by Hans Christian Andersen, translated by Mary Howitt.
Originally published in Howitt's Journal (William Lovett) vol.1 #6 (06 Feb 1847).
To-Day is Sunday.
It is Sunday in the calendar; it is Sunday in God's beautiful nature! Let us go out into the hills toward Mehadia, the most delightfully situated of all the watering-places of Hungary. What a mass of flowers are in bloom in the tall green grass! What gushes of sunshine upon the wood-covered sides of the hills! The air is blue and transparent. To-day it is Sunday, and therefore all the people whom we meet are in holiday attire. The smooth, black, plaited hair of the girls is adorned with real flowers; with a spray of laburnum, or a dark red carnation; the white chemise sleeves are embroidered with green and red; the petticoat resembles a deep fringe of red, blue, and yellow: even the old grandmother is dressed in fringe, and wears a flower in her white linen head-band. Young men and boys have roses in their hats; the very least is arrayed in his best, and looks splendid; his short shirt hangs outside his dark-coloured breeches; a spray of laburnum is wreathed round his large hat, which soon half buries his eyes. Yes, it is Sunday to-day!
What a solitude there is in these hills! Life and health gush in water out of these springs; music resounds from the stately, large pump-room; the nightingale sings in the clear sunshine, among the fragrant trees, where the wild vines climb from branch to branch.
Thou wonderful nature! to me the best, the holiest of churches! In the midst of thee my heart tells me that "this day is Sunday!"
We are again in Orsova. The brass ball upon the church-tower shines in the sun: the door is open. How solitary it is within. The priest stands in his robes and lifts up his voice; it is Father Adam; little Antonius kneels before him, and swings to and fro the
censer; the elder boy, Hieronymus, has his place in the middle of the church, and represents the whole Armenian congregation.
In front of the church, in the market-place, where the lime-trees are in blossom, there is a great dance of young and old. In the middle of the circle stand the musicians; one blows the bag-pipe, the other scrapes the fiddle. The circle twists itself first to the right, then to the left. Everybody is in their utmost grandeur, with fringe, flowers, and bare feet. To-day it is Sunday!
Several little lads run about in nothing but a shirt; upon their heads, however, they wear a large man's hat, and in the hat a flower. Official people, gentlemen and ladies all dressed in the fashion of Vienna, walk about to look at the people, the dancing people.The red evening sun illumines the white church tower, the amber-coloured Danube, and the wood-crowned mountains of Servia: may it shine also in my song when I sing of it! How beautiful and animated! How fresh and peculiar! Everything indicates a holiday. Everything shows that to-day is Sunday!
At Drencova.
About sunset I walked alone in the wood near the little town, where I fell in with some gipseys who had encamped round a fire for the night. When I returned back through the wood I saw a handsome peasant-lad standing among the bushes, who bade me good evening, in German. I asked him if this were his native tongue; he replied in the negative, and told me that he commonly spoke in the Wallacian language, but that he had learned German in the school. To judge by his dress he appeared very poor; but everything that he wore was so clean; his hair so smoothly combed; his eyes beamed with such an expression of happiness; there was something so thoughtful and so good in his countenance, as I rarely have seen in a child before. I asked him if he were intended for a soldier, and he replied, "Yes, we are all of us soldiers here; but I wish to be an officer, and therefore I learn everything that I can." There was a something in his whole manner so innocent, so noble, that actually, if I had been rich, I would have adopted that boy. I told him that he certainly must be an officer; and that no doubt he would be one if he only zealously strove after it, and put his trust in God.In reply to my question, whether he knew where Denmark was, he thought with himself for some time, and then said, "I fancy it is a long way from here--near Hamburg."
I could not give an alms to this boy; he seemed too noble to receive charity; I asked him, therefore, to gather me a few flowers; he ran away readily, and soon gathered me a beautiful nosegay. I took and said I shall buy these flowers. In that way he received payment; he blushed deeply, and thanked me sweetly. He told me that his name was Adam Marco. I took one of my cards out of my pocket, and gave it to him, saying, "Some day, when you are an officer, and perhaps may come to Denmark, then inquire for me, and your happiness will give me great pleasure. Be industrious, and put your trust in God! There is no knowing what may happen.
Never did any unknown child ever make such a strong impression on me at the first meeting, as did this. His noble deportment, his thoughtful innocent countenance, were his best patent of nobility. He must become an officer; and I will do my little towards it; committing it, it is true, to the hand of chance. And here I make my bow to every noble, rich, Hungarian lady, who, by any chance, may read this book, and who perhaps, for the "Improvisature" and "The Fiddler," may have a kindly thought; the poet beseeches of her--or if he have, unknown to himself, a wealthy friend in Hungary, or in Wallachia, he beseeches also of him—"To think of Adam Marco in Drencova, and to help your little countryman forward, if he deserve it!"