THE METAL PIG [1]
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. 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
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. 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