embroidered with flowers. Here the dreams were rushing past, but they
hastened by so quickly that Gerda could not see the high personages.
One hall was more magnificent than the other; and at last they came to
a bedroom. The ceiling of the room was like a large palm-tree, with
leaves of costly glass; and in the middle of the floor two beds shaped
like lilies hung from thick, golden stems. One was white, and in this
lay the Princess: the other was red, and it was there that Gerda was
to look for little Kay. She bent back one of the red leaves, and saw a
brown neck--Oh, that was Kay! She called him quite loud by name, held
the lamp toward him, he awoke, turned his head, and--it was not little
Kay!
The Prince was only like him about the neck; but he was young and
handsome. And out of the white lily leaves the Princess peeped, too,
and asked what was the matter. Then little Gerda cried and told her her
whole history, and all that the Ravens had done for her.
“Poor little thing!” said the Prince and the Princess. They praised the
Ravens very much, and told them they were not at all angry with them,
but they were not to do so again. However, they should have a reward.
“Will you fly about here at liberty,” asked the Princess; “or would you
like to have a fixed appointment as court ravens, with all the broken
bits from the kitchen?”
And both the Ravens nodded, and begged for a fixed appointment; for
they thought of their old age, and said, “It was a good thing to have a
provision for their old days.”
And the Prince got up and let Gerda sleep in his bed, and more than
this he could not do. She folded her little hands, and thought, “How
kind all are to me, people and animals as well,” and she then fell
asleep and slept soundly. All the dreams flew in again, and they now
looked like the angels; they drew a little sledge, in which little Kay
sat and nodded his head; but the whole was only a dream, and therefore
it all vanished as soon as she awoke.
The next day she was dressed from head to foot in silk and velvet. They
offered to let her stay at the palace, and lead a happy life; but she
begged to have a little carriage with a horse in front, and for a small
pair of shoes: then, she said, she would again go forth in the wide
world and look for Kay.
Shoes and a muff were given her; she was dressed very nicely, too; and
when she was about to set off, a new carriage stopped before the door.
It was of pure gold, and the arms of the Prince and Princess shone
like a star upon it; the coachman, the footman, and the outriders, for
outriders were there, too, all wore golden crowns. The Prince and the
Princess assisted her into the carriage themselves, and wished her
all success. The Raven of the woods, who was now married, accompanied
her for the first three miles. He sat beside Gerda, for he could
not bear riding backward. The other Raven stood in the doorway; and
flapped her wings; she could not accompany Gerda, because she suffered
from headache since she had a fixed appointment and ate so much. The
carriage was lined inside with sugar-plums, and in the seats were
fruits and gingerbread.
“Farewell! farewell!” cried Prince and Princess; and Gerda wept, and
the Raven wept. Thus passed the first three miles; and then the Raven
bade her farewell, and this was the most painful separation of all. He
perched upon a tree, and flapped his black wings as long as he could
see the coach.
FIFTH STORY
_The Little Robber-Maiden_
Now Gerda was driven through a gloomy forest, but the coach shone like
a torch, and it dazzled the eyes of some robbers who were in the woods
so that they could not bear to look at it.
“’Tis gold! ’Tis gold!” cried they; and they rushed forward, seized
the horses, knocked down the little postilion, the coachman, and the
servants, and pulled little Gerda out of the carriage.
“How plump, how beautiful she is! She must have been fed on
nut-kernels,” said an old robber-woman, who had a long, scrubby beard,
and bushy eyebrows that hung down over her eyes. “She will taste as
good as a fatted lamb!” And then she drew out a knife, the blade of
which shone so that it was quite dreadful to behold.
“Let her alone,” called out a little robber-child. “She will give me
her muff, and her pretty frock; she shall sleep in my bed!”
“I will have a ride in her carriage,” said the little robber-maiden.
She would have her will, for she was very spoiled, and very
headstrong. She and Gerda got in; and then away they drove over the
stumps of felled trees, deeper and deeper into the woods. The little
robber-maiden was as tall as Gerda, but stronger, broader-shouldered,
and of dark complexion; her eyes were quite black. She embraced
little Gerda, and said, “They shall not kill you as long as I am not
displeased with you. You are, doubtless, a princess?”
“No,” said little Gerda, who then related all that had happened to her,
and how much she cared about little Kay.
The little robber-maiden looked at her with a serious air, nodded her
head slightly, and said, “They shall not kill you, even if I am angry
with you: then I will do it myself;” and she dried Gerda’s eyes, and
put both her hands in the handsome muff, which was so soft and warm.
At length the carriage stopped. They were in the midst of the courtyard
of a robber’s castle. It was full of cracks from top to bottom; and out
of the openings magpies and rooks were flying; and the great bulldogs,
each of which looked as if he could swallow a man, jumped up, but they
did not bark, for that was forbidden.
In the midst of the large, old, smoking hall burnt a great fire on the
stone floor. The smoke disappeared under the stones, and had to seek
its own egress. In an immense cauldron soup was boiling; and rabbits
and hares were being roasted on a spit.
“You shall sleep with me to-night, with my little animals,” said the
little robber-maiden. They had something to eat and drink; and then
went into a corner, where straw and carpets were lying. Beside them, on
perches, sat nearly a hundred pigeons, all asleep, seemingly, but yet
they moved a little when the robber-maiden came. “They are all mine,”
said she, at the same time seizing one that was next to her by the
legs, and shaking it so that its wings fluttered.
“Kiss it!” cried the little girl, flapping the pigeon in Gerda’s face.
“There are a lot of them,” continued she, pointing to a hole high up
in the wall. “They would all fly away immediately, if they were not
well fastened in. And here is my dear old Bac.” She laid hold of the
horns of a reindeer, that had a bright copper ring round its neck, and
was tethered to the spot. “We are obliged to lock this fellow in, too,
or he would make his escape. Every evening I tickle his neck with my
sharp knife, which he is very much afraid of!” and the little girl drew
forth a long knife from a crack in the wall, and let it glide gently
across the reindeer’s neck. The poor animal began to kick and the girl
laughed, and pulled Gerda into bed with her.
“Do you intend to keep your knife while you sleep?” asked Gerda,
looking at it rather fearfully.
“I always sleep with the knife,” said the little robber-maiden: “there
is no knowing what may happen. But tell me now, once more, all about
little Kay; and why you have started off in the wide world alone.” And
Gerda related all, from the very beginning. The little robber-maiden
wound her arm round Gerda’s neck, held the knife in the other hand, and
snored so loud that everybody could hear her. But Gerda could not close
her eyes, not knowing whether she was to live or die. The robbers sat
round the fire, and the old robber-woman jumped about so, that it was
dreadful for Gerda to see her.
Then the wood-pigeons said, “Coo! coo! we have seen little Kay! A
white hen carries his sledge; he himself sat in the carriage of the
Snow-Queen, which passed right over the forest as we lay in our nests.
She blew upon us young ones, and all died except we two. Coo! coo!”
“What is that you say up there?” cried little Gerda. “Where did the
Snow-Queen go to? Do you know anything about it?”
“She is no doubt gone to Lapland; for there are always snow and ice
there. Only ask the Reindeer, who is tethered here.”
“Aye, ice and snow indeed! There it is glorious and beautiful!” said
the Reindeer. “One can spring about in the large, shining valleys! The
Snow-Queen has her summer-tent there; but her fixed abode is high up
towards the North Pole, on the island called Spitzbergen.”
“O Kay! poor little Kay!” sighed Gerda.
“Do you choose to be quiet?” said the robber-maiden. “If you don’t, I
shall make you.”
In the morning Gerda told her all that the wood-pigeons had said; and
the little maiden looked very serious, but she nodded her head, and
said, “That’s no matter--that’s no matter. Do you know where Lapland
lies?” asked she of the Reindeer.
“Who should know better than I?” said the animal; and his eyes rolled
in his head. “I was born and bred there; there I leapt about on the
fields of snow.”
“Listen,” said the robber-maiden to Gerda. “You see that the men are
gone; but my mother is still here, and will remain. As soon as she
sleeps a little I will do something for you.” She now jumped out
of bed, flew to her mother; and with her arms round her neck said,
“Good-morning, you old stupid! good-morning.” And her mother in return
took hold of her nose, and pinched it till it was red and blue,--and
all this was out of pure love.
When the mother had taken a sup, and was having a nap, the little
robber-maiden went to the Reindeer, and said, “I should very much like
to give you still many a tickling with a sharp knife, for then you are
so amusing; however, I will untether you, and help you out, so that you
may get back to Lapland. But you must make good use of your legs; and
take this little girl for me to the palace of the Snow-Queen, where her
playfellow is. You have heard, I suppose, all she said; for she spoke
loud enough, and you were listening.”
The Reindeer gave a bound for joy. The robber-maiden lifted up little
Gerda, and took the precaution to bind her fast on the Reindeer’s back;
she even gave her a small cushion to sit on. “Here are your worsted
leggins, for it will be cold; but the muff I shall keep for myself, for
it is so very pretty. But I do not wish you to be cold. Here is a pair
of lined gloves belonging to my mother; they will just reach up to your
elbow.”
And Gerda wept for joy.
“I can’t bear to see you fretting,” said the little robber-maiden.
“This is just the time when you ought to look pleased. Here are two
loaves and a ham for you, so now you won’t starve.” The bread and the
meat were fastened to the Reindeer’s back; the little maiden opened the
door, called in all the dogs, and then with her knife cut the rope that
fastened the animal, and said to him, “Now off with you; but take good
care of the little girl!”
And Gerda stretched out her hands with the large, wadded gloves toward
the robber-maiden, and said, “Farewell!” and the Reindeer flew on over
bush and bramble, through the great wood, over moor and heath, as fast
as he could go.
SIXTH STORY
_The Lapland Woman and the Finland Woman_
Suddenly they stopped before a little house which looked very
miserable: the roof reached to the ground; and the door was so low,
that the family was obliged to creep on all fours when they went in or
out. Nobody was at home except an old Lapland woman, who was dressing
fish by the light of an oil lamp. And the Reindeer told her the whole
of Gerda’s history, but first of all, his own; for that seemed to him
of much greater importance. Gerda was so chilled that she could not
speak.
“Poor thing,” said the Lapland woman, “you have far to run still. You
have more than a hundred miles to go before you get to Finland; there
the Snow-Queen has her country-house, and burns blue lights every
evening. I will give you a few words from me, which I will write on a
dried fish, for paper I have none. This you can take with you to the
Finland woman, and she will be able to give you more information than I
can.”
When Gerda had warmed herself, and had eaten and drunk, the Lapland
woman wrote a few words on a dried fish, begged Gerda to take care of
them, put her on the Reindeer, bound her fast, and away sprang the
animal. The most charming blue lights burned the whole night in the
sky, and at last they came to Finland. They knocked at the chimney of
the Finland woman; for as to a door, she had none.
There was such a heat inside that the Finland woman herself went about
almost naked. She was diminutive and dirty. She immediately loosened
little Gerda’s clothes, pulled off her thick gloves and boots; for
otherwise the heat would have been too great; and after laying a piece
of ice on the Reindeer’s head, read what was written on the fishskin.
She read it three times; she then knew it by heart; so she put the fish
into the cupboard--for it might very well be eaten, and she never threw
anything away.
Then the Reindeer related his own story first, and afterwards that of
little Gerda; and the Finland woman winked her eyes, but said nothing.
“You are so clever,” said the Reindeer: “you can, I know, twist all
the winds of the world together in a knot. If the seaman loosens one
knot, then he has a good wind; if a second, then it blows pretty
stiffly; if he undoes the third and fourth, then it rages so that the
forests are upturned. Will you give the little maiden a potion, that
she may possess the strength of twelve men, and be able to conquer the
Snow-Queen?”
“The strength of twelve men!” said the Finland woman; “much good that
would be!” Then she went to a cupboard, and drew out a large skin
rolled up. When she had unrolled it, strange characters were to be
seen written thereon; and the Finland woman read at such a rate, that
the perspiration trickled down her forehead. But the Reindeer begged
so hard for little Gerda, and Gerda looked so imploringly with tearful
eyes at the Finland woman, that she winked and drew the Reindeer aside
into a corner, where they whispered together, while the animal got some
fresh ice put on his head.
“’Tis true little Kay is at the Snow-Queen’s and finds everything there
quite to his taste; and he thinks it the very best place in the world:
but the reason of that is, he has a splinter of glass in his eye and in
his heart. These must be gotten out first; otherwise he will never go
back to mankind, and the Snow-Queen will always retain her power over
him.”
“But you can give little Gerda nothing to take which will endue her
with power over the whole?”
“I can give her no more power than what she has already. Don’t you
see how great it is? Don’t you see how men and animals are forced to
serve her; how well she gets through the world barefooted? She must not
hear of her power from us: that power lies in her heart, because she
is a sweet and innocent child! If she cannot get to the Snow-Queen by
herself, and rid little Kay of the glass, we cannot help her. Two miles
hence the garden of the Snow-Queen begins; thither you may carry the
little girl. Set her down by the large bush with red berries, standing
in the snow; don’t stay talking, but hasten back as fast as possible.”
And now the Finland woman placed little Gerda on the Reindeer’s back,
and off he ran with all imaginable speed.
“Oh! I have not got my boots! I have not brought my gloves!” cried
little Gerda. She remarked she was without them from the cutting frost;
but the Reindeer dared not stand still; on he ran till he came to the
great bush with the red berries; and there he set Gerda down, kissed
her mouth, while large, bright tears flowed from the animal’s eyes,
and then back he went as fast as possible. There stood poor Gerda now,
without shoes or gloves, in the very middle of dreadful, icy Finland.
She ran on as fast as she could. There then came a whole regiment of
snowflakes, but they did not fall from above, and they were quite
bright and shining from the Aurora Borealis. The flakes ran along the
ground, and the nearer they came the larger they grew. Gerda well
remembered how large and strange the snowflakes appeared when she
once saw them through a magnifying-glass; but now they were large and
terrific in another manner--they were all alive. They were the outposts
of the Snow-Queen. They had the most wondrous shapes; some looked like
large, ugly porcupines; others like snakes knotted together, with
their heads sticking out; and others, again, like small, fat bears,
with the hair standing on end: all were of dazzling whiteness--all were
living snowflakes.
The cold was so intense that little Gerda could see her own breath,
which came like smoke out of her mouth. It grew thicker and thicker,
and took the form of little angels, that grew more and more when they
touched the earth. All had helmets on their heads, and carried lances
and shields in their hands. They increased in numbers; and soon Gerda
was surrounded by a host of them. They pierced the frightful snowflakes
with their spears, so that they flew into a thousand pieces; and little
Gerda walked on bravely and in security. The angels patted her hands
and feet; and then she felt the cold less, and went on quickly towards
the palace of the Snow-Queen.
But now we shall see how Kay fared. He never thought of Gerda, and
least of all that she was standing before the palace.
SEVENTH STORY
_What Took Place in the Palace of the Snow-Queen, and What Happened
Afterward_
The walls of the palace were of driving snow, and the windows and doors
of cutting winds. There were more than a hundred halls there, according
as the snow was driven by the winds. The largest was many miles in
extent; all were lighted up by the powerful Aurora Borealis, and all
were large, empty, icy cold, and resplendent! Mirth never reigned
there; there was never even a little ball for the bears, with the storm
of music, while the polar bears went on their hind-legs and showed off
their steps. Never a little tea-party of white young lady foxes; vast,
cold, and empty were the halls of the Snow-Queen. The northern lights
shone with such precision that one could tell exactly when they were
at their highest or lowest degree of brightness. In the middle of the
empty, endless hall of snow was a frozen lake; it was cracked in a
thousand pieces, but each piece was so like the other, that it seemed
the work of a cunning artificer. In the middle of this lake sat the
Snow-Queen when she was at home. But just now she had gone away in a
far distant land.
Little Kay was quite blue, yes, nearly black, with cold; but he did not
observe it, for she had kissed away all feeling of cold from his body,
and his heart was a lump of ice. He was dragging along some pointed,
flat pieces of ice, which he laid together in all possible ways, for
he wanted to make something with them; just as we have little flat
pieces of wood to make geometrical figures with, called the Chinese
Puzzle. Kay made all sorts of figures, the most complicated, for it
was an ice-puzzle for the understanding. In his eyes the figures were
extraordinarily beautiful, and of the utmost importance; for the bit of
glass which was in his eye caused this. He found whole figures which
represented a written word; but he never could manage to represent just
the word he wanted--that word was “Eternity”; and the Snow-Queen had
said, “If you can discover that figure, you shall be your own master,
and I will make you a present of the whole world and a pair of new
skates.” But he could not find it out.
“I am going now to the warm lands,” said the Snow-Queen. “I must have
a look down into the black cauldrons.” It was the volcanoes Vesuvius
and Etna that she meant. “I will just give them a coating of white, for
that is as it ought to be; besides, it is good for the oranges and the
grapes.” And then away she flew, and Kay sat quite alone in the empty
halls of ice that were miles long, and looked at the blocks of ice.
There he sat quite benumbed and motionless; one would have imagined he
was frozen to death.
Suddenly little Gerda stepped through the great portal into the palace.
The gate was formed of cutting winds; but Gerda repeated her evening
prayer, and the winds were laid as though they slept; and the little
maiden entered the vast, empty, cold halls. There she beheld Kay: she
recognized him, flew to embrace him, and cried out, her arms firmly
holding him the while, “Kay, sweet little Kay! Have I then found you at
last!”
But he sat quite still, benumbed and cold. Then little Gerda shed
burning tears; and they fell on his bosom, they penetrated to his
heart, they thawed the lumps of ice, and consumed the splinters of the
looking-glass; he looked at her, and she sang the hymn:--
“The rose in the valley is blooming so sweet,
The Christ-child is there the children to greet.”
Hereupon Kay burst into tears; he wept so much that the splinter rolled
out of his eye, and he recognized her, and shouted, “Gerda, sweet
little Gerda! where have you been so long? And where have I been?” He
looked round him, “How cold it is here!” said he: “how empty and cold!”
And he held fast by Gerda, who laughed and wept for joy. It was so
beautiful, that even the blocks of ice danced about for joy; and when
they were tired and laid themselves down, they formed exactly the
letters which the Snow-Queen had told him to find out; so now he was
his own master, and he would have the whole world and a pair of new
skates into the bargain.
Gerda kissed his cheeks, and they grew quite blooming; she kissed his
eyes, and they shone like her own; she kissed his hands and feet, and
he was again well and merry. The Snow-Queen might come back as soon as
she liked; there stood his discharge written in resplendent masses of
ice.
They took each other by the hands, and wandered forth out of the large
hall; they talked of their old grandmother, and of the roses upon the
roof; and wherever they went, the winds ceased raging, and the sun
burst forth. And when they reached the bush with the red berries,
they found the Reindeer waiting for them. He had brought another, a
young one, with him, whose udder was filled with milk, which he gave
to the little ones, and kissed their lips. They then carried Kay and
Gerda,--first to the Finland woman, where they warmed themselves in
the warm room, and learned what they were to do on their journey home;
and then they went to the Lapland woman, who made some new clothes for
them and repaired their sledges.
The Reindeer and the young hind leaped along beside them, and
accompanied them to the boundary of the country. Here the first
vegetation peeped forth; here Kay and Gerda took leave of the Lapland
woman. “Farewell! farewell!” said they all. And the first green buds
appeared, the first little birds began to twitter; and out of the wood
came, riding on a magnificent horse which Gerda knew (it was one of the
leaders in the golden carriage), a young damsel with a bright red cap
on her head, and armed with pistols. It was the little robber-maiden,
who, tired of being at home, had determined to make a journey to the
north; and afterwards in another direction, if that did not please her.
She recognized Gerda immediately, and Gerda knew her, too. It was a
joyful meeting.
“You are a fine fellow for tramping about,” said she to little Kay; “I
should like to know whether you deserve that one should run from one
end of the world to the other for your sake!”
But Gerda patted her cheeks, and inquired for the Prince and Princess.
“They are gone abroad,” said the other.
“But the Raven?” asked little Gerda.
“Oh! the Raven is dead,” answered she. “His tame sweetheart is a widow,
and wears a bit of black worsted round her leg; she laments most
piteously, but it’s all mere talk and stuff! Now tell me what you’ve
been doing, and how you managed to catch him.”
And Gerda and Kay both told her their story.