the field-mouse, for their neighbour, the blind dull mole in the
black-velvet suit had now made his proposals in form to Tommelise. ‘You
shall have worsted and linen in plenty; you shall be well provided with
all manner of clothes and furniture before you become the mole’s wife.’
So Tommelise was obliged to work hard at the distaff, and the
field-mouse hired four spiders to spin and weave night and day. Every
evening came the mole, and always began to talk about the summer soon
coming to an end, and that then, when the sun would no longer shine so
warmly, scorching the earth till it was as dry as a stone, yes, then,
his nuptials with Tommelise should take place. But this sort of
conversation did not please her at all; she was thoroughly wearied of
his dulness and his prating. Every morning when the sun rose, and every
evening when it set, she used to steal out at the door, and when the
wind blew the tops of the corn aside, so that she could see the blue sky
through the opening, she thought how bright and beautiful it was out
here, and wished most fervently to see the dear swallow once more; but
he never came, he must have been flying far away in the beautiful
greenwood.
Autumn came, and Tommelise’s wedding clothes were ready.
‘Four weeks more, and you shall be married!’ said the field-mouse. But
Tommelise wept, and said she would not marry the dull mole.
‘Fiddlestick!’ exclaimed the field-mouse; ‘don’t be obstinate, child, or
I shall bite thee with my white teeth! Is he not handsome, pray? Why,
the Queen has not got such a black-velvet dress as he wears! And isn’t
he rich? rich both in kitchens and cellars? Be thankful to get such a
husband!’
So Tommelise must be married. The day fixed had arrived, the mole had
already come to fetch his bride, and she must dwell with him, deep under
the earth, never again to come out into the warm sunshine which she
loved so much, and which he could not endure. The poor child was in
despair at the thought that she must now bid farewell to the beautiful
sun of which she had at least been allowed to catch a glimpse every now
and then while she lived with the field-mouse.
‘Farewell, thou glorious sun!’ she cried, throwing her arms up into the
air, and she walked on a little way beyond the field-mouse’s door; the
corn was already reaped, and only the dry stubble surrounded her.
‘Farewell, farewell!’ repeated she, as she clasped her tiny arms round a
little red flower that grew there. ‘Greet the dear swallow from me, if
thou shouldst see him.’
‘Quivit! quivit!’--there was a fluttering of wings just over her head;
she looked up, and behold! the little swallow was flying past. And how
pleased he was when he perceived Tommelise! She told how that she had
been obliged to accept the disagreeable mole as a husband, and that she
would have to dwell deep underground where the sun never pierced. And
she could not help weeping as she spoke.
‘The cold winter will soon be here!’ said the swallow; ‘I shall fly far
away to the warm countries. Wilt thou go with me? Thou canst sit on my
back, and tie thyself firmly
[Illustration]
to me with thy sash, and thus we shall fly away from the stupid mole and
his dark room, far away over the mountains to those countries where the
sun shines so brightly, where it is always summer, and flowers blossom
all the year round. Come and fly with me, thou sweet little Tommelise,
who didst save my life when I lay frozen in the dark cellars of the
earth!’
[Illustration: THAT WAS THE GREATEST OF PLEASURES]
‘Yes, I will go with thee!’ said Tommelise. And she seated herself on
the bird’s back, her feet resting on the out-spread wings, and tied her
girdle firmly round one of the strongest feathers, and then the swallow
soared high into the air, and flew away over forest and over lake, over
mountains whose crests are covered with snow all the year round. How
Tommelise shivered as she breathed the keen frosty air! However, she
soon crept down under the bird’s warm feathers, her head still peering
forth, eager to behold all the glory and beauty beneath her. At last
they reached the warm countries. There the sun shone far more brightly
than in her native clime. The heavens seemed twice as high, and twice as
blue; and ranged along the sloping hills grew, in rich luxuriance, the
loveliest green and purple grapes. Citrons and melons were seen in the
groves, the fragrance of myrtles and balsams filled the air, and by the
wayside gambolled groups of pretty merry children, chasing large
bright-winged butterflies.
But the swallow did not rest here; still he flew on; and still the scene
seemed to grow more and more beautiful. Near a calm, blue lake, overhung
by lofty trees, stood a half-ruined palace of white marble, built in
times long past; vine-wreaths trailed up the long slender pillars, and
on the capitals, among the green leaves and waving tendrils, many a
swallow had built his nest, and one of these nests belonged to the
swallow on whose back Tommelise was riding.
‘This is my house,’ said the swallow, ‘but if thou wouldst rather choose
for thyself one of the splendid flowers growing beneath us, I will take
thee there, and thou shalt make thy home in the loveliest of them all.’
‘That will be charming!’ exclaimed she, clapping her tiny hands.
On the green turf beneath there lay the fragments of a white marble
column which had fallen to the ground, and around these fragments twined
some beautiful large white flowers. The swallow flew down with
Tommelise, and set her on one of the broad petals. But what was her
surprise when she saw sitting in the very heart of the flower a little
mannikin, fair and transparent as though he were made of glass! wearing
the prettiest gold crown on his head, and the brightest, most delicate
wings on his shoulders, yet scarcely one whit larger than Tommelise
herself. He was the spirit of the flower. In every blossom there dwelt
one such faëry youth or maiden, but this one was the king of all these
flower-spirits.
‘Oh, how handsome he is, this king!’ whispered Tommelise to the swallow.
The faëry prince was quite startled at the sudden descent of the
swallow, who was a sort of giant compared with him; but when he saw
Tommelise he was delighted, for she was the very loveliest maiden he had
ever seen. So he took his gold crown off his own head and set it upon
hers, asked her name, and whether she would be his bride, and reign as
queen over all the flower-spirits. This, you see, was quite a different
bridegroom from the son of the ugly old toad, or the blind mole with his
black-velvet coat. So Tommelise replied ‘Yes’ to the beautiful prince,
and then the lady and gentlemen faëries came out, each from a separate
flower, to pay their homage to Tommelise; so gracefully and courteously
they paid their homage: and every one of them brought her a present.
But the best of all the presents was a pair of transparent wings; they
were fastened on Tommelise’s shoulders, and enabled her to fly from
flower to flower. That was the greatest of pleasures; and the little
swallow sat in his nest above and sang to her his sweetest song; in his
heart, however, he was very sad, for he loved Tommelise, and would have
wished never to part from her.
‘Thou shalt no longer be called Tommelise,’ said the king of flowers to
her, ‘for it is not a pretty name, and thou art so lovely! We will call
thee Maia.’
‘Farewell! farewell!’ sang the swallow, and away he flew from the warm
countries, far away back to Denmark. There he had a little nest just
over the window of the man who writes stories for children. ‘Quivit,
quivit, quivit!’ he sang to him, and from him we have learned this
history.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: THEY CARRIED THE MIRROR FROM PLACE TO PLACE]
THE SNOW QUEEN
IN SEVEN PARTS
PART THE FIRST
WHICH TREATS OF THE MIRROR AND ITS FRAGMENTS
Listen! We are beginning our story! When we arrive at the end of it we
shall, it is to be hoped, know more than we do now. There was once a
magician! a wicked magician!! a most wicked magician!!! Great was his
delight at having constructed a mirror possessing this peculiarity,
viz:--that everything good and beautiful, when reflected in it, shrank
up almost to nothing, whilst those things that were ugly and useless
were magnified, and made to appear ten times worse than before. The
loveliest landscapes reflected in this mirror looked like boiled
spinach; and the handsomest persons appeared odious, or as if standing
upon their heads, their features being so distorted that their friends
could never have recognised them. Moreover, if one of them had a
freckle, he might be sure that it would seem to spread over the nose and
mouth; and if a good or pious thought glanced across his mind, a wrinkle
was seen in the mirror. All this the magician thought highly
entertaining, and he chuckled with delight at his own clever invention.
Those who frequented the school of magic where he taught spread abroad
the fame of this wonderful mirror, and declared that by its means the
world and its inhabitants might be seen now for the first time as they
really were. They carried the mirror from place to place, till at last
there was no country nor person that had not been misrepresented in it.
Its admirers now must needs fly up to the sky with it, to see if they
could carry on their sport even there. But the higher they flew the more
wrinkled did the mirror become; they could scarcely hold it together.
They flew on and on, higher and higher, till at last the mirror trembled
so fearfully that it escaped
[Illustration: HE CHUCKLED WITH DELIGHT]
from their hands, and fell to the earth, breaking into millions,
billions, and trillions of pieces. And then it caused far greater
unhappiness than before, for fragments of it, scarcely so large as a
grain of sand, would be flying about in the air, and sometimes get into
people’s eyes, causing them to view everything the wrong way, or to have
eyes only for what was perverted and corrupt; each little fragment
having retained the peculiar properties of the entire mirror. Some
people were so unfortunate as to receive a little splinter into their
hearts--that was terrible! The heart became cold and hard, like a lump
of ice. Some pieces were large enough to be used as window panes, but it
was of no use to look at one’s friends through such panes as those.
Other fragments were made into spectacles, and then what trouble people
had with setting and re-setting them!
The wicked magician was greatly amused with all this, and he laughed
till his sides ached.
There are still some little splinters of this mischievous mirror flying
about in the air. We shall hear more about them very soon.
PART THE SECOND
A LITTLE BOY AND A LITTLE GIRL
IN a large town, where there are so many houses and inhabitants that
there is not room enough for all the people to possess a little garden
of their own, and therefore many are obliged to content themselves with
keeping a few plants in pots, there dwelt two poor children, whose
garden was somewhat larger than a flower-pot. They were not brother and
sister, but they loved each other as much as if they had been, and their
parents lived in two attics exactly opposite. The roof of one
neighbour’s house nearly joined the other, the gutter ran along between,
and there was in each roof a little window, so that you could stride
across the gutter from one window to the other. The parents of each
child had a large wooden box in which grew herbs for kitchen use, and
they had placed these boxes upon the gutter, so near that they almost
touched each other. A beautiful little rose-tree grew in each box,
scarlet runners entwined their long shoots over the windows, and,
uniting with the branches of the rose-trees, formed a flowery arch
across the street. The boxes were very high, and the children knew that
they might not climb over them, but they often obtained leave to sit on
their little stools, under the rose-trees, and thus they passed many a
delightful hour.
But when winter came there was an end to these pleasures. The windows
were often quite frozen over, and then they heated halfpence on the
stove, held the warm copper against the frozen pane, and thus made a
little round peep-hole, behind which would sparkle a bright gentle eye,
one from each window.
The little boy was called Kay, the little girl’s name was Gerda. In
summer-time they could get out of window and jump over to each other;
but in winter there were stairs to run down, and stairs to run up, and
sometimes the wind roared, and the snow fell without-doors.
‘Those are the white bees swarming there!’ said the old grandmother.
‘Have they a Queen bee?’ asked the little boy, for he knew that the real
bees have one.
‘They have,’ said the grandmother. ‘She flies yonder where they swarm so
thickly; she is the largest of them, and never remains upon the earth,
but flies up again into the black cloud. Sometimes on a winter’s night
she flies through the streets of the town, and breathes with her frosty
breath upon the windows, and then they are covered with strange and
beautiful forms, like trees and flowers.’
‘Yes, I have seen them!’ said both the children--they knew that this was
true.
‘Can the Snow Queen come in here?’ asked the little girl.
‘If she do come in,’ said the boy, ‘I will put her on the warm stove and
then she will melt.’
And the grandmother stroked his hair and told him some stories.
That same evening, after little Kay had gone home, and was half
undressed, he crept upon the chair by the window and peeped through the
little round hole. Just then a few snow-flakes fell outside, and one,
the largest of them, remained lying on the edge of one of the
flower-pots. The snow-flake appeared larger and larger, and at last took
the form of a lady dressed in the finest white crape, her attire being
composed of millions of star-like particles. She was exquisitely fair
and delicate, but entirely of ice, glittering, dazzling ice; her eyes
gleamed like two bright stars, but there was no rest or repose in them.
She nodded at the window, and beckoned with her hand. The little boy was
frightened and jumped down from the chair; he then fancied he saw a
large bird fly past the window.
There was a clear frost next day, and soon afterwards came spring--the
trees and flowers budded, the swallows built their nests, the windows
were opened, and the little children sat once more in their little
garden upon the gutter that ran along the roofs of the houses.
The roses blossomed beautifully that summer, and the little girl had
learned a hymn in which there was something about roses; it reminded her
of her own. So she sang it to the little boy, and he sang it with her.
‘Our roses bloom and fade away,
Our Infant Lord abides alway;
May we be blessed His face to see,
And ever little children be!’
And the little ones held each other by the hand, kissed the roses, and
looked up into the blue sky, talking away all the time. What glorious
summer days were those! how delightful it was to sit under those
rose-trees which seemed as if they never intended to leave off
blossoming! One day Kay and Gerda were sitting looking at their
picture-book full of birds and animals, when suddenly--the clock on the
old church tower was just striking five--Kay exclaimed, ‘Oh, dear! what
was that shooting pain in my heart: and now again, something has
certainly got into my eye!’
The little girl turned and looked at him. He winked his eyes; no, there
was nothing to be seen.
‘I believe it is gone,’ said he; but gone it was not. It was one of
those glass splinters from the Magic Mirror, the wicked glass which made
everything great and good reflected in it to appear little and hateful,
and which magnified everything ugly and mean. Poor Kay had also received
a splinter in his heart; it would now become hard and cold like a lump
of ice. He felt the pain no longer, but the splinter was there.
‘Why do you cry?’ asked he; ‘you look so ugly when you cry! there is
nothing the matter with me. Fie!’ exclaimed he again, ‘this rose has an
insect in it, and just look at this! After all, they are ugly roses! and
it is an ugly box they grow in!’ then he kicked the box, and tore off
the roses.
‘O Kay, what are you doing?’ cried the little girl, but when he saw how
it grieved her, he tore off another rose, and jumped down through his
own window, away from his once dear little Gerda.
Ever afterwards when she brought forward the picture-book, he called it
a baby’s book, and when her grandmother told stories, he interrupted her
with a ‘but,’ and sometimes, whenever he could manage it, he would get
behind her, put on her spectacles, and speak just as she did; he did
this in a very droll manner, and so people laughed at him. Very soon he
could mimic everybody in the street. All that was singular and awkward
about them could Kay imitate, and his neighbours said, ‘What a
remarkable head that boy has!’ But no, it was the glass splinter which
had fallen into his eye, the glass splinter which had pierced into his
heart--it was these which made him regardless whose feelings he wounded,
and even made him tease the little Gerda who loves him so fondly.
His games were now quite different from what they used to be, they were
so rational! One winter’s day when it was snowing, he came out with a
large burning-glass in his hand, and holding up the skirts of his blue
coat let the snow-flakes fall upon them. ‘Now look through the glass,
Gerda!’ said he, returning to the house. Every snow-flake seemed much
larger, and resembled a splendid flower, or a star with ten points; they
were quite beautiful. ‘See, how curious!’ said Kay, ‘these are far more
interesting than real flowers, there is not a single blemish in them;
they would be quite perfect if only they did not melt.’
Soon after this Kay came in again, with thick gloves on his hands, and
his sledge slung across his back. He called out to Gerda, ‘I have got
leave to drive on the great square where the other boys play!’ and away
he went.
The boldest boys in the square used to fasten their sledges firmly to
the wagons of the country people, and thus drive a good way along with
them; this they thought particularly pleasant. Whilst they were in the
midst of their play, a large sledge painted white passed by; in it sat a
person wrapped in a rough white fur, and wearing a rough white cap. When
the sledge had driven twice round the square, Kay bound to it his little
sledge, and was carried on with it. On they went, faster and faster,
into the next street. The person who drove the large sledge turned
round and nodded kindly to Kay, just as if they had been old
acquaintances, and every time Kay was going to loose his little sledge
turned and nodded again, as if to signify that he must stay. So Kay sat
still, and they passed through the gates of the town. Then the snow
began to fall so thickly that the little boy could not see his own hand,
but he was still carried on. He tried hastily to unloose the cords and
free himself from the large sledge, but it was of no use; his little
carriage could not be unfastened, and glided on swift as the wind. Then
he cried out as loud as he could, but no one heard him, the snow fell
and the sledge flew; every now and then it made a spring as if driving
over hedges and ditches. He was very much frightened; he would have
repeated ‘Our Father,’ but he could remember nothing but the
multiplication table.
The snow-flakes seemed larger and larger, at last they looked like great
white fowls. All at once they fell aside, the large sledge stopped, and
the person who drove it arose from the seat. He saw that the cap and
coat were entirely of snow, that it was a lady, tall and slender, and
dazzlingly white--it was the Snow Queen!
‘We have driven fast!’ said she, ‘but no one likes to be frozen; creep
under my bear-skin,’ and she seated him in the sledge by her side, and
spread her cloak around him--he felt as if he were sinking into a drift
of snow.
‘Are you still cold?’ asked she, and then she kissed his brow. Oh! her
kiss was colder than ice. It went to his heart, although that was half
frozen already; he thought he should die. It was, however, only for a
moment; directly afterwards he was quite well, and no longer felt the
intense cold around.
‘My sledge! do not forget my sledge!’--he thought first of that--it was
fastened to one of the white fowls which flew behind with it on his
back. The Snow Queen kissed Kay again, and he entirely forgot little
Gerda, her grandmother, and all at home.
‘Now you must have no more kisses!’ said she, ‘else I should kiss thee
to death.’
Kay looked at her, she was so beautiful; a more intelligent, more lovely
countenance, he could not imagine; she no longer appeared to him ice,
cold ice as at the time when she sat outside the window and beckoned to
him; in his eyes she was perfect; he felt no fear. He told her how well
he could reckon in his head, even fractions; that he knew the number of
square miles of every country, and the number of the inhabitants
contained in different towns. She smiled, and then it occurred to him
that, after all, he did not yet know so very much. He looked up into the
wide, wide space, and she flew with him high up into the black cloud
while the storm was raging; it seemed now to Kay as though singing songs
of olden time.
They flew over woods and over lakes, over sea and over land; beneath
them the cold wind whistled, the wolves howled, the snow glittered, and
the black crow flew cawing over the plain, whilst above them shone the
moon, so clear and tranquil.
Thus did Kay spend the long, long winter night; all day he slept at the
feet of the Snow Queen.
[Illustration: SHE WORE A LARGE HAT, WITH MOST BEAUTIFUL FLOWERS PAINTED
ON IT]
PART THE THIRD
THE ENCHANTED FLOWER-GARDEN
But how fared it with little Gerda when Kay never returned? Where could
he be? No one knew, no one could give any account of him. The boy said
that they had seen him fasten his sledge to another larger and very
handsome one which had driven into the street, and thence through the
gates of the town. No one knew where he was, and many were the tears
that were shed; little Gerda wept much and long, for the boys said he
must be dead, he must have been drowned in the river that flowed not far
from the town. Oh, how long and dismal the winter days were now! At last
came the spring, with its warm sunshine.
‘Alas, Kay is dead and gone,’ said little Gerda.
‘That I do not believe,’ said the sunshine.
‘He is dead and gone,’ said she to the swallows.
‘That we do not believe,’ returned they, and at last little Gerda
herself did not believe it.
‘I will put on my new red shoes,’ said she one morning, ‘those which Kay
has never seen, and then I will go down to the river and ask after him.’
It was quite early. She kissed her old grandmother, who was still
sleeping, put on her red shoes, and went alone through the gates of the
town towards the river.
‘Is it true,’ said she, ‘that thou hast taken my little playfellow away?
I will give thee my red shoes if thou wilt restore him to me!’
And the wavelets of the river flowed towards her in a manner which she
fancied was unusual; she fancied that they intended to accept her
offer, so she took off her red shoes--though she prized them more than
anything else she possessed--and threw them into the stream; but they
fell near the shore, and the little waves bore them back to her, as
though they would not take from her what she most prized, as they had
not got little Kay. However, she thought she had not thrown the shoes
far enough, so she stepped into a little boat which lay among the reeds
by the shore, and, standing at the farthest end of it, threw them from
thence into the water. The boat was not fastened, and her movements in
it caused it to glide away from the shore. She saw this, and hastened to
get out, but by the time she reached the other end of the boat it was
more than a yard distant from the land; she could not escape, and the
boat glided on.
Little Gerda was much frightened and began to cry, but no one besides
the sparrows heard her, and they could not carry her back to the land;
however, they flew along the banks, and sang, as if to comfort her,
‘Here we are, here we are!’ The boat followed the stream. Little Gerda
sat in it quite still; her red shoes floated behind her, but they could
not overtake the boat, which glided along faster than they did.