The Tales of Hans Christian Andersen The Bronze Pig - Metalsvinet 1862 In the town of Florence, not far from the Piazza del Granduca, there is a little street--I believe that it is called Porta Rossa--and there across from a small market place, where vegetables are sold, stands a fountain cast in the shape of a pig. Clear, fresh water spouts from its snout, which shines as brightly as bronze can, while the rest of the body is green with age. The snout is polished daily by schoolboys and beggars who rest their hands upon it, while leaning over to drink. It is a lovely sight to see the beautifully made animal embraced by a thirsty half-naked boy, who almost kisses its ancient snout with his fresh, young mouth. I Byen Florents, ikke langt fra piazza del granduca løber en lille Tværgade, jeg troer den kaldes porta rossa; i denne, foran en Slags Bazar, hvor der sælges Grønt, ligger et konstigt vel udarbeidet Metalsviin; det friske, klare Vand risler ud af Munden paa Dyret, der af Ælde er ganske sortgrønt, kun Trynen skinner, som om den var poleret blank, og det er den ogsaa af de mange hundrede Børn og fattige Folk, der tage fat paa den med Hænderne og sætte deres Mund til Dyrets, for at drikke. Det er et heelt Billede, at see det velformede Dyr blive omfavnet af en smuk, halvnøgen Dreng, der sætter sin friske Mund til dets Tryne. Anyone who visits Florence can find the fountain; and if he can't, he need only ask the first beggar he meets, and he will show him the way to the bronze pig. Enhver, som kommer til Florents, finder nok Stedet, han behøver kun at spørge den første Tigger, han seer, om Metalsvinet, og han vil finde det. It was late on a winter evening. The tops of the hills that surround the city were covered with snow. But it was not dark, for the moon was out; and the moon in Italy gives as much light as the sun does on a northern, winter day. --No, I would even say that it gives more, for here the air is so clear, it seems to reflect the moon's light; it is not cold and gray as the air in the north, which like a leaden lid seems to be pressing you down into the cold, wet earth, as if you were already buried and lying in your coffin. Det var en sildig Vinteraften, Bjergene laae med Snee, men det var Maaneskin, og Maaneskin i Italien giver en Belysning, der er ligesaa god som en mørk Vinterdag i Norden, ja den er bedre, thi Luften skinner, Luften opløfter, mens i Norden det kolde, graae Bly-Tag trykker os til Jorden, den kolde, vaade Jord, der engang skal trykke vor Kiste. In the ducal gardens, where thousands of flowers bloom in winter, a ragged little boy had sat all day under a large pine tree. He was the very picture of Italy: laughing, beautiful, and suffering. He was hungry and thirsty; and though he had held out his little hand all day, no one had dropped anything into it. Night fell, and the watchman who came to close the gardens drove him away. On a bridge over the Arno, the boy stood for a long time, staring into the water and dreaming, as he watched the reflections of the many stars, the beautiful marble bridge called Santa Trinita, and himself, shimmering in the river. Henne i Hertugens Slotshave, under Piniens Tag, hvor tusinde Roser blomstre ved Vintertid, havde en lille, pjaltet Dreng siddet den hele Dag, en Dreng, der kunde være Billedet paa Italien, saa smuk, saa leende og dog saa lidende; han var sulten og tørstig, Ingen gav ham en Skilling, og da det blev mørkt og Haven skulde lukkes, jog Portneren ham bort. Længe stod han dømmende paa Broen over Floden Arno og saae paa Stjernerne, der blinkede i Vandet mellem ham og den prægtige Marmorbro. He walked back to the fountain, and, putting his arms around the bronze pig's neck, he drank water from its shining spout. Nearby he found some lettuce leaves and a few chestnuts, and they were his dinner. It was cold and the streets were deserted. He was alone. He climbed up on the pig's back and, leaning his curly head forward so that it rested on the pig's head, he fell asleep. Han tog Veien hen til Metalsvinet, knælede halv ned, slog sine Arme om dets Hals, satte sin lille Mund til dets skinnende Tryne og drak i store Drag det friske Vand. Tæt ved laae nogle Salatblade og et Par Kastanier, det blev hans Aftensmad. Der var ikke et Menneske paa Gaden; han var ganske ene, han satte sig paa Metalsvinets Ryg, lænede sig forover, saa hans lille, lokkede Hoved hvilte paa Dyrets, og før han selv vidste det, sov han ind. It was midnight. The metal animal beneath him moved and said very distinctly, "Little boy, hold on tight, for I am going to run!" And it did run; and thus began the strangest ride that anyone has ever taken. The pig went first to the Piazza del Granduca. The bronze horse, on which the duke was mounted, neighed loudly when it saw them. All the colored coats of arms of the old town hall shone brilliantly; Michelangelo's David swung his sling. Every statue was alive. The metal figures around Perseus were much too alive; and the Sabine women screamed that horrible cry of fear before death, and it echoed throughout the beautiful square. Det var Midnat, Metalsvinet rørte sig, han hørte, at det sagde ganske tydeligt: "du lille Dreng, hold Dig fast, thi nu løber jeg!" og saa løb det med ham; det var et løierligt Ridt. - Først kom de paa piazza del granduca; og Metalhesten, som bar Hertugens Statue, vrinskede høit; de brogede Vaaben paa det gamle Raadhuus skinnede som transparente Billeder, og MichelAngelos David svingede sin Slynge; det var et selsomt Liv, som rørte sig! Metalgrupperne med Perseus og med Sabinerindernes Rov stode kun altfor levende; et Døds-Skrig fra dem gik over den prægtige, eensomme Plads. In the arcade of the Palazzo degli Uffizi where the nobles of Florence gathered for their masquerades, the bronze pig stopped. Ved palazzo degli Uffizi, i Buegangen, hvor Adelen samles til Carnevals-Glæde, standsede Metalsvinet. "Hold tight," the bronze pig warned, "for now we are going up the stairs." The little boy did not answer; half joyfully, half fearfully, he clutched the neck of the pig. "Hold Dig fast!" sagde Dyret, "hold Dig fast, thi nu gaaer det op ad Trappen!" Den Lille sagde ikke endnu et Ord, halv skjælvede han, halv var han lyksalig. They entered the long gallery. The boy knew it well, he had been there before: the walls were covered with paintings and here were the loveliest statues. But now the gallery was more brilliantly lighted than during the day; and every painting seemed more colorful, every bust and figure more beautiful. But the most magnificent moment--and that one the boy never would forget--was when the door to one of the smaller rooms opened. De traadte ind i et langt Gallerie, han kjendte det godt, han havde været her før; Væggene prangede med Malerier, her stode Statuer og Buster, alle i det skjønneste Lys, ligesom om det var Dag, men prægtigst var det, da Døren til et af Sideværelserne gik op; ja denne Herlighed her huskede den Lille; dog i denne Nat var Alt i sin skjønneste Glands. Here was the sculpture of a naked woman: beauty as only nature, marble, and the greatest of all artists can create it. She moved her lovely limbs, and the dolphins at her feet arched their backs and leaped about. Immortality was the message that could be read in her eyes. This sculpture is known to the world as the Medici Venus. On either side of her stood a marble statue, each proving that man's spirit and art can give life, can create it from lifeless stone. One of the figures was of a man grinding his sword; the other showed two gladiators wrestling: for beauty's sake the weapon was sharpened and the men fought. Her stod en nøgen, deilig Qvinde, saa smuk, som kun Naturen og Marmorets største Mester kunde forme hende; hun bevægede de smukke Lemmer, Delphiner sprang ved hendes Fod, Udødelighed lyste ud af hendes Øie. Verden kalder hende den medicæiske Venus. Paa hver Side af hende prangede Marmorstatuer, deilige Mænd; den ene hvæssede Sværdet, Sliberen kaldes han; de brydende Gladiatorer udgjorde den anden Gruppe; Sværdet hvæssedes, Kæmperne brødes for Skjønheds-Gudinden. The boy was almost blinded by the radiance of the colors of paintings on the walls. There was Titian's Venus, the mortal woman whom the artist had loved, stretching herself out on her soft couch. She tossed her head, her naked breasts heaved; her curly hair fell on her naked shoulders, and her dark eyes revealed the passion of the blood that flowed in her veins. Although every work of art was intensely alive, they did not dare to leave their frames or their pedestals. Maybe it was the golden halos of the Madonna, Jesus, and John the Baptist that made them all stay in their places, for the holy paintings were no longer works of art, they were the holy person they portrayed. Drengen var som blendet af al den Glands; Væggene straalede i Farver, og Alt var Liv og Bevægelse der. Fordoblet viste sig Billedet af Venus, den jordiske Venus, saa svulmende og ildfuld, som Titian havde seet hende. To deilige Qvinders Billeder; de skjønne, ubeslørede Lemmer strakte sig paa de bløde Hynder, Brystet hævede sig og Hovedet bevægede sig, saa at de rige Lokker faldt ned om de runde Skuldre, medens de mørke Øine udtalte glødende Tanker; men ingen af alle Billederne vovede dog at træde heelt ud af Rammen. Skjønheds-Gudinden selv, Gladiatorerne og Sliberen bleve paa deres Plads, thi Glorien, som straalede fra Madonna, Jesus og Johannes, bandt dem. De hellige Billeder vare ikke Billeder længer, de vare de Hellige selv. What beauty! What loveliness! The little boy saw it all, for the bronze pig walked slowly through every room of the palace. One magnificent work of art superseded the other. But one painting appealed especially to the boy, because there were children in it. He had seen it once before in the daylight. Hvilken Glands og hvilken Skjønhed fra Sal til Sal! og den Lille saae dem Alle; Metalsvinet gik jo Skridt for Skridt gjennem al den Pragt og Herlighed. Det ene Skue fortrængte det andet, kun eet Billede fæstede sig ret i Tanken, og meest ved de glade, lykkelige Børn, som vare derpaa, den Lille havde engang i Daglys nikket til dem. It was the painting of Jesus Descending into the Underworld, and many hasten by it without a glance, not realizing that it contains a whole world of poetry. The painter, a Florentine, Agnolo Bronzino, had not chosen to portray the suffering of the dead but the expectation in their faces at the sight of Our Lord. Two of the children are embracing; one little boy stretches his hand out toward another child, at the same time he points to himself, as if he were saying: "I am going to paradise." Some of the older people in the painting look uncertain. Filled as they are with doubt and hope, they beg humbly, while the children, in their innocence, demand. Mange vandre vist dette Billede let forbi, og dog omslutter det en Skat af Poesie: det er Christus, som stiger ned i Underverdenen, men det er ei de Piinte, man seer om ham, nei, det er Hedningerne; Florentineren Angiolo Bronzino har malet dette Billede; meest herligt er Udtrykket af Børnenes Vished om, at de skulle i Himlen; to Smaa omfavne allerede hinanden, een Lille rækker Haanden til en Anden nedenfor og peger paa sig selv, som om han sagde: "Jeg skal i Himlen!" alle Ældre staae uvisse, haabende, eller bøie sig ydmygt bedende for den Herre Jesus. The boy looked at that painting longer than he did at any of the others, and the bronze pig patiently stood still in front of it. Someone sighed. Did the sound come from the painting or the bronze pig? The boy lifted his hands toward the children in the painting; but just at that moment the pig turned and ran through the galleries. Paa dette Billede saae Drengen længer end paa noget andet; Metalsvinet hvilte stille foran det; et sagte Suk blev hørt; kom det fra Billedet eller fra Dyrets Bryst? Drengen løftede Haanden ud mod de smilende Børn; - da jog Dyret afsted med ham, afsted gjennem den aabne Forsal. "Thank you and God bless you!" whispered the boy as the pig went bumpity... bumpity... down the stairs with him on his back. "Tak og Velsignelse, du deilige Dyr!" sagde den lille Dreng og klappede Metalsvinet, der bums, bums! sprang ned ad Trappen med ham. "Thank yourself and God bless you!" replied the metal animal. "I have helped you and you have helped me, for only when an innocent child sits on my back, do I become alive and have the strength to run as I have tonight. Yes, I can even let the light from the lamp beneath the Blessed Virgin shine upon me. It is only into the church that I am not allowed to go; but with you on my back I can peep through the door. But don't try to get down, for if you do, then I shall be dead, as I am in the daylight, when you see me in the Via Porta Rossa." "Tak og Velsignelse selv!" sagde Metalsvinet, "jeg har hjulpet Dig og Du har hjulpet mig, thi kun med et uskyldigt Barn paa min Ryg faaer jeg Kræfter til at løbe! ja seer Du, jeg tør endogsaa gaae ind under Straalen af Lampen foran Madonnabilledet. Jeg kan bære Dig hen overalt, kun ikke ind i Kirken! men udenfor den, naar Du er hos mig, kan jeg see ind ad den aabne Dør! stig ikke ned af min Ryg, gjør Du det, da ligger jeg død, som Du seer mig om Dagen være det i Gaden porta rossa!" "I will stay with you," the child promised; and away they ran, through the streets of the town, till they came to the Church of Santa Croce. "Jeg bliver hos Dig, mit velsignede Dyr!" sagde den Lille, og saa gik det i susende Flugt gjennem Florents's Gader, ud til Pladsen foran Kirken Santa Croce. The portals of the church opened by themselves. All the candles on the great altar were lit, and the light shone all the way out to the deserted square, where stood the bronze pig with a boy mounted on his back. Den store Fløidør sprang op, Lysene straalede fra Alteret, gjennem Kirken, ud paa den eensomme Plads. Above a tomb, along the left aisle, a thousand stars formed a halo. A coat of arms decorated the simple monument: on a blue background was a ladder that glowed as if it were on fire. It was the tomb of Galileo and the coat of arms could be the emblem of art itself, for the way of the artist is up a ladder of fire to the sky. Every true prophet of the spirit ascends toward heaven like Elijah! En selsom Lysglands strømmede ud fra et Grav-Monument i den venstre Sidegang, tusinde bevægelige Stjerner dannede ligesom en Glorie om det. Et Vaabenmærke prangede paa Graven, en rød Stige i blaa Grund, den syntes at gløde som Ild. Det var Galilæis Grav, det er et simpelt Monument, men den røde Stige i den blaae Grund er et betydningsfuldt Vaabenmærke, det er som det var Konstens eget, thi her gaaer altid Veien opad paa en gloende Stige, men til Himlen. Alle Aandens Propheter gaae til Himlen som Propheten Elias. Down the right aisle, all the marble figures on the richly decorated sarcophagi had come alive. Dante with laurel leaves on his head, Michelangelo, Machiavelli, Alfieri: here they were, side by side, the glory of Italy! The Church of Santa Croce is not as large as Florence's cathedral, but it is much more beautiful. I Kirkens Gang til Høire syntes hver Billedstøtte paa de rige Sarkophager at have faaet Liv. Her stod Michel Angelo, der Dante med Laurbærkrands om Panden; Alfieri, Machiavelli, Side ved Side hvile her disse Stormænd, Italiens Stolthed. Det er en prægtig Kirke, langt skjønnere, om ikke saa stor, som Florents's Marmor-Domkirke. The marble clothes of the statues seemed to move, while the great men's heads appeared to have turned so that they could look out into the night. From the altar came the sweet voices of the white-clad choir boys, who swung censers, from which the strong smell of incense pervaded the air, even as far as the square. Det var som om Marmorklæderne rørte sig, som om de store Skikkelser end mere hævede deres Hoved og skuede i Natten, under Sang og Toner, op mod det brogede, straalende Alter, hvor hvidklædte Drenge svingede gyldne Røgelsekar; den stærke Duft strømmede fra Kirken ud paa den aabne Plads. The boy stretched his arms toward the light of the altar, and the bronze pig turned and ran so fast that the child had to hold on with all his strength not to fall off. The boy heard the wind whistling in his ears, then he heard a loud bang as the big doors of the church closed. He lost consciousness. He felt cold; then he opened his eyes, he was awake. Drengen strakte sin Haand ud mod Lys-Glandsen, og i samme Nu foer Metalsvinet afsted; han maatte knuge sig fast til det, Vinden susede om hans Øren, han hørte Kirkeporten knage paa Hængslerne, idet den lukkedes, men idetsamme syntes Bevidstheden at forlade ham, han følte en iisnende Kulde - og slog Øinene op. It was morning. He was sitting--almost falling off--the bronze pig, which stood as immobile as ever in the Via Porta Rossa. Det var Morgen, han sad, halv gleden ned af Metalsvinet, der stod, hvor det altid pleiede at staae, i Gaden porta rossa. Fearfully, the boy thought of the woman whom he called his mother. She had sent him out yesterday to beg, but no one had given him any money, not so much as the tiniest copper coin. He was hungry. Once more he embraced the bronze pig and drank water from its snout. He kissed it and made his way home through the dirty streets. He lived in one of the narrowest lanes in the city; it was just broad enough for a loaded donkey to pass. An iron-studded door stood ajar; he slipped past it and began to climb a stone staircase that had a worn-out rope for a banister. The walls were filthy. He came to the courtyard; above there was a gallery all the way around the building. On its railings, clothes that were no more than rags had been hung out to dry. In the center of the yard there was a well, and from it heavy wires were strung to each of the apartments, so that water could be drawn without the inconvenience of having to carry it from below; and the pails danced in the air, spilling water down into the courtyard. The boy went up another, even narrower, stone staircase. Two Russian sailors who were coming from their night's bacchanal were rushing down the stairs, laughing, and they almost bumped into the child. A woman who was neither young nor old, with beautiful black hair, stood on the landing at the top of the stairs. "How much did you get?" she asked the boy. Frygt og Angest opfyldte Drengen ved Tanken om hende, han kaldte Moder, hun, som havde igaar sendt ham ud og sagt, at han skulde skaffe Penge, ingen havde han; sulten og tørstig var han; endnu engang tog han Metalsvinet om Halsen, kyssede det paa Trynen, nikkede til det og vandrede saa afsted, til en af de snevreste Gader, kun bred nok for et velpakket Æsel. En stor, jernbeslaaet Dør stod halv paa Klem, her gik han op ad en muret Trappe med skidne Mure og en glat Snor til Rækværk, og kom til et aabent Gallerie, behængt med Pjalter; en Trappe førte herfra til Gaarden, hvor fra Brønden store Jerntraade vare trukne til alle Husets Etager, og den ene Vandspand svævede ved Siden af den anden, medens Tridsen peb og Spanden dandsede i Luften, saa Vandet kladskede ned i Gaarden. Atter gik det op ad en forfalden, muret Trappe; - to Matroser, det var Russere, sprang lystigt ned og havde nær stødt den stakkels Dreng omkuld. De kom fra deres natlige Lystighed. En ikke ung, men stærkbygget Qvindeskikkelse, med et kraftigt, sort Haar, fulgte. "Hvad har Du hjem?" sagde hun til Drengen. "Don't be angry!" he begged. I didn't get anything; nothing at all!" The boy grabbed the hem of her skirt as if he were, in humility, about to kiss it. They stepped inside, into the garret that was their home. Its misery I shall not describe. Only one thing needs to be mentioned: there was an earthenware pot filled with smoldering charcoal, and the woman put her hands around it in order to warm them. She poked the child with her elbow and screamed, "Where is the money? I know you have money!" "Vær ikke vred!" bad han, "jeg fik Intet, slet Intet!" og han greb i Moderens Kjole, som om han vilde kysse paa den; de traadte ind i Kamret: det ville vi ikke beskrive; kun saa Meget skal siges, at der stod en Hankekrukke med Kul-Ild, marito, som den kaldes, denne tog hun paa sin Arm, varmede Fingrene, og puffede Drengen med Albuen. "Jo vist har Du Penge!" sagde hun. The boy started to weep. She kicked out at him with her foot, and he wailed louder. "Keep still, you sniveling little thing, or I'll bash your head in!" She swung the earthenware pot in the air as if she were about to carry out her threat. Screaming, the child threw himself down on the floor. Another woman came rushing into the room. She, too, was carrying a dish containing burning charcoal. "Felicita, what are you doing to the child?" she cried. Barnet græd, hun stødte til ham med Foden, han jamrede høit; - "vil Du tie, eller jeg slaaer dit skraalende Hoved itu!" sagde hun og svang Ildpotten, som hun holdt i Haanden, Drengen dukkede ned til Jorden med et Skrig. Da traadte Nabokonen ind ad Døren, ogsaa hun havde sin marito paa Armen. "Felicita! Hvad gjør Du ved Barnet?" "He's my child, and I can murder him if I want to," the woman answered. "And I can kill you too, Gianina!" And she, flung her clay pot toward the intruder; and Gianina lifted hers in order to ward off the danger; and the two dishes met in mid-air, breaking in pieces and spreading burning charcoal all over the tiny room. But the child had escaped. He ran down the stairs, across the courtyard, and out of the house. He ran as fast as he could, and he kept on running until he could hardly breathe. He had reached the Church of Santa Croce. He entered the church whose portals had opened for him the night before and he kneeled down in front of one of the tombs; it was Michelangelo's. Still crying, he prayed. The only one, among all those who had come to attend mass, to notice him was an elderly man. He glanced at the child and then walked on. "Barnet er mit!" svarede Felicita. "Jeg kan myrde det om jeg vil, og Dig med, Gianina!" og hun svingede sin Ildpotte; den Anden hævede sin parerende i Veiret, og begge Potterne foer imod hinanden, saa Skaarene, Ilden og Asken fløi omkring i Værelset; - - men Drengen var i samme Nu ude af Døren, over Gaarden og ude af Huset. Det arme Barn løb, saa han tilsidst ei kunde drage Aande; han standsede ved Kirken Santa Croce, Kirken, hvis store Dør sidste Nat havde aabnet sig for ham, og han gik derind. Alt straalede; han knælede ved den første Grav til Høire, det var Michel Angelos, og snart hulkede han høit. Folk kom og gik, Messen blev læst, Ingen brød sig om Drengen; kun en gammelagtig Borger standsede, saae paa ham og gik saa bort ligesom de Andre. The little boy felt weak from hunger. He climbed into the niche between the monument and the wall and fell asleep. He was awakened by someone tugging at his sleeve. It was the man who had been in the church earlier in the day. Sult og Tørst plagede den Lille, han var ganske afmægtig og syg; han krøb hen i Krogen mellem Væggen og Marmormonumentet og faldt i Søvn. Det var henimod Aften, da han vaagnede igjen ved at Een ruskede i ham, han foer op, og den samme gamle Borger stod foran ham. "Are you ill?" the man demanded. "Where do you live?" He went on asking questions. The boy answered him; and finally the man took him by the hand and led him to his home. It was a small house in one of the side streets. The man was a glovemaker; and his wife was sitting sewing gloves when they entered. A little white poodle, whose curly coat was cut so closely that its pink skin could be seen, hopped up on a table and sprang up on the boy, barking all the while. "Er Du syg? Hvor hører Du hjemme? Har Du været her den hele Dag?" var et Par af de mange Spørgsmaal, den Gamle gjorde ham; de bleve besvarede, og den gamle Mand tog ham med sig til et lille Huus tæt ved i en af Sidegaderne; det var et Handskemagerværksted, de traadte ind i; Konen sad nok saa flittig og syede, da de kom; en lille, hvid Bologneser, klippet saa tæt, at man kunde see den rosenrøde Hud, hoppede paa Bordet, og sprang for den lille Dreng. "The two innocent souls recognize each other," said the woman, and patted the dog. The boy was given something to eat and allowed to stay for the night. The next day the glovemaker, Papa Giuseppi as he was called, would talk with his mother. The boy was given a bed to sleep on which was no more than a bench; but to the child who was used to sleeping on a stone floor, it seemed royal luxury. That night he dreamed about the bronze pig and the paintings he had seen. When Papa Giuseppi left the house the next morning, the little boy was not happy. He was afraid that he would be taken back to his mother, and he cried and kissed the little dog. The glovemaker's wife smiled and nodded to them both. "De uskyldige Sjæle kjende hinanden," sagde Konen og klappede Hunden og Drengen. Denne fik at spise og at drikke hos de gode Folk, og de sagde, han skulde have Lov til at blive der Natten over; næste Dag vilde Fader Giuseppe tale med hans Moder. Han fik en lille, fattig Seng; men den var kongelig prægtig for ham, der tidt maatte sove paa det haarde Steengulv; han sov saa godt og drømte om de rige Billeder og om Metalsvinet. Fader Giuseppe gik ud næste Morgen, og det arme Barn var ikke saa glad derved, thi han vidste, at denne Gaaen ud var for at bringe ham til hans Moder, og han græd og kyssede den lille, vevre Hund, og Konen nikkede til dem begge To. When Papa Giuseppi came home, he talked with his wife for a long time alone. When they were finished, she patted the child on the head and said kindly, "He is a sweet little boy. He can be as good a glovemaker as you are. Look at his fingers, how long and thin they are. I am sure Our Lady has meant for him to be a glovemaker." Og hvad Besked bragte Fader Giuseppe; han talte meget med sin Kone, og hun nikkede og klappede Drengen. "Det er et deiligt Barn!" sagde hun. "Hvor han kan blive en kjøn Handskemager, ligesom Du var! og Fingre har han, saa fine og bøielige. Madonna har bestemt ham til at være Handskemager!" The boy stayed in their home and the glovemaker's wife taught him how to sew. He was given plenty to eat, and he slept comfortably in his little bed. Soon his boyish spirit returned and he began to tease Bellissima, the little dog. This the glovemaker's wife did not like. She was angry; she shook her finger at him and scolded him. The child was sorry for what he had done. Thoughtful and repentant, he sat in his tiny room, which was also used for drying skins. There were bars on the window to prevent thieves from entering it. That night he could not sleep. Suddenly he heard a noise outside the window. Clappidy . . . Clap . . . The boy felt certain that it was the bronze pig who had come to comfort him. He jumped out of bed and ran to the window. He saw only the empty alley. Og Drengen blev der i Huset, og Konen lærte ham selv at sye; han spiste godt, han sov godt, han blev munter og han begyndte at drille Bellissima, det hed den lille Hund; Konen truede med Fingrene, skjændte og var vred, og det gik Drengen til Hjerte; tankefuld sad han i sit lille Kammer, det vendte ud til Gaden, der blev tørret Skind derinde; tykke Jernstænger vare for Vinduerne, han kunde ikke sove, Metalsvinet var i hans Tanke, og pludselig hørte han udenfor: "Kladsk, kladsk!" jo, det var bestemt det! han sprang hen til Vinduet, men der var Intet at see, det var alt forbi. "Help the signore to carry his paints," the woman said to the boy the following morning. The signore was their neighbor, a young painter. He was having difficulty carrying both a large canvas and his box of paints. The boy took the paint box, and together they went to the gallery: the same one the boy had visited with the bronze pig. The child recognized many of the beautiful marble statues and the paintings. There was the lovely statue of Venus; and he saw again the pictures of Jesus, the Holy Mother, and John the Baptist. "Hjelp Signore at bære hans Farvekasse!" sagde Madamen om Morgenen til Drengen, idet den unge Nabo, Maleren, kom selv slæbende med denne og et stort, sammenrullet Lærred; Barnet tog Kassen, fulgte efter Maleren, og de toge Vei til Galleriet, gik op ad den samme Trappe, han kjendte godt fra hiin Nat, han red paa Metalsvinet; han kjendte Statuer og Billeder, den deilige Marmor-Venus og de, som levede i Farver; han gjensaae Guds Moder, Jesus og Johannes. The painter stopped in front of the painting of Jesus Descending into the Underworld by Bronzino, in which the children smile so sweetly in their certainty that soon they will be in heaven. The little boy smiled too, for this was his heaven. Nu stode de stille foran Maleriet af Bronzino, hvor Christus stiger ned i Underverdenen og Børnene rundt om smile i sød Forvisning om Himlen; det fattige Barn smilte ogsaa, thi han var her i sin Himmel. "Now you can go home," said the painter, when he noticed that the boy was still there, after he had finished setting up his easel. "Ja gaa nu hjem!" sagde Maleren til ham, da han allerede havde staaet saa længe, at Denne havde reist sit Staffelie. "May I not watch you paint, sir?" the boy asked as courteously as he could. "I would so like to know how it is done." "Tør jeg see Eder male?" sagde Drengen. "Tør jeg see, hvorledes I faaer Billedet herover paa det hvide Stykke?" "I am not going to paint now, I am only going to draw," explained the artist. In his hand he had a black crayon; how swiftly it moved across the white surface! With his eye he measured the figures in the painting, and soon the outline of Christ appeared. "Nu maler jeg ikke!" svarede Manden og tog sit Sortkridt frem, hurtigt bevægede Haanden sig, Øiet maalte det store Billede, og uagtet det kun var en tynd Streg, der kom, stod Christus dog svævende, som paa det farvede Billede. "Don't stand there gaping. Go home," ordered the painter irritably. The boy wandered back to the house of the glover, sat down at the table, and started to sew gloves. "Men saa gaa dog!" sagde Maleren, og Drengen vandrede stille hjemad, satte sig op paa Bordet og - lærte at sye Handsker. But his mind was still on the paintings he had seen, and he pricked his fingers and sewed badly that day. But he did not tease Bellissima. That evening he noticed that the street door was open and he tiptoed outside. It was a chilly but beautiful starry night. Slowly he walked toward the Via Porta Rossa to see the bronze pig. He bent down, kissed the pig on its shiny snout, and then mounted its back. "Blessed animal," he whispered in its ear, "I have longed for you. Tonight we shall ride again." Men den hele Dag vare Tankerne i Billedsalen, og derfor stak han sig i Fingrene, bar sig keitet ad, men drillede heller ikke Bellissima. Da det blev Aften og Gadedøren just stod aaben, listede han sig udenfor; det var koldt men stjernelyst, saa smukt og klart; han vandrede afsted gjennem Gaderne hvor der allerede var stille, og snart stod han foran Metalsvinet; han bøiede sig ned over det, kyssede dets blanke Tryne, og satte sig paa dets Ryg; "du velsignede Dyr," sagde han, "hvor jeg har længtes efter Dig! vi maae i Nat ride en Tour." But the bronze pig was motionless, the clear , fresh water flowing from its mouth. Suddenly the boy felt something tugging at his pants leg. It was BeIlissima, the naked little dog--even in this light he could see its pink skin beneath its short cropped hair. The dog barked, as if it were saying, "Look, I have followed you. Why are you sitting up there?" A goblin could not have frightened the boy more than the dog did. Bellissima out in the street at night, without his little sheepskin coat on! The dog was never allowed out in the winter without the coat that had been made especially for him. It was tied at the neck with a red ribbon, and it had little belts that were buckled under its stomach. The little dog looked like a little lamb when it went out walking , with its mistress, the glovemaker's wife. How the boy feared her anger when she found out that her darling was not at home! His wish to ride again with the bronze pig was gone, though he kissed the metal animal as he slid off its back. He picked up the dog who was so cold, it was shivering. And the boy ran, with Bellissima. in his arms, as fast as he could toward the glover's house. Metalsvinet laae ubevægeligt, og det friske Væld sprudlede fra Munden. Den Lille sad som Rytter, da trak Nogen ham i Klæderne; han saae til Siden, Bellissima, den lille, nøgen klippede Bellissima var det. Hunden var smuttet med ud af Huset og havde fulgt den Lille, uden at Denne mærkede det. Bellissima bjæffede, som om den vilde sige, seer Du jeg er med, hvorfor sætter Du Dig her? Ingen gloende Drage kunde have forfærdet Drengen mere, end den lille Hund paa dette Sted. Bellissima paa Gaden og det uden at være klædt paa, som den gamle Moder kaldte det; hvad vilde der blive af. Hunden kom aldrig ud ved Vintertid, uden at den iførtes et lille Faareskind, der var klippet og syet til den. Skindet kunde bindes med et rødt Baand fast om Halsen, der var Sløife og Bjælde ved, og ligeledes bandtes det under Bugen. Hunden saae næsten ud som et lille Kid, naar den ved Vintertid i denne Habit fik Lov at trippe ud med Signora. Bellissima var med og ikke klædt paa; hvad vilde der blive af. Alle Phantasier vare forsvundne, dog kyssede Drengen Metalsvinet, tog Bellissima paa Armen, Dyret rystede af Kulde, og derfor løb Drengen, alt hvad han kunde. "Where are you, running?" shouted a policeman. Bellissima began to bark. "Have you stolen this dog?" demanded the policeman, taking the animal from him. "Hvad løber Du der med!" raabte to Gensdarmer, han mødte, og Bellissima gjøede. "Hvor har Du stjaalet den smukke Hund?" spurgte de og toge den fra ham. "Oh, give it back to me!" wailed the boy. "0 giv mig den igjen!" jamrede Drengen. "If it's really yours--and you haven't just stolen it--then you can tell them at home that they can get it back by coming to the police station." And the policeman told the frightened child on which street the police station was to be found, and walked away with Bellissima in his arms. "Har Du ikke stjaalet den, da kan Du sige hjemme, at Hunden kan hentes paa Vagten," og de nævnte Stedet og gik med Bellissima. How miserable the poor little boy was! He didn't know whether he should go to the glovemaker's and tell what had happened, or jump in the Arno. "She will kill me," he thought. "But I don't mind dying for them. I will go up to heaven to the Blessed Virgin and Jesus." Having made his decision, he walked home to tell all and be killed. Det var en Nød og Jammer. Han vidste ikke, om han skulde springe i Arno, eller gaae hjem og tilstaae Alt. De vilde vist slaae ham ihjel, tænkte han. "Men jeg vil gjerne slaaes ihjel; jeg vil døe, saa kommer jeg til Jesus og Madonna!" og han gik hjem, meest for at blive slaaet ihjel. The door was locked and he could not reach the knocker. The street was empty. He found a stone and banged on the door with it. "Who's there?" shouted a voice from inside. Døren var lukket, han kunde ikke naae Hammeren, der var Ingen paa Gaden, men en Steen laae løs, og med den dundrede han paa; "hvem er det!" raabte de indenfor. "It's me!" screamed the little boy. "Bellissima is gone! Open up the door and kill me!" "Det er mig!" sagde han, "Bellissima er borte! luk mig op og slaae mig saa ihjel!" They were shocked, especially the glovemaker's wife. Her glance went at once to the peg where the little dog's sheepskin coat was still hanging. Der blev en Forskrækkelse, især hos Madamen, for den arme Bellissima; hun saae strax til Væggen, hvor Hundens Drapperi skulde hænge, det lille Faareskind hang der. "Bellissima at the police station!" she screamed. "You evil child! How could you have taken him out in such cold weather? The poor dog will freeze to death! That little gentle creature in the hands of such ruffians as the police!" "Bellissima paa Vagten!" raabte hun ganske høit; "du onde Barn! Hvor har Du faaet ham udi Han fryser ihjel! Det fine Dyr hos de grove Soldater!" The glovemaker rushed out of the house to go to the police station and retrieve the dog. His wife kept on screaming, and the boy kept on crying. They made such a lot of noise that all the people in the house were awakened and came down to see what was happening, including the painter. The artist took the boy on his lap; and slowly the child told him the whole story of the bronze pig and his visit to the Galleria degli Uffizi. The painter shook his head in wonder; it was a strange story. He comforted the boy and tried to calm the glovemaker's wife, but that was impossible. Not until her husband had returned with the little dog did she stop lamenting and wailing. Though when she had examined Bellissima and realized that he didn't seem any the worse for having associated with the police, she did cheer up. The painter patted the boy on the head and gave him some drawings as a gift. Og Fatter maatte strax afsted! Konen jamrede og Drengen græd; alle Folk i Huset kom sammen, Maleren med; han tog Drengen mellem sine Knæe, spurgte ham ud, og i Stumper og Stykker fik han den hele Historie om Metalsvinet og om Galleriet; det var ikke godt at forstaae, Maleren trøstede den Lille, talte godt for den Gamle, men hun blev ikke tilfreds før Fatter kom med Bellissima, der havde været mellem Soldater; der var en Glæde, og Maleren klappede den stakkels Dreng, og gav ham en Haandfuld Billeder. They were marvelous drawings! Some of them were caricatures and very funny, but the picture that the boy loved most was the one of the bronze pig. Only a few lines on a piece of paper and there it was, and even the house behind the fountain was there too. 0 det var prægtige Stykker, komiske Hoveder! men fremfor Alt, det var lyslevende Metalsvinet selv. 0, Intet kunde være herligere! ved et Par Streger stod det paa Papiret og selv Huset bag ved var antydet. "If you can draw and paint," thought the child, "then you can call the whole world your own." "Hvo der dog kunde tegne og male! saa kunde man faae den hele Verden til sig!" The next day, as soon as he had finished his work he took a pencil stub and tried to copy the sketch of the bronze pig on the back of one of the artist's drawings. He succeeded! Well, he almost did--true, one of the legs was a little too long and another was too thin; but still, the pig was there on paper. Joyfully, the boy tried again the following day. It was not easy to make the pencil draw lines as straight as he wanted them to be. But the second pig was better than the first; and the third one, anyone could have recognized. Næste Dag, i det første eensomme Øieblik, greb den Lille Blyanten, og paa den hvide Side af et af Billederne forsøgte han at gjengive Tegningen af Metalsvinet, og det lykkedes! lidt skjevt, lidt op og ned, eet Been tykt, et andet tyndt, men det var dog til at forstaae, selv jublede han derover! Blyanten vilde kun ikke ret gaae saa lige, som den skulde, mærkede han nok; men næste Dag stod der et Metalsviin ved Siden af det andet, og det var hundrede Gange bedre; det tredie var saa godt, at Enhver kunde kjende det. Although his drawing improved, his glove sewing did not; and when he was sent on errands it took him longer and longer to return, for the bronze pig had taught him that all pictures can be drawn; and Florence is one enormous picture book, for anyone who cares to turn the pages. On the Piazza Santa Trinita there stands a slender column with a statue of Justice on top of it; the goddess is blindfolded and has a pair of scales in her hands. Soon she not only stood on a column, but also on a sheet of paper, for the boy had drawn her. The folio of the glovemaker's little aprentice was growing; but until now he had only drawn dead, immobile objects. One day Bellissima was romping gaily about him. "Sit still," he said to the dog, "and I shall make a lovely picture of you for my collection." But Bellissima would neither sit nor stand still. If the boy wanted to draw it, there was nothing else for him to do but tie the animal. The child tied the dog both by the tail and by the neck, which the animal didn't like in the least. It barked and tried to jump; and at last the signora came. Men det gik daarligt med Handskesyningen, det gik langsomt med By-Ærenderne; thi Metalsvinet havde nu lært ham, at alle Billeder maatte kunne overføres paa Papiret, og Staden Florents er en heel Billedbog, naar man vil blade op i den. Der staaer paa piazza della Trinita en slank Søile og øverst paa denne staaer Retfærdighedens Gudinde med tilbundne Øine og Vægtskaal; snart stod hun paa Papiret, og det var Handskemagerens lille Dreng, som havde sat hende der. Billed-Samlingen voxte, men Alt i den var endnu døde Ting; da hoppede en Dag Bellissima foran ham; "staa stille!" sagde han, "saa skal Du blive deilig, og komme med i mine Billeder!" men Bellissima vilde ikke staae stille, saa maatte han bindes; Hoved og Hale blev bunden, den bjæffede og gjorde Spring, Snoren maatte strammes; da kom Signora. "You unchristian boy!" she cried. "Oh, the poor animal!" And she kicked the child. "You ungrateful wretch!" she screamed while she picked up the half-strangled little dog and kissed it. Then she dragged the weeping child out of her home. "Du ugudelige Dreng! det arme Dyr!" var Alt, hvad hun fik sagt, og hun stødte Drengen til Side, sparkede ham med sin Fod, viste ham ud af sit Huus; han, der var det utaknemmeligste Skarn, det ugudeligste Barn; og grædende kyssede hun sin lille, halvqvalte Bellissima. At that very moment the painter came down the stairs; and this is the turning point of the story. Maleren kom idetsamme op ad Trappen og - - her er Vendepunktet i Historien. In Florence, in 1834, there was an exhibition at the Academy of Art. Two paintings that hung next to each other attracted special attention. The smaller one portrayed a little boy who was sketching a closely cropped little white poodle; the dog had not wanted to stand still and the artist had tethered it with strings around both his neck and his tail. The painting was strangely alive, and there was a loveliness about it that revealed the artist's talent. It was told that the painter was born in Florence and had been found in the streets by an elderly glovemaker who had taken the child in. He had taught himself how to draw. A famous painter had discovered the boy's ability, on the very day that the glover's wife had thrown him out of her house for having tied up her darling poodle, so that he could use him as a model. 1834 var i Academia delle arte en Udstilling i Florents; to Malerier opstillede ved Siden af hinanden samlede en Mængde Tilskuere. Paa det mindste Maleri var fremstillet en lille lystig Dreng, der sad og tegnede; til Model havde han en lille hvid, tæt klippet Mops, men Dyret vilde ikke staae stille og var derfor bundet med Seglgarn og det baade ved Hoved og ved Hale; der var et Liv og en Sandhed deri, som maatte tiltale Enhver. Maleren var, fortalte man, en ung Florentiner, der skulde være funden paa Gaden som lille Barn, opdragen af en gammel Handskemager, han havde selv lært sig at tegne; en nu berømt Maler havde opdaget dette Talent, da Drengen engang skulde jages bort, fordi han havde bundet Madamens Yndling, den lille Mops, og gjort denne til Model. The glovemaker's little apprentice had become a great artist; this was proven by the other painting as well. It was a picture of a boy, so poor that his clothes were rags, sleeping on the back of the bronze pig in the Via Porta Rossa. Everyone who saw the painting knew the street and the fountain. The child's arm was resting on the pig's head. The little lamp on the wall under the image of the Blessed Virgin cast its light on the child's pale, beautiful face. It was a marvelous painting, framed in gold. On the very top of the frame was a laurel wreath; among the green leaves there was a band of black crepe, and a long black ribbon hung down the side of the painting. Handskemagerdrengen var bleven en stor Maler, det viste dette Billede, det viste især det større ved Siden; her var kun een eneste Figur, en pjaltet, deilig Dreng, der sad og sov paa Gaden, han heldede sig op til Metalsvinet i Gaden porta rossa. Alle Beskuerne kjendte Stedet. Barnets Arme hvilede paa Svinets Hoved; den Lille sov saa trygt, Lampen ved Madonna-Billedet kastede et stærkt Lys paa Barnets blege, herlige Ansigt. Det var et prægtigt Maleri; en stor forgyldt Ramme omgav det, og paa Hjørnet af Rammen var hængt en Laurhærkrands, men mellem de grønne Blade snoede sig et sort Baand, et langt Sørgeflor hang ned derfra. Only a few days before, the young painter had died! Den unge Konstner var i disse Dage - død!