trees, and bright green hills dotted with sheep and cows, were seen in
abundance, but not a single human being.
‘Perhaps the river may bear me to my dear Kay,’ thought Gerda, and then
she became more cheerful, and amused herself for hours with looking at
the lovely country around her. At last she glided past a large
cherry-garden, wherein stood a little cottage with thatched roof and
curious red and blue windows; two wooden soldiers stood at the door, who
presented arms when they saw the little vessel approach.
Gerda called to them, thinking that they were alive, but they,
naturally enough, made no answer. She came close up to them, for the
stream drifted the boat to the land.
Gerda called still louder, whereupon an old lady came out of the house,
supporting herself on a crutch; she wore a large hat, with most
beautiful flowers painted on it.
‘Thou poor little child!’ said the old woman, ‘the mighty flowing river
has indeed borne thee a long, long way,’ and she walked right into the
water, seized the boat with her crutch, drew it to land, and took out
the little girl.
Gerda was glad to be on dry land again, although she was a little afraid
of the strange old lady.
‘Come and tell me who thou art, and how thou camest hither,’ said she.
And Gerda told her all, and the old lady shook her head, and said, ‘Hem!
hem!’ And when Gerda asked if she had seen little Kay, the lady said
that he had not arrived there yet, but that he would be sure to come
soon, and that in the meantime Gerda must not be sad; that she might
stay with her, might eat her cherries, and look at her flowers, which
were prettier than any picture-book, and could each tell her a story.
She then took Gerda by the hand; they went together into the cottage,
and the old lady shut the door. The windows were very high and their
panes of different coloured glass, red, blue, and yellow, so that when
the bright daylight streamed through them, various and beautiful were
the hues reflected upon the room. Upon a table in the centre was placed
a plate of very fine cherries, and of these Gerda was allowed to eat as
many as she liked. And whilst she was eating them, the old dame combed
her hair with a golden comb, and the bright flaxen ringlets fell on each
side of her pretty, gentle face, which looked as round and as fresh as a
rose.
‘I have long wished for such a dear little girl,’ said the old lady. ‘We
shall see if we cannot live very happily together.’ And, as she combed
little Gerda’s hair, the child thought less and less of her
foster-brother Kay, for the old lady was an enchantress. She did not,
however, practise magic for the sake of mischief, but merely for her own
amusement. And now she wished very much to keep little Gerda, to live
with her; so, fearing that if Gerda saw her roses, she would be reminded
of her own flowers and of little Kay, and that then she might run away,
she went out into the garden, and extended her crutch over all her
rose-bushes, upon which, although they were full of leaves and blossoms,
they immediately sank into the black earth, and no one would have
guessed that such plants had ever grown there.
Then she led Gerda into this flower-garden. Oh how beautiful and how
fragrant it was! Flowers of all seasons and all climes grew there in
fulness of beauty--certainly no picture-book could be compared with it.
Gerda bounded with delight, and played among the flowers till the sun
set behind the tall cherry-trees; after which a pretty little bed, with
crimson silk cushions, stuffed with blue violet leaves, was prepared for
her, and here she slept so sweetly and had such dreams as a queen might
have on her bridal eve.
The next day she again played among the flowers in the warm sunshine,
and many more days were spent in the same manner. Gerda knew every
flower in the garden, but, numerous as they were, it seemed to her that
one was wanting, she could not tell which. She was sitting one day,
looking at her hostess’s hat, which had flowers painted on it, and,
behold, the loveliest among them was a rose! The old lady had entirely
forgotten the painted rose on her hat, when she made the real roses to
disappear from her garden and sink into the ground. This is often the
case when things are done hastily.
‘What,’ cried Gerda ‘are there no roses in the garden?’ And she ran from
one bed to another, sought and sought again, but no rose was to be
found. She sat down and wept, and it so chanced that her tears fell on a
spot where a rose-tree had formerly stood, and as soon as her warm tears
had moistened the earth, the bush shot up anew, as fresh and as blooming
as it was before it had sunk into the ground; and Gerda threw her arms
around it, kissed the blossoms, and immediately recalled to memory the
beautiful roses at home, and her little playfellow Kay. ‘Oh, how could I
stay here so long!’ exclaimed the little maiden. ‘I left my home to seek
for Kay. Do you know where he is?’ she asked of the roses; ‘think you
that he is dead?’
‘Dead he is not,’ said the roses. ‘We have been down in the earth; the
dead are there, but not Kay.’
‘I thank you,’ said little Gerda, and she went to the other flowers,
bent low over their cups, and asked, ‘Know you not where little Kay is?’
But every flower stood in the sunshine dreaming its own little tale.
They related their stories to Gerda, but none of them knew anything of
Kay.
‘And what think you?’ said the tiger-lily.
‘Listen to the drums beating, boom! boom! They have but two notes,
always boom! boom! Listen to the dirge the women are singing! Listen to
the chorus of priests! Enveloped in her long red robes stands the Hindoo
wife on the funeral pile; the flames blaze around her and her dead
husband, but the Hindoo wife thinks not of the dead. She thinks only of
the living, and the anguish which consumes her spirit is keener than the
fire which will soon reduce her body to ashes.
[Illustration]
Can the flame of the heart expire amid the flames of the funeral pile?’
‘I do not understand that at all!’ said little Gerda.
‘That is my tale!’ said the tiger-lily.
‘What says the convolvulus?’
‘Hanging over a narrow mountain causeway, behold an ancient, baronial
castle. Thick evergreens grow amongst the time stained walls, their
leafy branches entwine about the balcony, and there stands a beautiful
maiden; she bends over the balustrades and fixes her eyes with eager
expectation on the road winding beneath. The rose hangs not fresher and
lovelier on its stem than she; the apple-blossom which the wind
threatens every moment to tear from its branch is not more fragile and
trembling. Listen to the rustling of her rich silken robe! Listen to her
half-whispered words, “He comes not yet”.’
‘Is it Kay you mean?’ asked little Gerda.
‘I do but tell you my tale--my dream,’ replied the convolvulus.
‘What says the little snowdrop?’
‘Between two trees hangs a swing. Two pretty little maidens, their dress
as white as snow, and long green ribbands fluttering from their hats,
sit and swing themselves in it. Their brother stands up in the swing, he
has thrown his arms round the ropes to keep himself steady, for in one
hand he holds a little cup, in the other a pipe made of clay; he is
blowing soap bubbles. The swing moves and the bubbles fly upwards with
bright, ever-changing colours; the last hovers on the edge of the pipe,
and moves with the wind. The swing is still in motion, and the little
black dog, almost as light as the soap bubbles, rises on his hind feet
and tries to get into the swing also; away goes the swing, the dog
falls, is out of temper, and barks; he is laughed at, and the bubbles
burst. A swinging board, a frothy, fleeting image is my song.’
‘What you describe may be all very pretty, but you speak so mournfully,
and there is nothing about Kay.’
‘What say the hyacinths?’
‘There were three fair sisters, transparent and delicate they were; the
kirtle of the one was red, that of the second blue, of the third pure
white; hand in hand they danced in the moonlight beside the quiet lake;
they were not fairies, but daughters of men. Sweet was the fragrance
when the maidens vanished into the wood; the fragrance grew stronger;
three biers, whereon lay the fair sisters, glided out from the depths of
the wood, and floated upon the lake; the glow-worms flew shining around
like little hovering lamps. Sleep the dancing maidens, or are they dead?
The odour from the flowers tells us they are corpses, the evening bells
peal out their dirge.’
‘You make me quite sad,’ said little Gerda. ‘Your fragrance is so strong
I cannot help thinking of the dead maidens. Alas! and is little Kay
dead? The roses have been under the earth, and they say no!’
‘Ding dong! ding dong!’ rang the hyacinth bells. ‘We toll not for little
Kay, we know him not! We do but sing our own song, the only one we
know!’
And Gerda went to the buttercup, which shone so brightly from among her
smooth green leaves.
‘Thou art like a little bright sun,’ said Gerda; ‘tell me, if thou
canst, where I may find my playfellow.’
And the buttercup glittered so brightly, and looked at Gerda. What song
could the buttercup sing? Neither was hers about Kay. ‘One bright spring
morning, the sun shone warmly upon a little court-yard. The bright beams
streamed down the white walls of a neighbouring house, and close by
[Illustration: GERDA KNEW EVERY FLOWER IN THE GARDEN]
grew the first yellow flower of spring, glittering like gold in the warm
sunshine. An old grandmother sat without in her arm-chair, her
grand-daughter, a pretty, lowly maiden, had just returned home from a
short visit; she kissed her grandmother; there was gold, pure gold, in
that loving kiss:
‘Gold was the flower!
Gold the fresh, bright, morning hour!’
‘That is my little story,’ said the buttercup.
‘My poor old grandmother!’ sighed Gerda; ‘yes, she must be wishing for
me, just as she wished for little Kay. But I shall soon go home again,
and take Kay with me. It is of no use to ask the flowers about him; they
only know their own song, they can give me no information.’ And she
folded her little frock round her, that she might run the faster; but,
in jumping over the narcissus, it caught her foot, as if wishing to stop
her, so she turned and looked at the tall yellow flower, ‘Have you any
news to give me?’ She bent over the narcissus, waiting for an answer.
And what said the narcissus?
‘I can look at myself!--I can see myself! Oh, how sweet is my
fragrance!’ Up in the little attic-chamber stands a little dancer. She
rests sometimes on one leg, sometimes on two. She has trampled the whole
world under her feet; she is nothing but an illusion. She pours water
from a tea-pot upon a piece of cloth she holds in her hand--it is her
bodice; cleanliness is a fine thing! Her white dress hangs on the hook,
that has also been washed by the water from the tea-pot, and dried on
the roof of the house. She puts it on, and wraps a saffron-coloured
handkerchief round her neck; it makes the dress look all the whiter.
With one leg extended, there she stands, as though on a stalk. ‘I can
look at myself!--I see myself!’
‘I don’t care if you do!’ said Gerda. ‘You need not have told me that!’
and away she ran to the end of the garden.
The gate was closed, but she pressed upon the rusty lock till it broke.
The gate sprang open, and little Gerda, with bare feet, ran out into the
wide world. Three times she looked back, there was no one following her;
she ran till she could run no longer, and then sat down to rest upon a
large stone. Casting a glance around, she saw that the summer was past,
that it was now late in the autumn. Of course, she had not remarked this
in the enchanted garden, where there were sunshine and flowers all the
year round.
‘How long I must have stayed there!’ said little Gerda. ‘So, it is now
autumn! Well, then, there is no time to lose!’ and she rose to pursue
her way.
Oh, how sore and weary were her little feet; and all around looked so
cold and barren. The long willow-leaves had already turned yellow, and
the dew trickled down from them like water. The leaves fell off the
trees, one by one; the sloe alone bore fruit, and its berries were so
sharp and bitter! Cold, and grey, and sad seemed the world to her that
day.
[Illustration]
PART THE FOURTH
THE PRINCE AND THE PRINCESS
Gerda was again obliged to stop and take rest. Suddenly a
large raven hopped upon the snow in front of her, saying,
‘Caw!--Caw!--Good-day!--Good-day!’ He sat for some time on the withered
branch of a tree just opposite, eyeing the little maiden, and wagging
his head, and he now came forward to make acquaintance and to ask her
whither she was going all alone. That word ‘alone’ Gerda understood
right well--she felt how sad a meaning it has. She told the raven the
history of her life and fortunes, and asked if he had seen Kay.
And the raven nodded his head, half doubtfully, and said, ‘That is
possible--possible.’
‘Do you think so?’ exclaimed the little girl, and she kissed the raven
so vehemently that it is a wonder she did not squeeze him to death.
‘More moderately!--moderately!’ said the raven. ‘I think I know. I think
it may be little Kay; but he has certainly forsaken thee for the
princess.’
‘Dwells he with a princess?’ asked Gerda.
‘Listen to me,’ said the raven, ‘but it is so difficult to speak your
language! Do you understand Ravenish? If so, I can tell you much
better.’
‘No! I have never learned Ravenish,’ said Gerda, ‘but my grandmother
knew it, and Pye-language also. Oh, how I wish I had learned it!’
‘Never mind,’ said the raven, ‘I will relate my story in the best manner
I can, though bad will be the best’; and he told all he knew.
‘In the kingdom wherein we are now sitting, there dwells a princess, a
most uncommonly clever princess. All the newspapers in the world has she
read, and forgotten them again, so clever is she. It is not long since
she ascended the throne, which I have heard is not quite so agreeable a
situation as one would fancy; and immediately after she began to sing a
new song, the burden of which was this, “Why should I not marry me?”
“There is some sense in this song!” said she, and she determined she
would marry, but at the same time declared that the man whom she would
choose must be able to answer sensibly whenever people spoke to him, and
must be good for something else besides merely looking grand and
stately. The ladies of the court were then all drummed together, in
order to be informed of her intentions, whereupon they were highly
delighted, and one exclaimed, “That is just what I wish”; and another,
that she had lately been thinking of the very same thing. Believe me,’
continued the raven, ‘every word I say is true, for I have a tame
beloved who hops at pleasure about the palace, and she has told me all
this.’
Of course the ‘beloved’ was also a raven, for birds of a feather flock
together.
‘Proclamations, adorned with borders of hearts, were immediately issued,
wherein, after enumerating the style and titles of the princess, it was
set forth that every well-favoured youth was free to go to the palace
and converse with the princess, and that whoever should speak in such
wise as showed that he felt himself at home, there would be the one the
princess would choose for her husband.
‘Yes, indeed,’ continued the raven, ‘you may believe me; all this is as
true as that I sit here. The people all crowded to the palace; there was
famous pressing and squeezing; but it was all of no use, either the
first or the second day; the young men could speak well enough while
they were outside the palace gates, but when they entered, and saw the
royal guard in silver uniform, and the lackeys on the staircase in gold,
and the spacious saloon, all lighted up, they were quite confounded.
They stood before the throne where the princess sat, and when she spoke
to them, they could only repeat the last word she had uttered, which,
you know, it was not particularly interesting for her to hear over
again. It was just as though they had been struck dumb the moment they
entered the palace, for as soon as they got out, they could talk fast
enough. There was a regular procession constantly moving from the gates
of the town to the gates of the palace. I was there, and saw it with my
own eyes,’ said the raven. ‘They grew both hungry and thirsty whilst
waiting at the palace, but no one could get even so much as a glass of
water; to be sure, some of them, wiser than the rest, had brought with
them slices of bread and butter, but none would give any to his
neighbour, for he thought to himself, “Let him look hungry, and then the
princess will be sure not to choose him.”’
‘But Kay, little Kay, when did he come?’ asked Gerda; ‘was he among the
crowd?’
‘Presently, presently; we have just come to him. On the third day
arrived a youth with neither horse nor carriage; gaily he marched up to
the palace; his eyes sparkled like yours; he had long beautiful hair,
but was very meanly clad.’
‘That was Kay!’ exclaimed Gerda. ‘Oh then I have found him,’ and she
clapped her hands with delight.
‘He carried a knapsack on his back,’ said the raven.
‘No, not a knapsack,’ said Gerda, ‘a sledge, for he had a sledge with
him when he left home.’
‘It is possible,’ rejoined the raven, ‘I did not look very closely, but
this I heard from my beloved, that when he entered the palace gates and
saw the royal guard in silver, and the lackeys in gold upon the
staircase, he did not seem in the least confused, but nodded pleasantly
and said to them, “It must be very tedious standing out here; I prefer
going in.” The halls glistened with light, cabinet councillors and
excellencies were walking about bare-footed and carrying golden keys--it
was just a place to make a man solemn and silent--and the youth’s boots
creaked horribly, yet he was not at all afraid.’
‘That most certainly was Kay!’ said Gerda; ‘I know he had new boots; I
have heard them creak in my grandmother’s room.’
‘Indeed they did creak,’ said the raven, ‘but merrily went he up to the
princess, who was sitting upon a pearl as large as a spinning-wheel,
whilst all the ladies of the court, with the maids of honour and their
handmaidens, ranged in order, stood on one side, and all the gentlemen
in waiting, with their gentlemen, and their gentlemen’s gentlemen, who
also kept pages, stood ranged in order on the other side, and the nearer
they were to the door the prouder they looked. The gentlemen’s
gentlemen’s page, who always wears slippers, one dare hardly look at, so
proudly he stands at the door.’
‘That must be dreadful!’ said little Gerda. ‘And has Kay really won the
princess?’
‘Had I not been a raven I should have won her myself,
[Illustration: SUDDENLY A LARGE RAVEN HOPPED UPON THE SNOW IN FRONT OF
HER]
[Illustration]
notwithstanding my being betrothed. The young man spoke as well as I
speak when I converse in Ravenish; that I have heard from my tame
beloved. He was handsome and lively--“He did not come to woo her,” he
said, “he had only come to hear the wisdom of the princess,” and he
liked her much, and she liked him in return.’
‘Yes, to be sure, that was Kay,’ said Gerda; ‘he was so clever, he could
reckon in his head, even fractions! Oh, will you not take me into the
palace?’
‘Ah! that is easily said,’ replied the raven, ‘but how is it to be done?
I will talk it over with my tame beloved; she will advise us what to do,
for I must tell you that such a little girl as you are will never gain
permission to enter publicly.’
‘Yes, I shall!’ cried Gerda. ‘When Kay knows that I am here, he will
immediately come out and fetch me.’
‘Wait for me at the trellis yonder,’ said the raven. He wagged his head
and away he flew.
The raven did not return till late in the evening. ‘Caw, caw,’ said he.
‘My tame beloved greets you kindly, and sends you a piece of bread which
she took from the kitchen; there is plenty of bread there, and you must
certainly be hungry. It is not possible for you to enter the palace, for
you have bare feet; the royal guard in silver uniform, and the lackeys
in gold, would never permit it; but do not weep, thou shalt go there. My
beloved knows a little back staircase leading to the sleeping
apartments, and she knows also where to find the key.’
And they went into the garden, down the grand avenue, where the leaves
dropped upon them as they passed along, and, when the lights in the
palace one by one had all been extinguished, the raven took Gerda to a
back-door which stood half open. Oh, how Gerda’s heart beat with fear
and expectation! It was just as though she was about to do something
wrong, although she only wanted to know whether Kay was really
there--yes, it must be he, she remembered so well his bright eyes and
long hair. She would see if his smile were the same as it used to be
when they sat together under the rose-trees. He would be so glad to see
her, to hear how far she had come for his sake, how all his home mourned
his absence. Her heart trembled with fear and joy.
They went up the staircase. A small lamp placed on a cabinet gave a
glimmering light; on the floor stood the tame raven, who first turned
her head on all sides, and then looked at Gerda, who made her curtsy, as
her grandmother had taught her.
‘My betrothed has told me much about you, my good young maiden,’ said
the tame raven; ‘your adventures, too, are extremely interesting! If you
will take the lamp, I will show you the way. We are going straight on,
we shall not meet any one now.’
‘It seems to me as if some one were behind us,’ said Gerda; and in fact
there was a rushing sound as of something passing; strange-looking
shadows flitted rapidly along the wall, horses with long, slender legs
and fluttering manes, huntsmen, knights, and ladies.
‘These are only dreams!’ said the raven; ‘they come to amuse the great
personages here at night; you will have a better opportunity of looking
at them when you are in bed. I hope that when you arrive at honours and
dignities you will show a grateful heart.’
‘Do not talk of that!’ said the wood-raven.
They now entered the first saloon; its walls were covered with
rose-coloured satin, embroidered with gold flowers. The Dreams rustled
past them, but with such rapidity that Gerda could not see them. The
apartments through which they passed vied with each other in splendour,
and at last they reached the sleeping-hall. In the centre of this room
stood a pillar of gold resembling the stem of a large palm-tree, whose
leaves of glass, costly glass, formed the ceiling, and depending from
the tree, hung near the door, on thick golden stalks, two beds in the
form of lilies--the one was white, wherein reposed the princess, the
other was red, and here must Gerda seek her playfellow, Kay. She bent
aside one of the red leaves and saw a brown neck. Oh, it must be Kay!
She called him by his name aloud, held the lamp close to him, the Dreams
again rushed by--he awoke, turned his head, and behold! it was not Kay.
The prince resembled him only about the throat; he was, however, young
and handsome; and the princess looked out from the white lily petals,
and asked what was the matter. Then little Gerda wept and told her whole
story, and what the ravens had done for her. ‘Poor child!’ said the
prince and princess; and they praised the ravens, and said they were not
at all angry with them. Such liberties must never be taken again in
their palace, but this time they should be rewarded.
[Illustration: CABINET COUNCILLORS WERE WALKING ABOUT BAREFOOTED]
‘Would you like to fly away free to the woods?’ asked the princess,
addressing the ravens, ‘or to have the appointment secured to you as
Court-Ravens with the perquisites belonging to the kitchen, such as
crumbs and leavings?’
And both the ravens bowed low and chose the appointment at Court, for
they thought of old age, and said it would be so comfortable to be well
provided for in their declining years. Then the prince arose and made
Gerda sleep in his bed; and she folded her little hands, thinking, ‘How
kind both men and animals are to me!’ She closed her eyes and slept
soundly and sweetly, and all the Dreams flitted about her; they looked
like angels from heaven, and seemed to be drawing a sledge whereon Kay
sat and nodded to her. But this was only fancy, for as soon as she awoke
all the beautiful visions had vanished.