安徒生童话：The Bond of Friendship 永恒的友情
we've recently made a little journey, and already we want to make a longer one. where? to sparta, or mycenae, or delphi? there are hundreds of places whose names make the heart pound with the love of travel. on horseback we climb mountain paths, through shrubs and brush. a single traveler looks like a whole caravan. he rides in front with his guide; a pack horse carries luggage, tent, and provisions; a couple of soldiers guard the rear for his protection. no inn with soft beds awaits him at the end of a tiring day's journey; often the tent is his roof in nature's great wilderness, and the guide cooks him his supper-a pilau of rice, fowl, and curry. thousands of gnats swarm around the little tent. it is a miserable night, and tomorrow the route will head across swollen streams. sit tight on your horse lest you are washed away!
what reward is there for these hardships? the greatest! the richest! nature reveals herself here in all her glory; every spot is history; eye and mind alike are delighted. the poet can sing of it, the painter portray it in splendid pictures; but neither can reproduce the air of reality that sinks deep into the soul of the spectator, and remains there.
the lonely herdsman up on the hills could, perhaps, by the simple story of an event in his life, open your eyes, and with a few words let you behold the land of the hellenes better than any travel book could do. let him speak, then! about a custom, a beautiful, peculiar custom. the shepherd in the mountains will tell about it. he calls it the bond of friendship, and relates:
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