安徒生童話故事第112篇：蝴蝶The Butterfly
引導語：蝴蝶是在我們的生活中是經常見到的昆蟲，那么蝴蝶在安徒生的筆下會寫出什么樣的童話故事?歡迎大家閱讀下文。
一只蝴蝶想要找一個戀人。自然，他想要在群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著。可是她們的數目非常多，選擇很不容易。蝴蝶不愿意招來麻煩，因此就飛到雛菊那兒去。法國人把這種小花叫做“瑪加麗特”①。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于他們戀人的事情：“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。因為他認為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，因為她還不過是一個少女，而他卻已把她稱為“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，就不再愿意問了。他飛走了，并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，“簡直是一群情竇初開的可愛的小姑娘，但是太不懂世事。”他像所有的年輕小伙子一樣，要尋找年紀較大一點的女子。
于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;郁金香太華麗;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，既嫻雅，又柔嫩。她是家庭觀念很強的婦女，外表既漂亮，在廚房里也很能干。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——豆莢的尖端上掛著一朵枯萎了的花。
“這是誰?”他問。
“這是我的姐姐，”豌豆花說。
“乖乖!那么你將來也會像她一樣了!”他說。
這使蝴蝶大吃一驚，于是他就飛走了。
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，皮膚發黃。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�，F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，但是有什么用呢——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干菊花中間，香味這東西可說是沒有了。因此蝴蝶就飛向地上長著的薄荷那兒去。
“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!”
于是他就對她提出婚事。
薄荷端端正正地站著，一聲不響。最后她說：
“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!”
這么一來，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。如果這時還穿著夏天的衣服在外面尋花問柳，那是不好的，因為這樣，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。他乘著一個偶然的機會溜到一個房間里去了。這兒火爐里面生著火，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!”
他撞著窗玻璃飛，被人觀看和欣賞，然后就被穿在一根針上，藏在一個小古董匣子里面。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，因為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，“房子里的栽在盆里的花兒說。
“可是，”蝴蝶想，“一個人不應該相信這些盆里的花兒的話。她們跟人類的來往太密切了。”
�、僭氖�“Margreth”，這個字是“雛菊”的意思;歐美有許多女子用這個字作為名字。
蝴蝶英文版：
The Butterfly
THERE was once a butterfly who wished for a bride, and, as may be supposed, he wanted to choose a very pretty one from among the flowers. He glanced, with a very critical eye, at all the flower-beds, and found that the flowers were seated quietly and demurely on their stalks, just as maidens should sit before they are engaged; but there was a great number of them, and it appeared as if his search would become very wearisome. The butterfly did not like to take too much trouble, so he flew off on a visit to the daisies. The French call this flower “Marguerite,” and they say that the little daisy can prophesy. Lovers pluck off the leaves, and as they pluck each leaf, they ask a question about their lovers; thus: “Does he or she love me?—Ardently? Distractedly? Very much? A little? Not at all?” and so on. Every one speaks these words in his own language. The butterfly came also to Marguerite to inquire, but he did not pluck off her leaves; he pressed a kiss on each of them, for he thought there was always more to be done by kindness.
“Darling Marguerite daisy,” he said to her, “you are the wisest woman of all the flowers. Pray tell me which of the flowers I shall choose for my wife. Which will be my bride? When I know, I will fly directly to her, and propose.”
But Marguerite did not answer him; she was offended that he should call her a woman when she was only a girl; and there is a great difference. He asked her a second time, and then a third; but she remained dumb, and answered not a word. Then he would wait no longer, but flew away, to commence his wooing at once. It was in the early spring, when the crocus and the snowdrop were in full bloom.
“They are very pretty,” thought the butterfly; “charming little lasses; but they are rather formal.”
Then, as the young lads often do, he looked out for the elder girls. He next flew to the anemones; these were rather sour to his taste. The violet, a little too sentimental. The lime-blossoms, too small, and besides, there was such a large family of them. The apple-blossoms, though they looked like roses, bloomed to-day, but might fall off to-morrow, with the first wind that blew; and he thought that a marriage with one of them might last too short a time. The pea-blossom pleased him most of all; she was white and red, graceful and slender, and belonged to those domestic maidens who have a pretty appearance, and can yet be useful in the kitchen. He was just about to make her an offer, when, close by the maiden, he saw a pod, with a withered flower hanging at the end.
“Who is that?” he asked.
“That is my sister,” replied the pea-blossom.
“Oh, indeed; and you will be like her some day,” said he; and he flew away directly, for he felt quite shocked.
A honeysuckle hung forth from the hedge, in full bloom; but there were so many girls like her, with long faces and sallow complexions. No; he did not like her. But which one did he like?
Spring went by, and summer drew towards its close; autumn came; but he had not decided. The flowers now appeared in their most gorgeous robes, but all in vain; they had not the fresh, fragrant air of youth. For the heart asks for fragrance, even when it is no longer young; and there is very little of that to be found in the dahlias or the dry chrysanthemums; therefore the butterfly turned to the mint on the ground. You know, this plant has no blossom; but it is sweetness all over,—full of fragrance from head to foot, with the scent of a flower in every leaf.
“I will take her,” said the butterfly; and he made her an offer. But the mint stood silent and stiff, as she listened to him. At last she said,—
“Friendship, if you please; nothing more. I am old, and you are old, but we may live for each other just the same; as to marrying—no; don’t let us appear ridiculous at our age.”
And so it happened that the butterfly got no wife at all. He had been too long choosing, which is always a bad plan. And the butterfly became what is called an old bachelor.
It was late in the autumn, with rainy and cloudy weather. The cold wind blew over the bowed backs of the willows, so that they creaked again. It was not the weather for flying about in summer clothes; but fortunately the butterfly was not out in it. He had got a shelter by chance. It was in a room heated by a stove, and as warm as summer. He could exist here, he said, well enough.
“But it is not enough merely to exist,” said he, “I need freedom, sunshine, and a little flower for a companion.”
Then he flew against the window-pane, and was seen and admired by those in the room, who caught him, and stuck him on a pin, in a box of curiosities. They could not do more for him.
“Now I am perched on a stalk, like the flowers,” said the butterfly. “It is not very pleasant, certainly; I should imagine it is something like being married; for here I am stuck fast.” And with this thought he consoled himself a little.
“That seems very poor consolation,” said one of the plants in the room, that grew in a pot.
“Ah,” thought the butterfly, “one can’t very well trust these plants in pots; they have too much to do with mankind.”
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