In Seven Stories
by Hans Christian Andersen (1845)
Story the First: Which Describes
a looking-glass and the broken fragments.
You must attend to the commencement
of this story, for when we get to the end we shall know more than we do
now about a very wicked hobgoblin; he was one of the very worst, for he
was a real demon. One day, when he was in a merry mood, he made a
looking-glass which had the power of making everything good or beautiful
that was reflected in it almost shrink to nothing, while everything that
was worthless and bad looked increased in size and worse than ever. The
most lovely landscapes appeared like boiled spinach, and the people became
hideous, and looked as if they stood on their heads and had no bodies.
Their countenances were so distorted that no one could recognize them,
and even one freckle on the face appeared to spread over the whole of the
nose and mouth. The demon said this was very amusing.
When a good or pious thought passed
through the mind of any one it was misrepresented in the glass; and then
how the demon laughed at his cunning invention. All who went to the demon's
school -- for he kept a school -- talked everywhere of the wonders they had seen,
and declared that people could now, for the first time, see what the world
and mankind were really like. They carried the glass about everywhere,
till at last there was not a land nor a people who had not been looked
at through this distorted mirror. They wanted even to fly with it up to
heaven to see the angels, but the higher they flew the more slippery the
glass became, and they could scarcely hold it, till at last it slipped
from their hands, fell to the earth, and was broken into millions of pieces.
But now the looking-glass caused more unhappiness than ever, for some of
the fragments were not so large as a grain of sand, and they flew about
the world into every country. When one of these tiny atoms flew into a
person's eye, it stuck there unknown to him, and from that moment he saw
everything through a distorted medium, or could see only the worst side
of what he looked at, for even the smallest fragment retained the same
power which had belonged to the whole mirror.
Some few persons even got a fragment
of the looking-glass in their hearts, and this was very terrible, for their
hearts became cold like a lump of ice. A few of the pieces were so large
that they could be used as window-panes; it would have been a sad thing
to look at our friends through them. Other pieces were made into spectacles;
this was dreadful for those who wore them, for they could see nothing either
rightly or justly. At all this the wicked demon laughed till his sides
shook -- it tickled him so to see the mischief he had done.
There were still a number of these
little fragments of glass floating about in the air, and now you shall
hear what happened with one of them.
Second Story: A Little Boy and
a Little Girl
In a large town, full of houses and
people, there is not room for everybody to have even a little garden, therefore
they are obliged to be satisfied with a few flowers in flower-pots. In
one of these large towns lived two poor children who had a garden something
larger and better than a few flower-pots. They were not brother and sister,
but they loved each other almost as much as if they had been. Their parents
lived opposite to each other in two garrets, where the roofs of neighboring
houses projected out towards each other and the water-pipe ran between
them. In each house was a little window, so that any one could step
across the gutter from one window to the other. The parents of these children
had each a large wooden box in which they cultivated kitchen herbs for
their own use, and a little rose-bush in each box, which grew splendidly.
Now after a while the parents decided
to place these two boxes across the water-pipe, so that they reached from
one window to the other and looked like two banks of flowers. Sweet-peas
drooped over the boxes, and the rose-bushes shot forth long branches, which
were trained round the windows and clustered together almost like a triumphal
arch of leaves and flowers. The boxes were very high, and the children
knew they must not climb upon them, without permission, but they were often,
however, allowed to step out together and sit upon their little stools
under the rose-bushes, or play quietly.
In winter all this pleasure came
to an end, for the windows were sometimes quite frozen over. But then they
would warm copper pennies on the stove, and hold the warm pennies against
the frozen pane; there would be very soon a little round hole through which
they could peep, and the soft bright eyes of the little boy and girl would
beam through the hole at each window as they looked at each other. Their
names were Kay and Gerda. In summer they could be together with one jump
from the window, but in winter they had to go up and down the long staircase,
and out through the snow before they could meet.
"See there are the white bees swarming,"
said Kay's old grandmother one day when it was snowing.
"Have they a queen bee?" asked the
little boy, for he knew that the real bees had a queen.
"To be sure they have," said the
grandmother. "She is flying there where the swarm is thickest. She is the
largest of them all, and never remains on the earth, but flies up to the
dark clouds. Often at midnight she flies through the streets of the town,
and looks in at the windows, then the ice freezes on the panes into wonderful
shapes, that look like flowers and castles."
"Yes, I have seen them," said both
the children, and they knew it must be true.
"Can the Snow Queen come in here?"
asked the little girl.
"Only let her come," said the boy,
"I'll set her on the stove and then she'll melt."
Then the grandmother smoothed his
hair and told him some more tales. One evening, when little Kay was at
home, half undressed, he climbed on a chair by the window and peeped out
through the little hole. A few flakes of snow were falling, and one of
them, rather larger than the rest, alighted on the edge of one of the flower
boxes. This snow-flake grew larger and larger, till at last it became the
figure of a woman, dressed in garments of white gauze, which looked like
millions of starry snow-flakes linked together. She was fair and beautiful,
but made of ice -- shining and glittering ice. Still she was alive and her
eyes sparkled like bright stars, but there was neither peace nor rest in
their glance. She nodded towards the window and waved her hand. The little
boy was frightened and sprang from the chair; at the same moment it seemed
as if a large bird flew by the window.
On the following day there was a
clear frost, and very soon came the spring. The sun shone; the young green
leaves burst forth; the swallows built their nests; windows were opened,
and the children sat once more in the garden on the roof, high above all
the other rooms. How beautiful the roses blossomed this summer. The little
girl had learnt a hymn in which roses were spoken of, and then she thought
of their own roses, and she sang the hymn to the little boy, and he sang
too: --
"Roses bloom and cease to be,
But we shall the Christ-child see."
Then the little ones held each other
by the hand, and kissed the roses, and looked at the bright sunshine, and
spoke to it as if the Christ-child were there. Those were splendid summer
days. How beautiful and fresh it was out among the rose-bushes, which seemed
as if they would never leave off blooming. One day Kay and Gerda sat looking
at a book full of pictures of animals and birds, and then just as the clock
in the church tower struck twelve, Kay said, "Oh, something has struck
my heart!" and soon after, "There is something in my eye."
The little girl put her arm round
his neck, and looked into his eye, but she could see nothing.
"I think it is gone," he said. But
it was not gone; it was one of those bits of the looking-glass -- that magic
mirror, of which we have spoken -- the ugly glass which made everything great
and good appear small and ugly, while all that was wicked and bad became
more visible, and every little fault could be plainly seen. Poor little
Kay had also received a small grain in his heart, which very quickly turned
to a lump of ice. He felt no more pain, but the glass was there still.
"Why do you cry?" said he at last; "it makes you look ugly. There is nothing
the matter with me now. Oh, see!" he cried suddenly, "that rose is worm-eaten,
and this one is quite crooked. After all they are ugly roses, just like
the box in which they stand," and then he kicked the boxes with his foot,
and pulled off the two roses.
"Kay, what are you doing?" cried
the little girl; and then, when he saw how frightened she was, he tore
off another rose, and jumped through his own window away from little Gerda.
When she afterwards brought out the
picture book, he said, "It was only fit for babies in long clothes," and
when grandmother told any stories, he would interrupt her with "but;" or,
when he could manage it, he would get behind her chair, put on a pair of
spectacles, and imitate her very cleverly, to make people laugh. By-and-by
he began to mimic the speech and gait of persons in the street. All that
was peculiar or disagreeable in a person he would imitate directly, and
people said, "That boy will be very clever; he has a remarkable genius."
But it was the piece of glass in his eye, and the coldness in his heart,
that made him act like this. He would even tease little Gerda, who loved
him with all her heart. His games, too, were quite different; they were
not so childish. One winter's day, when it snowed, he brought out a burning-glass,
then he held out the tail of his blue coat, and let the snow-flakes fall
upon it. "Look in this glass, Gerda," said he; and she saw how every flake
of snow was magnified, and looked like a beautiful flower or a glittering
star. "Is it not clever?" said Kay, "and much more interesting than looking
at real flowers. There is not a single fault in it, and the snow-flakes
are quite perfect till they begin to melt."
Soon after Kay made his appearance
in large thick gloves, and with his sledge at his back. He called up stairs
to Gerda, "I've got to leave to go into the great square, where the other
boys play and ride." And away he went.
In the great square, the boldest
among the boys would often tie their sledges to the country people's carts,
and go with them a good way. This was capital. But while they were all
amusing themselves, and Kay with them, a great sledge came by; it was painted
white, and in it sat some one wrapped in a rough white fur, and wearing
a white cap. The sledge drove twice round the square, and Kay fastened
his own little sledge to it, so that when it went away, he followed with
it. It went faster and faster right through the next street, and then the
person who drove turned round and nodded pleasantly to Kay, just as if
they were acquainted with each other, but whenever Kay wished to loosen
his little sledge the driver nodded again, so Kay sat still, and they drove
out through the town gate. Then the snow began to fall so heavily that
the little boy could not see a hand's breadth before him, but still they
drove on; then he suddenly loosened the cord so that the large sled might
go on without him, but it was of no use, his little carriage held fast,
and away they went like the wind. Then he called out loudly, but nobody
heard him, while the snow beat upon him, and the sledge flew onwards. Every
now and then it gave a jump as if it were going over hedges and ditches.
The boy was frightened, and tried to say a prayer, but he could remember
nothing but the multiplication table.
The snow-flakes became larger and
larger, till they appeared like great white chickens. All at once they
sprang on one side, the great sledge stopped, and the person who had driven
it rose up. The fur and the cap, which were made entirely of snow, fell
off, and he saw a lady, tall and white, it was the Snow Queen.
"We have driven well," said she,
"but why do you tremble? here, creep into my warm fur." Then she seated
him beside her in the sledge, and as she wrapped the fur round him he felt
as if he were sinking into a snow drift.
"Are you still cold," she asked,
as she kissed him on the forehead. The kiss was colder than ice; it went
quite through to his heart, which was already almost a lump of ice; he
felt as if he were going to die, but only for a moment; he soon seemed
quite well again, and did not notice the cold around him.
"My sledge! don't forget my sledge,"
was his first thought, and then he looked and saw that it was bound fast
to one of the white chickens, which flew behind him with the sledge at
its back. The Snow Queen kissed little Kay again, and by this time he had
forgotten little Gerda, his grandmother, and all at home.
"Now you must have no more kisses,"
she said, "or I should kiss you to death."
Kay looked at her, and saw that she
was so beautiful, he could not imagine a more lovely and intelligent face;
she did not now seem to be made of ice, as when he had seen her through
his window, and she had nodded to him. In his eyes she was perfect, and
she did not feel at all afraid. He told her he could do mental arithmetic,
as far as fractions, and that he knew the number of square miles and the
number of inhabitants in the country. And she always smiled so that he
thought he did not know enough yet, and she looked round the vast expanse
as she flew higher and higher with him upon a black cloud, while the storm
blew and howled as if it were singing old songs. They flew over woods and
lakes, over sea and land; below them roared the wild wind; the wolves howled
and the snow crackled; over them flew the black screaming crows, and above
all shone the moon, clear and bright, -- and so Kay passed through the long
winter's night, and by day he slept at the feet of the Snow Queen.
Third Story: The Flower Garden
of the Woman Who Could Conjure
But how fared little Gerda during
Kay's absence? What had become of him, no one knew, nor could any one give
the slightest information, excepting the boys, who said that he had tied
his sledge to another very large one, which had driven through the street,
and out at the town gate. Nobody knew where it went; many tears were shed
for him, and little Gerda wept bitterly for a long time. She said she knew
he must be dead; that he was drowned in the river which flowed close by
the school. Oh, indeed those long winter days were very dreary. But at
last spring came, with warm sunshine. "Kay is dead and gone," said little
Gerda.
"I don't believe it," said the sunshine.
"He is dead and gone," she said to
the sparrows.
"We don't believe it," they replied;
and at last little Gerda began to doubt it herself.
"I will put on my new red shoes,"
she said one morning, "those that Kay has never seen, and then I will go
down to the river, and ask for him."
It was quite early when she kissed
her old grandmother, who was still asleep; then she put on her red shoes,
and went quite alone out of the town gates toward the river.
"Is it true that you have taken
my little playmate away from me?" said she to the river. "I will give you
my red shoes if you will give him back to me." And it seemed as if the
waves nodded to her in a strange manner. Then she took off her red shoes,
which she liked better than anything else, and threw them both into the
river, but they fell near the bank, and the little waves carried them back
to the land, just as if the river would not take from her what she loved
best, because they could not give her back little Kay.
But she thought the shoes had not
been thrown out far enough. Then she crept into a boat that lay among the
reeds, and threw the shoes again from the farther end of the boat into
the water, but it was not fastened. And her movement sent it gliding away
from the land. When she saw this she hastened to reach the end of the boat,
but before she could so it was more than a yard from the bank, and drifting
away faster than ever. Then little Gerda was very much 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 by the shore, and sang, as if
to comfort her, "Here we are! Here we are!" The boat floated with the stream;
little Gerda sat quite still with only her stockings on her feet; the red
shoes floated after her, but she could not reach them because the boat
kept so much in advance.
The banks on each side of the river
were very pretty. There were beautiful flowers, old trees, sloping fields,
in which cows and sheep were grazing, but not a man to be seen. Perhaps
the river will carry me to little Kay, thought Gerda, and then she became
more cheerful, and raised her head, and looked at the beautiful green banks;
and so the boat sailed on for hours. At length she came to a large cherry
orchard, in which stood a small red house with strange red and blue windows.
It had also a thatched roof, and outside were two wooden soldiers, that
presented arms to her as she sailed past. Gerda called out to them, for
she thought they were alive, but of course they did not answer; and as
the boat drifted nearer to the shore, she saw what they really were. Then
Gerda called still louder, and there came a very old woman out of the house,
leaning on a crutch. She wore a large hat to shade her from the sun, and
on it were painted all sorts of pretty flowers.
"You poor little child," said the
old woman, "how did you manage to come all this distance into the wide
world on such a rapid rolling stream?" And then the old woman walked in
the water, seized the boat with her crutch, drew it to land, and lifted
Gerda out. And Gerda was glad to feel herself on dry ground, although she
was rather afraid of the strange old woman. "Come and tell me who you are,"
said she, "and how came you here."
Then Gerda told her everything, while
the old woman shook her head, and said, "Hem-hem;" and when she had finished,
Gerda asked if she had not seen little Kay, and the old woman told her
he had not passed by that way, but he very likely would come. So she told
Gerda not to be sorrowful, but to taste the cherries and look at the flowers;
they were better than any picture-book, for each of them could tell a story.
Then she took Gerda by the hand and led her into the little house, and
the old woman closed the door.
The windows were very high, and as
the panes were red, blue, and yellow, the daylight shone through them in
all sorts of singular colors. On the table stood beautiful cherries, and
Gerda had permission to eat as many as she would. While she was eating
them the old woman combed out her long flaxen ringlets with a golden comb,
and the glossy curls hung down on each side of the little round pleasant
face, which looked fresh and blooming as a rose.
"I have long been wishing for a
dear little maiden like you," said the old woman, "and now you must stay
with me, and see how happily we shall live together." And while she went
on combing little Gerda's hair, she thought less and less about her adopted
brother Kay, for the old woman could conjure, although she was not a wicked
witch; she conjured only a little for her own amusement, and now, because
she wanted to keep Gerda.
Therefore she went into the garden,
and stretched out her crutch towards all the rose-trees, beautiful though
they were; and they immediately sunk into the dark earth, so that no one
could tell where they had once stood. The old woman was afraid that if
little Gerda saw roses she would think of those at home, and then remember
little Kay, and run away. Then she took Gerda into the flower-garden. How
fragrant and beautiful it was! Every flower that could be thought of for
every season of the year was here in full bloom; no picture-book could
have more beautiful colors. Gerda jumped for joy, and played till the sun
went down behind the tall cherry-trees; then she slept in an elegant bed
with red silk pillows, embroidered with colored violets; and then she dreamed
as pleasantly as a queen on her wedding day.
The next day, and for many days after,
Gerda played with the flowers in the warm sunshine. She knew every flower,
and yet, although there were so many of them, it seemed as if one were
missing, but which it was she could not tell. One day, however, as she
sat looking at the old woman's hat with the painted flowers on it, she
saw that the prettiest of them all was a rose. The old woman had forgotten
to take it from her hat when she made all the roses sink into the earth.
But it is difficult to keep the thoughts together in everything; one little
mistake upsets all our arrangements.
"What, are there no roses here?"
cried Gerda; and she ran out into the garden, and examined all the beds,
and searched and searched. There was not one to be found. Then she sat
down and wept, and her tears fell just on the place where one of the rose-trees
had sunk down. The warm tears moistened the earth, and the rose-tree sprouted
up at once, as blooming as when it had sunk; and Gerda embraced it and
kissed the roses, and thought of the beautiful roses at home, and, with
them, of little Kay.
"Oh, how I have been detained!" said
the little maiden, "I wanted to seek for little Kay. Do you know where
he is?" she asked the roses; "do you think he is dead?"
And the roses answered, "No, he
is not dead. We have been in the ground where all the dead lie; but Kay
is not there."
"Thank you," said little Gerda,
and then she went to the other flowers, and looked into their little cups,
and asked, "Do you know where little Kay is?" But each flower, as it stood
in the sunshine, dreamed only of its own little fairy tale of history.
Not one knew anything of Kay. Gerda heard many stories from the flowers,
as she asked them one after another about him.
And what, said the tiger-lily? "Hark,
do you hear the drum? -- ‘turn, turn,' -- there are only two notes, always,
‘turn, turn.' Listen to the women's song of mourning! Hear the cry of the
priest! In her long red robe stands the Hindoo widow by the funeral pile.
The flames rise around her as she places herself on the dead body of her
husband; but the Hindoo woman is thinking of the living one in that circle;
of him, her son, who lighted those flames. Those shining eyes trouble her
heart more painfully than the flames which will soon consume her body to
ashes. Can the fire of the heart be extinguished in the flames of the funeral
pile?"
"I don't understand that at all,"
said little Gerda.
"That is my story," said the tiger-lily.
What, says the convolvulus? "Near
yonder narrow road stands an old knight's castle; thick ivy creeps over
the old ruined walls, leaf over leaf, even to the balcony, in which stands
a beautiful maiden. She bends over the balustrades, and looks up the road.
No rose on its stem is fresher than she; no apple-blossom, wafted by the
wind, floats more lightly than she moves. Her rich silk rustles as she
bends over and exclaims, ‘Will he not come?'
"Is it Kay you mean?" asked Gerda.
"I am only speaking of a story of
my dream," replied the flower.
What, said the little snow-drop?
"Between two trees a rope is hanging; there is a piece of board upon it;
it is a swing. Two pretty little girls, in dresses white as snow, and with
long green ribbons fluttering from their hats, are sitting upon it swinging.
Their brother who is taller than they are, stands in the swing; he has
one arm round the rope, to steady himself; in one hand he holds a little
bowl, and in the other a clay pipe; he is blowing bubbles. As the swing
goes on, the bubbles fly upward, reflecting the most beautiful varying
colors. The last still hangs from the bowl of the pipe, and sways in the
wind. On goes the swing; and then a little black dog comes running up.
He is almost as light as the bubble, and he raises himself on his hind
legs, and wants to be taken into the swing; but it does not stop, and the
dog falls; then he barks and gets angry. The children stoop towards him,
and the bubble bursts. A swinging plank, a light sparkling foam picture, -- that
is my story."
"It may be all very pretty what you
are telling me," said little Gerda, "but you speak so mournfully, and you
do not mention little Kay at all."
What do the hyacinths say? "There
were three beautiful sisters, fair and delicate. The dress of one was red,
of the second blue, and of the third pure white. Hand in hand they danced
in the bright moonlight, by the calm lake; but they were human beings,
not fairy elves. The sweet fragrance attracted them, and they disappeared
in the wood; here the fragrance became stronger. Three coffins, in which
lay the three beautiful maidens, glided from the thickest part of the forest
across the lake. The fire-flies flew lightly over them, like little floating
torches. Do the dancing maidens sleep, or are they dead? The scent of the
flower says that they are corpses. The evening bell tolls their knell."
"You make me quite sorrowful," said
little Gerda; "your perfume is so strong, you make me think of the dead
maidens. Ah! is little Kay really dead then? The roses have been in the
earth, and they say no."
"Cling, clang," tolled the hyacinth
bells. "We are not tolling for little Kay; we do not know him. We sing
our song, the only one we know."
Then Gerda went to the buttercups
that were glittering amongst the bright green leaves.
"You are little bright suns," said
Gerda; "tell me if you know where I can find my play-fellow."
And the buttercups sparkled gayly,
and looked again at Gerda. What song could the buttercups sing? It was
not about Kay.
"The bright warm sun shone on a
little court, on the first warm day of spring. His bright beams rested
on the white walls of the neighboring house; and close by bloomed the first
yellow flower of the season, glittering like gold in the sun's warm ray.
An old woman sat in her arm chair at the house door, and her granddaughter,
a poor and pretty servant-maid came to see her for a short visit. When
she kissed her grandmother there was gold everywhere: the gold of the heart
in that holy kiss; it was a golden morning; there was gold in the beaming
sunlight, gold in the leaves of the lowly flower, and on the lips of the
maiden. There, that is my story," said the buttercup.
"My poor old grandmother!" sighed
Gerda; "she is longing to see me, and grieving for me as she did for little
Kay; but I shall soon go home now, and take little Kay with me. It is no
use asking the flowers; they know only their own songs, and can give me
no information."
And then she tucked up her little
dress, that she might run faster, but the narcissus caught her by the leg
as she was jumping over it; so she stopped and looked at the tall yellow
flower, and said, "Perhaps you may know something."
Then she stooped down quite close
to the flower, and listened; and what did he say?
"I can see myself, I can see myself,"
said the narcissus. "Oh, how sweet is my perfume! Up in a little room with
a bow window, stands a little dancing girl, half undressed; she stands
sometimes on one leg, and sometimes on both, and looks as if she would
tread the whole world under her feet. She is nothing but a delusion. She
is pouring water out of a tea-pot on a piece of stuff which she holds in
her hand; it is her bodice. ‘Cleanliness is a good thing,' she says. Her
white dress hangs on a peg; it has also been washed in the tea-pot, and
dried on the roof. She puts it on, and ties a saffron-colored handkerchief
round her neck, which makes the dress look whiter. See how she stretches
out her legs, as if she were showing off on a stem. I can see myself, I
can see myself."
"What do I care for all that," said
Gerda, "you need not tell me such stuff." And then she ran to the other
end of the garden. The door was fastened, but she pressed against the rusty
latch, and it gave way. The door sprang open, and little Gerda ran out
with bare feet into the wide world. She looked back three times, but no
one seemed to be following her. At last she could run no longer, so she
sat down to rest on a great stone, and when she looked round she saw that
the summer was over, and autumn very far advanced. She had known nothing
of this in the beautiful garden, where the sun shone and the flowers grew
all the year round.
"Oh, how I have wasted my time?"
said little Gerda; "it is autumn. I must not rest any longer," and she
rose up to go on. But her little feet were wounded and sore, and everything
around her looked so cold and bleak. The long willow-leaves were quite
yellow. The dew-drops fell like water, leaf after leaf dropped from the
trees, the sloe-thorn alone still bore fruit, but the sloes were sour,
and set the teeth on edge. Oh, how dark and weary the whole world appeared!
Fourth Story: The Prince and Princess
Gerda was obliged to rest again,
and just opposite the place where she sat, she saw a great crow come hopping
across the snow toward her. He stood looking at her for some time, and
then he wagged his head and said, "Caw, caw; good-day, good-day." He pronounced
the words as plainly as he could, because he meant to be kind to the little
girl; and then he asked her where she was going all alone in the wide world.
The word alone Gerda understood very
well, and knew how much it expressed. So then she told the crow the whole
story of her life and adventures, and asked him if he had seen little Kay.
The crow nodded his head very gravely,
and said, "Perhaps I have -- it may be."
"No! Do you think you have?" cried
little Gerda, and she kissed the crow, and hugged him almost to death with
joy.
"Gently, gently," said the crow.
"I believe I know. I think it may be little Kay; but he has certainly forgotten
you by this time for the princess."
"Does he live with a princess?"
asked Gerda.
"Yes, listen," replied the crow,
"but it is so difficult to speak your language. If you understand the crows'
language1 then I can explain it better. Do you?"
"No, I have never learnt it," said
Gerda, "but my grandmother understands it, and used to speak it to me.
I wish I had learnt it."
"It does not matter," answered the
crow; "I will explain as well as I can, although it will be very badly
done;" and he told her what he had heard. "In this kingdom where we now
are," said he, "there lives a princess, who is so wonderfully clever that
she has read all the newspapers in the world, and forgotten them too, although
she is so clever. A short time ago, as she was sitting on her throne, which
people say is not such an agreeable seat as is often supposed, she began
to sing a song which commences in these words:
‘Why should I not be married?'
‘Why not indeed?' said she, and
so she determined to marry if she could find a husband who knew what to
say when he was spoken to, and not one who could only look grand, for that
was so tiresome. Then she assembled all her court ladies together at the
beat of the drum, and when they heard of her intentions they were very
much pleased.
‘We are so glad to hear it,' said
they, ‘we were talking about it ourselves the other day.'
,You may believe that every word
I tell you is true," said the crow, "for I have a tame sweetheart who goes
freely about the palace, and she told me all this."
Of course his sweetheart was a crow,
for "birds of a feather flock together," and one crow always chooses another
crow.
"Newspapers were published immediately,
with a border of hearts, and the initials of the princess among them. They
gave notice that every young man who was handsome was free to visit the
castle and speak with the princess; and those who could reply loud enough
to be heard when spoken to, were to make themselves quite at home at the
palace; but the one who spoke best would be chosen as a husband for the
princess. Yes, yes, you may believe me, it is all as true as I sit here,"
said the crow. "The people came in crowds. There was a great deal of crushing
and running about, but no one succeeded either on the first or second day.
They could all speak very well while they were outside in the streets,
but when they entered the palace gates, and saw the guards in silver uniforms,
and the footmen in their golden livery on the staircase, and the great
halls lighted up, they became quite confused. And when they stood before
the throne on which the princess sat, they could do nothing but repeat
the last words she had said; and she had no particular wish to hear her
own words over again. It was just as if they had all taken something to
make them sleepy while they were in the palace, for they did not recover
themselves nor speak till they got back again into the street. There was
quite a long line of them reaching from the town-gate to the palace. I
went myself to see them," said the crow. "They were hungry and thirsty,
for at the palace they did not get even a glass of water. Some of the wisest
had taken a few slices of bread and butter with them, but they did not
share it with their neighbors; they thought if they went in to the princess
looking hungry, there would be a better chance for themselves."
"But Kay! tell me about little Kay!"
said Gerda, "was he amongst the crowd?"
"Stop a bit, we are just coming
to him. It was on the third day, there came marching cheerfully along to
the palace a little personage, without horses or carriage, his eyes sparkling
like yours; he had beautiful long hair, but his clothes were very poor."
"That was Kay!" said Gerda joyfully.
"Oh, then I have found him;" and she clapped her hands.
"He had a little knapsack on his
back," added the crow.
"No, it must have been his sledge,"
said Gerda; "for he went away with it."
"It may have been so," said the
crow; "I did not look at it very closely. But I know from my tame sweetheart
that he passed through the palace gates, saw the guards in their silver
uniform, and the servants in their liveries of gold on the stairs, but
he was not in the least embarrassed. ‘It must be very tiresome to stand
on the stairs,' he said. ‘I prefer to go in.' The rooms were blazing with
light. Councillors and ambassadors walked about with bare feet, carrying
golden vessels; it was enough to make any one feel serious. His boots creaked
loudly as he walked, and yet he was not at all uneasy."
"It must be Kay," said Gerda, "I
know he had new boots on, I have heard them creak in grandmother's room."
"They really did creak," said the
crow, "yet he went boldly up to the princess herself, who was sitting on
a pearl as large as a spinning wheel, and all the ladies of the court were
present with their maids, and all the cavaliers with their servants; and
each of the maids had another maid to wait upon her, and the cavaliers'
servants had their own servants, as well as a page each. They all stood
in circles round the princess, and the nearer they stood to the door, the
prouder they looked. The servants' pages, who always wore slippers, could
hardly be looked at, they held themselves up so proudly by the door."
"It must be quite awful," said little
Gerda, "but did Kay win the princess?"
"If I had not been a crow," said
he, "I would have married her myself, although I am engaged. He spoke just
as well as I do, when I speak the crows' language, so I heard from my tame
sweetheart. He was quite free and agreeable and said he had not come to
woo the princess, but to hear her wisdom; and he was as pleased with her
as she was with him."
"Oh, certainly that was Kay," said
Gerda, "he was so clever; he could work mental arithmetic and fractions.
Oh, will you take me to the palace?"
"It is very easy to ask that," replied
the crow, "but how are we to manage it? However, I will speak about it
to my tame sweetheart, and ask her advice; for I must tell you it will
be very difficult to gain permission for a little girl like you to enter
the palace."
"Oh, yes; but I shall gain permission
easily," said Gerda, "for when Kay hears that I am here, he will come out
and fetch me in immediately."
"Wait for me here by the palings,"
said the crow, wagging his head as he flew away.
It was late in the evening before
the crow returned. "Caw, caw," he said, "she sends you greeting, and here
is a little roll which she took from the kitchen for you; there is plenty
of bread there, and she thinks you must be hungry. It is not possible for
you to enter the palace by the front entrance. The guards in silver uniform
and the servants in gold livery would not allow it. But do not cry, we
will manage to get you in; my sweetheart knows a little back-staircase
that leads to the sleeping apartments, and she knows where to find the
key."
Then they went into the garden through
the great avenue, where the leaves were falling one after another, and
they could see the light in the palace being put out in the same manner.
And the crow led little Gerda to the back door, which stood ajar. Oh! how
little Gerda's heart beat with anxiety and longing; it was just as if she
were going to do something wrong, and yet she only wanted to know where
little Kay was. "It must be he," she thought, "with those clear eyes, and
that long hair." She could fancy she saw him smiling at her, as he used
to at home, when they sat among the roses. He would certainly be glad to
see her, and to hear what a long distance she had come for his sake, and
to know how sorry they had been at home because he did not come back. Oh
what joy and yet fear she felt! They were now on the stairs, and in a small
closet at the top a lamp was burning. In the middle of the floor stood
the tame crow, turning her head from side to side, and gazing at Gerda,
who curtseyed as her grandmother had taught her to do.
"My betrothed has spoken so very
highly of you, my little lady," said the tame crow, "your life-history,
Vita, as it may be called, is very touching. If you will take the lamp
I will walk before you. We will go straight along this way, then we shall
meet no one."
"It seems to me as if somebody were
behind us," said Gerda, as something rushed by her like a shadow on the
wall, and then horses with flying manes and thin legs, hunters, ladies
and gentlemen on horseback, glided by her, like shadows on the wall.
"They are only dreams," said the
crow, "they are coming to fetch the thoughts of the great people out hunting."
"All the better, for we shall be
able to look at them in their beds more safely. I hope that when you rise
to honor and favor, you will show a grateful heart."
"You may be quite sure of that,"
said the crow from the forest.
They now came into the first hall,
the walls of which were hung with rose-colored satin, embroidered with
artificial flowers. Here the dreams again flitted by them but so quickly
that Gerda could not distinguish the royal persons. Each hall appeared
more splendid than the last, it was enought to bewilder any one. At length
they reached a bedroom. The ceiling was like a great palm-tree, with glass
leaves of the most costly crystal, and over the centre of the floor two
beds, each resembling a lily, hung from a stem of gold. One, in which the
princess lay, was white, the other was red; and in this Gerda had
to seek for little Kay. She pushed one of the red leaves aside, and saw
a little brown neck. Oh, that must be Kay! She called his name out quite
loud, and held the lamp over him. The dreams rushed back into the room
on horseback. He woke, and turned his head round, it was not little Kay!
The prince was only like him in the neck, still he was young and pretty.
Then the princess peeped out of her white-lily bed, and asked what was
the matter. Then little Gerda wept and told her story, and all that the
crows had done to help her.
"You poor child," said the prince
and princess; then they praised the crows, and said they were not angry
for what they had done, but that it must not happen again, and this time
they should be rewarded.
"Would you like to have your freedom?"
asked the princess, "or would you prefer to be raised to the position of
court crows, with all that is left in the kitchen for yourselves?"
Then both the crows bowed, and begged
to have a fixed appointment, for they thought of their old age, and said
it would be so comfortable to feel that they had provision for their old
days, as they called it. And then the prince got out of his bed, and gave
it up to Gerda, -- he could do no more; and she lay down. She folded her little
hands, and thought, "How good everyone is to me, men and animals too;"
then she closed her eyes and fell into a sweet sleep. All the dreams came
flying back again to her, and they looked like angels, and one of them
drew a little sledge, on which sat Kay, and nodded to her. But all this
was only a dream, and vanished as soon as she awoke.
The following day she was dressed
from head to foot in silk and velvet, and they invited her to stay at the
palace for a few days, and enjoy herself, but she only begged for a pair
of boots, and a little carriage, and a horse to draw it, so that she might
go into the wide world to seek for Kay. And she obtained, not only boots,
but also a muff, and she was neatly dressed; and when she was ready to
go, there, at the door, she found a coach made of pure gold, with the coat-of-arms
of the prince and princess shining upon it like a star, and the coachman,
footman, and outriders all wearing golden crowns on their heads. The prince
and princess themselves helped her into the coach, and wished her success.
The forest crow, who was now married, accompanied her for the first three
miles; he sat by Gerda's side, as he could not bear riding backwards. The
tame crow stood in the door-way flapping her wings. She could not go with
them, because she had been suffering from headache ever since the new appointment,
no doubt from eating too much. The coach was well stored with sweet cakes,
and under the seat were fruit and gingerbread nuts.
"Farewell, farewell," cried the
prince and princess, and little Gerda wept, and the crow wept; and then,
after a few miles, the crow also said "Farewell," and this was the saddest
parting. However, he flew to a tree, and stood flapping his black wings
as long as he could see the coach, which glittered in the bright sunshine.
Fifth Story: Little Robber-Girl
The coach drove on through a thick
forest, where it lighted up the way like a torch, and dazzled the eyes
of some robbers, who could not bear to let it pass them unmolested.
"It is gold! it is gold!" cried
they, rushing forward, and seizing the horses. Then they struck the little
jockeys, the coachman, and the footman dead, and pulled little Gerda out
of the carriage.
"She is fat and pretty, and she
has been fed with the kernels of nuts," said the old robber-woman, who
had a long beard and eyebrows that hung over her eyes. "She is as good
as a little lamb; how nice she will taste!" and as she said this,
she drew forth a shining knife, that glittered horribly. "Oh!" screamed
the old woman the same moment; for her own daughter, who held her back,
had bitten her in the ear. She was a wild and naughty girl, and the mother
called her an ugly thing, and had not time to kill Gerda.
"She shall play with me," said the
little robber-girl; "she shall give me her muff and her pretty dress, and
sleep with me in my bed." And then she bit her mother again, and made her
spring in the air, and jump about; and all the robbers laughed, and said,
"See how she is dancing with her young cub."
"I will have a ride in the coach,"
said the little robber-girl; and she would have her own way; for she was
so self-willed and obstinate.
She and Gerda seated themselves in
the coach, and drove away, over stumps and stones, into the depths of the
forest. The little robber-girl was about the same size as Gerda, but stronger;
she had broader shoulders and a darker skin; her eyes were quite black,
and she had a mournful look. She clasped little Gerda round the waist,
and said, --
"They shall not kill you as long
as you don't make us vexed with you. I suppose you are a princess."
"No," said Gerda; and then she told
her all her history, and how fond she was of little Kay.
The robber-girl looked earnestly
at her, nodded her head slightly, and said, "They sha'nt kill you, even
if I do get angry with you; for I will do it myself." And then she wiped
Gerda's eyes, and stuck her own hands in the beautiful muff which was so
soft and warm.
The coach stopped in the courtyard
of a robber's castle, the walls of which were cracked from top to bottom.
Ravens and crows flew in and out of the holes and crevices, while great
bulldogs, either of which looked as if it could swallow a man, were jumping
about; but they were not allowed to bark. In the large and smoky hall a
bright fire was burning on the stone floor. There was no chimney; so the
smoke went up to the ceiling, and found a way out for itself. Soup was
boiling in a large cauldron, and hares and rabbits were roasting on the
spit.
"You shall sleep with me and all
my little animals to-night," said the robber-girl, after they had had something
to eat and drink. So she took Gerda to a corner of the hall, where some
straw and carpets were laid down. Above them, on laths and perches, were
more than a hundred pigeons, who all seemed to be asleep, although they
moved slightly when the two little girls came near them.
"These all belong to me," said the
robber-girl; and she seized the nearest to her, held it by the feet, and
shook it till it flapped its wings. "Kiss it," cried she, flapping it in
Gerda's face. "There sit the wood-pigeons," continued she, pointing to
a number of laths and a cage which had been fixed into the walls, near
one of the openings. "Both rascals would fly away directly, if they were
not closely locked up. And here is my old sweetheart ‘Ba;'" and she dragged
out a reindeer by the horn; he wore a bright copper ring round his neck,
and was tied up. "We are obliged to hold him tight too, or else he would
run away from us also. I tickle his neck every evening with my sharp knife,
which frightens him very much." And then the robber-girl drew a long knife
from a chink in the wall, and let it slide gently over the reindeer's neck.
The poor animal began to kick, and the little robber-girl laughed, and
pulled down Gerda into bed with her.
"Will you have that knife with you
while you are asleep?" asked Gerda, looking at it in great fright.
"I always sleep with the knife by
me," said the robber-girl. "No one knows what may happen. But now tell
me again all about little Kay, and why you went out into the world."
Then Gerda repeated her story over
again, while the wood-pigeons in the cage over her cooed, and the other
pigeons slept. The little robber-girl put one arm across Gerda's neck,
and held the knife in the other, and was soon fast asleep and snoring.
But Gerda could not close her eyes at all; she knew not whether she was
to live or die. The robbers sat round the fire, singing and drinking, and
the old woman stumbled about. It was a terrible sight for a little girl
to witness.
Then the wood-pigeons said, "Coo,
coo; we have seen little Kay. A white fowl carried his sledge, and he sat
in the carriage of the Snow Queen, which drove through the wood while we
were lying in our nest. She blew upon us, and all the young ones died excepting
us two. Coo, coo."
"What are you saying up there?"
cried Gerda. "Where was the Snow Queen going? Do you know anything about
it?"
"She was most likely travelling
to Lapland, where there is always snow and ice. Ask the reindeer that is
fastened up there with a rope."
"Yes, there is always snow and ice,"
said the reindeer; "and it is a glorious place; you can leap and run about
freely on the sparkling ice plains. The Snow Queen has her summer tent
there, but her strong castle is at the North Pole, on an island called
Spitzbergen."
"Oh, Kay, little Kay!" sighed Gerda.
"Lie still," said the robber-girl,
"or I shall run my knife into your body."
In the morning Gerda told her all
that the wood-pigeons had said; and the little robber-girl looked quite
serious, and nodded her head, and said, "That is all talk, that is all
talk. Do you know where Lapland is?" she asked the reindeer.
"Who should know better than I do?"
said the animal, while his eyes sparkled. "I was born and brought up there,
and used to run about the snow-covered plains."
"Now listen," said the robber-girl;
"all our men are gone away, -- only mother is here, and here she will stay;
but at noon she always drinks out of a great bottle, and afterwards sleeps
for a little while; and then, I'll do something for you." Then she jumped
out of bed, clasped her mother round the neck, and pulled her by the beard,
crying, "My own little nanny goat, good morning." Then her mother filliped
her nose till it was quite red; yet she did it all for love.
When the mother had drunk out of
the bottle, and was gone to sleep, the little robber-maiden went to the
reindeer, and said, "I should like very much to tickle your neck a few
times more with my knife, for it makes you look so funny; but never mind, -- I
will untie your cord, and set you free, so that you may run away to Lapland;
but you must make good use of your legs, and carry this little maiden to
the castle of the Snow Queen, where her play-fellow is. You have heard
what she told me, for she spoke loud enough, and you were listening."
Then the reindeer jumped for joy;
and the little robber-girl lifted Gerda on his back, and had the forethought
to tie her on, and even to give her her own little cushion to sit on.
"Here are your fur boots for you,"
said she; "for it will be very cold; but I must keep the muff; it is so
pretty. However, you shall not be frozen for the want of it; here are my
mother's large warm mittens; they will reach up to your elbows. Let me
put them on. There, now your hands look just like my mother's."
But Gerda wept for joy.
"I don't like to see you fret," said
the little robber-girl; "you ought to look quite happy now; and here are
two loaves and a ham, so that you need not starve." These were fastened
on the reindeer, and then the little robber-maiden opened the door, coaxed
in all the great dogs, and then cut the string with which the reindeer
was fastened, with her sharp knife, and said, "Now run, but mind you take
good care of the little girl." And then Gerda stretched out her hand, with
the great mitten on it, towards the little robber-girl, and said, "Farewell,"
and away flew the reindeer, over stumps and stones, through the great forest,
over marshes and plains, as quickly as he could. The wolves howled, and
the ravens screamed; while up in the sky quivered red lights like flames
of fire. "There are my old northern lights," said the reindeer; "see how
they flash." And he ran on day and night still faster and faster, but the
loaves and the ham were all eaten by the time they reached Lapland.
Sixth Story: The Lapland Woman
and the Finland Woman
They stopped at a little hut; it
was very mean looking; the roof sloped nearly down to the ground, and the
door was so low that the family had to creep in on their hands and knees,
when they went in and out. There was no one at home but an old Lapland
woman, who was cooking fish by the light of a train-oil lamp. The reindeer
told her all about Gerda's story, after having first told his own, which
seemed to him the most important, but Gerda was so pinched with the cold
that she could not speak.
"Oh, you poor things," said
the Lapland woman, "you have a long way to go yet. You must travel more
than a hundred miles farther, to Finland. The Snow Queen lives there now,
and she burns Bengal lights every evening. I will write a few words on
a dried stock-fish, for I have no paper, and you can take it from me to
the Finland woman who lives there; she can give you better information
than I can."
So when Gerda was warmed, and had
taken something to eat and drink, the woman wrote a few words on the dried
fish, and told Gerda to take great care of it. Then she tied her again
on the reindeer, and he set off at full speed. Flash, flash, went the beautiful
blue northern lights in the air the whole night long. And at length they
reached Finland, and knocked at the chimney of the Finland woman's hut,
for it had no door above the ground. They crept in, but it was so terribly
hot inside that that woman wore scarcely any clothes; she was small and
very dirty looking. She loosened little Gerda's dress, and took off the
fur boots and the mittens, or Gerda would have been unable to bear the
heat; and then she placed a piece of ice on the reindeer's head, and read
what was written on the dried fish. After she had read it three times,
she knew it by heart, so she popped the fish into the soup saucepan, as
she knew it was good to eat, and she never wasted anything.
The reindeer told his own story first,
and then little Gerda's, and the Finlander twinkled with her clever eyes,
but she said nothing.
"You are so clever," said the reindeer;
"I know you can tie all the winds of the world with a piece of twine. If
a sailor unties one knot, he has a fair wind; when he unties the second,
it blows hard; but if the third and fourth are loosened, then comes a storm,
which will root up whole forests. Cannot you give this little maiden something
which will make her as strong as twelve men, to overcome the Snow Queen?"
"The Power of twelve men!" said the
Finland woman; "that would be of very little use."
But she went to a shelf and took
down and unrolled a large skin, on which were inscribed wonderful characters,
and she read till the perspiration ran down from her forehead. But the
reindeer begged so hard for little Gerda, and Gerda looked at the Finland
woman with such beseeching tearful eyes, that her own eyes began to twinkle
again; so she drew the reindeer into a corner, and whispered to him while
she laid a fresh piece of ice on his head.
"Little Kay is really with the Snow
Queen, but he finds everything there so much to his taste and his liking,
that he believes it is the finest place in the world; but this is because
he has a piece of broken glass in his heart, and a little piece of glass
in his eye. These must be taken out, or he will never be a human being
again, and the Snow Queen will retain her power over him."
"But can you not give little Gerda
something to help her to conquer this power?"
"I can give her no greater power
than she has already," said the woman; "don't you see how strong that is?
How men and animals are obliged to serve her, and how well she has got
through the world, barefooted as she is. She cannot receive any power from
me greater than she now has, which consists in her own purity and innocence
of heart. If she cannot herself obtain access to the Snow Queen, and remove
the glass fragments from little Kay, we can do nothing to help her. Two
miles from here the Snow Queen's garden begins; you can carry the little
girl so far, and set her down by the large bush which stands in the snow,
covered with red berries. Do not stay gossiping, but come back here as
quickly as you can." Then the Finland woman lifted little Gerda upon the
reindeer, and he ran away with her as quickly as he could.
"Oh, I have forgotten my boots and
my mittens," cried little Gerda, as soon as she felt the cutting cold,
but the reindeer dared not stop, so he ran on till he reached the bush
with the red berries; here he set Gerda down, and he kissed her, and the
great bright tears trickled over the animal's cheeks; then he left her
and ran back as fast as he could.
There stood poor Gerda, without shoes,
without gloves, in the midst of cold, dreary, ice-bound Finland. She ran
forwards as quickly as she could, when a whole regiment of snow-flakes
came round her; they did not, however, fall from the sky, which was quite
clear and glittering with the northern lights. The snow-flakes ran along
the ground, and the nearer they came to her, the larger they appeared.
Gerda remembered how large and beautiful they looked through the burning-glass.
But these were really larger, and much more terrible, for they were alive,
and were the guards of the Snow Queen, and had the strangest shapes. Some
were like great porcupines, others like twisted serpents with their heads
stretching out, and some few were like little fat bears with their hair
bristled; but all were dazzlingly white, and all were living snow-flakes.
Then little Gerda repeated the Lord's
Prayer, and the cold was so great that she could see her own breath come
out of her mouth like steam as she uttered the words. The steam appeared
to increase, as she continued her prayer, till it took the shape of little
angels who grew larger the moment they touched the earth. They all wore
helmets on their heads, and carried spears and shields. Their number continued
to increase more and more; and by the time Gerda had finished her prayers,
a whole legion stood round her. They thrust their spears into the terrible
snow-flakes, so that they shivered into a hundred pieces, and little Gerda
could go forward with courage and safety. The angels stroked her hands
and feet, so that she felt the cold less, and she hastened on to the Snow
Queen's castle.
But now we must see what Kay is doing.
In truth he thought not of little Gerda, and never supposed she could be
standing in the front of the palace.
Seventh Story: Of the Palace of
the Snow Queen and What Happened There At Last
The walls of the palace were formed
of drifted snow, and the windows and doors of the cutting winds. There
were more than a hundred rooms in it, all as if they had been formed with
snow blown together. The largest of them extended for several miles; they
were all lighted up by the vivid light of the aurora, and they were so
large and empty, so icy cold and glittering! There were no amusements here,
not even a little bear's ball, when the storm might have been the music,
and the bears could have danced on their hind legs, and shown their good
manners. There were no pleasant games of snap-dragon, or touch, or even
a gossip over the tea-table, for the young-lady foxes. Empty, vast, and
cold were the halls of the Snow Queen. The flickering flame of the
northern lights could be plainly seen, whether they rose high or low in
the heavens, from every part of the castle. In the midst of its empty,
endless hall of snow was a frozen lake, broken on its surface into a thousand
forms; each piece resembled another, from being in itself perfect as a
work of art, and in the centre of this lake sat the Snow Queen, when she
was at home. She called the lake "The Mirror of Reason," and said that
it was the best, and indeed the only one in the world.
Little Kay was quite blue with cold,
indeed almost black, but he did not feel it; for the Snow Queen had kissed
away the icy shiverings, and his heart was already a lump of ice. He dragged
some sharp, flat pieces of ice to and fro, and placed them together in
all kinds of positions, as if he wished to make something out of them;
just as we try to form various figures with little tablets of wood which
we call "a Chinese puzzle." Kay's fingers were very artistic; it was the
icy game of reason at which he played, and in his eyes the figures were
very remarkable, and of the highest importance; this opinion was owing
to the piece of glass still sticking in his eye. He composed many complete
figures, forming different words, but there was one word he never could
manage to form, although he wished it very much. It was the word "Eternity."
The Snow Queen had said to him, "When you can find out this, you shall
be your own master, and I will give you the whole world and a new pair
of skates." But he could not accomplish it.
"Now I must hasten away to warmer
countries," said the Snow Queen. "I will go and look into the black craters
of the tops of the burning mountains, Etna and Vesuvius, as they are called, -- I
shall make them look white, which will be good for them, and for the lemons
and the grapes." And away flew the Snow Queen, leaving little Kay quite
alone in the great hall which was so many miles in length; so he sat and
looked at his pieces of ice, and was thinking so deeply, and sat so still,
that any one might have supposed he was frozen.
Just at this moment it happened that
little Gerda came through the great door of the castle. Cutting winds were
raging around her, but she offered up a prayer and the winds sank down
as if they were going to sleep; and she went on till she came to the large
empty hall, and caught sight of Kay; she knew him directly; she flew to
him and threw her arms round his neck, and held him fast, while she exclaimed,
"Kay, dear little Kay, I have found you at last."
But he sat quite still, stiff and
cold.
Then little Gerda wept hot tears,
which fell on his breast, and penetrated into his heart, and thawed the
lump of ice, and washed away the little piece of glass which had stuck
there. Then he looked at her, and she sang --
"Roses bloom and cease to be,
But we shall the Christ-child see."
Then Kay burst into tears, and he
wept so that the splinter of glass swam out of his eye. Then he recognized
Gerda, and said, joyfully, "Gerda, dear little Gerda, where have you been
all this time, and where have I been?" And he looked all around him, and
said, "How cold it is, and how large and empty it all looks," and he clung
to Gerda, and she laughed and wept for joy. It was so pleasing to see them
that the pieces of ice even danced about; and when they were tired and
went to lie down, they formed themselves into the letters of the word which
the Snow Queen had said he must find out before he could be his own master,
and have the whole world and a pair of new skates. Then Gerda kissed his
cheeks, and they became blooming; and she kissed his eyes, and they shone
like her own; she kissed his hands and his feet, and then he became quite
healthy and cheerful. The Snow Queen might come home now when she pleased,
for there stood his certainty of freedom, in the word she wanted, written
in shining letters of ice.
Then they took each other by the
hand, and went forth from the great palace of ice. They spoke of the grandmother,
and of the roses on the roof, and as they went on the winds were at rest,
and the sun burst forth. When they arrived at the bush with red berries,
there stood the reindeer waiting for them, and he had brought another young
reindeer with him, whose udders were full, and the children drank her warm
milk and kissed her on the mouth. Then they carried Kay and Gerda first
to the Finland woman, where they warmed themselves thoroughly in the hot
room, and she gave them directions about their journey home. Next they
went to the Lapland woman, who had made some new clothes for them, and
put their sleighs in order. Both the reindeer ran by their side, and followed
them as far as the boundaries of the country, where the first green leaves
were budding. And here they took leave of the two reindeer and the Lapland
woman, and all said -- Farewell. Then the birds began to twitter, and the
forest too was full of green young leaves; and out of it came a beautiful
horse, which Gerda remembered, for it was one which had drawn the golden
coach. A young girl was riding upon it, with a shining red cap on her head,
and pistols in her belt. It was the little robber-maiden, who had got tired
of staying at home; she was going first to the north, and if that did not
suit her, she meant to try some other part of the world. She knew Gerda
directly, and Gerda remembered her: it was a joyful meeting.
"You are a fine fellow to go gadding
about in this way," said she to little Kay, "I should like to know whether
you deserve that any one should go to the end of the world to find you."
But Gerda patted her cheeks, and
asked after the prince and princess.
"They are gone to foreign countries,"
said the robber-girl.
"And the crow?" asked Gerda.
"Oh, the crow is dead," she replied;
"his tame sweetheart is now a widow, and wears a bit of black worsted round
her leg. She mourns very pitifully, but it is all stuff. But now tell me
how you managed to get him back."
Then Gerda and Kay told her all
about it.
"Snip, snap, snare! it's all right
at last," said the robber-girl.
Then she took both their hands, and
promised that if ever she should pass through the town, she would call
and pay them a visit. And then she rode away into the wide world.
But Gerda and Kay went hand-in-hand
towards home; and as they advanced, spring appeared more lovely with its
green verdure and its beautiful flowers. Very soon they recognized the
large town where they lived, and the tall steeples of the churches, in
which the sweet bells were ringing a merry peal as they entered it, and
found their way to their grandmother's door. They went upstairs into the
little room, where all looked just as it used to do. The old clock was
going "tick, tick," and the hands pointed to the time of day, but
as they passed through the door into the room they perceived that they
were both grown up, and become a man and woman. The roses out on the roof
were in full bloom, and peeped in at the window; and there stood the little
chairs, on which they had sat when children; and Kay and Gerda seated themselves
each on their own chair, and held each other by the hand, while the cold
empty grandeur of the Snow Queen's palace vanished from their memories
like a painful dream. The grandmother sat in God's bright sunshine, and
she read aloud from the Bible, "Except ye become as little children, ye
shall in no wise enter into the kingdom of God." And Kay and Gerda looked
into each other's eyes, and all at once understood the words of the old
song,
"Roses bloom and cease to be,
But we shall the Christ-child see."
And they both sat there, grown up,
yet children at heart; and it was summer -- warm, beautiful summer.
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