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[Illustration]
STORIES _FROM_
HANS ANDERSEN
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY_
EDMUND DULAC
HODDER & STOUGHTON
LIMITED LONDON
ILLUSTRATIONS
_THE SNOW QUEEN_
PAGE
One day he was in a high state of delight because he had
invented a mirror 5
Many a winter's night she flies through the streets 11
Then an old, old woman came out of the house 23
She has read all the newspapers in the world, and forgotten
them again, so clever is she 37
'It is gold, it is gold!' they cried 51
Kissed her on the mouth, while big shining tears trickled
down its face 63
The Snow Queen sat in the very middle of it when she sat
at home 71
_THE NIGHTINGALE_
Even the poor fisherman ... lay still to listen to it 81
'Is it possible?' said the gentleman-in-waiting. 'I should
never have thought it was like that' 89
Took some water into their mouths to try and make the same
gurgling, ... thinking so to equal the nightingale 95
The music-master wrote five-and-twenty volumes about the
artificial bird 101
Even Death himself listened to the song 109
_THE REAL PRINCESS_
'I have hardly closed my eyes the whole night!
Heaven knows what was in the bed. I seemed to
be lying upon some hard thing, and my whole body
is black and blue this morning. It is terrible!' _Frontispiece_
_THE GARDEN OF PARADISE_
His grandmother had told him ... that every flower in the
Garden of Paradise was a delicious cake 117
The Eastwind flew more swiftly still 131
The Fairy of the Garden now advanced to meet them 139
The Fairy dropped her shimmering garment, drew back the
branches, and a moment after was hidden within their depths 147
_THE MERMAID_
The Merman King had been for many years a widower 155
He must have died if the little mermaid had not come to
the rescue 169
At the mere sight of the bright liquid 183
The prince asked who she was and how she came there 189
Dashed overboard and fell, her body dissolving into foam 199
_THE EMPEROR'S NEW CLOTHES_
The poor old minister stared as hard as he could, but he
could not see anything 209
Then the Emperor walked along in the procession under the
gorgeous canopy, and everybody in the streets and at the
windows exclaimed, 'How beautiful the Emperor's new
clothes are!' 215
_THE WIND'S TALE_
She played upon the ringing lute, and sang to its tones 225
She was always picking flowers and herbs 233
He lifted it with a trembling hand and shouted with a
trembling voice: 'Gold! gold!' 241
Waldemar Daa hid it in his bosom, took his staff in his
hand, and, with his three daughters, the once wealthy
gentleman walked out of Borreby Hall for the last time 247
THE SNOW QUEEN
A TALE IN SEVEN STORIES
FIRST STORY
WHICH DEALS WITH A MIRROR AND ITS FRAGMENTS
[Illustration: _One day he was in a high state of delight because he had
invented a mirror with this peculiarity, that every good and pretty
thing reflected in it shrank away to almost nothing._]
Now we are about to begin, and you must attend; and when we get to the
end of the story, you will know more than you do now about a very wicked
hobgoblin. He was one of the worst kind; in fact he was a real demon.
One day he was in a high state of delight because he had invented a
mirror with this peculiarity, that every good and pretty thing reflected
in it shrank away to almost nothing. On the other hand, every bad and
good-for-nothing thing stood out and looked its worst. The most
beautiful landscapes reflected in it looked like boiled spinach, and the
best people became hideous, or else they were upside down and had no
bodies. Their faces were distorted beyond recognition, and if they had
even one freckle it appeared to spread all over the nose and mouth. The
demon thought this immensely amusing. If a good thought passed through
any one's mind, it turned to a grin in the mirror, and this caused real
delight to the demon. All the scholars in the demon's school, for he
kept a school, reported that a miracle had taken place: now for the
first time it had become possible to see what the world and mankind were
really like. They ran about all over with the mirror, till at last there
was not a country or a person which had not been seen in this distorting
mirror. They even wanted to fly up to heaven with it to mock the angels;
but the higher they flew, the more it grinned, so much so that they
could hardly hold it, and at last it slipped out of their hands and fell
to the earth, shivered into hundreds of millions and billions of bits.
Even then it did more harm than ever. Some of these bits were not as big
as a grain of sand, and these flew about all over the world, getting
into people's eyes, and, once in, they stuck there, and distorted
everything they looked at, or made them see everything that was amiss.
Each tiniest grain of glass kept the same power as that possessed by the
whole mirror. Some people even got a bit of the glass into their hearts,
and that was terrible, for the heart became like a lump of ice. Some of
the fragments were so big that they were used for window panes, but it
was not advisable to look at one's friends through these panes. Other
bits were made into spectacles, and it was a bad business when people
put on these spectacles meaning to be just. The bad demon laughed
till he split his sides; it tickled him to see the mischief he had done.
But some of these fragments were still left floating about the world,
and you shall hear what happened to them.
SECOND STORY
ABOUT A LITTLE BOY AND A LITTLE GIRL
[Illustration: _Many a winter's night she flies through the streets and
peeps in at the windows, and then the ice freezes on the panes into
wonderful patterns like flowers._]
In a big town crowded with houses and people, where there is no room for
gardens, people have to be content with flowers in pots instead. In one
of these towns lived two children who managed to have something bigger
than a flower pot for a garden. They were not brother and sister, but
they were just as fond of each other as if they had been. Their parents
lived opposite each other in two attic rooms. The roof of one house just
touched the roof of the next one, with only a rain-water gutter between
them. They each had a little dormer window, and one only had to step
over the gutter to get from one house to the other. Each of the parents
had a large window-box, in which they grew pot herbs and a little
rose-tree. There was one in each box, and they both grew splendidly.
Then it occurred to the parents to put the boxes across the gutter, from
house to house, and they looked just like two banks of flowers. The pea
vines hung down over the edges of the boxes, and the roses threw out
long creepers which twined round the windows. It was almost like a green
triumphal arch. The boxes were high, and the children knew they must not
climb up on to them, but they were often allowed to have their little
stools out under the rose-trees, and there they had delightful games. Of
course in the winter there was an end to these amusements. The windows
were often covered with hoar-frost; then they would warm coppers on the
stove and stick them on the frozen panes, where they made lovely
peep-holes, as round as possible. Then a bright eye would peep through
these holes, one from each window. The little boy's name was Kay, and
the little girl's Gerda.
In the summer they could reach each other with one bound, but in the
winter they had to go down all the stairs in one house and up all the
stairs in the other, and outside there were snowdrifts.
'Look! the white bees are swarming,' said the old grandmother.
'Have they a queen bee, too?' asked the little boy, for he knew that
there was a queen among the real bees.
'Yes, indeed they have,' said the grandmother. 'She flies where the
swarm is thickest. She is biggest of them all, and she never remains on
the ground. She always flies up again to the sky. Many a winter's night
she flies through the streets and peeps in at the windows, and then the
ice freezes on the panes into wonderful patterns like flowers.'
'Oh yes, we have seen that,' said both children, and then they knew
it was true.
'Can the Snow Queen come in here?' asked the little girl.
'Just let her come,' said the boy, 'and I will put her on the stove,
where she will melt.'
But the grandmother smoothed his hair and told him more stories.
In the evening when little Kay was at home and half undressed, he crept
up on to the chair by the window, and peeped out of the little hole. A
few snow-flakes were falling, and one of these, the biggest, remained on
the edge of the window-box. It grew bigger and bigger, till it became
the figure of a woman, dressed in the finest white gauze, which appeared
to be made of millions of starry flakes. She was delicately lovely, but
all ice, glittering, dazzling ice. Still she was alive, her eyes shone
like two bright stars, but there was no rest or peace in them. She
nodded to the window and waved her hand. The little boy was frightened
and jumped down off the chair, and then he fancied that a big bird flew
past the window.
The next day was bright and frosty, and then came the thaw--and after
that the spring. The sun shone, green buds began to appear, the swallows
built their nests, and people began to open their windows. The little
children began to play in their garden on the roof again. The roses were
in splendid bloom that summer; the little girl had learnt a hymn, and
there was something in it about roses, and that made her think of her
own. She sang it to the little boy, and then he sang it with her--
'Where roses deck the flowery vale,
There, Infant Jesus, we thee hail!'
The children took each other by the hands, kissed the roses, and
rejoiced in God's bright sunshine, and spoke to it as if the Child Jesus
were there. What lovely summer days they were, and how delightful it was
to sit out under the fresh rose-trees, which seemed never tired of
blooming.
Kay and Gerda were looking at a picture book of birds and animals one
day--it had just struck five by the church clock--when Kay said, 'Oh,
something struck my heart, and I have got something in my eye!'
The little girl put her arms round his neck, he blinked his eye; there
was nothing to be seen.
'I believe it is gone,' he said; but it was not gone. It was one of
those very grains of glass from the mirror, the magic mirror. You
remember that horrid mirror, in which all good and great things
reflected in it became small and mean, while the bad things were
magnified, and every flaw became very apparent.
Poor Kay! a grain of it had gone straight to his heart, and would soon
turn it to a lump of ice. He did not feel it any more, but it was still
there.
'Why do you cry?' he asked; 'it makes you look ugly; there's nothing the
matter with me. How horrid!' he suddenly cried; 'there's a worm in that
rose, and that one is quite crooked; after all, they are nasty roses,
and so are the boxes they are growing in!' He kicked the box and broke
off two of the roses.
'What are you doing, Kay?' cried the little girl. When he saw her alarm,
he broke off another rose, and then ran in by his own window, and left
dear little Gerda alone.
When she next got out the picture book he said it was only fit for
babies in long clothes. When his grandmother told them stories he always
had a but--, and if he could manage it, he liked to get behind her
chair, put on her spectacles and imitate her. He did it very well and
people laughed at him. He was soon able to imitate every one in the
street; he could make fun of all their peculiarities and failings. 'He
will turn out a clever fellow,' said people. But it was all that bit of
glass in his heart, that bit of glass in his eye, and it made him tease
little Gerda who was so devoted to him. He played quite different games
now; he seemed to have grown older. One winter's day, when the snow was
falling fast, he brought in a big magnifying glass; he held out the tail
of his blue coat, and let the snow flakes fall upon it.
'Now look through the glass, Gerda!' he said; every snowflake was
magnified, and looked like a lovely flower, or a sharply pointed star.
'Do you see how cleverly they are made?' said Kay. 'Much more
interesting than looking at real flowers. And there is not a single flaw
in them; they are perfect, if only they would not melt.'
Shortly after, he appeared in his thick gloves, with his sledge on his
back. He shouted right into Gerda's ear, 'I have got leave to drive in
the big square where the other boys play!' and away he went.
In the big square the bolder boys used to tie their little sledges to
the farm carts and go a long way in this fashion. They had no end of fun
over it. Just in the middle of their games a big sledge came along; it
was painted white, and the occupant wore a white fur coat and cap. The
sledge drove twice round the square, and Kay quickly tied his sledge on
behind. Then off they went, faster, and faster, into the next street.
The driver turned round and nodded to Kay in the most friendly way, just
as if they knew each other. Every time Kay wanted to loose his sledge
the person nodded again, and Kay stayed where he was, and they drove
right out through the town gates. Then the snow began to fall so heavily
that the little boy could not see a hand before him as they rushed
along. He undid the cords and tried to get away from the big sledge, but
it was no use, his little sledge stuck fast, and on they rushed, faster
than the wind. He shouted aloud, but nobody heard him, and the sledge
tore on through the snow-drifts. Every now and then it gave a bound, as
if they were jumping over hedges and ditches. He was very frightened,
and he wanted to say his prayers, but he could only remember the
multiplication tables.
The snow-flakes grew bigger and bigger, till at last they looked like
big white chickens. All at once they sprang on one side, the big sledge
stopped and the person who drove got up, coat and cap smothered in snow.
It was a tall and upright lady all shining white, the Snow Queen
herself.
'We have come along at a good pace,' she said; 'but it's cold enough to
kill one; creep inside my bearskin coat.'
She took him into the sledge by her, wrapped him in her furs, and he
felt as if he were sinking into a snowdrift.
'Are you still cold?' she asked, and she kissed him on the forehead.
Ugh! it was colder than ice, it went to his very heart, which was
already more than half ice; he felt as if he were dying, but only for a
moment, and then it seemed to have done him good; he no longer felt the
cold.
'My sledge! don't forget my sledge!' He only remembered it now; it was
tied to one of the white chickens which flew along behind them. The Snow
Queen kissed Kay again, and then he forgot all about little Gerda,
Grandmother, and all the others at home.
'Now I mustn't kiss you any more,' she said, 'or I should kiss you to
death!'
Kay looked at her, she was so pretty; a cleverer, more beautiful face
could hardly be imagined. She did not seem to be made of ice now, as she
was outside the window when she waved her hand to him. In his eyes she
was quite perfect, and he was not a bit afraid of her; he told her that
he could do mental arithmetic, as far as fractions, and that he knew the
number of square miles and the number of inhabitants of the country. She
always smiled at him, and he then thought that he surely did not know
enough, and he looked up into the wide expanse of heaven, into which
they rose higher and higher as she flew with him on a dark cloud, while
the storm surged around them, the wind ringing in their ears like
well-known old songs.
They flew over woods and lakes, over oceans and islands; the cold wind
whistled down below them, the wolves howled, the black crows flew
screaming over the sparkling snow, but up above, the moon shone bright
and clear--and Kay looked at it all the long, long winter nights; in the
day he slept at the Snow Queen's feet.
STORY THREE
THE GARDEN OF THE WOMAN LEARNED IN MAGIC
[Illustration: _Then an old, old woman came out of the house; she was
leaning upon a big, hooked stick, and she wore a big sun hat, which was
covered with beautiful painted flowers._]
But how was little Gerda getting on all this long time since Kay left
her? Where could he be? Nobody knew, nobody could say anything about
him. All that the other boys knew was, that they had seen him tie his
little sledge to a splendid big one which drove away down the street and
out of the town gates. Nobody knew where he was, and many tears were
shed; little Gerda cried long and bitterly. At last, people said he was
dead; he must have fallen into the river which ran close by the town.
Oh, what long, dark, winter days those were!
At last the spring came and the sunshine.
'Kay is dead and gone,' said little Gerda.
'I don't believe it,' said the sunshine.
'He is dead and gone,' she said to the swallows.
'We don't believe it,' said the swallows; and at last little Gerda did
not believe it either.
'I will put on my new red shoes,' she said one morning; 'those Kay never
saw; and then I will go down to the river and ask it about him!'
It was very early in the morning; she kissed the old grandmother, who
was still asleep, put on the red shoes, and went quite alone, out by the
gate to the river.
'Is it true that you have taken my little playfellow? I will give you my
red shoes if you will bring him back to me again.'
She thought the little ripples nodded in such a curious way, so she took
off her red shoes, her most cherished possessions, and threw them both
into the river. They fell close by the shore, and were carried straight
back to her by the little wavelets; it seemed as if the river would not
accept her offering, as it had not taken little Kay.
She only thought she had not thrown them far enough; so she climbed into
a boat which lay among the rushes, then she went right out to the
further end of it, and threw the shoes into the water again. But the
boat was loose, and her movements started it off, and it floated away
from the shore: she felt it moving and tried to get out, but before she
reached the other end the boat was more than a yard from the shore, and
was floating away quite quickly.
Little Gerda was terribly frightened, and began to cry, but nobody heard
her except the sparrows, and they could not carry her ashore, but they
flew alongside twittering, as if to cheer her, 'We are here, we are
here.' The boat floated rapidly away with the current; little Gerda sat
quite still with only her stockings on; her little red shoes floated
behind, but they could not catch up the boat, which drifted away faster
and faster.
The banks on both sides were very pretty with beautiful flowers, fine
old trees, and slopes dotted with sheep and cattle, but not a single
person.
'Perhaps the river is taking me to little Kay,' thought Gerda, and that
cheered her; she sat up and looked at the beautiful green banks for
hours.
Then they came to a big cherry garden; there was a little house in
it, with curious blue and red windows, it had a thatched roof, and two
wooden soldiers stood outside, who presented arms as she sailed past.
Gerda called out to them; she thought they were alive, but of course
they did not answer; she was quite close to them, for the current drove
the boat close to the bank. Gerda called out again, louder than before,
and then an old, old woman came out of the house; she was leaning upon a
big, hooked stick, and she wore a big sun hat, which was covered with
beautiful painted flowers.
'You poor little child,' said the old woman, 'how ever were you driven
out on this big, strong river into the wide, wide world alone?' Then she
walked right into the water, and caught hold of the boat with her hooked
stick; she drew it ashore, and lifted little Gerda out.
Gerda was delighted to be on dry land again, but she was a little bit
frightened of the strange old woman.
'Come, tell me who you are, and how you got here,' said she.
When Gerda had told her the whole story and asked her if she had seen
Kay, the woman said she had not seen him, but that she expected him.
Gerda must not be sad, she was to come and taste her cherries and see
her flowers, which were more beautiful than any picture-book; each one
had a story to tell. Then she took Gerda by the hand, they went into the
little house, and the old woman locked the door.
The windows were very high up, and they were red, blue, and yellow;
they threw a very curious light into the room. On the table were
quantities of the most delicious cherries, of which Gerda had leave to
eat as many as ever she liked. While she was eating, the old woman
combed her hair with a golden comb, so that the hair curled, and shone
like gold round the pretty little face, which was as sweet as a rose.
'I have long wanted a little girl like you!' said the old woman. 'You
will see how well we shall get on together.' While she combed her hair
Gerda had forgotten all about Kay, for the old woman was learned in the
magic art; but she was not a bad witch, she only cast spells over people
for a little amusement, and she wanted to keep Gerda. She therefore went
into the garden and waved her hooked stick over all the rose-bushes, and
however beautifully they were flowering, all sank down into the rich
black earth without leaving a trace behind them. The old woman was
afraid that if Gerda saw the roses she would be reminded of Kay, and
would want to run away. Then she took Gerda into the flower garden. What
a delicious scent there was! and every imaginable flower for every
season was in that lovely garden; no picture-book could be brighter or
more beautiful. Gerda jumped for joy and played till the sun went down
behind the tall cherry trees. Then she was put into a lovely bed with
rose-coloured silken coverings stuffed with violets; she slept and
dreamt as lovely dreams as any queen on her wedding day.
The next day she played with the flowers in the garden again--and many
days passed in the same way. Gerda knew every flower, but however many
there were, she always thought there was one missing, but which it was
she did not know.
One day she was sitting looking at the old woman's sun hat with its
painted flowers, and the very prettiest one of them all was a rose. The
old woman had forgotten her hat when she charmed the others away. This
is the consequence of being absent-minded.
'What!' said Gerda, 'are there no roses here?' and she sprang in among
the flower-beds and sought, but in vain! Her hot tears fell on the very
places where the roses used to be; when the warm drops moistened the
earth the rose-trees shot up again, just as full of bloom as when they
sank. Gerda embraced the roses and kissed them, and then she thought of
the lovely roses at home, and this brought the thought of little Kay.
'Oh, how I have been delayed,' said the little girl, 'I ought to have
been looking for Kay! Don't you know where he is?' she asked the roses.
'Do you think he is dead and gone?'
'He is not dead,' said the roses. 'For we have been down underground,
you know, and all the dead people are there, but Kay is not among them.'
'Oh, thank you!' said little Gerda, and then she went to the other
flowers and looked into their cups and said, 'Do you know where Kay is?'
But each flower stood in the sun and dreamt its own dreams. Little Gerda
heard many of these, but never anything about Kay.
And what said the Tiger lilies?
'Do you hear the drum? rub-a-dub, it has only two notes, rub-a-dub,
always the same. The wailing of women and the cry of the preacher. The
Hindu woman in her long red garment stands on the pile, while the flames
surround her and her dead husband. But the woman is only thinking of the
living man in the circle round, whose eyes burn with a fiercer fire than
that of the flames which consume the body. Do the flames of the heart
die in the fire?'
'I understand nothing about that,' said little Gerda.
'That is my story,' said the Tiger lily.
'What does the convolvulus say?'
'An old castle is perched high over a narrow mountain path, it is
closely covered with ivy, almost hiding the old red walls, and creeping
up leaf upon leaf right round the balcony where stands a beautiful
maiden. She bends over the balustrade and looks eagerly up the road. No
rose on its stem is fresher than she; no apple blossom wafted by the
wind moves more lightly. Her silken robes rustle softly as she bends
over and says, 'Will he never come?''
'Is it Kay you mean?' asked Gerda.
'I am only talking about my own story, my dream,' answered the
convolvulus.
What said the little snowdrop?
'Between two trees a rope with a board is hanging; it is a swing. Two
pretty little girls in snowy frocks and green ribbons fluttering on
their hats are seated on it. Their brother, who is bigger than they are,
stands up behind them; he has his arms round the ropes for supports, and
holds in one hand a little bowl and in the other a clay pipe. He is
blowing soap-bubbles. As the swing moves the bubbles fly upwards in all
their changing colours, the last one still hangs from the pipe swayed by
the wind, and the swing goes on. A little black dog runs up, he is
almost as light as the bubbles, he stands up on his hind legs and wants
to be taken into the swing, but it does not stop. The little dog falls
with an angry bark; they jeer at it; the bubble bursts. A swinging
plank, a fluttering foam picture--that is my story!'
'I daresay what you tell me is very pretty, but you speak so sadly and
you never mention little Kay.'
What says the hyacinth?
'They were three beautiful sisters, all most delicate, and quite
transparent. One wore a crimson robe, the other a blue, and the third
was pure white. These three danced hand-in-hand, by the edge of the lake
in the moonlight. They were human beings, not fairies of the wood. The
fragrant air attracted them, and they vanished into the wood; here the
fragrance was stronger still. Three coffins glide out of the wood
towards the lake, and in them lie the maidens. The fire-flies flutter
lightly round them with their little flickering torches. Do these
dancing maidens sleep, or are they dead? The scent of the flower says
that they are corpses. The evening bell tolls their knell.'
'You make me quite sad,' said little Gerda; 'your perfume is so strong
it makes me think of those dead maidens. Oh, is little Kay really dead?
The roses have been down underground, and they say no.'
'Ding, dong,' tolled the hyacinth bells; 'we are not tolling for little
Kay; we know nothing about him. We sing our song, the only one we know.'
And Gerda went on to the buttercups shining among their dark green
leaves.
'You are a bright little sun,' said Gerda. 'Tell me if you know where I
shall find my playfellow.'
The buttercup shone brightly and returned Gerda's glance. What song
could the buttercup sing? It would not be about Kay.
'God's bright sun shone into a little court on the first day of spring.
The sunbeams stole down the neighbouring white wall, close to which
bloomed the first yellow flower of the season; it shone like burnished
gold in the sun. An old woman had brought her arm-chair out into the
sun; her granddaughter, a poor and pretty little maid-servant, had come
to pay her a short visit, and she kissed her. There was gold, heart's
gold, in the kiss. Gold on the lips, gold on the ground, and gold above,
in the early morning beams! Now that is my little story,' said the
buttercup.
'Oh, my poor old grandmother!' sighed Gerda. 'She will be longing to see
me, and grieving about me, as she did about Kay. But I shall soon go
home again and take Kay with me. It is useless for me to ask the flowers
about him. They only know their own stories, and have no information to
give me.'
Then she tucked up her little dress, so that she might run the faster;
but the narcissus blossoms struck her on the legs as she jumped over
them, so she stopped and said, 'Perhaps you can tell me something.'
She stooped down close to the flower and listened. What did it say?
'I can see myself, I can see myself,' said the narcissus. 'Oh, how sweet
is my scent. Up there in an attic window stands a little dancing girl
half dressed; first she stands on one leg, then on the other, and looks
as if she would tread the whole world under her feet. She is only a
delusion. She pours some water out of a teapot on to a bit of stuff that
she is holding; it is her bodice. "Cleanliness is a good thing," she
says. Her white dress hangs on a peg; it has been washed in the teapot,
too, and dried on the roof. She puts it on, and wraps a saffron-coloured
scarf round her neck, which makes the dress look whiter. See how high
she carries her head, and all upon one stem. I see myself, I see
myself!'
'I don't care a bit about all that,' said Gerda; 'it's no use telling me
such stuff.'
And then she ran to the end of the garden. The door was fastened, but
she pressed the rusty latch, and it gave way. The door sprang open, and
little Gerda ran out with bare feet into the wide world. She looked back
three times, but nobody came after her. At last she could run no
further, and she sat down on a big stone. When she looked round she saw
that the summer was over; it was quite late autumn. She would never have
known it inside the beautiful garden, where the sun always shone, and
the flowers of every season were always in bloom.
'Oh, how I have wasted my time,' said little Gerda. 'It is autumn. I
must not rest any longer,' and she got up to go on.
Oh, how weary and sore were her little feet, and everything round looked
so cold and dreary. The long willow leaves were quite yellow. The damp
mist fell off the trees like rain, one leaf dropped after another from
the trees, and only the sloe-thorn still bore its fruit; but the sloes
were sour and set one's teeth on edge. Oh, how grey and sad it looked,
out in the wide world.
FOURTH STORY
PRINCE AND PRINCESS
[Illustration: _She has read all the newspapers in the world, and
forgotten them again, so clever is she._]
Gerda was soon obliged to rest again. A big crow hopped on to the snow,
just in front of her. It had been sitting looking at her for a long time
and wagging its head. Now it said, 'Caw, caw; good-day, good-day,' as
well as it could; it meant to be kind to the little girl, and asked her
where she was going, alone in the wide world.
Gerda understood the word 'alone' and knew how much there was in it, and
she told the crow the whole story of her life and adventures, and asked
if it had seen Kay.
The crow nodded its head gravely and said, 'May be I have, may be I
have.'
'What, do you really think you have?' cried the little girl, nearly
smothering him with her kisses.
'Gently, gently!' said the crow. 'I believe it may have been Kay, but he
has forgotten you by this time, I expect, for the Princess.'
'Does he live with a Princess?' asked Gerda.
'Yes, listen,' said the crow; 'but it is so difficult to speak your
language. If you understand "crow's language,"[1] I can tell you about
it much better.'
'No, I have never learnt it,' said Gerda; 'but grandmother knew it, and
used to speak it. If only I had learnt it!'
'It doesn't matter,' said the crow. 'I will tell you as well as I can,
although I may do it rather badly.'
Then he told her what he had heard.
'In this kingdom where we are now,' said he, 'there lives a Princess who
is very clever. She has read all the newspapers in the world, and
forgotten them again, so clever is she. One day she was sitting on her
throne, which is not such an amusing thing to do either, they say; and
she began humming a tune, which happened to be
"Why should I not be married, oh why?"
"Why not indeed?" said she. And she made up her mind to marry, if she
could find a husband who had an answer ready when a question was put to
him. She called all the court ladies together, and when they heard what
she wanted they were delighted.
'"I like that now," they said. "I was thinking the same thing myself the
other day."
'Every word I say is true,' said the crow, 'for I have a tame
sweetheart who goes about the palace whenever she likes. She told me the
whole story.'
Of course his sweetheart was a crow, for 'birds of a feather flock
together,' and one crow always chooses another. The newspapers all came
out immediately with borders of hearts and the Princess's initials. They
gave notice that any young man who was handsome enough might go up to
the Palace to speak to the Princess. The one who spoke as if he were
quite at home, and spoke well, would be chosen by the Princess as her
husband. Yes, yes, you may believe me, it's as true as I sit here,' said
the crow. 'The people came crowding in; there was such running, and
crushing, but no one was fortunate enough to be chosen, either on the
first day, or on the second. They could all of them talk well enough in
the street, but when they entered the castle gates, and saw the guard in
silver uniforms, and when they went up the stairs through rows of
lackeys in gold embroidered liveries, their courage forsook them. When
they reached the brilliantly lighted reception-rooms, and stood in front
of the throne where the Princess was seated, they could think of nothing
to say, they only echoed her last words, and of course that was not what
she wanted.
'It was just as if they had all taken some kind of sleeping-powder,
which made them lethargic; they did not recover themselves until they
got out into the street again, and then they had plenty to say. There
was quite a long line of them, reaching from the town gates up to the
Palace.
'I went to see them myself,' said the crow. 'They were hungry and
thirsty, but they got nothing at the Palace, not even as much as a glass
of tepid water. Some of the wise ones had taken sandwiches with them,
but they did not share them with their neighbours; they thought if the
others went in to the Princess looking hungry, that there would be more
chance for themselves.'
'But Kay, little Kay!' asked Gerda; 'when did he come? was he amongst
the crowd?'
'Give me time, give me time! we are just coming to him. It was on the
third day that a little personage came marching cheerfully along,
without either carriage or horse. His eyes sparkled like yours, and he
had beautiful long hair, but his clothes were very shabby.'
'Oh, that was Kay!' said Gerda gleefully; 'then I have found him!' and
she clapped her hands.
'He had a little knapsack on his back!' said the crow.
'No, it must have been his sledge; he had it with him when he went
away!' said Gerda.
'It may be so,' said the crow; 'I did not look very particularly; but I
know from my sweetheart, that when he entered the Palace gates, and saw
the life-guards in their silver uniforms, and the lackeys on the stairs
in their gold-laced liveries, he was not the least bit abashed. He just
nodded to them and said, "It must be very tiresome to stand upon the
stairs. I am going inside!" The rooms were blazing with lights. Privy
councillors and excellencies without number were walking about barefoot
carrying golden vessels; it was enough to make you solemn! His boots
creaked fearfully too, but he wasn't a bit upset.'
'Oh, I am sure that was Kay!' said Gerda; 'I know he had a pair of new
boots, I heard them creaking in grandmother's room.'
'Yes, indeed they did creak!' said the crow. 'But nothing daunted, he
went straight up to the Princess, who was sitting on a pearl as big as a
spinning-wheel. Poor, simple boy! all the court ladies and their
attendants; the courtiers, and their gentlemen, each attended by a page,
were standing round. The nearer the door they stood, so much the greater
was their haughtiness; till the footman's boy, who always wore slippers
and stood in the doorway, was almost too proud even to be looked at.'
'It must be awful!' said little Gerda, 'and yet Kay has won the
Princess!'
'If I had not been a crow, I should have taken her myself,
notwithstanding that I am engaged. They say he spoke as well as I could
have done myself, when I speak crow-language; at least so my sweetheart
says. He was a picture of good looks and gallantry, and then, he had not
come with any idea of wooing the Princess, but simply to hear her
wisdom. He admired her just as much as she admired him!'
'Indeed it was Kay then,' said Gerda; 'he was so clever he could do
mental arithmetic up to fractions. Oh, won't you take me to the Palace?'
'It's easy enough to talk,' said the crow; 'but how are we to manage it?
I will talk to my tame sweetheart about it; she will have some advice to
give us I daresay, but I am bound to tell you that a little girl like
you will never be admitted!'
'Oh, indeed I shall,' said Gerda; 'when Kay hears that I am here, he
will come out at once to fetch me.'
'Wait here for me by the stile,' said the crow, then he wagged his head
and flew off.
The evening had darkened in before he came back. 'Caw, caw,' he said,
'she sends you greeting. And here is a little roll for you; she got it
out of the kitchen where there is bread enough, and I daresay you are
hungry! It is not possible for you to get into the Palace; you have bare
feet; the guards in silver and the lackeys in gold would never allow you
to pass. But don't cry, we shall get you in somehow; my sweetheart knows
a little back staircase which leads up to the bedroom, and she knows
where the key is kept.'
Then they went into the garden, into the great avenue where the leaves
were dropping, softly one by one; and when the Palace lights went out,
one after the other, the crow led little Gerda to the back door, which
was ajar.
Oh, how Gerda's heart beat with fear and longing! It was just as if she
was about to do something wrong, and yet she only wanted to know if this
really was little Kay. Oh, it must be him, she thought, picturing to
herself his clever eyes and his long hair. She could see his very smile
when they used to sit under the rose-trees at home. She thought he would
be very glad to see her, and to hear what a long way she had come to
find him, and to hear how sad they had all been at home when he did not
come back. Oh, it was joy mingled with fear.
They had now reached the stairs, where a little lamp was burning on a
shelf. There stood the tame sweetheart, twisting and turning her head to
look at Gerda, who made a curtsy, as grandmother had taught her.
'My betrothed has spoken so charmingly to me about you, my little miss!'
she said; 'your life, "_Vita_," as it is called, is most touching! If
you will take the lamp, I will go on in front. We shall take the
straight road here, and we shall meet no one.'
'It seems to me that some one is coming behind us,' said Gerda, as she
fancied something rushed past her, throwing a shadow on the walls;
horses with flowing manes and slender legs; huntsmen, ladies and
gentlemen on horseback.
'Oh, those are only the dreams!' said the crow; 'they come to take the
thoughts of the noble ladies and gentlemen out hunting. That's a good
thing, for you will be able to see them all the better in bed. But don't
forget, when you are taken into favour, to show a grateful spirit.'
'Now, there's no need to talk about that,' said the crow from the woods.
They came now into the first apartment; it was hung with rose-coloured
satin embroidered with flowers. Here again the dreams overtook them, but
they flitted by so quickly that Gerda could not distinguish them. The
apartments became one more beautiful than the other; they were enough to
bewilder anybody. They now reached the bedroom. The ceiling was like a
great palm with crystal leaves, and in the middle of the room two beds,
each like a lily hung from a golden stem. One was white, and in it lay
the Princess; the other was red, and there lay he whom Gerda had come to
seek--little Kay! She bent aside one of the crimson leaves, and she saw
a little brown neck. It was Kay. She called his name aloud, and held the
lamp close to him. Again the dreams rushed through the room on
horseback--he awoke, turned his head--and it was not little Kay.
It was only the Prince's neck which was like his; but he was young and
handsome. The Princess peeped out of her lily-white bed, and asked what
was the matter. Then little Gerda cried and told them all her story, and
what the crows had done to help her.
'You poor little thing!' said the Prince and Princess. And they praised
the crows, and said that they were not at all angry with them, but they
must not do it again. Then they gave them a reward.
'Would you like your liberty?' said the Princess, 'or would you prefer
permanent posts about the court as court crows, with perquisites from
the kitchen?'
Both crows curtsied and begged for the permanent posts, for they thought
of their old age, and said 'it was so good to have something for the old
man,' as they called it.
The Prince got up and allowed Gerda to sleep in his bed, and he could
not have done more. She folded her little hands, and thought 'how good
the people and the animals are'; then she shut her eyes and fell fast
asleep. All the dreams came flying back again; this time they looked
like angels, and they were dragging a little sledge with Kay sitting on
it, and he nodded. But it was only a dream; so it all vanished when she
woke.
Next day she was dressed in silk and velvet from head to foot; they
asked her to stay at the Palace and have a good time, but she only
begged them to give her a little carriage and horse, and a little pair
of boots, so that she might drive out into the wide world to look for
Kay.
They gave her a pair of boots and a muff. She was beautifully dressed,
and when she was ready to start, there before the door stood a new
chariot of pure gold. The Prince's and Princess's coat of arms were
emblazoned on it, and shone like a star. Coachman, footman, and
outrider, for there was even an outrider, all wore golden crowns. The
Prince and Princess themselves helped her into the carriage and wished
her joy. The wood crow, who was now married, accompanied her for the
first three miles; he sat beside Gerda, for he could not ride with his
back to the horses. The other crow stood at the door and flapped her
wings; she did not go with them, for she suffered from headache since
she had become a kitchen pensioner--the consequence of eating too much.
The chariot was stored with sugar biscuits, and there were fruit and
ginger nuts under the seat. 'Good-bye, good-bye,' cried the Prince and
Princess; little Gerda wept, and the crow wept too. At the end of the
first few miles the crow said good-bye, and this was the hardest parting
of all. It flew up into a tree and flapped its big black wings as long
as it could see the chariot, which shone like the brightest sunshine.
[1] Children have a kind of language, or gibberish, formed by adding
letters or syllables to every word, which is called 'crow's language.'
FIFTH STORY
THE LITTLE ROBBER GIRL
[Illustration: _'It is gold, it is gold!' they cried._]
They drove on through a dark wood, where the chariot lighted up the way
and blinded the robbers by its glare; it was more than they could bear.
'It is gold, it is gold!' they cried, and darting forward, seized the
horses, and killed the postilions, the coachman, and footman. They then
dragged little Gerda out of the carriage.
'She is fat, and she is pretty; she has been fattened on nuts!' said the
old robber woman, who had a long beard, and eyebrows that hung down over
her eyes. 'She is as good as a fat lamb, and how nice she will taste!'
She drew out her sharp knife as she said this; it glittered horribly.
'Oh!' screamed the old woman at the same moment, for her little daughter
had come up behind her, and she was biting her ear. She hung on her
back, as wild and as savage a little animal as you could wish to find.
'You bad, wicked child!' said her mother, but she was prevented from
killing Gerda on this occasion.
'She shall play with me,' said the little robber girl; 'she shall give
me her muff, and her pretty dress, and she shall sleep in my bed.' Then
she bit her mother again and made her dance. All the robbers laughed and
said, 'Look at her dancing with her cub!'
'I want to get into the carriage,' said the little robber girl, and she
always had her own way because she was so spoilt and stubborn. She and
Gerda got into the carriage, and then they drove over stubble and stones
further and further into the wood. The little robber girl was as big as
Gerda, but much stronger; she had broader shoulders, and darker skin,
her eyes were quite black, with almost a melancholy expression. She put
her arm round Gerda's waist and said--
'They shan't kill you as long as I don't get angry with you; you must
surely be a Princess!'
'No,' said little Gerda, and then she told her all her adventures, and
how fond she was of Kay.
The robber girl looked earnestly at her, gave a little nod, and said,
'They shan't kill you even if I am angry with you. I will do it myself.'
Then she dried Gerda's eyes, and stuck her own hands into the pretty
muff, which was so soft and warm.
At last the chariot stopped: they were in the courtyard of a robber's
castle, the walls of which were cracked from top to bottom. Ravens and
crows flew in and out of every hole, and big bulldogs, which each looked
ready to devour somebody, jumped about as high as they could, but they
did not bark, for it was not allowed. A big fire was burning in the
middle of the stone floor of the smoky old hall. The smoke all went up
to the ceiling, where it had to find a way out for itself. Soup was
boiling in a big caldron over the fire, and hares and rabbits were
roasting on the spits.
'You shall sleep with me and all my little pets to-night,' said the
robber girl.
When they had something to eat and drink they went along to one corner
which was spread with straw and rugs. There were nearly a hundred
pigeons roosting overhead on the rafters and beams. They seemed to be
asleep, but they fluttered about a little when the children came in.
'They are all mine,' said the little robber girl, seizing one of the
nearest. She held it by the legs and shook it till it flapped its wings.
'Kiss it,' she cried, dashing it at Gerda's face. 'Those are the wood
pigeons,' she added, pointing to some laths fixed across a big hole high
up on the walls; 'they are a regular rabble; they would fly away
directly if they were not locked in. And here is my old sweetheart Be,'
dragging forward a reindeer by the horn; it was tied up, and it had a
bright copper ring round its neck. 'We have to keep him close too, or he
would run off. Every single night I tickle his neck with my bright
knife, he is so frightened of it.' The little girl produced a long knife
out of a hole in the wall and drew it across the reindeer's neck. The
poor animal laughed and kicked, and the robber girl laughed and pulled
Gerda down into the bed with her.
'Do you have that knife by you while you are asleep?' asked Gerda,
looking rather frightened.
'I always sleep with a knife,' said the little robber girl. 'You never
know what will happen. But now tell me again what you told me before
about little Kay, and why you went out into the world.' So Gerda told
her all about it again, and the wood pigeons cooed up in their cage
above them; the other pigeons were asleep. The little robber girl put
her arm round Gerda's neck and went to sleep with the knife in her other
hand, and she was soon snoring. But Gerda would not close her eyes; she
did not know whether she was to live or to die. The robbers sat round
the fire, eating and drinking, and the old woman was turning
somersaults. This sight terrified the poor little girl. Then the wood
pigeons said, 'Coo, coo, we have seen little Kay; his sledge was drawn
by a white chicken, and he was sitting in the Snow Queen's sledge; it
was floating low down over the trees, while we were in our nests. She
blew upon us young ones, and they all died except we two; coo, coo.'
'What are you saying up there?' asked Gerda. 'Where was the Snow Queen
going? Do you know anything about it?'
'She was most likely going to Lapland, because there is always snow and
ice there! Ask the reindeer who is tied up there.'
'There is ice and snow, and it's a splendid place,' said the reindeer.
'You can run and jump about where you like on those big glittering
plains. The Snow Queen has her summer tent there, but her permanent
castle is up at the North Pole, on the island which is called
Spitzbergen!'
'Oh Kay, little Kay!' sighed Gerda.
'Lie still, or I shall stick the knife into you!' said the robber girl.
In the morning Gerda told her all that the wood pigeons had said, and
the little robber girl looked quite solemn, but she nodded her head and
said, 'No matter, no matter! Do you know where Lapland is?' she asked
the reindeer.
'Who should know better than I,' said the animal, its eyes dancing. 'I
was born and brought up there, and I used to leap about on the
snowfields.'
'Listen,' said the robber girl. 'You see that all our men folks are
away, but mother is still here, and she will stay; but later on in the
morning she will take a drink out of the big bottle there, and after
that she will have a nap--then I will do something for you.' Then she
jumped out of bed, ran along to her mother and pulled her beard, and
said, 'Good morning, my own dear nanny-goat!' And her mother filliped
her nose till it was red and blue; but it was all affection.