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安徒生童話故事第17篇：銅豬The Metal Pig
在現(xiàn)實生活或工作學習中，大家都看過童話吧，童話具有豐富的意義和情感色彩，內(nèi)容更為豐富，也更為深刻。你知道都有哪些經(jīng)典童話故事嗎？以下是小編收集整理的安徒生童話故事第17篇：銅豬The Metal Pig，希望對大家有所幫助。
童話故事：
在佛羅倫薩城①里，離大公爵廣場不遠，有一條小小的橫街，我想它是叫做波爾塔·羅薩。在這條街上的一個蔬菜市場前面，有一只藝術性非常強的銅豬。這個動物因為年代久遠，已經(jīng)變成了墨綠色。一股新鮮清亮的水從它嘴里噴出來。它的鼻子發(fā)著光，好像有人把它擦亮了似的。事實上也是如此：成千上萬的小孩子和窮人，常常用手抓住這動物的鼻子，把嘴湊上去喝水。當你看到一個半裸著的天真孩子緊緊地抱著這只好看的動物，把鮮紅的嘴唇湊到它的鼻子上的時候，這真是一幅美麗的圖畫。
無論什么人，一到佛羅倫薩來就很容易找到這塊地方。他只須問一聲他所碰到的頭一個乞丐，就可以找到這只古銅豬。
這是一個冬天的夜晚，夜深了。山上都蓋滿了雪;可是月亮還在照著，而且意大利的月光，跟陰慘慘的北歐冬天的日光比起來，也不見得有什么遜色。不，比那還要好，因為空氣在發(fā)著光，使人感到輕快;而在北歐呢，那種寒冷、灰色、像鉛一樣的陰沉氣氛，把我們壓到地上——壓到又寒又濕的、將來總有一天會埋葬我們的棺材的地上。
在公爵的花園里，在一片松樹林下面——這兒有一千株玫瑰在冬天開著花——有一個衣衫襤樓的孩子，他坐了一整天。他是意大利的一個縮影：那么美麗，滿臉微笑，但是極端窮苦。他是又饑又渴，誰也不給他一個毫子。天黑了的時候，這花園的門要關了，看守人就把他趕出來。他站在亞爾諾河②的橋上，沉思了好久。他望著星星——它們在他和這座美麗的大理石橋之間的水上閃耀著。
他向那個銅豬走去。他半跪在地上，用雙手抱著它的脖子，同時把小嘴湊到它亮光光的鼻子上去，喝了一大口新鮮水。附近有幾片生菜葉子和一兩個栗子：這就是他的晚餐。這時街上什么人也沒有，只有他一個人。他騎在銅豬的背上，腰向前彎，他長滿了望發(fā)的頭掘到這動物的頭上。在不知不覺之間，他就睡去了。
這是半夜。銅豬動了一下。于是他就聽到它很清楚地說：“你這小家伙，騎穩(wěn)啦，我可要開始跑了!”它就真的背著他跑起來了。這真是一次很滑稽的旅行。他們先跑到大公爵廣場上去。背著那位大公爵塑像的大銅馬高聲地嘶鳴了一陣。老市政府門框上的彩色市徽射出光來，像透亮的圖案;米開朗基羅的“大衛(wèi)”③在揮動擲石器④。這些東西中有一種奇異的生命在搏動著!表現(xiàn)珀爾修斯⑤和薩比尼人的⑥被蹂躪的一系列的古銅像，不僅僅都有生命，而且還發(fā)出一陣死亡的叫聲，在這個孤寂的、美麗的廣場上震響。
銅豬在烏菲齊宮⑦旁的拱道下面停下來了——從前的貴族常常到這兒過狂歡節(jié)。
“騎穩(wěn)啦!”這動物說，“騎穩(wěn)啦，因為我們現(xiàn)在要上樓了。”這小家伙一半兒高興，一半兒吃驚，說不出一句話來。
他們走進一條很長的畫廊。這地方他很熟悉，因為他曾經(jīng)來過。墻上掛滿了畫;這兒還有許多全身像和半身像。它們被最明亮的燈光照著，好像是在白天一樣。不過，當通到旁邊房間的門打開的時候，那景象真是再美麗也沒有了。這孩子記得這兒的華麗景象，不過在今天夜里，一切更顯得非凡地壯麗。
這兒立著一個可愛的裸體婦人，她是那么美，只有大自然和最偉大的藝術家才能把她創(chuàng)造出來。她的美麗的肢體在輕柔地移動;她的腳下有海豚在跳躍;她的雙眼射出永恒不朽的光芒。世人把她叫作美第奇的“維納斯”⑧。她的兩旁立著許多大理石像——它們都被注人了生命的精靈。這些都是美麗的裸體男子;有一個正在磨劍，因此他被叫做磨創(chuàng)人。另一系列的雕像是一群搏斗的武士;斗士們都在磨劍，他們都要爭取這位美的女神。
這孩子在這種壯觀面前感到驚奇。墻上射出種種的光彩，一切都有生命，都能動作。維納斯——現(xiàn)世的維納斯像——豐滿而又熱情，正如提香⑨見到她時一樣，顯出雙重的形象。這真是一種奇觀。這是兩個美麗女人的畫像：她們嬌美的、棵著的肢體伸在柔軟的墊子上;她們的胸脯在起伏地動著，頭也在動著，弄得濃密的馨發(fā)垂到圓潤的肩上，同時那一雙雙烏黑的眼睛表示出她們熾熱的內(nèi)心。不過沒有任何一張畫敢走出畫框。美的女神、斗士和磨創(chuàng)人留在自己的原位上，因為圣母、耶穌和圣約翰所射出的榮光，把他們罩住了。這些神圣的畫像已經(jīng)不再是畫像了，他們就是神本身。
從這一個回到那一個殿，是說不盡的光彩!是說不盡的美麗!這小家伙把這些東西全都看了，因為銅豬是一步一步地走過這些美和這些光。下一幅畫總是沖淡頭一幅畫的印象。只有一幅圖畫在他的靈魂里面深深地生下了根，這是因為它里面有很多幸福的孩子——而這小家伙有一次在大白天里曾經(jīng)對這些孩子點過頭。
有許多人在這幅畫面前漠不關心地走過，而這幅畫卻是一個詩的寶庫。它表現(xiàn)救世主走向地獄。不過他周圍的人并不是受難者，而是邪教徒。這幅畫是佛羅倫薩人安季奧羅·布龍切諾⑩繪的。它里面最美的東西是孩子面上的表情——他們認為自己能走進天國的那種信心;有兩個小家伙已經(jīng)擁抱在一起，還有一個在對那個站在他下面的伸著手，似乎在說：“我要到天國去了!”年紀大的人都站在那兒猶疑，有的在希望。
這孩子把這幅畫看得比任何畫都久，銅豬靜靜地站在畫的前面。這時有一個低微的嘆息聲發(fā)出來了：它是從這幅畫里發(fā)出來的呢，還是從這動物發(fā)出來的?小家伙對那些微笑著的孩子們高舉起手來……于是銅豬就背著他跑出去了，一直跑出那個敞開著的大門。
“我感謝你和祝福你，你——可愛的動物!”小家伙說，同時把銅豬拍了幾下。它就砰!砰!跳下了臺階。
“我也感謝你和祝福你!”銅豬說。“我?guī)椭四悖阋矌椭宋已剑驗橹挥挟斠粋�天真的孩子騎在我背上的時候，我才能有力量跑動!是的。你看吧，我還能走到圣母畫像面前那盞燈的光亮下面去呢。什么地方我都可以把你帶去;只有教堂我不能進去!不過，只要你在我身上，我站在外面就可朝著敞開的大門看見里面的東西了。請你不要從我的背上溜下來吧;因為如果你這樣做，我就會停下來死掉，像你白天在波爾塔·羅薩看到我的那個樣子。”
“我不離開你，我親愛的朋友!”小家伙說。于是他們就以飛快的速度跑過佛羅倫薩的街道，一直跑到圣克魯采教堂前面的廣場上。
教堂的門自動地向兩邊開了，祭壇上的燈光射到教堂外面來，一直射到這孤獨的廣場上。
教堂左邊的一個墓碑上發(fā)出一道奇異的強光，無數(shù)移動著的星星在它周圍形成一道光圈。墓上有一個紋章發(fā)出光輝，一架以綠色為背景的紅色梯子射出火一般的光焰，這就是伽利略⑾的墳墓。這是一個樸素的墓碑，不過這綠地上的紅色梯子是一種極有意義的紋章：它好像就代表藝術，因為藝術的道路總是經(jīng)過一個灼熱的梯子通到天上去的。一切心靈的先知⑿都升到天上，像先知伊里亞⒀一樣。
在教堂的右邊，刻滿了花紋的石棺上的每一個半身像，似乎都具有生命。這兒立著米開朗基羅;那兒立著戴有桂冠的但了、阿爾菲愛里⒁和馬基雅弗利⒂，因為在這兒，偉人們——意大利的光榮——都是并排地躺在一起。這是一座華麗的教堂，比佛羅倫薩的大理石主教堂更美麗，但是沒有那樣寬大。
那些大理石刻的衣服似乎在飄動，那些巨大的石像似乎把頭抬得更高，在黑夜的歌聲和音樂中，朝著那明亮的、射出光彩的祭壇凝望——這兒有一群穿著白衣的孩子在揮動著金制的香爐。強烈的香煙從教堂流到外面空曠的廣場上。
這孩子向這閃耀著的光輝伸出手來。在這同時，銅豬又開始奔跑：他得把它緊緊地抱著。風在他的耳邊呼嘯;他聽到教堂關門的時候，門上的樞軸發(fā)出嘎吱的響聲。在這同時，他的知覺似乎離開了他，他打了一個寒顫，就醒了。
這是早晨。他仍然坐在銅豬的背上，但他差不多已經(jīng)要滾下來了。這只豬仍然像過去一樣，立在波爾塔·羅薩的那塊老地方。
這孩子一想起那個他稱為“母親”的女人，心中就充滿了恐懼和戰(zhàn)栗。她昨天叫他出去討幾個錢回來，到現(xiàn)在他卻一個銅子也沒有弄到手，并且還感到又饑又渴。他又把銅豬的脖子擁抱了一次，吻了吻它的鼻子，對它點點頭，然后就走開了。他走進一條最狹小的街道——狹小得只夠讓一只馱著東西的驢子走過去。一扇用鐵皮包著的大門半掩身。他走。進去，爬上了磚鋪的梯子——梯子兩邊的墻非常臟，只有一根光滑的繩子算是梯子的扶手。他一直爬到曬著許多破衣的陽臺上。從這兒又有一道梯子通到下邊的院子。這里有一口水井，同時有許多鐵絲從這口井牽到各層的樓上。許多水桶并排地懸著;軸轉格格地響起來，于是水桶就在空中東搖西擺，水灑得滿院子都是。另外還有一道要倒的磚梯通到樓上。有兩個俄國水手正在興匆匆地走下樓來，幾乎把這個可憐的孩子撞倒了：他們在這兒狂歡了一夜，正要回到船上去。一個年紀不小的胖女人，長著一頭粗硬的黑發(fā)，送他們下樓。
“你帶了什么東西回來?”她問這孩子。
“請不要生氣吧!”他哀求著。“我什么東西也沒有討到——什么東西也沒有!”他緊抱著“母親”的衣服，好像想要吻它似的。
他們走進一個小房間里去。我不想來描寫它。我只想說一件事情：房間里有一個帶把手的土體子，里面燒著炭火。它的名字叫做“瑪麗多”⒃。她把這缽子抱在懷里，暖著自己的手指。隨后她就用手肘把這孩子一推。
“你總會帶回幾個錢吧?”她問。
孩子哭起來。她用腳踢了他幾下，他哭得更厲害起來。
“請你放安靜一點，不然我就會把你這個尖叫的腦袋敲破!”她舉起手中抱著的火缽打過去。孩子發(fā)出一聲尖叫，倒在地上。這時一位鄰居走進來了，她也抱著一個“瑪麗多”。
“菲麗姬達，你又在對這孩子干什么?”
“這孩子是我的!”菲麗姬達回答說。“只要我高興，就可以把他打死，也可以把你打死，賈妮娜!”
于是她揮舞著火缽。另一位也舉起了火缽，采取自衛(wèi)行動。這兩個火缽互相毆打，弄得碎片、火星和火灰在屋里四處飛揚。可是孩子就在這時候溜出門，穿過天井，跑出去了。這可憐的孩子一直在跑，連氣也喘不過來。他在圣·克魯采教堂面前停下來。頭天晚上這教堂的門還是為他開著的。他走進去。一切都在放射著光輝。他在右邊的第一個墳旁跪下來。這是米開朗基羅的墳。他馬上放聲大哭。有的人來，有的人去。他們念著彌撒，可是誰也沒有理會這孩子。只有一個年老的市民停住望了他一眼，隨后也像其余的人一樣，離去了。
饑渴折磨著這孩子;他已經(jīng)沒有氣力，病了。他爬到墻和大理石墓碑之間的一個角落里，睡著了。這時已經(jīng)將近黃昏，有一個人拉了他一下，把他驚醒了。他跳起來，原來剛才那位老市民正站在他面前。
“你病了嗎?你的家在什么地方?你在這兒待了一整天嗎?”這是這位老人所問的許多問題中的幾個問題。
他回答了。這位老人把他帶到附近一條偏僻的街上的一個小屋子里去。他們來到一個制造手套的店里。當他們走進去的時候，有一個婦人在忙著縫紉。有一只小小的白哈巴狗——它身上的毛剃得精光，人們看得見它鮮紅的皮膚——在桌上跳來跳去，又在這孩子面前翻起跟頭來。
“天真的動物馬上就相互認識了。”女人說。
她撫摸著孩子和小狗。這對善良的夫婦給這孩子一些食物和飲料，同時說他可以在這兒過一夜，第二天裘賽比爸爸可以到他母親面前去講情。他在一個簡陋的小床上睡覺，不過對于他這個常常在硬石板上睡覺的人來說，這床簡直是太舒服了。他睡得很好，夢見那些美麗的繪畫和那只銅豬。
裘賽比爸爸第二天早上出去了。這個可憐的孩子對于這件事并不高興，因為他知道他出去的目的是要把他送回到他母親那兒去。于是他哭起來，吻著那只快樂的小狗。那婦人點點頭，表示同意他們倆的行為。
裘賽比爸爸帶回了什么消息呢?他跟他的太太講了很久的話，而她一直在點著頭，撫摸著孩子的臉。“他是一個很可愛的孩子!”她說。“他也能像你一樣，成為一個很能干的手套匠人!你看，他有多么細致的手指!圣母注定他要成為一位手套制造家。”
孩子留在這家里，婦人教他縫手套;他吃得很好，睡得也很好，而且很快樂，他還開始跟“最美的人兒”——就是這只小狗的名字——開玩笑呢;可是婦人伸出手指來嚇他，罵他，還和他生氣。這觸動了孩子的心事。他在他的小房間里默默地坐著。房間面對一條曬著許多皮的街道;窗子上有很多的鐵欄桿。他睡不著，因為他在想念那只銅豬。這時他忽然聽到外面有一陣“撲嗒!撲嗒!”的聲音。這一定是那只豬了。他跳到窗子那兒去，可是什么也看不見——它已經(jīng)走過去了。
“快幫助先生提他的顏料匣子吧。”太太第二天早上對孩子說。這時他們的一位年輕鄰居——一位畫家——正提著顏料匣子走過。
孩子拿起顏料匣子，跟著這位畫家走了;他們走到美術陳列館，登上臺階——那晚他曾經(jīng)騎著銅豬到這臺階上來過，所以他記得很清楚。他認得出那些半身像和繪畫，那座美麗的大理石雕的維納斯，和那用彩色活靈活現(xiàn)地繪出的維納斯。他又看到了圣母、救世主和圣約翰。
他們在布龍切諾繪的那幅像面前站著，一聲不響。在這幅畫里，耶穌走到下界，許多孩子在他的周圍微笑，幸福地等待走進天國。這個窮苦的孩子也在微笑，因為他覺得好像天國就在眼前。
“你現(xiàn)在回去吧!”畫家站了一會兒，把畫架架好以后說。
“我能看看你畫畫嗎?”孩子問。“我可以看看你在這張白帆布上把那幅畫畫下來嗎?”
“我現(xiàn)在還不能馬上就畫，”畫家回答說。他取出一支黑粉筆。他的手在很快地揮動，眼睛在打量那張偉大的繪畫。雖然他只畫出幾根很細的線條，救世主的形象卻現(xiàn)出來了，像在那張彩色畫里一樣。
“你為什么不走呢?”畫家問。
這孩子默默不語地走回家去。他坐在桌子旁邊學習縫手套。
但是他整天在想那個美術陳列館。因此有時他的針刺著了他的手指，使他顯得很笨拙。不過他再也不去逗著“最美的人兒”玩了。當黃昏到來、門還是開著的時候，他就偷偷地溜出去。這是一個很寒冷、但是星光滿天的晚上，既美麗，又明亮。他走過幾條靜寂的街道，不久就走到銅豬面前來了。他對它彎下腰來，在它光滑的鼻子上吻了一下，于是他就騎上它的背。
“你這個幸福的動物!”他說;“我是多么想念著你啊!我們今天晚上要去逛逛才好。”
銅豬立著一動也不動。新鮮的泉水從它的嘴里噴出來。這小家伙像一個騎師似地坐著。這時他覺得有人在拉他的衣服。他朝旁邊一看，原來是“最美的人兒”來了——那個毛剃得光光的“最美的人兒”。這小狗也是跟他一道偷偷地溜出屋子的，而他卻沒有發(fā)現(xiàn)。“最美的人兒”叫了幾聲，好像是在說：“你看我也來了，為什么你坐在這兒呢?”這條小狗在這塊地方比一條兇猛的蟒蛇還要使這孩子害怕。像那位老太太說的一樣，“最美的人兒”居然跑到街上來了，而且還沒有穿上衣服哩!結果會怎樣呢?小狗除非披上了一塊羔羊皮，它在冬天是從來不出門的。這塊羔羊皮是專為它裁制的。它是用一根紅緞帶系在小狗的脖子上的，此外還有一個蝴蝶結和小鈴擋;另外還有二根帶子系在它的肚子上。當小狗在冬天穿著這樣的衣服和女主人一塊散步的時候，它很像一只羔羊。現(xiàn)在“最美的人兒”卻在外面而沒有穿上衣服!這會產(chǎn)生一個什么結果呢?他做了許許多多的推想。不過他又吻了這銅豬一次，把“最美的人兒”抱進懷里;這小東西凍得發(fā)抖，因此這孩子盡快地向前跑。
“你抱著一件什么東西跑得這樣快?”他在路上遇著的兩個憲兵問他，同時“最美的人兒”也叫起來。“你從什么地方偷來這只漂亮的小狗的?”他們問，并且把小狗從他手中奪過來。
“啊，請把小狗還給我吧!”孩子哀求著。
“假如你沒有偷它，你可以回去告訴家里的人，叫他們到警察局來領取。”接著他們把地址告訴他，就帶著“最美的人兒”走了。
這真是糟糕透頂?shù)氖聝?孩子不知道應該跳到亞爾諾河里去呢，還是回家去坦白一番好。他想，他們一定會把他打死的。
“不過我倒很愿意被打死。如果我死了，我可以去找耶穌和圣母!”于是他回到家里去，準備被打死。
門已經(jīng)關上了，他的手又夠不到門環(huán)。街上什么人也沒有，只有一塊松石頭。他就拿起這塊石頭敲著門。
“是誰?”里面有人問。
“是我，”他說。“‘最美的人兒’逃走了。請開門，打死我吧!”
大家為這“最美的人兒”感到非常狼狽，特別是太太。她馬上朝那經(jīng)常掛著小狗的衣服的墻上看。那塊羔羊皮還在那兒。
“‘最美的人兒’在警察局里!”她大聲叫起來，“你這個壞蛋!你怎樣把它弄出去的，它會凍死的!可憐嬌嫩的小東西，現(xiàn)在落到粗暴的丘八手中去了!
爸爸馬上就出去了——太太慟哭起來，孩子在流著眼淚。住在這幢房子里的人全都跑來了，那位畫家也來了：他把孩子抱在他雙腿中間，問了他許多問題。他從這孩子的一些不連貫的話語中聽到關于銅豬和美術陳列館的整個故事——這故事當然是不太容易理解的。畫家安慰了孩子一番，同時也勸了勸這位太太。不過，等到爸爸把在丘八們手中待過一陣子的“最美的人兒”帶回家以后，她才算安靜下來。隨后大家就非常高興。畫家把這可憐的孩子撫摸了一會兒，同時送給他幾張圖畫。
啊，這些真是可愛的作品——這么些滑稽的腦袋!……特別是那只栩栩如生的銅豬。啊。什么東西也沒有比這好看!只是寥寥幾筆就使它立在紙上，甚至它后面的房子也被畫出來了。
“啊，如果一個人能夠描寫和繪畫，那么他就可以把整個的世界擺在他面前了!”
第二天，當他身邊沒有人的時候，這小家伙拿出一支鉛筆，在圖畫的背面臨摹了那幅銅豬，而他居然做得很成功!——當然有些不太整齊，有點歪歪倒倒，一條腿粗，一條腿細，雖然如此，它的形象仍然很清楚。他自己對這成績感到高興。他看得很清楚，這支鉛筆還不能隨心所欲地靈活使用。不過，到第三天，原來的銅豬旁邊又出現(xiàn)了另一只，而這一只比頭一只要好一百倍，至于第三只，它是非常好，一眼就可以看得出來。
可是手套的生意并不興旺;他的跑腿工作盡可以不慌不忙地去做。銅豬已經(jīng)告訴了他：任何圖畫都可以在紙上畫下來，而佛羅倫薩本身就是一個畫冊，只要人愿意去翻翻它就成。三一廣場⒄上有一個細長的圓柱，上面是正義的女神的雕像。她的眼睛被布蒙著，手中拿著一個天平。馬上她就被移到紙上來了，而移動她的人就正是手套制造匠的這個小學徒。他的畫越積越多，不過全都是些靜物。有一天，“最美的人兒”跳到他面前來了。
“站著不要動!”他說，“我要使你變得美麗，同時叫你留在我的畫冊里面。”
不過“最美的人兒”卻不愿意站著不動，所以他就把它綁起來。它的頭和尾巴都被綁住了，因此它就亂跳亂叫，結果他不得不把繩子拉得更緊。這時太太就來了。
“你這惡毒的孩子!可憐的動物!”她這時能夠說出來的就只是這句話。
她把這孩子推開，踢了他一腳，叫他滾出去——他，這個最忘恩負義的廢料和最惡毒的孩子。于是她一把眼淚一把鼻涕地吻了這只被縊得半死的小小的“最美的人兒”。
正在這時候，那位畫家走上樓來了。故事的轉折點就從這時候開始。
1834年，佛羅倫薩的美術學院舉行了一個展覽會。有兩張并排放著的畫吸引住了許多觀眾。較小的那幅畫表現(xiàn)一個快樂的小孩坐著作畫——他的模特兒是一個毛剃得很光的小白哈巴狗;不過這東西不愿意靜靜地站著，因此它的脖子和尾巴便被一根線綁起來了。這幅畫里有真理，也有生活，因而大家都對它感興趣。畫這幅畫的人據(jù)說是一個年輕的佛羅倫薩的居民。他小時是一個流浪在街頭的孤兒，由一個老手套匠養(yǎng)大，他是自修學好繪畫的。一位馳名的畫家發(fā)現(xiàn)了這個天才，而他發(fā)現(xiàn)的時候恰恰是這個孩子要被趕出去的時候，因為他把太太的一只心愛的小哈巴狗綁起來，想要它做個模特兒。
手套制造匠的徒弟成了一個偉大的畫家：這幅畫本身證明了這一點，而在它旁邊一幅較大的畫更證明了這一點。這里面只是繪著一個人像——一個衣衫襤樓的美貌的孩子，他睡在街上，靠著波爾塔·羅薩街上的那只銅豬⒅。所有的觀眾都知道這個地方。孩子的雙臂搭在這只豬的頭上，而他自己則在呼呼地酣睡。圣母畫像面前的燈對這孩子蒼白細嫩的面孔射出一道強有力的光——這是一張美麗的畫!一架鍍金的大畫框鑲著它，在畫框的一角懸著一個桂花圈;可是在綠葉中間扎著一條黑帶，黑帶上面掛著一塊黑紗。
因為這位青年藝術家在幾天以前死去了!
①這是意大利中部佛羅倫薩(Florrents)的首府。在意大利文里叫做翡冷翠(Firenze)，一般稱為“花的城市”(La citta dei flori)，因為城市里和周圍平原上生長著許多花。城市里還有許多古老的建筑和雕刻，是一個富有藝術價值的城市。
②亞爾諾河(Arno)是意大利中部的一條河，流過佛羅倫薩。
③米開朗基羅(Michelangelo Buonaoti，1475～1564)是意大利文藝復興時期的一個偉大的雕塑家、建筑家和詩人。
④這是古代的一種武器：它是一種兩端系有繩子的皮帶。石塊或子彈放在里面，經(jīng)過一番旋轉，便借離心力射出。
⑤這是指佛羅倫薩的藝術家切利尼(Benvenuto Cellini，1500～1571)雕塑的一個銅像。它表現(xiàn)希臘神話中的勇士珀爾修斯(Perseus)砍掉一個女妖美杜莎(Medusa)的頭。
⑥薩比尼人(Sabine)是住在意大利中部的一個民族。他們在公元前290年被羅馬人所征服。他們的女人受到征服者的大規(guī)模的蹂躪。
⑦這是佛羅倫薩一個有名的繪畫陳列館，意大利文是Palazzo degliuffizi，里面陳列著意大利各個時期的名畫。
⑧這是愛情的女神維納斯(Venus)的名雕像之一。美第奇是佛羅倫薩的統(tǒng)治者，相傳他熱心保護文學、藝術和詩人。
⑨提香(Titian，1477～1576)是意大利威尼斯學派的一個名畫家。
⑩安季奧羅·布龍切諾(Angiolo Broncino，1502～1572)是佛羅倫薩的一個畫家。
⑾伽利略(Galleo，1564—1642)是意大利的天文學家和物理學家，發(fā)現(xiàn)過許多物理學上的定律。他同時是佛羅倫薩大學的教授。
⑿指藝術家。據(jù)基督教《圣經(jīng)》上的意義，先知是指代上帝說教的人。
⒀古代希伯萊民族的一個先知。
⒁阿爾菲愛里(Vittorio Alfieri，1749～1803)是意大利的劇作家和詩人。
⒂馬基雅弗利(Niccolo di Bernardo Machiavelli，1469～1527)是佛羅倫薩的政治家和政治理論家，并且是不擇手段，只求達到目的的潑辣的外交家。
⒃這個字的意大利原文是Marito，即“丈夫”或“愛人”的意思。
⒄原文是：Piazza della Trinita。
⒅銅豬是后來鑄造的。原物很古，是用大理石刻成的豬，立在烏菲齊宮美術陳列館前面的廣場上。
銅豬英文版：
The Metal Pig
IN the city of Florence,not far from the Piazza del Granduca,runs a little street called Porta Rosa. In this street,just in front of the market-place where vegetables are sold,stands a pig,made of brass and curiously formed. The bright color has been changed by age to dark green; but clear,fresh water pours from the snout,which shines as if it had been polished,and so indeed it has,for hundreds of poor people and children seize it in their hands as they place their mouths close to the mouth of the animal,to drink. It is quite a picture to see a half-naked boy clasping the well-formed creature by the head,as he presses his rosy lips against its jaws. Every one who visits Florence can very quickly find the place; he has only to ask the first beggar he meets for the Metal Pig,and he will be told where it is.
It was late on a winter evening; the mountains were covered with snow,but the moon shone brightly,and moonlight in Italy is like a dull winter’s day in the north; indeed it is better,for clear air seems to raise us above the earth,while in the north a cold,gray,leaden sky appears to press us down to earth,even as the cold damp earth shall one day press on us in the grave. In the garden of the grand duke’s palace,under the roof of one of the wings,where a thousand roses bloom in winter,a little ragged boy had been sitting the whole day long; a boy,who might serve as a type of Italy,lovely and smiling,and yet still suffering. He was hungry and thirsty,yet no one gave him anything; and when it became dark,and they were about to close the gardens,the porter turned him out. He stood a long time musing on the bridge which crosses the Arno,and looking at the glittering stars,reflected in the water which flowed between him and the elegant marble bridge Della Trinità. He then walked away towards the Metal Pig,half knelt down,clasped it with his arms,and then put his mouth to the shining snout and drank deep draughts of the fresh water. Close by,lay a few salad-leaves and two chestnuts,which were to serve for his supper. No one was in the street but himself; it belonged only to him,so he boldly seated himself on the pig’s back,leaned forward so that his curly head could rest on the head of the animal,and,before he was aware,he fell asleep.
It was midnight. The Metal Pig raised himself gently,and the boy heard him say quite distinctly,“Hold tight,little boy,for I am going to run;” and away he started for a most wonderful ride. First,they arrived at the Piazza del Granduca,and the metal horse which bears the duke’s statue,neighed aloud. The painted coats-of-arms on the old council-house shone like transparent pictures,and Michael Angelo’s David tossed his sling; it was as if everything had life. The metallic groups of figures,among which were Perseus and the Rape of the Sabines,looked like living persons,and cries of terror sounded from them all across the noble square. By the Palazzo degli Uffizi,in the arcade,where the nobility assemble for the carnival,the Metal Pig stopped. “Hold fast,” said the animal; “hold fast,for I am going up stairs.”
The little boy said not a word; he was half pleased and half afraid. They entered a long gallery,where the boy had been before. The walls were resplendent with paintings; here stood statues and busts,all in a clear light as if it were day. But the grandest appeared when the door of a side room opened; the little boy could remember what beautiful things he had seen there,but to-night everything shone in its brightest colors. Here stood the figure of a beautiful woman,as beautifully sculptured as possible by one of the great masters. Her graceful limbs appeared to move; dolphins sprang at her feet,and immortality shone from her eyes. The world called her the Venus de’ Medici. By her side were statues,in which the spirit of life breathed in stone; figures of men,one of whom whetted his sword,and was named the Grinder; wrestling gladiators formed another group,the sword had been sharpened for them,and they strove for the goddess of beauty. The boy was dazzled by so much glitter; for the walls were gleaming with bright colors,all appeared living reality.
As they passed from hall to hall,beauty everywhere showed itself; and as the Metal Pig went step by step from one picture to the other,the little boy could see it all plainly. One glory eclipsed another; yet there was one picture that fixed itself on the little boy’s memory,more especially because of the happy children it represented,for these the little boy had seen in daylight. Many pass this picture by with indifference,and yet it contains a treasure of poetic feeling; it represents Christ descending into Hades. They are not the lost whom the spectator sees,but the heathen of olden times. The Florentine,Angiolo Bronzino,painted this picture; most beautiful is the expression on the face of the two children,who appear to have full confidence that they shall reach heaven at last. They are embracing each other,and one little one stretches out his hand towards another who stands below him,and points to himself,as if he were saying,“I am going to heaven.” The older people stand as if uncertain,yet hopeful,and they bow in humble adoration to the Lord Jesus. On this picture the boy’s eyes rested longer than on any other: the Metal Pig stood still before it. A low sigh was heard. Did it come from the picture or from the animal? The boy raised his hands towards the smiling children,and then the Pig ran off with him through the open vestibule.
“Thank you,thank you,you beautiful animal,” said the little boy,caressing the Metal Pig as it ran down the steps.
“Thanks to yourself also,” replied the Metal Pig; “I have helped you and you have helped me,for it is only when I have an innocent child on my back that I receive the power to run. Yes; as you see,I can even venture under the rays of the lamp,in front of the picture of the Madonna,but I may not enter the church; still from without,and while you are upon my back,I may look in through the open door. Do not get down yet,for if you do,then I shall be lifeless,as you have seen me in the Porta Rosa.”
“I will stay with you,my dear creature,” said the little boy. So then they went on at a rapid pace through the streets of Florence,till they came to the square before the church of Santa Croce. The folding-doors flew open,and light streamed from the altar through the church into the deserted square. A wonderful blaze of light streamed from one of the monuments in the left-side aisle,and a thousand moving stars seemed to form a glory round it; even the coat-of-arms on the tomb-stone shone,and a red ladder on a blue field gleamed like fire. It was the grave of Galileo. The monument is unadorned,but the red ladder is an emblem of art,signifying that the way to glory leads up a shining ladder,on which the prophets of mind rise to heaven,like Elias of old. In the right aisle of the church every statue on the richly carved sarcophagi seemed endowed with life. Here stood Michael Angelo; there Dante,with the laurel wreath round his brow; Alfieri and Machiavelli; for here side by side rest the great men—the pride of Italy.1 The church itself is very beautiful,even more beautiful than the marble cathedral at Florence,though not so large. It seemed as if the carved vestments stirred,and as if the marble figures they covered raised their heads higher,to gaze upon the brightly colored glowing altar where the white-robed boys swung the golden censers,amid music and song,while the strong fragrance of incense filled the church,and streamed forth into the square. The boy stretched forth his hands towards the light,and at the same moment the Metal Pig started again so rapidly that he was obliged to cling tightly to him. The wind whistled in his ears,he heard the church door creak on its hinges as it closed,and it seemed to him as if he had lost his senses— then a cold shudder passed over him,and he awoke.
It was morning; the Metal Pig stood in its old place on the Porta Rosa,and the boy found he had slipped nearly off its back. Fear and trembling came upon him as he thought of his mother; she had sent him out the day before to get some money,he had not done so,and now he was hungry and thirsty. Once more he clasped the neck of his metal horse,kissed its nose,and nodded farewell to it. Then he wandered away into one of the narrowest streets,where there was scarcely room for a loaded donkey to pass. A great iron-bound door stood ajar; he passed through,and climbed up a brick staircase,with dirty walls and a rope for a balustrade,till he came to an open gallery hung with rags. From here a flight of steps led down to a court,where from a well water was drawn up by iron rollers to the different stories of the house,and where the water-buckets hung side by side. Sometimes the roller and the bucket danced in the air,splashing the water all over the court. Another broken-down staircase led from the gallery,and two Russian sailors running down it almost upset the poor boy. They were coming from their nightly carousal. A woman not very young,with an unpleasant face and a quantity of black hair,followed them. “What have you brought home?” she asked. when she saw the boy.
“Don’t be angry,” he pleaded; “I received nothing,I have nothing at all;” and he seized his mother’s dress and would have kissed it. Then they went into a little room. I need not describe it,but only say that there stood in it an earthen pot with handles,made for holding fire,which in Italy is called a marito.This pot she took in her lap,warmed her fingers,and pushed the boy with her elbow.
“Certainly you must have some money,” she said. The boy began to cry,and then she struck him with her foot till he cried out louder.
“Will you be quiet? or I’ll break your screaming head;” and she swung about the fire-pot which she held in her hand,while the boy crouched to the earth and screamed.
Then a neighbor came in,and she had also a marito under her arm. “Felicita,” she said,“what are you doing to the child?”
“The child is mine,” she answered; “I can murder him if I like,and you too,Giannina.” And then she swung about the fire-pot. The other woman lifted up hers to defend herself,and the two pots clashed together so violently that they were dashed to pieces,and fire and ashes flew about the room. The boy rushed out at the sight,sped across the courtyard,and fled from the house. The poor child ran till he was quite out of breath; at last he stopped at the church,the doors of which were opened to him the night before,and went in. Here everything was bright,and the boy knelt down by the first tomb on his right,the grave of Michael Angelo,and sobbed as if his heart would break. People came and went,mass was performed,but no one noticed the boy,excepting an elderly citizen,who stood still and looked at him for a moment,and then went away like the rest. Hunger and thirst overpowered the child,and he became quite faint and ill. At last he crept into a corner behind the marble monuments,and went to sleep. Towards evening he was awakened by a pull at his sleeve; he started up,and the same old citizen stood before him.
“Are you ill? where do you live? have you been here all day?” were some of the questions asked by the old man. After hearing his answers,the old man took him home to a small house close by,in a back street. They entered a glovemaker’s shop,where a woman sat sewing busily. A little white poodle,so closely shaven that his pink skin could plainly be seen,frisked about the room,and gambolled upon the boy.
“Innocent souls are soon intimate,” said the woman,as she caressed both the boy and the dog. These good people gave the child food and drink,and said he should stay with them all night,and that the next day the old man,who was called Giuseppe,would go and speak to his mother. A little homely bed was prepared for him,but to him who had so often slept on the hard stones it was a royal couch,and he slept sweetly and dreamed of the splendid pictures and of the Metal Pig. Giuseppe went out the next morning,and the poor child was not glad to see him go,for he knew that the old man was gone to his mother,and that,perhaps,he would have to go back. He wept at the thought,and then he played with the little,lively dog,and kissed it,while the old woman looked kindly at him to encourage him. And what news did Giuseppe bring back? At first the boy could not hear,for he talked a great deal to his wife,and she nodded and stroked the boy’s cheek.
Then she said,“He is a good lad,he shall stay with us,he may become a clever glovemaker,like you. Look what delicate fingers he has got; Madonna intended him for a glovemaker.” So the boy stayed with them,and the woman herself taught him to sew; and he ate well,and slept well,and became very merry. But at last he began to tease Bellissima,as the little dog was called. This made the woman angry,and she scolded him and threatened him,which made him very unhappy,and he went and sat in his own room full of sad thoughts. This chamber looked upon the street,in which hung skins to dry,and there were thick iron bars across his window. That night he lay awake,thinking of the Metal Pig; indeed,it was always in his thoughts. Suddenly he fancied he heard feet outside going pit-a-pat. He sprung out of bed and went to the window. Could it be the Metal Pig? But there was nothing to be seen; whatever he had heard had passed already. Next morning,their neighbor,the artist,passed by,carrying a paint-box and a large roll of canvas.
“Help the gentleman to carry his box of colors,” said the woman to the boy; and he obeyed instantly,took the box,and followed the painter. They walked on till they reached the picture gallery,and mounted the same staircase up which he had ridden that night on the Metal Pig. He remembered all the statues and pictures,the beautiful marble Venus,and again he looked at the Madonna with the Saviour and St. John. They stopped before the picture by Bronzino,in which Christ is represented as standing in the lower world,with the children smiling before Him,in the sweet expectation of entering heaven; and the poor boy smiled,too,for here was his heaven.
“You may go home now,” said the painter,while the boy stood watching him,till he had set up his easel.
“May I see you paint?” asked the boy; “may I see you put the picture on this white canvas?”
“I am not going to paint yet,” replied the artist; then he brought out a piece of chalk. His hand moved quickly,and his eye measured the great picture; and though nothing appeared but a faint line,the figure of the Saviour was as clearly visible as in the colored picture.
“Why don’t you go?” said the painter. Then the boy wandered home silently,and seated himself on the table,and learned to sew gloves. But all day long his thoughts were in the picture gallery; and so he pricked his fingers and was awkward. But he did not tease Bellissima. When evening came,and the house door stood open,he slipped out. It was a bright,beautiful,starlight evening,but rather cold. Away he went through the already-deserted streets,and soon came to the Metal Pig; he stooped down and kissed its shining nose,and then seated himself on its back.
“You happy creature,” he said; “how I have longed for you! we must take a ride to-night.”
But the Metal Pig lay motionless,while the fresh stream gushed forth from its mouth. The little boy still sat astride on its back,when he felt something pulling at his clothes. He looked down,and there was Bellissima,little smooth-shaven Bellissima,barking as if she would have said,“Here I am too; why are you sitting there?”
A fiery dragon could not have frightened the little boy so much as did the little dog in this place. “Bellissima in the street,and not dressed!” as the old lady called it; “what would be the end of this?”
The dog never went out in winter,unless she was attired in a little lambskin coat which had been made for her; it was fastened round the little dog’s neck and body with red ribbons,and was decorated with rosettes and little bells. The dog looked almost like a little kid when she was allowed to go out in winter,and trot after her mistress. And now here she was in the cold,and not dressed. Oh,how would it end? All his fancies were quickly put to flight; yet he kissed the Metal Pig once more,and then took Bellissima in his arms. The poor little thing trembled so with cold,that the boy ran homeward as fast as he could.
“What are you running away with there?” asked two of the police whom he met,and at whom the dog barked. “Where have you stolen that pretty dog?” they asked; and they took it away from him.
“Oh,I have not stolen it; do give it to me back again,” cried the boy,despairingly.
“If you have not stolen it,you may say at home that they can send to the watch-house for the dog.” Then they told him where the watch-house was,and went away with Bellissima.
Here was a dreadful trouble. The boy did not know whether he had better jump into the Arno,or go home and confess everything. They would certainly kill him,he thought.
“Well,I would gladly be killed,” he reasoned; “for then I shall die,and go to heaven:” and so he went home,almost hoping for death.
The door was locked,and he could not reach the knocker. No one was in the street; so he took up a stone,and with it made a tremendous noise at the door.
“Who is there?” asked somebody from within.
“It is I,” said he. “Bellissima is gone. Open the door,and then kill me.”
Then indeed there was a great panic. Madame was so very fond of Bellissima. She immediately looked at the wall where the dog’s dress usually hung; and there was the little lambskin.
“Bellissima in the watch-house!” she cried. “You bad boy! how did you entice her out? Poor little delicate thing,with those rough policemen! and she’ll be frozen with cold.”
Giuseppe went off at once,while his wife lamented,and the boy wept. Several of the neighbors came in,and amongst them the painter. He took the boy between his knees,and questioned him; and,in broken sentences,he soon heard the whole story,and also about the Metal Pig,and the wonderful ride to the picture-gallery,which was certainly rather incomprehensible. The painter,however,consoled the little fellow,and tried to soften the lady’s anger; but she would not be pacified till her husband returned with Bellissima,who had been with the police. Then there was great rejoicing,and the painter caressed the boy,and gave him a number of pictures. Oh,what beautiful pictures these were!—figures with funny heads; and,above all,the Metal Pig was there too. Oh,nothing could be more delightful. By means of a few strokes,it was made to appear on the paper; and even the house that stood behind it had been sketched in. Oh,if he could only draw and paint! He who could do this could conjure all the world before him. The first leisure moment during the next day,the boy got a pencil,and on the back of one of the other drawings he attempted to copy the drawing of the Metal Pig,and he succeeded. Certainly it was rather crooked,rather up and down,one leg thick,and another thin; still it was like the copy,and he was overjoyed at what he had done. The pencil would not go quite as it ought,—he had found that out; but the next day he tried again. A second pig was drawn by the side of the first,and this looked a hundred times better; and the third attempt was so good,that everybody might know what it was meant to represent.
And now the glovemaking went on but slowly. The orders given by the shops in the town were not finished quickly; for the Metal Pig had taught the boy that all objects may be drawn upon paper; and Florence is a picture-book in itself for any one who chooses to turn over its pages. On the Piazza dell Trinita stands a slender pillar,and upon it is the goddess of Justice,blindfolded,with her scales in her hand. She was soon represented on paper,and it was the glovemaker’s boy who placed her there. His collection of pictures increased; but as yet they were only copies of lifeless objects,when one day Bellissima came gambolling before him: “Stand still,” cried he,“and I will draw you beautifully,to put amongst my collection.”
But Bellissima would not stand still,so she must be bound fast in one position. He tied her head and tail; but she barked and jumped,and so pulled and tightened the string,that she was nearly strangled; and just then her mistress walked in.
“You wicked boy! the poor little creature!” was all she could utter.
She pushed the boy from her,thrust him away with her foot,called him a most ungrateful,good-for-nothing,wicked boy,and forbade him to enter the house again. Then she wept,and kissed her little half-strangled Bellissima. At this moment the painter entered the room. In the year 1834 there was an exhibition in the Academy of Arts at Florence. Two pictures,placed side by side,attracted a large number of spectators. The smaller of the two represented a little boy sitting at a table,drawing; before him was a little white poodle,curiously shaven; but as the animal would not stand still,it had been fastened with a string to its head and tail,to keep it in one position. The truthfulness and life in this picture interested every one. The painter was said to be a young Florentine,who had been found in the streets,when a child,by an old glovemaker,who had brought him up. The boy had taught himself to draw: it was also said that a young artist,now famous,had discovered talent in the child just as he was about to be sent away for having tied up madame’s favorite little dog,and using it as a model. The glovemaker’s boy had also become a great painter,as the picture proved; but the larger picture by its side was a still greater proof of his talent. It represented a handsome boy,clothed in rags,lying asleep,and leaning against the Metal Pig in the street of the Porta Rosa. All the spectators knew the spot well. The child’s arms were round the neck of the Pig,and he was in a deep sleep. The lamp before the picture of the Madonna threw a strong,effective light on the pale,delicate face of the child. It was a beautiful picture. A large gilt frame surrounded it,and on one corner of the frame a laurel wreath had been hung; but a black band,twined unseen among the green leaves,and a streamer of crape,hung down from it; for within the last few days the young artist had died.
讀后感：
我這幾天剛讀完一本《銅豬》的書，感受頗深。
在意大利的佛羅倫薩城里，有一只銅鑄的豬，它的嘴里成天成夜地噴流著一股清涼的泉水。
一天晚上，一個男孩來到它的身邊。男孩抱著銅豬的脖子，喝了一大口水，這就是他的晚餐。然后，他爬到銅豬的背上。銅豬突然對他說：“坐穩(wěn)了，我要跑了。”一直帶著他跑到了美術館。
整個美術館就像過狂歡節(jié)時一樣富麗堂皇。這邊維納斯女神站在海豚身上，正從美麗的泡沫里升起。女神神奇般的復活了。那邊基督圣像也發(fā)出神圣的光，身體微微地動著，一群即將成為天使的小孩簇擁著他。這是一幅多么美麗的畫啊！男孩一直向那些天使揮著手，直到銅豬帶著他離開。
第二天早上，人們看見有個男孩騎在銅豬的背上正香。“只有天真、善良的孩子騎在我的背上，我才有力量跑動。”銅豬悄悄地說。
這本書里的主人公雖然窮，但他天真、善良，一定會有好的回報的。
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