The Neighbouring Families

The Neighbouring Families is a delightful collection of fairy tales by Hans Christian Andersen. The book explores themes of friendship, love, and the significant impact of societal and familiar relations on individual lives, presented through enchanting narratives starring both humans and fantastical creatures living in harmony. The stories in this book are tinged with humor, wit, and classic Andersonian wisdom that amuse as well as provoke deeper reflection.

• Children

								
One would have thought that something important was going on in
the duck-pond, but it was nothing after all. All the ducks lying
quietly on the water or standing on their heads in it--for they
could do that--at once swarm to the sides; the traces of their feet
were seen in the wet earth, and their cackling was heard far and wide.
The water, which a few moments before had been as clear and smooth
as a mirror, became very troubled. Before, every tree, every
neighbouring bush, the old farmhouse with the holes in the roof and
the swallows' nest, and especially the great rose-bush full of
flowers, had been reflected in it. The rose-bush covered the wall
and hung out over the water, in which everything was seen as if in a
picture, except that it all stood on its head; but when the water
was troubled everything got mixed up, and the picture was gone. Two
feathers which the fluttering ducks had lost floated up and down;
suddenly they took a rush as if the wind were coming, but as it did
not come they had to lie still, and the water once more became quiet
and smooth. The roses were again reflected; they were very
beautiful, but they did not know it, for no one had told them. The sun
shone among the delicate leaves; everything breathed forth the
loveliest fragrance, and all felt as we do when we are filled with joy
at the thought of our happiness.

"How beautiful existence is!" said each rose. "The only thing that
I wish for is to be able to kiss the sun, because it is so warm and
bright. I should also like to kiss those roses down in the water,
which are so much like us, and the pretty little birds down in the
nest. There are some up above too; they put out their heads and pipe
softly; they have no feathers like their father and mother. We have
good neighbours, both below and above. How beautiful existence is!"

The young ones above and below--those below were really only
shadows in the water--were sparrows; their parents were sparrows
too, and had taken possession of the empty swallows' nest of last
year, and now lived in it as if it were their own property.

"Are those the duck's children swimming here?" asked the young
sparrows when they saw the feathers on the water.

"If you must ask questions, ask sensible ones," said their mother.
"Don't you see that they are feathers, such as I wear and you will
wear too? But ours are finer. Still, I should like to have them up
in the nest, for they keep one warm. I am very curious to know what
the ducks were so startled about; not about us, certainly, although
I did say 'peep' to you pretty loudly. The thick-headed roses ought to
know why, but they know nothing at all; they only look at themselves
and smell. I am heartily tired of such neighbours."

"Listen to the dear little birds up there," said the roses;
"they begin to want to sing too, but are not able to manage it yet.
But it will soon come. What a pleasure that must be! It is fine to
have such cheerful neighbours."

Suddenly two horses came galloping up to be watered. A peasant boy
rode on one, and he had taken off all his clothes except his large
broad black hat. The boy whistled like a bird, and rode into the
pond where it was deepest, and as he passed the rose-bush he plucked a
rose and stuck it in his hat. Now he looked dressed, and rode on.
The other roses looked after their sister, and asked each other,
"Where can she be going to?" But none of them knew.

"I should like to go out into the world for once," said one;
"but here at home among our green leaves it is beautiful too. The
whole day long the sun shines bright and warm, and in the night the
sky shines more beautifully still; we can see that through all the
little holes in it."

They meant the stars, but they knew 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

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