The Complete Fairy Tales and Stories

by Hans Christian Andersen

  The door in the wall was closed; she turned the old rusty handle and it sprang open. Out went little Gerda, in her bare feet, out into the wide world. Three times she turned to look back but no one seemed to have noticed her flight.

  At last she could not run any farther, and she sat down on a big stone to rest. She looked at the landscape; summer was long since over, it was late fall. Back in the old lady’s garden, you could not notice the change in seasons, for it was always summer and the flowers of every season were in bloom.

  “Goodness me, how much time I have wasted,” sighed Gerda. “It is already autumn, I do not dare rest any longer,” and she got up and walked on. Her little feet hurt and she was tired. The leaves of the willow tree were all yellow, the water from the cold, fall mist dripped from it, as its leaves fell one by one. Only the blackthorn bush bore fruits now, and they are bitter. Oh, how somber and gray seemed the wide world.

  THE FOURTH STORY, IN WHICH APPEAR A PRINCE AND A PRINCESS

  More and more often did Gerda have to rest. The ground was now covered with snow. A big crow landed near her; the bird sat there a long time, wriggling its head and looking at her. “Caw … Caw!” he remarked, which in crow language means “Good day.” He was kind, and asked the girl why she was out all alone in the lonely winter world.

  The word “alone” Gerda understood only too well; and she told the crow her story and asked him if he had seen little Kai.

  The crow nodded most thoughtfully and said, “Maybe, maybe!”

  “Oh, he is alive!” screamed little Gerda, and almost squeezed the poor bird to death, while she kissed him.

  “Be sensible, be sensible,” protested the crow. “It may be little Kai I have seen; but if it is, then I am afraid he has forgotten you for the sake of the princess.”

  “Does he live with a princess?” asked little Gerda.

  “Yes, he does,” answered the crow, “but are you sure you don’t understand crow language? I much prefer speaking it.”

  “No, I have never learned it; but Grandmother knows it, I wish now that she had taught it to me.”

  “Never mind, it can’t be helped,” said the crow. “I shall do my best, which is a lot more than most people do,” and the crow told Gerda all that he knew:

  “Now in this kingdom, where we are at present, there lives a princess who is immensely clever; she has read all the newspapers in the whole world and forgotten what was written in them, and that is the part that proves how intelligent she is. A few weeks ago, while she was sitting on the throne—and that, people say, is not such an amusing place to sit—she happened to hum a song which has as its chorus the line ‘Why shouldn’t I get married?’

  “ ‘Why not, indeed?’ thought the princess. ‘But if I am to get married it must be to a man who can speak up for himself.’ She didn’t want anyone who just stood about looking distinguished, for such a fellow is boring. She called all her ladies in waiting and told them of her intention. They clapped their hands, and one of them said, ‘Oh, how delightful. I had such an idea myself just the other day.’… Believe me, everything I tell you is true,” declared the crow. “My fiancée is tame, she has the run of the castle and it is from her I got the story.” His fiancée was, naturally, another crow, for birds of a feather flock together.

  “The newspapers were printed with a border of hearts and the princess’ name on the front page. Inside there was a royal proclamation: any good-looking man, regardless of birth, could come to the castle and speak with the princess, and the one who seemed most at home there and spoke the best, she would marry.

  “Believe me,” said the crow, and shook his head, “as sure as I am sitting here, that proclamation got people out of their houses. They came thick and fast, you have never seen such a crowd. But neither the first nor the second day did the princess find anyone who pleased her. They could all speak well enough as long as they were standing in the street; but as soon as they had entered the castle gates and saw the royal guards, in their silver uniforms, the young men lost their tongues. They didn’t get them back, either, when they had to climb the marble stairs, lined with lackeys dressed in gold; or when they finally arrived in the grand hall with the great chandeliers and had to stand in front of the throne on which the princess sat. All they could do was repeat whatever she said; and that she didn’t want to hear once more. One should think every one of them had had his tummy filled with snuff or had fallen into a trance. But as soon as they were down in the streets again they got their tongues back, and all they could do was talk.

  “There was a queue, so long that it stretched from beyond the city gate all the way up to the castle. I flew into town to have a look at it. Most of the men got both hungry and thirsty while they waited; the princess didn’t even offer them a glass of lukewarm water. Some of the more clever ones had brought sandwiches, but they didn’t offer any to their neighbors, for they thought: ‘Let him look hungry and the princess won’t take him.’ ”

  “But Kai! What about Kai?” asked Gerda. “Did he stand in the queue too?”

  “Don’t be impatient. We are coming to him. Now the third day a little fellow arrived, he didn’t have a carriage nor did he come on horseback. No, he came walking straight up to the castle. He was poorly dressed but had bright shining eyes like yours, and the most beautiful long hair.”

  “That is Kai!” shouted little Gerda, and clapped her hands in joy.

  “He had a little knapsack on his back,” continued the crow.

  “It wasn’t a knapsack,” interrupted Gerda. “It was his sled.”

  “Sled or knapsack, it doesn’t matter much,” said the crow. “I didn’t look too closely at him. But this I know from my fiancée: when he entered the castle and saw the royal guards and all the lackeys, they didn’t make him the least bit fainthearted. He nodded kindly to them and said, ‘It must be boring to spend your life waiting on the stairs, I think I will go inside.’ The big hall with its lighted candelabra, its servants carrying golden bowls, while courtiers stood around dressed in their very best, was impressive enough to take away the courage of even the bravest—and, on top of all that, the young man’s boots squeaked something wicked—but he did not seem to notice either the elegant hall or his noisy boots.”

  “It must be Kai,” said Gerda. “His boots were new and I know they squeaked, I have heard them myself.”

  “Well, squeak they did,” said the crow. “But he walked right up to the princess, who was sitting on a pearl as big as a spinning wheel. Behind her stood all her ladies in waiting with their maids and their maids’ maids; and all the gentlemen of the court with their servants and their servants’ servants, each of whom, in turn, kept a boy. And the servant’s servant’s boy, who stood next to the door, always wore slippers and was so proud that one hardly dared look at him!”

  “It must have been horrible!” Little Gerda shook her head. “But Kai got the princess anyway?”

  “If I hadn’t been a crow, I would have taken her and that even though I am engaged. My fiancée tells me that he talks as well as I do when I talk crow language. He said that he hadn’t come to propose marriage but only to find out whether she was as clever as everybody said she was. He was satisfied that what he heard was true; and the princess was satisfied with him.”

  “I am sure it was Kai, for he is so clever, he can figure in fractions. Won’t you take me to the castle?”

  “That is easier said than done,” said the crow, and looked thoughtfully at Gerda. “I will talk to my fiancée about it, she might know how we can do it. For I can tell you, it is not easy for a poor little girl like you to get into the castle.”

  “But I will get in!” protested Gerda. “As soon as Kai hears that I am here he will come and fetch me himself.”

  “Wait here by the big stone,” commanded the crow, wriggled his head, and flew away.

  The crow didn’t return before dusk. “Caw! Caw!” he said, and alighted on the stone. “I bring you greetings from my fiancée, she sends you
this little piece of bread. She took it in the kitchen where there is bread enough, and you must be hungry. It is quite impossible for you to enter the castle. You have bare feet; the guards in their silver uniforms and the lackeys in their golden ones won’t allow it. But don’t weep, we will get you in anyway. My fiancée knows where the key is kept to the back stairs, and they lead right up to the royal bedchamber.”

  They entered the royal garden and watched the lights in the castle being extinguished, one by one. At last the crow led her to a little door in the rear of the castle that was half open. Little Gerda’s heart beat both with fear and with longing, she felt as though she were doing something wrong; and yet all she wanted to do was to see whether it was little Kai who had won the princess. She was sure it must be he.

  In her mind she saw his lively, clever eyes, his long hair; he was smiling as he did when they sat under the little rose trees at home. He would be happy to see her, and she would tell him of the long journey she had made for his sake. She would tell him, too, how sad everyone had become because he was gone, and how they all had missed him. She felt so happy and so fearful.

  They had reached the stairs; a little lamp burned on a chest. In the middle of the floor stood a tame crow, twisting its head about and looking at her quizzically. Gerda curtsied as Grandmother had taught her to do.

  “My fiancé has told me so many nice things about you. He has narrated your vita as it is called, I have found the story most touching! Will you take the lamp and I shall walk ahead and show the way.”

  “I think someone is coming,” whispered Gerda. There was a whirling, rushing sound; and on the wall were strange shadows of horses with flying manes, dogs and falcons, servants and hunters.

  “Oh, they are only dreams,” said the crow. “They have come to fetch their royal masters. That is only lucky for us; the easier it will be for you to have a good look at them while they are sleeping. But remember, when you gain honor and position, to be grateful and not forget those who helped you get it.”

  “That is no way to talk,” grumbled the crow from the woods.

  Now they entered the first of the great halls. The walls were covered with pink satin and decorated with artificial flowers. The shadows of the dreams reappeared, but they flew past so quickly that Gerda did not even get a chance to see whether Kai was mounted on one of the horses. Each hall they passed through was more magnificent than the one before it. At last they came to the royal bedchamber. The ceiling looked like the top of a large palm tree with glass leaves; from the center of it eight ropes of pure gold hung down, attached to them were the two little beds that the royal couple slept in. Each bed was shaped like a lily; in the white lily slept the princess, and in the red lily the young man who had won her. Gerda peeped into it and saw a head of long brown hair. “It is Kai!” she shouted in her joy. The dreams returned as fast as the wind and the young boy awoke.

  He wasn’t little Kai!

  It was only the long brown hair they had in common, although he was young and handsome too. From the white lily bed the princess raised her head and asked what the commotion was about. Poor Gerda started to cry; and then between sobs, she told her story and explained how the crows had helped her.

  “You poor thing!” said the prince. The princess said the same, and they did not scold the crows, on the contrary they praised them; although they warned them not to do it again. Still, they were to have a reward.

  “Would you rather be free,” asked the princess, “or receive permanent positions as royal court crows, with permission to eat all leftovers?”

  Both the crows curtsied and said they preferred permanent positions. After all, they had to think of their old age. “To be secure is better than to fly,” they said.

  The prince got out of his bed and let Gerda sleep in it; he could hardly do more. She folded her little hands and thought, “How good all animals and human beings are.” Then she closed her eyes and slept. This time the dreams looked like little angels. One of them was drawing a sled behind her; and on it sat little Kai; and he nodded to Gerda. But that was only a dream and it was gone as soon as she awoke.

  In the morning Gerda was dressed from head to toe in silk and velvet; and the little prince and princess begged her to stay with them. But she asked only for a little carriage and a horse and some boots, so that she could continue on her journey out in the wide world to find Kai.

  She was given not only new boots but a muff as well, and good warm clothes. When she was ready to leave, a fine carriage of the purest gold drove up in front of the castle. The coat of arms of the princess was on the door, and not only was there a coachman to drive her, but a servant stood on the back of the carriage and two little soldiers rode in front. The prince and the princess themselves helped her into the carriage and wished her luck. Her friend, the crow from the woods, drove with her the first couple of miles. They sat beside each other, for the crow got sick if he had to ride sitting backward. The other crow stood at the gate and flapped her wings; she had had a headache since she had been given a permanent position, and besides, she had overeaten. The carriage was lined with candy, and on the seat across from Gerda was a basket of fruit.

  “Good-by, good-by!” shouted the little prince and princess; and Gerda wept, for she had grown fond of them, and the crow wept too. When they had driven a little way the crow said good-by, and that was even harder to bear. He flew up into a tall tree and sat there waving with his black wings until he could no longer see the carriage that glistened as though it were made of sunlight.

  THE FIFTH STORY, WHICH IS ABOUT THE ROBBER GIRL

  They were driving through a great dark forest, and the golden carriage shone like a flame right in the robbers’ eyes, and they couldn’t bear it.

  “Gold! Gold!” they screamed as they came rushing out of the woods. They grabbed hold of the horses and killed the coachman, the servant, and the soldiers; then they dragged little Gerda out of the carriage.

  “She is lovely and fat, I bet she has been fed on nuts,” said an old robber woman; she had a beard and eyebrows so big and bushy that they almost hid her eyes. “She will taste as good as a lamb,” and the robber woman took a long shining knife from her belt; it was horrible to look at.

  “Ouch!” screamed the old hag, for just at that moment she had been bitten in the ear by her own little daughter, whom she carried on her back. The child was such a wild and naughty creature that it was a marvel. “Ouch!” the woman cried again, and missed her chance to kill Gerda.

  “The girl is to play with me!” declared the little robber girl. “But she is to give me her muff and her dress and sleep in my bed with me.” And just to make certain that her mother had understood her, she bit her again as hard as she could.

  The robber woman turned and jumped into the air from the pain; and all the robbers laughed and said, “Look how she dances with her brat.”

  “I want to drive in the carriage,” cried the little robber girl, and she was allowed to, for she was terribly spoiled. She and Gerda sat inside the carriage while it was being driven along little paths that brought it deeper and deeper into the forest. The little robber girl was as tall as Gerda but much stronger, and her skin had been tanned by the sun. Her eyes were almost black and looked sad. She put her arms around Gerda and said, “I won’t allow them to kill you, so long as you don’t make me angry. You must be a princess?”

  “No, I am not,” answered Gerda, and then she told her whole story and how much she loved little Kai.

  The robber girl looked very seriously at her, nodded her head, and said: “I won’t allow them to kill you even if I do get angry at you, I will do it myself.” Then she dried Gerda’s eyes and put her own hands inside the warm soft muff.

  At last the carriage stopped; they had come to the robber castle. The walls were cracked and the windows were broken. Crows and ravens flew in and out of the big holes in the tower. Big dogs ran about in the courtyard; they looked ferocious enough to be able to eat human beings; they
sprang up in the air but they didn’t bark, that wasn’t allowed.

  In the middle of the great hall a fire burned. The smoke drifted up among the blackened rafters; how it ever got out was its own business. A big copper kettle filled with soup hung over the fire, and next to it, on spits, hares and rabbits were being roasted.

  “You are going to sleep with me, over here among all my little pet animals,” said the little robber girl, and dragged Gerda over to a corner of the hall, where there lay some straw and some blankets. Above them, on poles, sat about a hundred doves; they were asleep, but a couple opened their eyes and turned their heads when the little girls came.

  “They are all mine,” said the girl, and grabbed one of them by its legs. The dove flapped its wings. “Kiss it,” demanded the robber girl, and shoved the frightened bird right up into Gerda’s face.

  “Up there are two wood pigeons,” the robber girl explained as she pointed to a recess in the wall, high above them, that had been turned into a cage by a few wooden bars. “They would fly away if they could, but they can’t.”

  “Here is my old sweetheart, bah!” She took hold of the antlers of a reindeer that stood tied near her bed and gave them a hard pull. “One has got to hold onto him too, or he would leap away. Every evening I tickle his throat with my sharp knife, that frightens him.” The little girl pulled a knife out from a crack in the wall and let its sharp point glide around the reindeer’s neck; the animal backed as far away as it could, in terror. That made the little robber girl laugh; and she pulled Gerda down into her bed.

  “Do you sleep with your knife?” asked Gerda, frightened.

  “I always sleep with the knife,” answered the little robber girl. “One never knows what might happen. But tell me again the story of little Kai and why you have gone out into the wide world.” Gerda told her story once more, and the wood pigeons, up in their cage, cooed; the doves were all asleep. The little robber girl put one of her arms around Gerda—in her other hand, she kept her knife—and fell asleep. She snored loudly.