The Snow Queen. A Tale in Seven Stories. Hans Andersen
and when he saw she was frightened, he pulled off a third rose, and ran in at his own window, leaving dear little Gerda. Later, when she brought him the picture book, he said, “it was only fit for babies”, and when grandmother told them stories, he was always breaking in with a “But”. And if he could he would follow her about with spectacles on and imitate her talking; it was exactly like, and made people laugh. Very soon he could imitate the walk and talk of everybody in their street. Everything that was odd or not nice about them Kay could mimic, and people said, “That boy’s got an uncommon wit, to be sure”. But it was the bit of glass he had got in his eye and the bit he had in his heart; and so it came about that he would tease even little Gerda, who loved him with all her heart. The games he played were quite different now: they were very clever. One winter day, when the snow-flakes were drifting down, he brought a big magnifying glass and held out the corner of his blue jacket and let the flakes fall on it.
“Now look through the glass, Gerda,” he said; and there was every flake made much bigger, and looking like a beautiful flower or a ten-pointed star: lovely it was to see. “Look how clever it is,” said Kay, “it’s much more interesting than the real flowers are; and there’s not a single thing wrong with them, they’re perfectly accurate – if only they didn’t melt.”
A little later Kay came in with big mittens on, and his sledge hung on his back; he shouted to Gerda, right in her ear, “I’ve got leave to drive in the big square where the others are playing,” and he was off.
Out there in the square the boldest of the boys often used to tie their sledges to a farmer’s cart and drive a good long way with it. It was excellent fun. At the height of their sport a large sledge came by; it was painted white all over, and in it was someone wrapped in a shaggy white fur and wearing a shaggy white cap. This sledge drove twice round the square, and little Kay made haste and tied his own little sledge to it, and drove off with it. Faster and faster it went, into the next street. The driver turned his head and nodded to Kay in a friendly way; it seemed as if they knew each other. Every time Kay thought of loosing his sledge the driver nodded again, so Kay stayed where he was: and they drove right out through the town gate. Then the snow began to fall so thick that the boy couldn’t see his hand before him as he drove on; and he hastily loosed the rope so as to let go of the big sledge. But it made no difference, his little trap held fast to it, and it went like the wind. He called out loudly, but no one heard, and the snow drifted down and the sledge flew onward. Sometimes it made a bound as if it were going over ditches or fences. He was in a dreadful fright; he tried to say the Lord’s Prayer, but he could only remember the multiplication table.
The snow-flakes grew bigger and bigger, till at last they looked like large white hens; suddenly they parted, the big sledge pulled up, and the person who was driving in it rose. The fur and the cap were all of snow: it was a lady, tall and slender, shining white – the Snow Queen.
“We have travelled well,” said she; “but you mustn’t freeze. Creep into my bearskin.” She put him beside her in the sledge, and he felt as if he were sinking into a snow-drift. “Are you still cold?” she asked, and kissed him on the forehead. Ugh! it was colder than ice, and struck straight to his heart – which itself was almost a lump of ice. He felt as if he was dying, but only for a moment: then all was right, he didn’t notice the cold about him any more.
“My sledge! Don’t leave my sledge behind!” that was the first thing he remembered: so it was tied on to one of the white hens, which flew after them with the sledge on its back. Once more the Snow Queen kissed Kay, and he had forgotten little Gerda and grandmother and everyone at home.
“No more kisses now,” said she, “or I should kiss you to death.” Kay looked at her; very pretty she was; a cleverer, fairer face he could not imagine. She didn’t seem now to be of ice, as she was when she sat outside the window and beckoned him. In his eyes she was perfect, and he felt no fear. He told how he knew mental arithmetic, and with fractions, too, and the area of the country, and how many inhabitants, and she smiled all the time, till he thought that what he knew didn’t come to much. He gazed up into the immense spaces of the air, and she flew on with him, flew high among the dark clouds, and the storm wind whistled and roared as if it were singing old ballads. Over forest and lake they flew, over sea and land: below them the cold blast whistled, the wolves howled, the snow sparkled; above them flew the black cawing crows, but over all shone the moon, large and bright; and by its light Kay watched through the long long winter night; by day he slumbered at the feet of the Snow Queen.
STORY THE THIRD
The Flower Garden of the Old Woman who knew Magic
But how fared little Gerda when Kay came back no more? Where could he be? Nobody knew, nobody could tell. The boys could only say they had seen him tie his little sledge to another fine large one which had driven down the street and out at the town gate. Nobody knew where he was. Many tears were shed; sore and long did little Gerda weep. Then they said he was dead, drowned in the river that ran past the town. Dark indeed and long were those winter days.
Then came spring with warmer sunshine.
“Kay is dead and gone,” said little Gerda.
“I don’t believe it,” said the Sunshine.
“He’s dead and gone,” said she to the swallows.
“I don’t believe it,” they answered, and at last little Gerda didn’t believe it either.
“I’ll put on my new red shoes,” she said one morning early, “the ones Kay has never seen, and I’ll go down to the river and ask about him.”
It was quite early. She kissed her old grandmother as she slept, put on the red shoes, and went out of the gate to the river, quite alone.
“Is it true that you have taken my little playfellow? I’ll give my red shoes if you’ll give him back to me.”
The waves, she thought, nodded in a queer fashion; so she took her gay red shoes, the most precious thing she had, and threw them both into the river, but they fell close into the bank, and the little waves carried them straight back to her on shore. It seemed that the river would not take the most precious thing she had because it had not got little Kay. But she thought she hadn’t thrown the shoes far enough out, so she climbed into a boat that lay in the rushes, and went out to the further end of it and threw out the shoes. But the boat was not moored fast, and with the movement she made it floated away from the shore. She noticed this and made haste to get out, but before she could get back the boat was more than a fathom away, and began to drift more quickly along. Little Gerda was very much frightened and began to cry; but nobody heard her except the sparrows, and they couldn’t carry her ashore; but they flew along the bank and sang, as if to comfort her: “Here we are, here we are!” The boat was carried downstream; little Gerda sat still, in her stockinged feet; her little red shoes floated behind, but couldn’t reach the boat, which was now travelling faster.
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