是不会长久的。豌豆花最逗人爱:她有红有白,既娴雅,又柔嫩。她是家庭观念很强的妇女,外表既漂亮,在厨房里也很能干。当他正打算向她求婚的时候,看到这花儿的近旁有一个豆荚——豆荚的尖端上挂着一朵枯萎了的花。

  “这是谁?”他问。

  “这是我的姐姐,”豌豆花说

  “乖乖!那么你将来也会像她一样了!”他说。

  这使蝴蝶大吃一惊,于是他就飞走了。

  金银花悬在篱笆上。像她这样的女子,数目还不少;她们都板平面孔,皮肤发黄。不成,他不喜欢这种类型的女子。

  不过他究竟喜欢谁呢?你去问他吧!

  春天过去了,夏天也快要告一结束。现在是秋天了,但是他仍然犹豫不决。

  现在花儿都穿上了她们最华丽的衣服,但是有什么用呢——她们已经失去了那种新鲜的、喷香的青春味儿。人上了年纪,心中喜欢的就是香味呀。特别是在天竺牡丹和干菊花中间,香味这东西可说是没有了。

  因此蝴蝶就飞向地上长着的薄荷那儿去。

  “她可以说没有花,但是全身又都是花,从头到脚都有香气,连每一起叶子上都有花香。我要讨她!”

  于是他就对她提出婚事。

  薄荷端端正正地站着,一声不响。最后她说:

  “交朋友是可以的,但是别的事情都谈不上。我老了,你也老了,我们可以彼此照顾,但是结婚——那可不成!像我们这样大的年纪,不要自己开自己的玩笑吧!”

  这么一来,蝴蝶就没有找到太太的机会了。他挑选太久了,不是好办法。结果蝴蝶就成了大家所谓的老单身汉了。

  这是晚秋季节,天气多雨而阴沉。风儿把寒气吹在老柳树的背上,弄得它们发出飕飕的响声来。如果这时还穿着夏天的衣服在外面寻花问柳,那是不好的,因为这样,正如大家说的一样,会受到批评的。的确,蝴蝶也没有在外面乱飞。

  他乘着一个偶然的机会溜到一个房间里去了。这儿火炉里面生着火,像夏天一样温暖。他满可以生活得很好的,不过,“只是活下去还不够!”他说,“一个人应该有自由、阳光和一朵小小的花儿!”

  他撞着窗玻璃飞,被人观看和欣赏,然后就被穿在一根针上,藏在一个小古董匣子里面。这是人们最欣赏他的一种表示。

  “现在我像花儿一样,栖在一根梗子上了,”蝴蝶说。“这的确是不太愉快的。这几乎跟结婚没有两样,因为我现在算是牢牢地固定下来了。”他用这种思想来安慰自己。

  “这是一种可怜的安慰,”房子里的栽在盆里的花儿说。“可是,”蝴蝶想,“一个人不应该相信这些盆里的花儿的话。她们跟人类的来往太密切了。”

  英文版

  The butterfly wanted a sweetheart, and naturally he wanted one of the prettiest of the dear little flowers. He looked at each of them; there they all sat on their stalks as quiet and modest as little maidens ought to sit before they are engaged; but there were so many to choose from that it would be quite difficult to decide. So the Butterfly flew down to the Daisy, whom the French call "Marguerite." They know she can tell fortunes.

  This is the way it's done: the lovers pluck off the little petals one by one, asking questions about each other, "Does he love me from the heart? A little? A lot? Or loves he not at all?" - or something like that; everyone asks in his own language. So the Butterfly also came to ask, but he wouldn't bite off the leaves; instead he kissed each one in turn, thinking that kindness is the best policy.

  "Sweet Miss Marguerite Daisy," he said, "you're the wisest woman of all the flowers - you can tell fortunes! Tell me, should I choose this one or that one? Which one am I to have? When you have told me, I can fly straight to her and propose."

  But Marguerite answered not a word. She resented his calling her "a woman," for she was unmarried and quite young. He put his question a second time, and then a third time, and when he still get a word out of her he gave up and flew away to begin his wooing.

  It was early spring; the snowdrops and crocuses were growing in abundance. "They're really very charming," said the Butterfly.

  "Neat little schoolgirls, but a bit too sweet." For, like all very young men, he preferred older girls. So he flew to the anemones, but they were a bit too bitter for his taste. The violets were a little too sentimental, the tulips much too gay.

  The lilies too middle class, the linden blossoms too small, and, besides, there were too many in their family. He admitted the apple blossoms looked like roses, but if they opened one day and the wind blew they fell to pieces the very next; surely such a marriage would be far too brief.

  He liked the sweet pea best of all; she was red and white, dainty and delicate, and belonged to that class of domestic girl who is pretty yet useful in the kitchen. He was about to propose to her when he noticed a pea pod hanging near by, with a withered flower clinging to it. "Who's that?" he asked.

  "It's my sister," said the pea flower.

  "Oh, so that's how you'll look later on!" This frightened the Butterfly, and away he flew.

  Honeysuckles hung over the hedges; there were plenty of those girls, long-faced and with yellow complexions. No, he didn't like that kind at all. Yes, but what did he like? You ask him!

  Spring passed and summer passed; then autumn came, and he was still no nearer making up his mind. Now the flowers wore beautiful, colorful dresses, but what good did that do? The fresh, fragrant youth had passed, and it is fragrance the heart needs as one grows older; and of course dahlias and hollysocks have no particular fragrance. So the Butterfly went to see the mint.

  "It's not exactly a flower - or rather it's all flower, fragrant from root to top, with sweet scent in every leaf. Yes, she's the one I want!" So at last he proposed to her.

  But the mint stood stiff and silent, and at last said, "Friendship, if you like, but nothing else. I'm old, and you're old, too. It would be all right to live for each other, but marriage - no! Don't let's make fools of ourselves in our old age!"

  And so the Butterfly did not find a sweetheart at all. He had hesitated too long, and one shouldn't do that! The Butterfly became an old bachelor, as we call it.

  Now it was a windy and wet late autumn; the wind blew cold down the backs of the poor trembling old willows. And that made them creak all over. When the weather is like that it isn't pleasant to fly about in summer clothing, outside.

  But the Butterfly was not flying out-of-doors; he had happened to fly into a room where there was a fire in the stove and the air was as warm as summer. Here he could at least keep alive. "But just to keep alive isn't enough," he said. "To live you must have sunshine and freedom and a little flower to love!"

  And he flew against the windowpane, was noticed by people, admired, and set on a needle to be stored in a butterfly collection. This was the most they could do for him.

  "Now I'm sitting on a stalk, just like the flowers," said the Butterfly. "It isn't very much fun; it's just like being married, you're bound up so tightly!" He comforted himself with this reflection.

  "A poor consolation, after all," said the pot plants in the room.

  "But you can't take the opinion of pot plants," thought the Butterfly. "They converse too much with human beings!"




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