IN the city of Florence， not far from the Piazzadel Granduca， runs a little street called Porta Rosa.In this street， just in front of the market-placewhere vegetables are sold， stands a pig， made ofbrass and curiously formed. The bright color hasbeen changed by age to dark GREen; but clear，fresh water pours from the snout， which shines asif it had been polished， and so indeed it has， forhundreds of poor people and children seize it in their hands as they place their mouths close tothe mouth of the animal， to drink. It is quite a picture to see a half-naked boy clasping thewell-formed creature by the head， as he presses his rosy lips against its jaws. Every one whovisits Florence can very quickly find the place; he has only to ask the first beggar he meets forthe Metal Pig， and he will be told where it is.
It was late on a winter evening; the mountains were covered with snow， but the moonshone brightly， and moonlight in Italy is like a dull winter's day in the north; indeed it isbetter， for clear air seems to raise us above the earth， while in the north a cold， gray，leaden sky appears to press us down to earth， even as the cold damp earth shall one daypress on us in the grave. In the garden of the grand duke's palace， under the roof of one ofthe wings， where a thousand roses bloom in winter， a little ragged boy had been sitting thewhole day long; a boy， who might serve as a type of Italy， lovely and smiling， and yet stillsuffering. He was hungry and thirsty， yet no one gave him anything; and when it becamedark， and they were about to close the gardens， the porter turned him out. He stood a longtime musing on the bridge which crosses the Arno， and looking at the glittering stars，reflected in the water which flowed between him and the elegant marble bridge Della Trinita. Hethen walked away towards the Metal Pig， half knelt down， clasped it with his arms， and thenput his mouth to the shining snout and drank deep draughts of the fresh water. Close by， laya few salad-leaves and two chestnuts， which were to serve for his supper. No one was in thestreet but himself; it belonged only to him， so he boldly seated himself on the pig's back，leaned forward so that his curly head could rest on the head of the animal， and， before hewas aware， he fell asleep.
It was midnight. the Metal Pig raised himself gently， and the boy heard him say quitedistinctly， “Hold tight， little boy， for I am going to run;” and away he started for a mostwonderful ride. First， they arrived at the Piazza del Granduca， and the metal horse whichbears the duke's statue， neighed aloud. The painted coats-of-arms on the old council-houseshone like transparent pictures， and Michael Angelo's David tossed his sling; it was as ifeverything had life. The metallic groups of figures， among which were Perseus and the Rape ofthe Sabines， looked like living persons， and cries of terror sounded from them all across thenoble square. By the Palazzo degli Uffizi， in the arcade， where the nobility assemble for thecarnival， the Metal Pig stopped. “Hold fast，” said the animal; “hold fast， for I am going upstairs.”
the little boy said not a word; he was half pleased and half afraid. They entered a longgallery， where the boy had been before. The walls were resplendent with paintings; herestood statues and busts， all in a clear light as if it were day. But the grandest appeared whenthe door of a side room opened; the little boy could remember what beautiful things he hadseen there， but to-night everything shone in its brightest colors. Here stood the figure of abeautiful woman， as beautifully sculptured as possible by one of the GREat masters. Hergraceful limbs appeared to move; dolphins sprang at her feet， and immortality shone fromher eyes. The world called her the Venus de' Medici. By her side were statues， in which thespirit of life breathed in stone; figures of men， one of whom whetted his sword， and wasnamed the Grinder; wrestling gladiators formed another group， the sword had beensharpened for them， and they strove for the goddess of beauty. The boy was dazzled by somuch glitter; for the walls were gleaming with bright colors， all appeared living reality.
As they passed from hall to hall， beauty everywhere showed itself; and as the Metal Pigwent step by step from one picture to the other， the little boy could see it all plainly. Oneglory eclipsed another; yet there was one picture that fixed itself on the little boy's memory，more especially because of the happy children it represented， for these the little boy had seenin daylight. Many pass this picture by with indifference， and yet it contains a treasure ofpoetic feeling; it represents Christ descending into Hades. They are not the lost whom thespectator sees， but the heathen of olden times. The Florentine， Angiolo Bronzino， paintedthis picture; most beautiful is the expression on the face of the two children， who appear tohave full confidence that they shall reach heaven at last. They are embracing each other， andone little one stretches out his hand towards another who stands below him， and points tohimself， as if he were saying， “I am going to heaven.” The older people stand as ifuncertain， yet hopeful， and they bow in humble adoration to the Lord Jesus. On thispicture the boy's eyes rested longer than on any other： the Metal Pig stood still before it. Alow sigh was heard. Did it come from the picture or from the animal? The boy raised his handstowards the smiling children， and then the Pig ran off with him through the open vestibule.