中英雙語童話故事：蝴蝶

蝴蝶雙語童話故事

中文版

一隻蝴蝶想要找一個戀人。自然，他想要在羣花中找到一位可愛的小戀人。因此他就把她們都看了一遍。

每朵花都是安靜地、端莊地坐在梗子上，正如一個姑娘在沒有訂婚時那樣坐着。可是她們的數目非常多，選擇很不容易。蝴蝶不願意招來麻煩，因此就飛到雛菊那兒去。法國人把這種小花叫做“瑪加麗特”(注：原文是“Margreth”，這個字是“雛菊”的意思;歐美有許多女子用這個字作爲名字。)。

他們知道，她能作出預言。她是這樣作的：情人們把她的花瓣一起一起地摘下來，每摘一起情人就問一個關於他們戀人的事情：“熱情嗎?——痛苦嗎?——非常愛我嗎?只愛一點嗎?——完全不愛嗎?”以及諸如此類的問題。每個人可以用自己的語言問。蝴蝶也來問了;但是他不摘下花瓣，卻吻起每片花瓣來。因爲他認爲只有善意才能得到最好的回答。

“親愛的‘瑪加麗特’雛菊!”他說，“你是一切花中最聰明的女人。你會作出預言!我請求你告訴我，我應該娶這一位呢，還是娶那一位?我到底會得到哪一位呢?如果我知道的話，就可以直接向她飛去，向她求婚。”

可是“瑪加麗特”不回答他。她很生氣，因爲她還不過是一個少女，而他卻已把她稱爲“女人”;這究竟有一個分別呀。他問了第二次，第三次。當他從她得不到半個字的回答的時候，就不再願意問了。他飛走了，並且立刻開始他的求婚活動。

這正是初春的時候，番紅花和雪形花正在盛開。

“她們非常好看，”蝴蝶說，“簡直是一羣情竇初開的可愛的小姑娘，但是太不懂世事。”他像所有的年輕小夥子一樣，要尋找年紀較大一點的女子。

於是他就飛到秋牡丹那兒去。照他的胃口說來，這些姑娘未免苦味太濃了一點。紫羅蘭有點太熱情;鬱金香太華麗;黃水仙太平民化;菩提樹花太小，此外她們的親戚也太多;蘋果樹花看起來倒很像玫瑰，但是她們今天開了，明天就謝了——只要風一吹就落下來了。

他覺得跟她們結婚是不會長久的。豌豆花最逗人愛：她有紅有白，既嫺雅，又柔嫩。她是家庭觀念很強的婦女，外表既漂亮，在廚房裏也很能幹。當他正打算向她求婚的時候，看到這花兒的近旁有一個豆莢——豆莢的尖端上掛着一朵枯萎了的花。

“這是誰?”他問。

“這是我的姐姐，”豌豆花說

“乖乖!那麼你將來也會像她一樣了!”他說。

這使蝴蝶大吃一驚，於是他就飛走了。

金銀花懸在籬笆上。像她這樣的.女子，數目還不少;她們都板平面孔，皮膚髮黃。不成，他不喜歡這種類型的女子。

不過他究竟喜歡誰呢?你去問他吧!

春天過去了，夏天也快要告一結束。現在是秋天了，但是他仍然猶豫不決。

現在花兒都穿上了她們最華麗的衣服，但是有什麼用呢——她們已經失去了那種新鮮的、噴香的青春味兒。人上了年紀，心中喜歡的就是香味呀。特別是在天竺牡丹和幹菊花中間，香味這東西可說是沒有了。

因此蝴蝶就飛向地上長着的薄荷那兒去。

“她可以說沒有花，但是全身又都是花，從頭到腳都有香氣，連每一起葉子上都有花香。我要討她!”

於是他就對她提出婚事。

薄荷端端正正地站着，一聲不響。最後她說：

“交朋友是可以的，但是別的事情都談不上。我老了，你也老了，我們可以彼此照顧，但是結婚——那可不成!像我們這樣大的年紀，不要自己開自己的玩笑吧!”

這麼一來，蝴蝶就沒有找到太太的機會了。他挑選太久了，不是好辦法。結果蝴蝶就成了大家所謂的老單身漢了。

這是晚秋季節，天氣多雨而陰沉。風兒把寒氣吹在老柳樹的背上，弄得它們發出颼颼的響聲來。如果這時還穿着夏天的衣服在外面尋花問柳，那是不好的，因爲這樣，正如大家說的一樣，會受到批評的。的確，蝴蝶也沒有在外面亂飛。

他乘着一個偶然的機會溜到一個房間裏去了。這兒火爐裏面生着火，像夏天一樣溫暖。他滿可以生活得很好的，不過，“只是活下去還不夠!”他說，“一個人應該有自由、陽光和一朵小小的花兒!”

他撞着窗玻璃飛，被人觀看和欣賞，然後就被穿在一根針上，藏在一個小古董匣子裏面。這是人們最欣賞他的一種表示。

“現在我像花兒一樣，棲在一根梗子上了，”蝴蝶說。“這的確是不太愉快的。這幾乎跟結婚沒有兩樣，因爲我現在算是牢牢地固定下來了。”他用這種思想來安慰自己。

“這是一種可憐的安慰，”房子裏的栽在盆裏的花兒說。“可是，”蝴蝶想，“一個人不應該相信這些盆裏的花兒的話。她們跟人類的來往太密切了。”

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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