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安徒生童话故事第17篇：铜猪The Metal Pig
在现实生活或工作学习中，大家都看过童话吧，童话具有丰富的意义和情感色彩，内容更为丰富，也更为深刻。你知道都有哪些经典童话故事吗？以下是小编收集整理的安徒生童话故事第17篇：铜猪The Metal Pig，希望对大家有所帮助。
童话故事：
在佛罗伦萨城①里，离大公爵广场不远，有一条小小的横街，我想它是叫做波尔塔·罗萨。在这条街上的一个蔬菜市场前面，有一只艺术性非常强的铜猪。这个动物因为年代久远，已经变成了墨绿色。一股新鲜清亮的水从它嘴里喷出来。它的鼻子发着光，好像有人把它擦亮了似的。事实上也是如此：成千上万的小孩子和穷人，常常用手抓住这动物的鼻子，把嘴凑上去喝水。当你看到一个半裸着的天真孩子紧紧地抱着这只好看的动物，把鲜红的嘴唇凑到它的鼻子上的时候，这真是一幅美丽的图画。
无论什么人，一到佛罗伦萨来就很容易找到这块地方。他只须问一声他所碰到的头一个乞丐，就可以找到这只古铜猪。
这是一个冬天的夜晚，夜深了。山上都盖满了雪;可是月亮还在照着，而且意大利的月光，跟阴惨惨的北欧冬天的日光比起来，也不见得有什么逊色。不，比那还要好，因为空气在发着光，使人感到轻快;而在北欧呢，那种寒冷、灰色、像铅一样的阴沉气氛，把我们压到地上——压到又寒又湿的、将来总有一天会埋葬我们的棺材的地上。
在公爵的花园里，在一片松树林下面——这儿有一千株玫瑰在冬天开着花——有一个衣衫褴楼的孩子，他坐了一整天。他是意大利的一个缩影：那么美丽，满脸微笑，但是极端穷苦。他是又饥又渴，谁也不给他一个毫子。天黑了的时候，这花园的门要关了，看守人就把他赶出来。他站在亚尔诺河②的桥上，沉思了好久。他望着星星——它们在他和这座美丽的大理石桥之间的水上闪耀着。
他向那个铜猪走去。他半跪在地上，用双手抱着它的脖子，同时把小嘴凑到它亮光光的鼻子上去，喝了一大口新鲜水。附近有几片生菜叶子和一两个栗子：这就是他的晚餐。这时街上什么人也没有，只有他一个人。他骑在铜猪的背上，腰向前弯，他长满了望发的头掘到这动物的头上。在不知不觉之间，他就睡去了。
这是半夜。铜猪动了一下。于是他就听到它很清楚地说：“你这小家伙，骑稳啦，我可要开始跑了!”它就真的背着他跑起来了。这真是一次很滑稽的旅行。他们先跑到大公爵广场上去。背着那位大公爵塑像的大铜马高声地嘶鸣了一阵。老市政府门框上的彩色市徽射出光来，像透亮的图案;米开朗基罗的“大卫”③在挥动掷石器④。这些东西中有一种奇异的生命在搏动着!表现珀尔修斯⑤和萨比尼人的⑥被蹂躏的一系列的古铜像，不仅仅都有生命，而且还发出一阵死亡的叫声，在这个孤寂的、美丽的广场上震响。
铜猪在乌菲齐宫⑦旁的拱道下面停下来了——从前的贵族常常到这儿过狂欢节。
“骑稳啦!”这动物说，“骑稳啦，因为我们现在要上楼了。”这小家伙一半儿高兴，一半儿吃惊，说不出一句话来。
他们走进一条很长的画廊。这地方他很熟悉，因为他曾经来过。墙上挂满了画;这儿还有许多全身像和半身像。它们被最明亮的灯光照着，好像是在白天一样。不过，当通到旁边房间的门打开的时候，那景象真是再美丽也没有了。这孩子记得这儿的华丽景象，不过在今天夜里，一切更显得非凡地壮丽。
这儿立着一个可爱的裸体妇人，她是那么美，只有大自然和最伟大的艺术家才能把她创造出来。她的美丽的肢体在轻柔地移动;她的脚下有海豚在跳跃;她的双眼射出永恒不朽的光芒。世人把她叫作美第奇的“维纳斯”⑧。她的两旁立着许多大理石像——它们都被注人了生命的精灵。这些都是美丽的裸体男子;有一个正在磨剑，因此他被叫做磨创人。另一系列的雕像是一群搏斗的武士;斗士们都在磨剑，他们都要争取这位美的女神。
这孩子在这种壮观面前感到惊奇。墙上射出种种的光彩，一切都有生命，都能动作。维纳斯——现世的维纳斯像——丰满而又热情，正如提香⑨见到她时一样，显出双重的形象。这真是一种奇观。这是两个美丽女人的画像：她们娇美的、棵着的肢体伸在柔软的垫子上;她们的胸脯在起伏地动着，头也在动着，弄得浓密的馨发垂到圆润的肩上，同时那一双双乌黑的眼睛表示出她们炽热的内心。不过没有任何一张画敢走出画框。美的女神、斗士和磨创人留在自己的原位上，因为圣母、耶稣和圣约翰所射出的荣光，把他们罩住了。这些神圣的画像已经不再是画像了，他们就是神本身。
从这一个回到那一个殿，是说不尽的光彩!是说不尽的美丽!这小家伙把这些东西全都看了，因为铜猪是一步一步地走过这些美和这些光。下一幅画总是冲淡头一幅画的印象。只有一幅图画在他的灵魂里面深深地生下了根，这是因为它里面有很多幸福的孩子——而这小家伙有一次在大白天里曾经对这些孩子点过头。
有许多人在这幅画面前漠不关心地走过，而这幅画却是一个诗的宝库。它表现救世主走向地狱。不过他周围的人并不是受难者，而是邪教徒。这幅画是佛罗伦萨人安季奥罗·布龙切诺⑩绘的。它里面最美的东西是孩子面上的表情——他们认为自己能走进天国的那种信心;有两个小家伙已经拥抱在一起，还有一个在对那个站在他下面的伸着手，似乎在说：“我要到天国去了!”年纪大的人都站在那儿犹疑，有的在希望。
这孩子把这幅画看得比任何画都久，铜猪静静地站在画的前面。这时有一个低微的叹息声发出来了：它是从这幅画里发出来的呢，还是从这动物发出来的?小家伙对那些微笑着的孩子们高举起手来……于是铜猪就背着他跑出去了，一直跑出那个敞开着的大门。
“我感谢你和祝福你，你——可爱的动物!”小家伙说，同时把铜猪拍了几下。它就砰!砰!跳下了台阶。
“我也感谢你和祝福你!”铜猪说。“我帮助了你，你也帮助了我呀，因为只有当一个天真的孩子骑在我背上的时候，我才能有力量跑动!是的。你看吧，我还能走到圣母画像面前那盏灯的光亮下面去呢。什么地方我都可以把你带去;只有教堂我不能进去!不过，只要你在我身上，我站在外面就可朝着敞开的大门看见里面的东西了。请你不要从我的背上溜下来吧;因为如果你这样做，我就会停下来死掉，像你白天在波尔塔·罗萨看到我的那个样子。”
“我不离开你，我亲爱的朋友!”小家伙说。于是他们就以飞快的速度跑过佛罗伦萨的街道，一直跑到圣克鲁采教堂前面的广场上。
教堂的门自动地向两边开了，祭坛上的灯光射到教堂外面来，一直射到这孤独的广场上。
教堂左边的一个墓碑上发出一道奇异的强光，无数移动着的星星在它周围形成一道光圈。墓上有一个纹章发出光辉，一架以绿色为背景的红色梯子射出火一般的光焰，这就是伽利略⑾的坟墓。这是一个朴素的墓碑，不过这绿地上的红色梯子是一种极有意义的纹章：它好像就代表艺术，因为艺术的道路总是经过一个灼热的梯子通到天上去的。一切心灵的先知⑿都升到天上，像先知伊里亚⒀一样。
在教堂的右边，刻满了花纹的石棺上的每一个半身像，似乎都具有生命。这儿立着米开朗基罗;那儿立着戴有桂冠的但了、阿尔菲爱里⒁和马基雅弗利⒂，因为在这儿，伟人们——意大利的光荣——都是并排地躺在一起。这是一座华丽的教堂，比佛罗伦萨的大理石主教堂更美丽，但是没有那样宽大。
那些大理石刻的衣服似乎在飘动，那些巨大的石像似乎把头抬得更高，在黑夜的歌声和音乐中，朝着那明亮的、射出光彩的祭坛凝望——这儿有一群穿着白衣的孩子在挥动着金制的香炉。强烈的香烟从教堂流到外面空旷的广场上。
这孩子向这闪耀着的光辉伸出手来。在这同时，铜猪又开始奔跑：他得把它紧紧地抱着。风在他的耳边呼啸;他听到教堂关门的时候，门上的枢轴发出嘎吱的响声。在这同时，他的知觉似乎离开了他，他打了一个寒颤，就醒了。
这是早晨。他仍然坐在铜猪的背上，但他差不多已经要滚下来了。这只猪仍然像过去一样，立在波尔塔·罗萨的那块老地方。
这孩子一想起那个他称为“母亲”的女人，心中就充满了恐惧和战栗。她昨天叫他出去讨几个钱回来，到现在他却一个铜子也没有弄到手，并且还感到又饥又渴。他又把铜猪的脖子拥抱了一次，吻了吻它的鼻子，对它点点头，然后就走开了。他走进一条最狭小的街道——狭小得只够让一只驮着东西的驴子走过去。一扇用铁皮包着的大门半掩身。他走。进去，爬上了砖铺的梯子——梯子两边的墙非常脏，只有一根光滑的绳子算是梯子的扶手。他一直爬到晒着许多破衣的阳台上。从这儿又有一道梯子通到下边的院子。这里有一口水井，同时有许多铁丝从这口井牵到各层的楼上。许多水桶并排地悬着;轴转格格地响起来，于是水桶就在空中东摇西摆，水洒得满院子都是。另外还有一道要倒的砖梯通到楼上。有两个俄国水手正在兴匆匆地走下楼来，几乎把这个可怜的孩子撞倒了：他们在这儿狂欢了一夜，正要回到船上去。一个年纪不小的胖女人，长着一头粗硬的黑发，送他们下楼。
“你带了什么东西回来?”她问这孩子。
“请不要生气吧!”他哀求着。“我什么东西也没有讨到——什么东西也没有!”他紧抱着“母亲”的衣服，好像想要吻它似的。
他们走进一个小房间里去。我不想来描写它。我只想说一件事情：房间里有一个带把手的土体子，里面烧着炭火。它的名字叫做“玛丽多”⒃。她把这钵子抱在怀里，暖着自己的手指。随后她就用手肘把这孩子一推。
“你总会带回几个钱吧?”她问。
孩子哭起来。她用脚踢了他几下，他哭得更厉害起来。
“请你放安静一点，不然我就会把你这个尖叫的脑袋敲破!”她举起手中抱着的火钵打过去。孩子发出一声尖叫，倒在地上。这时一位邻居走进来了，她也抱着一个“玛丽多”。
“菲丽姬达，你又在对这孩子干什么?”
“这孩子是我的!”菲丽姬达回答说。“只要我高兴，就可以把他打死，也可以把你打死，贾妮娜!”
于是她挥舞着火钵。另一位也举起了火钵，采取自卫行动。这两个火钵互相殴打，弄得碎片、火星和火灰在屋里四处飞扬。可是孩子就在这时候溜出门，穿过天井，跑出去了。这可怜的孩子一直在跑，连气也喘不过来。他在圣·克鲁采教堂面前停下来。头天晚上这教堂的门还是为他开着的。他走进去。一切都在放射着光辉。他在右边的第一个坟旁跪下来。这是米开朗基罗的坟。他马上放声大哭。有的人来，有的人去。他们念着弥撒，可是谁也没有理会这孩子。只有一个年老的市民停住望了他一眼，随后也像其余的人一样，离去了。
饥渴折磨着这孩子;他已经没有气力，病了。他爬到墙和大理石墓碑之间的一个角落里，睡着了。这时已经将近黄昏，有一个人拉了他一下，把他惊醒了。他跳起来，原来刚才那位老市民正站在他面前。
“你病了吗?你的家在什么地方?你在这儿待了一整天吗?”这是这位老人所问的许多问题中的几个问题。
他回答了。这位老人把他带到附近一条偏僻的街上的一个小屋子里去。他们来到一个制造手套的店里。当他们走进去的时候，有一个妇人在忙着缝纫。有一只小小的白哈巴狗——它身上的毛剃得精光，人们看得见它鲜红的皮肤——在桌上跳来跳去，又在这孩子面前翻起跟头来。
“天真的动物马上就相互认识了。”女人说。
她抚摸着孩子和小狗。这对善良的夫妇给这孩子一些食物和饮料，同时说他可以在这儿过一夜，第二天裘赛比爸爸可以到他母亲面前去讲情。他在一个简陋的小床上睡觉，不过对于他这个常常在硬石板上睡觉的人来说，这床简直是太舒服了。他睡得很好，梦见那些美丽的绘画和那只铜猪。
裘赛比爸爸第二天早上出去了。这个可怜的孩子对于这件事并不高兴，因为他知道他出去的目的是要把他送回到他母亲那儿去。于是他哭起来，吻着那只快乐的小狗。那妇人点点头，表示同意他们俩的行为。
裘赛比爸爸带回了什么消息呢?他跟他的太太讲了很久的话，而她一直在点着头，抚摸着孩子的脸。“他是一个很可爱的孩子!”她说。“他也能像你一样，成为一个很能干的手套匠人!你看，他有多么细致的手指!圣母注定他要成为一位手套制造家。”
孩子留在这家里，妇人教他缝手套;他吃得很好，睡得也很好，而且很快乐，他还开始跟“最美的人儿”——就是这只小狗的名字——开玩笑呢;可是妇人伸出手指来吓他，骂他，还和他生气。这触动了孩子的心事。他在他的小房间里默默地坐着。房间面对一条晒着许多皮的街道;窗子上有很多的铁栏杆。他睡不着，因为他在想念那只铜猪。这时他忽然听到外面有一阵“扑嗒!扑嗒!”的声音。这一定是那只猪了。他跳到窗子那儿去，可是什么也看不见——它已经走过去了。
“快帮助先生提他的颜料匣子吧。”太太第二天早上对孩子说。这时他们的一位年轻邻居——一位画家——正提着颜料匣子走过。
孩子拿起颜料匣子，跟着这位画家走了;他们走到美术陈列馆，登上台阶——那晚他曾经骑着铜猪到这台阶上来过，所以他记得很清楚。他认得出那些半身像和绘画，那座美丽的大理石雕的维纳斯，和那用彩色活灵活现地绘出的维纳斯。他又看到了圣母、救世主和圣约翰。
他们在布龙切诺绘的那幅像面前站着，一声不响。在这幅画里，耶稣走到下界，许多孩子在他的周围微笑，幸福地等待走进天国。这个穷苦的孩子也在微笑，因为他觉得好像天国就在眼前。
“你现在回去吧!”画家站了一会儿，把画架架好以后说。
“我能看看你画画吗?”孩子问。“我可以看看你在这张白帆布上把那幅画画下来吗?”
“我现在还不能马上就画，”画家回答说。他取出一支黑粉笔。他的手在很快地挥动，眼睛在打量那张伟大的绘画。虽然他只画出几根很细的线条，救世主的形象却现出来了，像在那张彩色画里一样。
“你为什么不走呢?”画家问。
这孩子默默不语地走回家去。他坐在桌子旁边学习缝手套。
但是他整天在想那个美术陈列馆。因此有时他的针刺着了他的手指，使他显得很笨拙。不过他再也不去逗着“最美的人儿”玩了。当黄昏到来、门还是开着的时候，他就偷偷地溜出去。这是一个很寒冷、但是星光满天的晚上，既美丽，又明亮。他走过几条静寂的街道，不久就走到铜猪面前来了。他对它弯下腰来，在它光滑的鼻子上吻了一下，于是他就骑上它的背。
“你这个幸福的动物!”他说;“我是多么想念着你啊!我们今天晚上要去逛逛才好。”
铜猪立着一动也不动。新鲜的泉水从它的嘴里喷出来。这小家伙像一个骑师似地坐着。这时他觉得有人在拉他的衣服。他朝旁边一看，原来是“最美的人儿”来了——那个毛剃得光光的“最美的人儿”。这小狗也是跟他一道偷偷地溜出屋子的，而他却没有发现。“最美的人儿”叫了几声，好像是在说：“你看我也来了，为什么你坐在这儿呢?”这条小狗在这块地方比一条凶猛的蟒蛇还要使这孩子害怕。像那位老太太说的一样，“最美的人儿”居然跑到街上来了，而且还没有穿上衣服哩!结果会怎样呢?小狗除非披上了一块羔羊皮，它在冬天是从来不出门的。这块羔羊皮是专为它裁制的。它是用一根红缎带系在小狗的脖子上的，此外还有一个蝴蝶结和小铃挡;另外还有二根带子系在它的肚子上。当小狗在冬天穿着这样的衣服和女主人一块散步的时候，它很像一只羔羊。现在“最美的人儿”却在外面而没有穿上衣服!这会产生一个什么结果呢?他做了许许多多的推想。不过他又吻了这铜猪一次，把“最美的人儿”抱进怀里;这小东西冻得发抖，因此这孩子尽快地向前跑。
“你抱着一件什么东西跑得这样快?”他在路上遇着的两个宪兵问他，同时“最美的人儿”也叫起来。“你从什么地方偷来这只漂亮的小狗的?”他们问，并且把小狗从他手中夺过来。
“啊，请把小狗还给我吧!”孩子哀求着。
“假如你没有偷它，你可以回去告诉家里的人，叫他们到警察局来领取。”接着他们把地址告诉他，就带着“最美的人儿”走了。
这真是糟糕透顶的事儿!孩子不知道应该跳到亚尔诺河里去呢，还是回家去坦白一番好。他想，他们一定会把他打死的。
“不过我倒很愿意被打死。如果我死了，我可以去找耶稣和圣母!”于是他回到家里去，准备被打死。
门已经关上了，他的手又够不到门环。街上什么人也没有，只有一块松石头。他就拿起这块石头敲着门。
“是谁?”里面有人问。
“是我，”他说。“‘最美的人儿’逃走了。请开门，打死我吧!”
大家为这“最美的人儿”感到非常狼狈，特别是太太。她马上朝那经常挂着小狗的衣服的墙上看。那块羔羊皮还在那儿。
“‘最美的人儿’在警察局里!”她大声叫起来，“你这个坏蛋!你怎样把它弄出去的，它会冻死的!可怜娇嫩的小东西，现在落到粗暴的丘八手中去了!
爸爸马上就出去了——太太恸哭起来，孩子在流着眼泪。住在这幢房子里的人全都跑来了，那位画家也来了：他把孩子抱在他双腿中间，问了他许多问题。他从这孩子的一些不连贯的话语中听到关于铜猪和美术陈列馆的整个故事——这故事当然是不太容易理解的。画家安慰了孩子一番，同时也劝了劝这位太太。不过，等到爸爸把在丘八们手中待过一阵子的“最美的人儿”带回家以后，她才算安静下来。随后大家就非常高兴。画家把这可怜的孩子抚摸了一会儿，同时送给他几张图画。
啊，这些真是可爱的作品——这么些滑稽的脑袋!……特别是那只栩栩如生的铜猪。啊。什么东西也没有比这好看!只是寥寥几笔就使它立在纸上，甚至它后面的房子也被画出来了。
“啊，如果一个人能够描写和绘画，那么他就可以把整个的世界摆在他面前了!”
第二天，当他身边没有人的时候，这小家伙拿出一支铅笔，在图画的背面临摹了那幅铜猪，而他居然做得很成功!——当然有些不太整齐，有点歪歪倒倒，一条腿粗，一条腿细，虽然如此，它的形象仍然很清楚。他自己对这成绩感到高兴。他看得很清楚，这支铅笔还不能随心所欲地灵活使用。不过，到第三天，原来的铜猪旁边又出现了另一只，而这一只比头一只要好一百倍，至于第三只，它是非常好，一眼就可以看得出来。
可是手套的生意并不兴旺;他的跑腿工作尽可以不慌不忙地去做。铜猪已经告诉了他：任何图画都可以在纸上画下来，而佛罗伦萨本身就是一个画册，只要人愿意去翻翻它就成。三一广场⒄上有一个细长的圆柱，上面是正义的女神的雕像。她的眼睛被布蒙着，手中拿着一个天平。马上她就被移到纸上来了，而移动她的人就正是手套制造匠的这个小学徒。他的画越积越多，不过全都是些静物。有一天，“最美的人儿”跳到他面前来了。
“站着不要动!”他说，“我要使你变得美丽，同时叫你留在我的画册里面。”
不过“最美的人儿”却不愿意站着不动，所以他就把它绑起来。它的头和尾巴都被绑住了，因此它就乱跳乱叫，结果他不得不把绳子拉得更紧。这时太太就来了。
“你这恶毒的孩子!可怜的动物!”她这时能够说出来的就只是这句话。
她把这孩子推开，踢了他一脚，叫他滚出去——他，这个最忘恩负义的废料和最恶毒的孩子。于是她一把眼泪一把鼻涕地吻了这只被缢得半死的小小的“最美的人儿”。
正在这时候，那位画家走上楼来了。故事的转折点就从这时候开始。
1834年，佛罗伦萨的美术学院举行了一个展览会。有两张并排放着的画吸引住了许多观众。较小的那幅画表现一个快乐的小孩坐着作画——他的模特儿是一个毛剃得很光的小白哈巴狗;不过这东西不愿意静静地站着，因此它的脖子和尾巴便被一根线绑起来了。这幅画里有真理，也有生活，因而大家都对它感兴趣。画这幅画的人据说是一个年轻的佛罗伦萨的居民。他小时是一个流浪在街头的孤儿，由一个老手套匠养大，他是自修学好绘画的。一位驰名的画家发现了这个天才，而他发现的时候恰恰是这个孩子要被赶出去的时候，因为他把太太的一只心爱的小哈巴狗绑起来，想要它做个模特儿。
手套制造匠的徒弟成了一个伟大的画家：这幅画本身证明了这一点，而在它旁边一幅较大的画更证明了这一点。这里面只是绘着一个人像——一个衣衫褴楼的美貌的孩子，他睡在街上，靠着波尔塔·罗萨街上的那只铜猪⒅。所有的观众都知道这个地方。孩子的双臂搭在这只猪的头上，而他自己则在呼呼地酣睡。圣母画像面前的灯对这孩子苍白细嫩的面孔射出一道强有力的光——这是一张美丽的画!一架镀金的大画框镶着它，在画框的一角悬着一个桂花圈;可是在绿叶中间扎着一条黑带，黑带上面挂着一块黑纱。
因为这位青年艺术家在几天以前死去了!
①这是意大利中部佛罗伦萨(Florrents)的首府。在意大利文里叫做翡冷翠(Firenze)，一般称为“花的城市”(La citta dei flori)，因为城市里和周围平原上生长着许多花。城市里还有许多古老的建筑和雕刻，是一个富有艺术价值的城市。
②亚尔诺河(Arno)是意大利中部的一条河，流过佛罗伦萨。
③米开朗基罗(Michelangelo Buonaoti，1475～1564)是意大利文艺复兴时期的一个伟大的雕塑家、建筑家和诗人。
④这是古代的一种武器：它是一种两端系有绳子的皮带。石块或子弹放在里面，经过一番旋转，便借离心力射出。
⑤这是指佛罗伦萨的艺术家切利尼(Benvenuto Cellini，1500～1571)雕塑的一个铜像。它表现希腊神话中的勇士珀尔修斯(Perseus)砍掉一个女妖美杜莎(Medusa)的头。
⑥萨比尼人(Sabine)是住在意大利中部的一个民族。他们在公元前290年被罗马人所征服。他们的女人受到征服者的大规模的蹂躏。
⑦这是佛罗伦萨一个有名的绘画陈列馆，意大利文是Palazzo degliuffizi，里面陈列着意大利各个时期的名画。
⑧这是爱情的女神维纳斯(Venus)的名雕像之一。美第奇是佛罗伦萨的统治者，相传他热心保护文学、艺术和诗人。
⑨提香(Titian，1477～1576)是意大利威尼斯学派的一个名画家。
⑩安季奥罗·布龙切诺(Angiolo Broncino，1502～1572)是佛罗伦萨的一个画家。
⑾伽利略(Galleo，1564—1642)是意大利的天文学家和物理学家，发现过许多物理学上的定律。他同时是佛罗伦萨大学的教授。
⑿指艺术家。据基督教《圣经》上的意义，先知是指代上帝说教的人。
⒀古代希伯莱民族的一个先知。
⒁阿尔菲爱里(Vittorio Alfieri，1749～1803)是意大利的剧作家和诗人。
⒂马基雅弗利(Niccolo di Bernardo Machiavelli，1469～1527)是佛罗伦萨的政治家和政治理论家，并且是不择手段，只求达到目的的泼辣的外交家。
⒃这个字的意大利原文是Marito，即“丈夫”或“爱人”的意思。
⒄原文是：Piazza della Trinita。
⒅铜猪是后来铸造的。原物很古，是用大理石刻成的猪，立在乌菲齐宫美术陈列馆前面的广场上。
铜猪英文版：
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.
读后感：
我这几天刚读完一本《铜猪》的书，感受颇深。
在意大利的佛罗伦萨城里，有一只铜铸的猪，它的嘴里成天成夜地喷流着一股清凉的泉水。
一天晚上，一个男孩来到它的身边。男孩抱着铜猪的脖子，喝了一大口水，这就是他的晚餐。然后，他爬到铜猪的背上。铜猪突然对他说：“坐稳了，我要跑了。”一直带着他跑到了美术馆。
整个美术馆就像过狂欢节时一样富丽堂皇。这边维纳斯女神站在海豚身上，正从美丽的泡沫里升起。女神神奇般的复活了。那边基督圣像也发出神圣的光，身体微微地动着，一群即将成为天使的小孩簇拥着他。这是一幅多么美丽的画啊！男孩一直向那些天使挥着手，直到铜猪带着他离开。
第二天早上，人们看见有个男孩骑在铜猪的背上正香。“只有天真、善良的孩子骑在我的背上，我才有力量跑动。”铜猪悄悄地说。
这本书里的主人公虽然穷，但他天真、善良，一定会有好的回报的。
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