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The Story Of A Mother
Hans Christian Andersen
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! Take it into God's kingdom! Forget my tears, forget my
prayers, and all that I have done!"
"I do not understand thee!" said Death. "Wilt thou have
thy child again, or shall I go with it there, where thou dost not know!"
Then the mother wrung her hands, fell on her knees, and
prayed to our Lord: "Oh, hear me not when I pray against Thy will, which is the
best! hear me not! hear me not!"
And she bowed her head down in her lap, and
Death took her child and went with it into the unknown land.
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