Waltey
So pač razlike
Andersenove pravljice · Hans Christian AndersenO besedilu
So pač razlike
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- "Der er forskel"
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
So pač razlike
It was the month of May, and the wind still blew cold; but spring was here, said the bushes and trees, the fields and meadows. Flowers were teeming everywhere, right up into the hedgerow, and there spring spoke for itself, speaking through a little apple tree that was all one branch, so fresh, so full of blossom, covered with delicate rose-red buds just ready to open. The branch knew well enough how beautiful it was, for such knowledge runs in the leaf as it does in the blood, and so it was not at all surprised when the grand carriage stopped on the road before it, and the young countess said that this apple branch was the loveliest thing one could see: it was spring itself in its most beautiful manifestation. And the branch was broken off, and she held it in her delicate hand and shaded it with her silk parasol—and then they drove to the castle, where there were lofty halls and elegant rooms. Pure white curtains fluttered at the open windows, and lovely flowers stood in shining, transparent vases; and in one of these, which seemed carved out of newly fallen snow, the apple branch was placed among fresh, pale-green beech branches. It was a delight to behold!
And then the branch grew proud, which was only human! All sorts of people passed through the rooms, and according to their standing they dared to voice their admiration; some said nothing at all, and some said far too much, and the apple branch understood that there were differences among people just as there were among plants. “Some are for ornament, and some are for nourishment, and there are others we could quite well do without,” thought the apple branch. And since it had been placed beside the open window, from which it could look both down into the garden and out across the fields, it had flowers and plants enough to contemplate and ponder! There stood rich and poor, some of them all too poor.
“Poor outcast plants!” said the apple branch. “There certainly are distinctions! And how unhappy they must feel, if such things can feel as I and my equals do. There certainly are distinctions, but there must be, or everyone would be alike!”
And the apple branch looked with a kind of pity at one sort of flower in particular, which grew in great numbers in the fields and along the ditches. No one gathered them into bouquets; they were far too common. Why, one could even find them between the cobblestones, springing up like the rankest weeds, and then they had that dreadful name, devil’s dandelions.
“Poor despised plant!” said the apple branch. “You cannot help having become what you are, being so common, and having been given that hideous name! But it is with plants as it is with people: there must be distinctions!”
“Distinctions!” said the sunbeam, and kissed the blossoming apple branch; but it also kissed the yellow devil’s dandelions out in the field. All the sunbeam’s brothers kissed them, the poor flowers as well as the rich.
The apple branch had never thought about Our Lord’s infinite love for all that lives and moves in Him; it had never thought how much that is beautiful and good may lie hidden, but not forgotten—but that, too, was only human!
The sunbeam, the ray of light, knew better. “You do not see far, you do not see clearly! Where is that outcast plant, the one you pity most?” “The devil’s dandelions!” said the apple branch. “They are never gathered into bouquets; they are trampled underfoot. There are too many of them, and when they go to seed, it flies across the road like finely shredded wool and clings to people’s clothes. They are weeds! But of course there must be weeds too! I am truly very thankful that I have not become one of them!”
And across the field came a whole band of children. The smallest of them was so very tiny that the others carried it; and when it was set down in the grass among the yellow flowers, it laughed aloud for joy, kicked its little legs, rolled about, and picked only the yellow flowers, kissing them in sweet innocence. The slightly older children broke the flowers off their hollow stalks and bent the stalks round, fitting one into another, link by link, until they had a whole chain: first one for the neck, then one to hang over the shoulder and around the waist, across the chest and upon the head. It was a splendid array of green links and chains. But the oldest children carefully picked the plant that had finished flowering, the stalk that bore its downy, many-parted crown of seeds, that loose, airy flower of wool—a perfect little work of art, made, it seemed, of the finest feathers, fluff, or down. They held it to their mouths, trying to blow it quite bare with a single breath; whoever could do that would have new clothes before the year was out, Grandmother had said.
The despised flower was quite a prophet on this occasion. “Do you see?” said the sunbeam. “Do you see its beauty, do you see its power?” “Yes, for children!” said the apple branch.
And out into the field came an old woman, who dug around the flower’s root with her short, handleless knife and pulled it up. Some of the roots she would brew into coffee for herself; others would bring her money when she took them to the apothecary to be used as medicine.
“Beauty is something higher, after all!” said the apple branch. “Only the chosen enter the realm of beauty! There are differences among plants, just as there are differences among people!”
And the sunbeam spoke of God’s infinite love, which runs through all creation and embraces everything that lives, and of the equal sharing of all things in time and eternity!
“Well, that is your opinion!” said the apple branch. And people came into the room, and the young countess came too, the one who had arranged the apple branch so beautifully in the transparent vase where the sunlight shone. She was bringing a flower, or whatever it might be, concealed by three or four large leaves held around it like a paper cone, so that no draught or breath of wind could harm it; and it was carried more carefully than the delicate apple branch had ever been. Very gently the large leaves were now taken away, and there appeared the fine, downy crown of seeds of the yellow, despised devil’s dandelion. This was what she had picked so carefully and carried so tenderly, lest a single one of the delicate feathered arrows that formed its misty shape, and clung so loosely, should blow away. She had it whole and splendid; and she admired its lovely form, its airy transparency, its whole peculiar structure, its beauty at the very moment when it was about to be scattered on the wind.
“Just look how wonderfully beautiful Our Lord has made it!” she said. “I shall paint it with the apple branch. Everyone finds that so infinitely lovely, but this poor flower, too, has received just as much from Our Lord in another way! How different they are, and yet both are children in the realm of beauty.”
And the sunbeam kissed the poor flower, and it kissed the blossoming apple branch, whose petals seemed to blush at the touch.
Izvirnik
"Der er forskel"
Naslednje strani prikazujejo izvirno besedilo za primerjavo.
Eventyr af Hans Christian Andersen
Det var i maj måned, vinden blæste endnu koldt; men foråret var der, sagde buske og træer, mark og enge; det myldrede med blomster og det lige op i det levende gærde, og der just talte foråret selv sin sag, det talte fra et lille æbletræ, der var én eneste gren, så frisk, så blomstrende, overdænget med de fine rosenrøde knopper, som var lige ved at åbne sig; den vidste nok selv, hvor køn den var, for det ligger i bladet, som i blodet, og derfor blev den heller ikke overrasket ved at herskabsvognen holdt på vejen foran den, og den unge grevinde sagde, at den æblegren var det yndigste, man kunne se, den var foråret selv i sin dejligste åbenbarelse. Og grenen blev brækket af, og hun holdt den i sin fine hånd og skyggede over den med sin silkeparasol, - og så kørte de til slottet, hvor der var høje sale og pyntelige stuer; klare hvide gardiner flagrede ved de åbne vinduer og dejlige blomster stod i skinnende, gennemsigtige vaser, og i en af disse, den var som skåret ud af nyfalden sne, blev æblegrenen sat mellem friske, lyse bøgegrene; det var en lyst at se den!
Og så blev grenen stolt, og det var jo ganske menneskeligt!
Der kom mange slags folk gennem stuerne og eftersom de gjaldt for, turde de sige deres beundring, og somme sagde slet ingen ting, og somme sagde alt for meget, og æblegrenen forstod, at der var forskel mellem menneskene ligesom imellem væksterne. "Somme er til stads, og somme er til næring, der er også de, som kunne ganske undværes," mente æblegrenen, og da den just var sat ved det åbne vindue, hvorfra den kunne se både ned i haven og ud på marken så havde den blomster og vækster nok til at betragte og tænke over! der stod rige og fattige, nogle alt for fattige.
"Stakkels forkastede urter!" sagde æblegrenen, "der er rigtignok gjort forskel! og hvor de må føle sig ulykkelige, dersom den slags kan føle, som jeg og mine lige kan det; der er rigtignok gjort forskel, men det må der gøres, ellers stod jo alle ens!"
Og æblegrenen så med en slags medlidenhed især på én slags blomster, som der var i mængde af på marker og på grøfter; ingen bandt dem i buket, de var alt for almindelige, ja man kunne finde dem selv imellem brostenene, de skød op som det argeste ukrudt, og så havde de det fæle navn fandens mælkebøtter.
"Stakkels foragtede vækst!" sagde æblegrenen, "du kan ikke gøre ved, at du blev hvad du blev, at du er så almindelig, og at du fik det hæslige navn, du har! men det er med væksterne, som med menneskene, der må være forskel!"
"Forskel!" sagde solstrålen og kyssede den blomstrende æblegren, men kyssede også de gule fandens mælkebøtter ude på marken, alle solstrålens brødre kyssede dem, de fattige blomster, som de rige.
Æblegrenen havde aldrig tænkt over Vorherres uendelige kærlighed mod alt, hvad der lever og røres i ham, den havde aldrig tænkt over hvor meget smukt og godt der kan ligge gemt, men ikke glemt, - men det var jo også ganske menneskeligt!
Solstrålen, lysets stråle vidste det bedre: "Du ser ikke langt, du ser ikke klart! - Hvor er den forkastede urt, den du især beklager?"
"Fandens mælkebøtter!" sagde æblegrenen. "Aldrig bindes de i buket, de trædes med foden, der er for mange af dem og når de løber i frø flyver det i småtskåren uld hen over vejen og hænger folk i klæderne. Ukrudt er det! men det skal der jo også være! - jeg er virkelig meget taknemmelig, at jeg ikke er blevet en af dem!"
Og hen over marken kom en hel skare børn: Det mindste af disse var nu så lillebitte, at det blev båret af de andre; og da det blev sat i græsset mellem de gule blomster, lo det højt af glæde, sparkede med de små ben, væltede sig omkring, plukkede kun de gule blomster og kyssede dem i sød uskyldighed. De noget større børn brød blomsten fra den hule stilk, bøjede denne rundt ind i sig selv, led ved led, en hel kæde blev det; først en til halsen, så en at hænge om skulderen og om livet, på brystet og på hovedet; det var en hel pragt af grønne lænker og kæder; men de største børn tog forsigtig den afblomstrede urt, stilken, der bar dens fnugartede sammensatte frøkrone, denne løse luftige uldblomst, det er et helt lille kunststykke, som af de fineste fjer, fnug eller dun; de holdt den ved munden for i ét pust at afblæse den helt; den, der kunne det, fik nye klæder, før året var omme, havde bedstemoder sagt.
Den foragtede blomst var en hel profet ved denne lejlighed.
"Ser du!" sagde solstrålen, "ser du dens skønhed, ser du dens magt!"
"Ja, for børn!" sagde æblegrenen.
Og der kom ude på marken en gammel kone og gravede med sin stumpede skaftløse kniv ned om blomstens rod og trak den op; nogle af rødderne ville hun koge sig kaffe på, andre ville hun få penge for, idet hun bragte apotekeren dem til lægedom.
"Skønhed er dog noget højere!" sagde æblegrenen. "Kun de udvalgte kommer i det skønnes rige! der er forskel mellem væksterne, ligesom der er forskel mellem menneskene!"
Og solstrålen talte om den uendelige kærlighed hos Gud gennem alt det skabte og for alt, hvad der har liv, og om den lige fordeling af alt i tid og evighed!
"Ja det er nu deres mening!" sagde æblegrenen.
Og der kom folk i stuen, og den unge grevinde kom, hun, som havde stillet æblegrenen så smukt, i den gennemsigtige vase hvor sollyset strålede; og hun bragte en blomst eller hvad det nu var, det skjultes af tre, fire store blade, der ligesom et kræmmerhus blev holdt rundt om det, for at ingen træk eller vindpust skulle komme til at gøre det skade og så forsigtig blev det båret, som aldrig den fine æblegren var blevet det. Ganske lempeligt kom nu de store blade bort og man så den fine fnuggede frøkrone af den gule foragtede fandens mælkebøtte. Den var det, hun så forsigtig havde plukket, så omhyggelig bar, for at ikke en af de fine fjerpile, der danner dens tågeskikkelse og sidder så løse, skal blæse af. Hel og herlig havde hun den; og hun beundrede dens skønne form, dens luftige klarhed, dens hele særegne sammensætning, dens skønhed, idet den skulle vejres hen for vinden.
"Se dog, hvor forunderlig dejlig Vorherre har gjort den!" sagde hun. "Jeg vil male den med æblegrenen; den er nu så uendelig dejlig for alle, men også denne fattige blomst har af Vorherre lige så meget på en anden måde! så forskellige er de og dog begge børn i skønhedens rige."
Og solstrålen kyssede den fattige blomst, og den kyssede den blomstrende æblegren, dens blade syntes at rødme derved.
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