| The mayor was standing
by the open window; he was in shirt sleeves and his face was
even more ruddy than usual, for he had just shaved -a job he
preferred doing himself and which he did well, although there
was a tiny nick on his chin that he had covered with a bit of
paper. |
Byfogden stod ved det
aabne Vindue; han var i Mansket-Skjorte, med Brystnaal i Kalvekrydset
og overordenlig vel barberet, selvgjort Arbeide; dog var han
kommet til at give sig et lille Snit, men hen over det sad en
Lap Avis-Papir. |
| "Hey, you, little boy!"
he called. |
"Hør, du Lille!" raabte
han. |
| The little boy was none
other than the washerwoman's son, who, as he was passing, had
noticed the mayor and had politely taken off his cap. It was
the kind that had a fold in its peak, so it could be readily
stuffed into a pocket. His clothes were clean though covered
with patches, and on his feet he wore a pair of clumsy clogs.
There he stood before the open window as respectfully as if
the mayor were the king himself. |
Og den Lille var ingen
anden end Vaskerkonens Søn, der netop gik forbi og ærbødig tog
sin Kasket af; den var knækket i Skyggen og indrettet til at
putte i Lommen. I de fattige, men rene og særdeles vel lappede
Klæder og med svære Træskoe, stod Drengen ærbødig, som var det
for Kongen selv han stod. |
| "You are a good boy,"
said the mayor. "You are a polite little boy. Your mother is
washing down at the river, and that is where you are heading
for. You are carrying something in your pocket. Your mother
is in a bad way! How much do you have in the bottle?" |
"Du er en god Dreng!"
sagde Byfogden, "Du er en høflig Dreng! din Moder skyller vel
Tøi nede ved Aaen; der skal Du ned med det, Du har i Lommen.
Det er en slem Ting med din Moder! hvormeget har Du der?" |
| "Half a pint," whispered
the frightened boy, |
"En halv Pægel!" sagde
Drengen med forskrækket, halv sagte Stemme. |
| "And this morning she
drank the same amount," continued the man. |
"Og imorges fik hun
det samme!" vedblev Manden. |
| "No, that was yesterday,"
answered the boy. |
"Nei, igaar var det!"
svarede Drengen. |
| "Two halves make a whole.
She is no good! It is a pity what happens to people of that
class. Tell your mother that she ought to be ashamed of herself!
And don't you ever become a drunkard, but I suppose you won't
be able to avoid it. . . . Poor child. Well, run along!" |
"To halve gjør en heel!
- Hun duer ikke! Det er sørgeligt med den Klasse af Folket!
Siig til din Moder, at hun skulde skamme sig! og bliv aldrig
Du en Drukkenboldt, men det bliver Du nok! - Stakkels Barn!
-Gaa nu!" |
| The boy left. He kept
his cap in his hand, and the wind played with his yellow hair,
so that long tufts of it stood straight up. He walked across
the street and down an alley to the river. There stood his mother,
in water up to her knees, rinsing some clothes she had just
washed. The river flowed rapidly, for the lock by the water
mill had been opened. It was hard work just keeping the sheets
from being carried away by the current. |
Og Drengen gik; Kasketten
beholdt han i Haanden, og Vinden blæste paa hans gule Haar,
saa at det reiste sig i lange Totter. Han gik om af Gaden, ind
i Gyden, ned til Aaen, hvor Moderen stod ude i Vandet ved Toestolen
og slog med Tærskelen paa det svære Linned. Der var Strømning
i Vandet, thi Vandmøllens Sluser vare oppe, Lagenet drev for
Strømmen og var nær ved at rive Toestolen om; Vaskerkonen maatte
holde imod. |
| "I am about to sail
away," said the mother, and laughed. "I am glad that you have
come. I need a little something to help me. I have stood here
in the water for six hours, and it is cold. You have brought
me something?" |
"Jeg er nær ved at seile!"
sagde hun, "det er godt, at Du kommer, for jeg kan trænge til
at faae lidt Hjelp paa Kræfterne! det er koldt herude i Vandet;
i sex Timer har jeg staaet her. Har Du Noget til mig?" |
| The boy took the bottle
from his pocket and gave it to his mother, who put it to her
lips and drank. |
Drengen tog Flasken
frem, og Moderen satte den for Munden og drak en Slurk. |
| "Oh! That was good.
How it warms one! Why, it is just as good as a hot meal and
a lot cheaper. Take a swallow, my boy. You look pale, I am afraid
that you are freezing, too, in those thin clothes, now that
it is fall. Huh! How cold the water has become. I hope I won't
get sick. But why should I? Give me back the bottle; now it's
my turn to have another drink. You can take another one, too,
but only a drop. Don't let it become a habit. My poor little
child!" |
"0, hvor det gjør godt!
hvor det varmer! det er ligesaa godt som varm Mad, og det er
ikke saa dyrt! drik, min Dreng! Du seer saa bleg ud, Du fryser
i de tynde Klæder! det er jo ogsaa Efteraar. Hu! Vandet er koldt!
bare jeg ikke bliver syg! men det gjør jeg ikke! giv mig en
Taar endnu og drik ogsaa Du, men kun en lille Draabe, Du maa
ikke vænne Dig til det, mit stakkels fattige Barn!" |
| The woman climbed up
on the bank and stood next to her son; water was streaming from
her skirts and from the rush mat that had been tied around her
waist. |
Og hun gik om Broen,
hvor Drengen stod, og traadte op paa Land; Vandet drev fra Sivmatten,
hun havde om Livet, Vandet flød fra hendes Skjørt. |
| "I work my fingers
to the bone," she said. "But that doesn't matter, as long as
you get a good start in life." |
"Jeg slider og slæber,
saa Blodet er færdigt at springe mig ud af mine Neglerødder!
men det er det samme, naar jeg kun hæderlig kan faae dig frem,
mit søde Barn!" |
| At that moment another
woman appeared. She was older and walked with a limp; somehow
her skin seemed as threadbare as her clothes. A large spit curl
hung down over her forehead. It was meant to hide a missing
eye but only made one more aware of the defect. "Crippled Maren
with the curl" was the name her neighbors had given her, and
she was a friend of the washerwoman. |
I det Samme kom en noget
ældre Kone, fattig i Klæder og Skind, halt paa det ene Been
og med en mægtig stor forloren Krølle ud over det ene Øie, det
skulde skjules af Krøllen, men den gjorde Skavanken mere kjendelig.
Det var en Veninde af Vaskerkonen, "Halte-Maren med Krøllen,"
kaldte Naboerne hende. |
| "Poor creature," she
began at once. "Always standing in the cold water, always slaving
away. If anyone needs a drop to keep them warm, then it's you;
and to think some people grudge you a drink." Maren repeated
to the washerwoman everything the mayor had said. She had heard
it all and it had made her angry. "How dare he say such things
to a boy about his own mother. He begrudges you a drop of liquor,
but when he throws a party, why, they drink wine by the case.
Many of his guests get a drop too much, but no one calls them
drunkards. They are good, and you are no good!" |
"Stakkel, hvor Du slider
og slæber og staaer i det kolde Vand! Du kan nok trænge til
Lidt at varmes ved, og dog har man ondt af den Draabe, Du faaer!"
- og nu var snart hele Byfogdens Tale til Drengen bragt Vaskerkonen;
for Maren havde hørt det Hele, og det havde ærgret hende, at
han talte saaledes til Barnet om dets egen Moder og om den Draabe,
hun tog, lige i det Byfogden gjorde stort Middags-Collats med
Viin i flaskeviis! "fine Vine og stærke Vine! lidt over Tørsten
hos Mange! men det kalder man ikke at drikke! de due, men Du
duer ikke!" |
| "Did he really talk
like that to you?" she asked, turning to her son, while her
lips trembled. "Did he say that you had a mother that was no
good? Well, maybe he's right. But he should never have said
it to a child, though it's not the first time that that family
has been the cause of my suffering." |
"Saa han har talt til
Dig, Barn!" sagde Vaskerkonen, og hendes Læber bevægede sig
zittrende: "Du har en Moder, der duer ikke! maaskee har han
Ret! men til Barnet skulde han ikke sige det! dog, fra det Huus
kommer Meget over mig!" |
| "That's right!" Maren
exclaimed. "You used to work in the mayor's house when his parents
were still alive. But that's such a long time ago. We've eaten
a ton of salt since then; no wonder we are so thirsty." Maren
laughed. "They are having a big dinner party there now, though
they wish they weren't. . . . But it is too late to do anything
about it . . . The guests were invited long ago and the food
was all made. But the mayor got a letter an hour before saying
that his younger brother had died in Copenhagen. The gardener
told me all about it." |
"I har jo tjent der
i Gaarde, da Byfogdens Forældre levede og boede der; det er
mange Aar siden! Der er spiist mange Skjepper Salt siden den
Tid, saa man nok kan tørste!" og Maren loe. "Der er stor Middag
i Dag hos Byfogden, den skulde have været sagt af, men nu blev
det dem for silde, og Maden var lavet. Jeg har det fra Gaardskarlen.
Der er for en Timestid siden kommet Brev om, at den yngre Broder
er død i Kjøbenhavn." |
| "Dead!" said the washerwoman,
and turned pale. |
"Død!" udbrød Vaskerkonen
og blev liigbleg. |
| "Oh my!" exclaimed Maren.
"One would think he was your brother. I suppose you knew him
well when you were a servant there." |
"Ih dog!" sagde Konen;
"tager I Jer det saa nær! naa, I kjendte ham, fra I tjente der
i Huset." |
| "So he is dead! There
never lived a kinder person. It is not often that God receives
such a blessed, such a good person." Tears started to run down
the washerwoman's cheeks. "Oh, my God! I feel so dizzy! Everything
is turning about. I shouldn't have emptied the bottle. It was
too much. I feel terribly ill." The woman tottered over to a
fence and leaned against it. |
"Er han død! han var
det bedste, det meest velsignede Menneske! vor Herre faaer ikke
Mange, som ham!" og Taarerne løb hende ned ad Kinderne. "0,
min Gud! det gaaer rundt med mig! det er, fordi jeg drak Flasken
ud! jeg har ikke kunnet taale det! jeg føler mig saa ilde!"
- og hun holdt sig op til Plankeværket. |
| "Goodness me, you do
look sick." Maren looked unhappily at her friend. "But I am
sure it will pass! . . . No, I am afraid you are really ill,
I'd better take you home." |
"Herre Gud, I er ganske
daarlig, Moer!" sagde Konen. "See dog til, det kan gaae over!
- nei, I er rigtig syg! det er bedst, jeg faaer Jer hjem!" |
| "But the clothes!" wailed
the washerwoman. |
"Men Tøiet der!" |
| "I will wash them later.
You take my arm. The boy can stay and watch the clothes until
I come back." |
"Det skal jeg nok tage
mig af! tag mig under Armen! Drengen kan blive her og passe
paa saa længe, saa skal jeg komme og vaske Resten; det er en
lille Klat kun!" |
| The washerwoman could
hardly walk. |
Og Fødderne vaklede
under Vaskerkonen. |
| "I have been standing
in the cold water too long. I have had nothing to eat since
this morning. I think I have a fever. Dear Jesus, help me! Help
me to get home! Oh, my poor child!" And she wept. |
"Jeg har staaet for
længe i det kolde Vand! jeg har ikke siden imorges faaet Vaadt
eller Tørt! jeg har Feber i Kroppen! 0 Herre Jesus! hjelp mig
hjem! mit stakkels Barn!" - og hun græd. |
| Slowly, the two women
made their way up through the alley. The boy, left alone to
guard the clothes at the riverbank, cried too. Just as the women,
leaning on each other, were passing the mayor's house, the washerwoman
fell. A crowd gathered around her, |
Drengen græd og sad
snart ene ved Aaen ved det vaade Tøi. De to Koner gik langsomt,
Vaskerkonen vaklende, op ad Gyden, om ad Gaden, forbi Byfogdens
Gaard, og netop udenfor den sank hun om paa Brostenene. Folk
samlede sig. |
| while Maren went into
the house for help. The mayor and his guests were looking out
of the window. |
Halte-Maren løb ind
i Gaarden om Hjelp. Byfogden med sine Gjester saae ud ad Vinduerne.
|
| "She has had one too
many again," he explained. "She is no good. It is a pity for
her son. I feel sorry for him; his mother is no good." |
"Det er Vaskerkonen!"
sagde han, "hun har faaet lidt over Tørsten; hun duer ikke!
det er Skade for den kjønne Dreng, hun har. Jeg har sandelig
Godhed for Barnet. Moderen duer ikke!" |
| The washerwoman was
carried to the hovel where she lived and put to bed. Maren warmed
a bowlful of beer with sugar and butter--for of all the medicines
she knew, this one was the best. Then she went back to the river
to rinse the clothes. She meant well, but she didn't do a very
good job. In fact, all she did was pull the wet clothes out
of the water, wring them out, and put them in a box. |
Og hun blev bragt til
sig selv igjen og ledet til sit fattige Hjem, hvor hun kom i
Seng. En Skaal varmt Øl med Smør og Sukker gik den skikkelige
Maren at lave, det var den Medicin hun troede var den bedste,
og saa gik hun til Skyllestedet, skyllede meget daarligt, men
velmeent, trak egentlig kun det vaade Tøi i Land og fik det
i en Kasse. |
| Later that evening Maren
sat at the bedside of the washerwoman. The cook at the mayor's
house had given Maren a large slice of ham and some fried potatoes
for the sick woman, but the washerwoman couldn't eat anything,
so Maren and the boy ate the food, which the washerwoman declared
smelled so good, she was sure that the aroma, alone, must be
nourishing. |
Ved Aften sad hun i
den fattige Stue hos Vaskerkonen. Et Par brunede Kartofler og
et deiligt fedt Stykke Skinke havde hun faaet hos Byfogdens
Kokkepige til den Syge, det nød Drengen og Maren godt af; den
Syge glædede sig ved Lugten, den var saa nærende, sagde hun. |
| The boy slept in the
same bed as his mother. He stretched himself out at her feet,
widthwise across the bed. An old rug, which had been patched
with blue and white strips of cloth, was his blanket. |
Og Drengen kom tilsengs,
den selvsamme, i hvilken Moderen laae, men han havde sin Plads
paatværs ved Fødderne med et gammelt Gulvtæppe over sig, syet
sammen af blaa og røde Strimler. |
| The washerwoman began
to feel a little better. The warm beer and the smell of the
food had done her some good. |
Og det var lidt bedre
med Vaskerkonen; det varme Øl havde styrket hende, og Lugten
af den fine Mad gjorde godt. |
| "Thank you, you good,
kind soul," she said to Maren. "Is the boy asleep?" she whispered.
"If he is, I'll tell you the story." Maren nodded. The washerwoman
lifted her head so she could see the child. "Yes, he's sleeping
already. Look how sweet he looks with his eyes closed. He does
not know how I have suffered; and may God spare him from ever
knowing such suffering. . . . I was a maid in the old judge's
house, where his son the mayor now lives; and while I was there
his youngest son came home: 'the student,' as they called him.
I was young then, wild and full of life; but I was a good girl--and
that I would say even if it were God who asked me. The student
was gay and happy: a blessed young man. There was not a bad
drop of blood in his veins. A more honest, more honorable, more
upright person has never walked God's green earth. He was the
son of the judge and I was only the maid, but we loved each
other in the most respectable way. For a kiss is not a sin between
two people who really care for each other. "He told his mother
about it; she was his God here on earth. She was good, clever,
and kind. . . . He went away; but before he left he put a gold
ring on my finger. When he had been gone a few days, my mistress
said she wished to talk with me. She spoke gravely yet gently,
as God Himself would have spoken. She explained about the wide
gap between his upbringing and education and my own. "'Now he
sees your beauty, but beauty fades,' she said. 'You do not understand
the things that he does. In the world of the mind, of the intellect,
you are not equal; and that is a real tragedy. I respect the
poor, and know that in heaven many a poor man will be seated
nearer to God than many rich men will be. But here on earth,
a carriage has to follow the tracks in the road or it will turn
over; and you two would overturn! I know that there is an artisan,
Erik Glovemaker, who has asked for your hand. He is a widower
but has no children and is doing very well. Why don't you think
it over?' "Every word that she said was like a knife piercing
my heart. The worst of it was that I knew that what she said
was true; and it was that that crushed me. I kissed her hand
and I cried bitter tears, but not as many as I wept when I returned
to my own room. The Lord knows how I struggled and suffered
all through that long, terrible night. The next day was Sunday;
I took holy communion in the hope that God would give me light.
It was like an act of providence; as I was leaving the church,
I met Erik Glovemaker. All my doubt was gone, we suited each
other; we came from the same station in life, we had been brought
up alike. He was even quite wealthy. I walked straight up to
him and took his hand. 'Am I still in your thoughts?' I asked.
"'Yes. . . . Forever and always,' he replied. "'Would you want
to marry a girl who honors and respects you but does not love
you, though that may come in time?' "'It will, I am sure,' he
said. And we shook hands. "Around my neck on a string I had
carried the ring the student had given me. It lay next to my
bare breast for I never dared wear it where anyone might see
it. Only at night did I put it on my finger. When I came home
that day, I kissed the ring until my lips bled; and then gave
it to my mistress and told her that on the following Sunday
the minister would announce from the pulpit banns for Erik Glovemaker
and me. "My mistress threw her arms around me and kissed me.
She did not say that I was no good then. But maybe I was a better
person when I was younger, before I had been tried by misfortune.
We were married, and for the first few years all went well.
Erik had a journeyman and an apprentice working for him and
I had you, Maren, to help me." |
"Tak, du gode Sjæl!"
sagde hun til Maren, "Alt vil jeg ogsaa sige Dig, naar Drengen
sover! jeg troer allerede, han gjør det! hvor sød og velsignet
seer han ud! med de lukkede Øine! han veed ikke, hvorledes hans
Moder har det. Vor Herre lade ham aldrig prøve det! - Jeg tjente
hos Kammerraadens, Byfogdens Forældre, saa traf det sig, at
den yngste af Sønnerne kom hjem, Studenten; dengang var jeg
ung, vild og gal, men skikkelig, det tør jeg sige for Guds Ansigt!"
sagde Vaskerkonen, - "Studenten var saa lystig og glad, saa
velsignet! hver Bloddraabe i ham var retskaffen og god! bedre
Menneske har der ikke været paa Jorden. Han var Søn i Huset,
og jeg kun Tjenestepige, men vi bleve Kjærestefolk, i Tugt og
Ære! et Kys er dog ikke Synd, naar man rigtig holder af hinanden.
Og han sagde det til sin Moder; hun var som vor Herre for ham
her paa Jorden! og hun var saa klog, kjærlig og elskelig! -
Han reiste bort, og sin Guldring satte han paa min Finger. Da
han vel var borte, kaldte min Madmoder mig ind for sig; alvorlig
og dog saa mild stod hun, talte, som vor Herre vilde kunne det;
hun klarede for mig Afstanden i Aand og Sandhed imellem ham
og mig. "Nu seer han paa, hvor godt Du seer ud, men Udseendet
vil gaae bort! Du er ikke oplært, som han, I naae ikke op til
hinanden i Aandens Rige, og deri ligger Ulykken. Jeg agter den
Fattige, sagde hun, hos Gud kan han maaskee faae en høiere Plads,
end mange Rige, men man maa ikke paa Jorden gaae over i et galt
Spor, naar man kjører fremad, ellers vælter Vognen og I To ville
vælte! Jeg veed, at en brav Mand, en Haandværksmand har friet
til Dig, det er Erik Handskemager, han er Enkemand, har ingen
Børn, staaer sig godt, tænk derover!" Hvert Ord, hun sagde,
var som Knive gjennem mit Hjerte, men Konen havde Ret! og det
knugede mig og tyngede mig! - jeg kyssede hendes Haand og græd
mine salte Taarer, og det endnu mere, da jeg kom ind i mit Kammer
og lagde mig over min Seng. Det var en tung Nat, som fulgte,
vor Herre veed, hvad jeg led og stred. Saa gik jeg om Søndagen
til Herrens Bord, for at faae Lys i mig. Da var det ligesom
en Tilskikkelse: idet jeg gik ud af Kirken, mødte jeg Erik Handskemager.
Saa var der ikke længer nogen Tvivl i mit Sind, vi passede for
hinanden i Stilling og Vilkaar, ja, han var endogsaa en velhavende
Mand! og saa gik jeg lige hen til ham, tog hans Haand og sagde:
er dine Tanker endnu til mig? Ja evig og altid! sagde han. -
Vil Du have en Pige, der agter og ærer Dig, men ikke holder
af Dig, men det kan vel komme! Det vil komme! sagde han, og
saa gav vi hinanden Haanden. Jeg gik hjem til min Madmoder;
Guldringen, som Sønnen havde givet mig, bar jeg paa mit bare
Bryst, jeg kunde ikke sætte den paa min Finger ved Dagen, men
kun hver Aften, naar jeg lagde mig i min Seng. Jeg kyssede Ringen,
saa at min Mund blødte ved det, og saa gav jeg den til min Madmoder,
og sagde, at i næste Uge vilde der blive lyst fra Prædikestolen
for mig og Handskemageren. Saa tog min Madmoder mig i sine Arme
og kyssede mig - hun sagde ikke, at jeg ikke duede, men den
Gang var jeg maaskee ogsaa bedre, skjøndt jeg ikke endnu havde
prøvet saa megen Verdens Modgang. Og saa stod Brylluppet ved
Kyndelmisse; og det første Aar gik godt, vi holdt Svend og Dreng,
og Du, Maren, tjente os." |
| "And you were the best
mistress one could have!" said Maren. "I shall never forget
how gentle and kind both you and your husband were." |
"0, I var en velsignet
Madmoder!" sagde Maren, "aldrig glemmer jeg, hvor mild I og
Jer Mand var!" |
| "Yes, those were the
good years, when you were with us . . . . We had no children
yet. . . . I never saw the student again . . . . No, that is
not true, I did see him once but he did not see me. He had come
home for his mother's funeral. I saw him standing by her grave;
his face was so white and grief-stricken because of his sorrow
over his mother's death. After his father died he never came
back here; he was always traveling in foreign countries. He
never married, that much I know. I think he became a lawyer.
. . . I am sure he did not remember me, and if he had seen me
he would not have recognized me. I have grown so ugly. And that,
too, is probably for the best." |
"Det var i de gode Aar,
Du var hos os! - Børn havde vi da ikke. -Studenten saae jeg
aldrig! - Jo, jeg saae ham, men han saae ikke mig! han kom her
til sin Moders Begravelse. Jeg saae ham staae ved Graven, han
var saa kridhvid og saa bedrøvet, men det var for Moderens Skyld.
Da siden Faderen døde, var han i fremmede Lande og kom ikke
her og har ikke heller senere været her. Aldrig giftede han
sig, veed jeg; - han var nok Procurator! - mig huskede han ikke,
og om han havde seet mig, saa havde han dog vist ikke kjendt
mig igjen, saa fæl jeg seer ud. Og det er jo ogsaa meget godt!"
|
| She talked about the
difficult years, when one misfortune followed another. She and
her husband had had five hundred silver marks and had bought
an old house in the street for two hundred. This they had meant
to tear down in order to build a new one. The mason and the
carpenter had estimated that the new house would cost a thousand
marks to build. Someone in Copenhagen had readily offered to
loan Erik Glovemaker the sum, but the captain who was to bring
the money was lost at sea and so were the thousand marks. |
Og hun talte om sine
Prøvelsers tunge Dage, hvorledes Ulykken ligesom væltede ind
paa dem. De eiede fem hundrede Rigsdaler, og da der i Gaden
var et Huus at faae for to hundrede, og det vilde betale sig
at faae det revet ned og bygge et nyt, saa blev Huset kjøbt.
Murer og Tømrer gjorde Overslag, at det videre vilde koste ti
hundrede og tyve. Credit havde Erik Handskemager, Pengene fik
han til Laans fra Kjøbenhavn, men Skipperen, der skulde bringe
dem, forliste og Pengene med. |
| "It was then that that
sweet child"--the washerwoman nodded toward the foot of the
bed--"Who is sleeping so soundly, was born. Right after that
his father fell ill. I had to dress and undress him for nearly
a whole year; he was too weak to do it himself. We sank deeper
and deeper into debt. Finally we had nothing left, not even
any clothes; then I lost my husband. . . . All the work I could
get was drudgery; but I have toiled and struggled and fought
for my boy's sake. I have scrubbed floors and washed clothes.
My lot will never change, that is God's will. But soon He will
call me up to Him, and then He will have to take care of my
child." |
"Da var det, jeg fødte
min velsignede Dreng, som her sover. Fader faldt i en svær,
langvarig Sygdom; i tre Fjerdingaar maatte jeg klæde ham af
og paa. Det gik reent tilbage for os, vi laante og laante: alt
vort Tøi gik, og Fader døde fra os! - Jeg har slidt og slæbt,
stridt og stræbt for Barnets Skyld, vasket Trapper, vasket Linned,
grovt og fiint, men jeg skal ikke have det bedre, vil vor Herre!
men han løser nok op for mig og sørger for Drengen." |
| With those words, she
fell asleep. |
Og saa sov hun. |
| In the morning she felt
better and mistakenly thought herself well enough to work. She
had no sooner stepped into the cold water than she felt faint
and began to tremble. She turned around, back toward the shore;
and she fell. Her head lay on the bank, but her feet were in
the river; her wooden shoes--stuffed with straw for warmth--went
sailing away with the current. She was found by Maren, who had
come to bring her a mug of coffee. |
Ud paa Morgenen følte
hun sig styrket og stærk nok, som hun troede, til igjen at gaae
til sit Arbeide. Hun var netop kommet ud i det kolde Vand, da
greb hende en Rystelse, en Afmagt; krampagtigt tog hun for sig
med Haanden, gjorde et Skridt opad og faldt om. Hovedet laae
paa det tørre Land, men Fødderne ude i Aaen, hendes Træskoe,
som hun havde staaet med paa Bunden, - i hver af dem var der
en Visk Halm - drev paa Strømmen; her blev hun fundet af Maren,
der kom med Kaffe. |
| A message had come from
the mayor that the washerwoman was to come to his office, he
had something to tell her. It was too late. A barber had been
called to bleed her, but the washerwoman was already dead. |
Fra Byfogden havde der
hjemme været Bud, at hun strax maatte møde hos ham, han havde
Noget at sige hende. Det var for seent. En Barbeer blev hentet
til Aareladning; Vaskerkonen var død. |
| "She has drunk herself
to death," declared the mayor. |
"Hun har drukket sig
ihjel!" sagde Byfogden. |
| The letter that brought
the news of the death of the mayor's brother had also contained
his will. In it was written that six hundred silver crowns were
to be paid to the glovemaker's widow, "who once worked in my
parents' house." She and her child were to have the money in
appropriate portions, according to their needs. |
I Brevet, der bragte
Underretning om Broderens Død, var opgivet Testamentets Indhold,
og deri stod, at 600 Rdlr. testamenteredes til Handskemager-Enken,
der engang havde tjent hans Forældre. Efter bedste Skjøn skulde
Pengene, i større eller mindre Portioner, gives hende og hendes
Barn. |
| "There was once some
nonsense between my brother and her. It's a good thing that
she's out of the way," the mayor said. "Now the boy will get
all of the money. I'll find a good family who will take him
in. He will make a fine artisan." |
"Der har været noget
Mikmak med min Broder og hende!" sagde Byfogden, "godt, at hun
er af Veien; Drengen faaer nu det Hele, og jeg skal sætte ham
til brave Folk, en god Haandværker kan han blive!" -Og i de
Ord lagde vor Herre sin Velsignelse. |
| The mayor called the
boy to him and promised him that he would take care of him.
He also explained to the child how lucky he was that his mother
was dead, for she had been no good. |
Og Byfogden kaldte Drengen
for sig, lovede at sørge for ham, og sagde ham, hvor godt det
var, at hans Moder var død, hun duede ikke! |
| The washerwoman was
brought to the churchyard, where she was buried in the corner
set aside for the poor. With the boy standing beside her, Maren
planted a rosebush on her grave. |
Til Kirkegaarden blev
hun bragt, de Fattiges Kirkegaard. Maren plantede et lille Rosentræ
paa Graven, Drengen stod ved Siden. |
| "My sweet mother," the
child said with the tears running down his cheeks. "Is it really
true that she was no good?" |
"Min søde Moder!" sagde
han, og Taarerne strømmede: "Er det sandt: hun duede ikke!"
|
| "Oh, she was good!"
said Maren. "I knew her for many years and was with her the
last night of her life. And I say that she was good; and God
in His heaven will say the same; let the world go on saying
that she was no good." |
"Jo, hun duede!" sagde
den gamle Pige og saae op imod Himlen. "Jeg veed det fra mange
Aar og fra den sidste Nat. Jeg siger Dig, hun duede! og vor
Herre i Himmeriges Rige siger det med, lad Verden kun sige:
hun duede ikke!" |
|