| Once upon a time there
was a darning needle who was so refined that she was convinced
she was a sewing needle. |
Der var engang en Stoppenaal,
der var saa fiin paa det, at hun bildte sig ind, at hun var
en Synaal. |
| "Be careful! Watch what
you are holding!" she shouted to the fingers who had picked
her up. "I am so fine and thin that if I fall on the floor you
will never be able to find me again." |
"Seer nu bare til, hvad
I holde paa!" sagde Stoppenaalen til Fingrene, der toge den
frem. "Tab mig ikke! falder jeg paa Gulvet, er jeg istand til
aldrig at findes igjen, saa fiin er jeg!" |
| "Don't overdo it," snarled
the fingers, and squeezed her around the waist. |
"Der er Maade med!"
sagde Fingrene og saa klemte de hende om Livet. |
| "Look, I am traveling
with a retinue," said the needle. She was referring to the thread
that trailed behind her but wasn't knotted. The fingers steered
the needle toward the cook's slippers; the leather had split
and had to be sewn. |
"Seer I, jeg kommer
med Suite!" sagde Stoppenaalen og saa trak den en lang Traad
efter sig, men som dog ikke havde Knude. |
| |
Fingrene styrede Naalen
lige mod Kokkepigens Tøffel, hvor Overlæderet var revnet og
nu skulde det syes sammen. |
| "This is vulgar work,"
complained the darning needle. "I can't get through it. I shall
break! I shall break!" And then she broke. "Didn't I tell you
I was too fine?" she whined. |
"Det er et nedrigt Arbeide!"
sagde Stoppenaalen. "Jeg gaaer aldrig igjennem, jeg knækker!
jeg knækker!" - og saa knak hun. "Sagde jeg det ikke nok!" sagde
Stoppenaalen, "jeg er for fiin!" |
| Had it been up to the
fingers, then the darning needle would have been thrown away;
but they had to mind the cook, so they dipped the needle in
hot sealing wax and stuck it into the cook's blouse. |
Nu duer hun ikke til
Noget, meente Fingrene, men de maatte dog holde fast, Kokkepigen
dryppede Lak paa hende, og stak hende saa foran i sit Tørklæde.
|
| "Now I have become a
brooch," exclaimed the darning needle. "I have always felt that
I was born to be something better. When you are something, you
always become something." Then she laughed inside herself; for
you cannot see from the outside when a needle is laughing. There
she sat as proudly as if she were looking out at the world from
a seat in a golden carriage. |
"See, nu er jeg en Brystnaal!"
sagde Stoppenaalen; "jeg vidste nok, at jeg kom til Ære; naar
man er noget, bliver man altid til noget;" og saa lo hun indvendig,
for man kan aldrig see udvendig paa en Stoppenaal, at den leer;
der sad hun nu saa stolt, som om hun kjørte i Karret og saae
til alle Sider. |
| "May I take the liberty
of asking you whether you are made of gold?" The darning needle
was talking to her neighbor, a pin. "You look very handsome,
and you have a head, even though it is small. Take my advice
and let it grow a little bigger; not everyone can be so fortunate
as to be dipped in sealing wax." The darning needle drew herself
up a little too proudly; for she fell out of the blouse and
down into the sink, at exactly the moment when the cook was
rinsing it out. |
"Maa jeg have den Ære
at spørge om De er af Guld," spurgte hun Knappenaalen, som var
Nabo. "De har et deiligt Udseende og deres eget Hoved, men lille
er det! De maa see til at det voxer ud, thi man kan ikke alle
lakkes paa Enden!" og saa reiste Stoppenaalen sig saa stolt
i Veiret, at hun gik af Tørklædet og i Vasken, just som Kokkepigen
skyllede ud. |
| "Here we go, traveling!"
exclaimed the darning needle. "I hope I won't get lost." But
she did get lost. |
"Nu gaae vi paa Reise!"
sagde Stoppenaalen, "bare jeg ikke bliver borte!" men det blev
hun. |
| "I am too fine for this
world," she remarked when she finally came to rest at the bottom
of a gutter. "But I know who I am and where I come from, and
that is always something." And the darning needle kept her back
straight and remained cheerful. |
"Jeg er for fiin for
denne Verden!" sagde hun da hun sad i Rendestenen. "Jeg har
min gode Bevidsthed og det er altid en lille Fornøielse!" og
saa holdt Stoppenaalen sig rank og tabte ikke sit gode Humeur.
|
| All sorts of garbage
were floating by above her: twigs, straw, pieces of newspaper.
"Look how they sail on," mumbled the needle. "They have no idea
what is sticking up right beneath them; and I can stick! Look
at that old twig; it does not think about anything else in the
whole world but twigs, because it is one. There goes a straw.
. . . Look how it turns first one way and then the other. .
. . Don't think so much of yourself, or you may get hurt on
the curbstone. . . . There comes a newspaper; everything written
in it is already forgotten, and yet it spreads itself out as
if it were of great importance. . . . I sit patiently and wait.
I know who I am and that I shall never change." |
Og der seilede Alleslags
hen over den, Pinde, Straae, Stumper af Aviser. "See, hvor de
seile!" sagde Stoppenaalen. "De veed ikke hvad der stikker under
dem! jeg stikker, jeg sidder her. See, der gaaer nu en Pind,
den tænker paa ingen Ting i Verden uden paa "Pind" og det er
den selv; der flyder et Straa, see hvor det svaier, see hvor
det dreier! tænk ikke saa meget paa dig selv, du kunde støde
dig paa Brostenene! - der flyder en Avis! - glemt er det, som
staaer i den og dog breder den sig! - Jeg sidder taalmodig og
stille! jeg veed hvad jeg er og det bliver jeg!" |
| One day something shiny
came to rest near the needle. It was a glass splinter from a
broken bottle, but the darning needle thought it was a diamond.
Since it glittered so nicely, she decided to converse with it.
She introduced herself as a brooch. "I presume you are a diamond,"
she said. And the glass splinter hastily agreed that he was
"something of that nature." Each of them believed that the other
was valuable, and so they began to discuss how proud and haughty
the rest of the world was. |
En Dag var der noget,
der skinnede saa deiligt tæt ved, og saa troede Stoppenaalen,
at det var en Diamant, men det var et Flaskeskaar og da det
skinnede, saa talte Stoppenaalen til det og gav sig tilkjende
som Brystnaal! "De er nok en Diamant?" - "Ja, jeg er saadant
noget!" og saa troede den ene om den anden, at de vare rigtig
kostbare og saa talte de om hvor hovmodig Verden var. |
| "I have lived in a box
belonging to a young lady," began the darning needle. "She was
a cook, and she had five fingers on each hand. There never existed
creatures so conceited as those fingers; and yet they were only
there to take me out of the box and put me back." |
"Ja, jeg har boet i
Æske hos en Jomfru," sagde Stoppenaalen, "og den Jomfru var
Kokkepige; hun havde paa hver Haand fem Fingre, men noget saa
indbildsk, som de fem Fingre, har jeg ikke kjendt, og saa vare
de kun til for at holde mig, tage mig af Æske og lægge mig i
Æske!" |
| "Did they shine?" asked
the glass splinter. |
"Var der Glands ved
dem?" spurgte Flaskeskaaret. |
| "Shine!" sneered the
needle. "Oh, they were haughty. They were five brothers: all
born fingers; and they stood in a row next to each other, in
spite of there being so much difference in their sizes. The
one who resembled the others the least was the thumb. He was
short and fat and had only one joint in his back, so he could
only bend once. He always kept to himself, and said that if
he were ever chopped off a man's hand that man could not become
a soldier. The other four fingers stuck together. The first
one was always pointing at everything, and if the cook wanted
to find out whether a sauce was too sour or too sweet, that
finger was stuck into the dish or the pot; and it guided the
pen when she wrote. The next finger was the tallest and he looked
down on the others. The third one wore a gold ring around his
stomach; and the fourth one never did anything, and that's what
he was proud of. They bragged and boasted day and night! That
was all they could do well. And I dived into the sink." |
"Glands!" sagde Stoppenaalen,
"nei, der var Hovmod! de vare fem Brødre, alle fødte "Fingre,"
de holdt sig ranke op til hverandre, skjøndt af forskjellig
Længde; den yderste af dem: Tommeltot, var kort og tyk, han
gik udenfor Geledet, og saa havde han kun eet Knæk i Ryggen,
han kunde kun bukke een Gang, men han sagde: at blev han hugget
af et Menneske, saa var hele det Menneske spoleret for Krigstjeneste.
Slikpot kom i Sødt og Suurt, pegede paa Sol og Maane, og det
var ham, der klemte, naar de skrev; Langemand saae de andre
over Hovedet; Guldbrand gik med Guldring om Maven og lille Peer
Spillemand bestilte ikke noget og deraf var han stolt. Pral
var det og Pral blev det og saa gik jeg i Vasken!" |
| "And here we sit and
glitter," said the glass splinter. At that moment the water
in the gutter suddenly rose and went over its sides, taking
the glass splinter with it. |
"Og nu sidde vi og glindse!"
sagde Glasskaaret. I det samme kom der mere Vand i Rendestenen,
den strømmede over alle Bredder og rev Glasskaaret med sig. |
| "Well, he got his advancement,"
said the darning needle. "I was left behind, but I am too refined
to complain. That, too, is a form of pride but it is respectable."
And the needle kept her back straight and went on thinking.
|
"See nu blev det forfremmet!"
sagde Stoppenaalen, "jeg bliver siddende, jeg er for fiin, men
det er min Stolthed og den er agtværdig!" og saa sad den rank
og havde mange Tanker. |
| "I am almost convinced
that a sun ray must have given birth to me. When I think of
it, the sun is always searching for me underneath the water;
but I am so fine that my own mother cannot find me. If I had
my old eye--the one that was broken off--I think I would cry.
No, I wouldn't anyway, crying is so vulgar." |
"Jeg skulde næsten troe
at jeg er født af en Solstraale, saa fiin er jeg! synes jeg
ikke ogsaa, at Solen altid søger mig under Vandet. Ak, jeg er
saa fiin, at min Moder ikke kan finde mig. Havde jeg mit gamle
Øie, som knak, saa troer jeg at jeg kunde græde! - skjøndt jeg
gjorde det ikke -græde det er ikke fiint!" |
| One day some street
urchins were rummaging in the gutter. They found nails, coins,
and the like. They made themselves filthy and they enjoyed doing
it. |
En Dag laae der nogle
Gadedrenge og ragede i Rendestenen, hvor de fandt gamle Søm,
Skillinger og saadant noget. Det var Griseri, men det var nu
deres Fornøielse. |
| "Ow!" cried one of the
boys. The needle had pricked him. "What kind of a fellow are
you?" |
"Av!" sagde den Ene,
han stak sig paa Stoppenaalen. "Det er ogsaa en Fyr!" |
| "Fellow! I am a lady!"
protested the darning needle. The sealing wax had long since
worn off and she was black; but black things look thinner, so
she thought that now she was even finer than before. |
"Jeg er ingen Fyr, jeg
er en Frøken!" sagde Stoppenaalen, men ingen hørte det; Lakket
var gaaet af den og sort var den blevet, men sort gjør tyndere
og saa troede den at den var endnu finere, end før. |
| "Here comes an eggshell!"
shouted another boy, and stuck the pin into it. |
"Der kommer en Æggeskal
seilende!" sagde Drengene, og saa stak de Stoppenaalen fast
i Skallen. |
| "How well it becomes
a black needle to stand before a white sail! Everyone can see
me. I hope I shan't get seasick and throw up, that is so undignified. |
"Hvide Vægge og selv
sort!" sagde Stoppenaalen, "det klæder! saa kan man dog see
mig! - bare jeg ikke bliver søsyg, for saa knækker jeg mig!"
- men den blev ikke søsyg og den knak sig ikke. |
| "There is no remedy
against seasickness better than an iron stomach, and the awareness
of being just a bit above the common herd. I feel much better.
The more refined one is, the more one can bear." |
"Det er godt mod Søsyge
at have Staalmave og saa altid huske paa at man er lidt mere
end et Menneske! nu er mit gaaet over! jo finere man er, desmere
kan man holde ud." |
| "Crash!" said the eggshell.
A wagon wheel had rolled over it. "Ow!" cried the darning needle.
"Something is pressing against me. I think I am going to be
seasick after all. I fear I will break!" But it didn't break,
even though a loaded wagon drove over it. There it lay, lengthwise
in the gutter; and there we'll leave it. |
"Krask!" sagde Æggeskallen,
der gik et Vognmandslæs over den. "Hu, hvor det klemmer!" sagde
Stoppenaalen, "nu bliver jeg dog søsyg! jeg knækker! jeg knækker!"
men den knak ikke, skjøndt der gik et Vognmandslæs over, den
laae paa langs - og der kan den blive liggende! |