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It was
Thorwaldsen's Museum. "How it shines! how it shines!" said the maiden sparrow.
"I suppose that is 'the beautiful.' Peep! But here it is larger than a peacock."
She still remembered what in her childhood's days her mother had looked upon as
the greatest among the beautiful. She flew down into the courtyard: there
everything was extremely fine. Palms and branches were painted on the walls, and
in the middle of the court stood a great blooming rose-tree spreading out its
fresh boughs, covered with roses, over a grave.
Thither flew the maiden
sparrow, for she saw several of her own kind there. A "peep" and three
foot-scrapings- in this way she had often greeted throughout the year, and no
one here had responded, for those who are once parted do not meet every day; and
so this greeting had become a habit with her. But to-day two old sparrows and a
young one answered with a "peep" and the thrice-repeated scrape with the left
foot. "Ah! Good-day! good-day!" They were two old ones from the nest and a
little one of the family.
"Ah! Good-day! good-day!" They were two old
ones from the nest and a little one of the family. "Do we meet here? It's a
grand place, but there's not much to eat. This is 'the beautiful.' Peep!" Many
people came out of the side rooms where the beautiful marble statues stood and
approached the grave where lay the great master who had created these works of
art. All stood with enraptured faces round Thorwaldsen's grave, and a few picked
up the fallen rose-leaves and preserved them.
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Par
aiyann le dimanche 20 mars 2011
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