安徒生童话故事第109篇：在养鸭场里The Portuguese Duck
引导语：大家是否去过养鸭场呢?下面是安徒生童话故事《在养鸭场里》，我们一起阅读与学习，看看是讲了哪些内容?
有一只母鸭从葡萄牙到来了。有人说她是从西班牙来的，不过这也没有什么了不起的分别。大家都把她叫葡萄牙的鸭子。她下蛋，被人杀掉，然后被做成菜拿出来吃——这就是她一生的事业。不过，从她的蛋里爬出的那些小鸭子居然也被叫做葡萄牙的鸭子——这里面倒颇有文章。这整个家族现在只剩下一只鸭子了。她住在养鸭场里，而这个场子鸡也可以进去。有一只公鸡就在里面趾高气扬地走来走去。
“他的大声啼叫倒使我怪讨厌的，”葡萄牙的鸭子说。“不过，虽然他不是一只公鸭，他倒还是蛮漂亮的——谁也不能否认这一点。他应该把他的声音略微节制一下，但是‘节制’是一种艺术，只有受过高等教育的人才能做得到。附近菩提树上的那些小小歌鸟就是这样。他们唱得才好听呢!他们的歌里有某种感动人的特点。我认为这种特点才配得上‘葡萄牙’这个形容词。如果我有这样的一只小歌鸟，我倒很愿意做他的慈爱的母亲呢，因为在我的血统里——葡萄牙的血统里——我有这种慈爱的心肠。”
当她正在说这话的时候，忽然有一只小小的歌鸟坠落下来了。他是从屋顶上倒栽葱地坠落下来的。一只猫儿在追着他，但是鸟儿拍着受伤的翅膀逃脱了，最后落到养鸭场里来。
“你看猫儿这个坏东西，简直原形毕露!”葡萄牙的鸭子说，“自从我有了孩子以后，我就领教过他了!这样一个东西居然得到生存的权利，在屋顶上跑来跑去!我想这种事情在葡萄牙是不容许的。”
她可怜这只小歌鸟，别的非葡萄牙种的鸭子也可怜他。
“可怜的小东西!”她们说，于是她们一个接着一个地围拢来了。“我们是不会唱歌的，”她们说，“不过我们有一种内在的‘歌唱感’——或者类似这样的东西。这一点我们可以感觉得到，虽然我们不把它挂在嘴边。”
“但是我可要讲出来，”葡萄牙的鸭子说，“而且我要帮助他，这是我的责任。”于是她走进水槽里去，用翅膀在水里大拍一通。她拍出的水几乎把这只小歌鸟淹死了，但是她的用意是好的。“这才是帮助人呢，”她说;“别的人可以仔细瞧瞧，向我学习。”
“吱!”小鸟说。他有一只翅膀受了伤，很难飞动，不过他知道，这次淋水完全是由善意所造成的。“太太，您是一个好心肠的人!”他说，不过他不希望再淋一次水。
“我从来没有想到过我的心肠，”葡萄牙的鸭子说。“不过有一件事情我知道：我爱我周围的一切生物——只有猫子是例外。谁也不能希望我爱他，因为他吃掉过我的两个孩子!不过请你把这儿当作你的家吧，因为你可以这样办呀!我本人就是从外国来的——这一点你可以从我的态度和我的羽衣看得出来。我的鸭公是本地人，没有我这样的血统——但我并不因此而骄傲!如果这里有什么人了解你的话，我敢说这人就是我。”
“她的嗉子里全是葡萄拉①，”一只很有风趣的普通小鸭说。别的一些普通小鸭认为“马齿觅”这个字用得非常妙，因为它的发音跟“葡萄牙”这名词差不多。大家彼此轻轻地推了一下，同时说一声“嘎!”这只小鸭真是滑稽透了!于是大家便开始注意那只小小的歌鸟了。
“葡萄牙鸭子在掌握语言方面真有本领，”大家说。“我们的嘴里就装不住这样大的字眼，不过我们的同情心却并不比她小。如果我们不能替你做点什么事情，我们就一句话也不讲——我们觉得这是一种最好的办法!”
“你有一个很美丽的声音，”最老的一只鸭子说。“你这样能够叫许多人快乐，你自己一定也很满意的吧。我对于唱歌不内行，因此我就把我的嘴闭起来。这比讲无聊的话好得多——别人就是喜欢对你讲无聊话。”
“请不耍这样麻烦他吧!”葡萄牙鸭子说。“他需要休息和保养呀。小小的歌鸟，要不要我们再给你淋一次水?”
“哎唷，不要!我愿意保持干燥!”他恳求说。
“就我说来，唯一有效的办法是水疗，”葡萄牙鸭子说。“不过游戏也有效!邻近的鸡子不久就要来拜访我们。他们中间有两只中国母鸡。她们穿着长裤子，都受过很好的教育，而且是从外国来的。这在我看来，她们的地位提高不少。
于是母鸡来了，公鸡也来了。这只公鸡今天算是相当客气，没有当场摆架子。
“你是一只真正的歌鸟，”他说。“凡是你的小声音所能做到的事情，你全都做到了。不过你还得加一点劲儿，好使人家一听就知道你是一只公鸟。”
这两只中国鸡被歌鸟的一副样儿迷住了。他的毛淋了一番水后仍然是蓬着的，因此她们都觉得他很像一只中国小鸡。
“他很可爱!”于是她们开始跟他聊起天来。她们用贵族的中国话——其中包括低声和“呸”这类的声音——和他交谈。
“我们和你是同一个种族。鸭子——甚至葡萄牙的鸭子——是属于水鸟这一族的，这一点你一眼就可以看得出来。你还不认识我们，不过有多少人认识我们或愿意花点工夫来认识我们呢?没有一个人，连一个母鸡也没有，虽然比起大多数人来，我们生来就是要栖在更高一层的栖柱上的。不过这也没有什么了不起的关系：我们跟大家一起安静地过我们自己的日子。他们的理想跟我们的理想大不相同，但是我们只看好的一面，我们只谈好的事情，虽然本来没有什么好话而硬说好是很困难的。除了我们两个和那只公鸡以外，鸡屋里再没有一个有天才的人。谈到‘诚实’，养鸭场里没有一个人是诚实的。小小的歌鸟，我们忠告你：你切不要相信那边的一个短尾巴的女人，她才狡猾呢。那个翅膀上长着弯线条的杂色女人专门找人吵架。虽然她自己没有理，她可不让别人讲一句话。那边的一只肥鸭子总是说人家的坏话，这是跟我们的性格相反的。如果我们不能说人家的好话，那末你把嘴闭起来好了。那只葡萄牙鸭子是唯一受过一点教育的人。你可以跟她来往，不过她太感情用事，老是谈起葡萄牙。”
“那两个中国女人的话真多!”有一对鸭子说。“她们真使我感到讨厌!我从来没有跟她们讲过话。”
现在公鸭来了!他以为歌鸟是一只麻雀。
“嗯，我看不出什么分别，”他说，“全是半斤八两!他是一个玩物。有他没有他都是一样。”
“不要理他说的这一套!”葡萄牙鸭子低声说。“他做起生意来可是蛮有道理的，而且他只懂得生意。不过现在我要躺下来休息一下。我应该这样办，为的是要使我能长得胖些，好叫人能在我身上涂一层苹果和梅子酱②。”
于是她眨着一只眼睛在太阳光里躺下来。她舒舒眼服地躺着，也感到非常舒服，也睡得非常舒服。歌鸟忙着啄他那只受了伤的翅膀，最后他也在他的恩人身边躺下来。太阳照得又温暖，又光明。这真是一块好地方。
邻家来的母鸡在扒土。老实讲，她们来拜访完全是为了找点东西吃。那两只中国鸡先离开，其余的也跟着走了。那只风趣的小鸭谈到葡萄牙鸭子的时候说，这个老太婆快要过她的“第二度童年”了。别的鸭子都笑起来：“第二度童年!他的话说得真妙!”于是大家又提起头一次关于“葡萄拉”的玩笑。这真是非常滑稽!于是大家都躺下来了。
他们躺了一会儿以后，忽然有人抛了一点吃的东西到场子里来。这东西“砰”的一声落到地上，弄得大家从睡梦中惊醒过来，拍起翅膀。葡萄牙鸭子也醒了，她翻了一个身，把那只小歌鸟压得透不过气来。
“吱!”他叫起来。“太太，您压得太重了!”
“谁叫你躺在我面前呢?”她说。“你太神经过敏了!我也有神经呀，但是我从来不说一声‘吱’!”
“请您不要生气吧!”小鸟说。“这个‘吱’是不知不觉地从我的嘴里冒出来的。”
葡萄牙鸭子不理他，但是尽快地抢那食物吃，而且吃得很痛快。她吃完了以后又躺下来。小鸟走过来，想用歌声引起她的好感：
滴——丽，滴——丽!
您的`好心地
是我歌唱的主题，
我要飞起，飞起。
“吃完饭以后我得休息一下，”她说。“你住在这里，必须遵守这里的规矩!我现在要睡了。”
小歌鸟大吃一惊，因为他本来的用意是很好的。太太睡醒了以后，他衔着他所寻到的一颗麦粒站在她面前。他把麦粒放在她的脚下。但是她没有睡好，因此她的心情自然不佳。
“把这送给小鸡吃吧，”她说，“不要老呆在我旁边呀!”
“但是您为什么要生我的气呢?”他问。“我做了什么对不起您的事情呢?”
“做了什么对不起我的事情!”葡萄牙鸭子说。“你用的字眼不太文雅!这一点我请你注意。”
“昨天这里有太阳光，”小鸟说。“今天这里却是阴暗的!这使我感到怪难过的。”
“你对于天气的知识是一窍不通!”葡萄牙鸭子说。“这一天还没有完呀。不要呆在这儿像一个傻瓜吧!”
“您看人的这副凶样子，跟我落到这里时那些恶眼睛看我的凶样子差不多。”
“简直岂有此理!”葡萄牙鸭子说。“难道你把我跟那个强盗——那只猫相比吗?我身体里一滴坏血也没有。我得为你负责任，我要教你学些礼貌。”
于是她就把这歌鸟的头咬掉了。他倒下死了。
“这是什么意思?”她说，“难道他这一点都受不了?这样说来，他是不配活在这个世界上的了!我对他一直是像一个母亲;这一点我知道，因为我有一颗母亲的心。”
邻家的公鸡把头伸进院子里来，像一个火车头似地大叫了一声。
“你这一叫简直要把我吓死了，”她说。“这完全要怪你。他吓掉了他的头，我也几乎要吓掉我的头。”
“他这么点小的东西有什么值得一提，”公鸡说。
“对他说话放客气些吧!”葡萄牙鸭子说。“他有声音，他会唱歌，他受过好的教育!他很体贴，也很温柔——无论在动物中，或在你所谓的人类中，这都是很好的。”
所有的鸭子都挤到这只死去了的小歌鸟身边来。不管他们是感到嫉妒或怜悯，这些鸭子都表现得非常热情。但是现在这儿既然没有什么东西可嫉妒，他们自然感到怜悯。甚至那两只中国母鸡都是这样。
“我们再也找不到这样的歌鸟了!他差不多算得是一只中国鸟。”于是母鸡都嘎嘎地哭起来，不过鸭子只是把眼睛弄得红了一点。
“我们都是好心肠的人，”她们说。“这一点谁也不能否认。”
“好心肠!”葡萄牙鸭子说，“是的，我们都有好心肠，差不多跟在葡萄牙一样!”
“我们现在还是找点东西塞进嗉子里去吧，”鸭公说。“这才是重要的事情呢!一个玩物打碎了算什么?我们有的是!”
①原文是Hun har portulak i Kroen，无法翻译。葡萄拉(portulak)在丹麦文里是“马齿觅”，而portulak这个字跟“葡萄牙”(Portugal)的读音相似。因此当葡萄牙的鸭子说她身体里有葡萄牙的血统时，这只小鸭就开她一个文字玩笑，说她的身体里全是“葡萄拉”(马齿觅)。
②欧洲人吃烤鸭时经常用苹果和梅子酱做作料。
在养鸭场里英文版：
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.”