The Snow Queen by Hans Christian Andersen
FIRST STORY. Which Treats of a Mirror and of the Splinters.
Now then, let us begin. When we are at the end of the story, we shall know more than we know now: but to begin.
Once upon a time there was a wicked sprite, indeed he was the most
mischievous of all sprites. One day he was in a very good humor, for he
had made a mirror with the power of causing all that was good and
beautiful when it was reflected therein, to look poor and mean; but that
which was good-for-nothing and looked ugly was shown magnified and
increased in ugliness. In this mirror the most beautiful landscapes
looked like boiled spinach, and the best persons were turned into
frights, or appeared to stand on their heads; their faces were so
distorted that they were not to be recognised; and if anyone had a mole,
you might be sure that it would be magnified and spread over both nose
and mouth.
"That's glorious fun!" said the sprite. If a good
thought passed through a man's mind, then a grin was seen in the mirror,
and the sprite laughed heartily at his clever discovery. All the little
sprites who went to his school—for he kept a sprite school—told each
other that a miracle had happened; and that now only, as they thought,
it would be possible to see how the world really looked. They ran about
with the mirror; and at last there was not a land or a person who was
not represented distorted in the mirror. So then they thought they would
fly up to the sky, and have a joke there. The higher they flew with the
mirror, the more terribly it grinned: they could hardly hold it fast.
Higher and higher still they flew, nearer and nearer to the stars, when
suddenly the mirror shook so terribly with grinning, that it flew out of
their hands and fell to the earth, where it was dashed in a hundred
million and more pieces. And now it worked much more evil than before;
for some of these pieces were hardly so large as a grain of sand, and
they flew about in the wide world, and when they got into people's eyes,
there they stayed; and then people saw everything perverted, or only
had an eye for that which was evil. This happened because the very
smallest bit had the same power which the whole mirror had possessed.
Some persons even got a splinter in their heart, and then it made one
shudder, for their heart became like a lump of ice. Some of the broken
pieces were so large that they were used for windowpanes, through which
one could not see one's friends. Other pieces were put in spectacles;
and that was a sad affair when people put on their glasses to see well
and rightly. Then the wicked sprite laughed till he almost choked, for
all this tickled his fancy. The fine splinters still flew about in the
air: and now we shall hear what happened next.
SECOND STORY. A Little Boy and a Little Girl
In a large town, where there are so many houses, and so many people,
that there is no roof left for everybody to have a little garden; and
where, on this account, most persons are obliged to content themselves
with flowers in pots; there lived two little children, who had a garden
somewhat larger than a flower-pot. They were not brother and sister; but
they cared for each other as much as if they were. Their parents lived
exactly opposite. They inhabited two garrets; and where the roof of the
one house joined that of the other, and the gutter ran along the extreme
end of it, there was to each house a small window: one needed only to
step over the gutter to get from one window to the other.
The
children's parents had large wooden boxes there, in which vegetables for
the kitchen were planted, and little rosetrees besides: there was a
rose in each box, and they grew splendidly. They now thought of placing
the boxes across the gutter, so that they nearly reached from one window
to the other, and looked just like two walls of flowers. The tendrils
of the peas hung down over the boxes; and the rose-trees shot up long
branches, twined round the windows, and then bent towards each other: it
was almost like a triumphant arch of foliage and flowers. The boxes
were very high, and the children knew that they must not creep over
them; so they often obtained permission to get out of the windows to
each other, and to sit on their little stools among the roses, where
they could play delightfully. In winter there was an end of this
pleasure. The windows were often frozen over; but then they heated
copper farthings on the stove, and laid the hot farthing on the
windowpane, and then they had a capital peep-hole, quite nicely rounded;
and out of each peeped a gentle friendly eye—it was the little boy and
the little girl who were looking out. His name was Kay, hers was Gerda.
In summer, with one jump, they could get to each other; but in winter
they were obliged first to go down the long stairs, and then up the long
stairs again: and out-of-doors there was quite a snow-storm.
"It is the white bees that are swarming," said Kay's old grandmother.
"Do the white bees choose a queen?" asked the little boy; for he knew that the honey-bees always have one.
"Yes," said the grandmother, "she flies where the swarm hangs in the
thickest clusters. She is the largest of all; and she can never remain
quietly on the earth, but goes up again into the black clouds. Many a
winter's night she flies through the streets of the town, and peeps in
at the windows; and they then freeze in so wondrous a manner that they
look like flowers."
"Yes, I have seen it," said both the children; and so they knew that it was true.
"Can the Snow Queen come in?" said the little girl.
"Only let her come in!" said the little boy. "Then I'd put her on the stove, and she'd melt."
And then his grandmother patted his head and told him other stories.
In the evening, when little Kay was at home, and half undressed, he
climbed up on the chair by the window, and peeped out of the little
hole. A few snow-flakes were falling, and one, the largest of all,
remained lying on the edge of a flower-pot.
The flake of snow
grew larger and larger; and at last it was like a young lady, dressed in
the finest white gauze, made of a million little flakes like stars. She
was so beautiful and delicate, but she was of ice, of dazzling,
sparkling ice; yet she lived; her eyes gazed fixedly, like two stars;
but there was neither quiet nor repose in them. She nodded towards the
window, and beckoned with her hand. The little boy was frightened, and
jumped down from the chair; it seemed to him as if, at the same moment, a
large bird flew past the window.
The next day it was a sharp
frost—and then the spring came; the sun shone, the green leaves
appeared, the swallows built their nests, the windows were opened, and
the little children again sat in their pretty garden, high up on the
leads at the top of the house.
That summer the roses flowered
in unwonted beauty. The little girl had learned a hymn, in which there
was something about roses; and then she thought of her own flowers; and
she sang the verse to the little boy, who then sang it with her:
"The rose in the valley is blooming so sweet,
And angels descend there the children to greet."
And the children held each other by the hand, kissed the roses, looked
up at the clear sunshine, and spoke as though they really saw angels
there. What lovely summer-days those were! How delightful to be out in
the air, near the fresh rose-bushes, that seem as if they would never
finish blossoming!
Kay and Gerda looked at the picture-book
full of beasts and of birds; and it was then—the clock in the
church-tower was just striking five—that Kay said, "Oh! I feel such a
sharp pain in my heart; and now something has got into my eye!"
The little girl put her arms around his neck. He winked his eyes; now there was nothing to be seen.
"I think it is out now," said he; but it was not. It was just one of
those pieces of glass from the magic mirror that had got into his eye;
and poor Kay had got another piece right in his heart. It will soon
become like ice. It did not hurt any longer, but there it was.
"What are you crying for?" asked he. "You look so ugly! There's nothing
the matter with me. Ah," said he at once, "that rose is cankered! And
look, this one is quite crooked! After all, these roses are very ugly!
They are just like the box they are planted in!" And then he gave the
box a good kick with his foot, and pulled both the roses up.
"What are you doing?" cried the little girl; and as he perceived her
fright, he pulled up another rose, got in at the window, and hastened
off from dear little Gerda.
Afterwards, when she brought her
picture-book, he asked, "What horrid beasts have you there?" And if his
grandmother told them stories, he always interrupted her; besides, if he
could manage it, he would get behind her, put on her spectacles, and
imitate her way of speaking; he copied all her ways, and then everybody
laughed at him. He was soon able to imitate the gait and manner of
everyone in the street. Everything that was peculiar and displeasing in
them—that Kay knew how to imitate: and at such times all the people
said, "The boy is certainly very clever!" But it was the glass he had
got in his eye; the glass that was sticking in his heart, which made him
tease even little Gerda, whose whole soul was devoted to him.
His games now were quite different to what they had formerly been, they
were so very knowing. One winter's day, when the flakes of snow were
flying about, he spread the skirts of his blue coat, and caught the snow
as it fell.
"Look through this glass, Gerda," said he. And
every flake seemed larger, and appeared like a magnificent flower, or
beautiful star; it was splendid to look at!
"Look, how clever!"
said Kay. "That's much more interesting than real flowers! They are as
exact as possible; there is not a fault in them, if they did not melt!"
It was not long after this, that Kay came one day with large gloves on,
and his little sledge at his back, and bawled right into Gerda's ears,
"I have permission to go out into the square where the others are
playing"; and off he was in a moment.
There, in the
market-place, some of the boldest of the boys used to tie their sledges
to the carts as they passed by, and so they were pulled along, and got a
good ride. It was so capital! Just as they were in the very height of
their amusement, a large sledge passed by: it was painted quite white,
and there was someone in it wrapped up in a rough white mantle of fur,
with a rough white fur cap on his head. The sledge drove round the
square twice, and Kay tied on his sledge as quickly as he could, and off
he drove with it. On they went quicker and quicker into the next
street; and the person who drove turned round to Kay, and nodded to him
in a friendly manner, just as if they knew each other. Every time he was
going to untie his sledge, the person nodded to him, and then Kay sat
quiet; and so on they went till they came outside the gates of the town.
Then the snow began to fall so thickly that the little boy could not
see an arm's length before him, but still on he went: when suddenly he
let go the string he held in his hand in order to get loose from the
sledge, but it was of no use; still the little vehicle rushed on with
the quickness of the wind. He then cried as loud as he could, but no one
heard him; the snow drifted and the sledge flew on, and sometimes it
gave a jerk as though they were driving over hedges and ditches. He was
quite frightened, and he tried to repeat the Lord's Prayer; but all he
could do, he was only able to remember the multiplication table.
The snow-flakes grew larger and larger, till at last they looked just
like great white fowls. Suddenly they flew on one side; the large sledge
stopped, and the person who drove rose up. It was a lady; her cloak and
cap were of snow. She was tall and of slender figure, and of a dazzling
whiteness. It was the Snow Queen.
"We have travelled fast,"
said she; "but it is freezingly cold. Come under my bearskin." And she
put him in the sledge beside her, wrapped the fur round him, and he felt
as though he were sinking in a snow-wreath.
"Are you still
cold?" asked she; and then she kissed his forehead. Ah! it was colder
than ice; it penetrated to his very heart, which was already almost a
frozen lump; it seemed to him as if he were about to die—but a moment
more and it was quite congenial to him, and he did not remark the cold
that was around him.
"My sledge! Do not forget my sledge!" It
was the first thing he thought of. It was there tied to one of the white
chickens, who flew along with it on his back behind the large sledge.
The Snow Queen kissed Kay once more, and then he forgot little Gerda,
grandmother, and all whom he had left at his home.
"Now you will have no more kisses," said she, "or else I should kiss you to death!"
Kay looked at her. She was very beautiful; a more clever, or a more
lovely countenance he could not fancy to himself; and she no longer
appeared of ice as before, when she sat outside the window, and beckoned
to him; in his eyes she was perfect, he did not fear her at all, and
told her that he could calculate in his head and with fractions, even;
that he knew the number of square miles there were in the different
countries, and how many inhabitants they contained; and she smiled while
he spoke. It then seemed to him as if what he knew was not enough, and
he looked upwards in the large huge empty space above him, and on she
flew with him; flew high over the black clouds, while the storm moaned
and whistled as though it were singing some old tune. On they flew over
woods and lakes, over seas, and many lands; and beneath them the
chilling storm rushed fast, the wolves howled, the snow crackled; above
them flew large screaming crows, but higher up appeared the moon, quite
large and bright; and it was on it that Kay gazed during the long long
winter's night; while by day he slept at the feet of the Snow Queen.
THIRD STORY. Of the Flower-Garden At the Old Woman's Who Understood Witchcraft
But what became of little Gerda when Kay did not return? Where could he
be? Nobody knew; nobody could give any intelligence. All the boys knew
was, that they had seen him tie his sledge to another large and splendid
one, which drove down the street and out of the town. Nobody knew where
he was; many sad tears were shed, and little Gerda wept long and
bitterly; at last she said he must be dead; that he had been drowned in
the river which flowed close to the town. Oh! those were very long and
dismal winter evenings!
At last spring came, with its warm sunshine.
"Kay is dead and gone!" said little Gerda.
"That I don't believe," said the Sunshine.
"Kay is dead and gone!" said she to the Swallows.
"That I don't believe," said they: and at last little Gerda did not think so any longer either.
"I'll put on my red shoes," said she, one morning; "Kay has never seen them, and then I'll go down to the river and ask there."
It was quite early; she kissed her old grandmother, who was still asleep, put on her red shoes, and went alone to the river.
"Is it true that you have taken my little playfellow? I will make you a
present of my red shoes, if you will give him back to me."
And, as it seemed to her, the blue waves nodded in a strange manner;
then she took off her red shoes, the most precious things she possessed,
and threw them both into the river. But they fell close to the bank,
and the little waves bore them immediately to land; it was as if the
stream would not take what was dearest to her; for in reality it had not
got little Kay; but Gerda thought that she had not thrown the shoes out
far enough, so she clambered into a boat which lay among the rushes,
went to the farthest end, and threw out the shoes. But the boat was not
fastened, and the motion which she occasioned, made it drift from the
shore. She observed this, and hastened to get back; but before she could
do so, the boat was more than a yard from the land, and was gliding
quickly onward.
Little Gerda was very frightened, and began to
cry; but no one heard her except the sparrows, and they could not carry
her to land; but they flew along the bank, and sang as if to comfort
her, "Here we are! Here we are!" The boat drifted with the stream,
little Gerda sat quite still without shoes, for they were swimming
behind the boat, but she could not reach them, because the boat went
much faster than they did.
The banks on both sides were
beautiful; lovely flowers, venerable trees, and slopes with sheep and
cows, but not a human being was to be seen.
"Perhaps the river
will carry me to little Kay," said she; and then she grew less sad. She
rose, and looked for many hours at the beautiful green banks. Presently
she sailed by a large cherry-orchard, where was a little cottage with
curious red and blue windows; it was thatched, and before it two wooden
soldiers stood sentry, and presented arms when anyone went past.
Gerda called to them, for she thought they were alive; but they, of
course, did not answer. She came close to them, for the stream drifted
the boat quite near the land.
Gerda called still louder, and an
old woman then came out of the cottage, leaning upon a crooked stick.
She had a large broad-brimmed hat on, painted with the most splendid
flowers.
"Poor little child!" said the old woman. "How did you
get upon the large rapid river, to be driven about so in the wide
world!" And then the old woman went into the water, caught hold of the
boat with her crooked stick, drew it to the bank, and lifted little
Gerda out.
And Gerda was so glad to be on dry land again; but she was rather afraid of the strange old woman.
"But come and tell me who you are, and how you came here," said she.
And Gerda told her all; and the old woman shook her head and said,
"A-hem! a-hem!" and when Gerda had told her everything, and asked her if
she had not seen little Kay, the woman answered that he had not passed
there, but he no doubt would come; and she told her not to be cast down,
but taste her cherries, and look at her flowers, which were finer than
any in a picture-book, each of which could tell a whole story. She then
took Gerda by the hand, led her into the little cottage, and locked the
door.
The windows were very high up; the glass was red, blue,
and green, and the sunlight shone through quite wondrously in all sorts
of colors. On the table stood the most exquisite cherries, and Gerda ate
as many as she chose, for she had permission to do so. While she was
eating, the old woman combed her hair with a golden comb, and her hair
curled and shone with a lovely golden color around that sweet little
face, which was so round and so like a rose.
"I have often
longed for such a dear little girl," said the old woman. "Now you shall
see how well we agree together"; and while she combed little Gerda's
hair, the child forgot her foster-brother Kay more and more, for the old
woman understood magic; but she was no evil being, she only practised
witchcraft a little for her own private amusement, and now she wanted
very much to keep little Gerda. She therefore went out in the garden,
stretched out her crooked stick towards the rose-bushes, which,
beautifully as they were blowing, all sank into the earth and no one
could tell where they had stood. The old woman feared that if Gerda
should see the roses, she would then think of her own, would remember
little Kay, and run away from her.
She now led Gerda into the
flower-garden. Oh, what odour and what loveliness was there! Every
flower that one could think of, and of every season, stood there in
fullest bloom; no picture-book could be gayer or more beautiful. Gerda
jumped for joy, and played till the sun set behind the tall cherry-tree;
she then had a pretty bed, with a red silken coverlet filled with blue
violets. She fell asleep, and had as pleasant dreams as ever a queen on
her wedding-day.
The next morning she went to play with the
flowers in the warm sunshine, and thus passed away a day. Gerda knew
every flower; and, numerous as they were, it still seemed to Gerda that
one was wanting, though she did not know which. One day while she was
looking at the hat of the old woman painted with flowers, the most
beautiful of them all seemed to her to be a rose. The old woman had
forgotten to take it from her hat when she made the others vanish in the
earth. But so it is when one's thoughts are not collected. "What!" said
Gerda. "Are there no roses here?" and she ran about amongst the
flowerbeds, and looked, and looked, but there was not one to be found.
She then sat down and wept; but her hot tears fell just where a
rose-bush had sunk; and when her warm tears watered the ground, the tree
shot up suddenly as fresh and blooming as when it had been swallowed
up. Gerda kissed the roses, thought of her own dear roses at home, and
with them of little Kay.
"Oh, how long I have stayed!" said the
little girl. "I intended to look for Kay! Don't you know where he is?"
she asked of the roses. "Do you think he is dead and gone?"
"Dead he certainly is not," said the Roses. "We have been in the earth where all the dead are, but Kay was not there."
"Many thanks!" said little Gerda; and she went to the other flowers,
looked into their cups, and asked, "Don't you know where little Kay is?"
But every flower stood in the sunshine, and dreamed its own fairy tale
or its own story: and they all told her very many things, but not one
knew anything of Kay.
Well, what did the Tiger-Lily say?
"Hearest thou not the drum? Bum! Bum! Those are the only two tones.
Always bum! Bum! Hark to the plaintive song of the old woman, to the
call of the priests! The Hindoo woman in her long robe stands upon the
funeral pile; the flames rise around her and her dead husband, but the
Hindoo woman thinks on the living one in the surrounding circle; on him
whose eyes burn hotter than the flames—on him, the fire of whose eyes
pierces her heart more than the flames which soon will burn her body to
ashes. Can the heart's flame die in the flame of the funeral pile?"
"I don't understand that at all," said little Gerda.
"That is my story," said the Lily.
What did the Convolvulus say?
"Projecting over a narrow mountain-path there hangs an old feudal
castle. Thick evergreens grow on the dilapidated walls, and around the
altar, where a lovely maiden is standing: she bends over the railing and
looks out upon the rose. No fresher rose hangs on the branches than
she; no appleblossom carried away by the wind is more buoyant! How her
silken robe is rustling!
"'Is he not yet come?'"
"Is it Kay that you mean?" asked little Gerda.
"I am speaking about my story—about my dream," answered the Convolvulus.
What did the Snowdrops say?
"Between the trees a long board is hanging—it is a swing. Two little
girls are sitting in it, and swing themselves backwards and forwards;
their frocks are as white as snow, and long green silk ribands flutter
from their bonnets. Their brother, who is older than they are, stands up
in the swing; he twines his arms round the cords to hold himself fast,
for in one hand he has a little cup, and in the other a clay-pipe. He is
blowing soap-bubbles. The swing moves, and the bubbles float in
charming changing colors: the last is still hanging to the end of the
pipe, and rocks in the breeze. The swing moves. The little black dog, as
light as a soap-bubble, jumps up on his hind legs to try to get into
the swing. It moves, the dog falls down, barks, and is angry. They tease
him; the bubble bursts! A swing, a bursting bubble—such is my song!"
"What you relate may be very pretty, but you tell it in so melancholy a manner, and do not mention Kay."
What do the Hyacinths say?
"There were once upon a time three sisters, quite transparent, and very
beautiful. The robe of the one was red, that of the second blue, and
that of the third white. They danced hand in hand beside the calm lake
in the clear moonshine. They were not elfin maidens, but mortal
children. A sweet fragrance was smelt, and the maidens vanished in the
wood; the fragrance grew stronger—three coffins, and in them three
lovely maidens, glided out of the forest and across the lake: the
shining glow-worms flew around like little floating lights. Do the
dancing maidens sleep, or are they dead? The odour of the flowers says
they are corpses; the evening bell tolls for the dead!"
"You
make me quite sad," said little Gerda. "I cannot help thinking of the
dead maidens. Oh! is little Kay really dead? The Roses have been in the
earth, and they say no."
"Ding, dong!" sounded the Hyacinth
bells. "We do not toll for little Kay; we do not know him. That is our
way of singing, the only one we have."
And Gerda went to the Ranunculuses, that looked forth from among the shining green leaves.
"You are a little bright sun!" said Gerda. "Tell me if you know where I can find my playfellow."
And the Ranunculus shone brightly, and looked again at Gerda. What song
could the Ranunculus sing? It was one that said nothing about Kay
either.
"In a small court the bright sun was shining in the
first days of spring. The beams glided down the white walls of a
neighbor's house, and close by the fresh yellow flowers were growing,
shining like gold in the warm sun-rays. An old grandmother was sitting
in the air; her grand-daughter, the poor and lovely servant just come
for a short visit. She knows her grandmother. There was gold, pure
virgin gold in that blessed kiss. There, that is my little story," said
the Ranunculus.
"My poor old grandmother!" sighed Gerda. "Yes,
she is longing for me, no doubt: she is sorrowing for me, as she did for
little Kay. But I will soon come home, and then I will bring Kay with
me. It is of no use asking the flowers; they only know their own old
rhymes, and can tell me nothing." And she tucked up her frock, to enable
her to run quicker; but the Narcissus gave her a knock on the leg, just
as she was going to jump over it. So she stood still, looked at the
long yellow flower, and asked, "You perhaps know something?" and she
bent down to the Narcissus. And what did it say?
"I can see
myself—I can see myself! Oh, how odorous I am! Up in the little garret
there stands, half-dressed, a little Dancer. She stands now on one leg,
now on both; she despises the whole world; yet she lives only in
imagination. She pours water out of the teapot over a piece of stuff
which she holds in her hand; it is the bodice; cleanliness is a fine
thing. The white dress is hanging on the hook; it was washed in the
teapot, and dried on the roof. She puts it on, ties a saffron-colored
kerchief round her neck, and then the gown looks whiter. I can see
myself—I can see myself!"
"That's nothing to me," said little Gerda. "That does not concern me." And then off she ran to the further end of the garden.
The gate was locked, but she shook the rusted bolt till it was
loosened, and the gate opened; and little Gerda ran off barefooted into
the wide world. She looked round her thrice, but no one followed her. At
last she could run no longer; she sat down on a large stone, and when
she looked about her, she saw that the summer had passed; it was late in
the autumn, but that one could not remark in the beautiful garden,
where there was always sunshine, and where there were flowers the whole
year round.
"Dear me, how long I have staid!" said Gerda. "Autumn is come. I must not rest any longer." And she got up to go further.
Oh, how tender and wearied her little feet were! All around it looked
so cold and raw: the long willow-leaves were quite yellow, and the fog
dripped from them like water; one leaf fell after the other: the sloes
only stood full of fruit, which set one's teeth on edge. Oh, how dark
and comfortless it was in the dreary world!
FOURTH STORY. The Prince and Princess
Gerda was obliged to rest herself again, when, exactly opposite to her,
a large Raven came hopping over the white snow. He had long been
looking at Gerda and shaking his head; and now he said, "Caw! Caw!" Good
day! Good day! He could not say it better; but he felt a sympathy for
the little girl, and asked her where she was going all alone. The word
"alone" Gerda understood quite well, and felt how much was expressed by
it; so she told the Raven her whole history, and asked if he had not
seen Kay.
The Raven nodded very gravely, and said, "It may be—it may be!"
"What, do you really think so?" cried the little girl; and she nearly squeezed the Raven to death, so much did she kiss him.
"Gently, gently," said the Raven. "I think I know; I think that it may
be little Kay. But now he has forgotten you for the Princess."
"Does he live with a Princess?" asked Gerda.
"Yes—listen," said the Raven; "but it will be difficult for me to speak
your language. If you understand the Raven language I can tell you
better."
"No, I have not learnt it," said Gerda; "but my
grandmother understands it, and she can speak gibberish too. I wish I
had learnt it."
"No matter," said the Raven; "I will tell you as well as I can; however, it will be bad enough." And then he told all he knew.
"In the kingdom where we now are there lives a Princess, who is
extraordinarily clever; for she has read all the newspapers in the whole
world, and has forgotten them again—so clever is she. She was lately,
it is said, sitting on her throne—which is not very amusing after
all—when she began humming an old tune, and it was just, 'Oh, why should
I not be married?' 'That song is not without its meaning,' said she,
and so then she was determined to marry; but she would have a husband
who knew how to give an answer when he was spoken to—not one who looked
only as if he were a great personage, for that is so tiresome. She then
had all the ladies of the court drummed together; and when they heard
her intention, all were very pleased, and said, 'We are very glad to
hear it; it is the very thing we were thinking of.' You may believe
every word I say," said the Raven; "for I have a tame sweetheart that
hops about in the palace quite free, and it was she who told me all
this.
"The newspapers appeared forthwith with a border of
hearts and the initials of the Princess; and therein you might read that
every good-looking young man was at liberty to come to the palace and
speak to the Princess; and he who spoke in such wise as showed he felt
himself at home there, that one the Princess would choose for her
husband.
"Yes, Yes," said the Raven, "you may believe it; it is
as true as I am sitting here. People came in crowds; there was a crush
and a hurry, but no one was successful either on the first or second
day. They could all talk well enough when they were out in the street;
but as soon as they came inside the palace gates, and saw the guard
richly dressed in silver, and the lackeys in gold on the staircase, and
the large illuminated saloons, then they were abashed; and when they
stood before the throne on which the Princess was sitting, all they
could do was to repeat the last word they had uttered, and to hear it
again did not interest her very much. It was just as if the people
within were under a charm, and had fallen into a trance till they came
out again into the street; for then—oh, then—they could chatter enough.
There was a whole row of them standing from the town-gates to the
palace. I was there myself to look," said the Raven. "They grew hungry
and thirsty; but from the palace they got nothing whatever, not even a
glass of water. Some of the cleverest, it is true, had taken bread and
butter with them: but none shared it with his neighbor, for each
thought, 'Let him look hungry, and then the Princess won't have him.'"
"But Kay—little Kay," said Gerda, "when did he come? Was he among the number?"
"Patience, patience; we are just come to him. It was on the third day
when a little personage without horse or equipage, came marching right
boldly up to the palace; his eyes shone like yours, he had beautiful
long hair, but his clothes were very shabby."
"That was Kay," cried Gerda, with a voice of delight. "Oh, now I've found him!" and she clapped her hands for joy.
"He had a little knapsack at his back," said the Raven.
"No, that was certainly his sledge," said Gerda; "for when he went away he took his sledge with him."
"That may be," said the Raven; "I did not examine him so minutely; but I
know from my tame sweetheart, that when he came into the court-yard of
the palace, and saw the body-guard in silver, the lackeys on the
staircase, he was not the least abashed; he nodded, and said to them,
'It must be very tiresome to stand on the stairs; for my part, I shall
go in.' The saloons were gleaming with lustres—privy councillors and
excellencies were walking about barefooted, and wore gold keys; it was
enough to make any one feel uncomfortable. His boots creaked, too, so
loudly, but still he was not at all afraid."
"That's Kay for certain," said Gerda. "I know he had on new boots; I have heard them creaking in grandmama's room."
"Yes, they creaked," said the Raven. "And on he went boldly up to the
Princess, who was sitting on a pearl as large as a spinning-wheel. All
the ladies of the court, with their attendants and attendants'
attendants, and all the cavaliers, with their gentlemen and gentlemen's
gentlemen, stood round; and the nearer they stood to the door, the
prouder they looked. It was hardly possible to look at the gentleman's
gentleman, so very haughtily did he stand in the doorway."
"It must have been terrible," said little Gerda. "And did Kay get the Princess?"
"Were I not a Raven, I should have taken the Princess myself, although I
am promised. It is said he spoke as well as I speak when I talk Raven
language; this I learned from my tame sweetheart. He was bold and nicely
behaved; he had not come to woo the Princess, but only to hear her
wisdom. She pleased him, and he pleased her."
"Yes, yes; for
certain that was Kay," said Gerda. "He was so clever; he could reckon
fractions in his head. Oh, won't you take me to the palace?"
"That is very easily said," answered the Raven. "But how are we to
manage it? I'll speak to my tame sweetheart about it: she must advise
us; for so much I must tell you, such a little girl as you are will
never get permission to enter."
"Oh, yes I shall," said Gerda; "when Kay hears that I am here, he will come out directly to fetch me."
"Wait for me here on these steps," said the Raven. He moved his head backwards and forwards and flew away.
The evening was closing in when the Raven returned. "Caw—caw!" said he.
"She sends you her compliments; and here is a roll for you. She took it
out of the kitchen, where there is bread enough. You are hungry, no
doubt. It is not possible for you to enter the palace, for you are
barefooted: the guards in silver, and the lackeys in gold, would not
allow it; but do not cry, you shall come in still. My sweetheart knows a
little back stair that leads to the bedchamber, and she knows where she
can get the key of it."
And they went into the garden in the
large avenue, where one leaf was falling after the other; and when the
lights in the palace had all gradually disappeared, the Raven led little
Gerda to the back door, which stood half open.
Oh, how Gerda's
heart beat with anxiety and longing! It was just as if she had been
about to do something wrong; and yet she only wanted to know if little
Kay was there. Yes, he must be there. She called to mind his intelligent
eyes, and his long hair, so vividly, she could quite see him as he used
to laugh when they were sitting under the roses at home. "He will, no
doubt, be glad to see you—to hear what a long way you have come for his
sake; to know how unhappy all at home were when he did not come back."
Oh, what a fright and a joy it was!
They were now on the stairs. A single lamp was burning there; and on
the floor stood the tame Raven, turning her head on every side and
looking at Gerda, who bowed as her grandmother had taught her to do.
"My intended has told me so much good of you, my dear young lady," said
the tame Raven. "Your tale is very affecting. If you will take the
lamp, I will go before. We will go straight on, for we shall meet no
one."
"I think there is somebody just behind us," said Gerda;
and something rushed past: it was like shadowy figures on the wall;
horses with flowing manes and thin legs, huntsmen, ladies and gentlemen
on horseback.
"They are only dreams," said the Raven. "They
come to fetch the thoughts of the high personages to the chase; 'tis
well, for now you can observe them in bed all the better. But let me
find, when you enjoy honor and distinction, that you possess a grateful
heart."
"Tut! That's not worth talking about," said the Raven of the woods.
They now entered the first saloon, which was of rose-colored satin,
with artificial flowers on the wall. Here the dreams were rushing past,
but they hastened by so quickly that Gerda could not see the high
personages. One hall was more magnificent than the other; one might
indeed well be abashed; and at last they came into the bedchamber. The
ceiling of the room resembled a large palm-tree with leaves of glass, of
costly glass; and in the middle, from a thick golden stem, hung two
beds, each of which resembled a lily. One was white, and in this lay the
Princess; the other was red, and it was here that Gerda was to look for
little Kay. She bent back one of the red leaves, and saw a brown neck.
Oh! that was Kay! She called him quite loud by name, held the lamp
towards him—the dreams rushed back again into the chamber—he awoke,
turned his head, and—it was not little Kay!
The Prince was only
like him about the neck; but he was young and handsome. And out of the
white lily leaves the Princess peeped, too, and asked what was the
matter. Then little Gerda cried, and told her her whole history, and all
that the Ravens had done for her.
"Poor little thing!" said
the Prince and the Princess. They praised the Ravens very much, and told
them they were not at all angry with them, but they were not to do so
again. However, they should have a reward. "Will you fly about here at
liberty," asked the Princess; "or would you like to have a fixed
appointment as court ravens, with all the broken bits from the kitchen?"
And both the Ravens nodded, and begged for a fixed appointment; for
they thought of their old age, and said, "It is a good thing to have a
provision for our old days."
And the Prince got up and let
Gerda sleep in his bed, and more than this he could not do. She folded
her little hands and thought, "How good men and animals are!" and she
then fell asleep and slept soundly. All the dreams flew in again, and
they now looked like the angels; they drew a little sledge, in which
little Kay sat and nodded his head; but the whole was only a dream, and
therefore it all vanished as soon as she awoke.
The next day
she was dressed from head to foot in silk and velvet. They offered to
let her stay at the palace, and lead a happy life; but she begged to
have a little carriage with a horse in front, and for a small pair of
shoes; then, she said, she would again go forth in the wide world and
look for Kay.
Shoes and a muff were given her; she was, too,
dressed very nicely; and when she was about to set off, a new carriage
stopped before the door. It was of pure gold, and the arms of the Prince
and Princess shone like a star upon it; the coachman, the footmen, and
the outriders, for outriders were there, too, all wore golden crowns.
The Prince and the Princess assisted her into the carriage themselves,
and wished her all success. The Raven of the woods, who was now married,
accompanied her for the first three miles. He sat beside Gerda, for he
could not bear riding backwards; the other Raven stood in the doorway,
and flapped her wings; she could not accompany Gerda, because she
suffered from headache since she had had a fixed appointment and ate so
much. The carriage was lined inside with sugar-plums, and in the seats
were fruits and gingerbread.
"Farewell! Farewell!" cried Prince
and Princess; and Gerda wept, and the Raven wept. Thus passed the first
miles; and then the Raven bade her farewell, and this was the most
painful separation of all. He flew into a tree, and beat his black wings
as long as he could see the carriage, that shone from afar like a
sunbeam.
FIFTH STORY. The Little Robber Maiden
They
drove through the dark wood; but the carriage shone like a torch, and it
dazzled the eyes of the robbers, so that they could not bear to look at
it.
"'Tis gold! 'Tis gold!" they cried; and they rushed
forward, seized the horses, knocked down the little postilion, the
coachman, and the servants, and pulled little Gerda out of the carriage.
"How plump, how beautiful she is! She must have been fed on
nut-kernels," said the old female robber, who had a long, scrubby beard,
and bushy eyebrows that hung down over her eyes. "She is as good as a
fatted lamb! How nice she will be!" And then she drew out a knife, the
blade of which shone so that it was quite dreadful to behold.
"Oh!" cried the woman at the same moment. She had been bitten in the ear
by her own little daughter, who hung at her back; and who was so wild
and unmanageable, that it was quite amusing to see her. "You naughty
child!" said the mother: and now she had not time to kill Gerda.
"She shall play with me," said the little robber child. "She shall give
me her muff, and her pretty frock; she shall sleep in my bed!" And then
she gave her mother another bite, so that she jumped, and ran round
with the pain; and the Robbers laughed, and said, "Look, how she is
dancing with the little one!"
"I will go into the carriage,"
said the little robber maiden; and she would have her will, for she was
very spoiled and very headstrong. She and Gerda got in; and then away
they drove over the stumps of felled trees, deeper and deeper into the
woods. The little robber maiden was as tall as Gerda, but stronger,
broader-shouldered, and of dark complexion; her eyes were quite black;
they looked almost melancholy. She embraced little Gerda, and said,
"They shall not kill you as long as I am not displeased with you. You
are, doubtless, a Princess?"
"No," said little Gerda; who then related all that had happened to her, and how much she cared about little Kay.
The little robber maiden looked at her with a serious air, nodded her
head slightly, and said, "They shall not kill you, even if I am angry
with you: then I will do it myself"; and she dried Gerda's eyes, and put
both her hands in the handsome muff, which was so soft and warm.
At length the carriage stopped. They were in the midst of the
court-yard of a robber's castle. It was full of cracks from top to
bottom; and out of the openings magpies and rooks were flying; and the
great bull-dogs, each of which looked as if he could swallow a man,
jumped up, but they did not bark, for that was forbidden.
In
the midst of the large, old, smoking hall burnt a great fire on the
stone floor. The smoke disappeared under the stones, and had to seek its
own egress. In an immense caldron soup was boiling; and rabbits and
hares were being roasted on a spit.
"You shall sleep with me
to-night, with all my animals," said the little robber maiden. They had
something to eat and drink; and then went into a corner, where straw and
carpets were lying. Beside them, on laths and perches, sat nearly a
hundred pigeons, all asleep, seemingly; but yet they moved a little when
the robber maiden came. "They are all mine," said she, at the same time
seizing one that was next to her by the legs and shaking it so that its
wings fluttered. "Kiss it," cried the little girl, and flung the pigeon
in Gerda's face. "Up there is the rabble of the wood," continued she,
pointing to several laths which were fastened before a hole high up in
the wall; "that's the rabble; they would all fly away immediately, if
they were not well fastened in. And here is my dear old Bac"; and she
laid hold of the horns of a reindeer, that had a bright copper ring
round its neck, and was tethered to the spot. "We are obliged to lock
this fellow in too, or he would make his escape. Every evening I tickle
his neck with my sharp knife; he is so frightened at it!" and the little
girl drew forth a long knife, from a crack in the wall, and let it
glide over the Reindeer's neck. The poor animal kicked; the girl
laughed, and pulled Gerda into bed with her.
"Do you intend to keep your knife while you sleep?" asked Gerda; looking at it rather fearfully.
"I always sleep with the knife," said the little robber maiden. "There
is no knowing what may happen. But tell me now, once more, all about
little Kay; and why you have started off in the wide world alone." And
Gerda related all, from the very beginning: the Wood-pigeons cooed above
in their cage, and the others slept. The little robber maiden wound her
arm round Gerda's neck, held the knife in the other hand, and snored so
loud that everybody could hear her; but Gerda could not close her eyes,
for she did not know whether she was to live or die. The robbers sat
round the fire, sang and drank; and the old female robber jumped about
so, that it was quite dreadful for Gerda to see her.
Then the
Wood-pigeons said, "Coo! Coo! We have seen little Kay! A white hen
carries his sledge; he himself sat in the carriage of the Snow Queen,
who passed here, down just over the wood, as we lay in our nest. She
blew upon us young ones; and all died except we two. Coo! Coo!"
"What is that you say up there?" cried little Gerda. "Where did the Snow Queen go to? Do you know anything about it?"
"She is no doubt gone to Lapland; for there is always snow and ice there. Only ask the Reindeer, who is tethered there."
"Ice and snow is there! There it is, glorious and beautiful!" said the
Reindeer. "One can spring about in the large shining valleys! The Snow
Queen has her summer-tent there; but her fixed abode is high up towards
the North Pole, on the Island called Spitzbergen."
"Oh, Kay! Poor little Kay!" sighed Gerda.
"Do you choose to be quiet?" said the robber maiden. "If you don't, I shall make you."
In the morning Gerda told her all that the Wood-pigeons had said; and
the little maiden looked very serious, but she nodded her head, and
said, "That's no matter—that's no matter. Do you know where Lapland
lies!" she asked of the Reindeer.
"Who should know better than
I?" said the animal; and his eyes rolled in his head. "I was born and
bred there—there I leapt about on the fields of snow."
"Listen," said the robber maiden to Gerda. "You see that the men are
gone; but my mother is still here, and will remain. However, towards
morning she takes a draught out of the large flask, and then she sleeps a
little: then I will do something for you." She now jumped out of bed,
flew to her mother; with her arms round her neck, and pulling her by the
beard, said, "Good morrow, my own sweet nanny-goat of a mother." And
her mother took hold of her nose, and pinched it till it was red and
blue; but this was all done out of pure love.
When the mother
had taken a sup at her flask, and was having a nap, the little robber
maiden went to the Reindeer, and said, "I should very much like to give
you still many a tickling with the sharp knife, for then you are so
amusing; however, I will untether you, and help you out, so that you may
go back to Lapland. But you must make good use of your legs; and take
this little girl for me to the palace of the Snow Queen, where her
playfellow is. You have heard, I suppose, all she said; for she spoke
loud enough, and you were listening."
The Reindeer gave a bound
for joy. The robber maiden lifted up little Gerda, and took the
precaution to bind her fast on the Reindeer's back; she even gave her a
small cushion to sit on. "Here are your worsted leggins, for it will be
cold; but the muff I shall keep for myself, for it is so very pretty.
But I do not wish you to be cold. Here is a pair of lined gloves of my
mother's; they just reach up to your elbow. On with them! Now you look
about the hands just like my ugly old mother!"
And Gerda wept for joy.
"I can't bear to see you fretting," said the little robber maiden.
"This is just the time when you ought to look pleased. Here are two
loaves and a ham for you, so that you won't starve." The bread and the
meat were fastened to the Reindeer's back; the little maiden opened the
door, called in all the dogs, and then with her knife cut the rope that
fastened the animal, and said to him, "Now, off with you; but take good
care of the little girl!"
And Gerda stretched out her hands
with the large wadded gloves towards the robber maiden, and said,
"Farewell!" and the Reindeer flew on over bush and bramble through the
great wood, over moor and heath, as fast as he could go.
"Ddsa! Ddsa!" was heard in the sky. It was just as if somebody was sneezing.
"These are my old northern-lights," said the Reindeer, "look how they
gleam!" And on he now sped still quicker—day and night on he went: the
loaves were consumed, and the ham too; and now they were in Lapland.
SIXTH STORY. The Lapland Woman and the Finland Woman
Suddenly they stopped before a little house, which looked very
miserable. The roof reached to the ground; and the door was so low, that
the family were obliged to creep upon their stomachs when they went in
or out. Nobody was at home except an old Lapland woman, who was dressing
fish by the light of an oil lamp. And the Reindeer told her the whole
of Gerda's history, but first of all his own; for that seemed to him of
much greater importance. Gerda was so chilled that she could not speak.
"Poor thing," said the Lapland woman, "you have far to run still. You
have more than a hundred miles to go before you get to Finland; there
the Snow Queen has her country-house, and burns blue lights every
evening. I will give you a few words from me, which I will write on a
dried haberdine, for paper I have none; this you can take with you to
the Finland woman, and she will be able to give you more information
than I can."
When Gerda had warmed herself, and had eaten and
drunk, the Lapland woman wrote a few words on a dried haberdine, begged
Gerda to take care of them, put her on the Reindeer, bound her fast, and
away sprang the animal. "Ddsa! Ddsa!" was again heard in the air; the
most charming blue lights burned the whole night in the sky, and at last
they came to Finland. They knocked at the chimney of the Finland woman;
for as to a door, she had none.
There was such a heat inside
that the Finland woman herself went about almost naked. She was
diminutive and dirty. She immediately loosened little Gerda's clothes,
pulled off her thick gloves and boots; for otherwise the heat would have
been too great—and after laying a piece of ice on the Reindeer's head,
read what was written on the fish-skin. She read it three times: she
then knew it by heart; so she put the fish into the cupboard—for it
might very well be eaten, and she never threw anything away.
Then the Reindeer related his own story first, and afterwards that of
little Gerda; and the Finland woman winked her eyes, but said nothing.
"You are so clever," said the Reindeer; "you can, I know, twist all the
winds of the world together in a knot. If the seaman loosens one knot,
then he has a good wind; if a second, then it blows pretty stiffly; if
he undoes the third and fourth, then it rages so that the forests are
upturned. Will you give the little maiden a potion, that she may possess
the strength of twelve men, and vanquish the Snow Queen?"
"The
strength of twelve men!" said the Finland woman. "Much good that would
be!" Then she went to a cupboard, and drew out a large skin rolled up.
When she had unrolled it, strange characters were to be seen written
thereon; and the Finland woman read at such a rate that the perspiration
trickled down her forehead.
But the Reindeer begged so hard
for little Gerda, and Gerda looked so imploringly with tearful eyes at
the Finland woman, that she winked, and drew the Reindeer aside into a
corner, where they whispered together, while the animal got some fresh
ice put on his head.
"'Tis true little Kay is at the Snow
Queen's, and finds everything there quite to his taste; and he thinks it
the very best place in the world; but the reason of that is, he has a
splinter of glass in his eye, and in his heart. These must be got out
first; otherwise he will never go back to mankind, and the Snow Queen
will retain her power over him."
"But can you give little Gerda nothing to take which will endue her with power over the whole?"
"I can give her no more power than what she has already. Don't you see
how great it is? Don't you see how men and animals are forced to serve
her; how well she gets through the world barefooted? She must not hear
of her power from us; that power lies in her heart, because she is a
sweet and innocent child! If she cannot get to the Snow Queen by
herself, and rid little Kay of the glass, we cannot help her. Two miles
hence the garden of the Snow Queen begins; thither you may carry the
little girl. Set her down by the large bush with red berries, standing
in the snow; don't stay talking, but hasten back as fast as possible."
And now the Finland woman placed little Gerda on the Reindeer's back,
and off he ran with all imaginable speed.
"Oh! I have not got
my boots! I have not brought my gloves!" cried little Gerda. She
remarked she was without them from the cutting frost; but the Reindeer
dared not stand still; on he ran till he came to the great bush with the
red berries, and there he set Gerda down, kissed her mouth, while large
bright tears flowed from the animal's eyes, and then back he went as
fast as possible. There stood poor Gerda now, without shoes or gloves,
in the very middle of dreadful icy Finland.
She ran on as fast
as she could. There then came a whole regiment of snow-flakes, but they
did not fall from above, and they were quite bright and shining from the
Aurora Borealis. The flakes ran along the ground, and the nearer they
came the larger they grew. Gerda well remembered how large and strange
the snow-flakes appeared when she once saw them through a
magnifying-glass; but now they were large and terrific in another
manner—they were all alive. They were the outposts of the Snow Queen.
They had the most wondrous shapes; some looked like large ugly
porcupines; others like snakes knotted together, with their heads
sticking out; and others, again, like small fat bears, with the hair
standing on end: all were of dazzling whiteness—all were living
snow-flakes.
Little Gerda repeated the Lord's Prayer. The cold
was so intense that she could see her own breath, which came like smoke
out of her mouth. It grew thicker and thicker, and took the form of
little angels, that grew more and more when they touched the earth. All
had helms on their heads, and lances and shields in their hands; they
increased in numbers; and when Gerda had finished the Lord's Prayer, she
was surrounded by a whole legion. They thrust at the horrid snow-flakes
with their spears, so that they flew into a thousand pieces; and little
Gerda walked on bravely and in security. The angels patted her hands
and feet; and then she felt the cold less, and went on quickly towards
the palace of the Snow Queen.
But now we shall see how Kay fared. He never thought of Gerda, and least of all that she was standing before the palace.
SEVENTH STORY. What Took Place in the Palace of the Snow Queen, and what Happened Afterward.
The walls of the palace were of driving snow, and the windows and doors
of cutting winds. There were more than a hundred halls there, according
as the snow was driven by the winds. The largest was many miles in
extent; all were lighted up by the powerful Aurora Borealis, and all
were so large, so empty, so icy cold, and so resplendent! Mirth never
reigned there; there was never even a little bear-ball, with the storm
for music, while the polar bears went on their hind legs and showed off
their steps. Never a little tea-party of white young lady foxes; vast,
cold, and empty were the halls of the Snow Queen. The northern-lights
shone with such precision that one could tell exactly when they were at
their highest or lowest degree of brightness. In the middle of the
empty, endless hall of snow, was a frozen lake; it was cracked in a
thousand pieces, but each piece was so like the other, that it seemed
the work of a cunning artificer. In the middle of this lake sat the Snow
Queen when she was at home; and then she said she was sitting in the
Mirror of Understanding, and that this was the only one and the best
thing in the world.
Little Kay was quite blue, yes nearly black
with cold; but he did not observe it, for she had kissed away all
feeling of cold from his body, and his heart was a lump of ice. He was
dragging along some pointed flat pieces of ice, which he laid together
in all possible ways, for he wanted to make something with them; just as
we have little flat pieces of wood to make geometrical figures with,
called the Chinese Puzzle. Kay made all sorts of figures, the most
complicated, for it was an ice-puzzle for the understanding. In his eyes
the figures were extraordinarily beautiful, and of the utmost
importance; for the bit of glass which was in his eye caused this. He
found whole figures which represented a written word; but he never could
manage to represent just the word he wanted—that word was "eternity";
and the Snow Queen had said, "If you can discover that figure, you shall
be your own master, and I will make you a present of the whole world
and a pair of new skates." But he could not find it out.
"I am
going now to warm lands," said the Snow Queen. "I must have a look down
into the black caldrons." It was the volcanoes Vesuvius and Etna that
she meant. "I will just give them a coating of white, for that is as it
ought to be; besides, it is good for the oranges and the grapes." And
then away she flew, and Kay sat quite alone in the empty halls of ice
that were miles long, and looked at the blocks of ice, and thought and
thought till his skull was almost cracked. There he sat quite benumbed
and motionless; one would have imagined he was frozen to death.
Suddenly little Gerda stepped through the great portal into the palace.
The gate was formed of cutting winds; but Gerda repeated her evening
prayer, and the winds were laid as though they slept; and the little
maiden entered the vast, empty, cold halls. There she beheld Kay: she
recognised him, flew to embrace him, and cried out, her arms firmly
holding him the while, "Kay, sweet little Kay! Have I then found you at
last?"
But he sat quite still, benumbed and cold. Then little
Gerda shed burning tears; and they fell on his bosom, they penetrated to
his heart, they thawed the lumps of ice, and consumed the splinters of
the looking-glass; he looked at her, and she sang the hymn:
"The rose in the valley is blooming so sweet, And angels descend there the children to greet."
Hereupon Kay burst into tears; he wept so much that the splinter rolled
out of his eye, and he recognised her, and shouted, "Gerda, sweet
little Gerda! Where have you been so long? And where have I been?" He
looked round him. "How cold it is here!" said he. "How empty and cold!"
And he held fast by Gerda, who laughed and wept for joy. It was so
beautiful, that even the blocks of ice danced about for joy; and when
they were tired and laid themselves down, they formed exactly the
letters which the Snow Queen had told him to find out; so now he was his
own master, and he would have the whole world and a pair of new skates
into the bargain.
Gerda kissed his cheeks, and they grew quite
blooming; she kissed his eyes, and they shone like her own; she kissed
his hands and feet, and he was again well and merry. The Snow Queen
might come back as soon as she liked; there stood his discharge written
in resplendent masses of ice.
They took each other by the hand,
and wandered forth out of the large hall; they talked of their old
grandmother, and of the roses upon the roof; and wherever they went, the
winds ceased raging, and the sun burst forth. And when they reached the
bush with the red berries, they found the Reindeer waiting for them. He
had brought another, a young one, with him, whose udder was filled with
milk, which he gave to the little ones, and kissed their lips. They
then carried Kay and Gerda—first to the Finland woman, where they warmed
themselves in the warm room, and learned what they were to do on their
journey home; and they went to the Lapland woman, who made some new
clothes for them and repaired their sledges.
The Reindeer and
the young hind leaped along beside them, and accompanied them to the
boundary of the country. Here the first vegetation peeped forth; here
Kay and Gerda took leave of the Lapland woman. "Farewell! Farewell!"
they all said. And the first green buds appeared, the first little birds
began to chirrup; and out of the wood came, riding on a magnificent
horse, which Gerda knew (it was one of the leaders in the golden
carriage), a young damsel with a bright-red cap on her head, and armed
with pistols. It was the little robber maiden, who, tired of being at
home, had determined to make a journey to the north; and afterwards in
another direction, if that did not please her. She recognised Gerda
immediately, and Gerda knew her too. It was a joyful meeting.
"You are a fine fellow for tramping about," said she to little Kay; "I
should like to know, faith, if you deserve that one should run from one
end of the world to the other for your sake?"
But Gerda patted her cheeks, and inquired for the Prince and Princess.
"They are gone abroad," said the other.
"But the Raven?" asked little Gerda.
"Oh! The Raven is dead," she answered. "His tame sweetheart is a widow,
and wears a bit of black worsted round her leg; she laments most
piteously, but it's all mere talk and stuff! Now tell me what you've
been doing and how you managed to catch him."
And Gerda and Kay both told their story.
And "Schnipp-schnapp-schnurre-basselurre,"
said the robber maiden; and she took the hands of each, and promised
that if she should some day pass through the town where they lived, she
would come and visit them; and then away she rode. Kay and Gerda took
each other's hand: it was lovely spring weather, with abundance of
flowers and of verdure. The church-bells rang, and the children
recognised the high towers, and the large town; it was that in which
they dwelt. They entered and hastened up to their grandmother's room,
where everything was standing as formerly. The clock said "tick! tack!"
and the finger moved round; but as they entered, they remarked that they
were now grown up. The roses on the leads hung blooming in at the open
window; there stood the little children's chairs, and Kay and Gerda sat
down on them, holding each other by the hand; they both had forgotten
the cold empty splendor of the Snow Queen, as though it had been a
dream. The grandmother sat in the bright sunshine, and read aloud from
the Bible: "Unless ye become as little children, ye cannot enter the
kingdom of heaven."
And Kay and Gerda looked in each other's eyes, and all at once they understood the old hymn:
"The rose in the valley is blooming so sweet, And angels descend there the children to greet."
There sat the two grown-up persons; grown-up, and yet children;
children at least in heart; and it was summer-time; summer, glorious
summer!
