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 Trinita. 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,

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