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Srčna bolečina
Andersenove pravljice · Hans Christian AndersenO besedilu
Srčna bolečina
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- Andersenove pravljice
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- Hans Christian Andersen
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- English
- Jezik izvirnika
- Dansk
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- 4 min branja
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- 3 strani
- Naslov izvirnika
- Hjertesorg
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
Srčna bolečina
What we have to tell is really a story in two parts; the first part might well be left out—but it supplies some background, and that is useful!
We were staying at a country manor, and it so happened that the family went away for a day. Then a woman arrived from the nearest market town, bringing her pug with her, to ask us, as she put it, to take “shares” in her tannery. She had brought her papers, and we advised her to put them in an envelope and write the owner’s address on the outside: “Commissary-General of War, Knight, et cetera.”
She listened to us, took up the pen, paused, and asked us to repeat the address, but slowly. We did so, and she wrote; but halfway through “Commissary-General” she stopped, sighed, and said, “I am only a woman!” She had put the pug on the floor while she wrote, and he growled; after all, he too had been brought along for his pleasure and his health, and in that case one ought not to be put on the floor. A snub nose and a back like a side of bacon made up his outward appearance.
“He doesn’t bite!” said the woman. “He has no teeth. He’s just like one of the family, faithful and bad-tempered, though it’s my grandchildren who have made him so cross; they play at weddings, and then they want him to be the bridesmaid, and that is a strain on him, the old dear!”
And she handed over her papers and took the pug in her arms. That is the first part—which we might well have done without! “The pug died!” That is the second part. It was about a week later; we came to the market town and put up at the inn. Our windows looked out on the yard, which a wooden fence divided in two; in one half hung skins and hides, raw and tanned; all the materials for a tannery were there, and it belonged to the widow. The pug had died that morning and been buried there in the yard; the widow’s grandchildren—the tanner’s widow’s, that is, for the pug had never been married—patted down the grave, and a lovely grave it was; it must have been a pleasure to lie there.
The grave was bordered with broken crockery and strewn with sand; at the top they had set half a beer bottle, with its neck pointing upwards, and there was nothing allegorical about that.
The children danced round the grave, and the eldest of the boys, a practical young fellow of seven, proposed that the pug’s grave should be put on show for everyone in the street; admission was to cost a trouser button, something every boy had and could also supply for the little girls; and the proposal was carried unanimously.
And all the children from the street, and the back street too, came and paid their button; many of them had to make do with a single brace that afternoon, but then they had seen the pug’s grave, and that was well worth it.
But outside the tannery yard, close beside the gate, stood a little ragged child, so prettily made, with the loveliest curly hair and eyes so blue and clear they were a joy to see; she did not say a word, nor did she cry, but peered in as far as she could whenever the gate opened. She knew she did not own a button, and so she stood sorrowfully outside, staying there until they had all seen their fill and everyone had gone away; then she sat down, covered her eyes with her little brown hands, and burst into tears; she alone had not seen the pug’s grave. It was heartache, as great as a grown person’s can often be.
We saw it from above—and seen from above, this sorrow, like so many of our own and other people’s—why, then we can laugh at them! That is the story, and anyone who does not understand it can take shares in the widow’s tannery.
Izvirnik
Hjertesorg
Naslednje strani prikazujejo izvirno besedilo za primerjavo.
Eventyr af Hans Christian Andersen
Det er egentligt en historie i to dele, vi her kommer med; første del kunne gerne være borte, – men den giver forkundskaber, og de er nyttige!
Vi opholdt os inde i landet på en herregård, og så traf det sig, at herskabet der, for en dags tid, tog bort. Da kom der fra nærmeste købstad en madamme, hun havde sin moppe med og kom for, som hun sagde, at man skulle tage "aktier" i hendes garveri. Sine papirer havde hun med, og vi rådede hende, at slå en konvolut om dem og uden på at skrive gårdejerens adresse: "Generalkrigskommissær, Ridder, etcetera."
Hun hørte på os, hun tog pennen, standsede, og bad os om at gentage udskriften, men langsomt. Vi gjorde det, og hun skrev; men midt i "Generalkrigs" blev hun stående, sukkede og sagde: "Jeg er kun et fruentimmer!" Moppen havde hun sat på gulvet, mens hun skrev, og han knurrede; han var jo også taget med for sin fornøjelse og sundheds skyld, og så skal man ikke sættes på gulvet. Braknæse og flæskeryg var hans udvortes.
"Han bider ikke!" sagde madammen, "han har ingen tænder. Han er ligesom medlem af familien, trofast og arrig, men dette er han tirret til af mine børnebørn; de leger bryllup, og så vil de have ham til at være brudepige, og det anstrenger ham, det gamle skind!"
Og hun afleverede sine papirer og tog moppen på armen. Det er første del – som nok kunne undværes!
"Moppen døde!" det er anden del.
Det var en uges tid efter; vi kom til købstaden og tog ind på gæstgiverstedet. Vore vinduer vendte ud til gården, der ved et plankeværk var delt i to dele; i den ene her hang skind og huder, rå og barkede; her stod alle materialer til et garveri, og det var enkens. – Moppen var død i denne morgen og begravet her i gården; enkens børnebørn, det vil sige garverenkens, for moppen havde ikke været gift, klappede graven til, og det var en dejlig grav, det måtte være en fornøjelse at ligge der.
Graven var indhegnet med potteskår, og bestrøet med sand; øverst på den havde de sat en halv ølflaske med halsen op, og det var slet ikke allegorisk.
Børnene dansede rundt om graven, og den ældste af drengene, en praktisk yngling på syv år, foreslog, at der skulle være en udstilling af moppens grav og det for alle fra strædet; adgangen måtte betales med en seleknap, det var noget enhver dreng havde, og han også kunne levere for småpigerne; og det forslag blev enstemmigt antaget.
Og alle børn fra strædet og bagstrædet med kom og gav deres knap, der var mange, der kom til at gå med én sele den eftermiddag, men så havde man set moppens grav, og det var nok så meget værd.
Men uden for garvergården, tæt op til lågen der, stod en lille pjaltet unge, så yndigt skabt, med det dejligste krøllede hår og øjne så blå og klare, at det var en lyst; hun sagde ikke et ord, hun græd ikke heller, men så så langt hun kunne, hver gang lågen åbnedes. Hun ejede ikke en knap, vidste hun, og blev derfor sørgmodig stående udenfor, stod der til de alle havde set af, og alle var gået bort; da satte hun sig ned, holdt de små brune hænder for øjnene og brast i gråd; hun alene havde ikke set moppens grav. Det var hjertesorg og stor, som den voksnes tit kan være det.
Vi så det ovenfra – og ovenfra set – denne, som mange af vore og andres sorger, – ja så kan vi le af dem! – det er historien, og den, som ikke forstår den, kan tage aktier i enkens garveri.
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