“I know it now. It is to King Frost’s palace that I am going. Farewell,
father.”
And before the old man could say another word, the youth was far beyond
the sound of his feeble voice.
All day Claude hastened on, although the cold became so terrible that
it seemed to fetter his limbs with icy chains.
At last, just at sunset, he found himself upon a wide plain, covered
with hard, frozen snow. No shelter was at hand, nothing to protect him
from the cutting wind, which began to rise; but stop,--yes, there is
one tree, an aged fir, standing in the centre of the plain.
Toward it Claude staggered feebly, hoping to find some slight relief
from his suffering by interposing its gnarled trunk between him and the
biting wind.
He reached it, and sunk upon the snow, his eyes closing with a sense of
drowsiness.
As they did so, Claude half saw before him a low, broad mountain
covered with snow, which glittered in the rays of the setting sun.
He started with a sudden thought, opened his eyes, and looked about him.
Yes! The mountain, the tree, the plain! It was, at last, the
long-sought picture; but, sinking back, he murmured with a bitter
sigh,--
“It was only a mountain, after all!”
Once more he unclosed his eyes, and gazed steadfastly before him.
As he did so, he started upright; the warm blood tingling again in his
frozen veins.
It was the palace! The palace of his boyish dreams! The palace of King
Frost!
Eagerly he strove to move toward it, but his limbs refused to obey him;
he sunk exhausted upon the snow, his eyes fixed upon the fairy palace.
At that moment the great doors were thrown wide open, the guards ranged
themselves upon either hand, and between them appeared a light and
graceful figure, her white robes floating back as she came swiftly
toward him.
The stiffening eyelids fell over Claude’s weary eyes. With an effort
he raised them once more, and she stood over him, looking down, as he
had seen her in the frost picture; a tall and slender maiden, with eyes
blue as the winter sky, and bright as the stars in a frosty night; her
long, waving hair, pale as the rays of the setting sun which shone
upon her; her brow and cheeks pure and pale as the new-fallen snow.
Lovingly she looked down at him, and earnestly Claude tried to return
her gaze; but the heavy lids closed over his eyes in spite of every
effort. The frost-maiden knelt beside him and took his hand in hers. A
feeling of delicious repose stole over Claude’s senses, and he slept,
while in a low, whispering voice, the maiden murmured in his ear,--
“You have come, my darling, you have come! Long have I waited and
watched, since the night I first peeped in at your casement, while I
drew the pictures that you love; since I showed you my father’s palace,
and this tree, and my own image; long have you wandered, long have you
sought, my poor Claude! Did you think to find the frost-maiden in that
burning south where you have been so long? I should die, my beloved,
if I even hovered over that scorching land,--die, and fall in tears,
which men call rain. No, here is my home; and here shall you dwell
ever with me, my Claude! The walls of my father’s palace are covered
with pictures such as mortals never saw; and when we tire of them, the
frost-sprites which wait upon us shall draw other and more beautiful
ones.
“Then, together we will roam over sea and land, borne upon the broad
wings of the north wind, and, passing by the curtained, shuttered
windows of the rich, we will draw our fairest pictures on the lowly
casement where dwell those who have none save those we give them. We
will touch with flying feet the surface of the lake and brook, and
spread a glittering roof over the Naiads far below; we will breathe,
as we pass by, upon the withering leaves, and clothe their death with
beauty; we will fringe the cottage eaves with pendant jewels, such as
no queen wears; we will open the chestnut burrs that the squirrels
may feast, and kiss the cheeks of merry children till they bloom like
winter roses. All this, and more will we do, dear Claude. Come, then,
to the home of the frost-maiden,--come, come, come!”
Singing the last words in a low, sighing voice, the frost-maiden
breathed upon Claude’s face. Immediately a light vapor rose into the
air above where he lay, and rapidly took form and shape; it was Claude,
yet not Claude. He was changed to a frost-sprite, and no longer could
suffer pain in the kingdom of the Frost King.
He seized the maiden’s hand, together they entered the palace, and the
great gates closed slowly behind them.
* * * * *
So now every child who sees in the morning his window covered with
pictures, will know that while he slept, Claude and the frost-maiden
have been at work.