Andersenove pravljice · English

Marjetica

Vir: Andersenove pravljice
Poglavje: 49
Tagi: 16
Izvirnik: Dansk

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Now listen to this! Out in the country, close by the road, stood a country house. Surely you must have seen it yourself sometime! In front of it is a little flower garden with a painted fence. Close by, on the edge of the ditch, in the midst of the loveliest green grass, grew a little daisy. The sun shone just as warmly and brightly upon it as upon the grand, magnificent flowers inside the garden, and so it grew from hour to hour. One morning it stood in full bloom, its little shining white petals spreading like rays around the small yellow sun at its heart. It never thought at all about how no one saw it there in the grass, or how it was a poor, despised little flower. No, it was perfectly content; it turned straight towards the warm sun, gazed up at it, and listened to the lark singing in the sky.

The little daisy was as happy as if it were a great holiday, and yet it was only Monday. All the children were at school. While they sat on their benches learning their lessons, it sat on its little green stalk and learned, too, from the warm sun and everything around it, how good God is. It seemed to the daisy that the little lark sang out so clearly and beautifully all that it felt in silence, and it looked up with a kind of reverence at the happy bird that could sing and fly. Yet it was not at all sad because it could do neither. “But I can see and hear!” it thought. “The sun shines on me, and the wind kisses me! Oh, how richly I have been blessed!”

Inside the fence stood so many stiff, stately flowers, and the less scent they had, the more proudly they held up their heads. The peonies puffed themselves up to be bigger than a rose, but size is not what matters! The tulips had the most beautiful colours of all, and they knew it well enough, holding themselves erect so that everyone could see them all the better. They took no notice whatever of the little daisy outside, but it gazed at them all the more and thought, “How splendid and lovely they are! Surely that wonderful bird will fly down and visit them! Thank God I stand so close by, so that I shall at least get to see all that splendour!” And just as it thought this, “Twitter-tweet!” Down came the lark, but not to the peonies and tulips—no, down into the grass to the poor little daisy, which was so startled with sheer joy that it no longer knew what to think.

The little bird danced around it and sang, “Oh, how soft the grass is! And look, what a sweet little flower, with gold in its heart and silver on its dress!” And indeed, the yellow centre of the daisy looked like gold, and the little petals all around were a shining silvery white.

No one can imagine how happy the little daisy was! The bird kissed it with its beak, sang to it, and then flew up into the blue sky again. It must have been a full quarter of an hour before the flower could recover. Half shy and yet deeply delighted, it looked towards the flowers in the garden. They had seen the honour and happiness that had come its way; surely they must understand what a joy it was. But the tulips stood twice as stiffly as before, and their faces were so pinched and red, for they were vexed. The peonies looked quite sulky. Pooh! It was a good thing they could not speak, or the daisy would have had a proper scolding. The poor little flower could see well enough that they were out of sorts, and it was deeply sorry. Just then a girl came into the garden with a large knife, so sharp and gleaming. She went straight in among the tulips and cut them off, one after another. “Oh!” sighed the little daisy. “How dreadful! Now it is all over for them!” Then the girl went away with the tulips. The daisy was glad that it stood outside in the grass and was only a poor little flower. It felt truly thankful, and when the sun went down, it folded its petals, fell asleep, and dreamed all night of the sun and the little bird.

Next morning, when the flower once again happily stretched all its white petals like little arms towards the air and light, it recognised the bird’s voice, but the song it sang was sorrowful. Indeed, the poor lark had good reason: it had been caught and now sat in a cage close to the open window. It sang of flying freely and happily about, sang of the tender green corn in the fields and of the glorious journey it could make on its wings high up in the sky. The poor bird was unhappy, sitting captive there in its cage.

The little daisy longed to help, but how was it to go about it? That was hard to think of. It quite forgot how beautiful everything was around it, how warmly the sun shone, and how lovely and white its petals looked. Alas, it could think only of the captive bird, for which it could do nothing at all.

Just then two little boys came out of the garden. One of them held a knife, large and sharp like the one the girl had used to cut the tulips. They came straight towards the little daisy, which could not imagine what they wanted.

“Here we can cut a lovely piece of turf for the lark!” said one boy, and he began cutting deep into the earth in a square around the daisy, so that it stood in the middle of the turf.

“Pull that flower off!” said the other boy, and the daisy trembled with fright, for to be pulled off would mean losing its life. And now it wanted so much to live, since it was to go with the turf into the captive lark’s cage.

“No, leave it there!” said the other boy. “It looks so pretty!” And so it was left where it stood and brought into the cage with the lark. But the poor bird lamented its lost freedom aloud and beat its wings against the wires of the cage. The little daisy could not speak, could not say a comforting word, much as it wished to. So the whole morning passed.

“There is no water here!” said the captive lark. “They have all gone out and forgotten to give me a drop to drink! My throat is dry and burning! There is fire and ice inside me, and the air is so heavy! Alas, I must die, and leave the warm sunshine, the fresh green fields, all the beauty God has made!” And it thrust its little beak into the cool turf to find a little refreshment there. Then its eyes fell upon the daisy, and the bird nodded to it, kissed it with its beak, and said, “You too must wither in here, you poor little flower! They have given me you and this little patch of green grass in exchange for the whole world I had outside! Each little blade of grass must be a green tree to me, each of your white petals a fragrant flower! Alas, you only tell me how much I have lost!”

“If only I could comfort him!” thought the daisy, but it could not stir a petal. Yet the scent that streamed from its delicate petals was far stronger than is usual with this flower. The bird noticed it too, and though it was faint with thirst and tore up the green blades of grass in its anguish, it did not touch the flower.

Evening came, and still no one brought the poor bird a drop of water. Then it spread its beautiful wings and shook them convulsively; its song was a mournful peep, peep. Its little head drooped towards the flower, and the bird’s heart broke with loss and longing. Then the flower could not fold its petals and sleep as it had the evening before; sick and grieving, it drooped towards the earth.

Not until the next morning did the boys come, and when they saw the bird lying dead, they wept, shed many tears, and dug it a pretty grave, which they decorated with flower petals. The bird’s body was laid in a lovely red box; it was to have a royal burial, the poor little bird! While he lived and sang, they forgot him, left him sitting in his cage to suffer want; now he was given finery and many tears.

But the turf with the daisy was thrown out into the dust of the road. No one thought of the flower that had felt most deeply for the little bird and had so longed to comfort it!

Izvirnik

Eventyr af Hans Christian Andersen

Nu skal du høre!

Ude på landet, tæt ved vejen, lå et lyststed. Du har bestemt selv engang set det! der er foran en lille have med blomster og et stakit, som er malet. Tæt herved på grøften, midt i det dejligste grønne græs, voksede en lille gåseurt. Solen skinnede lige så varmt og smukt på den, som på de store rige pragtblomster inde i haven, og derfor voksede den time for time. En morgen stod den ganske udsprunget med sine små, skinnende hvide blade, der sidder som stråler rundt om den lille gule sol indeni. Den tænkte slet ikke på, at intet menneske så den der i græsset og at den var en fattig, foragtet blomst. Nej den var så fornøjet, den vendte sig lige imod den varme sol, så op i den og hørte på lærken, som sang i luften.

Den lille gåseurt var så lykkelig, som om det var en stor helligdag, og så var det dog en mandag. Alle børn var i skole. Mens de sad på deres bænke og lærte noget, sad den på sin lille grønne stilk og lærte også af den varme sol og alt rundt omkring, hvor god Gud er, og den syntes ret at den lille lærke sang så tydeligt og smukt alt, hvad den i stilhed følte, og gåseurten så med en slags ærbødighed op til den lykkelige fugl, der kunne synge og flyve, men var slet ikke bedrøvet, fordi den selv ikke kunne det. "Jeg ser og hører jo!" tænkte den, "solen skinner på mig og vinden kysser mig! oh, hvor jeg dog er blevet begavet!"

Inden for stakittet stod så mange stive, fornemme blomster, jo mindre duft de havde, des mere knejsede de. Pæonerne blæste sig op, for at være større end en rose, men det er slet ikke størrelsen, som gør det! Tulipanerne havde de allersmukkeste kulører, og det vidste de nok og holdt sig så ranke, for at man endnu bedre skulle se det. De lagde slet ikke mærke til den lille gåseurt udenfor, men den så des mere på dem og tænkte: "Hvor de er rige og dejlige! ja, dem flyver vist den prægtige fugl ned til og besøger! Gud ske lov, at jeg står så nær herved, så kan jeg dog få den stads at se!" og lige idet den tænkte det, "kvirrevit!" der kom lærken flyvende, men ikke ned til pæoner og tulipaner, nej, ned i græsset til den fattige gåseurt, der blev så forskrækket af bare glæde, at den vidste slet ikke mere, hvad den skulle tænke.

Den lille fugl dansede rundt omkring den og sang: "Nej, hvor dog græsset er blødt! og se, hvilken sød lille blomst med guld i hjertet og sølv på kjolen!" den gule prik i gåseurten så jo også ud som guld, og de små blade rundt om var skinnende sølvhvide.

Så lykkelig som den lille gåseurt var, nej, det kan ingen begribe! Fuglen kyssede den med sit næb, sang for den og fløj så igen op i den blå luft. Det varede bestemt et helt kvarter, før blomsten kunne komme sig igen. Halvt undselig og dog inderlig fornøjet så den til blomsterne inde i haven. De havde jo set den ære og lyksalighed, der var vederfaret hende, de måtte jo begribe, hvilken glæde det var, men tulipanerne stod nok engang så stive som før, og så var de så spidse i ansigtet og så røde, for de havde ærgret sig. Pæonerne var ganske tykhovedede, bu! det var godt, at de ikke kunne tale, ellers havde gåseurten fået en ordentlig tiltale. Den stakkels lille blomst kunne nok se, at de var ikke i godt humør, og det gjorde den så inderligt ondt. I det samme kom der inde i haven en pige med en stor kniv så skarp og skinnende, hun gik lige hen mellem tulipanerne og skar den ene af efter den anden. "Uh!" sukkede den lille gåseurt, "det var jo forskrækkeligt, nu er det forbi med dem!" Så gik pigen bort med tulipanerne. Gåseurten var glad ved, at den stod ude i græsset og var en lille, fattig blomst. Den følte sig ret så taknemlig, og da solen gik ned, foldede den sine blade, sov ind og drømte hele natten om solen og den lille fugl.

Næste morgen, da blomsten igen, lykkelig, strakte alle de hvide blade ligesom små arme ud mod luft og lys, kendte den fuglens stemme, men det var sørgeligt, hvad den sang. Ja, den stakkels lærke havde god grund dertil, den var blevet fanget og sad nu i et bur tæt ved det åbne vindue. Den sang om at flyve frit og lykkeligt omkring, sang om det unge, grønne korn på marken og om den dejlige rejse, den kunne gøre på sine vinger højt op i luften. Den stakkels fugl var ikke i godt humør, fangen sad den der i buret.

Den lille gåseurt ønskede så gerne at hjælpe, men hvorledes skulle den bære sig ad dermed. Ja det var vanskeligt at hitte på. Den glemte rent, hvor smukt alt stod rundt om, hvor varmt solen skinnede, og hvor smukke hvide dens blade så ud. Ak, den kunne kun tænke på den fangne fugl, som den slet ikke var i stand til at gøre noget for.

Da kom der i det samme to små drenge ud af haven. Den ene af dem havde i hånden en kniv, stor og skarp som den, pigen havde til at skære tulipanerne af med. De gik lige hen imod den lille gåseurt, der slet ikke kunne begribe, hvad de ville.

"Her kan vi skære en dejlig græstørv til lærken!" sagde den ene dreng og begyndte at skære i en firkant dybt ned, omkring gåseurten, så at den kom til at stå midt i græstørven.

"Riv den blomst af!" sagde den anden dreng, og gåseurten rystede ordentlig af angst, thi at blive revet af, var jo at miste livet, og nu ville den så gerne leve, da den skulle med græstørven ind i buret til den fangne lærke.

"Nej, lad den sidde!" sagde den anden dreng, "den pynter så net!" og så blev den siddende og kom med ind i buret til lærken.

Men den stakkels fugl klagede højt over sin tabte frihed og slog med vingerne mod jerntrådene i buret. Den lille gåseurt kunne ikke tale, ikke sige et trøstende ord, ihvor gerne den ville. Således gik hele formiddagen.

"Her er intet vand!" sagde den fangne lærke, "de er alle ude og have glemt mig med en dråbe at drikke! min hals er tør og brændende! der er ild og is indeni mig og luften er så tung! Ak, jeg må dø, fra det varme solskin, fra det friske grønne, fra al den dejlighed, Gud har skabt!" og så borede den sit lille næb ned i den kølige græstørv, for derved at opfriskes lidt. Da faldt dens øjne på gåseurten, og fuglen nikkede til den, kyssede den med næbbet og sagde: "Du må også visne herinde, du stakkels lille blomst! Dig og den lille grønne plet græs har man givet mig for den hele verden, jeg havde udenfor! hvert lille græsstrå skal være mig et grønt træ, hvert af dine hvide blade en duftende blomst! ak, I fortæller mig kun, hvor meget jeg har mistet!"

"Hvem der dog kunne trøste ham!" tænkte gåseurten, men den kunne ikke røre et blad. Dog duften, som strømmede ud af de fine blade, var langt stærkere, end den ellers findes hos denne blomst. Det mærkede også fuglen, og skønt den forsmægtede af tørst og i sin pine rev de grønne græsstrå af, rørte den slet ikke blomsten.

Det blev aften, og endnu kom ingen og bragte den stakkels fugl en vanddråbe. Da strakte den sine smukke vinger ud, rystede dem krampagtigt, dens sang var et vemodigt pipi. Det lille hoved bøjede sig henimod blomsten, og fuglens hjerte brast af savn og længsel. Da kunne blomsten ikke, som aftnen forud, folde sine blade sammen og sove, den hang syg og sørgende ned mod jorden.

Først den næste morgen kom drengene, og da de så fuglen død, græd de, græd mange tårer og gravede den en nydelig grav, som blev pyntet med blomsterblade. Fuglens lig kom i en rød, dejlig æske, kongeligt skulle den begraves, den stakkels fugl! da han levede og sang, glemte de ham, lod ham sidde i buret og lide savn, nu fik han stads og mange tårer.

Men græstørven med gåseurten blev kastet ud i støvet på landevejen, ingen tænkte på den, som dog havde følt mest for den lille fugl og som gerne ville trøste den!

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