HARRY CLARKE
The Snow Queen dominates the image, with spikes of color that flow into the white background that is her element. Kai is connected to her visually through the golden road linking him and his sled to the enchantress. His attire is unusually formal for a sleigh ride, but Harry Clarke’s compositional style is always less playful than stately.
Snow began to fall so thickly that the little boy could not even see his hands when he held them up in front of his face as they sped on. Suddenly he dropped the rope to unhitch himself from the large sleigh, but nothing happened. His little sled was still fastened securely, and it flew along like the wind. Kai shouted as loud as he could, but no one could hear him, and the snow swirled around him, creating drifts, as the sleigh flew forward. Every now and then, it would bounce as if it were clearing ditches and fences. Kai was terrified and tried to say his prayers, but all he could remember were his multiplication tables.22
The snowflakes kept growing until they started to look like big white hens. Suddenly they leaped out of the way, and the big sleigh came to a halt. The driver stood up. It was a woman, and her fur coat and cap were made of pure snow. She was tall and slender, brilliantly white. It was the Snow Queen.23
“We’ve arrived safely!” she proclaimed. “But you must be freezing! Come crawl under my bearskin coat.” She invited Kai to sit beside her in the sleigh and wrapped the fur coat around him. He felt as if he were sinking into a snowdrift.
“Are you still cold?” she asked and kissed him on the forehead. Brrr! That kiss was colder than ice and went straight to his heart, which was already halfway to becoming a lump of ice. Kai felt as if he were dying, but only for a moment. Then he became quite comfortable and no longer noticed the cold all around him.
“My sled! Don’t forget my sled!”—that was the first thing he remembered. It was tied to one of the white chickens, which was flying behind the sleigh with the sled on its back. The Snow Queen kissed Kai again,24 and in a flash he forgot all about little Gerda, Grandmother, and everyone else back home.
“That’s the last kiss you’ll get,” she said, “or else I might kiss you to death!” Kai looked at her. She was so beautiful.25 He couldn’t imagine a wiser, lovelier face. She no longer seemed made of ice, as she had when she first appeared at the window and beckoned to him. In his eyes, she seemed perfect, and he was no longer afraid of her. He told her that he could do numbers in his head—even fractions—and that he knew the square mileage for every country as well as “how many inhabitants.” She just kept smiling, and he began to worry that he didn’t really know enough. He looked up at the great big sky above, and she soared away with him,26 high up into the black clouds. The storm whistled and roared, as if it were singing old ballads. They flew over forests and lakes, over sea and land. Beneath them the wind blew cold, wolves howled, and the snow glittered. Black crows screeched above them. But way up high the moon was shining brightly and clearly. Kai fixed his gaze on it all through the long winter’s night, and during the day he slept at the feet of the Snow Queen.
THIRD STORY: THE FLOWER GARDEN OF THE WOMAN WHO KNOWS MAGIC
How was little Gerda managing now that Kai was gone? Where could he be? No one knew, and no one could tell her anything. The boys could only report that they had watched him hitch his little sled to a magnificent sleigh that had sped down the street and disappeared through the town gate. No one knew what had become of him. Many tears were shed, and little Gerda cried long and hard. People were sure that he was dead—he must have drowned in the river not far from town. Oh, those were long, gloomy, winter days.
And then spring came, and with it warmer sunshine.
“Kai must be dead and gone!” little Gerda said.
“I don’t think so!” the sunshine said.27
“He is dead and gone!” she told the swallows.
EDMUND DULAC
Seated on blocks of ice that form a throne, the Snow Queen stares straight ahead with a hypnotic gaze. The perfect symmetry and frozen rigidity of her pose reveal important contrasts to what Gerda will represent in the story.
“We don’t think so!” they replied, and soon little Gerda didn’t believe it either.
“I’ll put on my new red shoes,”28 she declared one morning, “the ones that Kai has never seen. And then I’ll walk down to the river to ask about him!”
Very early the next morning, Gerda kissed her old grandmother, who was still sleeping, put on her red shoes, and went all by herself out the town gate over to the river.
“Is it true that you have taken my playmate? I will give you my red shoes if you bring him back to me!”
She had a feeling that the waves were nodding to her in some odd way. And so she removed the red shoes, the most precious thing she owned, and threw them into the river. The shoes landed right near the shore, and the smaller waves washed them right back to her. It was as if the river could not possibly accept her most precious possession, for it had not taken Kai. Gerda began to worry that she had not tossed the shoes far enough out into the river, and so she climbed into a boat lying in the reeds, hidden from view. From the far end of it, she threw the shoes overboard, but, since the boat had not been moored, her movements were just strong enough to make it glide into the waters. Gerda felt the boat moving and tried to get back ashore. By the time she reached the other end, the boat was already more than two feet away and rapidly gaining speed.
Little Gerda was so terrified that she began to cry, but no one could hear her except the sparrows, and they couldn’t possibly bring her back to the shore. They flew along the riverbank and tried to comfort her with their song: “Here we are! Here we are!” The boat was carried downstream by the current, and little Gerda sat quite still in her stocking feet. Her little red shoes floated along behind her, but they could not catch up with the boat, which was picking up speed.
The two sides of the river were beautiful, with lovely flowers, majestic trees, and cows and sheep grazing on steep slopes. There was not a person in sight.29
“Maybe the river will carry me to little Kai,” Gerda thought and right away she was in better spirits. She stood up and gazed for hours at the beautiful green riverbanks. After a while, the boat drew near to a big cherry orchard, where you could see a little house with strange red and blue windows and a thatched roof. Two wooden soldiers were posted outside it, and they presented arms to everyone who sailed by.
Thinking that they were alive, Gerda shouted to them, but of course they didn’t respond. She drifted quite close to them, for the current was pushing the boat right near the shore.
Gerda shouted even louder, and then a really old woman walked out of the house.30 She was leaning on the crook of her cane and on her head she wore a huge sun hat with the loveliest flowers painted on it.
“You poor little child!” the old woman exclaimed. “How did you ever end up on this big, swift river, drifting so far out into the wide world?” The old woman waded right out into the water, caught hold of the boat with the crook of her cane, pulled it to shore, and lifted little Gerda out.
Gerda was very happy to be back on dry land, but she felt a little afraid of the strange old woman. “Come, tell me who you are and how you found your way here!” the woman said.
Gerda told her about everything that had happened, and the old woman shook her head, saying nothing but “Hmm! Hmm!” When Gerda finished her story and asked if the old woman had seen little Kai, the woman reported that he had not yet appeared but that he probably would, sooner or later. She told Gerda to cheer up and invited her to come in and eat some cherries and take a look at her flowers, which were far more beautiful than any you can find in picture books. Each one had a story to tell. She then took Gerda’s hand and walked with her into the house, locking the door once they were inside.
The windows were high up on the walls, and sunlight shone through their red, blue, and yellow panes in a strange mix of colors. On the table Gerda found a bowl with the most delicious cherries imaginable, and she ate her fill, f
or she was no longer afraid. While she was eating, the old woman combed her hair with a golden comb. Gerda’s hair fell in shiny gold ringlets on either side of her cheerful little face, which looked like a round rose in bloom.
EDMUND DULAC
Gerda arrives in her boat (note that there are no oars) at the house of the woman who knows magic. The crone wears a hat covered with sunflowers and clothing with oval patterns. Her home is guarded by wooden soldiers, and her garden is filled with blossoms.
“I’ve often wished for a sweet little girl like you,” the old woman told her. “Just wait and see—we’re going to get along very well!” The old woman combed Gerda’s hair, and the longer she combed, the less Gerda could remember about Kai, who was like a brother to her. The old woman knew magic. She wasn’t a wicked witch—she just dabbled in magic to amuse herself, and she was determined to keep little Gerda around. She went down to the garden, pointed her cane at all the rosebushes, and even the ones with lovely blossoms sank down into the black earth, without leaving a trace behind them. The old woman was worried that if Gerda saw the roses, she would think about her own, remember little Kai, and run away.
The old woman showed Gerda the flower garden. How fragrant and lovely it was there! Every flower you could imagine from every season stood there in full bloom. No picture book could have been more colorful and beautiful. Gerda jumped for joy and played in the garden until the sun sank behind the tall cherry trees. Then the old woman tucked her into a lovely bed with red silk comforters filled with blue violets. There she slept, and she had dreams as lovely as those of a queen on her wedding day.
HARRY CLARKE
“How did you manage to come on the great rolling river” reads the caption, which shows Gerda arriving at the hut of the woman who knows magic. Wooden soldiers guard the modest abode with its stylized, formal gardens. Gerda is dwarfed by her surroundings and looks at the woman with some trepidation.
The next morning, and for many days after that, Gerda played in the warm sunshine among the flowers.31 She knew the name of every single flower, but no matter how many she recognized, she was sure that one was missing, although she could not figure out which one. Then one day she was sitting and looking at the old woman’s sunhat with the painted flowers. The most beautiful flower on it was a rose. The old woman had forgotten the rose on her hat when she made the real roses disappear into the earth. But that’s just what happens if you don’t have your wits about you!
“Why are there no roses here?” Gerda asked. She ran around all the flower beds, searching high and low, but there was not a rose in sight. Then she sat down and burst into tears. Her hot tears hit the very spot where a rosebush had disappeared, and when Gerda’s warm tears moistened the earth, the rosebush suddenly shot up. It was in full bloom, just like on the day it had disappeared. Gerda put her arms around the bush, kissed the blossoms, and remembered all the lovely roses back home. That made her think about Kai.
“Oh no, I’ve been here far too long!” the little girl exclaimed. “I should have been looking for Kai.”
“Do you know where he is?” she asked the roses. “Can it be that he is dead and gone?”
“No, he’s not dead,” the roses said. “We have spent time under the ground with all the dead people, and Kai was nowhere in sight!”
“Thank you so much!” Gerda said to them. She went to the other flowers, looked into their blossoms, and asked: “Can you tell me where Kai is?”
All the flowers were standing in the sunlight, dreaming up their own fairy tales and fables. Little Gerda listened to one after another, but not one of the flowers knew anything about where Kai was.
What did the tiger lily have to say?32
“Can you hear the drum? Boom! Boom! It has only those two sounds, Boom! Boom! Listen to the mournful song of the women! Hear the cries of the priest! The Hindu woman stands in her long red robes on the funeral pyre. Flames leap up around her and the body of her husband. But the Hindu woman has thoughts only for the living man in the circle, he whose eyes burn hotter than flames and whose fiery glances have touched her heart more powerfully than the flames that will soon consume her body. Can the fire burning in the heart die in the flames of the pyre?”
“I don’t understand that at all!” little Gerda said.
“It’s my tale!” the tiger lily replied.
What does the morning glory have to say?33
“An ancient castle rises high above a narrow mountain path. Thick ivy grows across old red walls, leaf upon leaf, up to the balcony, where a lovely maiden is waiting. She leans over the railing to gaze down at the path. A rose still on its branch does not look as fresh as she does; an apple blossom floating in the breeze is not lighter than she is. Hear the rustling of her magnificent silken gown! ‘Will he never come?’ ”
“Do you mean Kai?” little Gerda asked.
“I am only telling you my tale, my dream,” the morning glory answered.
What does the little daisy have to say?34
“A long board is hanging from ropes between the trees—it’s a swing. Two sweet little girls, wearing dresses white as snow and hats with long green silk ribbons fluttering in the breeze, are swinging back and forth. Their brother, who is older, is standing on the swing with his arm hooked around the rope to keep his balance because in one hand he has a little bowl and in the other a clay pipe. He’s blowing soap bubbles. The swing goes back and forth and the bubbles, always changing color, float into the distance. The last bubble is still clinging to the bowl of his pipe, and fluttering in the air as the swing moves back and forth. A little black dog, as light as the bubbles, gets on his hind legs and tries to climb up on the swing, which flies in the other direction. The dog loses his balance and begins barking angrily. The children laugh, and the bubble bursts. A swinging board reflected in a bursting soap bubble—that’s my song.”
“What you’re telling me may be beautiful, but you tell it so sadly, and you haven’t said a word about Kai. What do the hyacinths have to say?”35
“There once lived three lovely sisters, pale and delicate. One wore a red dress, the other a blue dress, and the third sister’s dress was white. They danced hand in hand in the clear moonlight right near a glassy lake. They were not elfin folk. They were human children. The air was so sweet that the girls vanished into the forest. The scent grew stronger. Three coffins came gliding out of the woods across the lake, and the girls were lying in them. Fireflies hovered about them like small, flickering lights. Are the dancing girls asleep or are they dead? The fragrance of the flowers reveals that they are corpses and the evening bell tolls for the dead.”
“You are making me feel so sad,” Gerda said. “You have such a strong scent that I can’t help but think of the dead girls! Is Kai really dead? The roses have looked beneath the earth, and they say no!”
“Ding, dong,” sounded the hyacinth bells. “We aren’t ringing for Kai—we don’t even know who he is! We are just singing our song. It’s the only one we know!”
Gerda went over to the buttercup, which shone brightly from among its gleaming green leaves.
“You are just like a radiant little sun,” said Gerda. “Tell me, do you have any idea where I can find my playmate?”
The buttercup was shining beautifully when it looked at Gerda again. What kind of song could the buttercup sing?36 It was not about Kai either.
“God’s warm sun was shining onto a small courtyard on the very first day of spring. Its rays shimmered down the white wall of a house next door, near the first yellow flowers of spring gleaming like gold in the warm sunshine. Grandmother was sitting outside in her chair when her granddaughter, a poor but pretty servant girl, arrived home for a short visit. She kissed her grandmother and there was gold, a heart full of gold, in that blessed kiss. There was gold on her lips, gold in the ground where it lies, and gold in the sky when the sun rises. There—now you have my little story!” the buttercup said.
“Oh, my poor old grandmother,” Gerda sighed. “
I’m sure that she’s missing me, and she is grieving for me just as much as she did for little Kai. But I’ll be home again soon, and I’ll bring Kai back with me. It’s no use asking the flowers for help. They just sing their own songs, and they haven’t been able to tell me anything.” She gathered up her skirt so that she would be able to run faster, but the narcissus smacked her leg when she jumped over it. She stopped to look at the tall yellow flower and asked: “Do you know anything?” She bent down to listen to the narcissus.37 What did it have to say?
“I can see myself! I can see myself!” the narcissus said. “And my scent is so fragrant! Up in a small attic room, a little dancer is standing up—she’s half-dressed. First she gets up on one foot, then on both, and finally she kicks her heels at the whole world. But she’s just an illusion. She pours water from a teapot over a piece of clothing in her hand—it’s her corset. Cleanliness is a good thing! Her white dress is hanging from a hook. It was washed in her teapot and hung on the roof to dry. She puts it on and ties a scarf of saffron yellow around her neck. The dress looks more radiant than ever. Lift your leg high in the air! See how she balances on that stem! I can see myself! I can see myself!”
“I didn’t like that one bit!” Gerda said. “What a story to tell me!” And she ran over to the far edge of the garden.
The gate was fastened, but she jiggled the rusty latch until it gave way, and the gate flew open. Gerda ran barefoot out into the wide world. She looked back three times, but no one was following her. Finally she could go no farther and sat down to rest on a big rock. When she looked up she realized that summer was over, and it was already late in the fall. She would never have known it inside that beautiful garden where the sun was always shining and flowers from every season were always in full bloom. “My goodness! I’ve wasted so much time!” said little Gerda. “It’s already fall. I can’t stay around here any longer!” And she got up to leave.
The Annotated Hans Christian Andersen Page 6