by Hans Christian Andersen. Translated by Mary Howitt (uncredited)
Originally published in Howitt's Journal (William Lovett) vol.1 #15 (10 Apr 1847).
The Swineherds.
Before a cottage, plastered of mud and straw, sat an old swineherd, a real Hungarian, and consequently a nobleman[1]. Very often had he laid his hand upon his heart, and said this to himself. The sun burnt hotly, and therefore he had turned the woolly side of his sheepskin outwards; his silver-white hair hung around his characteristic brown countenance. He had got a new piece of linen, a shirt, and he was now preparing it for wear, according to his own fashion, which was this: he rubbed the fat of a piece of bacon into it; by this means it would keep clean so much the longer, and he could turn it first on one side and then on the other.
His grandson, a healthy-looking lad, whose long black hair was smoothed with the same kind of pomatum which the old man used to his shirt, stood just by, leaning on a staff. A long leathern bag hung on his shoulder. He also was a swineherd, and this very evening was going on board a vessel, which, towed by the steamboat Eros, was taking a freight of pigs to the imperial city of Vienna.
"You will be there in five days," said the old man. "When I was a young fellow, like you, it used to take six weeks for the journey. Step by step we went on, through marshy roads, through forests, and over rocks. The pigs, which at the beginning of the journey were so fat that a few of them died by the way, became thin and wretched before we came to our destination. Now, the world strides onward: everything gets easier!"
"We can smoke our pipes," said the youth; "lie in the sun in our warm skin-cloaks, Meadows and cities glide swiftly past us; the pigs fly along with us, and get fat on the journey. That is the life!"
"Everybody has his own notions," replied the old man; "I had mine. There is a pleasure even in difficulty. When in the forest I saw the gipsies roasting and boiling, I had to look sharply about me, to mind that my best pigs did not get into their clutches. Many a bit of fun have I had. I had to use my wits. I was put to my shifts; and sometimes also had to use my fists as well. On the plain between the rocks, where, you know, the winds are shut in, I drove my herd: I drove it across the field where the invisible castle of the winds is built. There was neither house nor roof to be seen: the castle of the winds can only be felt. I drove the herd through the invisible chambers and halls. I could see it very well; the wall was storm—the door whirlwind! Such a thing as that is worth all the trouble; it gives a man something to talk about. What do you come to know, you who lie idling in the sunshine, in the great floating pig-sty?"
And all the time the old man was talking, he kept rubbing the bacon-fat into his new shirt.
"Go with me to the Danube," returned the youth; "there you will see a dance of pigs, all so fat, till they are ready to burst. They do not like to go into the vessel; we drive them with sticks; they push one against another; set themselves across; stretch themselves out on the earth; run hither and thither however fat and heavy they may be. That is a dance! You would shake your sides with laughing! What a squealing there is! All the musicians in Hungary could not make such a squealing as that out of all their bagpipes, let them blow as hard as they would! How beautifully bright you have made your shirt look; you can't improve it. Go with me,—now do—to the Danube! I'll give you something to drink, grandfather! In four days I shall be in the capital; what pomp and splendour I shall see there! I will buy you a pair of red trousers and plaited spurs!"
The old swineherd proudly lifted his head; regarded the youthful Magyar with flashing eyes; hung his shirt on the hook in the wall of the low mud cottage, in which there was nothing but a table, a bench, and a wooden chest; he nodded with his head, and muttered to himself. "Nemes-ember van, nemes-ember én és vagyok." (He is a nobleman; I am also a nobleman!)
1. The number of indigent nobles in Hungary is very great, and they live like peasants, in the most miserable huts.