THE NEIGHBOURING FAMILIES [1]
no better.
"We make it lively about the house," said the sparrow-mother; "and
people say that a swallows' nest brings luck; so they are glad of
us. But such neighbours as ours! A rose-bush on the wall like that
causes damp. I daresay it will be taken away; then we shall,
perhaps, have some corn growing here. The roses are good for nothing
but to be looked at and to be smelt, or at most to be stuck in a
hat. Every year, as I have been told by my mother, they fall off.
The farmer's wife preserves them and strews salt among them; then they
get a French name which I neither can pronounce nor care to, and are
put into the fire to make a nice smell. You see, that's their life;
they exist only for the eye and the nose. Now you know."
In the evening, when the gnats were playing about in the warm
air and in the red clouds, the nightingale came and sang to the
roses that the beautiful was like sunshine to the world, and that
the beautiful lived for ever. The roses thought that the nightingale
was singing about itself, and that one might easily have believed;
they had no idea that the song was about them. But they were very
pleased with it, and wondered whether all the little sparrows could
become nightingales.
"I understand the song of that bird very well," said the young
sparrows. "There was only one word that was not clear to me. What does
'the beautiful' mean?"
"Nothing at all," answered their mother; "that's only something
external. Up at the Hall, where the pigeons have their own house,
and corn and peas are strewn before them every day- I have dined
with them myself, and that you shall do in time, too; for tell me what
company you keep and I'll tell you who you are- up at the Hall they
have two birds with green necks and a crest upon their heads; they can
spread out their tails like a great wheel, and these are so bright
with various colours that it makes one's eyes ache. These birds are
called peacocks, and that is 'the beautiful.' If they were only
plucked a little they would look no better than the rest of us. I
would have plucked them already if they had not been so big."
"I'll pluck them," piped the young sparrow, who had no feathers
yet.
In the farmhouse lived a young married couple; they loved each
other dearly, were industrious and active, and everything in their
home looked very nice. On Sundays the young wife came down early,
plucked a handful of the most beautiful roses, and put them into a
glass of water, which she placed upon the cupboard.
"Now I see that it is Sunday," said the husband, kissing his
little wife. They sat down, read their hymn-book, and held each
other by the hand, while the sun shone down upon the fresh roses and
upon them.
"This sight is really too tedious," said the sparrow-mother, who
could see into the room from her nest; and she flew away.
The same thing happened on the following Sunday, for every
Sunday fresh roses were put into the glass; but the rose-bush
bloomed as beautifully as ever. The young sparrows now had feathers,
and wanted very much to fly with their mother; but she would not allow
it, and so they had to stay at home. In one of her flights, however it
may have happened, she was caught, before she was aware of it, in a
horse-hair net which some boys had attached to a tree. The
horse-hair was drawn tightly round her leg- as tightly as if the
latter were to be cut off; she was in great pain and terror. The
boys came running up and seized her, and in no gentle way either.
"It's only a sparrow," they said; they did not, however, let her
go, but took her home with them, and every time she cried they hit her
on the beak.
In the farmhouse was an old man who understood making soap into
cakes and balls, both for shaving and washing. He was a merry old man,
always wandering about. On seeing the sparrow which the boys had
brought, and which they said they did not want, he asked, "Shall we
make it look very pretty?"
"We make it lively about the house," said the sparrow-mother; "and
people say that a swallows' nest brings luck; so they are glad of
us. But such neighbours as ours! A rose-bush on the wall like that
causes damp. I daresay it will be taken away; then we shall,
perhaps, have some corn growing here. The roses are good for nothing
but to be looked at and to be smelt, or at most to be stuck in a
hat. Every year, as I have been told by my mother, they fall off.
The farmer's wife preserves them and strews salt among them; then they
get a French name which I neither can pronounce nor care to, and are
put into the fire to make a nice smell. You see, that's their life;
they exist only for the eye and the nose. Now you know."
In the evening, when the gnats were playing about in the warm
air and in the red clouds, the nightingale came and sang to the
roses that the beautiful was like sunshine to the world, and that
the beautiful lived for ever. The roses thought that the nightingale
was singing about itself, and that one might easily have believed;
they had no idea that the song was about them. But they were very
pleased with it, and wondered whether all the little sparrows could
become nightingales.
"I understand the song of that bird very well," said the young
sparrows. "There was only one word that was not clear to me. What does
'the beautiful' mean?"
"Nothing at all," answered their mother; "that's only something
external. Up at the Hall, where the pigeons have their own house,
and corn and peas are strewn before them every day- I have dined
with them myself, and that you shall do in time, too; for tell me what
company you keep and I'll tell you who you are- up at the Hall they
have two birds with green necks and a crest upon their heads; they can
spread out their tails like a great wheel, and these are so bright
with various colours that it makes one's eyes ache. These birds are
called peacocks, and that is 'the beautiful.' If they were only
plucked a little they would look no better than the rest of us. I
would have plucked them already if they had not been so big."
"I'll pluck them," piped the young sparrow, who had no feathers
yet.
In the farmhouse lived a young married couple; they loved each
other dearly, were industrious and active, and everything in their
home looked very nice. On Sundays the young wife came down early,
plucked a handful of the most beautiful roses, and put them into a
glass of water, which she placed upon the cupboard.
"Now I see that it is Sunday," said the husband, kissing his
little wife. They sat down, read their hymn-book, and held each
other by the hand, while the sun shone down upon the fresh roses and
upon them.
"This sight is really too tedious," said the sparrow-mother, who
could see into the room from her nest; and she flew away.
The same thing happened on the following Sunday, for every
Sunday fresh roses were put into the glass; but the rose-bush
bloomed as beautifully as ever. The young sparrows now had feathers,
and wanted very much to fly with their mother; but she would not allow
it, and so they had to stay at home. In one of her flights, however it
may have happened, she was caught, before she was aware of it, in a
horse-hair net which some boys had attached to a tree. The
horse-hair was drawn tightly round her leg- as tightly as if the
latter were to be cut off; she was in great pain and terror. The
boys came running up and seized her, and in no gentle way either.
"It's only a sparrow," they said; they did not, however, let her
go, but took her home with them, and every time she cried they hit her
on the beak.
In the farmhouse was an old man who understood making soap into
cakes and balls, both for shaving and washing. He was a merry old man,
always wandering about. On seeing the sparrow which the boys had
brought, and which they said they did not want, he asked, "Shall we
make it look very pretty?"