A mother sat there with her little child. She
was so downcast, so afraid that it should
die! It was so pale, the small eyes had
closed themselves, and it drew its breath so
softly, now and then, with a deep
respiration, as if it sighed; and the mother
looked still more sorrowfully on the little
creature.
Then a knocking was heard at the door, and
in came a poor old man wrapped up as in a
large horse-cloth, for it warms one, and he
needed it, as it was the cold winter season!
Everything out-of doors was covered with
ice and snow, and the wind blew so that it
cut the face.
As the old man trembled with cold, and the
little child slept a moment, the mother went
and poured some ale into a pot and set it
on the stove, that it might be warm for him;
the old man sat and rocked the cradle, and
the mother sat down on a chair close by
him, and looked at her little sick child that
drew its breath so deep, and raised its little
hand.
“Do you not think that I shall save him?”
said she. “Our Lord will not take him from
me!”
And the old man–it was Death himself–he
nodded so strangely, it could just as well
signify yes as no. And the mother looked
down in her lap, and the tears ran down
over her cheeks; her head became so
heavy–she had not closed her eyes for three
days and nights; and now she slept, but only
for a minute, when she started up and
trembled with cold.
“What is that?” said she, and looked on all
sides; but the old man was gone, and her
little child was gone–he had taken it with
him; and the old clock in the corner burred,
and burred, the great leaden weight ran
down to the floor, bump! and then the clock
also stood still.
But the poor mother ran out of the house
and cried aloud for her child.
Out there, in the midst of the snow, there
sat a woman in long, black clothes; and she
said, “Death has been in thy chamber, and I
saw him hasten away with thy little child; he
goes faster than the wind, and he never
brings back what he takes!”
“Oh, only tell me which way he went!” said
the mother. “Tell me the way, and I shall
find him!”
“I know it!” said the woman in the black
clothes. “But before I tell it, thou must first
sing for me all the songs thou hast sung for
thy child! I am fond of them. I have heard
them before; I am Night; I saw thy tears
whilst thou sang’st them!”
“I will sing them all, all!” said the mother.
“But do not stop me now–I may overtake
him–I may find my child!”
But Night stood still and mute. Then the
mother wrung her hands, sang and wept,
and there were many songs, but yet many
more tears; and then Night said, “Go to the
right, into the dark pine forest; thither I saw
Death take his way with thy little child!”
The roads crossed each other in the depths
of the forest, and she no longer knew
whither she should go! then there stood a
thorn-bush; there was neither leaf nor flower
on it, it was also in the cold winter season,
and ice-flakes hung on the branches.
“Hast thou not seen Death go past with my
little child?” said the mother.
“Yes,” said the thorn-bush; “but I will not
tell thee which way he took, unless thou wilt
first warm me up at thy heart. I am freezing
to death; I shall become a lump of ice!”
And she pressed the thorn-bush to her
breast, so firmly, that it might be thoroughly
warmed, and the thorns went right into her
flesh, and her blood flowed in large drops,
but the thornbush shot forth fresh green
leaves, and there came flowers on it in the
cold winter night, the heart of the afflicted
mother was so warm; and the thorn-bush
told her the way she should go.
She then came to a large lake, where there
was neither ship nor boat. The lake was not
frozen sufficiently to bear her; neither was it
open, nor low enough that she could wade
through it; and across it she must go if she
would find her child! Then she lay down to
drink up the lake, and that was an
impossibility for a human being, but the
afflicted mother thought that a miracle might
happen nevertheless.
“Oh, what would I not give to come to my
child!” said the weeping mother; and she
wept still more, and her eyes sunk down in
the depths of the waters, and became two
precious pearls; but the water bore her up,
as if she sat in a swing, and she flew in the
rocking waves to the shore on the opposite
side, where there stood a mile-broad,
strange house, one knew not if it were a
mountain with forests and caverns, or if it
were built up; but the poor mother could
not see it; she had wept her eyes out.
“Where shall I find Death, who took away
my little child?” said she.
“He has not come here yet!” said the old
grave woman, who was appointed to look
after Death’s great greenhouse! “How have
you been able to find the way hither? And
who has helped you?”
“Our Lord has helped me,” said she. “He is
merciful, and you will also be so! Where
shall I find my little child?”
“Nay, I know not,” said the woman, “and
you cannot see! Many flowers and trees
have withered this night; Death will soon
come and plant them over again! You
certainly know that every person has his or
her life’s tree or flower, just as everyone
happens to be settled; they look like other
plants, but they have pulsations of the heart.
Children’s hearts can also beat; go after
yours, perhaps you may know your child’s;
but what will you give me if I tell you what
you shall do more?”
“I have nothing to give,” said the afflicted
mother, “but I will go to the world’s end for
you!”
“Nay, I have nothing to do there!” said the
woman. “But you can give me your long
black hair; you know yourself that it is fine,
and that I like! You shall have my white hair
instead, and that’s always something!”
“Do you demand nothing else?” said she.
“That I will gladly give you!” And she gave
her her fine black hair, and got the old
woman’s snow-white hair instead.
So they went into Death’s great greenhouse,
where flowers and trees grew strangely into
one another. There stood fine hyacinths
under glass bells, and there stood strong-
stemmed peonies; there grew water plants,
some so fresh, others half sick, the water-
snakes lay down on them, and black crabs
pinched their stalks. There stood beautiful
palm-trees, oaks, and plantains; there stood
parsley and flowering thyme: every tree and
every flower had its name; each of them was
a human life, the human frame still lived–
one in China, and another in Greenland–
round about in the world. There were large
trees in small pots, so that they stood so
stunted in growth, and ready to burst the
pots; in other places, there was a little dull
flower in rich mould, with moss round about
it, and it was so petted and nursed. But the
distressed mother bent down over all the
smallest plants, and heard within them how
the human heart beat; and amongst millions
she knew her child’s.
“There it is!” cried she, and stretched her
hands out over a little blue crocus, that hung
quite sickly on one side.
“Don’t touch the flower!” said the old
woman. “But place yourself here, and when
Death comes–I expect him every moment–
do not let him pluck the flower up, but
threaten him that you will do the same with
the others. Then he will be afraid! He is
responsible for them to our Lord, and no
one dares to pluck them up before he gives
leave.”
All at once an icy cold rushed through the
great hall, and the blind mother could feel
that it was Death that came. “How hast thou
been able to find thy way hither?” he asked.
“How couldst thou come quicker than I?” “I
am a mother,” said she.
And Death stretched out his long hand
towards the fine little flower, but she held
her hands fast around his, so tight, and yet
afraid that she should touch one of the
leaves. Then Death blew on her hands, and
she felt that it was colder than the cold
wind, and her hands fell down powerless.
“Thou canst not do anything against me!”
said Death.
“But our Lord can!” said she.
“I only do His bidding!” said Death. “I am
His gardener, I take all His flowers and
trees, and plant them out in the great
garden of Paradise, in the unknown land;
but how they grow there, and how it is there
I dare not tell thee.”
“Give me back my child!” said the mother,
and she wept and prayed. At once she
seized hold of two beautiful flowers close
by, with each hand, and cried out to Death,
“I will tear all thy flowers off, for I am in
despair.”
“Touch them not!” said Death. “Thou say’st
that thou art so unhappy, and now thou wilt
make another mother equally unhappy.”
“Another mother!” said the poor woman,
and directly let go her hold of both the
flowers.
“There, thou hast thine eyes,” said Death; “I
fished them up from the lake, they shone so
bright; I knew not they were thine. Take
them again, they are now brighter than
before; now look down into the deep well
close by; I shall tell thee the names of the
two flowers thou wouldst have torn up, and
thou wilt see their whole future life–their
whole human existence: and see what thou
wast about to disturb and destroy.”
And she looked down into the well; and it
was a happiness to see how the one became
a blessing to the world, to see how much
happiness and joy were felt everywhere. And
she saw the other’s life, and it was sorrow
and distress, horror, and wretchedness.
“Both of them are God’s will!” said Death.
“Which of them is Misfortune’s flower and
which is that of Happiness?” asked she.
“That I will not tell thee,” said Death; “but
this thou shalt know from me, that the one
flower was thy own child! it was thy child’s
fate thou saw’st–thy own child’s future life!”
Then the mother screamed with terror,
“Which of them was my child? Tell it me!
Save the innocent! Save my child from all
that misery! Rather take it away!
A mother sat there with her little child. She
was so downcast, so afraid that it should
die! It was so pale, the small eyes had
closed themselves, and it drew its breath so
softly, now and then, with a deep
respiration, as if it sighed; and the mother
looked still more sorrowfully on the little
creature.
Then a knocking was heard at the door, and
in came a poor old man wrapped up as in a
large horse-cloth, for it warms one, and he
needed it, as it was the cold winter season!
Everything out-of doors was covered with
ice and snow, and the wind blew so that it
cut the face.
As the old man trembled with cold, and the
little child slept a moment, the mother went
and poured some ale into a pot and set it
on the stove, that it might be warm for him;
the old man sat and rocked the cradle, and
the mother sat down on a chair close by
him, and looked at her little sick child that
drew its breath so deep, and raised its little
hand.
“Do you not think that I shall save him?”
said she. “Our Lord will not take him from
me!”
And the old man–it was Death himself–he
nodded so strangely, it could just as well
signify yes as no. And the mother looked
down in her lap, and the tears ran down
over her cheeks; her head became so
heavy–she had not closed her eyes for three
days and nights; and now she slept, but only
for a minute, when she started up and
trembled with cold.
“What is that?” said she, and looked on all
sides; but the old man was gone, and her
little child was gone–he had taken it with
him; and the old clock in the corner burred,
and burred, the great leaden weight ran
down to the floor, bump! and then the clock
also stood still.
But the poor mother ran out of the house
and cried aloud for her child.
Out there, in the midst of the snow, there
sat a woman in long, black clothes; and she
said, “Death has been in thy chamber, and I
saw him hasten away with thy little child; he
goes faster than the wind, and he never
brings back what he takes!”
“Oh, only tell me which way he went!” said
the mother. “Tell me the way, and I shall
find him!”
“I know it!” said the woman in the black
clothes. “But before I tell it, thou must first
sing for me all the songs thou hast sung for
thy child! I am fond of them. I have heard
them before; I am Night; I saw thy tears
whilst thou sang’st them!”
“I will sing them all, all!” said the mother.
“But do not stop me now–I may overtake
him–I may find my child!”
But Night stood still and mute. Then the
mother wrung her hands, sang and wept,
and there were many songs, but yet many
more tears; and then Night said, “Go to the
right, into the dark pine forest; thither I saw
Death take his way with thy little child!”
The roads crossed each other in the depths
of the forest, and she no longer knew
whither she should go! then there stood a
thorn-bush; there was neither leaf nor flower
on it, it was also in the cold winter season,
and ice-flakes hung on the branches.
“Hast thou not seen Death go past with my
little child?” said the mother.
“Yes,” said the thorn-bush; “but I will not
tell thee which way he took, unless thou wilt
first warm me up at thy heart. I am freezing
to death; I shall become a lump of ice!”
And she pressed the thorn-bush to her
breast, so firmly, that it might be thoroughly
warmed, and the thorns went right into her
flesh, and her blood flowed in large drops,
but the thornbush shot forth fresh green
leaves, and there came flowers on it in the
cold winter night, the heart of the afflicted
mother was so warm; and the thorn-bush
told her the way she should go.
She then came to a large lake, where there
was neither ship nor boat. The lake was not
frozen sufficiently to bear her; neither was it
open, nor low enough that she could wade
through it; and across it she must go if she
would find her child! Then she lay down to
drink up the lake, and that was an
impossibility for a human being, but the
afflicted mother thought that a miracle might
happen nevertheless.
“Oh, what would I not give to come to my
child!” said the weeping mother; and she
wept still more, and her eyes sunk down in
the depths of the waters, and became two
precious pearls; but the water bore her up,
as if she sat in a swing, and she flew in the
rocking waves to the shore on the opposite
side, where there stood a mile-broad,
strange house, one knew not if it were a
mountain with forests and caverns, or if it
were built up; but the poor mother could
not see it; she had wept her eyes out.
“Where shall I find Death, who took away
my little child?” said she.
“He has not come here yet!” said the old
grave woman, who was appointed to look
after Death’s great greenhouse! “How have
you been able to find the way hither? And
who has helped you?”
“Our Lord has helped me,” said she. “He is
merciful, and you will also be so! Where
shall I find my little child?”
“Nay, I know not,” said the woman, “and
you cannot see! Many flowers and trees
have withered this night; Death will soon
come and plant them over again! You
certainly know that every person has his or
her life’s tree or flower, just as everyone
happens to be settled; they look like other
plants, but they have pulsations of the heart.
Children’s hearts can also beat; go after
yours, perhaps you may know your child’s;
but what will you give me if I tell you what
you shall do more?”
“I have nothing to give,” said the afflicted
mother, “but I will go to the world’s end for
you!”
“Nay, I have nothing to do there!” said the
woman. “But you can give me your long
black hair; you know yourself that it is fine,
and that I like! You shall have my white hair
instead, and that’s always something!”
“Do you demand nothing else?” said she.
“That I will gladly give you!” And she gave
her her fine black hair, and got the old
woman’s snow-white hair instead.
So they went into Death’s great greenhouse,
where flowers and trees grew strangely into
one another. There stood fine hyacinths
under glass bells, and there stood strong-
stemmed peonies; there grew water plants,
some so fresh, others half sick, the water-
snakes lay down on them, and black crabs
pinched their stalks. There stood beautiful
palm-trees, oaks, and plantains; there stood
parsley and flowering thyme: every tree and
every flower had its name; each of them was
a human life, the human frame still lived–
one in China, and another in Greenland–
round about in the world. There were large
trees in small pots, so that they stood so
stunted in growth, and ready to burst the
pots; in other places, there was a little dull
flower in rich mould, with moss round about
it, and it was so petted and nursed. But the
distressed mother bent down over all the
smallest plants, and heard within them how
the human heart beat; and amongst millions
she knew her child’s.
“There it is!” cried she, and stretched her
hands out over a little blue crocus, that hung
quite sickly on one side.
“Don’t touch the flower!” said the old
woman. “But place yourself here, and when
Death comes–I expect him every moment–
do not let him pluck the flower up, but
threaten him that you will do the same with
the others. Then he will be afraid! He is
responsible for them to our Lord, and no
one dares to pluck them up before he gives
leave.”
All at once an icy cold rushed through the
great hall, and the blind mother could feel
that it was Death that came. “How hast thou
been able to find thy way hither?” he asked.
“How couldst thou come quicker than I?” “I
am a mother,” said she.
And Death stretched out his long hand
towards the fine little flower, but she held
her hands fast around his, so tight, and yet
afraid that she should touch one of the
leaves. Then Death blew on her hands, and
she felt that it was colder than the cold
wind, and her hands fell down powerless.
“Thou canst not do anything against me!”
said Death.
“But our Lord can!” said she.
“I only do His bidding!” said Death. “I am
His gardener, I take all His flowers and
trees, and plant them out in the great
garden of Paradise, in the unknown land;
but how they grow there, and how it is there
I dare not tell thee.”
“Give me back my child!” said the mother,
and she wept and prayed. At once she
seized hold of two beautiful flowers close
by, with each hand, and cried out to Death,
“I will tear all thy flowers off, for I am in
despair.”
“Touch them not!” said Death. “Thou say’st
that thou art so unhappy, and now thou wilt
make another mother equally unhappy.”
“Another mother!” said the poor woman,
and directly let go her hold of both the
flowers.
“There, thou hast thine eyes,” said Death; “I
fished them up from the lake, they shone so
bright; I knew not they were thine. Take
them again, they are now brighter than
before; now look down into the deep well
close by; I shall tell thee the names of the
two flowers thou wouldst have torn up, and
thou wilt see their whole future life–their
whole human existence: and see what thou
wast about to disturb and destroy.”
And she looked down into the well; and it
was a happiness to see how the one became
a blessing to the world, to see how much
happiness and joy were felt everywhere. And
she saw the other’s life, and it was sorrow
and distress, horror, and wretchedness.
“Both of them are God’s will!” said Death.
“Which of them is Misfortune’s flower and
which is that of Happiness?” asked she.
“That I will not tell thee,” said Death; “but
this thou shalt know from me, that the one
flower was thy own child! it was thy child’s
fate thou saw’st–thy own child’s future life!”
Then the mother screamed with terror,
“Which of them was my child? Tell it me!
Save the innocent! Save my child from all
that misery! Rather take it away!
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