| It is autumn; we are
standing on the ramparts of the citadel, looking out over the
sea at the many ships in the Sound and beyond it to the coast
of Sweden, which rises high and clear in the light of the evening
sun. On the other side of the ramparts we see tall trees below
us; they are shedding their leaves. They shield some gloomy-looking
houses with high wooden fences around them. There sentries are
walking back and forth. Inside the hovels it is dark and miserable;
but even more wretched are the cells behind the barred holes
in the walls. Here are kept the most dangerous criminals. |
Det er Efteraar, vi
staae paa Castelsvolden og see ud over Havet paa de mange Skibe
og paa den svenske Kyst, der løfter sig høit i Aftenens Solskin;
bag ved os gaaer Volden brat ned ad; der staae prægtige Træer,
det gule Løv falder fra Grenene; dernede ligge skumle Huse med
Træpalisader, og indenfor, hvor Skildvagten gaaer, er saa snevert
og skummelt, men endnu mørkere er der bag det gittrede Hul;
der sidde fangne Slaver, de værste Forbrydere. |
| A ray from the setting
sun penetrates the naked cell, for the sun shines upon the evil
as well as upon the good. The prisoner looks with hatred upon
the sunbeam that is too weak to give off any warmth. A little
bird flies down and perches upon the iron bars of the grating.
Birds do sing for the evil man as well as for the good. It sings
only a short little song but does not fly away; instead it preens
itself, flutters its wings, and finally picks one little feather
off. The prisoner in his chains looks at it, and his face, so
filled with hate, for a moment changes its expression. A thought,
a feeling has passed through him without his being aware why
or how. And this feeling is kin to the sunbeam, to the violets
that in springtime bloom outside the prison and whose fragrance
penetrates its walls. From far away a hunter's horn is heard,
so full of life is the music. The bird flies away from the prison
bars and the sun rays disappear. Now the cell is as dark as
the prisoner's heart and yet the sun has shone into both and
the bird has sung there. |
En Straale fra den nedgaaende
Sol falder ind i det nøgne Kammer. Solen skinner paa Onde og
paa Gode! Den mørke barske Fange seer med et hæsligt Blik paa
den kolde Solstraale. En lille Fugl flyver mod Gitteret. Fuglen
synger for Onde og for Gode! den synger et kort "Quivit," men
bliver siddende, slaaer med Vingen, piller en Fjer af den, lader
de andre Fjer bruse om Halsen - og den onde Mand i Lænker seer
derpaa; et mildere Udtryk gaaer over det hæslige Ansigt; en
Tanke, som han ikke selv gjør sig tydelig, skinner frem i hans
Bryst, den er beslægtet med Solstraalen gjennem Gittret, beslægtet
med Duften af Violerne, som om Foraaret voxe saa rigt udenfor.
Nu lyder Jægernes Musik, saa liflig og stærk. Fuglen flyver
fra Fangens Gitter, Solstraalen forsvinder og der er mørkt inde
i Kammeret, mørkt i den onde Mands Hjerte, men Solen har dog
skinnet derind, Fuglen sjunget derind. |
| Play on, so gay is the
hunter's tune. The evening is warm and the sea is as calm as
a mirror. |
Bliv ved, I smukke Jægerhornetstoner!
Aftenen er mild, Havet speilglat og stille. |
|