绒布小兔子每个孩子和曾经的孩子都应该拥有的一本书

2014-01-23 15:18阅读：

http://blog.sina.cn/dpool/blog/u/1666421345

'爱的魔法图画书爱让生命变得真实'

《绒布小兔子》于1922年首次出版，
是玛格丽威廉斯献给丈夫弗兰西斯科比纳科的经典图画书，
图书出版后，有多位艺术家为绒布小兔子的故事绘制过插图，

这个故事也多次被表演、录音，并在婚礼上被反复引用。

真爱，可以成就怎样的神奇？
　　《绒布小兔子》将告诉你：真爱，如何复苏生命的真实。
　　这是一部在西方家喻户晓的童话故事，全世界拥有16种语言翻译版本。

以下文字摘录自网络
　　故事开始于圣诞节，男孩收到新玩具绒布小兔子的喜悦中。
仅仅两小时后，男孩被亲人的到来与新玩具吸引，与小

兔子初见又分开。

在育儿室静谧的月夜里，小兔子期盼着与最年长的皮马聊天。

它略显渺小地端坐在玩具堆中。
与皮马的交谈，冲淡了绒布小兔子内心的孤寂，
它第一次得知：当一个孩子真正爱上它、一直宠爱它，它将会变成真的。
　
皮马口中的“变成真的”，不仅意味着自己将不再只是一件填充玩具，
可以远离卑微、孤独，不再轻易被遗弃……或者，仅只一条，已足以令它憧憬与期盼了。
　　　
　书中的绒布小兔子，也在盼望同样的修复。

　契机，
出现在男孩陪睡的陶瓷狗玩具失踪的那晚，绒布小兔子成为替代品与男孩重逢。

共处的若干个夜晚，
男孩紧紧的拥抱、喃喃的低语、自发的游戏与一次次地亲吻小兔子——
尽管这些加速了绒布小兔子的“衰老”，
我们仍可读出男孩内心的“温暖与柔软”，

　　春日，花园嬉戏中的男孩被突然叫离，绒布小兔子被遗忘在草地上。
睡前，男孩不惜以“不睡”的坚定驱使娜娜秉烛找回了已被露水打湿的脏兔子。
与娜娜的抱怨不同，男孩脱口而出：“它不是玩具，它是真的！”

于是，绒布小兔子第一次笃信自己已经是真的了。
这份真爱的标定，会有启动魔法的力量吗？

　夏夜，绒布小兔子第一次遇到“真兔子”。
这一大段有关“真实”的对话，为我们呈现了绒布小兔子被动的句句辩解与掩饰，
以及真兔子最终轻松跳离后绒布小兔子深深的失落。

至此，绒布小兔子对真爱的坚信与期盼，会推进它愿望的达成吗？

　　因彼此的真爱、接纳与默契，
绒布小兔子越来越老旧的外形并不为男孩和小兔子所介意。

然而，更大的考验降临——男孩病倒了。
绒布小兔子寸步不离、心无旁骛的执著陪伴中，我们仿佛见到男孩往昔同样的身影。

“由受到施”，这份真爱的付出，能最终促成愿望的实现吗？
　　男孩终于康复，故事再度被推向高潮：
男孩即将远行海边，而被医生定义为“一大团细菌”的绒布小兔子，即将面临被焚烧的命运。

夜晚，男孩已在梦境中的海边嬉戏；花园的鸡窝后，小兔子却孤寂地待在纸袋中。
我们不得不承认：这一次分离，颇有“造物弄人”般的尴尬与冲突。

　不同以往，此时绒布小兔子的内心已装满昔日真爱的记忆。

面对即将被焚烧的现实，面对内心的真爱与当下外貌的老旧，
与男孩形式上的分离与精神上烙印的链接之间，
小兔子落下的那一滴泪水似乎不仅仅是为慨叹命运吧？

　　回味童年，似乎唯有“短暂”二字深深烙印。
回想儿时物质供给并不充沛的过往，那一两件不大像样的玩具，
似乎我们的童年也早已随它们一并被丢进了记忆的长河，

尽管当初我们与书中的男孩一样，也有过形影不离的记忆……
成长的过程，分离似乎是常态。遗落的，何止玩具？

是否连带着心中曾经的童稚、真实、期盼、梦想与坚持？
那些精神链接是否依旧栖息于内心，是否依旧温暖着当下的自己？
　　如此，真的不仅是孩子，
成人也需要重温一点童话为我们日常理性、严谨、逻辑、缜密的思维松松绑，一释疲惫。
或者我们可以暗自庆幸：正因身边的这个每晚等着要听故事的孩子，
我们才有机会与童年、与童话再度相逢。

如此，以我们的读书声去激活书中的男孩与他的绒布小兔子吧，
在图、文之外赋予他们更为鲜活的声音，激活书中图、文背后缓缓流动的爱与真情，
感悟那些“即便无他、我仍真爱”的心境，

与孩子们一同见证故事最终——
魔法仙女如何因男孩内心对绒布小兔子的真爱而激活了小兔子的生命，
成就了那一份回归到生活中的真实……
当耳边再度响起“Love is such a kind ofMagic”，
我们可以释然地与孩子对视，对视彼此内心保留的那份对真爱的笃信及践行，
对视日常由真爱带给彼此的接纳、宽容、善良、坚信、付出、真实与成长……

各种版本的绒布小兔子

2009年被改编成电影，不过和原著不大相同，可以看一看。

麦穗妈妈的小感悟：

到故事的最后，变成了真兔子的绒布小兔子，
在冬后的一个晴朗春日，来到小男孩玩耍的树林。一动不动地看着他，
小男孩也怔怔地望着这只小兔子，它那柔软的小鼻子和圆圆的黑眼睛那么熟悉。

“啊！它看起来好像我那只绒布小兔子，可以在我生病的时候丢掉了！”
小男孩默默念叨着。

“他永远不会知道，眼前这个小生命的的确确就是他的那只绒布小兔子。
它回来了，只为再看看他，因为就是这个小男孩，让它变成了真的。”

上面就是故事的结尾片段。

孩子看到了故事，陪着孩子读故事的我们又读到了什么，感动着什么。

我们曾经的玩具都去了哪里，我们曾经无比珍爱的人与事又去了哪里。

当被一个人爱着，在内心刻上爱的烙印，从此，我们的生命就有了完全不同的意义。

或许，这就是这本书想表达的，对于童年、爱情、亲情、生命，爱的力量。

或许，这就是这本书经久不衰的秘密，一切都有关于爱。

绒布小兔子 <wbr>每个孩子和曾经的孩子都应该拥有的一本书

《The Velveteen Rabbit》

THERE was once a velveteen rabbit, and in the beginning he was really splendid. He was fat and bunchy, as a rabbit should be; his coat was spotted brown and white, he had real thread whiskers, and his ears were lined with pink sateen. On Christmas morning, when he sat wedged in the top of the Boy's stocking, with a sprig of holly between his paws, the effect was charming.
　　
　　There were other things in the stocking, nuts and oranges and a toy engine, and chocolate almonds and a clockwork mouse, but the Rabbit was quite the best of all. For at least two hours the Boy loved him, and then Aunts and Uncles came to dinner, and there was a great rustling of tissue paper and unwrapping of parcels, and in the excitement of looking at all the new presents the Velveteen Rabbit was forgotten.
　　
　　For a long time he lived in the toy cupboard or on the nursery floor, and no one thought very much about him. He was naturally shy, and being only made of velveteen, some of the more expensive toys quite snubbed him. The mechanical toys were very superior, and looked down upon every one else; they were full of modern ideas, and pretended they were real. The model boat, who had lived through two seasons and lost most of his paint, caught the tone from them and never missed an opportunity of referring to his rigging in technical terms. The Rabbit could not claim to be a model of anything, for he didn't know that real rabbits existed; he thought they were all stuffed with sawdust like himself, and he understood that sawdust was quite out-of-date and should never be mentioned in modern circles. Even Timothy, the jointed wooden lion, who was made by the disabled soldiers, and should have had broader views, put on airs and pretended he was connected with Government. Between them all the poor little Rabbit was made to feel himself very insignificant and commonplace, and the only person who was kind to him at all was the Skin Horse.
　　
　　The Skin Horse had lived longer in the nursery than any of the others. He was so old that his brown coat was bald in patches and showed the seams underneath, and most of the hairs in his tail had been pulled out to string bead necklaces. He was wise, for he had seen a long succession of mechanical toys arrive to boast and swagger, and by-and-by break their mainsprings and pass away, and he knew that they were only toys, and would never turn into anything else. For nursery magic is very strange and wonderful, and only those playthings that are old and wise and experienced like the Skin Horse understand all about it.
　　
　　'What is REAL?' asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. 'Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?'
　　
　　'Real isn't how you are made,' said the Skin Horse. 'It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.'
　　
　　'Does it hurt?' asked the Rabbit.
　　
　　'Sometimes,' said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. 'When you are Real you don't mind being hurt.'
　　
　　'Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,' he asked, 'or bit by bit?'
　　
　　'It doesn't happen all at once,' said the Skin Horse. 'You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand.'
　　
　　'I suppose you are real?' said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive. But the Skin Horse only smiled.
　　
　　'The Boy's Uncle made me Real,' he said. 'That was a great many years ago; but once you are Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always.'
　　
　　The Rabbit sighed. He thought it would be a long time before this magic called Real happened to him. He longed to become Real, to know what it felt like; and yet the idea of growing shabby and losing his eyes and whiskers was rather sad. He wished that he could become it without these uncomfortable things happening to him.
　　
　　There was a person called Nana who ruled the nursery. Sometimes she took no notice of the playthings lying about, and sometimes, for no reason whatever, she went swooping about like a great wind and hustled them away in cupboards. She called this 'tidying up,' and the playthings all hated it, especially the tin ones. The Rabbit didn't mind it so much, for wherever he was thrown he came down soft.
　　
　　One evening, when the Boy was going to bed, he couldn't find the china dog that always slept with him. Nana was in hurry, and it was too much trouble to hunt for china dogs at bedtime, so she simply looked about her, and seeing that the toy cupboard stood open, she made a swoop.
　　
　　'Here,' she said, 'take your old Bunny! He'll do to sleep with you!' And she dragged the Rabbit out by one ear, and put him into the Boy's arms.
　　
　　That night, and for many nights after, the Velveteen Rabbit slept in the Boy's bed. At first he found it uncomfortable, for the Boy hugged him very tight, and sometimes he rolled over on him, and sometimes he pushed him so far under the pillow that the Rabbit could scarcely breathe. And he missed, too, those long moonlight hours in the nursery, when all the house was silent, and his talks with the Skin Horse. But very soon he grew to like it, for the Boy used to talk to him, and made nice tunnels for him under the bedclothes that he said were like the burrow the real rabbits lived in. And they had splendid games together, in whispers, when Nana had gone away to her supper and left the night-light burning on the mantelpiece. And when the Boy dropped off to sleep, the Rabbit would snuggle down close under his little warm chin and dream, with the Boy's hands clasped close round him all night long.
　　
　　And so time went on, and the little Rabbit was very happy -- so happy that he never noticed how his beautiful velveteen fur was getting shabbier and shabbier, and his tail becoming unsewn, and all the pink rubbed off his nose where the Boy had kissed
　　
　　Spring came, and they had long days in the garden, for wherever the Boy went the Rabbit went too. He had rides in the wheelbarrow, and picnics on the grass, and lovely fairy huts built for him under the raspberry canes behind the flower border. And once, when the Boy was called away suddenly to go to tea, the Rabbit was left out on the lawn until long after dusk, and Nana had to come and look for him with the candle because the Boy couldn't go to sleep unless he was there. He was wet through with the dew and quite earthy from diving into the burrows the Boy had made for him in the flower bed, and Nana grumbled as she rubbed him off with a corner of her apron.
　　
　　'You must have your old Bunny!' she said. 'Fancy all that fuss for a toy!'
　　
　　'Give me my Bunny!' he said. 'You mustn't say that. He isn't a toy. He's REAL!'
　　
　　When the little Rabbit heard that he was happy, for he knew what the Skin Horse had said was true at last. The nursery magic had happened to him, and he was a toy no longer. He was Real. The Boy himself had said it.
　　
　　That night he was almost too happy to sleep, and so much love stirred in his little sawdust heart that it almost burst. And into his boot-button eyes, that had long ago lost their polish, there came a look of wisdom and beauty, so that even Nana noticed it next morning when she picked him up, and said, 'I declare if that old Bunny hasn't got quite a knowing expression!'
　　
　　That was a wonderful Summer!
　　
　　Near the house where they lived there was a woods, and in the long June evening the Boy liked to go there after tea to play. He took the Velveteen Rabbit with him, and before he wandered off to pick flowers, or play at brigands among the trees, he always made the Rabbit a little nest somewhere among the bracken, where he would be quite cosy, for he was a kind-hearted little boy and he liked Bunny to be comfortable. One evening, while the Rabbit was lying there alone, watching the ants that ran to and fro between his velvet paws in the grass, he saw two strange beings creep out of the tall bracken near him.
　　
　　They were rabbits like himself, but quite furry and brand-new. They must have been very well made, for their seams didn't show at all, and they changed shape in a queer way when they moved; one minute they were long and thin and the next minute fat and bunchy, instead of always staying the same like he did. Their feet padded softly on the ground, and they crept quite close to him, twitching their noses, while the Rabbit stared hard to see which side the clockwork stuck out, for he knew that people who jump generally have something to wind them up. But he couldn't see it. They were evidently a new kind of rabbit altogether.
　　
　　They stared at him, and the little Rabbit stared back. And all the time their noses twitched.
　　
　　'Why don't you get up and play with us?' one of them asked.
　　
　　'I don't feel like it,' said the Rabbit, for he didn't want to explain that he had no clockwork.
　　
　　'Ho!' said the furry rabbit. 'It's as easy as anything,' And he gave a big hop sideways and stood on his hind legs.
　　
　　'I don't believe you can!' he said.
　　
　　'I can!' said the little Rabbit. 'I can jump higher than anything' He meant when the Boy threw him, but of course he didn't want to say so.
　　
　　'Can you hop on your hind legs?' asked the furry rabbit?
　　
　　That was a dreadful question, for the Velveteen rabbit had no hind legs at all! The back of him was made all in one piece, like a pincushion. He sat still in the bracken, and hoped that the other rabbit wouldn't notice.
　　
　　'I don't want to!' he said again.
　　
　　But the wild rabbits have very sharp eyes. And this one stretched out his neck and looked.
　　
　　'He hasn't got any hind legs' he called out. 'Fancy a rabbit without any hind legs' And he began to laugh.
　　
　　'I have!' cried the little Rabbit. 'I have got hind legs! I am sitting on them'
　　
　　'Then stretch them out and show me, like this!' said the wild rabbit. And he began to whirl around and dance, till the little Rabbit got quite dizzy.
　　
　　'I don't like dancing,' he said. 'I'd rather sit still!'
　　
　　But all the while he was longing to dance, for a funny new tickly feeling ran through him, and he felt he would give anything in the world to be able to jump about like these rabbits did.
　　
　　The strange rabbit stopped dancing, and came quite close. He came so close this time that his long whiskers brushed the Velveteen Rabbit's ear, and then he wrinkled his nose suddenly and flattened his ears and jumped backwards.
　　
　　'He doesn't smell right!' he exclaimed. 'He isn't a rabbit at all! He isn't real!'
　　
　　'I am Real!' said the little Rabbit. 'I am Real! The Boy said so!' And he nearly began to cry.
　　
　　Just then there was a sound of footsteps, and the Boy ran past near them, and with a stamp of feet and a flash of white tails the two strange rabbits disappeared.
　　
　　'Come back and play with me!' called the little Rabbit. 'Oh, do come back! I know I am Real!'
　　
　　But there was no answer, only the little ants ran to and fro, and the bracken swayed gently where the two strangers had passed. The Velveteen Rabbit was all alone.
　　
　　'Oh, dear!' he thought. 'Why did they run away like that? Why couldn't they stop and talk to me?'
　　
　　For a long time he lay very still, watching the bracken, and hoping that they would come back. But they never returned, and presently the sun sank lower and the little white moths fluttered out, and the Boy came and carried him home.
　　
　　Weeks passed, and the little Rabbit grew very old and shabby, but the Boy loved him just as much. He loved him so hard that he loved all his whiskers off, and the pink lining to his ears turned grey, and his brown spots faded. He even began to lose his shape, and he scarcely looked like a rabbit any more, except to the Boy. To him he was always beautiful, and that was all that the little Rabbit cared about. He didn't mind how he looked to other people, because the nursery magic had made him Real, and when you are Real shabbiness doesn't matter.
　　
　　And then, one day, the Boy was ill.
　　
　　His face grew very flushed, and he talked in his sleep, and his little body was so hot that it burned the Rabbit when he held him close. Strange people came and went in the nursery, and a light burned all night and through it all the little Velveteen Rabbit lay there, hidden from sight under the bedclothes, and he never stirred, for he was afraid that if they found him some one might take him away, and he knew that the Boy needed him.
　　
　　It was a long weary time, for the Boy was too ill to play, and the little Rabbit found it rather dull with nothing to do all day long. But he snuggled down patiently, and looked forward to the time when the Boy should be well again, and they would go out in the garden amongst the flowers and the butterflies and play splendid games in the raspberry thicket like they used to. All sorts of delightful things he planned, and while the Boy lay half asleep he crept up close to the pillow and whispered them in his ear. And presently the fever turned, and the Boy got better. He was able to sit up in bed and look at picture-books, while the little Rabbit cuddled close at his side. And one day, they let him get up and dress.
　　
　　It was a bright, sunny morning, and the windows stood wide open. They had carried the Boy out on to the balcony, wrapped in a shawl, and the little Rabbit lay tangled up among the bedclothes, thinking.
　　
　　The Boy was going to the seaside to-morrow. Everything was arranged, and now it only remained to carry out the doctor's orders. They talked about it all, while the little Rabbit lay under the bedclothes, with just his head peeping out, and listened. The room was to be disinfected, and all the books and toys that the Boy had played with in bed must be burnt.
　　
　　'Hurrah!' thought the little Rabbit. 'To-morrow we shall go to the seaside!' For the boy had often talked of the seaside, and he wanted very much to see the big waves coming in, and the tiny crabs, and the sand castles.
　　
　　Just then Nana caught sight of him.
　　
　　'How about his old Bunny?' she asked.
　　
　　'That?' said the doctor. 'Why, it's a mass of scarlet fever germs!–Burn it at once. What? Nonsense! Get him a new one. He mustn't have that any more!'
　　
　　And so the little Rabbit was put into a sack with the old picture-books and a lot of rubbish, and carried out to the end of the garden behind the fowl-house. That was a fine place to make a bonfire, only the gardener was too busy just then to attend to it. He had the potatoes to dig and the green peas to gather, but next morning he promised to come quite early and burn the whole lot.
　　
　　That night the Boy slept in a different bedroom, and he had a new bunny to sleep with him. It was a splendid bunny, all white plush with real glass eyes, but the Boy was too excited to care very much about it. For to-morrow he was going to the seaside, and that in itself was such a wonderful thing that he could think of nothing else.
　　
　　And while the Boy was asleep, dreaming of the seaside, the little Rabbit lay among the old picture-books in the corner behind the fowl-house, and he felt very lonely. The sack had been left untied, and so by wriggling a bit he was able to get his head through the opening and look out. He was shivering a little, for he had always been used to sleeping in a proper bed, and by this time his coat had worn so thin and threadbare from hugging that it was no longer any protection to him. Near by he could see the thicket of raspberry canes, growing tall and close like a tropical jungle, in whose shadow he had played with the Boy on bygone mornings. He thought of those long sunlit hours in the garden–how happy they were–and a great sadness came over him. He seemed to see them all pass before him, each more beautiful than the other, the fairy huts in the flower-bed, the quiet evenings in the woods when he lay in the bracken and the little ants ran over his paws; the wonderful day when he first knew that he was Real. He thought of the Skin Horse, so wise and gentle, and all that he had told him. Of what use was it to be loved and lose one's beauty and become Real if it all ended like this? And a tear, a real tear, trickled down his little shabby velvet nose and fell to the ground.
　　
　　And then a strange thing happened. For where the tear had fallen a flower grew out of the ground, a mysterious flower, not at all like any that grew in the garden. It had slender green leaves the colour of emeralds, and in the centre of the leaves a blossom like a golden cup. It was so beautiful that the little Rabbit forgot to cry, and just lay there watching it. And presently the blossom opened, and out of it there stepped a fairy.
　　
　　She was quite the loveliest fairy in the whole world. Her dress was of pearl and dew-drops, and there were flowers round her neck and in her hair, and her face was like the most perfect flower of all. And she came close to the little Rabbit and gathered him up in her arms and kissed him on his velveteen nose that was all damp from crying.
　　
　　'Little Rabbit,' she said, 'don't you know who I am?'
　　
　　The Rabbit looked up at her, and it seemed to him that he had seen her face before, but he couldn't think where.
　　
　　'I am the nursery magic Fairy,' she said. 'I take care of all the playthings that the children have loved. When they are old and worn out and the children don't need them any more, then I come and take them away with me and turn them into Real.'
　　
　　'Wasn't I Real before?' asked the little Rabbit.
　　
　　'You were Real to the Boy,' the Fairy said, 'because he loved you. Now you shall be Real to every one.'
　　
　　Chapter 8+epilogue
　　
　　And she held the little Rabbit close in her arms and flew with him into the woods.
　　
　　It was light now, for the moon had risen. All the forest was beautiful, and the fronds of the bracken shone like frosted silver. In the open glade between the tree-trunks the wild rabbits danced with their shadows on the velvet grass, but when they saw the Fairy they all stopped dancing and stood round in a ring to stare at her.
　　
　　'I've brought you a new playfellow,' the Fairy said. 'You must be very kind to him and teach him all he needs to know in Rabbit-land, for he is going to live with you for ever and ever!'
　　
　　And she kissed the little Rabbit again and put him down on the grass.
　　
　　'Run and play, little Rabbit!' she said.
　　
　　But the little Rabbit sat quite still for a moment and never moved. For when he saw all the wild rabbits dancing around him he suddenly remembered about his hind legs, and he didn't want them to see that he was made all in one piece. He did not know that when the Fairy kissed him that last time she had changed him altogether. And he might have sat there a long time, too shy to move, if just then something hadn't tickled his nose, and before he thought what he was doing he lifted his hind toe to scratch it.
　　
　　And he found that he actually had hind legs! Instead of dingy velveteen he had brown fur, soft and shiny, his ears twitched by themselves, and his whiskers were so long that they brushed the grass. He gave one leap and the joy of using those hind legs was so great that he went springing about the turf on them, jumping sideways and whirling round as the others did, and he grew so excited that when at last he did stop to look for the Fairy she had gone.
　　
　　He was a Real Rabbit at last, at home with the other rabbits.
　　　　
　　Autumn passed and Winter, and in the Spring, when the days grew warm and sunny, the Boy went out to play in the wood behind the house. And while he was playing, two rabbits crept out from the bracken and peeped at him. One of them was brown all over, but the other had strange markings under his fur, as though long ago he had been spotted, and the spots still showed through. And about his little soft nose and his round black eyes there was something familiar, so that the Boy thought to himself:
　　
　　'Why, he looks just like my old Bunny that was lost when I had scarlet fever!'
　　
　　But he never knew that it really was his own Bunny,
come back to look at the child who had first helped him to be Real.

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