| "When a good child dies,
an angel comes down from heaven and takes the dead child in
his arms; then the angel spreads out his wings and flies with
the child to visit all the places, that the little one has loved.
They pick a whole armful of flowers and bring them to God; in
heaven, these flowers will bloom even more beautifully than
they have on earth. God presses all the flowers to His heart;
but the one that is dearest to Him, He gives a kiss, and then
that flower can sing and join in the hosanna." |
"Hver Gang et godt Barn
døer, kommer der en Guds Engel ned til Jorden, tager det døde
Barn paa sine Arme, breder de store hvide Vinger ud, flyver
hen over alle de Steder, Barnet har holdt af, og plukker en
heel Haandfuld Blomster, som de bringe op til Gud for der at
blomstre endnu smukkere end paa Jorden. Den gode Gud trykker
alle Blomsterne til sit Hjerte, men den Blomst, som er ham kjærest,
giver han et Kys, og da faaer den Stemme og kan synge med i
den store Lyksalighed!" |
| This was what one of
God's angels was telling to a dead child whom he was carrying
up to heaven. The child heard it as though in a dream, while
the angel flew with him above all the places where he had played
and been happy. At last they came to a garden filled with the
most beautiful flowers. |
See, alt dette fortalte
en Guds Engel, idet den bar et dødt Barn bort til Himlen, og
Barnet hørte ligesom i Drømme; og de foer hen over de Steder
i Hjemmet, hvor den Lille havde leget, og de kom gjennem Haver
med deilige Blomster. |
| "Which ones shall we
take along and plant up in heaven?" asked the angel. |
"Hvilke skulle vi nu
tage med og plante i Himmelen?" spurgte Engelen. |
| There was a tall rosebush
whose stem some evil hand had broken, so that all the branches,
with their half-open buds that had already begun to wither,
lay limp all around it. |
Og der stod et slankt,
velsignet Rosentræ, men en ond Haand havde knækket Stammen,
saa at alle Grenene, fulde af store, halvudsprungne Knopper,
hang visne ned rundtenom. |
| "Oh, the poor bush!"
cried the child. "Take it along that it may flower again up
with God." |
"Det stakkels Træ!"
sagde Barnet, "tag det, at det kan komme til at blomstre deroppe
hos Gud!" |
| The angel kissed the
child for the choice he had made and took the rosebush. They
picked other flowers. Some were the most elegant in the garden;
but they took some wild pansies and violets too. |
Og Engelen tog det,
men kyssede Barnet derfor, og den Lille aabnede halvt sine Øine.
De plukkede af de rige Pragtblomster, men toge ogsaa den foragtede
Morgenfrue og den vilde Stedmoderblomst. |
| "Now we have enough
flowers," said the child, and the angel nodded. Now they could
fly up to God, but the angel tarried. Night came, and the town
grew still. The angel flew with the child above the narrow streets
where the poor lived. The day before had been moving day, and
the lanes were fined with old straw, broken pots and plates,
rags and garbage. It was a sorry sight. |
"Nu have vi Blomster!"
sagde Barnet, og Engelen nikkede, men de fløi endnu ikke op
mod Gud. Det var Nat, det var ganske stille, de bleve i den
store By, de svævede om i en af de snevreste Gader, hvor der
laae hele Bunker Halm, Aske og Skrimmelskrammel, det havde været
Flyttedag! der laae Stykker af Talerkener, Gipsstumper, Klude
og gamle Hattepulle, Alt hvad der ikke saae godt ud. |
| The angel pointed to
a broken earthenware pot; near it lay a dried out wild flower,
to whose roots a clump of soil still clung. It had been thrown
out in the street together with the other trash. |
Og Engelen pegede i
al den Forstyrrelse ned paa nogle Skaar af en Urtepotte, og
paa en Klump Jord, der var faldet ud af denne og holdtes sammen
ved Rødderne af en stor, vissen Markblomst, der slet ikke duede
og derfor var kastet ud paa Gaden. |
| "That flower we shall
take along," said the angel. "And I shall tell you its story
while we fly." |
"Den tage vi med!" sagde
Engelen, "jeg skal fortælle Dig, medens vi flyve!" |
| The angel picked up
the dead wild flower and they flew on their way. |
Og saa fløi de, og Engelen
fortalte: |
| "Down in that narrow
street," the angel began, "there lived in a cellar a little
poor boy who had been ill from birth and had spent his life
in bed. When he was 'well,' he would walk around the room, leaning
on two crutches. In the middle of the summer, when the sun was
so high in the sky that its rays fell into the little courtyard,
a chair would be placed by the door of the cellar, and there
the boy would enjoy the warm sunshine. The child had to hold
up his hands in front of his face, for his eyes were used to
the twilight of the cellar. His hands were white and thin, and
beneath the transparent skin one could see the blood pulsing
through his veins. After such a day his parents would say: 'Today
he has been outside.' "He knew about the greenness of the forest
in spring because the neighbor's children would bring him the
first green branch of the beech tree. The sick boy would hold
it over his head and pretend that he was out in the woods, where
the sun shone and the birds sang. One day one of the children
brought him a bouquet of wild flowers. Among them was one flower
that still had roots. This was planted in an earthenware pot
and placed next to the bed. It grew. Each year it had new shoots
and new flowers unfolded. The wild flower became the sick child's
garden: his treasure on this earth. He watered it and took care
of it, making sure that it always stood where the bit of light
that came through the tiny cellar window would fall upon it.
The flower became part of his world, not only when he was awake
but when he dreamed as well. It bloomed for him alone: to give
pleasure to his eyes and send sweet fragrance for him to enjoy.
When God called him, the boy turned in death toward the flower.
"He has been with God a year now. A whole year the flower stood
in the window forgotten; then it was all dried out, so it was
thrown out in the street with the other garbage. We shall take
the poor dead flower along in our bouquet, for it has spread
more happiness than the grandest flower in any royal garden." |
"Dernede i den snevre
Gade, i den lave Kjælder, boede en fattig, syg Dreng; fra ganske
lille af havde han altid været sengeliggende; naar han var allermeest
rask, kunde han paa Krykker gaae den lille Stue et Par Gange
op og ned, det var det hele. Nogle Dage om Sommeren faldt Solstraalerne
en halv Times Tid ind i Kjælder-Forstuen, og naar da den lille
Dreng sad der og lod den varme Sol skinne paa sig, og saae det
røde Blod gjennem sine fine Fingre, som han holdt op for Ansigtet,
saa hed det: "ja i Dag, har han været ude!" - Han kjendte Skoven
i dens deilige Foraars-Grønne kun derved, at Naboens Søn bragte
ham den første Bøgegreen, og den holdt han over sit Hoved, og
drømte sig da at være under Bøgene, hvor Solen skinnede, og
Fuglene sang. En Foraarsdag bragte Naboens Dreng ham ogsaa Markblomster,
og mellem disse var, tilfældigviis, en med Rod ved, og derfor
blev den plantet i en Urtepotte og stillet hen i Vinduet tæt
ved Sengen. Og Blomsten var plantet med en lykkelig Haand, den
voxede, skjød nye Skud og bar hvert Aar sine Blomster; den blev
den syge Drengs deiligste Urtegaard, hans lille Skat paa denne
Jord; han vandede og passede den, og sørgede for, at den fik
hver Solstraale, lige til den sidste, der gled ned over det
lave Vindue; og Blomsten selv voxede ind i hans Drømme, thi
for ham blomstrede den, udspredte sin Duft og glædede Øiet;
mod den vendte han sig i Døden, da vor Herre kaldte ham. - Et
Aar har han nu været hos Gud, et Aar har Blomsten staaet forglemt
i Vinduet og er visnet, og derfor ved Flytningen kastet ud i
Feieskarnet paa Gaden. Og det er den Blomst, den fattige, visne
Blomst vi have taget med i Bouquetten, thi den Blomst har glædet
mere, end den rigeste Blomst i en Dronnings Have!" |
| "But how do you know
all this?" asked the child whom the angel was carrying up to
heaven. |
"Men hvorfra veed Du
alt dette!" spurgte Barnet, som Engelen bar op mod Himlen. |
| "How do I know?" the
angel said, and smiled. "I was myself that sick little boy who
could not walk without crutches. Oh, I recognize my flower again!" |
"Jeg veed det!" sagde
Engelen. "Jeg var jo selv den syge, lille Dreng, der gik paa
Krykker! min Blomst kjender jeg nok!" |
| The child opened his
eyes as widely as he could and looked into the happy face of
the angel. Just at that moment they flew into heaven, where
all sorrows cease. God embraced the dead child, pressed him
to His heart; and he grew wings and flew away, hand in hand,
with the angel who had brought him into heaven. God pressed
all the flowers that they had given Him to His heart; but the
dead wild flower He kissed and it gained a voice and could sing
with the angels that flew around God, in ever widening circles
out into infinity. All sang with equal bliss and fervor: those
who had died when old and those who had come as children, and
the little wild flower that had been thrown out among the trash
in the dark and narrow lane. |
Og Barnet aabnede ganske
sine Øine og saae ind i Engelens deilige, glade Ansigt, og i
samme Øieblik vare de i Guds Himmel, hvor der var Glæde og Lyksalighed.
Og Gud trykkede det døde Barn til sit Hjerte, og da fik det
Vinger, som den anden Engel og fløi Haand i Haand med ham; og
Gud trykkede alle Blomsterne til sit Hjerte, men den fattige,
visne Markblomst kyssede han og den fik Stemme og sang med alle
Englene, der svævede om Gud, nogle ganske nær, andre uden om
disse, i store Kredse, altid længer bort, i det Uendelige, men
alle lige lykkelige. Og alle sang de, smaa og store, det gode,
velsignede Barn, og den fattige Markblomst, der havde ligget
vissen, henkastet i Feieskarnet, mellem Flyttedags-Skramleriet,
i den snevre, mørke Gade. |
|