THE NEIGHBOURING FAMILIES [3]
be imagined. I
must have that." And the man took out of his portfolio a little book
with white leaves: he was a painter, and with his pencil he drew the
smoking house, the charred beams and the overhanging chimney, which
bent more and more; in the foreground he put the large, blooming
rose-bush, which presented a charming view. For its sake alone the
whole picture had been drawn.
Later in the day the two sparrows who had been born there came by.
"Where is the house?" they asked. "Where is the nest? Peep! All is
burned and our strong brother too. That's what he has now for
keeping the nest. The roses got off very well; there they still
stand with their red cheeks. They certainly do not mourn at their
neighbours' misfortunes. I don't want to talk to them, and it looks
miserable here- that's my opinion." And away they went.
On a beautiful sunny autumn day- one could almost have believed it
was still the middle of summer- there hopped about in the dry
clean-swept courtyard before the principal entrance of the Hall a
number of black, white, and gaily-coloured pigeons, all shining in the
sunlight. The pigeon-mothers said to their young ones: "Stand in
groups, stand in groups! for that looks much better."
"What kind of creatures are those little grey ones that run
about behind us?" asked an old pigeon, with red and green in her eyes.
"Little grey ones! Little grey ones!" she cried.
"They are sparrows, and good creatures. We have always had the
reputation of being pious, so we will allow them to pick up the corn
with us; they don't interrupt our talk, and they scrape so prettily
when they bow."
Indeed they were continually making three foot-scrapings with
the left foot and also said "Peep!" By this means they recognised each
other, for they were the sparrows from the nest on the burned house.
"Here is excellent fare!" said the sparrow. The pigeons strutted
round one another, puffed out their chests mightily, and had their own
private views and opinions.
"Do you see that pouter pigeon?" said one to the other. "Do you
see how she swallows the peas? She eats too many, and the best ones
too. Curoo! Curoo! How she lifts her crest, the ugly, spiteful
creature! Curoo! Curoo!" And the eyes of all sparkled with malice.
"Stand in groups! Stand in groups! Little grey ones, little grey ones!
Curoo, curoo, curoo!"
So their chatter ran on, and so it will run on for thousands of
years. The sparrows ate lustily; they listened attentively, and even
stood in the ranks with the others, but it did not suit them at all.
They were full, and so they left the pigeons, exchanging opinions
about them, slipped in under the garden palings, and when they found
the door leading into the house open, one of them, who was more than
full, and therefore felt brave, hopped on to the threshold. "Peep!"
said he; "I may venture that."
"Peep!" said the other; "so may I, and something more too!" and he
hopped into the room. No one was there; the third sparrow, seeing
this, flew still farther into the room, exclaiming, "All or nothing!
It is a curious man's nest all the same; and what have they put up
here? What is it?"
Close to the sparrows the roses were blooming; they were reflected
in the water, and the charred beams leaned against the overhanging
chimney. "Do tell me what this is. How comes this in a room at the
Hall?" And all three sparrows wanted to fly over the roses and the
chimney, but flew against a flat wall. It was all a picture, a great
splendid picture, which the artist had painted from a sketch.
"Peep!" said the sparrows, "it's nothing. It only looks like
something. Peep! that is 'the beautiful.' Do you understand it? I
don't."
And they flew away, for some people came into the room.
Days and years went by. The pigeons had often cooed, not to say
growled- the spiteful creatures; the sparrows had been frozen in
winter and had lived merrily in summer: they were all betrothed, or
must have that." And the man took out of his portfolio a little book
with white leaves: he was a painter, and with his pencil he drew the
smoking house, the charred beams and the overhanging chimney, which
bent more and more; in the foreground he put the large, blooming
rose-bush, which presented a charming view. For its sake alone the
whole picture had been drawn.
Later in the day the two sparrows who had been born there came by.
"Where is the house?" they asked. "Where is the nest? Peep! All is
burned and our strong brother too. That's what he has now for
keeping the nest. The roses got off very well; there they still
stand with their red cheeks. They certainly do not mourn at their
neighbours' misfortunes. I don't want to talk to them, and it looks
miserable here- that's my opinion." And away they went.
On a beautiful sunny autumn day- one could almost have believed it
was still the middle of summer- there hopped about in the dry
clean-swept courtyard before the principal entrance of the Hall a
number of black, white, and gaily-coloured pigeons, all shining in the
sunlight. The pigeon-mothers said to their young ones: "Stand in
groups, stand in groups! for that looks much better."
"What kind of creatures are those little grey ones that run
about behind us?" asked an old pigeon, with red and green in her eyes.
"Little grey ones! Little grey ones!" she cried.
"They are sparrows, and good creatures. We have always had the
reputation of being pious, so we will allow them to pick up the corn
with us; they don't interrupt our talk, and they scrape so prettily
when they bow."
Indeed they were continually making three foot-scrapings with
the left foot and also said "Peep!" By this means they recognised each
other, for they were the sparrows from the nest on the burned house.
"Here is excellent fare!" said the sparrow. The pigeons strutted
round one another, puffed out their chests mightily, and had their own
private views and opinions.
"Do you see that pouter pigeon?" said one to the other. "Do you
see how she swallows the peas? She eats too many, and the best ones
too. Curoo! Curoo! How she lifts her crest, the ugly, spiteful
creature! Curoo! Curoo!" And the eyes of all sparkled with malice.
"Stand in groups! Stand in groups! Little grey ones, little grey ones!
Curoo, curoo, curoo!"
So their chatter ran on, and so it will run on for thousands of
years. The sparrows ate lustily; they listened attentively, and even
stood in the ranks with the others, but it did not suit them at all.
They were full, and so they left the pigeons, exchanging opinions
about them, slipped in under the garden palings, and when they found
the door leading into the house open, one of them, who was more than
full, and therefore felt brave, hopped on to the threshold. "Peep!"
said he; "I may venture that."
"Peep!" said the other; "so may I, and something more too!" and he
hopped into the room. No one was there; the third sparrow, seeing
this, flew still farther into the room, exclaiming, "All or nothing!
It is a curious man's nest all the same; and what have they put up
here? What is it?"
Close to the sparrows the roses were blooming; they were reflected
in the water, and the charred beams leaned against the overhanging
chimney. "Do tell me what this is. How comes this in a room at the
Hall?" And all three sparrows wanted to fly over the roses and the
chimney, but flew against a flat wall. It was all a picture, a great
splendid picture, which the artist had painted from a sketch.
"Peep!" said the sparrows, "it's nothing. It only looks like
something. Peep! that is 'the beautiful.' Do you understand it? I
don't."
And they flew away, for some people came into the room.
Days and years went by. The pigeons had often cooed, not to say
growled- the spiteful creatures; the sparrows had been frozen in
winter and had lived merrily in summer: they were all betrothed, or