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The MetalPig铜猪In thecity of Florence,not farfrom thePiazza delGranduca,there isa littlecross streetwhichI thinkis calledPorta Rossa.In frontof a sort ofmarket inthis street,where vegetablesaresold,stands anartificial butbeautifully fashionedmetal pig.A fountainof freshclearwater gushesout of the animaTs mouth.Age hasturned itdark green;only its snout shinesasif ithad beenpolished,and soit hasby themany hundredsof childrenand poorpeople whotakehold ofit with their handswhen theyput theirmouths to its mouthto drinkthe water.It isaninteresting pictureto seethe perfectlyformed animalembraced by a handsome,half-naked boyputtinghis younglips toitssnout.Everyone whogoes toFlorence surelyfinds theplace;you only have toask the first beggaryousee about the metal pig,and hewill findit foryou.Late onewinter eveningthe mountainswere coveredwith snow,but it was moonlight,and inItalythe moongives as bright a light ason adark winter,s dayin the north.Yes,it iseven brighter,for theclear airseems toshine andto liftus abovethe earth,while in thenorththe cold,gray leadenroof pressesus to the ground,the samecold,wet groundwhich oneday willpresson ourcoffins.In theDukes palacegarden,a littleragged boy had beensitting allday under the stonepines,where thousands of rosesbloom in the winter,a boy who might have stoodfor apicture of Italy,so pretty,so laughing,and yetso suffering.Although hungry and thirsty,he gota pennyfromno one,and whenit grewdark andtime toclose thegardens,the porterdrove himaway.For alongtime hestood dreamingon thebridge over the RiverArno,looking at the reflectionsof theglitteringstars in the waterbeneath thestately marblebridge.Then hemade hisway to the metalpig,knelt beforeit,threw his arms around its neck,put his little mouthtoitsshining snout,and drankgreat draughtsof fresh water.Near bylay a few saladleaves and a coupleof chestnuts,and theseformed hissupper.There was no livingsoul in the street;he was all alone;he climedonto the metal pigsback,leaned forwardso that his littlecurly headrested on the animaTshead,and beforehe knewwhat washappening he had fallenfast asleep.It wasmidnight.The metal pig moved.The boyheard itsay quiteplainly,“Hold fast,littleboy,for now Im going to runoff!”And awayit ranwith him!It was a strangeride.First theyreached thePiazza delGranduca,and thebronze horseon whichtheDukes statuewas mountedneighed loudlyto them.The coloredcoats of arms on the oldTownHall glowedlike transparentpictures,and MichelangelosDavid hurledhis sling;it was a curiousformof lifethat movedabout.The bronzegroups ofPerseus and the Rapeof theSabine Womenwereonly toomuch alive;their deathshriek resoundedthrough thestately deserted Piazza.The metalpig stopped by the UffiziPalace,underthearcade wherethe noblesassembled for the carnivalcelebrationduring Lent.“Hold fast,“said the animal.Hold fastnow,for Imgoing up the stairs!”The littlefellow hadn,t yetsaid aword;he washalf frightened,half delighted.They entereda long gallery,which heknew well,for he had beenthere before.The wallswere coveredwithpictures,and the statues andbusts allstood inalightasbrightas ifit wereday;but themostsplendid sightof allwas whenthe doorto one of theadjoining roomsopened.Yes,the splendorherethe little boy remembered,but tonighteverything wasespecially magnificent.Here stoodthestatueofanude woman,as beautifulas onlynature and the greatestmarble sculptorcouldmake her;she movedher lovelylimbs,dolphins sprangto lifeat herfeet,and immortalityshonefrom hereyes.She isknown to the worldas theVenus de,Medici.Marble statuesof superbmenwere groupedaround her;one of them,the Grinder,was sharpeninghis sword;the nextgroupwas theWrestling Gladiators.The swordwas whetted,and theathletes wrestledfor thegoddessof beauty.The boywas dazzledby themagnificence;the wallswere radiantwith color,and everythingtherehad lifeand movement.The pictureof Venus,the earthlyVenus,impassioned andglowing life,as Titiansaw her,shone inredoubled splendor.Near herwere theportraits oftwo lovelywomen,reclining onsoft cushions,with beautiful,unveiled limbs,heaving bosoms,and luxuriantlocksfalling overrounded shoulders,while theirdark eyesbetrayed passionatethoughts.But noneofthese picturesdared tostep forthfrom theirframes.The goddessof beautyherself,the Gladiators,and theGrinder remainedon theirpedestals,subdued by the haloaround the Madonna.,with theinfantsJesus andSt.John.The holypictures wereno longerjust pictures;they werethe saintsthemselves.What brillianceand beautyas theypassed fromgallery togallery!And the little boysaw everything,for the metal pigwent stepby steppast allthis gloryand magnitude.Each sightcrowded outtheprevious one;only onepicture reallytook holdof histhoughts,and thatwas chieflybecauseof thehappy childrenin it;once duringthe daytimethe little boy hadnodded to them.Many probablypass thispicture unnoticing,yet itcontains theessence ofpoetry.It isChristdescending toHell,but Heis notsurrounded bysouls intorment;no,these areheathen.The paintingisbytheFlorentine AgnoloBronzino.The expressionof the children,s facesis mostbeautifulin theircertainty that they aregoingto Heaven.Two littleones arealready embracingeach other;one stretchesa hand out toa companionbelow,and pointsto himselfas if to say,〃I amgoingto Heaven!,All theolder peoplestand arounddoubting,or hoping,or humblybowing inprayerto theLord Jesus.The boygazed longerat thispicture thanat anyof theothers;and as the metal pig restedquietlybefore it,a gentlesigh was heard.Did itcome from the picture,or fromthe breastof theanimalThe boystretched outhis ownhand toward the smilingchildren;and thentheanimalgalloped offwith him,galloped awaythrough thelong gallery.“Thank you,and blessyou,you beautifulanimal!z,said the little boy,patting thepig as it wentbump,bump,bump downthe stairswithhim.“Thank you,and blessingsto you,too!”said the metal pig.Ive helpedyou,but you,ve helpedme,because Ionlyhavethe strengthto runwhen Imcarrying aninnocent childon my back!Yousee,nowIeven darestep underthe raysof thelamp before the Madonnapicture.I cancarry youanywhereexcept into a church,but aslong asyou,re withme Ican stand outside andlook inthroughthe opendoor.Dont getdown offmyback!If youdo Ishall bedead,just asyou seeme everydayin thePorta Rossa!〃〃I11stay with you,my blessedanimal,said the littleboy,and thenthey rushedat adizzypace through the streetsofFlorenceto the church ofSanta Crocein thePiazza.The greatfoldingdoor swungopen,and thealtar lightsstreamed throughthechurchandout into thedesertedPiazza.A strangelight blazedfrom asculptured tombin theleft aisle;thousandsoftwinkling starsformedasorta haloaroundit.The tombwas surmountedbyacoat ofarms,a redladder onblueground,gleaming likefire.This was the tombof Galileo.It isa simplemonument;but theredladder on the blueground isa symbolof Art,meaning thatthe pathwayto fameis alwaysupwardon aflaming ladder.Al1genius soarstoHeavenlike theprophet Elijah.Every statueon thecostly sarcophagusin theright aisleof thechurch seemedendowed withlife.Here wereMichelangelo andDante,with thelaurel wreathon hisbrow;Alfieri andMacchiavellirested hereside by side-the prideofItaly.It isa verybeautiful church,far morebeautifulthan,although notas largeas,the marbleCathedral ofFlorence.It seemedas ifthe marbleraiment moved,as ifthose greatfigures oncemore raisedtheir headsin the night,mid songand music,and gazedtoward thealtar glowingwith manylights,where thewhite-robed altarboys swungthe goldencensers,while thefragrance ofincense filledthe churchandstreamed outinto theopen square.The boystretched hishands towardthe lights,but at thatmoment the metal piggalloped onagain,and hehad tohold tightly.The windwhistled inhis ears,and heheard thechurch doorcreak onits hingesas itclosed.But immediatelyhe seemedto loseconsciousness,and feltan icycoldness-and thenopened his eyes.It wasmorning,and hehad halfslipped fromthe metal pig,which stoodin itsusual placeinthe PortaRossa.Fright andterror seizedthe boyas he thought of the womanhe calledmother.Yesterday she had senthim outto getmoney,and hehad none;he washungryandthirsty.Oncemore heflung his arms aroundthe metalpigsneck,kissed itssnout,nodded toit,and walkedoffto oneof thenarrowest streets,which wasonly wideenough for a heavilyladen ass.A bigiron-studded doorstood halfopen;he enteredit andmounted abrick staircase,with dirtywallsand agreasy ropefor ahandrail,until hereached anopen galleryhung withrags.A flightofsteps ledinto acourtyard with a fountain,from whichwater wasdrawn upto thedifferent floorsbymeans ofa thickiron wire,with bucketshung sidebyside.Sometimes thepulley jerked,andthe bucketsdanced in the airand splashedwater all overthecourtyard.Another dilapidatedbrickstaircase ledstill higher,and twosailors,who wereRussians,ran merrilydown and almost upsetthe poor boy.A stronglybuilt womanwith thickblack hair,though nolonger young,followed them.“What haveyou broughthome”she said tothe boy.〃Dont be angry!”he begged,catching holdof herdress as ifto kiss it.〃I haven,t gotanythingat all!Nothing atall!”They passedon intoan innerroom.We neednot describeit,but willonly saythat initwas anearthen pot,with handlesfor holdingcharcoal,called amarito.〃She hungthis on her armtowarm herfingers,and pushedthe boyaway fromher with her elbow.〃0f courseyou havesomemoney!z,she said.The childbegan tosob,and shekicked himwithherfoot,making himcry moreloudly.“Will youbequiet,or Illbreak youryelling head!z,she said and swungthe potwhich sheheld inher hand.The boyducked tothe groundand screamed.Then aneighbor womancame in,also withher maritoonherarm.〃Felicita!〃she said.z,Whatare youdoing tothat child”“The childis mine!”replied Felicita.And Ican murderhim if I wantto,and you too,Giannina!z/And sheswung herfire potagain.The otherwoman raisedhers toparry theblow,and thetwo potsclashedtogether,smashing tobits andscattering fireand ashesalloverthe room.But the boy bythat timewas out of thedoor,across thecourtyard,andoutof the house.Thepoor childran until hehadno breathleft.At lasthe stoppedbefore thechurch ofSanta Croce,whose greatdoor hadopened to him lastnight,and hewent inside.Everything there was bright.He kneltbythefirst tomb,the sepulcherof Michelangelo,and began to cryloudly.People passedtoand fro;Mass wascelebrated;yet,nobody paidattention tothe boyexcept oneelderly citizen,who pausedand looked at himforamoment,then passedon likethe rest.The poorchild becamefaintand ill,overcome withhunger andthirst.At lasthe creptintoacorner behindthe marblemonumentand fellasleep.Toward eveninghe wasawakened bysomeone shakinghim,and whenhe startedup hesaw thesameelderly citizenstanding beforehim.Are youill Whereis yourhome Haveyou beenhere allday”were someof thequestions theold manasked him.He answered them,and theold mantookhim withhim toa littlehouse ina near-by-side street.It wasa glovemaker,s shopthey entered,and therethey founda womansitting busilysewing.A little white poodle,so closely clippedthat onecould seeher pinkskin,jumped onthe tableand bouncedtowardthe littleboy.“The innocentsouls soonmake friendswith eachother!z,said the woman,patting boththe boyanddog.These goodpeople gavethe boysomething toeat anddrink,and toldhim he could spendthe nightthere.Next morning Father Giuseppewould goto speakto hismother.He hadonly ahomely littlebedthat night,but itwasaroyal couchtothe boywho had sooften slepton hardstone floors,and heslept soundlyand dreamedaboutthesplendid picturesand the metalpig.The nextmorningFather Giuseppe went out,and thepoor boywas sorryto seehim go,for heknewthat hehad goneto hismother,and thatthe boyhimself mighthave toreturn home.He wept,andkissed thelively little dog,while the woman noddedat themboth.And whatmessage didFatherGiuseppebring backHe talkedto hiswife foralongtime,and shenoddedand caressedtheboy.“Hes a beautiful child,“she said,“and he,11be aclever glovemaker,just likeyou.Lookat his fingers,so delicateand flexible!Madonna intendedhim to beaglovemaker!And sothelittleboy stayedin thathouse,and thewoman taughthim tosew;hehadplenty toeatand gotplenty ofsleep.He becamequite gay,and oneday hebegantotease Bellissima,asthe littledog wascalled.This angeredthewoman;she scoldedhim andshook herfinger athim,and theboy took it toheart.He satthoughtful inhislittleroom,which facedthe street,withthick ironbars outsideits windows,fortheskins werehung upthere todry.That nighthe couldntsleep,for hishead wasfull of themetalpig.Suddenly heheard a〃scramble,scramble!”outside;yes,that mustbe themetalpig.He rushedtothewindow,but therewas nothingto see.“Helpthe signorcarry hiscolor box,〃said themistress nextmorning whentheir youngneighbor,thepainter,came downcarrying hiscolor box andahuge rollof canvas.The childat oncetook uptheboxand followed theartist.They madetheir waytothe picture gallery,and climbedthe stairsthat hecould rememberso wellfromthe nighthe rodethemetalpig.He rememberedall thestatues,the beautifulmarble Venus,and thepainted picturestoo.Again hegazed attheMadonna,with St.John and the infantJesus.They stoppedbeforetheBronzino pictureof Christ standing in the underworldwith the childrenaround Him,smiling in their sweetcertainty ofheaven.The poorboy smiledtoo,for hewas inhisown heaven.“Now youmay gohog〃the paintersaidtohim whenthechildstill remainedafterhis easelwas setup.〃Cant Istay towatch thesignor paint”said theboy.〃Cant Isee youput thepicture onthewhite canvas”〃Im notpainting justyet,〃answeredtheartist ashe tookout apiece ofcharcoal.His handmovedswiftly ashiseyerapidly measuredthe greatpicture;though hemade only afewlight strokes,the figureof Christstood there,just asinthecolored painting.“You must go now,〃said thepainter.Then theboy wanderedquietly home,sat downonthetable,and resumedlearning tosew gloves.But allday histhoughts wereinthegallery,so hewas awkwardand prickedhisfingers;but hedidn,t teaseBellissima.When eveningcame hefound thehouse dooropen,and creptout;it wascold,but brightstarlight,beautiful andclear.He wanderedthroughthe streets,where everythingwasquiet,untilhefound himselfatthemetalpig;then hebent overit,kissed itsshining snout,and seatedhimself onits back.“You blessedcreature!z/he said.〃How Ivelonged foryou!We musthave anotherride tonight!〃But thepig remainedlifeless;only thefreshwaterspouted from its mouth.The littleboy wasstillsitting astrideit whenhe feltsomething tugathistrouser leg.He lookeddown andsawthe clipped,naked,little Bellissima!The doghad creptoutofthehouseandfollowedthe boywithouthis noticing.Bellissima barked,asiftrying tosay,〃What areyou sittingup thereforCan,t yousee Imwithyou”A fire-breathing dragoncouldn,thavefrightened theboy morethan thelittledogatthat spot.Bellissima outinthe streets andnot dressed!z,As theold ladywould say,z,What willcome ofthat”For the dog neverwentoutinthe winter withouta littlesheepskin coat,especially cutand sewedforit.The skincould befastened aroundthe neckand bodywithared ribbonand decoratedwithlittle redbows andjingling bells.When thedog wentoutinthewinter,tripping alongbehindits mistress,it lookedalmost likea littlekid.Now,here itwas outinthecold withoutthecoat-what wouldbe theconsequences Allhis fanciesquickly fled,yet hedid stoptokissthepig beforeclimbing downand takingBellissima inhisarms.The dogshivered withcold,so theboyran asfast ashecould.“What areyou runningaway with there demandedtwo gendarmeswho stoppedhim,whi1e Bellissimabarked./zWhere didyou stealthat beautifuldog〃they asked,as theytookitaway fromhim.〃0h,please giveher backto me!〃cried theboy.“If youdidn,t stealit,you cantell yourpeople athome thatthey canget itatthe policestation.They gavehim theaddress,and offthey wentwith Bellissima.This wasa terriblestateof affairs!He couldn,t decidewhether tojump intothe Arnoor gohome andconfess everything.They wouldsurely killhim,hethought.But Iwould gladlybe killed;I willdie,and thengoto Jesusand theMadonna!”So hehurried home,almost hopingto bekilled.The doorwas locked;he couldntreach theknocker,and therewasnoone inthestreetto helphim.But aloose stonelay nexttohim,and pickingit up,he hammeredonthedoor withit.〃Whos that”saidavoice frominside.Its I!〃he said.And Bellissimais lost!Let mein,and thenkill me!〃This wasfrighteningindeed,especially tohis mistress,who was so fondof Bellissima.She quicklylookedatthe wallto see ifthedog,s coathung inits place,and therethelittlesheepskin was.Bellissima atthepolicestation!she criedloudly.You wickedchild!Why didyou takeher outShe11die ofcold!That delicatelittle animalamong allthose bigrough soldiers.〃And FatherGiuseppe had to rushoff atonce.His wifewailed,and theboy wept.Everyone inthehouse cametoseewhat wasgoing on,including thepainter.He tooktheboy on hisknee andquestionedhim,and graduallyhe learnedthe wholestory ofthemetalpig andthepicturegallery.It wasn,t easyto understand,but thepainter comfortedthechildand calmedthewoman,though shewasn,t happyuntil Giuseppereturned withBellissima,whohad been amongthe soldiers.Then therewasgreat rejoicing,andthepainter pattedthepoorboyonthe head,and gavehim somepictures.Oh,these weresplendid.There werecomical heads,but mostimportant ofall,themetalpig himself!Nothing couldhave beenmore wonderful!It wassketched inonlyafew strokes,but eventhe housebehindit appearedclearly.〃0h,ifIcould onlydraw andpaint!Id havethe wholeworld beforeme!〃The nextday,inthefirst lonelymoment hehad,thelittleboy founda penciland,onthewhiteside ofoneofthe pictures,tried tocopy thedrawing ofthemetalpig,and hesucceeded!Itwas a little crooked,alittleone-sided,with oneleg thickandtheother thin,but itwasrecognizable,and itdelighted him.The pencilwouldn,tgoas straightasitshould,he realized.Next dayanother pigstood besidethefirstone,and thiswasahundred timesbetter;and thethirdone wasso goodanyone couldtell whatit represented.But theglovemaking wentbadly,and heran errandsslowly;for hehad learnedfromthemetal pigthatany picturemay beput on paper,andthecity ofFlorence isa completepicture book,ifyou onlyturn theleaves.In thePiazza dellaTrinita standsa slendercolumn,and ontop ofit standsthe blindfoldedGoddessof Justicewiththescales inher hand.Soon shealso stoodonpaper,and itwasthelittle apprenticeglovemakerwho puther there.His collectiongrew,though theywere stillonly copiesof inanimateobjects;but oneday Bellissimacame bouncingtoward him.Stand still!”he said.〃I’11makea beautifulportrait ofyoutohave amongmy pictures!But Bellissimawouldn,t standstill,so hehadtotie herup.He tiedher headand tail,andBellissima barkedand jumpedabout,straining atthe cord.Then thesignora camein.“You wickedboy!That pooranimal!was allshehadtime tosay.She flungtheboyaside,kickedhim,called himthe mostungrateful,worthless,and wickedchild,and turnedhim outofthehouse;and crying,she kissedthelittlehalf-strangled Bellissima.At thatmoment thepainter cameupthestairs and-but thisis theturning pointofthestory.In1834therewasan exhibitionintheAcademy ofArts inFlorence.Two paintings,hung sidebyside,attracted muchattention fromthe public.The smallerof themshowed ahappy littleboysitting ata tabledrawing;his modelwasacloselyclippedlittlewhitepoodle thatwas tiedwithstring bythe headand tailbecause itwouldn,tstandstill.The paintingwassoanimatedand trueto lifethat itcouldnt failto interestall thespectators.The painterwas,it wassaid,a youngFlorentine whohad beenfound inthestreetswhen alittle child,hadbeenraisedby anold glovemaker,and hadtaught himselfto draw.A nowfamous artisthad discoveredhis talentjust ashewas abouttobeturned outofthehouse forhaving tiedup hismistress belovedlittlepoodle tobe hismodel.The gloversboyhadbecome agreat painter,asthepicture clearlyshowed.But thelarger picturewasastill greaterproof ofhis genius.There wasjustasingle figureinit,a handsomeragged boyleaning,fast asleep,against themetalpigoftheVia PortaRossa.All thespectators knewthatspotvery well.The child,sarmrested onthe pigshead,and hesleptsweetly,withthelamp beforethe near-by Madonnathrowing astrong lighton hispale,handsome face.It wasabeautifulpicture.A largegilt framesurrounded it,andawreath oflaurelwas fastenedto onecorner ofit;but ablack ribbonwas entwinedinthegreen leaves,and long,black streamershung downfromit.The youngpainter hadjust died!。