It was during wintertime， late at night， after theater hours； it was terrible weather； a snowstorm raged so that one could hardly move along.

Aunty had gone to the theater， and I went there to take her home； it was difficult for one to get anywhere， to say nothing of helping¹ another. All the hiring carriages were engaged. Aunty lived in a distant section of the town， while my dwelling² was close to the theater. Had this not been the case， we would have had to take refuge in a sentry³ box for a while.

We trudged⁴ along in the deep snow while the snowflakes whirled around us. I had to lift her， hold onto her， and push her along. Only twice did we fall， but we fell on the soft snow.

We reached my gate， where we shook some of the snow from ourselves. On the stairs， too， we shook some off， and yet there was still enough almost to cover the floor of the anteroom.

We took off our overcoats and boots and what other clothes might be removed. The landlady⁵ lent Aunty dry stockings and a nightcap； this she would need， said the landlady， and added that it would be impossible for my aunt to get home that night， which was true. Then she asked Aunty to make use of her parlor， where she would prepare a bed for her on the sofa， in front of the door that led into my room and that was always kept locked. And so she stayed.

The fire burned in my stove， the tea urn⁷ was placed on the table， and the little room became cozy， if not as cozy⁸ as Aunty's own room， where in the wintertime there are heavy curtains before the door， heavy curtains before the windows， and double carpets on the floor， with three layers of thick paper underneath⁹. One sits there as if in a well-corked bottle， full of warm air； still， as I have said， it was also cozy at my place， while outside the wind was whistling.

Aunty talked and reminisced； she recalled the days of her youth； the brewer¹⁰ came back； many old memories were revived.

She could remember the time I got my first tooth， and the family's delight over it. My first tooth！ The tooth of innocence， shining like a little drop of milk - the milk tooth！

When one had come， several more came， a whole rank of them， side by side， appearing both above and below - the finest of children's teeth， though these were only the “vanguard，” not the real teeth， which have to last one's whole lifetime.

Then those also appeared， and the wisdom teeth as well， the flank men of each rank， born in pain and great tribulation¹².

They disappear， too， sometimes every one of them； they disappear before their time of service is up， and when the very last one goes， that is far from a happy day； it is a day for mourning. And so then one considers himself old， even if he feels young.

Such thoughts and talk are not pleasant. Yet we came to talk about all this； we went back to the days of my childhood and talked and talked. It was twelve o'clock before Aunty went to rest in the room near by.

“Good night， my sweet child，” she called. “I shall now sleep as if I were in my own bed.”

And she slept peacefully； but otherwise there was no peace either in the house or outside. The storm rattled¹³ the windows， struck the long， dangling¹⁴ iron hooks against the house， and rang the neighbor's back-yard bell. The lodger¹⁵ upstairs had come home. He was still taking his little nightly tour up and down the room； he then kicked off his boots and went to bed and to sleep； but he snores so that anyone with good ears can hear him through the ceiling.

I found no rest， no peace. The weather did not rest， either； it was lively. The wind howled and sang in its own way； my teeth also began to be lively， and they hummed and sang in their way. An awful toothache was coming on.

There was a draft from the window. The moon shone in upon the floor； the light came and went as the clouds came and went in the stormy weather. There was a restless change of light and shadow， but at last the shadow on the floor began to take shape. I stared at the moving form and felt an icy-cold wind against my face.

On the floor sat a figure， thin and long， like something a child would draw with a pencil on a slate， something supposed to look like a person， a single thin line forming the body， another two lines the arms， each leg being but a single line， and the head having a polygonal¹⁷ shape.

The figure soon became more distinct； it had a very thin， very fine sort of cloth draped around it， clearly showing that the figure was that of a female.

I heard a buzzing sound. Was it she or the wind which was buzzing like a hornet through the crack in the pane？

No， it was she， Madam Toothache herself！ Her terrible highness， Satania Infernalis！ God deliver and preserve us from her！

“It is good to be here！” she buzzed. “These are nice quarters - mossy ground， fenny¹⁹ ground！ Gnats²⁰ have been buzzing around here， with poison in their stings； and now I am here with such a sting. It must be sharpened on human teeth. Those belonging to the fellow in bed here shine so brightly. They have defied sweet and sour things， heat and cold， nutshells and plum stones； but I shall shake them， make them quake， feed their roots with drafty winds， and give them cold feet！”

That was a frightening speech！ She was a terrible visitor！

“So you are a poet！” she said. “Well， I'll make you well versed²² in all the poetry of toothache！ I'll thrust iron and steel into your body！ I'll seize all the fibers²³ of your nerves！”

I then felt as if a red-hot awl²⁴ were being driven into my jawbone； I writhed²⁵ and twisted.

“A splendid set of teeth，” she said， “just like an organ to play upon！ We shall have a grand concert， with jew's-harps， kettledrums， and trumpets， piccolo-flute， and a trombone in the wisdom tooth！ Grand poet， grand music！”

And then she started to play； she looked terrible， even if one did not see more of her than her hand， the shadowy， gray， icecold hand， with the long， thin， pointed²⁷ fingers； each of them was an instrument of torture； the thumb and the forefinger²⁸ were the pincers and wrench； the middle finger ended in a pointed awl； the ring finger was a drill， and the little finger squirted gnat's poison.

“I am going to teach you meter！” she said. “A great poet must have a great toothache， a little poet a little toothache！”

“Oh， let me be a little poet！” I begged. “Let me be nothing at all！ And I am not a poet； I have only fits of poetry， like fits of toothache. Go away， go away！”

“Will you acknowledge， then， that I am mightier³⁰ than poetry， philosophy， mathematics， and all the music？” she said. “Mightier than all those notions that are painted on canvas or carved in marble？ I am older than every one of them. I was born close to the garden of paradise， just outside， where the wind blew and the wet toadstools grew. It was I who made Eve wear clothes in the cold weather， and Adam also. Believe me， there was power in the first toothache！”

“I believe it all，” I said. “But go away， go away！”

“Yes， if you will give up being a poet， never put verse on paper， slate， or any sort of writing material， then I will let you off； but I'll come again if you write poetry！”

“I swear！” I said； “only let me never see or feel you any more！”

“See me you shall， but in a more substantial shape， in a shape more dear to you than I am now. You shall see me as Aunty Mille， and I shall say， 'Write poetry， my sweet boy！ You are a great poet， perhaps the greatest we have！' But if you believe me， and begin to write poetry， then I will set music to your verses， and play them on your mouth harp²¹. You sweet child！ Remember me when you see Aunty Mille！”

Then she disappeared.

At our parting I received a thrust through my jawbone like that of a red-hot awl； but it soon subsided， and then I felt as if I were gliding³² along the smooth water； I saw the white water lilies， with their large green leaves， bending and sinking down under me； they withered³³ and dissolved， and I sank， too， and dissolved into peace and rest.

“To die， and melt away like snow！” resounded³⁴ in the water； “to evaporate into air， to drift away like the clouds！”

Great， glowing names and inscriptions³⁵ on waving banners of victory， the letters patent of immortality， written on the wing of an ephemera， shone down to me through the water.

The sleep was deep， a sleep now without dreams. I did not hear the whistling wind， the banging gate， the ringing of the neighbor's gate bell， or the lodger's strenuous³⁷ gymnastics.

What happiness！

Then came a gust³⁸ of wind so strong that the locked door to Aunty's room burst open. Aunty jumped up， put on her shoes， got dressed， and came into my room. I was sleeping like one of God's angels， she said， and she had not the heart to awaken³⁹ me.

I later awoke by myself and opened my eyes. I had completely forgotten that Aunty was in the house， but I soon remembered it and then remembered my toothache vision. Dream and reality were blended.

“I suppose you did not write anything last night after we said good night？” she said. “I wish you had； you are my poet and shall always be！”

It seemed to me that she smiled rather slyly. I did not know if it was the kindly⁴⁰ Aunty Mille， who loved me， or the terrible one to whom I had made the promise the night before.

“Have you written any poetry， sweet child？”

“No， no！” I shouted. “You are Aunty Mille， aren't you？”

“Who else？” she said. And it was Aunty Mille.

She kissed me， got into a carriage， and drove home.

I wrote down what is written here. It is not in verse， and it will never be printed.

Yes， here ended the manuscript.

My young friend， the grocer's assistant， could not find the missing sheets； they had gone out into the world like the papers around the salted herring， the butter， and the green soap； they had fulfilled their destiny！

The brewer is dead； Aunty is dead； the student is dead， he whose sparks of genius went into the basket. This is the end of the story - the story of Aunty Toothache.