“What are you doing, Kai?” cried the little girl, and when Kai saw how frightened she was, he tore off yet another flower; and then climbed through the window into his parents’ apartment, leaving Gerda to sit out there all alone.
Later, when she came inside with the picture book, he told her that picture books were for babies. And when Grandmother told stories he would argue with her or—which was much worse—stand behind her chair with a pair of glasses on his nose and imitate her most cruelly. He did it so accurately that people laughed. Soon he learned to mimic everyone in the whole street. He had a good eye for their little peculiarities and knew how to copy them.
Everyone said, “That boy has his head screwed on right!” But it was the splinters of glass that were in his eyes and his heart that made him behave that way; that, too, was why he teased little Gerda all the time—she who loved him with all her heart.
He did not play as he used to; now his games were more grown up. One winter day when snow was falling he brought a magnifying glass and looked at the snowflakes that were falling on his blue coat.
“Look through the glass, Gerda,” he said to his little playmate; and she did. Through the magnifying glass each snowflake appeared like a flower or ten-pointed star. They were, indeed, beautiful to see.
“Aren’t they marvelous?” asked Kai. “And each of them is quite perfect; they are much nicer than real flowers. They are all flawless as long as they don’t melt.”
A little bit later he came by, with his sled on his back, and wearing his hat and woolen gloves. He screamed into Gerda’s ear as loud as he could, “I have been allowed to go down to the big square and play with the other boys!” And away he went.
Now down in the snow-covered square the most daring of the boys would tie their sleds behind the farmers’ wagons. It was good fun and they would get a good ride. While they were playing, a big white sled drove into the square; the driver was clad in a white fur coat and a white fur hat. The sled circled the square twice and Kai managed to attach his little sled onto the back of the big one. He wanted to hitch a ride.
Away he went; the sled turned the corner and was out of the square. It began to go faster and faster, and Kai wanted to untie his sled, but every time he was about to do it, the driver of the big white sled turned and nodded so kindly to him that he didn’t. It was as if they knew each other. Soon they were past the city gate; and the snow was falling so heavily that Kai could not see anything. He untied the rope but it made no difference, his little sled moved on as if it were tied to the big one by magic. They traveled along with the speed of the wind. Kai cried out in fear but no one heard him. The snow flew around him as he flew forward. Every so often his little sled would leap across a ditch and Kai had to hold on, in order not to fall off. He wanted to say his prayers, but all he could remember were his multiplication tables.
The snowflakes grew bigger and bigger until they looked like white hens that were running alongside him. At last the big sled stopped and its driver stood up and turned around to look at Kai. The fur hat and the coat were made of snow; the driver was a woman: how tall and straight she stood. She was the Snow Queen!
“We have driven a goodish way,” she said, “but you look cold. Come, creep inside my bearskin coat.”
Kai got up from his own sled and walked over to the big one, where he sat down next to the Snow Queen. She put her fur coat around him, and it felt as if he lay down in a deep snowdrift.
“Are you still cold?” she asked, and kissed his forehead. Her kiss was colder than ice. It went right to his heart, which was already half made of ice. He felt as though he were about to die, but it hurt only for a minute, then it was over. Now he seemed stronger and he no longer felt how cold the air was.
“My sled, my sled, don’t forget it!” he cried. And one of the white hens put it on her back and flew behind them. The Snow Queen kissed Kai once more, and then all memory of Gerda, the Grandmother, and his home disappeared.
“I shan’t give you any more kisses,” she said, “or I might kiss you to death.”
Kai looked at the Snow Queen; he could not imagine that anyone could have a wiser or a more beautiful face; and she no longer seemed to be made of ice, as she had when he first saw her outside his window, the time she had beckoned to him. In his eyes she now seemed utterly perfect, nor did he feel any fear. He told her that he knew his multiplication tables, could figure in fractions, and knew the area in square miles of every country in Europe, and what its population was.
The Snow Queen smiled, and somehow Kai felt that he did not know enough. He looked out into the great void of the night, for by now they were flying high up in the clouds, above the earth. The storm swept on and sang its old, eternal songs. Above oceans, forests, and lakes they flew; and the cold winter wind whipped the landscape below them. Kai heard the cry of the wolves and the hoarse voice of the crows. The moon came out, and into its large and clear disk Kai stared all through the long winter night. When daytime came he fell asleep at the feet of the Snow Queen.
THE THIRD STORY: THE FLOWER GARDEN OF THE OLD WOMAN WHO KNEW MAGIC
But how did little Gerda feel when Kai did not return? She asked everyone where he had gone and none could answer. The boys who had been in the square could only tell that they had seen him tie his little sled to the back of a big white sled that had driven out of the city gate.
No one knew where he had gone and little Gerda cried long and bitterly. As time passed people began to say that he must have died; probably he had drowned in the deep, dark river that ran close to the city. It was a long and dismal winter.
Finally spring came with warm sunshine.
“Kai is dead and gone!” sighed little Gerda.
“I don’t believe that,” said the sunbeams.
“No, he is dead and gone,” she repeated, and asked the swallows if that were not true.
“We don’t believe it either,” they answered; and at last little Gerda was convinced that Kai was not dead.
“I will put on my new red shoes, the ones Kai has never seen,” she said one day. “And then I will go down to the river and ask it a few questions.”
It was very early in the morning; she kissed the old Grandmother, who was still asleep, put on her new red shoes, and walked out through the city gate and down to the river.
“Is it true that you have taken my playmate? I will give you my new red shoes if you will give him back to me.”
She thought that the little waves nodded strangely; so she took her treasure, her new red shoes, and threw them out into the river. They struck the water not far from shore, and the little waves carried them back to her. It was as if the river did not want her little shoes since it had not taken Kai. This little Gerda did not realize, she thought that she just hadn’t thrown them far enough out; therefore, she climbed into a rowboat that lay among the reeds, stood up in its stern, and threw the shoes out over the water again. The boat had not been moored and, by stepping into the stern, she loosened the bow from the sand and the rowboat started to drift. Although she noticed it at once and turned around, prepared to leap up onto the bank, the boat was already several feet away from shore and she didn’t dare jump.
The boat floated faster and faster downstream with the current. Poor Gerda was so frightened that she just sat down and cried. No one heard her except the sparrows and they could not carry her to shore. But they flew alongside the boat, twittering: “We are here! We are here!” to comfort her.
The boat drifted down the river. Gerda sat perfectly still; she was in her stocking feet; the shoes followed the boat but they were far behind. The landscape was beautiful on both sides of the river. Beyond the banks, which were covered with flowers, there were meadows with cows and sheep grazing upon them; but there was not a human being to be seen anywhere.
“Maybe the river will carry me to where Kai is,” thought Gerda. And that thought was a great comfort and she felt much happier. For hours she sat looking at the green shores; then the boat
drifted past a cherry orchard; in the middle of it stood a strange little house with blue and green windows and a straw roof. Before the doors two wooden soldiers kept guard and presented arms when a boat glided by on the river.
Little Gerda, thinking that they were alive, waved and called; but naturally they did not answer. The current of the river carried the boat to the shore, and Gerda started to shout for help as loudly as she could. An old lady came out of the house; she had on a big broad-brimmed hat with the loveliest paintings of flowers on it.
“Poor little child!” she cried when she saw Gerda. “How did you get out there on the river, all alone, and sail so far out into the wide world?” The old lady waded out till she could catch hold of the boat with her shepherd’s crook and drew it into shore. Then she lifted Gerda out of the boat. The poor child was happy to be on dry land once again, but she was a little afraid of the old lady:
“Tell me who you are and how you have gotten into such a predicament,” the old woman asked.
Gerda told her everything and the old lady shook her head. When Gerda asked whether she had seen little Kai, all the old lady could say was that he hadn’t gone by her house but that he probably would arrive there sooner or later. She told little Gerda not to be so sad but to come and eat some of her cherries and look at her flowers. They were prettier than any picture book, and every one of them could tell a story. The old lady took Gerda by the hand, opened the door to her little house, and led her inside.
The windows were placed high up, and the colored glass gave a strange light to the room. On the table stood a bowl filled with the most delicious cherries, and Gerda ate as many of them as she could. While she ate, the old woman combed Gerda’s hair with a gold comb and her hair curled prettily around her little rosebud face.
“I have longed so much for a little girl like you,” said the old woman. “You just wait and see what good friends we shall become.”
While her hair was being combed, Gerda began to forget her playmate Kai more and more. The old lady knew witchcraft; but she was not an evil witch, she just liked to do a little magic for her own pleasure. She wanted little Gerda to stay with her very much; that was why she went with her shepherd’s crook out into the garden and pointed it at all the rosebushes. Immediately, the sweet flowering bushes sank down into the earth and disappeared. One could not even see where they had been. Now she need not fear that when little Gerda saw the roses she would think of Kai and run away.
Then she took Gerda out into the garden and showed it to her. Oh, what a beautiful place it was! All the flowers imaginable were there; and all of them in full bloom, although they belonged to different seasons. Certainly no picture book could be as beautiful as they were. Gerda almost jumped for joy, and she played among them all day until the sun set behind the tall cherry trees. Then she was given the loveliest of beds with a red quilt stuffed with dried violets to cover herself; and there she slept, dreaming sweeter dreams than even a queen on her wedding night.
The next day she played in the warm sunshine with the flowers again; and in this manner many days went by. Gerda, at last, knew every flower in the garden, and though there were so many different kinds, there seemed to be one missing, but she did not know which it was.
One day as she was sitting looking at the old lady’s grand hat, with its painted flowers, she saw among them a rose. The old woman had forgotten the one in her hat when she got rid of all the roses—that happens if you are absent-minded.
“What!” exclaimed Gerda. “Are there no roses in the garden?” She ran about the garden, looking and searching, but nowhere did she find a rosebush. She felt so sad that she wept and her tears fell on the very plot of earth where a rose tree had grown. Through the earth, moistened by her tears, the tree shot upward again, blooming just as beautifully as when the old woman had made it vanish. Gerda kissed the flowers and thought of the roses at home and of little Kai.
“I have stayed here much too long,” she cried. “I must find little Kai. Do you know where he is?” she asked the roses. “Do you think that he is dead?”
“No, he is not dead,” answered the roses. “We have been down under the earth, where the dead are, and Kai was not there.”
“Thank you,” said little Gerda. She asked the other flowers if they knew where Kai was.
Every flower stood in the warm sunshine and dreamed its own fairy tale; and that it was willing to tell, but none of them knew anything about Kai.
What story did the tiger lily tell her? Here it is:
“Can you hear the drum: boom … boom! It has only two beats: boom … boom. Listen to the woman’s song of lament; hear the priest chant. The Hindu wife is standing on the funeral pyre, dressed in a long red gown. Soon the flames will devour her and her husband’s body. She is thinking of someone who is standing among the mourners; his eyes burn even hotter than the flames that lick her feet, his flaming eyes did burn her heart with greater heat than those flames which soon will turn her body into ashes. Can the fire of a funeral pyre extinguish the flame that burns within the heart?”
“That story I don’t understand,” said little Gerda.
“Well, it is my fairy tale,” answered the tiger lily.
Next Gerda asked the honeysuckle; and this is what it said:
“High up above the narrow mountain road the old castle clings to the steep mountainside. Its ancient walls are covered by green ivy; the vines spread over the balcony where a beautiful young girl stands. No unplucked rose is fresher than she, no apple blossom, plucked and carried by the spring wind, is lighter or dances more daintily than she. Hear how her silk dress rustles. Will he not come soon?”
“Is that Kai you mean?” asked little Gerda.
“I tell only my own story, my own dream,” answered the honeysuckle.
Now it was the little daisy’s turn:
“Between two trees a swing has been hung. Two sweet little girls, with dresses as white as snow and from whose hats green ribbons hang, lazily swing back and forth. Their brother, who is older than they are, is standing up behind them on the swing. He has his arms around the ropes so that he will not fall. In one hand he has a little bowl; in the other, a clay pipe. He is blowing soap bubbles. The swing glides, and the bubbles with their ever changing colors fly through the air. The last bubble clings to the pipe, then the breeze takes it. A little black dog, which belongs to the children, stands on its hind legs barking at the bubble and it breaks. Such is my song: a swing and a world of foam.”
“Your tale may be beautiful but you tell it so sadly, and you didn’t mention Kai at all,” complained little Gerda. “I think I will ask the hyacinth.”
“There were three beautiful sisters; they were so fine and delicate that they were almost transparent. One had on a red dress; the second, a blue; and the third, a white one. They danced, hand in hand, down by the lake; but they were not elves, they were real human children. The air smelled so sweet that the girls wandered into the forest. The sweet fragrance grew stronger. Three coffins appeared; and in them lay the three beautiful sisters. They sailed across the lake, and glowworms flew through the air like little candles. Were the dancing girls asleep or were they dead? The smell of the flowers said they were corpses, the bells at vespers ring for the dead.”
“Oh, you make me feel so sad,” said little Gerda. “And the fragrance from your flowers is so strong that it makes me think of the poor dead girls. Is Kai dead too? The roses, who have been down under the earth, said that he wasn’t.”
“Ding! dong!” rang the little hyacinth bells. “We are not tolling for Kai, we do not know him. We are singing our own little song, the only one we know.”
Gerda approached a little buttercup that shone so prettily between its green leaves.
“You little sun, tell me, do you know where my playmate is?” she asked.
The buttercup’s little shining face looked so trustfully back at her, but it too had only its own song to sing and it was not about Kai.
“Int
o a little narrow yard,” began the buttercup, “God’s warm sun was shining; it was the first spring day of the year. The sunbeams reflected against the white walls of the neighbor’s house; nearby the first little yellow flower had unfolded itself. It was golden in the sunlight; the old grandmother brought her chair outside to sit in the warm sun. Her grandchild, the poor little servant maid, had come home for a short visit. She kissed her grandmother. There was gold in that kiss: the gold of the heart. Gold in the mouth, gold on the ground, and gold in the blessed sunrise. Now that was my little story,” said the buttercup.
“Oh, the poor Grandmother,” sighed little Gerda. “She must be longing for me and grieving, as she did when little Kai disappeared. But I will soon go back home and bring little Kai with me. There is no point in asking any of the other flowers, each one only sings its own song.”
She tied her long dress up so that she could run fast, and away she went. The narcissus hit her leg smartly when she jumped over it and Gerda stopped. “What, do you know something?” she asked, and bent down toward the flower.
“I can see myself, I can see myself,” cried the narcissus. “High up in the garret lives the little ballerina; she stands on tiptoe and kicks at the world, for it is but a mirage. She pours a little water from the kettle on a piece of cloth; it is her corset that she is washing, for cleanliness is next to godliness. Her white dress is hanging in the corner; it has also been washed in the teakettle, then it was hung out on the roof to dry. Now she puts it on, and around her neck she ties a saffron-colored kerchief; it makes the dress seem even whiter. She lifts one leg high in the air. She is bending her stem. I can see myself! I can see myself!”
“I don’t care either to see you or to hear about you,” said Gerda angrily. “Your story is a silly story,” and with those words she ran to the other end of the garden.
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.