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安徒生童话故事第49篇：母亲的故事The Story of a Mother
引导语：安徒生童话故事，大家知道哪些?下面是小编收集的一篇是描写母亲的，有中英文版本的，欢迎大家阅读!
一个母亲坐在她孩子的身旁，非常焦虑，因为她害怕孩子会死去。他的小脸蛋已经没有血色了，他的眼睛闭起来了。他的呼吸很困难，只偶尔深深地吸一口气，好像在叹息。母亲望着这个小小的生物，样子比以前更愁苦。有人在敲门。一个穷苦的老头儿走进来了。他裹着一件宽大得像马毡一样的衣服，因为这使人感到更温暖，而且他也有这个需要。外面是寒冷的冬天，一切都被雪和冰覆盖了，风吹得厉害，刺人的面孔。
当老头儿正冻得发抖、这孩子暂时睡着了的时候，母亲就走过去，在火炉上的一个小罐子里倒进一点啤酒，为的是让这老人喝了暖一下。老人坐下来，摇着摇篮。母亲也在他旁边的一张椅子上坐下来，望着她那个呼吸很困难的病孩子，握着他的一只小手。
“你以为我要把他拉住，是不是?"她问。"我们的上帝不会把他从我手中夺去的!”
这个老头儿——他就是死神——用一种奇怪的姿势点了点头，他的意思好像是说"是"，又像"不是"。母亲低下头来望着地面，眼泪沿着双颊向下流。她的头非常沉重，因为她三天三夜没有合过眼睛。现在她是睡着了，不过只睡着了片刻;于是她惊醒起来，打着寒颤。
“这是怎么一回事?"她说，同时向四周望望。不过那个老头儿已经不见了;她的孩子也不见了——他已经把他带走了。墙角那儿的一座老钟在发出咝咝的声音，"扑通!"那个铅做的老钟摆落到地上来了。钟也停止了活动。
但是这个可怜的母亲跑到门外来，喊着她的孩子。
在外面的雪地上坐着一个穿黑长袍的女人。她说："死神刚才和你一道坐在你的房间里;我看到他抱着你的孩子急急忙忙地跑走了。他跑起路来比风还快。凡是他所拿走的东西，他永远也不会再送回来的!”
“请告诉我，他朝哪个方向走了?"母亲说。"请把方向告诉我，我要去找他!”
“我知道!"穿黑衣服的女人说。"不过在我告诉你以前，你必须把你对你的孩子唱过的歌都唱给我听一次。我非常喜欢那些歌;我从前听过。我就是'夜之神'。你唱的时候，我看到你流出眼泪来。”
“我将把这些歌唱给你听，都唱给你听!"母亲说。"不过请不要留住我，因为我得赶上他，把我的孩子找回来。”
不过夜之神坐着一声不响。母亲只有痛苦地扭着双手，唱着歌，流着眼泪。她唱的歌很多，但她流的眼泪更多，于是夜之神说："你可以向右边的那个黑枞树林走去;我看到死神抱着你的孩子走到那条路上去了。”
路在树林深处和另一条路交叉起来;她不知道走哪条路好。这儿有一丛荆棘，既没有一起叶子，也没有一朵花。这时正是严寒的冬天，那些小枝上只挂着冰柱。
“你看到死神抱着我的孩子走过去没有?”
“看到过。"荆棘丛说，"不过我不愿告诉你他所去的方向，除非你把我抱在你的胸脯上温暖一下。我在这儿冻得要死，我快要变成冰了。”
于是她就把荆棘丛抱在自行的胸脯上，抱得很紧，好使它能够感到温暖。荆棘刺进她的肌肉;她的血一滴一滴地流出来。但是荆棘丛长出了新鲜的绿叶，而且在这寒冷的冬夜开出了花，因为这位愁苦的母亲的心是那么地温暖!于是荆棘丛就告诉她应该朝哪个方向走。
她来到了一个大湖边。湖上既没有大船，也没有小舟。湖上还没有足够的厚冰可以托住她，但是水又不够浅，她不能涉水走过去。不过，假如她要找到她的孩子的话，她必须走过这个湖。于是她就蹲下来喝这湖的水;但是谁也喝不完这水的。这个愁苦的母亲只是在幻想一个什么奇迹发生。
“不成，这是一件永远不可能的事情!"湖说。"我们还是来谈谈条件吧!我喜欢收集珠子，而你的眼睛是我从来没有见到过的两颗最明亮的珠子。如果你能够把它们哭出来交给我的话，我就可以把你送到那个大的温室里去。死神就住在那儿种植着花和树。每一棵花或树就是一个人的生命!”
“啊，为了我的孩子，我什么都可以牺牲!"哭着的母亲说。于是她哭得更厉害，结果她的眼睛坠到湖里去了，成了两颗最贵重的珍珠。湖把她托起来，就像她是坐在一个秋千架上似的。这样，她就浮到对面的岸上去了——这儿有一幢十多里路宽的奇怪的房子。人们不知道这究竟是一座有许多树林和洞口的大山呢，还是一幢用木头建筑起来的房子。不过这个可怜的母亲看不见它，因为她已经把她的两颗眼珠都哭出来了。
“我到什么地方去找那个把我的孩子抱走了的死神呢?"她问。
“他还没有到这儿来!"一个守坟墓的老太婆说。她专门看守死神的温室。"你怎样找到这儿来的?谁帮助你的?”
“我们的上帝帮助我的!"她说。"他是很仁慈的，所以你应该也很仁慈。我在什么地方可以找到我亲爱的孩子呢?”
“我不知道，"老太婆说，"你也看不见!这天晚上有许多花和树都凋谢了，死神马上就会到来，重新移植它们!你知道得很清楚，每个人有他自己的生命之树，或生命之花，完全看他的安排是怎样。它们跟别的植物完全一样，不过它们有一颗跳动的心。小孩子的心也会跳的。你去找吧，也许你能听出你的孩子的心的搏动。不过，假如我把你下一步应该做的事情告诉你，你打算给我什么酬劳呢?”
“我没有什么东西可以给你了，"这个悲哀的母亲说。"但是我可以为你走到世界的尽头去。”
“我没有什么事情要你到那儿去办，"老太婆说。"不过你可以把你又长又黑的头发给我。你自己知道，那是很美丽的，我很喜欢!作为交换，你可以把我的白头发拿去——那总比没有好。”
“如果你不再要求什么别的东西的话，"她说，"那么我愿意把它送给你!”
于是她把她美丽的黑头发交给了老太婆，同时作为交换，得到了她的雪白的头发。
这样，她们就走进死神的大温室里去。这儿花和树奇形怪状地繁生在一起。玻璃钟底下培养着美丽的风信子;大朵的、耐寒的牡丹花在盛开。在种种不同的水生植物中，有许多还很新鲜，有许多已经半枯萎了，水蛇在它们上面盘绕着，黑螃蟹紧紧地钳着它们的梗子。那儿还有许多美丽的棕榈树、栎树和梧桐树;那儿还有芹菜花和盛开的麝香草。每一棵树和每一种花都有一个名字，它们每一棵都代表一个人的生命;这些人还是活着的，有的在中国，有的在格林兰，散布在全世界。有些大树栽在小花盆里，因此都显得很挤，几乎把花盆都要胀破了。在肥沃的土地上有好几块地方还种着许多娇弱的小花，它们周围长着一些青苔;人们在仔细地培养和照管它们。不过这个悲哀的母亲在那些最小的植物上弯下腰来，静听它们的心跳。在这些无数的花中，她能听出她的孩子的心跳。
“我找到了!"她叫着，同时把双手向一朵蓝色的早春花伸过来。这朵花正在把头垂向一边，有些病了。
“请不要动这朵花!"那个老太婆说："不过请你等在这儿。当死神到来的时候——我想他随时可以到来——请不要让他拔掉这棵花。你可以威胁他说，你要把所有的植物都拔掉;那么他就会害怕的。他得为这些植物对上帝负责;在他没有得到上帝的许可以前，谁也不能拔掉它们。”
这时忽然有一阵冷风吹进房间里来了。这个没有眼睛的母亲看不出，这就是死神的来临。
“你怎么找到这块地方的?"他说。"你怎么比我还来得早?”
“因为我是一个母亲呀!"她说。
死神向这朵娇柔的小花伸出长手来;可是她用双手紧紧抱着它不放。同时她又非常焦急，生怕弄坏了它的一起花瓣。于是死神就朝着她的手吹。她觉得这比寒风还冷;于是她的手垂下来了，一点气力也没有。
“你怎样也反抗不了我的!"死神说。
“不过我们的上帝可以的!"她说。
“我只是执行他的命令!"死神说。"我是他的园丁。我把他所有的花和树移植到天国，到那个神秘国土里的乐园中去。不过它们怎样在那儿生长，怎样在那儿生活，我可不敢告诉给你听!”
“请把我的孩子还给我吧!"母亲说。她一面说，一面哀求着。忽然她用双手抓住近旁两朵美丽的花，大声对死神说："我要把你的花都拔掉，因为我现在没有路走!”
“不准动它们!"死神说。"你说你很痛苦;但是你现在却要让一个别的母亲也感到同样地痛苦!”
“一个别的母亲?"这个可怜的母亲说。她马上松开了那两棵花。
“这是你的眼珠，"死神说。"我已经把它们从湖里捞出来了;它们非常明亮。我不知道这原来就是你的。收回去吧;它们现在比以前更加明亮，请你朝你旁边的那个井底望一下吧。我要把你想要拔掉的这两棵花的名字告诉你;那么你就会知道它们的整个的未来，整个的人间生活;那么你就会知道，你所要摧毁的究竟是什么东西。”
她向井底下望。她真感到莫大的愉快，看见一个生命是多么幸福，看见它的周围是一起多么愉快和欢乐的气象。她又看那另一个生命：它是忧愁和平困、苦难和悲哀的化身。
“这两种命运都是上帝的意志!"死神说。“它们之中哪一朵是受难之花，哪一朵是幸福之花呢?"她问。
“我不能告诉你。"死神回答说。"不过有一点你可以知道："这两朵花之中有一朵是你自己的孩子。你刚才所看到的就是你的孩子的命运——你亲生孩子的未来。”
母亲惊恐得叫起来。
“它们哪一朵是我的孩子呢?请您告诉我吧!请您救救天真的孩子吧!请把我的孩子从苦难中救出来吧!还是请您把他带走吧!把他带到上帝的国度里去!请忘记我的眼泪，我的祈求，原谅我刚才所说的和做的一切事情吧!”
“我不懂你的意思!"死神说。"你想要把你的孩子抱回去呢，还是让我把他带到一个你所不知道的地方去呢?”
这时母亲扭着双手，双膝跪下来，向我们的上帝祈祷：
“您的意志永远是好的。请不要理我所作的违反您的意志的祈祷!请不要理我!请不要理我!”
于是她把头低低地垂下来。
死神带着她的孩子飞到那个不知名的国度里去了。
母亲的故事英文版：
The Story of a Mother
AMOTHER 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.
“He has not arrived here yet,” said an old gray-haired woman, who was walking about, and watering Death’s hothouse. “How have you found your way here? and who helped you?”
“God has helped me,” she replied. “He is merciful; will you not be merciful too? Where shall I find my little child?”
“I did not know the child,” said the old woman; “and 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’s 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?”
“I have nothing to give,” said the afflicted mother; “but I would go to the ends of the earth for you.”
“I can give you nothing to do for me there,” said the old woman; “but 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.”
“Do you ask nothing more than that?” said she. “I will give it to you with pleasure.”
And she gave up her beautiful hair, and received in return the white locks of the old woman. Then they went into Death’s 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’s heart among millions of others.
“That is it,” she cried, stretching out her hand towards a little crocus-flower which hung down its sickly head.
“Do not touch the flower,” exclaimed the old woman; “but place yourself here; and when Death comes—I expect him every minute—do 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.”
There rushed through the hothouse a chill of icy coldness, and the blind mother felt that Death had arrived.
“How did you find your way hither?” asked he; “how could you come here faster than I have?”
“I am a mother,” she answered.
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.
“You cannot prevail against me,” said Death.
“But a God of mercy can,” said she.
“I only do His will,” replied Death. “I 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.”
“Give me back my child,” said the mother, weeping and imploring; and she seized two beautiful flowers in her hands, and cried to Death, “I will tear up all your flowers, for I am in despair.”
“Do not touch them,” said Death. “You say you are unhappy; and would you make another mother as unhappy as yourself?”
“Another mother!” cried the poor woman, setting the flowers free from her hands.
“There are your eyes,” said Death. “I fished them up out of the lake for you. They were shining brightly; but I knew not they were yours. Take them back—they are clearer now than before—and 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.”
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.
“Both are the will of God,” said Death.
“Which is the unhappy flower, and which is the blessed one?” she said.
“That I may not tell you,” said Death; “but 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,—the future of your own child.”
Then the mother screamed aloud with terror, “Which 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.”
“I do not understand you,” said Death. “Will you have your child back? or shall I carry him away to a place that you do not know?”
Then the mother wrung her hands, fell on her knees, and prayed to God, “Grant not my prayers, when they are contrary to Thy will, which at all times must be the best. Oh, hear them not;” and her head sank on her bosom.
Then Death carried away her child to the unknown land.
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