beasts have you there?” And if his grandmother told him stories, he
always interrupted her; besides, if he could manage it, he would get
behind her, put on her spectacles, and imitate her way of speaking:
he copied all her ways, and then everybody laughed at him. He was
soon able to imitate the gait and manner of everyone in the street.
Everything that was peculiar and displeasing in them,--that Kay knew
how to imitate; and at such times all the people said, “The boy is
certainly very clever!” But it was the glass he had in his eye; the
glass that was sticking in his heart, which made him tease even little
Gerda, whose whole soul was devoted to him.
His games now were quite different to what they had formerly been, they
were so very knowing. One winter’s day, when the flakes of snow were
flying about, he spread the skirts of his blue coat, and caught the
snow as it fell.
“Look through this glass, Gerda,” said he. And every flake seemed
larger, and appeared like a magnificent flower, or a beautiful star: it
was splendid to look at!
“Look, how clever!” said Kay. “That’s much more interesting than real
flowers! They are as exact as possible; there is not a fault in them,
if only they did not melt!”
It was not long after this that Kay came one day with large gloves on,
and his little sledge at his back, and called right into Gerda’s ears,
“I have permission to go out into the square, where the others are
playing”; and off he was in a moment.
There, in the market-place, some of the boldest of the boys used to
tie their sledges to the carts as they passed by. In this way they
were pulled along, and got a good ride. It was capital sport! Just as
they were in the very height of their amusement, a large sledge passed
by: it was painted white, and there was someone in it wrapped up in a
rough white mantle of fur, with a rough white fur cap on his head. The
sledge drove round the square twice, and Kay tied on his as quickly as
he could, and off he drove with it. On they went quicker and quicker
into the next street; and the person who drove turned round to Kay, and
nodded to him in a friendly manner, just as if they knew each other.
Every time he was going to untie his sledge the person nodded to him,
and then Kay sat quiet; and so on they went till they came outside the
gates of the town. Then the snow began to fall so thickly that the
little boy could not see an arm’s length before him, but still on he
went; then suddenly, he let go the string he held in his hand in order
to get loose from the sledge, but it was of no use; still the little
vehicle rushed on with the quickness of the wind. He then cried as loud
as he could, but no one heard him; the snow drifted and the sledge
flew on, and sometimes it gave a jerk as though they were driving over
hedges and ditches. He was quite frightened, and he tried to repeat the
Lord’s Prayer; but in spite of his efforts he was able only to remember
the multiplication table.
The snowflakes grew larger and larger, till at last they looked just
like great white fowls. Suddenly they flew on one side; the large
sledge stopped, and the person who drove rose up. It was a lady. Her
cloak and cap were of snow. She was tall, of slender figure, and of a
dazzling whiteness. It was the Snow-Queen.
“We have travelled fast,” said she; “but it is terribly cold. Come
under my bearskin.” And she put him in the sledge beside her, wrapped
the fur round him, and he felt as though he were sinking in a
snow-wreath.
“Are you still cold?” asked she; and then she kissed his forehead. Ah!
it was colder than ice; it penetrated to his very heart, which was
already almost a frozen lump; it seemed to him as if he were about to
die,--but a moment more and it was quite congenial to him, and he did
not notice the cold that was around him.
“My sledge! Do not forget my sledge!” It was the first thing he thought
of. It was there, tied to one of the white chickens, who flew along
with it on his back behind the large sledge. The Snow-Queen kissed Kay
once more, and then he forgot little Gerda, grandmother, and all whom
he had left at his home.
“Now you shall have no more kisses,” said she, “or else I should kiss
you to death!”
Kay looked at her. She was very beautiful; a more clever or a more
lovely countenance he could not fancy to himself; and she no longer
appeared of ice as before, when she sat outside the window, and
beckoned to him; in his eyes she was perfect; he did not fear her
at all, and told her that he could calculate in his head, and with
fractions even; that he knew the number of square miles there were in
the different countries, and how many inhabitants they contained; and
she smiled while he spoke. It then seemed to him as if what he knew
was not enough, and he looked upwards in the large, huge, empty space
about him, and on she flew with him; flew high over the black clouds,
while the storm moaned and whistled as though it were singing some old
tune. On they flew over woods and lakes, over seas and many lands; and
beneath them the chilling storm rushed fast, the wolves howled, the
snow crackled; above them flew large screaming crows, but higher up
appeared the moon, quite large and bright; and it was on it that Kay
gazed during the long, long winter’s night, while by day he slept at
the feet of the Snow-Queen.
THIRD STORY
_Of the Flower-garden at the Old Woman’s Who Understood Witchcraft_
But what became of little Gerda when Kay did not return? Where could he
be? Nobody knew. The boys said that they had seen him tie his sledge to
another large and splendid one, which drove down the street and out of
the town. But they did not know where he was. Many sad tears were shed,
and little Gerda wept long and bitterly; at last she said he must be
dead; that he had been drowned in the river which flowed close to the
town. Oh, those were very long and dismal winter evenings!
At last spring came with its warm sunshine.
“Kay is dead and gone!” said little Gerda.
“That I don’t believe,” said the Sunshine.
“Kay is dead and gone!” said she to the Swallows.
“That we don’t believe,” said they; and at last little Gerda did not
think so any longer either.
“I’ll put on my red shoes,” said she one morning; “Kay has never seen
them, and then I’ll go down to the river and ask there.”
It was quite early: she kissed her old grandmother, who was still
asleep, put on her red shoes, and went alone to the river.
“Is it true that you have taken my little playfellow? I will make you a
present of my red shoes if you will give him back to me.”
And, as it seemed to her, the blue waves nodded in a strange manner;
then she took off her red shoes, the most precious things she
possessed, and threw them both into the river. But they fell close to
the bank, and the little waves bore them immediately to land; it was
as if the stream would not take what was dearest to her; for in reality
it had not taken little Kay: but Gerda thought that she had not thrown
the shoes out far enough, so she clambered into a boat which lay among
the rushes, went to the farthest end, and threw out the shoes. But the
boat was not fastened, and the motion which she occasioned made it
drift from the shore. She observed this, and hastened to get back; but
before she could do so, the boat was more than a yard from the land,
and was gliding quickly onward.
Little Gerda was very 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 the bank, and sang as if to comfort her, “Here we
are! here we are!” The boat drifted with the stream, little Gerda sat
quite still without shoes, for they were swimming behind the boat, but
could not reach it, because it went much faster than they.
The banks on both sides were beautiful. There were lovely flowers,
venerable trees, and slopes with sheep and cows, but there was not a
human being to be seen anywhere.
“Perhaps the river will carry me to little Kay,” said she; and then she
grew less sad. She rose, and looked for many hours at the beautiful
green banks. Presently, she sailed by a large cherry-orchard, where
there was a little cottage with curious red and blue windows; it was
thatched, and before it two wooden soldiers stood sentry, and presented
arms when anyone went past.
Gerda called to them, for she thought they were alive; but they, of
course, did not answer. She came close to them, for the stream drifted
the boat quite near the land.
Gerda called still louder and then an old woman leaning upon a crooked
stick came out of the cottage. She had a large, broad-brimmed hat on,
painted with the most splendid flowers.
“Poor little child!” said the old woman, “how did you get upon the
large, rapid river, to be driven about so in the wide world!” And then
the old woman went into the water, caught hold of the boat with her
crooked stick, drew it to the bank, and lifted little Gerda out. And
Gerda was glad to be on dry land again, but she was rather afraid of
the strange old woman.
“But come and tell me who you are, and how you came here,” said she.
And Gerda told her all; and the old woman shook her head and said,
“A-hem! a-hem!” and when Gerda had told her everything, and asked
her if she had not seen little Kay, the woman answered that he had
not passed there, but he no doubt would come; and she told her not
to be cast down, but to taste her cherries, and look at her flowers,
which were finer than any in a picture-book, for each could tell a
whole story. She then took Gerda by the hand, led her into the little
cottage, and locked the door.
The windows were very high up; the glass was red, blue, and green, and
the sunlight shone through quite wondrously in all sorts of colours. On
the table stood the most exquisite cherries, and Gerda ate as many as
she chose, for she had permission to do so. While she was eating, the
old woman combed her hair with a golden comb, and her hair curled and
shone with a lovely golden colour around that sweet little face, which
was so round and so like a rose.
“I have often longed for such a dear little girl,” said the old woman.
“Now you shall see how well we agree together;” and while she combed
little Gerda’s hair, the child forgot her foster-brother Kay more and
more, for the old woman understood magic; but she was no evil being,
she only practised witchcraft a little for her own amusement, and she
wished very much to keep little Gerda. She, therefore, went out into
the garden, stretched out her crooked stick towards the rosebushes,
which, beautifully as they were growing, all sank into the earth, and
no one could tell where they had stood. The old woman feared that if
Gerda should see the roses, she would then think of her own, would
remember little Kay, and run away from her.
She now led Gerda into the flower-garden. Oh, what odour and what
loveliness was there! Every flower that one could think of, and of
every season, stood there in fullest bloom; no picture-book could be
gayer or more beautiful. Gerda jumped for joy, and played till the sun
set behind the tall cherry-tree; she then had a pretty bed, with a red
silken coverlet filled with blue violets. She fell asleep, and had as
pleasant dreams as ever a queen on her wedding-day.
The next morning she went to play with the flowers in the warm
sunshine, and thus passed away a day. Gerda knew every flower; and,
numerous as they were, it still seemed to Gerda that one was wanting,
though she did not know which. One day, while she was looking at the
old woman’s hat which was painted with flowers, the most beautiful of
them all seemed to her to be a rose. The old woman had forgotten to
take it from her hat when she made the others vanish in the earth. But
so it is when one’s thoughts are not collected. “What!” said Gerda,
“are there no roses here?” and she ran about amongst the flower-beds,
and looked, and looked, but there was not one to be found. She then sat
down and wept. Her hot tears fell just where a rosebush had sunk; and
where her warm tears watered the ground, the rosebush shot up suddenly
as fresh and blooming as when it had been swallowed up. Gerda kissed
the roses, thought of her own dear roses at home, and with them of
little Kay.
“Oh, how long I have stayed!” said the little girl. “I intended to look
for Kay! Don’t you know where he is?” asked she of the roses. “Do you
think he is dead and gone?”
“Dead he certainly is not,” said the roses. “We have been in the earth
where all the dead are, but Kay is not there.”
“Many thanks!” said little Gerda; and she went to the other flowers,
looked into their cups, and asked, “Don’t you know where little Kay
is?” But every flower stood in the sunshine, and dreamed its own
fairy-tale or its own story; and they all told her very many things;
but not one knew anything of Kay.
Then Gerda questioned the little snowdrop.
“Between the trees a long board is hanging--it is a swing. Two little
girls are sitting in it, and are swinging themselves backward and
forward: their frocks are as white as snow, and long green silk ribbons
flutter from their bonnets. Their brother, who is older than they
are, stands up in the swing; he twines his arms round the cords to
hold himself fast, for in one hand he has a little cup, and in the
other a clay pipe. He is blowing soap-bubbles. The swing moves. The
little black dog, as light as a soap-bubble, jumps up on his hind legs
to try to get into the swing. It moves, the dog falls down, barks,
and is angry. They tease him; the bubble bursts! A swing--a bursting
bubble--such is my song!”
“What you relate may be very pretty, but you tell it so sorrowfully,
and you don’t even mention little Kay.”
Then Gerda went to the buttercups, that looked forth from among the
shining green leaves.
“You are a little bright sun!” said Gerda. “Tell me if you know where
I can find my playfellow.”
And the buttercups shone brightly, and looked again at Gerda. What song
could they sing? It was one that said nothing about Kay either.
“In a small court the bright sun was shining in the first days of
spring. The beams glided down the white walls of a neighbour’s house,
and close by the fresh yellow flowers were growing, shining like gold
in the warm sun-rays. An old grandmother was sitting in the air, with
her granddaughter, the poor and lovely servant just come for a short
visit. She knows her grandmother. There was gold, pure, virgin gold
in that blessed kiss. There, that is our little story,” said the
buttercups.
“My poor old grandmother!” sighed Gerda. “Yes, she is longing for me,
no doubt; she is sorrowing for me, as she did for little Kay. But I
will soon come home, and then I will bring Kay with me. It is of no use
asking the flowers; they know only their own old rhymes, and can tell
me nothing.” And then off she ran to the further end of the garden.
The gate was locked, but she shook the rusted bolt till it was
loosened, and the gate opened; and little Gerda ran off barefooted
into the wide world. She looked round her thrice, but no one followed
her. At last she could run no longer; she sat down on a large stone,
and when she looked about her, she saw that the summer had passed; it
was late in the autumn, but that one could not remark in the beautiful
garden, where there was always sunshine, and where there were flowers
the whole year round.
“Dear me, how long I have stayed!” said Gerda. “Autumn is come. I must
not rest any longer.” And she got up to continue her journey.
Oh, how tender and weary her little feet were! All around it looked so
cold and raw; the long willow-leaves were quite yellow, and the fog
dripped from them like water; one leaf fell after the other; the sloes
only stood full of fruit which set one’s teeth on edge. Oh, how dark
and comfortless it was in the dreary world!
FOURTH STORY
_The Prince and Princess_
Gerda was obliged to rest herself again, when, exactly opposite to
her, a large raven came hopping over the white snow. He had long been
looking at Gerda and shaking his head; and now he said, “Caw! caw! Good
day! good day!” He could not say it better; but he felt a sympathy for
the little girl, and asked her where she was going all alone. The world
“alone” Gerda understood quite well, and felt how much was expressed by
it; so she told the Raven her whole history, and asked if he had not
seen Kay.
The Raven nodded very gravely, and said, “It may be--it may be!”
“What! do you really think so?” cried the little girl; and she nearly
squeezed the Raven to death, so much did she kiss him.
“Gently, gently,” said the Raven. “I think I know; I think that it may
be little Kay. But now he has forgotten you for the Princess.”
“Does he live with a princess?” asked Gerda.
“Yes,--listen,” said the Raven; “but it will be difficult for me to
speak your language. If you understand the Raven language, I can tell
you better.”
“No, I have not learnt it,” said Gerda; “but my grandmother understands
it. I wish I had learnt it.”
“No matter,” said the Raven; “I will tell you as well as I can;
however, it will be bad enough.” And then he told all he knew.
“In the kingdom where we now are there lives a princess who is
extraordinarily clever; for she has read all the newspapers in the
whole world, and has forgotten them again,--so clever is she. She
was lately, it is said, sitting on her throne,--which is not so very
amusing, after all,--when she began humming an old tune, and it was
just ‘Oh, why should I not be married?’ ‘That song is not without
its meaning,’ said she, and then she was determined to marry; but she
would have a husband who knew how to give an answer when he was spoken
to,--not one who looked only as if he were a great personage, for
that is so tiresome. She then had all the ladies of the court drummed
together; and when they heard her intention, all were well pleased,
and said, ‘We are quite glad to hear it; it is the very thing we were
thinking of.’ You may believe every word I say,” said the Raven, “for I
have a tame sweetheart that hops about in the palace quite free, and it
was she who told me all this.
“The newspapers appeared forthwith with a border of hearts and the
initials of the Princess; and therein you might read that every
good-looking young man was at liberty to come to the palace and speak
to the Princess; and he who spoke in such wise as showed he felt
himself at home there, that one the Princess would choose for her
husband.
“Yes--yes,” said the Raven, “you may believe it; it is as true as I am
sitting here. People came in crowds; there was a crush and a hurry,
but no one was successful either on the first or second day. They could
all talk well enough when they were out in the street; but as soon as
they came inside the palace-gates, and saw the guard richly dressed
in silver, and the lackeys in gold, on the staircase, and the large,
illuminated saloons, then they were abashed; and when they stood before
the throne on which the Princess was sitting, all they could do was to
repeat the last word they had uttered, and to hear it again did not
interest her very much. It was just as if the people within were under
a charm, and had fallen into a trance till they came out again into
the street; for then,--yes, then they could chatter enough. There was
a whole row of them standing from the town-gates to the palace. I was
there myself to look,” said the Raven. “They grew hungry and thirsty:
but from the palace they got nothing whatever, not even a glass of
water. Some of the cleverest, it is true, had taken bread and butter
with them; but none shared it with his neighbour, for each thought,
‘Let him look hungry, and then the Princess won’t have him.’”
“But Kay--little Kay,” said Gerda, “when did he come? Was he among the
number?”
“Patience, patience; we are just come to him. It was on the third day,
when a little personage, without horse or equipage, came marching right
boldly up to the palace; his eyes shone like yours, he had beautiful
long hair, but his clothes were very shabby.”
“That was Kay,” cried Gerda, with a voice of delight. “Oh, now I’ve
found him!” and she clapped her hands for joy.
“He had a little knapsack at his back,” said the Raven.
“No, that was certainly his sledge,” said Gerda; “for when he went away
he took his sledge with him.”
“That may be,” said the Raven; “I did not examine him so minutely: but
I know from my tame sweetheart that when he came into the courtyard
of the palace, and saw the bodyguard in silver, the lackeys on the
staircase, he was not the least abashed; he nodded, and said to them,
‘It must be very tiresome to stand on the stairs; for my part, I shall
go in.’ All the rooms were ablaze with light; privy-councilors and
excellencies were walking about barefoot, and bearing gold vases; it
was enough to make anyone feel uncomfortable. His boots creaked, too,
so loudly; but still he was not at all afraid.”
“That’s Kay, for certain,” said Gerda. “I know he had on new boots; I
have heard them creaking in grandmamma’s room.”
“Yes, they creaked,” said the Raven. “And on he went boldly up to the
Princess, who was sitting on a pearl as large as a spinning-wheel.
All the ladies of the court, with their attendants and attendants’
attendants, and all the cavaliers, with their gentlemen and gentlemen’s
gentlemen, stood round; and the nearer they stood to the door, the
prouder they looked. It was hardly possible to look at the gentlemen’s
gentleman, so very haughtily did he stand in the doorway.”
“It must have been terrible,” said little Gerda. “And did Kay get the
Princess?”
“Were I not a Raven, I should have taken the Princess myself, although
I am promised. It is said he spoke as well as I speak when I talk Raven
language; this I learned from my tame sweetheart. He was bold and
nicely behaved; he had not come to woo the Princess, but only to hear
her wisdom. She pleased him, and he pleased her.”
“Yes, yes; for certain that was Kay,” said Gerda. “He was so clever;
he could reckon fractions in his head. Oh, won’t you take me to the
palace?”
“That is very easily said,” answered the Raven. “But how are we to
manage it? I’ll speak to my tame sweetheart about it; she must advise
us; for so much I must tell you, such a little girl as you are will
never get permission to enter.”
“Oh, yes, I shall,” said Gerda; “when Kay hears that I am here, he will
come out directly to fetch me.”
“Wait for me here on these steps,” said the Raven. He moved his head
backward and forward, and flew away.
The evening was closing in when the Raven returned.
“Caw! caw!” said he. “She sends you her compliments; and here is a roll
for you. She took it out of the kitchen, where there is bread enough.
You are hungry, no doubt. It is not possible for you to enter the
palace, for you are barefoot; the guards in silver and the lackeys in
gold would not allow it; but do not cry, you shall come in still. My
sweetheart knows a little back stair that leads to the bedroom, and she
knows where she can find the key.”
And they went into the garden by the large avenue, where one leaf
after another was falling; and when the lights in the palace had all
gradually disappeared, the Raven led little Gerda to the back door,
which stood half open. Oh, how Gerda’s heart beat with longing! It was
just as if she had been about to do something wrong; and yet she only
wanted to know if little Kay was there. Yes, he must be there. She
called to mind his intelligent eyes and his long hair so vividly, she
could quite see him as he used to laugh when they were sitting under
the roses at home. “He will, no doubt, be glad to see you,--to hear
what a long way you have come for his sake; to know how unhappy all at
home were when he did not come back.”
Her heart thrilled with fear and joy.
They were now on the stairs. A single lamp was burning there; and on
the floor stood the tame Raven, turning her head on every side and
looking at Gerda, who bowed as her grandmother had taught her to do.
“My intended has told me so much good of you, my dear young lady,” said
the tame Raven. “Your tale is very affecting. If you will take the
lamp, I will go before. We will go straight on, for we shall meet no
one.”
“I think there is somebody just behind us,” said Gerda; and something
rushed past: it was like shadowy figures on the wall; horses with
flowing manes and thin legs, huntsmen, ladies and gentlemen on
horseback.
“They are only dreams,” said the Raven. “They come to fetch the
thoughts of the high personages to the chase: ’tis well, for now you
can look at them in their beds quite safely.”