O besedilu
Srebrnik
- Vir
- Andersenove pravljice
- Avtor
- Hans Christian Andersen
- Jezik branja
- English
- Jezik izvirnika
- Dansk
- Čas branja
- 9 min branja
- Obseg
- 7 strani
- Naslov izvirnika
- Sølvskillingen
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
Srebrnik
There was once a skilling that came bright and shining from the Mint, leaping and jingling. “Hurrah! Now I’m off into the wide world!” And off it went. A child held it tight in warm hands, and a miser in cold, clammy ones; older people turned it over and over, while the young let it pass on at once. The skilling was silver, with very little copper in it, and had already spent a whole year in the world—that is to say, travelling about the country where it had been minted. Then it went on a journey abroad. It was the last coin of its own country left in the purse its travelling master carried with him, and he himself did not know he still had it until it happened to slip between his fingers.
“Why, here’s another skilling from home!” he said. “It can come along on the journey!” And the skilling jingled and leapt for joy as he put it back into his purse. There it lay among foreign companions who came and went; one made room for another, but the skilling from home always stayed behind. It was a mark of distinction.
Several weeks had now passed, and the skilling was far out in the world, without quite knowing where. It heard from the other coins that they were French and Italian; one said they were in this town, another said they were in that one, but the skilling could form no idea of it. You do not see the world when you are always shut up in a bag, and that was where it was. But one day, as it lay there, it noticed that the purse was not closed, and crept towards the opening to peep out. Now, it ought not to have done that, but it was curious, and curiosity brings its own punishment. It slipped out into the trouser pocket, and when the purse was put away that evening, the skilling stayed where it was and was carried out into the passage with the clothes. There it promptly fell onto the floor. No one heard it; no one saw it.
In the morning the clothes were brought in, their master put them on and went on his way, and the skilling did not go with him. It was found, put back into service, and sent out with three other coins.
“How pleasant it is to see the world!” thought the skilling. “To meet other people and learn other customs!” “What sort of skilling is this?” someone said at that very moment. “It isn’t the currency of this country! It’s false! No good!”
And now begins the skilling’s story as it afterwards told it. “False! No good! The words went right through me,” said the skilling. “I knew I was good silver, with a clear ring and a genuine stamp. Surely they must be mistaken; they could not mean me. And yet they did mean me! I was the one they called false; I was no good! ‘I shall have to pass it in the dark!’ said the man who had me, and I was passed in the dark, only to be abused again by daylight. ‘False! No good! We must find a way to get rid of it.’”
And the skilling trembled between people’s fingers whenever it was to be slipped away in secret and passed off as a coin of the country. “What a wretched skilling I am! What use are my silver, my value, my stamp, if they count for nothing? To the world, you are what the world thinks you are! It must be dreadful to have a guilty conscience, to creep along the path of wrongdoing, when I, who am entirely innocent, can feel so miserable merely because I seem guilty! Every time I was brought out, I dreaded the eyes that would look at me. I knew I would be rejected, flung across the table as though I were nothing but lies and deceit.
Once I came to a poor woman, who received me as her day’s wages for all her toil and trouble. But she could not get rid of me at all; no one would take me. I was a real misfortune to her.
‘I shall simply have to cheat someone with it!’ she said. ‘I can’t afford to keep a false skilling. The rich baker shall have it; he can best afford the loss. But it’s wrong of me all the same!’
Now I am even going to burden this woman’s conscience!” sighed the skilling. “Have I really changed so much in my old age? And the woman went to the rich baker, but he knew the coins in circulation far too well. I was not allowed to stay where I had been put; I was flung in the woman’s face. She got no bread for me, and I felt deeply grieved to have been minted only to bring trouble upon others—I, who in my younger days had been so cheerful and confident, so certain of my worth and my genuine stamp. I grew as melancholy as a poor skilling can when nobody wants it. But the woman took me home again and looked at me with real tenderness, gently and kindly. ‘No, I won’t cheat anyone with you!’ she said. ‘I’ll make a hole in you, so that everyone can see you’re a false thing. And yet—now it occurs to me—perhaps you’re a lucky skilling. Yes, I shall believe that! The thought has just come to me. I’ll make a hole in the skilling, thread a cord through it, and hang it round the neck of my neighbour’s little child as a lucky coin!’
And she made a hole in me. It is never pleasant to have a hole punched through you, but when the intention is good, one can bear a great deal! A cord was threaded through me, and I became a sort of medal to be worn. I was hung round the little child’s neck, and the child smiled at me and kissed me, and all night long I rested on its warm, innocent breast.
In the morning the mother took me between her fingers, looked at me, and had her own thoughts about me, as I soon discovered. She brought out a pair of scissors and cut the cord.”
‘A lucky skilling!’ she said. ‘Well, we shall see about that!’ And she put me in something sour until I turned green. Then she filled the hole with putty, gave me a little rub, and went at dusk to the lottery agent to buy a ticket that was to bring her good luck.
How wretched I felt! I was gripped by such anguish that I thought I would snap in two. I knew I would be called false and flung aside, right in front of all the skillings and other coins lying there with inscriptions and faces they could be proud of. But I escaped. There were so many people at the lottery office, and the agent was so busy, that I went jingling into the drawer among the other coins. Whether the ticket won a prize, I do not know; but I do know that the very next day I was recognised as a false skilling, put aside, and sent out to deceive, and keep on deceiving. That is more than one can bear when one has an honest character, and I cannot deny myself that.
For years I passed like this from hand to hand, from house to house, always abused, always unwelcome. No one believed in me, and I believed neither in myself nor in the world. It was a hard time.
Then one day a traveller came along. Naturally, I was foisted upon him, and he was trusting enough to accept me as current coin. But when he came to spend me, I heard those cries again: ‘No good! False!’
‘I took it for a genuine coin!’ said the man, and now he looked at me very closely. Then his whole face lit up with a smile, which was not what faces usually did when they examined me closely. ‘Well, what have we here!’ he said. ‘Why, it’s one of our own country’s coins—a good, honest skilling from home, with a hole punched in it, and they call it false. How very amusing! I shall certainly keep you and take you home with me!’
A thrill of joy ran through me. I had been called a good, honest skilling, and I was going home, where everyone would know me and know that I was good silver and bore a genuine stamp. I could almost have struck sparks for joy, but it is not in my nature to strike sparks; steel can do that, but not silver.
I was wrapped in fine paper so that I would not get mixed up with the other coins and be lost. Only on festive occasions, when fellow countrymen gathered, was I brought out and shown around and spoken of in the highest terms. They said I was interesting. It is rather amusing that one can be interesting without saying a single word!
And then I came home! All my troubles were over; my happiness began. After all, I was good silver, I bore the genuine stamp, and it did me no harm at all that someone had punched a hole in me as though I were false. That does not matter when you are not! One must hold out; in time, everything is recognised for what it is worth. That is my belief!” said the skilling.
Izvirnik
Sølvskillingen
Naslednje strani prikazujejo izvirno besedilo za primerjavo.
Eventyr af Hans Christian Andersen
Der var en skilling, den kom blank fra Mønten, sprang og klang, "hurra! nu skal jeg ud i den vide verden!" og det kom den.
Barnet holdt fast på den med varme hænder og den gerrige med kolde, klamme hænder; den ældre vendte og drejede den mange gange, mens ungdommen straks lod den løbe videre. Skillingen var af sølv, havde meget lidt kobber i sig og var allerede et helt år ude i verden, det vil sige, ude omkring i det land, hvor den var møntet; så kom den på rejse ud af landet, den var den sidste af landets mønt, der blev tilbage i pengepungen, dens rejsende herre havde med, han vidste ikke selv, han havde den, før den kom ham mellem fingrene.
"Her har jeg jo endnu en skilling hjemmefra!" sagde han, "den kan gøre rejsen med!" og skillingen klang og sprang af glæde, da han puttede den igen i pungen. Her lå den hos fremmede kammerater, der kom og gik; de ene gjorde plads for den anden, men skillingen hjemmefra blev altid tilbage; det var en udmærkelse.
Nu var allerede flere uger forbi, og skillingen var langt ude i verden, uden just at vide hvor; den hørte af de andre mønter, at de var franske og italienske; den ene sagde, at nu var de i den by, den anden sagde, at de var i den, men skillingen kunne ikke gøre sig forestilling derom, man ser ikke verden, når man altid er i en pose, og det var den; men som den en dag lå der, mærkede den, at pengepungen ikke var lukket, og da listede den sig til åbningen, for at kigge lidt ud; det skulle den nu ikke have gjort, men den var nysgerrig, det straffer sig; den gled ud i bukselommen, og da om aftnen pengepungen blev lagt til side, lå skillingen endnu, hvor den lå og kom med klæderne ud på gangen, der faldt den straks på gulvet; ingen hørte det, ingen så det.
I morgenstunden kom klæderne ind, herren tog dem på, rejste bort, og skillingen kom ikke med, den blev fundet, skulle igen gøre tjeneste, gik ud med tre andre mønter.
"Det er dog rart at se sig om i verden!" tænkte skillingen, "kende andre mennesker, andre skikke!"
"Hvad er det for en skilling," blev der lige i det samme sagt. "Den er ikke landets mønt! den er falsk! dur ikke!"
Ja nu begynder skillingens historie, som den siden fortalte den.
"Falsk! dur ikke! det fór igennem mig," sagde skillingen. "Jeg vidste, jeg var af godt sølv, god klang og med ægte præg. De måtte bestemt tage fejl, mig kunne de ikke mene, men mig mente de dog! mig var det de kaldte falsk, jeg duede ikke! 'Den må jeg give ud i mørke!' sagde manden, som havde den, og jeg blev givet ud i mørke og så igen skældt ud ved dagslys, – 'falsk, dur ikke! den må vi se at blive af med'."
Og skillingen sitrede mellem fingrene hver gang den i smug skulle listes bort og gælde for landets mønt.
"Jeg elendige skilling! hvad hjælper mig mit sølv, mit værd, mit præg, når det ikke har noget at betyde. Man er for verden, hvad verden tror om en! Det må dog være skrækkeligt at have ond samvittighed, at liste sig frem på det ondes vej, når jeg, der dog er aldeles uskyldig, kan være således til mode ved bare at have udseendet deraf! – Hver gang jeg blev taget frem, gruede jeg for de øjne, der ville se på mig; jeg vidste, at jeg ville blive stødt tilbage, kastet hen ad bordet, som var jeg løgn og bedrag.
En gang kom jeg til en stakkels fattig kone, hun fik mig i dagløn for sit slid og slæb, men hun kunne nu slet ikke blive mig kvit, ingen ville tage imod mig, jeg var en sand ulykke for hende.
'Jeg er såmænd nødt til at narre nogen med den!' sagde hun. 'Jeg har ikke råd til at gemme på en falsk skilling; den rige bager skal have den, han kan bedst tåle det, men en uret er det alligevel, jeg gør!'
Nu skal jeg endogså belemre konens samvittighed!" sukkede det i skillingen. "Er jeg da virkelig på mine ældre dage blevet så forandret?
Og konen gik til den rige bager, men han kendte alt for godt til de gangbare skillinger, jeg fik ikke lov at ligge, hvor jeg lå, jeg blev smidt i ansigtet på konen; hun fik intet brød for mig, og jeg følte mig så inderlig bedrøvet ved at være møntet således til andres fortræd, jeg som i unge dage havde været så frejdig og så sikker; så bevidst om mit værd og mit ægte præg. Jeg blev så melankolsk, som en stakkels skilling kan blive det, når ingen vil have den. Men konen tog mig hjem igen, betragtede mig ret inderligt, mildt og venligt. 'Nej, jeg vil ingen narre med dig!' sagde hun. 'Jeg vil slå et hul i dig, så at enhver kan se, at du er en falsk ting, – og dog, – det falder mig nu så ind, – du er måske en lykkeskilling, ja det vil jeg tro! den tanke kommer over mig. Jeg slår et hul i skillingen, trækker en lidse gennem hullet og giver så nabokonens lille barn skillingen om halsen som lykkeskilling!'
Og hun slog et hul i mig; det er aldrig behageligt at blive slået hul i, men når hensigten er god, kan man tåle meget! en lidse fik jeg igennem mig, blev en slags medalje at bære; jeg blev hængt det lille barn om halsen, og barnet smilede til mig, kyssede mig, og jeg hvilede en hel nat på barnets varme, uskyldige bryst.
I morgenstunden tog moderen mig imellem sine fingre, så på mig og havde sine tanker derved, det fornemmede jeg snart. Hun fik en saks frem og klippede lidsen over."
'Lykkeskilling!' sagde hun. 'Ja det skal vi nu se!' og hun lagde mig i surt, så at jeg blev grøn; derpå kittede hun hullet til, gned mig lidt, og gik så i mørkningen til lotterikollektøren for at få en lotteriseddel, der skulle bringe lykke.
Hvor var jeg ilde til mode! det klemte i mig, som om jeg skulle knække over; jeg vidste, jeg ville blive kaldt falsk og smidt hen og det lige foran den mængde skillinger og mønter, der lå med indskrift og ansigt, som de kunne være stolte af; men jeg slap; der var så mange mennesker hos kollektøren, han havde så travlt, jeg fór klingende i skuffen mellem de andre mønter; om der siden blev vundet på sedlen, ved jeg ikke, men det ved jeg, at allerede den næste dag var jeg kendt som en falsk skilling, lagt til side og sendt ud for at bedrage og altid bedrage. Det er nu ikke til at holde ud, når man har en reel karakter, og den kan jeg ikke nægte mig selv.
I år og dag gik jeg således fra hånd til hånd, fra hus til hus, altid udskældt, altid ilde set; ingen troede mig, og jeg troede ikke mig selv, ikke verden, det var en svær tid.
Da kom en dag en rejsende, ham blev jeg naturligvis snydt på, og han var troskyldig nok til at tage mig for gangbar mønt; men nu skulle han give mig ud, og da hørte jeg igen de råb: 'Dur ikke! falsk!'
'Jeg har fået den for ægte!' sagde manden og så nu ret nøje på mig; da smilede hele hans ansigt, det plejede ellers aldrig noget ansigt ved nøje at se på mig: 'Nej, hvad er dog det!' sagde han. 'Det er jo en af vore egne landets mønter, en god, ærlig skilling hjemmefra, som man har slået hul i og kalder falsk. Det var ganske morsomt det! Dig skal jeg dog opbevare og tage hjem med!'
Det fór af glæde gennem mig, jeg blev kaldt en god, ærlig skilling og hjem skulle jeg, hvor alle og enhver ville kende mig og vide, at jeg var af godt sølv og med ægte præg. Jeg kunne gerne have gnistret af glæde, men det ligger nu ikke i min natur at gnistre, det kan stål, men ikke sølv.
Jeg blev svøbt ind i fint papir, for ikke at blandes med de andre mønter og komme bort; og kun ved festlig lejlighed, når der mødtes landsmænd, blev jeg vist frem og overmåde vel omtalt; de sagde, at jeg var interessant; det er morsomt nok, at man kan være interessant uden at sige et eneste ord!
Og så kom jeg hjem! Al min nød var forbi, min glæde begyndte, jeg var jo af godt sølv, jeg havde det ægte præg, og det var mig slet ikke til fortræd, at man havde slået hul i mig som falsk; det gør ikke noget, når man ikke er det! man skal holde ud; alt kommer i tiden til sin ret! Det er nu min tro!" sagde skillingen.
Nadaljuj z branjem
