In the morning, Gerda told her everything the wood pigeons had said, and the little robber girl looked very serious, but nodded her head and said, “It doesn’t matter. Never mind.—Do you know where Lapland is?” she asked the reindeer.
“Who would know better than me?” said the animal, and his eyes sparkled. “I was born and bred there, and I have run all over the snowy fields of Lapland.”
“Listen,” said the robber girl to Gerda, “you can see that all the men are gone. But mother is still here. She’ll stay, but sometime during the morning she’ll drink out of that big bottle and take a little nap. Then I’ll do something for you.” She jumped out of bed, threw her arms around her mother’s neck, pulled at her beard, and said, “My own sweet billy goat, good morning!” And her mother pinched her nose so it turned red and blue, but all of it was done out of love.
When her mother had drunk from her bottle and was taking a little nap, the robber girl went to the reindeer and said, “It would give me the greatest pleasure to continue to tickle you many more times with my sharp knife because you’re so much fun then, but it doesn’t matter. I’m going to loosen your rope and help you outside so that you can run to Lapland, but don’t let the grass grow under your feet. Take this little girl to the Snow Queen’s castle where her playmate is. You’ve certainly heard what she told me because she spoke loudly enough, and you eavesdrop.”
The reindeer leaped up in joy. The robber girl lifted Gerda onto the reindeer and took care to tie her fast, and even gave her a little pillow to sit on. “Never mind,” she said, “here are your fleecy boots because it will be cold. But I’m keeping the muff. It’s way too beautiful! But you won’t freeze. Here are mother’s big mittens. They’ll reach all the way up to your elbows. Put them on!—Now your hands look just like my horrid mother’s.”
And Gerda wept for joy.
“I can’t stand that wailing,” said the little robber girl. “Now just be happy. And here are two breads and a ham for you, so you won’t starve.” Both of these were tied onto the reindeer’s back. The little robber girl opened the door and coaxed the big dogs inside. Then she cut the rope with her knife and said to the reindeer, “Now run! But take good care of the little girl.”
And Gerda stretched out her hands, with the big robber mittens on them, towards the robber girl and said good bye. The reindeer flew off over bushes and stubble through the big forest, over swamps and plains as fast as he could. The wolves howled, and the ravens shrieked. Sounds like “Soosh, Soosh” came from the sky as if it were sneezing redness.
“Those are my old northern lights,” said the reindeer. “See how they shine!” He ran even faster, night and day. The breads were eaten—the ham too—and then they were in Lapland.
SIXTH STORY
THE SAMI WOMAN AND THE FINN WOMAN
They stopped at a little house. It was so pitiful. The roof reached down to the ground, and the door was so low that the family had to creep on their stomachs when they wanted to go in or out. There was no one home except an old Sami woman, who was frying fish over an oil lamp. The reindeer told Gerda’s entire story, but first his own because he thought that was much more important, and Gerda was so frozen from cold that she couldn’t talk.
“Oh, you poor things!” said the Sami woman. “You still have a long way to go. You’ll have to go over a hundred miles into Finnmark because that’s where the Snow Queen is now, and she bums northern lights every night. I’ll write a few words on a dried cod—I don’t have any paper—for you to take to the Finn woman up there. She can give you better information than I can.”
And after Gerda had warmed up and had had something to eat and drink, the Sami woman wrote a few words on a dried cod and told Gerda to take good care of it. Then she tied Gerda firmly on the reindeer’s back again, and off it sprang. “Soosh, soosh” came from the air, and all night the most beautiful blue northern lights shone. They came to Finnmark and knocked on the Finn woman’s chimney because she didn’t even have a door.
It was so hot in there that the Finn woman herself had almost no clothes on. She was little and had quite muddy skin. She loosened Gerda’s clothing right away and took her mittens and boots off; otherwise she would have been too hot. She laid a piece of ice on the reindeer’s head and then read what was written on the dried cod. She read it three times so she knew it by heart and then put the fish in the kettle, for it could certainly be eaten, and she never wasted anything.
The reindeer told his story first and then little Gerda’s, and the Finn woman blinked with her wise eyes, but didn’t say anything.
“You are so wise,” said the reindeer, “I know you can tie the winds of the world with a thread. When the captain unties the first knot, he gets a good wind. When he unties the second, it blows stiffly, and if he unties the third and fourth, it will storm so trees blow down. Won’t you give the little girl a drink so she can gain the strength of twelve men and conquer the Snow Queen?”2
“The strength of twelve men,” said the Finn woman, “yes, that should help!” She went to a shelf and took down a large rolled-up hide and spread it out. There were remarkable letters written on it, and the Finn woman read so intently that sweat poured from her forehead.
But the reindeer begged again for little Gerda, and Gerda looked pleadingly at the Finn woman with her eyes full of tears so that the woman started blinking her eyes again and drew the reindeer into a corner. She whispered to him while he got a fresh piece of ice on his head:
“Little Kai is with the Snow Queen and finds everything to his liking. He thinks it’s the best place in the world, but that’s because he has gotten a splinter in his heart and a little chip of glass in his eye. They have to come out first, or he’ll never become human again, and the Snow Queen will keep her power over him.”
“But can’t you give little Gerda something to take so she can gain power over all of it?”
“I can’t give her greater power than she already has. Can’t you see how great it is? Don’t you see how people and animals must serve her, how she has come so far in the world, even barefoot? We can’t tell her of this power; it’s in her heart. It’s because she is a sweet innocent child. If she can’t reach the Snow Queen by herself and get the glass splinters out of little Kai, we can’t help. The Snow Queen’s garden starts two miles from here. Carry the little girl in there and let her off by the big bush with red berries standing in the snow. Don’t waste time gossiping, but hurry back here.” And the Finn woman lifted Gerda onto the reindeer, and he ran off as fast as he could.
“Oh, I forgot my boots! I forgot my mittens!” called the lit tle girl who noticed this in the biting cold. But the reindeer didn’t dare stop. It ran until it came to the bush with the red berries. There he let Gerda off and kissed her on the lips. Big bright tears ran down the animal’s cheeks, and then it ran back as fast as it could. Poor Gerda was standing there without shoes, without gloves, in the middle of terrible ice-cold Finnmark.
She ran ahead as fast as she could. Then a whole regiment of snowflakes appeared. But these didn’t fall from the sky, which was quite clear and shining with northern lights. The snowflakes ran along the ground, and the closer they came, the bigger they got. Gerda certainly remembered how big and odd they had looked the time she saw the snowflakes through the magnifying glass, but here they were certainly much bigger and more terrible. They were alive—they were the Snow Queen’s sentries. They had the strangest shapes. Some looked like large nasty porcupines, others like big bunches of snakes with their heads sticking out, still others like small fat bears with their hair bristling. All of them were shining white, and all of them were living snowflakes.
Then little Gerda said the Lord’s Prayer, and the cold was so intense that she could see her own breath. It came out of her mouth like smoke. It became more and more condensed and formed into small bright angels. They grew and grew when they touched the ground, and all of them had helmets on their heads and spears and shields in their hands. They became
more and more numerous, and when Gerda had finished her prayer, she had a whole legion around her. They struck with their spears at the dreadful snowflakes so that they broke into a hundred pieces, and little Gerda walked safely and confidently forward. The angels patted her feet and hands so she didn’t feel the cold as much, and she walked quickly towards the Snow Queen’s castle.
But now we should see how Kai is doing. He certainly wasn’t thinking about little Gerda, and least of all that she was standing outside the castle.
SEVENTH STORY
WHAT HAPPENED IN THE SNOW QUEEN’S CASTLE AND WHAT HAPPENED LATER
The castle’s walls were made of drifting snow, and the windows and doors of cutting winds. There were over a hundred rooms, depending on how the snow drifted. The largest stretched for many miles, and they were all illuminated by the northern lights. They were so vast, so empty, so icy cold, and so dazzling. There was never any gaiety here, not even so much as a little bear ball where the storm could blow, and the polar bears could walk on their hind legs and show their fine manners. Never a little party game with snout slapping and paw clapping. Never a little coffee klatch for the white fox maidens. The Snow Queen’s rooms were empty, vast, and cold. The northern lights shone so regularly that you could calculate when they would be at their highest and when at their lowest. Right in the middle of the empty unending hall of snow was a frozen lake. It was cracked in a thousand pieces, but each piece was exactly alike so it was a work of art, and in the middle of this is where the Snow Queen sat when she was at home. And she said that she sat on the mirror of reason, and that it was the world’s only and best one.
Little Kai was quite blue from cold, actually almost black, but he didn’t notice it because the Snow Queen had kissed the icy shivers from him, and his heart was practically an ice clump. He was carrying around some sharp, flat pieces of ice which he positioned in all sorts of ways, trying to make something out of it. It’s like when the rest of us use little wooden pieces and make figures from them. It’s called a tangram. Kai was also making figures and very complicated ones. It was the game of Icy Reason. To his eyes the figures were quite excellent and of the very highest importance. That was because of the bit of glass in his eye! He made whole figures that composed a written word, but he could never write the one word that he wanted: eternity. The Snow Queen had told him, “If you can figure out that design for me, you’ll be your own master, and I’ll give you the whole world and a new pair of skates.” But he couldn’t do it.
“Now I’m off to the warm countries,” said the Snow Queen. “I want to go there and peek into the black pots!” She meant the fire-sprouting volcanoes Etna and Vesuvius as we call them. “I’m going to whiten them up a bit! They need it, and it looks good on the lemons and grapes.” And the Snow Queen flew away, and Kai sat quite alone in the many-mile long empty ice hall and looked at the ice pieces and thought and thought until his brain creaked. He sat quite stiff and still. You would think he had frozen to death.
And it was then that little Gerda walked into the castle through the big portal that was filled with biting winds. But she said an evening prayer, and the winds died down as though they wanted to go to sleep. She walked into the vast, empty, cold hall and saw Kai. She recognized him, and threw her arms around his neck. She held him tight and called, “Kai! sweet little Kai! Now I’ve found you!”
But he sat completely still, stiff and cold. Little Gerda started crying hot tears. They fell on Kai’s chest and pressed into his heart where they melted the clump of ice and consumed the little bit of mirror in there. He looked at her, and she sang the hymn:
“Roses in the valley grow
And baby Jesus there we know”
Then Kai burst into tears. He cried so that the splinter of glass washed out of his eye. He recognized her and cried joy fully, “Gerda! sweet little Gerda! Where have you been so long? And where have I been?” He looked around. “How cold it is here! How big and empty it is!” and he held Gerda tight. She laughed and cried for joy. It was so wonderful that even the pieces of ice danced with joy all around them, and when they were tired and lay down, they lay precisely in those letters that the Snow Queen had said he should find. So now he was his own master, and she would give him the whole world and a new pair of skates.
As Gerda kissed his cheeks, they flushed. She kissed his eyes, and they lit up like hers. She kissed his hands and feet, and he was hale and hearty. The Snow Queen could return. His release was written there in shining pieces of ice.
And they held hands and walked out of the big castle. They talked about Grandmother and about the roses up on the roof. And wherever they walked, the winds were still, and the sun came out, and when they reached the bush with the red berries, the reindeer was waiting. He had another young reindeer with him, whose udder was full and she gave the little ones her warm milk and kissed them on the lips. Then they carried Kai and Gerda first to the Finn woman, where they warmed up in the hot room and got information about the trip home, then to the Sami woman who had sewn new clothes for them and who had prepared her sleigh.
The reindeer and the young reindeer ran along side and followed them to the border of the country. There where the first green appeared on the ground they parted from the reindeer and the Sami woman. “Farewell,” they all said. And the first little birds started chirping. There were green buds on the trees, and riding out of the trees came a magnificent horse that Gerda recognized, for it had pulled the gold coach, and on this horse was a young girl with a shining red cap on her head and pistols in front. It was the little robber girl, who was bored with being at home and wanted to travel first north and then to other quarters if she wasn’t satisfied. She recognized Gerda right away, and Gerda recognized her. What a joy it was!
“You’re a fine fellow for trudging about!” she said to little Kai. “I wonder if you deserve having someone run to the ends of the earth for your sake!”
But Gerda patted her on the cheek and asked about the prince and princess.
“They’re traveling abroad,” said the robber girl.
“And the crow?” asked little Gerda.
“Well, the crow is dead,” she answered. “The tame sweet heart has become a widow and walks around with a piece of black yarn around her leg. She complains pathetically, but it’s all nonsense! But tell me how it went and how you found him!”
So both Gerda and Kai told their stories.
“All’s well that end’s well,” said the robber girl, took them both by the hand and promised that if she ever came by their city she would look them up, and then she rode off into the wide world. But Kai and Gerda walked hand in hand. They walked through a lovely springtime, and there were flowers, and it was green. The church bells rang, and they recognized the high towers of the big city. It was the one they lived in, and they entered it and went to Grandmother’s door, up the stairs, into the living room, where everything was in the same place as before, and the clock said “tick, tock” as the hand turned. But as they went through the door, they noticed that they were grown up. The roses from the roof gutter were blooming inside the open windows, and there stood the small children’s chairs. Kai and Gerda each sat down on theirs and held hands. They had forgotten like a heavy dream the cold empty mag nificence of the Snow Queen’s castle. Grandmother was sitting in God’s clear sunshine reading aloud from the Bible: “Verily I say unto you, except ye become as little children, ye shall not enter the kingdom of heaven.”
And Kai and Gerda looked into each other’s eyes and understood at once the old hymn:
“Roses in the valley grow
And baby Jesus there we know”
And there they both sat, grown up and yet children—chil—dren in their hearts—and it was summer, the warm blessed summer.
NOTES
1 From the hymn “Den yndigste Rose er funden” (1732; “Now Found Is the Fairest of Roses”), by H. A. Brorson.
2 The Finns were thought to possess magic powers. Andersen took his information a
bout the Sami from a book by B. M. Keilhau, Reise i østog Vest-Finnmarken samt til Beeren-Eiland og Spitsbergen i Aarene 1827 og 1828 (1831; Travels in East and West Finnmark, Bear Island, and Spitsbergen in the years 1827 and 1828). The Sami are the indigenous people of northern Scandinavia.
THE RED SHOES
ONCE THERE WAS A little girl who was so delicate and lovely, but in the summer she always went barefoot because she was poor. In the winter she wore big wooden shoes, and her little insteps turned so red that it was terrible.
In the middle of the village there lived an old shoemaker’s widow. She sewed a pair of little shoes out of old, red strips of cloth as best she could. They were quite awkwardly made, but she meant well, and they were made for the little girl. The little girl’s name was Karen.
The very day her mother was buried, she received the red shoes and wore them for the first time. They weren’t exactly appropriate for mourning, but she didn’t have any others, and so she walked behind the poor straw coffin in the red shoes without stockings.
Just then a large, old coach came by and in it sat a large, old woman. She looked at the little girl and felt sorry for her so she said to the parson, “Listen, let me take that little girl. I’ll be good to her.”
And Karen thought it was because of the red shoes, but the old woman said they were awful, and they were burned. Karen herself was dressed in neat, clean clothes. She had to learn to read and sew, and people said that she was pretty. But the mirror said, “You’re much more than pretty—you’re beautiful!”
One day the queen was traveling through the country, and she had her little daughter, the princess, with her. People streamed to the castle—Karen too—to see the little princess standing in lovely white clothes in a window being admired. She was wearing neither a train nor a gold crown, but had lovely red leather shoes on. Of course, they were altogether nicer than the shoes the old shoemaker had sewed for Karen. Yes, nothing in the world can compare to red shoes!
Fairy Tales of Hans Christian Andersen Page 43