I.

It was the time of the great war. Germany was desolated. Towns and

villages were destroyed by flames. Order and law had given way to savage

power; and from the walls of many a ruined house of God the wooden image

of the Saviour looked down with a face of anguish on the horrors of the

degenerate times.

The terrified citizens of towns that were still untouched by war, hid

themselves within their narrow walls, awaiting, in tremulous fear, the

day on which their homes must also fall a prey to plundering soldiers.

If any one were obliged to go beyond the boundaries, he would glance

anxiously at the bushes on either side of the road; and when night came

on, he would be forced to look with horror and sorrow at the reddened

horizon, where a little village or lonely hamlet was burning to ashes.

But who is it cowers there in the ditch by the highway? A dried-up

little man with deathly-pale countenance, and clad in a black coat!

Flee, Wanderer! let him not gaze at you with his piercing gray eyes!

Beware! for that old man is the Plague-man!

The heart of the Wanderer sinks within him. Horrified he rushes away,

and thanks heaven when, in the gray of the morning, he sees again the

towers of his native town. Enraptured by the sight of home he believes

these towers with the dear, well-known faces can protect him; but the

old cripple has been quicker than he. Before break of day he has knocked

at the town-gate, and the gate-keeper, on opening it, has scarcely

looked into his gray eyes before he sank down as though some one had

felled him with an axe.

Then the gray old man begins his terrible work. Like a bat he slips into

all dwellings; no gate and no bolt is an obstacle to him. Right up into

the lofts he climbs and opens the most secret chamber. That threshold he

passes is doomed to the Black-death.

* * * * *

It had happened thus to a little town in Franconia, where but a few

houses remained untouched by the terrible plague. In this town there

lived a poor, honest couple with their child, a boy of nearly three

years. Their cottage lay on a small hill, and was divided from the road

by a little garden. People ascribed it to this that the awful spirit

for a long time had left their home untouched. But at last he seemed to

have found his way to even this out-of-the-way place.

A few days before Christmas the boy fell sick, and on Christmas morning

he lay motionless in bed, so that the poor parents thought the plague

had taken their child from them. The father wanted to bury the body at

once, but the mother showed him the rosy cheeks of the dead child, and

said that a death that looked so like sleep could do them no harm.

Thereupon she went into the little garden and cut box-tree leaves from

under the snow, and made a wreath for the dead darling. She placed the

wreath on his curly head and moved his bed into the middle of the room,

where she set candles burning around it, just as we do in quieter times

for a dear departed one. Then she went into the wood, cut down a small

Christmas-tree and placed it, all decorated with lights, nuts, and

bright tinsel, next to the coffin, in order that the dead child might

also have his Christmas pleasure.

This was the only Christmas-tree that the poor stricken town lit up!

People passing along the road looked with secret jealousy at the

illuminated window, wondering how they could still rejoice in such

bitter times. But no gladsome sounds from the window reached the

street, where flake after flake was whirling down from the gray heavens,

covering everything in its white cloak. And unceasingly, as flake after

flake sank down to earth, so in the little chamber the tears of the poor

woman rolled down her cheeks till the lights of the Christmas-tree

burned low, the fire in the stove died away, and sleep closed the

streaming eyes of the mother. Then all was quiet, very quiet, in the

little chamber.

* * * * *

But at the gates of Heaven it was very noisy that evening. Countless

hosts were crowding up the broad stairway, young and old, rich and poor:

a mixed and motley crowd. There the patrician elbowed the tailor who had

made his coat; the general the lowest sutler; and a ragged beggar was

even next to a king, who drew his purple closer around him in order not

to be contaminated. All were pushing towards the great, light gate, and

many a one, who on earth had only beaten and jostled others, received

here in the crowd his own first jostling. At the gate stood a beautiful,

tall angel, who sprinkled each one with water out of a golden vessel.

The touch of this water obliterated at once all remembrance of the past.

St. Peter, who considered the noise and bustle too much of a good thing,

was of the opinion that mankind had none of the bother of dying, all

the work falling on him; and he was accordingly grumbling to himself.

Suddenly he saw a little fellow, clad only in a shirt, standing before

him, shivering all over, and regarding him with innocent, childish eyes,

as if asking whether he might enter. St. Peter, unwilling that such

little folks should cause delay in business, said, roughly, "In with

you!" The little frightened fellow rushed, thereupon, so quickly through

the gate that the angel did not have time to sprinkle him with the

waters of oblivion.

Now, as children of two years have but short memories and very harmless

pasts, the angel smilingly let him slip by. Once inside, little Hans was

seized by a host of flying angels and whirled away to Paradise, which

was more beautiful than the fairest garden on earth. Rare plants with

big, magnificently colored blossoms filled the air with spicy odor. Here

dwelt the tiny children who had left earth before they knew anything of

it. Here they could dream on forever; and their breath swept softly over

every bud. Large butterflies with silken wings were bathing in the clear

ether, and floating entranced from bud to bud. The heavens glittered and

lightened as though composed of millions of diamonds; yet the sun did

not blind the eye, nor the warmth rise to summer heat. Eternal spring

had banished from these regions battle and death, tempest and decay, and

far away below in misty distance lay all the sorrows of tormented

creation. Amongst the flowers wandered blissful forms, absorbed in the

beauty of surrounding harmony.

The boy curiously observed all this splendor, peered into the dewy buds

of the flowers, examined the wings of his heavenly playmates, and was

not a little rejoiced on observing that two wings had also grown on him,

with which he could fly like a bird. "If neighbor Liesel could only see

me!" thought Hans, and he felt quite proud at the thought. For,

notwithstanding all the splendor about him, the picture of his parents'

home presented itself constantly to his little mind. He had an excellent

memory of the much despised earth, which soon with magnetic power drew

all his thoughts towards it. At the sight of the wonderful flowers of

Paradise, such as the earth never produces, he could think of nothing

but the violets, and crocuses, and tulips which curled up in spring-time

out of the black earth of his father's garden. The golden fruits on the

trees reminded him of the gilded ones of the Christmas-tree, and seemed

to him even brighter; and although the Paradise of heaven, with its

eternal clearness, was a thousand times more beautiful than the

changing air below, yet the little heart felt a dim yearning for the

beloved earth, the griefs of which he had not yet learned to measure;

and, amidst all this angelic beauty, he only felt an uncontrollable

longing for the plain, human countenance of his mother. Then there came

an end to his enjoyment. He began to cry, and, finally, to roar lustily.

The other little angels gathered astonished around him, staring at the

strange playmate who had dewdrops in his eyes and made such awful faces.

Such a thing did not generally occur in heaven, where all were good and

quiet. But just then St. James came along and, on seeing the crying

angel, he spoke pleasantly to him, and finally took him up in his arms

in order to comfort him. But a great surprise lay in store for the

Saint; for it would have been easier for him to convert a thousand

heathens than to quiet the little unruly fellow, who commenced kicking

and wriggling, and made such a terrible outcry that the angels fluttered

away in consternation. There stood the Saint with the child in his arms,

and did not know what to do! At last he concluded to show the strange

being to the Lord Himself, and went with the little one before His

throne. Then the Lord Almighty smiled, and all the angels around His

throne smiled, when they saw St. James, who certainly did not seem very

well adapted for nursing children, and in whose arms little Hans,

regardless of all surroundings, continued to roar unmercifully. But the

merciful Lord opined that the greatest squallers often turned out the

best men, and He ordered an angel to carry the little one back to dear

earth.

And this was done. With mighty strokes of his pinions the heavenly

messenger floated back to earth, which came nearer and nearer with its

mountains, lakes, and rivers, and with the old, lifeworn town, and from

out the town rose up the gabled roof of the parents' home with a cap of

snow upon it.

The boy in the coffin opened his eyes, and with a cry of joy his mother

pressed him to her heart. Among the boughs of the Christmas-tree there

was a soft rustling and whispering.

Methinks the tree remembered that winter is only a deep sleep, and was

dreaming of spring.