{"id":2245,"date":"2012-03-23T08:25:59","date_gmt":"2012-03-23T07:25:59","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.hcandersen-homepage.dk\/?page_id=2245"},"modified":"2013-09-26T12:48:37","modified_gmt":"2013-09-26T10:48:37","slug":"the-story-of-a-mother","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.hcandersen-homepage.dk\/?page_id=2245","title":{"rendered":"The Story of a Mother"},"content":{"rendered":"

The Story of a Mother –\u00a0<\/strong>Illustration<\/a><\/strong><\/p>\n

By Hans Christian Andersen (1848)<\/strong><\/p>\n

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\u2019s 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.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou think I shall keep him, do you not?\u201d she said. \u201cOur all-merciful God will surely not take him away from me.\u201d<\/p>\n

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\u2014it was gone too!\u2014the old man had taken it with him. In the corner of the room the old clock began to strike; \u201cwhirr\u201d 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, \u201cDeath 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.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOnly tell me which way he has gone,\u201d said the mother; \u201ctell me the way, I will find him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know the way,\u201d said the woman in the black garments; \u201cbut 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.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI will sing them all to you,\u201d said the mother; \u201cbut do not detain me now. I must overtake him, and find my child.\u201d<\/p>\n

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, \u201cGo to the right, into the dark forest of fir-trees; for I saw Death take that road with your little child.\u201d<\/p>\n

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. \u201cHave you not seen Death go by, with my little child?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d replied the thorn-bush; \u201cbut 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.\u201d<\/p>\n

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\u2019s 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. \u201cYou will never succeed in this,\u201d said the lake; \u201clet 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.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, what would I not give to reach my child!\u201d 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.<\/p>\n

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. \u201cWhere shall I find Death, who went away with my little child?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe has not arrived here yet,\u201d said an old gray-haired woman, who was walking about, and watering Death\u2019s hothouse. \u201cHow have you found your way here? and who helped you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGod has helped me,\u201d she replied. \u201cHe is merciful; will you not be merciful too? Where shall I find my little child?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI did not know the child,\u201d said the old woman; \u201cand you are blind. Many flowers and trees have faded to-night, and Death will soon come to transplant them. You know already that every human being has a life-tree or a life-flower, just as may be ordained for him. They look like other plants; but they have hearts that beat. Children\u2019s hearts also beat: from that you may perhaps be able to recognize your child. But what will you give me, if I tell you what more you will have to do?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI have nothing to give,\u201d said the afflicted mother; \u201cbut I would go to the ends of the earth for you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI can give you nothing to do for me there,\u201d said the old woman; \u201cbut you can give me your long black hair. You know yourself that it is beautiful, and it pleases me. You can take my white hair in exchange, which will be something in return.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you ask nothing more than that?\u201d said she. \u201cI will give it to you with pleasure.\u201d<\/p>\n

And she gave up her beautiful hair, and received in return the white locks of the old woman. Then they went into Death\u2019s vast hothouse, where flowers and trees grew together in wonderful profusion. Blooming hyacinths, under glass bells, and peonies, like strong trees. There grew water-plants, some quite fresh, and others looking sickly, which had water-snakes twining round them, and black crabs clinging to their stems. There stood noble palm-trees, oaks, and plantains, and beneath them bloomed thyme and parsley. Each tree and flower had a name; each represented a human life, and belonged to men still living, some in China, others in Greenland, and in all parts of the world. Some large trees had been planted in little pots, so that they were cramped for room, and seemed about to burst the pot to pieces; while many weak little flowers were growing in rich soil, with moss all around them, carefully tended and cared for. The sorrowing mother bent over the little plants, and heard the human heart beating in each, and recognized the beatings of her child\u2019s heart among millions of others.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat is it,\u201d she cried, stretching out her hand towards a little crocus-flower which hung down its sickly head.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo not touch the flower,\u201d exclaimed the old woman; \u201cbut place yourself here; and when Death comes\u2014I expect him every minute\u2014do not let him pull up that plant, but threaten him that if he does you will serve the other flowers in the same manner. This will make him afraid; for he must account to God for each of them. None can be uprooted, unless he receives permission to do so.\u201d<\/p>\n

There rushed through the hothouse a chill of icy coldness, and the blind mother felt that Death had arrived.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow did you find your way hither?\u201d asked he; \u201chow could you come here faster than I have?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI am a mother,\u201d she answered.<\/p>\n

And Death stretched out his hand towards the delicate little flower; but she held her hands tightly round it, and held it fast at same time, with the most anxious care, lest she should touch one of the leaves. Then Death breathed upon her hands, and she felt his breath colder than the icy wind, and her hands sank down powerless.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou cannot prevail against me,\u201d said Death.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut a God of mercy can,\u201d said she.<\/p>\n

\u201cI only do His will,\u201d replied Death. \u201cI am his gardener. I take all His flowers and trees, and transplant them into the gardens of Paradise in an unknown land. How they flourish there, and what that garden resembles, I may not tell you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGive me back my child,\u201d said the mother, weeping and imploring; and she seized two beautiful flowers in her hands, and cried to Death, \u201cI will tear up all your flowers, for I am in despair.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo not touch them,\u201d said Death. \u201cYou say you are unhappy; and would you make another mother as unhappy as yourself?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnother mother!\u201d cried the poor woman, setting the flowers free from her hands.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere are your eyes,\u201d said Death. \u201cI fished them up out of the lake for you. They were shining brightly; but I knew not they were yours. Take them back\u2014they are clearer now than before\u2014and then look into the deep well which is close by here. I will tell you the names of the two flowers which you wished to pull up; and you will see the whole future of the human beings they represent, and what you were about to frustrate and destroy.\u201d<\/p>\n

Then she looked into the well; and it was a glorious sight to behold how one of them became a blessing to the world, and how much happiness and joy it spread around. But she saw that the life of the other was full of care and poverty, misery and woe.<\/p>\n

\u201cBoth are the will of God,\u201d said Death.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhich is the unhappy flower, and which is the blessed one?\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat I may not tell you,\u201d said Death; \u201cbut thus far you may learn, that one of the two flowers represents your own child. It was the fate of your child that you saw,\u2014the future of your own child.\u201d<\/p>\n

Then the mother screamed aloud with terror, \u201cWhich of them belongs to my child? Tell me that. Deliver the unhappy child. Release it from so much misery. Rather take it away. Take it to the kingdom of God. Forget my tears and my entreaties; forget all that I have said or done.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI do not understand you,\u201d said Death. \u201cWill you have your child back? or shall I carry him away to a place that you do not know?\u201d<\/p>\n

Then the mother wrung her hands, fell on her knees, and prayed to God, \u201cGrant not my prayers, when they are contrary to Thy will, which at all times must be the best. Oh, hear them not;\u201d and her head sank on her bosom.<\/p>\n

Then Death carried away her child to the unknown land.<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0Indeks over H.C. Andersens eventyr \u2014\u00a0Index of Hans Christian Andersen Fairy tales<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The Story of a Mother –\u00a0Illustration By Hans Christian Andersen (1848) 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 … L\u00e6s mere The Story of a Mother<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"class_list":["post-2245","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.hcandersen-homepage.dk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/2245","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.hcandersen-homepage.dk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.hcandersen-homepage.dk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.hcandersen-homepage.dk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.hcandersen-homepage.dk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=2245"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.hcandersen-homepage.dk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/2245\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":53448,"href":"https:\/\/www.hcandersen-homepage.dk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/2245\/revisions\/53448"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.hcandersen-homepage.dk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=2245"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}