A MOTHER sat by her little child; she was very sad, for
she feared it would die. It was quite pale, and its little
eyes were closed, and sometimes it drew a heavy deep breath,
almost like a sigh; and then the mother gazed more sadly than
ever on the poor little creature. Some one knocked at the
door, and a poor old man walked in. He was wrapped in
something that looked like a great horse-cloth; and he
required it truly to keep him warm, for it was cold winter;
the country everywhere lay covered with snow and ice, and the
wind blew so sharply that it cut one's face. The little child
had dozed off to sleep for a moment, and the mother, seeing
that the old man shivered with the cold, rose and placed a
small mug of beer on the stove to warm for him. The old man
sat and rocked the cradle; and the mother seated herself on a
chair near him, and looked at her sick child who still
breathed heavily, and took hold of its little hand.
"You think I shall keep him, do you not?" she said. "Our
all-merciful God will surely not take him away from me."
The old man, who was indeed Death himself, nodded his head
in a peculiar manner, which might have signified either Yes,
or No; and the mother cast down her eyes, while the tears
rolled down her cheeks. Then her head became heavy, for she
had not closed her eyes for three days and nights, and she
slept, but only for a moment. Shivering with cold, she started
up and looked round the room. The old man was gone, and her
child- it was gone too!- the old man had taken it with him. In
the corner of the room the old clock began to strike; "whirr"
went the chains, the heavy weight sank to the ground, and the
clock stopped; and the poor mother rushed out of the house
calling for her child. Out in the snow sat a woman in long
black garments, and she said to the mother, "Death has been
with you in your room. I saw him hastening away with your
little child; he strides faster than the wind, and never
brings back what he has taken away."
"Only tell me which way he has gone," said the mother;
tell me the way, I will find him."
"I know the way," said the woman in the black garments;
"but before I tell you, you must sing to me all the songs that
you have sung to your child; I love these songs, I have heard
them before. I am Night, and I saw your tears flow as you
sang."
"I will sing them all to you," said the mother; "but do
not detain me now. I must overtake him, and find my child."
But Night sat silent and still. Then the mother wept and
sang, and wrung her hands. And there were many songs, and yet
even more tears; till at length Night said, "Go to the right,
into the dark forest of fir-trees; for I saw Death take that
road with your little child."
Within the wood the mother came to cross roads, and she
knew not which to take. Just by stood a thorn-bush; it had
neither leaf nor flower, for it was the cold winter time, and
icicles hung on the branches. "Have you not seen Death go by,
with my little child?" she asked.
"Yes," replied the thorn-bush; "but I will not tell you
which way he has taken until you have warmed me in your bosom.
I am freezing to death here, and turning to ice."
Then she pressed the bramble to her bosom quite close, so
that it might be thawed, and the thorns pierced her flesh, and
great drops of blood flowed; but the bramble shot forth fresh
green leaves, and they became flowers on the cold winter's
night, so warm is the heart of a sorrowing mother. Then the
bramble-bush told her the path she must take. She came at
length to a great lake, on which there was neither ship nor
boat to be seen. The lake was not frozen sufficiently for her
to pass over on the ice, nor was it open enough for her to
wade through; and yet she must cross it, if she wished to find
her child. Then she laid herself down to drink up the water of
the lake, which was of course impossible for any human being
to do; but the bereaved mother thought that perhaps a miracle
might take place to help her. "You will never succeed in
this," said the lake; let us make an agreement together which
will be better. I love to collect pearls, and your eyes are
the purest I have ever seen. If you will weep those eyes away
in tears into my waters, then I will take you to the large
hothouse where Death dwells and rears flowers and trees, every
one of which is a human life."
"Oh, what would I not give to reach my child!" said the
weeping mother; and as she still continued to weep, her eyes
fell into the depths of the lake, and became two costly
pearls.
Then the lake lifted her up, and wafted her across to the
opposite shore as if she were on a swing, where stood a
wonderful building many miles in length. No one could tell
whether it was a mountain covered with forests and full of
caves, or whether it had been built. But the poor mother could
not see, for she had wept her eyes into the lake. "Where shall
I find Death, who went away with my little child?" she asked.