O besedilu
Šivanka
- Vir
- Andersenove pravljice
- Avtor
- Hans Christian Andersen
- Jezik branja
- English
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- Dansk
- Čas branja
- 6 min branja
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- 5 strani
- Naslov izvirnika
- Stoppenålen
O izvirniku
Andersenove pravljice
Literarne pravljice z nežnostjo, bolečino in ostrim občutkom za čudežno. Bralni jezik je English, izvirnik pa prihaja iz vira Andersenove pravljice v jeziku Dansk.
Besedilo
Šivanka
There was once a darning needle who thought herself so fine that she imagined she was a sewing needle. “Now mind what you’re doing!” the darning needle said to the fingers that picked her up. “Don’t drop me! If I fall on the floor, I may never be found again, I’m so fine!”
“Not quite so grand, please!” said the fingers, and they gripped her round the waist. “You see, I travel with a retinue!” said the darning needle, trailing a long thread behind her, though there was no knot in it.
The fingers steered the needle straight towards the kitchen maid’s slipper, where the leather upper had split and needed sewing together. “What degrading work!” said the darning needle. “I shall never get through. I shall break! I shall break!” And then she broke. “Didn’t I tell you?” said the darning needle. “I’m too fine!”
Now she’s no use at all, thought the fingers, but they still had to hold her while the kitchen maid dripped sealing wax on her and stuck her in the front of her neckerchief.
“Look, now I’m a brooch!” said the darning needle. “I knew I should rise to distinction. If you are somebody, you always become something!” And she laughed to herself, for you can never tell from the outside when a darning needle is laughing. There she sat, as proud as if she were riding in a carriage, looking about her on every side.
“May I have the honour of asking whether you are gold?” she asked the pin beside her. “You have a lovely appearance, and a head of your own, though it is small! You must see that it grows, for we cannot all have sealing wax put on our ends!” And the darning needle drew herself up so proudly that she slipped out of the neckerchief and into the sink, just as the kitchen maid was rinsing it out.
“Now we’re off on our travels!” said the darning needle. “I only hope I don’t get lost!” But she did. “I’m too fine for this world!” she said as she settled in the gutter. “I have a clear conscience, and that is always some small comfort!” And the darning needle held herself straight and did not lose her good humour.
All sorts of things went sailing over her: sticks, straws, scraps of newspaper. “Look how they sail along!” said the darning needle. “They don’t know what a sharp thing lies beneath them! I’m sharp, and here I sit. Look, there goes a stick: he thinks of nothing in the world but ‘stick,’ and that is himself. There floats a straw—look how he sways, look how he turns! Don’t think so much of yourself; you might bump into the cobblestones! There floats a newspaper! Everything written in it is forgotten, and yet how it spreads itself! I sit patiently and quietly. I know what I am, and that is what I shall remain!” One day something close by gleamed so beautifully that the darning needle thought it was a diamond, but it was a piece of broken bottle. Since it glittered, the darning needle spoke to it and introduced herself as a brooch. “You are a diamond, I suppose?” “Yes, something of that sort!” And each believed the other to be very precious, and they talked about how conceited the world was.
“Yes, I lived in a box with a young lady,” said the darning needle, “and that young lady was a kitchen maid. She had five fingers on each hand, but I have never known anything so conceited as those five fingers, though all they existed for was to hold me, take me out of my box, and put me back in it!”
“Was there any brilliance about them?” asked the piece of broken bottle. “Brilliance!” said the darning needle. “No, nothing but conceit! They were five brothers, all born ‘Fingers.’ They stood up straight beside one another, though they were of different heights. The outermost, Tommeltot, was short and fat; he stood apart from the ranks and had only one joint in his back, so he could bow only once. But he said that if he were cut off a man, that man would be quite unfit for military service. Slikpot dipped into sweet things and sour things, pointed at the sun and moon, and did the squeezing when they wrote. Langemand looked over the others’ heads; Guldbrand wore a gold ring round his middle; and little Per Spillemand did nothing at all, and was proud of it. It was boasting then and boasting ever after, and so I went down the sink!”
“And now we sit here glittering!” said the piece of glass. Just then more water came into the gutter; it overflowed its banks and swept the piece of glass away.
“There, now he has been promoted!” said the darning needle. “I stay where I am. I’m too fine, but that is my pride, and a respectable pride it is!” And she sat up straight and thought a great many thoughts.
“I could almost believe I was born of a sunbeam, I’m so fine! Doesn’t it seem as though the sun is always seeking me out beneath the water? Ah, I’m so fine that my mother cannot find me. If I still had my old eye, the one that broke off, I think I could cry! Though I wouldn’t do it—crying is not refined!”
One day some street boys were grubbing about in the gutter, finding old nails, pennies, and things of that sort. It was a filthy business, but they enjoyed it.
“Ow!” said one of them, pricking himself on the darning needle. “Here’s a sharp fellow!” “I’m not a fellow, I’m a young lady!” said the darning needle, but no one heard her. The sealing wax had come off and she had turned black, but black makes one look slimmer, so she thought herself finer than ever.
“Here comes an eggshell sailing along!” said the boys, and they stuck the darning needle into the shell. “White walls, and myself in black!” said the darning needle. “How becoming! At least people can see me now! I only hope I don’t get seasick, or I shall break!” But she did not get seasick, and she did not break.
“It’s a good thing, against seasickness, to have a stomach of steel, and always to remember that one is rather more than a human being! Now mine has passed. The finer one is, the more one can endure.”
“Crunch!” went the eggshell as a loaded cart rolled over it. “Oh, how it squeezes!” said the darning needle. “Now I really am getting seasick! I’m breaking! I’m breaking!” But she did not break, though a loaded cart rolled over her. She lay lengthwise—and there she may lie!
Izvirnik
Stoppenålen
Naslednje strani prikazujejo izvirno besedilo za primerjavo.
Eventyr af Hans Christian Andersen
Der var engang en stoppenål, der var så fin på det, at hun bildte sig ind, at hun var en synål.
"Ser nu bare til, hvad I holder på!" sagde stoppenålen til fingrene, der tog den frem. "Tab mig ikke! falder jeg på gulvet, er jeg i stand til aldrig at findes igen, så fin er jeg!"
"Der er måde med!" sagde fingrene og så klemte de hende om livet.
"Ser I, jeg kommer med suite!" sagde stoppenålen og så trak den en lang tråd efter sig, men som dog ikke havde knude.
Fingrene styrede nålen lige mod kokkepigens tøffel, hvor overlæderet var revnet og nu skulle det syes sammen.
"Det er et nedrigt arbejde!" sagde stoppenålen. "Jeg går aldrig igennem, jeg knækker! jeg knækker!" – og så knækkede hun. "Sagde jeg det ikke nok!" sagde stoppenålen, "jeg er for fin!"
Nu dur hun ikke til noget, mente fingrene, men de måtte dog holde fast, kokkepigen dryppede lak på hende, og stak hende så foran i sit tørklæde.
"Se, nu er jeg en brystnål!" sagde stoppenålen; "jeg vidste nok, at jeg kom til ære; når man er noget, bliver man altid til noget;" og så lo hun indvendig, for man kan aldrig se udvendig på en stoppenål, at den ler; der sad hun nu så stolt, som om hun kørte i karet og så til alle sider.
"Må jeg have den ære at spørge om De er af guld," spurgte hun knappenålen, som var nabo. "De har et dejligt udseende og Deres eget hoved, men lille er det! De må se til at det vokser ud, thi man kan ikke alle lakkes på enden!" og så rejste stoppenålen sig så stolt i vejret, at hun gik af tørklædet og i vasken, just som kokkepigen skyllede ud.
"Nu går vi på rejse!" sagde stoppenålen, "bare jeg ikke bliver borte!" men det blev hun.
"Jeg er for fin for denne verden!" sagde hun da hun sad i rendestenen. "Jeg har min gode bevidsthed og det er altid en lille fornøjelse!" og så holdt stoppenålen sig rank og tabte ikke sit gode humør.
Og der sejlede alleslags hen over den, pinde, strå, stumper af aviser. "Se, hvor de sejler!" sagde stoppenålen. "De ved ikke hvad der stikker under dem! jeg stikker, jeg sidder her. Se, der går nu en pind, den tænker på ingen ting i verden uden på "pind" og det er den selv; der flyder et strå, se hvor det svajer, se hvor det drejer! tænk ikke så meget på dig selv, du kunne støde dig på brostenene! – der flyder en avis! – glemt er det, som står i den og dog breder den sig! – Jeg sidder tålmodig og stille! jeg ved hvad jeg er og det bliver jeg!" –
En dag var der noget, der skinnede så dejligt tæt ved, og så troede stoppenålen, at det var en diamant, men det var et flaskeskår og da det skinnede, så talte stoppenålen til det og gav sig tilkende som brystnål! "De er nok en diamant?" – "Ja, jeg er sådant noget!" og så troede den ene om den anden, at de var rigtig kostbare og så talte de om hvor hovmodig verden var.
"Ja, jeg har boet i æske hos en jomfru," sagde stoppenålen, "og den jomfru var kokkepige; hun havde på hver hånd fem fingre, men noget så indbildsk, som de fem fingre, har jeg ikke kendt, og så var de kun til for at holde mig, tage mig af æske og lægge mig i æske!"
"Var der glans ved dem?" spurgte flaskeskåret.
"Glans!" sagde stoppenålen, "nej, der var hovmod! de var fem brødre, alle fødte "fingre," de holdt sig ranke op til hverandre, skønt af forskellig længde; den yderste af dem: Tommeltot, var kort og tyk, han gik uden for geleddet, og så havde han kun ét knæk i ryggen, han kunne kun bukke én gang, men han sagde: at blev han hugget af et menneske, så var hele det menneske spoleret for krigstjeneste. Slikpot kom i sødt og surt, pegede på sol og måne, og det var ham, der klemte, når de skrev; Langemand så de andre over hovedet; Guldbrand gik med guldring om maven og lille Per Spillemand bestilte ikke noget og deraf var han stolt. Pral var det og pral blev det og så gik jeg i vasken!"
"Og nu sidder vi og glinser!" sagde glasskåret. I det samme kom der mere vand i rendestenen, den strømmede over alle bredder og rev glasskåret med sig.
"Se nu blev det forfremmet!" sagde stoppenålen, "jeg bliver siddende, jeg er for fin, men det er min stolthed og den er agtværdig!" og så sad den rank og havde mange tanker.
"Jeg skulle næsten tro at jeg er født af en solstråle, så fin er jeg! synes jeg ikke også, at solen altid søger mig under vandet. Ak, jeg er så fin, at min moder ikke kan finde mig. Havde jeg mit gamle øje, som knækkede, så tror jeg at jeg kunne græde! – skønt jeg gjorde det ikke – græde det er ikke fint!"
En dag lå der nogle gadedrenge og ragede i rendestenen, hvor de fandt gamle søm, skillinger og sådant noget. Det var griseri, men det var nu deres fornøjelse.
"Av!" sagde den ene, han stak på stoppenålen. "Det er også en fyr!"
"Jeg er ingen fyr, jeg er en frøken!" sagde stoppenålen, men ingen hørte det; lakket var gået af den og sort var den blevet, men sort gør tyndere og så troede den at den var endnu finere, end før.
"Der kommer en æggeskal sejlende!" sagde drengene, og så stak de stoppenålen fast i skallen.
"Hvide vægge og selv sort!" sagde stoppenålen, "det klæder! så kan man dog se mig! – bare jeg ikke bliver søsyg, for så knækker jeg mig!" – men den blev ikke søsyg og den knækkede sig ikke.
"Det er godt mod søsyge at have stålmave og så altid huske på at man er lidt mere end et menneske! nu er mit gået over! jo finere man er, des mere kan man holde ud."
"Krask!" sagde æggeskallen, der gik et vognmandslæs over den. "Hu, hvor det klemmer!" sagde stoppenålen, "nu bliver jeg dog søsyg! jeg knækker! jeg knækker!" men den knækkede ikke, skønt der gik et vognmandslæs over, den lå på langs – og der kan den blive liggende!
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