O besedilu
Mali Tuk
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- Lille Tuk
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
Mali Tuk
Yes, it was little Tuk. His name was not really Tuk, but when he was too young to speak properly he had called himself Tuk; it was meant to be Carl, and it is just as well to know that. He had to look after his sister Gustave, who was much smaller than he was, and he also had to learn his lesson, but those two things cannot be done at once. The poor boy sat with his little sister on his lap and sang all the songs he knew, while his eyes kept straying to the geography book lying open before him. By tomorrow he had to know by heart all the towns in the diocese of Zealand, and everything there was to know about them.
Now his mother came home, for she had been out, and took little Gustave. Tuk ran to the window and read until he nearly read his eyes out, for it was almost dark, and growing darker, but his mother could not afford to buy candles.
“There goes the old washerwoman from the lane!” said his mother, looking out of the window. “She can scarcely carry herself, and yet she has to carry that bucket from the pump. Run out, little Tuk, and be a dear, good boy! Help the old woman!”
And Tuk ran out at once and helped her. But by the time he came home it was quite dark; there was no question of a candle, and he had to go to bed. His bed was an old settle, and there he lay thinking about his geography lesson: the diocese of Zealand and everything the teacher had told them. He really ought to have studied it, but now, of course, he could not. He slipped the geography book under his pillow, for he had heard that this was a great help in remembering one’s lesson, but that is not to be relied upon.
There he lay, thinking and thinking, and then all at once it was as though someone kissed his eyes and mouth. He was asleep, and yet not asleep; he seemed to see the old washerwoman’s kind eyes looking at him, and she said, “It would be a great shame if you did not know your lesson! You helped me, and now I shall help you, and our Lord will always help you too!”
And all at once the book beneath little Tuk’s head began to wriggle and squirm. “Cock-a-doodle-doo! Cluck! Cluck!” A hen had come along, all the way from the town of Køge. “I am one of Køge’s hens!” Then she told him how many inhabitants there were, and about the battle that had been fought there, though that was really nothing to speak of.
“Wriggle, squirm, bump!” Something came tumbling down. It was a wooden bird, the parrot from the bird-shooting contest in Præstø. It said there were just as many inhabitants as it had nails in its body, and it was rather proud. “Thorvaldsen once lived just round my corner. Bump! How comfortably I lie!”
But little Tuk was not lying down; all at once he was on horseback. Away they went at a gallop, a gallop! A splendidly dressed knight, with a shining helmet and a waving plume, held him in front of him on the horse, and they rode through the forest to the old town of Vordingborg. It was a great, bustling town; tall towers soared above the royal castle, and lights shone far out through its windows. Inside there was singing and dancing; King Valdemar and splendid young ladies of the court were joining in the dance. Morning came, and as the sun rose, the town and the king’s castle dwindled away, one tower after another, until at last only a single tower stood on the hill where the castle had been. The town was so tiny and so poor, and the schoolboys came along with their books under their arms and said, “Two thousand inhabitants,” but that was not true; there were not so many.
And little Tuk lay in his bed, feeling that he was dreaming and yet not dreaming. But someone was close beside him. “Little Tuk! Little Tuk!” said a voice. It was a sailor, a very little fellow, who might have been a naval cadet, but he was not a naval cadet. “I bring you warmest greetings from Korsør. It is a town on the rise! A lively town, with a steamship and a mail coach. Once people were always calling it nasty, but that was an old prejudice.” “I lie beside the sea,” says Korsør. “I have a highway and a pleasure wood, and I have given birth to a poet who was amusing, which is more than can be said of them all. I meant to send a ship round the world; I did not do it, but I could have done it. And I smell so sweet: right beside the town gate the loveliest roses bloom!”
Little Tuk saw them; red and green swam before his eyes, but when the colours settled, there was a whole wooded slope beside the clear fjord, and above it stood a magnificent old church with two tall, pointed towers. Springs gushed from the slope in thick jets of water, splashing as they fell, and close by sat an old king with a golden crown upon his long hair. It was King Hroar beside the springs, at the town now called Roskilde. And over the slope and into the old church went all the kings and queens of Denmark, hand in hand, all wearing golden crowns, while the organ played and the springs murmured. Little Tuk saw everything and heard everything. “Do not forget the Assembly of the Estates!” said King Hroar.
All at once everything was gone again. Why, where had it gone? It was like turning a page in a book. And now an old woman stood there, a weeding woman from Sorø, where grass grows in the market square. She had her grey linen apron over her head and down her back; it was so wet that it must have been raining. “Yes, it has!” she said. Then she recited some amusing bits from Holberg’s comedies, and she knew about Valdemar and Absalon. But all at once she crouched down and bobbed her head, as though she were about to leap. “Croak!” she said. “It is wet, it is wet, it is peaceful as the grave—in Sorø!” Suddenly she was a frog. “Croak!” And then she was the old woman again. “One must dress for the weather!” she said. “It is wet, it is wet! My town is like a bottle: you go in through the cork, and you must come out the same way! I used to have catfish, and now I have fresh, rosy-cheeked boys at the bottom of the bottle, learning wisdom: Greek! Greek! Hebrew, croak!” It sounded just like frogs singing, or someone walking through marsh water in heavy boots. Always the same sound, so unchanging, so dull, so dull, that little Tuk fell into a proper sleep, and that could only do him good.
But even in this sleep there came a dream, or whatever it was. His little sister Gustave, with her blue eyes and golden curls, was suddenly a lovely grown-up girl, and though she had no wings, she could fly. Together they flew over Zealand, over the green forests and the blue waters.
“Do you hear the cock crowing, little Tuk? Cock-a-doodle-doo! The hens are flying up from Køge town! You shall have a poultry yard so big, so big; you shall never suffer hunger or want! You shall shoot the parrot, as the saying goes; you shall be a rich and happy man! Your house shall rise as proudly as King Valdemar’s tower, and it shall be richly built, with marble statues like those from the Præstø corner—you know what I mean. Your name shall travel far and wide through the world with honour, like the ship that was to have sailed from Korsør, and in Roskilde town—‘Remember the Assembly of the Estates!’ King Hroar said—you shall speak well and wisely there, little Tuk. And when at last you come to your grave, you shall sleep as peacefully—”
“—As though I were lying in Sorø!” said Tuk, and then he woke. It was bright morning. He could not remember the least thing about his dream, nor was he meant to, for we must not know what is to come.
And he sprang out of bed and read his book, and knew his lesson straight away. Then the old washerwoman put her head round the door, nodded to him, and said:
“Thank you for yesterday, you blessed child! May our Lord make your loveliest dream come true!” Little Tuk had no idea what he had dreamed, but you see, our Lord knew!
Izvirnik
Lille Tuk
Naslednje strani prikazujejo izvirno besedilo za primerjavo.
Eventyr af Hans Christian Andersen
Ja, det var den lille Tuk, han hed egentlig ikke Tuk, men dengang han ikke kunne tale rigtig endnu kaldte han sig selv Tuk; det skulle betyde Carl, og det er godt man ved det; han skulle passe sin søster Gustave, som var meget mindre, end han, og så skulle han også lære sin lektie, men de to ting vil ikke gå på én gang. Den stakkels dreng sad med sin lille søster på skødet og sang alle de viser, han kunne, og imidlertid skottede øjnene til geografibogen, der lå åben for ham; han skulle til i morgen kunne udenad alle byerne i Sjællands stift og vide om dem alt, hvad der kunne vides.
Nu kom hans moder hjem, for hun havde været ude, og hun tog den lille Gustave; Tuk løb til vinduet og læste så at han næsten læste sig øjnene ud, for det var nær ved at blive mørkt og det blev mere, men moder havde ikke råd til at købe lys.
"Der går den gamle vaskekone omme fra strædet!" sagde moderen, idet hun så ud af vinduet. "Hun kan knap bære sig selv og så må hun bære spanden fra posten; spring du ud, lille Tuk, og vær en velsignet dreng! hjælp den gamle kone!"
Og Tuk sprang lige straks og hjalp, men da han så kom hjem, var det mørk aften, lys var der ikke at snakke om, han skulle i sin seng; det var en gammel slagbænk; i den lå han og der tænkte han på sin geografilektie: Sjællands stift og alt hvad læreren havde fortalt. Der skulle rigtignok have været læst, men det kunne han jo ikke nu. geografibogen stak han ind under sin hovedpude, for han havde hørt, at det skulle hjælpe betydeligt til at huske sin lektie, men det er ikke til at stole på.
Der lå han nu og tænkte og tænkte, og så var det lige med et, som om nogen kyssede ham på øjne og mund, han sov og sov dog ikke; det var ligesom om han så den gamle vaskekones milde øjne se på ham, og hun sagde: "Det ville være en stor synd om du ikke skulle kunne din lektie! du hjalp mig, nu skal jeg hjælpe dig, og Vorherre vil altid gøre det!"
Og lige med et så kriblede og krablede bogen under hovedet på lille Tuk:
"Kykliky! put! put!" det var en høne, der kom og det fra Køge by. "Jeg er en af Køges høns!" og så sagde den hvor mange indvånere, og om slaget der havde stået, og det var nu ikke noget at tale om.
"Krible krable, bums!" der dumpede en; det var en fugl af træ, som nu kom; det var papegøjen fra fugleskydningen i Præstø. Den sagde, at der var lige så mange indvånere, som den havde søm i livet; og den var noget stolt: "Thorvaldsen har boet på hjørnet af mig. Bums! jeg ligger dejligt!"
Men lille Tuk lå ikke, han var med et til hest. I galop, i galop gik det. En prægtigklædt ridder med skinnende hjelm og vajende fjerbusk havde ham foran sig på hesten og de red igennem skoven til den gamle by, Vordingborg, og den var en stor, en levende by; høje tårne knejsede på kongeborgen, og lysene skinnede langt ud igennem vinduerne; derinde var sang og dans; kong Valdemar og stadselige unge hoffrøkner gik i dansen. - Det blev morgen, og ligesom solen kom, sank byen hen og kongens slot, det ene tårn efter det andet, til sidst stod kun et eneste på banken, hvor slottet havde stået, og byen var så lille bitte og så fattig, og skoledrengene kom med deres bøger under armen og sagde "2000 indvånere," men det var ikke sandt, så mange var der ikke.
Og lille Tuk lå i sin seng, han syntes at han drømte og at han ikke drømte; men nogen var der tæt ved ham:
"Lille Tuk! lille Tuk!" blev der sagt; det var en sømand, en ganske lille person, som om det kunne være en kadet, men det var ikke en kadet. "Jeg skal hilse så meget flittig fra Korsør, den er en by, som er i opkomst! den er en levende by, den har dampskib og postvogn; engang skulle den altid kaldes ækel, men det var gammel mening." - "Jeg ligger ved havet," siger Korsør, "jeg har landevej og jeg har lystskov, og jeg har født en digter, som var morsom, og det er de ikke alle. Jeg har villet sende et skib rundt om Jorden, jeg gjorde det ikke, men kunne have gjort det, og så lugter jeg så dejlig, lige ved porten, der blomstrer de yndigste roser!"
Lille Tuk så dem, det blev rødt og grønt for hans øjne, men da der kom ro i kulørerne var det en hel skovgroet skrænt tæt ved den klare fjord; og oven over lå en prægtig gammel kirke med to høje, spidse kirketårne: Fra skrænten sprang kilderne i tykke vandstråler, så at det plaskede efter, og tæt ved sad en gammel konge med guldkrone om sit lange hår; det var kong Hroar ved kilderne; det var ved Roskilde by, som man kalder den nu. Og hen over skrænten, ind i den gamle kirke, gik alle Danmarks konger og dronninger hånd i hånd, alle med guldkrone på, og orglet spillede og kilderne rislede. Den lille Tuk så alt, hørte alt. "Glem ikke stænderne!" sagde kong Hroar.
Lige med et var alting borte igen; ja, hvor blev det af? det var ligesom man vender et blad i en bog. Og nu stod der en gammel kone, det var en lugekone, hun kom fra Sorø, hvor der vokser græs på torvet. Hun havde sit grå lærredsforklæde over hovedet og ned ad ryggen; det var så vådt, det måtte have regnet: "Ja, det har det!" sagde hun, og så kunne hun noget morsomt af Holbergs komedier og hun vidste om Valdemar og Absalon; men lige med et, så krøb hun sammen, rokkede med hovedet, det var ligesom om hun ville springe: "koaks!" sagde hun, "det er vådt, det er vådt, det er gravstille godt - i Sorø!" hun var lige med et en frø, "koaks!" og så var hun den gamle kone igen. "Man må klæde sig efter vejret!" sagde hun. "Det er vådt, det er vådt! min by er ligesom en flaske; man kommer ind ved proppen, og der må man ud igen! jeg har haft maller og nu har jeg friske rødmossede drenge på bunden af flasken; der lærer de visdom: græsk! græsk! hebræisk koaks!" det klang ligesom når frøerne synger, eller man går i mosevand med store støvler. Det var altid den samme lyd, så ens, så kedelig, så kedelig, at lille Tuk faldt i en ordentlig søvn, og den kunne han have godt af.
Men også i denne søvn kom en drøm, eller hvad det nu var: Hans lille søster Gustave med de blå øjne og det gule krøllede hår var med ét en voksen, dejlig pige, og uden at have vinger på kunne hun flyve og de fløj hen over Sjælland, over de grønne skove og de blå vande.
"Hører du hanegal, lille Tuk! kykliky! Hønsene flyver op fra Køge by! du får en hønsegård, så stor, så stor, du vil ikke lide sult og nød! Papegøjen skal du skyde, som man siger, du bliver en rig og lykkelig mand! din gård skal knejse, som kong Valdemars tårn, og rigt skal den bygges med billedstøtter af marmor, som dem fra Præstø-hjørne, du forstår mig nok. Dit navn skal med ros flyve vidt ud om verden, som skibet, der skulle have gået fra Korsør, og i Roskilde by – – 'husk på stænderne!' sagde kong Hroar; der skal du tale godt og klogt, lille Tuk, og når du så kommer engang i din grav, skal du sove så stille – –."
" - Som om jeg lå i Sorø!" sagde Tuk, og så vågnede han; det var klar morgen, han kunne ikke huske det mindste af sin drøm, men det skulle han heller ikke, for man må ikke vide hvad der kommer.
Og han sprang ud af sengen og læste i sin bog og kunne så sin lektie lige straks. Og den gamle vaskekone stak hovedet ind af døren, nikkede til ham og sagde:
"Tak for i går, du velsignede barn! Vorherre lader din bedste drøm blive opfyldt!"
Den lille Tuk vidste slet ikke hvad han havde drømt, men se, det vidste Vorherre!
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