The Snow Queen

Now then, let us begin. When we are at the end of the story, we shall know more than we know now: but to begin.

Now then, let’s begin. By the end of the story, we’ll know more than we do now. But first, let’s begin.

Once upon a time there was a wicked sprite, indeed he was the most mischievous of all sprites. One day he was in a very good humor, for he had made a mirror with the power of causing all that was good and beautiful when it was reflected therein, to look poor and mean; but that which was good-for-nothing and looked ugly was shown magnified and increased in ugliness. In this mirror the most beautiful landscapes looked like boiled spinach, and the best persons were turned into frights, or appeared to stand on their heads; their faces were so distorted that they were not to be recognised; and if anyone had a mole, you might be sure that it would be magnified and spread over both nose and mouth.

Once upon a time, there was a wicked sprite. In fact, he was the most mischievous of all sprites. One day, he was in a very good mood because he had made a special mirror. Everything good and beautiful looked poor and shabby when reflected in it. But anything ugly and worthless appeared larger and even uglier. In this mirror, the most beautiful landscapes looked like boiled spinach. The best people looked frightening or appeared to be standing on their heads. Their faces were so distorted that no one could recognize them. And if anyone had a mole, you could be sure it would look bigger and spread over their nose and mouth.

“That's glorious fun!” said the sprite. If a good thought passed through a man's mind, then a grin was seen in the mirror, and the sprite laughed heartily at his clever discovery. All the little sprites who went to his school—for he kept a sprite school—told each other that a miracle had happened; and that now only, as they thought, it would be possible to see how the world really looked. They ran about with the mirror; and at last there was not a land or a person who was not represented distorted in the mirror. So then they thought they would fly up to the sky, and have a joke there. The higher they flew with the mirror, the more terribly it grinned: they could hardly hold it fast. Higher and higher still they flew, nearer and nearer to the stars, when suddenly the mirror shook so terribly with grinning, that it flew out of their hands and fell to the earth, where it was dashed in a hundred million and more pieces. And now it worked much more evil than before; for some of these pieces were hardly so large as a grain of sand, and they flew about in the wide world, and when they got into people's eyes, there they stayed; and then people saw everything perverted, or only had an eye for that which was evil. This happened because the very smallest bit had the same power which the whole mirror had possessed. Some persons even got a splinter in their heart, and then it made one shudder, for their heart became like a lump of ice. Some of the broken pieces were so large that they were used for windowpanes, through which one could not see one's friends. Other pieces were put in spectacles; and that was a sad affair when people put on their glasses to see well and rightly. Then the wicked sprite laughed till he almost choked, for all this tickled his fancy. The fine splinters still flew about in the air: and now we shall hear what happened next.

“That's glorious fun!” said the sprite. If a good thought passed through a man's mind, the mirror would grin. The sprite laughed heartily at his clever discovery. He ran a sprite school, and all the little sprites who attended it told each other that a miracle had happened. They thought it was now possible, for the first time, to see how the world really looked. They ran about with the mirror. At last, every land and every person had appeared distorted in it. Then the sprites decided to fly up to the sky and have a joke there. The higher they flew with the mirror, the more terribly it grinned. They could hardly hold on to it. They flew higher and higher, nearer and nearer to the stars. Suddenly, the mirror shook so terribly from grinning that it flew out of their hands. It fell to earth, where it shattered into more than a hundred million pieces. Now the mirror did much more harm than before. Some pieces were hardly larger than a grain of sand. They flew all over the world, and when they got into people's eyes, they stayed there. Then people saw everything distorted, or saw only what was evil. This happened because the smallest piece had the same power as the whole mirror. Some people even got a splinter in their heart. That was enough to make anyone shudder, because their heart turned into a lump of ice. Some pieces were so large that they were used as windowpanes. People could not see their friends through those panes. Other pieces were put in spectacles. That was a sad affair when people put on their glasses to see clearly and correctly. Then the wicked sprite laughed until he nearly choked, for all this delighted him. The fine splinters were still flying through the air, and now we shall hear what happened next.

In a large town, where there are so many houses, and so many people, that there is no roof left for everybody to have a little garden; and where, on this account, most persons are obliged to content themselves with flowers in pots; there lived two little children, who had a garden somewhat larger than a flower-pot. They were not brother and sister; but they cared for each other as much as if they were. Their parents lived exactly opposite. They inhabited two garrets; and where the roof of the one house joined that of the other, and the gutter ran along the extreme end of it, there was to each house a small window: one needed only to step over the gutter to get from one window to the other.

In a large town, there were so many houses and people that not everyone had a roof for a little garden. So most people had to make do with flowers in pots. Two little children who lived there had a garden somewhat larger than a flowerpot. They were not brother and sister, but they cared for each other as much as if they were. Their parents lived directly opposite each other, in two attic rooms. The roofs of the two houses met, and a gutter ran along the edge between them. Each house had a small window there. You only had to step over the gutter to get from one window to the other.

The children's parents had large wooden boxes there, in which vegetables for the kitchen were planted, and little rosetrees besides: there was a rose in each box, and they grew splendidly. They now thought of placing the boxes across the gutter, so that they nearly reached from one window to the other, and looked just like two walls of flowers. The tendrils of the peas hung down over the boxes; and the rose-trees shot up long branches, twined round the windows, and then bent towards each other: it was almost like a triumphant arch of foliage and flowers. The boxes were very high, and the children knew that they must not creep over them; so they often obtained permission to get out of the windows to each other, and to sit on their little stools among the roses, where they could play delightfully. In winter there was an end of this pleasure. The windows were often frozen over; but then they heated copper farthings on the stove, and laid the hot farthing on the windowpane, and then they had a capital peep-hole, quite nicely rounded; and out of each peeped a gentle friendly eye—it was the little boy and the little girl who were looking out. His name was Kay, hers was Gerda. In summer, with one jump, they could get to each other; but in winter they were obliged first to go down the long stairs, and then up the long stairs again: and out-of-doors there was quite a snow-storm.

The children's parents had large wooden boxes there, planted with vegetables for the kitchen and little rosebushes. There was one rosebush in each box, and both grew splendidly. The parents thought of placing the boxes across the gutter, so they nearly reached from one window to the other. The boxes looked just like two walls of flowers. Pea tendrils hung down over the boxes. The rosebushes sent up long branches that twined around the windows and bent toward each other. Together, they looked almost like a triumphal arch of leaves and flowers. The boxes were very high, and the children knew they must not climb over them. So they were often allowed to climb out of their windows to visit each other. They could sit on little stools among the roses and play happily. In winter, this pleasure came to an end. The windows were often covered with frost. But the children would heat copper farthings on the stove and lay them against the windowpanes. This made a fine, neatly rounded peephole in each pane. A gentle, friendly eye peeped out of each one. The little boy and the little girl were looking out. His name was Kay, and hers was Gerda. In summer, they could reach each other with one jump. But in winter, they had to go down the long stairs and then up the long stairs again. Outside, a snowstorm was raging.

“It is the white bees that are swarming,” said Kay's old grandmother.

“The white bees are swarming,” said Kay's old grandmother.

“Do the white bees choose a queen?” asked the little boy; for he knew that the honey-bees always have one.

“Do the white bees choose a queen?” asked the little boy. He asked because he knew that honeybees always have one.

“Yes,” said the grandmother, “she flies where the swarm hangs in the thickest clusters. She is the largest of all; and she can never remain quietly on the earth, but goes up again into the black clouds. Many a winter's night she flies through the streets of the town, and peeps in at the windows; and they then freeze in so wondrous a manner that they look like flowers.”

“Yes,” said the grandmother, “she flies where the swarm gathers in the thickest clusters. She is the largest of all. She can never stay still on the ground, but flies back up into the black clouds. On many winter nights, she flies through the town’s streets and peeks in at the windows. The windows then freeze in such a wondrous way that they look like flowers.”

“Yes, I have seen it,” said both the children; and so they knew that it was true.

“Yes, I have seen it,” both children said. So they knew it was true.

“Can the Snow Queen come in?” said the little girl.

“Can the Snow Queen come in?” said the little girl.

“Only let her come in!” said the little boy. “Then I'd put her on the stove, and she'd melt.”

“Just let her come in!” said the little boy. “Then I'd put her on the stove, and she'd melt.”

And then his grandmother patted his head and told him other stories.

Then his grandmother patted his head and told him other stories.

In the evening, when little Kay was at home, and half undressed, he climbed up on the chair by the window, and peeped out of the little hole. A few snow-flakes were falling, and one, the largest of all, remained lying on the edge of a flower-pot.

That evening, little Kay was at home, half undressed. He climbed onto the chair by the window and peered through the little hole. A few snowflakes were falling. The largest of all landed on the edge of a flowerpot and stayed there.

The flake of snow grew larger and larger; and at last it was like a young lady, dressed in the finest white gauze, made of a million little flakes like stars. She was so beautiful and delicate, but she was of ice, of dazzling, sparkling ice; yet she lived; her eyes gazed fixedly, like two stars; but there was neither quiet nor repose in them. She nodded towards the window, and beckoned with her hand. The little boy was frightened, and jumped down from the chair; it seemed to him as if, at the same moment, a large bird flew past the window.

The snowflake grew larger and larger. At last, it became like a young woman dressed in the finest white gauze, made of a million tiny flakes like stars. She was beautiful and delicate, but she was made of ice, dazzling, sparkling ice. Yet she was alive. Her eyes stared steadily, like two stars, but there was no calm or rest in them. She nodded toward the window and beckoned with her hand. The little boy was frightened and jumped down from the chair. At that same moment, it seemed to him that a large bird flew past the window.

The next day it was a sharp frost—and then the spring came; the sun shone, the green leaves appeared, the swallows built their nests, the windows were opened, and the little children again sat in their pretty garden, high up on the leads at the top of the house.

The next day there was a hard frost. Then spring came. The sun shone, green leaves appeared, and the swallows built their nests. The windows were opened, and the little children sat again in their pretty garden on the roof of the house.

That summer the roses flowered in unwonted beauty. The little girl had learned a hymn, in which there was something about roses; and then she thought of her own flowers; and she sang the verse to the little boy, who then sang it with her:

That summer, the roses bloomed more beautifully than usual. The little girl had learned a hymn that mentioned roses. It made her think of her own flowers. She sang the verse to the little boy, and then he sang it with her:

And the children held each other by the hand, kissed the roses, looked up at the clear sunshine, and spoke as though they really saw angels there. What lovely summer-days those were! How delightful to be out in the air, near the fresh rose-bushes, that seem as if they would never finish blossoming!

The children held hands, kissed the roses, and looked up at the bright sunshine. They spoke as if they really saw angels there. What lovely summer days those were! How delightful it was to be outside, near the fresh rosebushes that seemed as if they would never stop blooming!

Kay and Gerda looked at the picture-book full of beasts and of birds; and it was then—the clock in the church-tower was just striking five—that Kay said, “Oh! I feel such a sharp pain in my heart; and now something has got into my eye!”

Kay and Gerda looked at the picture book full of animals and birds. Just as the church tower clock struck five, Kay said, “Oh! I feel a sharp pain in my heart, and now something has gotten into my eye!”

The little girl put her arms around his neck. He winked his eyes; now there was nothing to be seen.

The little girl put her arms around his neck. He blinked. Now nothing could be seen.

“I think it is out now,” said he; but it was not. It was just one of those pieces of glass from the magic mirror that had got into his eye; and poor Kay had got another piece right in his heart. It will soon become like ice. It did not hurt any longer, but there it was.

“I think it is out now,” he said. But it was not. It was a piece of glass from the magic mirror that had gotten into his eye. Poor Kay had gotten another piece right in his heart. His heart would soon become like ice. The piece in his eye no longer hurt, but it was still there.

“What are you crying for?” asked he. “You look so ugly! There's nothing the matter with me. Ah,” said he at once, “that rose is cankered! And look, this one is quite crooked! After all, these roses are very ugly! They are just like the box they are planted in!” And then he gave the box a good kick with his foot, and pulled both the roses up.

“Why are you crying?” he asked. “You look so ugly! There’s nothing wrong with me. Oh,” he said suddenly, “that rose is diseased! And look, this one is completely crooked! These roses are very ugly after all! They’re just like the box they’re planted in!” Then he gave the box a hard kick and pulled up both roses.

“What are you doing?” cried the little girl; and as he perceived her fright, he pulled up another rose, got in at the window, and hastened off from dear little Gerda.

“What are you doing?” cried the little girl. When he saw her fear, he pulled up another rose, climbed in through the window, and hurried away from dear little Gerda.

Afterwards, when she brought her picture-book, he asked, “What horrid beasts have you there?” And if his grandmother told them stories, he always interrupted her; besides, if he could manage it, he would get behind her, put on her spectacles, and imitate her way of speaking; he copied all her ways, and then everybody laughed at him. He was soon able to imitate the gait and manner of everyone in the street. Everything that was peculiar and displeasing in them—that Kay knew how to imitate: and at such times all the people said, “The boy is certainly very clever!” But it was the glass he had got in his eye; the glass that was sticking in his heart, which made him tease even little Gerda, whose whole soul was devoted to him.

Later, when she brought her picture book, he asked, “What horrible beasts do you have there?” And if his grandmother told them stories, he always interrupted her. If he could, he would also get behind her, put on her glasses, and imitate her voice. He copied all her ways, and everyone laughed at him. Soon he could imitate the walk and manner of everyone in the street. Kay knew how to imitate everything strange and unpleasant about them. Whenever he did, all the people said, “The boy is certainly very clever!” But it was the glass in his eye and the glass stuck in his heart that made him tease even little Gerda, who was devoted to him with her whole soul.

His games now were quite different to what they had formerly been, they were so very knowing. One winter's day, when the flakes of snow were flying about, he spread the skirts of his blue coat, and caught the snow as it fell.

His games were now quite different from before. They were very clever. One winter day, as snowflakes flew through the air, he spread out the tails of his blue coat and caught the falling snow.

“Look through this glass, Gerda,” said he. And every flake seemed larger, and appeared like a magnificent flower, or beautiful star; it was splendid to look at!

“Look through this glass, Gerda,” he said. Every flake looked larger, like a magnificent flower or a beautiful star. It was splendid to see!

“Look, how clever!” said Kay. “That's much more interesting than real flowers! They are as exact as possible; there is not a fault in them, if they did not melt!”

“Look how clever!” said Kay. “That's much more interesting than real flowers! They are perfectly precise. They would have no flaws if they didn't melt!”

It was not long after this, that Kay came one day with large gloves on, and his little sledge at his back, and bawled right into Gerda's ears, “I have permission to go out into the square where the others are playing”; and off he was in a moment.

Not long after this, Kay came in one day wearing large gloves, with his little sled on his back. He shouted right into Gerda’s ear, “I have permission to go out to the square where the others are playing.” Then he was off in a moment.

There, in the market-place, some of the boldest of the boys used to tie their sledges to the carts as they passed by, and so they were pulled along, and got a good ride. It was so capital! Just as they were in the very height of their amusement, a large sledge passed by: it was painted quite white, and there was someone in it wrapped up in a rough white mantle of fur, with a rough white fur cap on his head. The sledge drove round the square twice, and Kay tied on his sledge as quickly as he could, and off he drove with it. On they went quicker and quicker into the next street; and the person who drove turned round to Kay, and nodded to him in a friendly manner, just as if they knew each other. Every time he was going to untie his sledge, the person nodded to him, and then Kay sat quiet; and so on they went till they came outside the gates of the town. Then the snow began to fall so thickly that the little boy could not see an arm's length before him, but still on he went: when suddenly he let go the string he held in his hand in order to get loose from the sledge, but it was of no use; still the little vehicle rushed on with the quickness of the wind. He then cried as loud as he could, but no one heard him; the snow drifted and the sledge flew on, and sometimes it gave a jerk as though they were driving over hedges and ditches. He was quite frightened, and he tried to repeat the Lord's Prayer; but all he could do, he was only able to remember the multiplication table.

There, in the marketplace, some of the boldest boys used to tie their sleds to passing carts. The carts pulled them along, giving them a good ride. It was great fun! Just as they were having the most fun, a large sled passed by. It was painted entirely white. Someone sat in it, wrapped in a rough white fur cloak, with a rough white fur cap on his head. The sled went around the square twice. Kay quickly tied his own sled to it, and off he went. They went faster and faster into the next street. The driver turned around and nodded at Kay in a friendly way, as if they knew each other. Each time Kay was about to untie his sled, the driver nodded at him, and Kay sat still. They went on like this until they passed through the town gates. Then the snow began to fall so thickly that the little boy could not see an arm’s length ahead. But still he went on. Suddenly, he let go of the string in his hand, hoping to break free from the large sled. But it was no use. His little sled kept racing along as fast as the wind. He cried out as loudly as he could, but no one heard him. The snow drifted and the sled flew on. Sometimes it jerked, as if they were driving over hedges and ditches. Kay was very frightened and tried to say the Lord’s Prayer. But try as he might, all he could remember was the multiplication table.

The snow-flakes grew larger and larger, till at last they looked just like great white fowls. Suddenly they flew on one side; the large sledge stopped, and the person who drove rose up. It was a lady; her cloak and cap were of snow. She was tall and of slender figure, and of a dazzling whiteness. It was the Snow Queen.

The snowflakes grew larger and larger until they looked just like great white birds. Suddenly, they flew to one side. The large sled stopped, and the person driving it stood up. She was a lady, and her cloak and cap were made of snow. She was tall and slender, and dazzlingly white. She was the Snow Queen.

“We have travelled fast,” said she; “but it is freezingly cold. Come under my bearskin.” And she put him in the sledge beside her, wrapped the fur round him, and he felt as though he were sinking in a snow-wreath.

“We’ve traveled fast,” she said, “but it’s freezing cold. Come under my bearskin.” She put him in the sleigh beside her and wrapped the fur around him. He felt as if he were sinking into a snowdrift.

“Are you still cold?” asked she; and then she kissed his forehead. Ah! it was colder than ice; it penetrated to his very heart, which was already almost a frozen lump; it seemed to him as if he were about to die—but a moment more and it was quite congenial to him, and he did not remark the cold that was around him.

“Are you still cold?” she asked, and then she kissed his forehead. Ah! Her kiss was colder than ice. It reached his heart, which was already almost a frozen lump. He felt as if he were about to die. But a moment later, he felt quite comfortable and no longer noticed the cold around him.

“My sledge! Do not forget my sledge!” It was the first thing he thought of. It was there tied to one of the white chickens, who flew along with it on his back behind the large sledge. The Snow Queen kissed Kay once more, and then he forgot little Gerda, grandmother, and all whom he had left at his home.

“My sledge! Do not forget my sledge!” It was the first thing Kay thought of. The sledge was tied to one of the white chickens. The chicken flew behind the large sledge, carrying Kay’s sledge on its back. The Snow Queen kissed Kay once more. Then he forgot little Gerda, grandmother, and all the people he had left at home.

“Now you will have no more kisses,” said she, “or else I should kiss you to death!”

“No more kisses for you,” she said, “or I might kiss you to death!”

Kay looked at her. She was very beautiful; a more clever, or a more lovely countenance he could not fancy to himself; and she no longer appeared of ice as before, when she sat outside the window, and beckoned to him; in his eyes she was perfect, he did not fear her at all, and told her that he could calculate in his head and with fractions, even; that he knew the number of square miles there were in the different countries, and how many inhabitants they contained; and she smiled while he spoke. It then seemed to him as if what he knew was not enough, and he looked upwards in the large huge empty space above him, and on she flew with him; flew high over the black clouds, while the storm moaned and whistled as though it were singing some old tune. On they flew over woods and lakes, over seas, and many lands; and beneath them the chilling storm rushed fast, the wolves howled, the snow crackled; above them flew large screaming crows, but higher up appeared the moon, quite large and bright; and it was on it that Kay gazed during the long long winter's night; while by day he slept at the feet of the Snow Queen.

Kay looked at her. She was very beautiful. He could not imagine a more intelligent or lovely face. She no longer seemed to be made of ice, as she had when she sat outside the window and beckoned to him. In his eyes she was perfect, and he was not afraid of her at all. He told her that he could calculate in his head, even with fractions. He knew how many square miles there were in different countries and how many people lived in them. She smiled as he spoke. Then Kay felt as if what he knew was not enough, and he looked up into the vast empty space above him. On she flew with him, high above the black clouds. The storm moaned and whistled as though it were singing an old tune. On they flew over woods and lakes, over seas and many lands. Beneath them, the chilling storm rushed past, wolves howled, and snow crackled. Large crows flew overhead, screaming, but higher still the moon appeared, large and bright. Kay gazed at it throughout the long, long winter night. During the day, he slept at the feet of the Snow Queen.

But what became of little Gerda when Kay did not return? Where could he be? Nobody knew; nobody could give any intelligence. All the boys knew was, that they had seen him tie his sledge to another large and splendid one, which drove down the street and out of the town. Nobody knew where he was; many sad tears were shed, and little Gerda wept long and bitterly; at last she said he must be dead; that he had been drowned in the river which flowed close to the town. Oh! those were very long and dismal winter evenings!

But what happened to little Gerda when Kay did not return? Where could he be? Nobody knew. Nobody could tell her anything. All the boys knew was that they had seen him tie his sled to another large, splendid one. The large sled went down the street and out of town. Nobody knew where Kay was. Many sad tears were shed, and little Gerda wept long and bitterly. At last, she said he must be dead. He must have drowned in the river that flowed close to town. Oh, those winter evenings were so long and dreary!

At last spring came, with its warm sunshine.

At last, spring came with its warm sunshine.

“Kay is dead and gone!” said little Gerda.

“Kay is dead and gone!” said little Gerda.

“That I don't believe,” said the Sunshine.

“I don't believe that,” said the Sunshine.

“Kay is dead and gone!” said she to the Swallows.

“Kay is dead and gone!” she said to the swallows.

“That I don't believe,” said they: and at last little Gerda did not think so any longer either.

“I don't believe that,” they said. At last, little Gerda no longer believed it either.

“I'll put on my red shoes,” said she, one morning; “Kay has never seen them, and then I'll go down to the river and ask there.”

One morning, she said, “I'll put on my red shoes. Kay has never seen them. Then I'll go down to the river and ask there.”

It was quite early; she kissed her old grandmother, who was still asleep, put on her red shoes, and went alone to the river.

It was very early. She kissed her old grandmother, who was still asleep. Then she put on her red shoes and went to the river alone.

“Is it true that you have taken my little playfellow? I will make you a present of my red shoes, if you will give him back to me.”

“Is it true that you took my little playmate? I’ll give you my red shoes if you give him back to me.”

And, as it seemed to her, the blue waves nodded in a strange manner; then she took off her red shoes, the most precious things she possessed, and threw them both into the river. But they fell close to the bank, and the little waves bore them immediately to land; it was as if the stream would not take what was dearest to her; for in reality it had not got little Kay; but Gerda thought that she had not thrown the shoes out far enough, so she clambered into a boat which lay among the rushes, went to the farthest end, and threw out the shoes. But the boat was not fastened, and the motion which she occasioned, made it drift from the shore. She observed this, and hastened to get back; but before she could do so, the boat was more than a yard from the land, and was gliding quickly onward.

And it seemed to her that the blue waves nodded strangely. Then she took off her red shoes, the most precious things she owned, and threw them both into the river. But they fell close to the bank, and the little waves immediately carried them back to shore. It was as if the stream would not take what was dearest to her, because it had not really taken little Kay. But Gerda thought she had not thrown the shoes far enough. So she climbed into a boat lying among the reeds, went to the far end, and threw the shoes out. But the boat was not tied up, and her movement made it drift away from the shore. She noticed and hurried to get back. But before she could, the boat was more than a yard from the shore and gliding quickly away.

Little Gerda was very frightened, and began to cry; but no one heard her except the sparrows, and they could not carry her to land; but they flew along the bank, and sang as if to comfort her, “Here we are! Here we are!” The boat drifted with the stream, little Gerda sat quite still without shoes, for they were swimming behind the boat, but she could not reach them, because the boat went much faster than they did.

Little Gerda was very frightened and began to cry. But only the sparrows heard her, and they could not carry her to shore. They flew along the bank and sang as if to comfort her, “Here we are! Here we are!” The boat drifted with the current. Little Gerda sat very still without her shoes. They were floating behind the boat, but she could not reach them because the boat was moving much faster.

The banks on both sides were beautiful; lovely flowers, venerable trees, and slopes with sheep and cows, but not a human being was to be seen.

The banks on both sides were beautiful, with lovely flowers, old trees, and slopes where sheep and cows grazed. But there was not a person in sight.

“Perhaps the river will carry me to little Kay,” said she; and then she grew less sad. She rose, and looked for many hours at the beautiful green banks. Presently she sailed by a large cherry-orchard, where was a little cottage with curious red and blue windows; it was thatched, and before it two wooden soldiers stood sentry, and presented arms when anyone went past.

“Perhaps the river will carry me to little Kay,” she said, and she felt less sad. She stood up and gazed at the beautiful green banks for many hours. Soon she sailed past a large cherry orchard. A little cottage stood there, with unusual red and blue windows and a thatched roof. Two wooden soldiers stood guard in front of it and presented arms whenever anyone passed.

Gerda called to them, for she thought they were alive; but they, of course, did not answer. She came close to them, for the stream drifted the boat quite near the land.

Gerda called to them because she thought they were alive, but of course they did not answer. She came close to them because the stream carried the boat near the shore.

Gerda called still louder, and an old woman then came out of the cottage, leaning upon a crooked stick. She had a large broad-brimmed hat on, painted with the most splendid flowers.

Gerda called even louder, and an old woman came out of the cottage, leaning on a crooked stick. She wore a large, broad-brimmed hat painted with splendid flowers.

“Poor little child!” said the old woman. “How did you get upon the large rapid river, to be driven about so in the wide world!” And then the old woman went into the water, caught hold of the boat with her crooked stick, drew it to the bank, and lifted little Gerda out.

“Poor little child!” said the old woman. “How did you end up on that large, fast-flowing river, drifting about in the wide world?” Then the old woman stepped into the water and caught the boat with her crooked stick. She pulled it to the bank and lifted little Gerda out.

And Gerda was so glad to be on dry land again; but she was rather afraid of the strange old woman.

Gerda was so glad to be on dry land again. But she was a little afraid of the strange old woman.

“But come and tell me who you are, and how you came here,” said she.

“But come and tell me who you are and how you got here,” she said.

And Gerda told her all; and the old woman shook her head and said, “A-hem! a-hem!” and when Gerda had told her everything, and asked her if she had not seen little Kay, the woman answered that he had not passed there, but he no doubt would come; and she told her not to be cast down, but taste her cherries, and look at her flowers, which were finer than any in a picture-book, each of which could tell a whole story. She then took Gerda by the hand, led her into the little cottage, and locked the door.

And Gerda told her everything. The old woman shook her head and said, “Ahem! Ahem!” When Gerda had finished, she asked the woman if she had seen little Kay. The woman said he had not passed that way, but he would surely come. She told Gerda not to lose heart, but to taste her cherries and look at her flowers. The flowers were finer than any in a picture book, and each one could tell a whole story. Then she took Gerda by the hand, led her into the little cottage, and locked the door.

The windows were very high up; the glass was red, blue, and green, and the sunlight shone through quite wondrously in all sorts of colors. On the table stood the most exquisite cherries, and Gerda ate as many as she chose, for she had permission to do so. While she was eating, the old woman combed her hair with a golden comb, and her hair curled and shone with a lovely golden color around that sweet little face, which was so round and so like a rose.

The windows were high up, with red, blue, and green glass. Sunlight shone wonderfully through them in all sorts of colors. The table was set with the most exquisite cherries, and Gerda ate as many as she wanted, for she had permission. While she ate, the old woman combed her hair with a golden comb. Gerda's hair curled and shone a lovely golden color around her sweet little face, which was round like a rose.

“I have often longed for such a dear little girl,” said the old woman. “Now you shall see how well we agree together”; and while she combed little Gerda's hair, the child forgot her foster-brother Kay more and more, for the old woman understood magic; but she was no evil being, she only practised witchcraft a little for her own private amusement, and now she wanted very much to keep little Gerda. She therefore went out in the garden, stretched out her crooked stick towards the rose-bushes, which, beautifully as they were blowing, all sank into the earth and no one could tell where they had stood. The old woman feared that if Gerda should see the roses, she would then think of her own, would remember little Kay, and run away from her.

“I have often wished for such a dear little girl,” said the old woman. “Now you will see how well we get along.” As she combed little Gerda's hair, the child forgot her foster-brother Kay more and more. The old woman knew magic, but she was not evil. She only practiced a little witchcraft for her own amusement, and now she very much wanted to keep little Gerda. So she went into the garden and held out her crooked stick toward the rose bushes. Though the roses were blooming beautifully, all the bushes sank into the earth. No one could tell where they had stood. The old woman feared that if Gerda saw the roses, she would think of her own roses. Then she would remember little Kay and run away from her.

She now led Gerda into the flower-garden. Oh, what odour and what loveliness was there! Every flower that one could think of, and of every season, stood there in fullest bloom; no picture-book could be gayer or more beautiful. Gerda jumped for joy, and played till the sun set behind the tall cherry-tree; she then had a pretty bed, with a red silken coverlet filled with blue violets. She fell asleep, and had as pleasant dreams as ever a queen on her wedding-day.

She led Gerda into the flower garden. Oh, how fragrant and beautiful it was! Every flower anyone could think of was there, from every season, in full bloom. No picture book could be more colorful or beautiful. Gerda jumped for joy and played until the sun set behind the tall cherry tree. Then she was given a pretty bed with a red silk coverlet filled with blue violets. She fell asleep and had dreams as pleasant as any queen’s on her wedding day.

The next morning she went to play with the flowers in the warm sunshine, and thus passed away a day. Gerda knew every flower; and, numerous as they were, it still seemed to Gerda that one was wanting, though she did not know which. One day while she was looking at the hat of the old woman painted with flowers, the most beautiful of them all seemed to her to be a rose. The old woman had forgotten to take it from her hat when she made the others vanish in the earth. But so it is when one's thoughts are not collected. “What!” said Gerda. “Are there no roses here?” and she ran about amongst the flowerbeds, and looked, and looked, but there was not one to be found. She then sat down and wept; but her hot tears fell just where a rose-bush had sunk; and when her warm tears watered the ground, the tree shot up suddenly as fresh and blooming as when it had been swallowed up. Gerda kissed the roses, thought of her own dear roses at home, and with them of little Kay.

The next morning, Gerda went to play with the flowers in the warm sunshine, and the day passed. Gerda knew every flower. Though there were many, she still felt that one was missing, but she did not know which one. One day, Gerda was looking at the flowers painted on the old woman's hat. The most beautiful flower seemed to be a rose. The old woman had forgotten to remove it from her hat when she made the other roses vanish into the ground. But that is what happens when one's thoughts are scattered. “What!” said Gerda. “Are there no roses here?” She ran among the flowerbeds and looked and looked, but could not find a single rose. Then she sat down and wept. Her hot tears fell just where a rosebush had sunk into the ground. When her warm tears watered the earth, the bush suddenly sprang up, as fresh and blooming as before it had disappeared. Gerda kissed the roses and thought of her own dear roses at home, and then of little Kay.

“Oh, how long I have stayed!” said the little girl. “I intended to look for Kay! Don't you know where he is?” she asked of the roses. “Do you think he is dead and gone?”

“Oh, I’ve stayed so long!” said the little girl. “I meant to look for Kay! Don’t you know where he is?” she asked the roses. “Do you think he’s dead and gone?”

“Dead he certainly is not,” said the Roses. “We have been in the earth where all the dead are, but Kay was not there.”

“Kay is certainly not dead,” said the Roses. “We have been in the earth where all the dead are, but Kay was not there.”

“Many thanks!” said little Gerda; and she went to the other flowers, looked into their cups, and asked, “Don't you know where little Kay is?”

“Thank you!” said little Gerda. She went to the other flowers, looked into their cups, and asked, “Don't you know where little Kay is?”

But every flower stood in the sunshine, and dreamed its own fairy tale or its own story: and they all told her very many things, but not one knew anything of Kay.

But every flower stood in the sunshine, dreaming its own fairy tale or story. They all told her many things, but not one knew anything about Kay.

Well, what did the Tiger-Lily say?

Well, what did the Tiger-Lily say?

“Hearest thou not the drum? Bum! Bum! Those are the only two tones. Always bum! Bum! Hark to the plaintive song of the old woman, to the call of the priests! The Hindoo woman in her long robe stands upon the funeral pile; the flames rise around her and her dead husband, but the Hindoo woman thinks on the living one in the surrounding circle; on him whose eyes burn hotter than the flames—on him, the fire of whose eyes pierces her heart more than the flames which soon will burn her body to ashes. Can the heart's flame die in the flame of the funeral pile?”

“Can you hear the drum? Bum! Bum! Those are its only two sounds. Always bum! Bum! Listen to the old woman’s mournful song, and to the priests’ call! The Hindoo woman stands in her long robe on the funeral pyre. The flames rise around her and her dead husband. But she is thinking of the living man among the people gathered around her. His eyes burn hotter than the flames. The fire in his eyes pierces her heart more deeply than the flames that will soon burn her body to ashes. Can the flame in her heart die in the flames of the funeral pyre?”

“I don't understand that at all,” said little Gerda.

“I don't understand that at all,” said little Gerda.

“That is my story,” said the Lily.

“That is my story,” said the Lily.

What did the Convolvulus say?

What did the Convolvulus say?

“Projecting over a narrow mountain-path there hangs an old feudal castle. Thick evergreens grow on the dilapidated walls, and around the altar, where a lovely maiden is standing: she bends over the railing and looks out upon the rose. No fresher rose hangs on the branches than she; no appleblossom carried away by the wind is more buoyant! How her silken robe is rustling!

“An old feudal castle hangs over a narrow mountain path. Thick evergreens grow on its crumbling walls and around the altar, where a lovely young woman stands. She leans over the railing and looks out at the rose. No rose on the branches is fresher than she is. No apple blossom carried away by the wind is more buoyant! How her silk dress rustles!

“'Is he not yet come?'”

“'Hasn't he come yet?'”

“Is it Kay that you mean?” asked little Gerda.

“Do you mean Kay?” asked little Gerda.

“I am speaking about my story—about my dream,” answered the Convolvulus.

“I’m talking about my story, about my dream,” answered the Convolvulus.

What did the Snowdrops say?

What did the Snowdrops say?

“Between the trees a long board is hanging—it is a swing. Two little girls are sitting in it, and swing themselves backwards and forwards; their frocks are as white as snow, and long green silk ribands flutter from their bonnets. Their brother, who is older than they are, stands up in the swing; he twines his arms round the cords to hold himself fast, for in one hand he has a little cup, and in the other a clay-pipe. He is blowing soap-bubbles. The swing moves, and the bubbles float in charming changing colors: the last is still hanging to the end of the pipe, and rocks in the breeze. The swing moves. The little black dog, as light as a soap-bubble, jumps up on his hind legs to try to get into the swing. It moves, the dog falls down, barks, and is angry. They tease him; the bubble bursts! A swing, a bursting bubble—such is my song!”

“Between the trees hangs a long board. It is a swing. Two little girls sit on it, swinging back and forth. Their dresses are as white as snow, and long green silk ribbons flutter from their bonnets. Their older brother stands on the swing. He wraps his arms around the ropes to hold on, because he has a small cup in one hand and a clay pipe in the other. He is blowing soap bubbles. The swing moves, and the bubbles float in lovely, changing colors. The last bubble still hangs from the end of the pipe, rocking in the breeze. The swing moves. The little black dog, as light as a soap bubble, jumps up on his hind legs, trying to get onto the swing. The swing moves, and the dog falls down, barking angrily. They tease him. The bubble bursts! A swing, a bursting bubble. Such is my song!”

“What you relate may be very pretty, but you tell it in so melancholy a manner, and do not mention Kay.”

“What you’re telling me may be very pretty, but you tell it so sadly, and you don’t mention Kay.”

What do the Hyacinths say?

What do the Hyacinths say?

“There were once upon a time three sisters, quite transparent, and very beautiful. The robe of the one was red, that of the second blue, and that of the third white. They danced hand in hand beside the calm lake in the clear moonshine. They were not elfin maidens, but mortal children. A sweet fragrance was smelt, and the maidens vanished in the wood; the fragrance grew stronger—three coffins, and in them three lovely maidens, glided out of the forest and across the lake: the shining glow-worms flew around like little floating lights. Do the dancing maidens sleep, or are they dead? The odour of the flowers says they are corpses; the evening bell tolls for the dead!”

“Once upon a time, there were three sisters who were transparent and very beautiful. One wore a red robe, the second a blue one, and the third a white one. They danced hand in hand beside the calm lake in the clear moonlight. They were not elf maidens, but mortal children. A sweet fragrance filled the air, and the maidens vanished into the woods. The fragrance grew stronger. Three coffins, each holding a lovely maiden, glided out of the forest and across the lake. Shining glowworms flew around them like little floating lights. Are the dancing maidens asleep, or are they dead? The scent of the flowers says they are dead. The evening bell tolls for the dead!”

“You make me quite sad,” said little Gerda. “I cannot help thinking of the dead maidens. Oh! is little Kay really dead? The Roses have been in the earth, and they say no.”

“You make me very sad,” said little Gerda. “I can't stop thinking about the dead girls. Oh! Is little Kay really dead? The Roses have been in the ground, and they say he isn't.”

“Ding, dong!” sounded the Hyacinth bells. “We do not toll for little Kay; we do not know him. That is our way of singing, the only one we have.”

“Ding, dong!” rang the Hyacinth bells. “We are not ringing for little Kay. We do not know him. That is how we sing. It is the only way we know.”

And Gerda went to the Ranunculuses, that looked forth from among the shining green leaves.

And Gerda went to the Ranunculuses, which peeked out from among the shiny green leaves.

“You are a little bright sun!” said Gerda. “Tell me if you know where I can find my playfellow.”

“You are a little bright sun!” said Gerda. “Tell me if you know where I can find my playmate.”

And the Ranunculus shone brightly, and looked again at Gerda. What song could the Ranunculus sing? It was one that said nothing about Kay either.

And the Ranunculus shone brightly and looked at Gerda again. What song could the Ranunculus sing? Its song said nothing about Kay either.

“In a small court the bright sun was shining in the first days of spring. The beams glided down the white walls of a neighbor's house, and close by the fresh yellow flowers were growing, shining like gold in the warm sun-rays. An old grandmother was sitting in the air; her grand-daughter, the poor and lovely servant just come for a short visit. She knows her grandmother. There was gold, pure virgin gold in that blessed kiss. There, that is my little story,” said the Ranunculus.

“In a small courtyard, the bright sun was shining in the first days of spring. Its rays fell down the white walls of a neighbor's house. Nearby, fresh yellow flowers were growing, shining like gold in the warm sunlight. An old grandmother was sitting outside. Her granddaughter, the poor and lovely servant, had just come for a short visit. She knows her grandmother. There was gold, pure virgin gold, in that blessed kiss. There, that is my little story,” said the Ranunculus.

“My poor old grandmother!” sighed Gerda. “Yes, she is longing for me, no doubt: she is sorrowing for me, as she did for little Kay. But I will soon come home, and then I will bring Kay with me. It is of no use asking the flowers; they only know their own old rhymes, and can tell me nothing.” And she tucked up her frock, to enable her to run quicker; but the Narcissus gave her a knock on the leg, just as she was going to jump over it. So she stood still, looked at the long yellow flower, and asked, “You perhaps know something?” and she bent down to the Narcissus. And what did it say?

“My poor old grandmother!” sighed Gerda. “Yes, she must be longing for me. She is grieving for me, just as she did for little Kay. But I will soon come home, and I will bring Kay with me. There is no use asking the flowers. They only know their own old rhymes, and they can tell me nothing.” She lifted her dress so she could run faster. But just as she was about to jump over the Narcissus, it struck her leg. So she stopped and looked at the long yellow flower. “Perhaps you know something?” she asked, bending down to the Narcissus. And what did it say?

“I can see myself—I can see myself! Oh, how odorous I am! Up in the little garret there stands, half-dressed, a little Dancer. She stands now on one leg, now on both; she despises the whole world; yet she lives only in imagination. She pours water out of the teapot over a piece of stuff which she holds in her hand; it is the bodice; cleanliness is a fine thing. The white dress is hanging on the hook; it was washed in the teapot, and dried on the roof. She puts it on, ties a saffron-colored kerchief round her neck, and then the gown looks whiter. I can see myself—I can see myself!”

“I can see myself, I can see myself! Oh, how fragrant I am! Up in the little attic, a little Dancer stands half-dressed. Sometimes she stands on one leg, sometimes on both. She looks down on the whole world, yet she lives only in her imagination. She pours water from the teapot over a piece of fabric she is holding. It is the bodice. Cleanliness is a fine thing. Her white dress hangs on a hook. It was washed in the teapot and dried on the roof. She puts it on and ties a saffron-colored scarf around her neck. This makes the dress look whiter. I can see myself, I can see myself!”

“That's nothing to me,” said little Gerda. “That does not concern me.” And then off she ran to the further end of the garden.

“That means nothing to me,” said little Gerda. “It doesn't concern me.” Then she ran to the far end of the garden.

The gate was locked, but she shook the rusted bolt till it was loosened, and the gate opened; and little Gerda ran off barefooted into the wide world. She looked round her thrice, but no one followed her. At last she could run no longer; she sat down on a large stone, and when she looked about her, she saw that the summer had passed; it was late in the autumn, but that one could not remark in the beautiful garden, where there was always sunshine, and where there were flowers the whole year round.

The gate was locked, but she shook the rusty bolt until it came loose and the gate opened. Little Gerda ran barefoot into the wide world. She looked around three times, but no one followed her. At last, she could run no farther. She sat down on a large stone and looked around. Summer had passed, and it was late autumn. But she could not have noticed that in the beautiful garden, where the sun always shone and flowers bloomed all year round.

“Dear me, how long I have staid!” said Gerda. “Autumn is come. I must not rest any longer.” And she got up to go further.

“Oh dear, how long I have stayed!” said Gerda. “Autumn has come. I must not rest any longer.” And she got up to continue her journey.

Oh, how tender and wearied her little feet were! All around it looked so cold and raw: the long willow-leaves were quite yellow, and the fog dripped from them like water; one leaf fell after the other: the sloes only stood full of fruit, which set one's teeth on edge. Oh, how dark and comfortless it was in the dreary world!

Oh, how sore and tired her little feet were! Everything around her looked so cold and damp. The long willow leaves were completely yellow, and fog dripped from them like water. One leaf fell after another. Only the sloe bushes were full of fruit, so sour it made your teeth ache. Oh, how dark and bleak the dreary world was!

Gerda was obliged to rest herself again, when, exactly opposite to her, a large Raven came hopping over the white snow. He had long been looking at Gerda and shaking his head; and now he said, “Caw! Caw!” Good day! Good day! He could not say it better; but he felt a sympathy for the little girl, and asked her where she was going all alone. The word “alone” Gerda understood quite well, and felt how much was expressed by it; so she told the Raven her whole history, and asked if he had not seen Kay.

Gerda had to rest again when a large Raven came hopping across the white snow, right opposite her. He had been watching Gerda for some time, shaking his head. Now he said, “Caw! Caw! Good day! Good day!” He could not say it any better, but he felt sorry for the little girl. He asked her where she was going all alone. Gerda understood the word “alone” very well and felt how much it meant. So she told the Raven her whole story and asked if he had seen Kay.

The Raven nodded very gravely, and said, “It may be—it may be!”

The Raven nodded very seriously and said, “It may be. It may be!”

“What, do you really think so?” cried the little girl; and she nearly squeezed the Raven to death, so much did she kiss him.

“What, do you really think so?” cried the little girl. She kissed the Raven so much that she nearly squeezed him to death.

“Gently, gently,” said the Raven. “I think I know; I think that it may be little Kay. But now he has forgotten you for the Princess.”

“Slowly, slowly,” said the Raven. “I think I know. I think it may be little Kay. But now he has forgotten you because of the Princess.”

“Does he live with a Princess?” asked Gerda.

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

“Yes—listen,” said the Raven; “but it will be difficult for me to speak your language. If you understand the Raven language I can tell you better.”

“Yes, listen,” said the Raven. “But it will be difficult for me to speak your language. If you understand the Raven language, I can tell you better.”

“No, I have not learnt it,” said Gerda; “but my grandmother understands it, and she can speak gibberish too. I wish I had learnt it.”

“No, I haven't learned it,” said Gerda. “But my grandmother understands it, and she can speak gibberish too. I wish I had learned it.”

“No matter,” said the Raven; “I will tell you as well as I can; however, it will be bad enough.” And then he told all he knew.

“Never mind,” said the Raven. “I’ll tell you as best I can, but it will be bad enough.” Then he told all he knew.

“In the kingdom where we now are there lives a Princess, who is extraordinarily clever; for she has read all the newspapers in the whole world, and has forgotten them again—so clever is she. She was lately, it is said, sitting on her throne—which is not very amusing after all—when she began humming an old tune, and it was just, 'Oh, why should I not be married?' 'That song is not without its meaning,' said she, and so then she was determined to marry; but she would have a husband who knew how to give an answer when he was spoken to—not one who looked only as if he were a great personage, for that is so tiresome. She then had all the ladies of the court drummed together; and when they heard her intention, all were very pleased, and said, 'We are very glad to hear it; it is the very thing we were thinking of.' You may believe every word I say,” said the Raven; “for I have a tame sweetheart that hops about in the palace quite free, and it was she who told me all this.

“In the kingdom where we are now, there lives a Princess who is extraordinarily clever. She has read all the newspapers in the whole world and forgotten them again. That is how clever she is. Recently, people say, she was sitting on her throne, which is not very amusing after all. She began humming an old tune, and the words were, 'Oh, why should I not be married?' 'That song has a point,' she said, and so she decided to marry. But she wanted a husband who knew how to answer when someone spoke to him. She did not want one who merely looked important, for that is so tiresome. She then had all the ladies of the court summoned by drum. When they heard of her decision, they were all very pleased. They said, 'We are very glad to hear it. It is exactly what we were thinking.' You may believe every word I say,” said the Raven, “because I have a tame sweetheart who hops freely about the palace. She told me all this.”

“The newspapers appeared forthwith with a border of hearts and the initials of the Princess; and therein you might read that every good-looking young man was at liberty to come to the palace and speak to the Princess; and he who spoke in such wise as showed he felt himself at home there, that one the Princess would choose for her husband.

“The newspapers soon appeared with a border of hearts and the Princess’s initials. They announced that any good-looking young man could come to the palace and speak to the Princess. She would choose as her husband the man whose speech showed that he felt at home there.

“Yes, Yes,” said the Raven, “you may believe it; it is as true as I am sitting here. People came in crowds; there was a crush and a hurry, but no one was successful either on the first or second day. They could all talk well enough when they were out in the street; but as soon as they came inside the palace gates, and saw the guard richly dressed in silver, and the lackeys in gold on the staircase, and the large illuminated saloons, then they were abashed; and when they stood before the throne on which the Princess was sitting, all they could do was to repeat the last word they had uttered, and to hear it again did not interest her very much. It was just as if the people within were under a charm, and had fallen into a trance till they came out again into the street; for then—oh, then—they could chatter enough. There was a whole row of them standing from the town-gates to the palace. I was there myself to look,” said the Raven. “They grew hungry and thirsty; but from the palace they got nothing whatever, not even a glass of water. Some of the cleverest, it is true, had taken bread and butter with them: but none shared it with his neighbor, for each thought, 'Let him look hungry, and then the Princess won't have him.'”

“Yes, yes,” said the Raven, “you can believe it. It’s as true as I’m sitting here. People came in crowds, and everyone was pushing and hurrying. But no one succeeded on either the first or the second day. They could all talk well enough out in the street. But as soon as they passed through the palace gates, they lost their confidence. They saw the guards in splendid silver uniforms, the servants in gold on the staircase, and the grand, brightly lit rooms. When they stood before the throne where the Princess sat, they could only repeat the last word they had spoken. Hearing it again did not interest her much. It was as if everyone inside were under a spell and fell into a trance until they reached the street again. Then, oh, then, they could chatter all they liked. They stood in a long line from the town gates to the palace. I went to see for myself,” said the Raven. “They grew hungry and thirsty, but the palace gave them nothing at all, not even a glass of water. Some of the cleverest had brought bread and butter with them. But no one shared with a neighbor, for each thought, ‘Let him look hungry, and then the Princess won’t choose him.’”

“But Kay—little Kay,” said Gerda, “when did he come? Was he among the number?”

“But Kay, little Kay,” said Gerda, “when did he come? Was he among them?”

“Patience, patience; we are just come to him. It was on the third day when a little personage without horse or equipage, came marching right boldly up to the palace; his eyes shone like yours, he had beautiful long hair, but his clothes were very shabby.”

“Patience, patience. We are just coming to him. On the third day, a little man came marching boldly up to the palace, without a horse or carriage. His eyes shone like yours, and he had beautiful long hair, but his clothes were very shabby.”

“That was Kay,” cried Gerda, with a voice of delight. “Oh, now I've found him!” and she clapped her hands for joy.

“That was Kay!” Gerda cried with delight. “Oh, now I've found him!” She clapped her hands with joy.

“He had a little knapsack at his back,” said the Raven.

“He had a small backpack on his back,” said the Raven.

“No, that was certainly his sledge,” said Gerda; “for when he went away he took his sledge with him.”

“No, that was definitely his sled,” said Gerda, “because he took his sled with him when he left.”

“That may be,” said the Raven; “I did not examine him so minutely; but I know from my tame sweetheart, that when he came into the court-yard of the palace, and saw the body-guard in silver, the lackeys on the staircase, he was not the least abashed; he nodded, and said to them, 'It must be very tiresome to stand on the stairs; for my part, I shall go in.' The saloons were gleaming with lustres—privy councillors and excellencies were walking about barefooted, and wore gold keys; it was enough to make any one feel uncomfortable. His boots creaked, too, so loudly, but still he was not at all afraid.”

“That may be,” said the Raven. “I did not examine him so closely. But I know from my tame sweetheart what happened when he entered the palace courtyard. He saw the guards in silver and the servants on the staircase, but he was not at all embarrassed. He nodded and said to them, 'It must be very tiring to stand on the stairs. As for me, I shall go in.' The grand rooms gleamed with chandeliers. Privy councillors and other dignitaries walked around barefoot, wearing gold keys. It was enough to make anyone feel uncomfortable. His boots also creaked very loudly, but he was still not at all afraid.”

“That's Kay for certain,” said Gerda. “I know he had on new boots; I have heard them creaking in grandmama's room.”

“That's definitely Kay,” said Gerda. “I know he was wearing new boots. I've heard them creaking in Grandma's room.”

“Yes, they creaked,” said the Raven. “And on he went boldly up to the Princess, who was sitting on a pearl as large as a spinning-wheel. All the ladies of the court, with their attendants and attendants' attendants, and all the cavaliers, with their gentlemen and gentlemen's gentlemen, stood round; and the nearer they stood to the door, the prouder they looked. It was hardly possible to look at the gentleman's gentleman, so very haughtily did he stand in the doorway.”

“Yes, they creaked,” said the Raven. “Then he walked boldly up to the Princess. She was sitting on a pearl as large as a spinning wheel. All the ladies of the court stood around her, along with their attendants and their attendants’ attendants. All the cavaliers were there too, with their gentlemen and their gentlemen’s gentlemen. The closer they stood to the door, the prouder they looked. You could hardly look at the gentleman’s gentleman, he stood so haughtily in the doorway.”

“It must have been terrible,” said little Gerda. “And did Kay get the Princess?”

“It must have been terrible,” said little Gerda. “And did Kay get the Princess?”

“Were I not a Raven, I should have taken the Princess myself, although I am promised. It is said he spoke as well as I speak when I talk Raven language; this I learned from my tame sweetheart. He was bold and nicely behaved; he had not come to woo the Princess, but only to hear her wisdom. She pleased him, and he pleased her.”

“If I were not a Raven, I would have taken the Princess myself, although I am promised to someone else. They say he spoke as well as I do when I speak Raven language. I learned that from my tame sweetheart. He was bold and well behaved. He had not come to court the Princess, but only to hear her wisdom. He liked her, and she liked him.”

“Yes, yes; for certain that was Kay,” said Gerda. “He was so clever; he could reckon fractions in his head. Oh, won't you take me to the palace?”

“Yes, yes, that was definitely Kay,” said Gerda. “He was so clever. He could work out fractions in his head. Oh, won't you take me to the palace?”

“That is very easily said,” answered the Raven. “But how are we to manage it? I'll speak to my tame sweetheart about it: she must advise us; for so much I must tell you, such a little girl as you are will never get permission to enter.”

“That’s easy to say,” replied the Raven. “But how are we going to manage it? I’ll talk to my tame sweetheart about it. She’ll have to advise us. For I must tell you, a little girl like you will never be allowed in.”

“Oh, yes I shall,” said Gerda; “when Kay hears that I am here, he will come out directly to fetch me.”

“Oh, yes, I will,” said Gerda. “When Kay hears that I am here, he will come out right away to get me.”

“Wait for me here on these steps,” said the Raven. He moved his head backwards and forwards and flew away.

“Wait for me here on these steps,” said the Raven. He moved his head back and forth and flew away.

The evening was closing in when the Raven returned. “Caw—caw!” said he. “She sends you her compliments; and here is a roll for you. She took it out of the kitchen, where there is bread enough. You are hungry, no doubt. It is not possible for you to enter the palace, for you are barefooted: the guards in silver, and the lackeys in gold, would not allow it; but do not cry, you shall come in still. My sweetheart knows a little back stair that leads to the bedchamber, and she knows where she can get the key of it.”

Evening was falling when the Raven returned. “Caw, caw!” he said. “She sends her regards, and here is a roll for you. She took it from the kitchen, where there is plenty of bread. You must be hungry. You cannot enter the palace barefoot. The guards in silver and the servants in gold would not allow it. But do not cry. You can still get in. My sweetheart knows a little back staircase that leads to the bedroom, and she knows where to get its key.”

And they went into the garden in the large avenue, where one leaf was falling after the other; and when the lights in the palace had all gradually disappeared, the Raven led little Gerda to the back door, which stood half open.

They walked into the garden along the broad path, where leaves were falling one after another. When all the lights in the palace had gradually gone out, the Raven led little Gerda to the back door. It stood half open.

Oh, how Gerda's heart beat with anxiety and longing! It was just as if she had been about to do something wrong; and yet she only wanted to know if little Kay was there. Yes, he must be there. She called to mind his intelligent eyes, and his long hair, so vividly, she could quite see him as he used to laugh when they were sitting under the roses at home. “He will, no doubt, be glad to see you—to hear what a long way you have come for his sake; to know how unhappy all at home were when he did not come back.”

Oh, how Gerda's heart beat with worry and longing! She felt as if she were about to do something wrong. Yet she only wanted to know if little Kay was there. Yes, he must be there. She remembered his intelligent eyes and his long hair so clearly. She could almost see him laughing as he used to when they sat under the roses at home. “He will surely be glad to see you. He will be glad to hear how far you have come for his sake. He will be glad to know how unhappy everyone at home was when he did not come back.”

Oh, what a fright and a joy it was!

Oh, how frightening and joyful it was!

They were now on the stairs. A single lamp was burning there; and on the floor stood the tame Raven, turning her head on every side and looking at Gerda, who bowed as her grandmother had taught her to do.

They were now on the stairs. A single lamp was burning there. The tame Raven stood on the floor, turning her head from side to side and looking at Gerda. Gerda bowed as her grandmother had taught her.

“My intended has told me so much good of you, my dear young lady,” said the tame Raven. “Your tale is very affecting. If you will take the lamp, I will go before. We will go straight on, for we shall meet no one.”

“My fiancée has told me so many good things about you, my dear young lady,” said the tame Raven. “Your story is very moving. If you take the lamp, I will lead the way. We will go straight ahead, for we will meet no one.”

“I think there is somebody just behind us,” said Gerda; and something rushed past: it was like shadowy figures on the wall; horses with flowing manes and thin legs, huntsmen, ladies and gentlemen on horseback.

“I think someone is right behind us,” said Gerda. Then something rushed past. It looked like shadowy figures on the wall: horses with flowing manes and thin legs, hunters, and ladies and gentlemen on horseback.

“They are only dreams,” said the Raven. “They come to fetch the thoughts of the high personages to the chase; 'tis well, for now you can observe them in bed all the better. But let me find, when you enjoy honor and distinction, that you possess a grateful heart.”

“They are only dreams,” said the Raven. “They come to take the thoughts of important people hunting. That is good, because now you can get a better look at them in bed. But when you enjoy honor and distinction, let me see that you have a grateful heart.”

“Tut! That's not worth talking about,” said the Raven of the woods.

“Oh, that's not worth talking about,” said the Raven of the woods.

They now entered the first saloon, which was of rose-colored satin, with artificial flowers on the wall. Here the dreams were rushing past, but they hastened by so quickly that Gerda could not see the high personages. One hall was more magnificent than the other; one might indeed well be abashed; and at last they came into the bedchamber. The ceiling of the room resembled a large palm-tree with leaves of glass, of costly glass; and in the middle, from a thick golden stem, hung two beds, each of which resembled a lily. One was white, and in this lay the Princess; the other was red, and it was here that Gerda was to look for little Kay. She bent back one of the red leaves, and saw a brown neck. Oh! that was Kay! She called him quite loud by name, held the lamp towards him—the dreams rushed back again into the chamber—he awoke, turned his head, and—it was not little Kay!

They entered the first room, which was decorated with rose-colored satin and artificial flowers on the walls. Dreams were rushing past, but they moved so quickly that Gerda could not see the important people. Each hall was more magnificent than the last. Anyone might have felt overwhelmed. At last, they came to the bedroom. The ceiling looked like a large palm tree with leaves of expensive glass. Two beds hung in the middle of the room from a thick golden stem. Each bed looked like a lily. One was white, and the Princess lay in it. The other was red, and Gerda was to look for little Kay there. She bent back one of the red petals and saw a brown neck. Oh! It was Kay! She called his name loudly and held the lamp toward him. The dreams rushed back into the room. He woke up and turned his head, but it was not little Kay!

The Prince was only like him about the neck; but he was young and handsome. And out of the white lily leaves the Princess peeped, too, and asked what was the matter. Then little Gerda cried, and told her her whole history, and all that the Ravens had done for her.

The Prince only looked like him around the neck, but he was young and handsome. The Princess also peeped out from the white lily leaves and asked what was wrong. Then little Gerda cried and told her the whole story, including all that the Ravens had done for her.

“Poor little thing!” said the Prince and the Princess. They praised the Ravens very much, and told them they were not at all angry with them, but they were not to do so again. However, they should have a reward. “Will you fly about here at liberty,” asked the Princess; “or would you like to have a fixed appointment as court ravens, with all the broken bits from the kitchen?”

“Poor little thing!” said the Prince and the Princess. They praised the Ravens warmly and said they were not at all angry with them. But the Ravens must not do it again. They would also receive a reward. “Would you like to fly freely around here,” asked the Princess, “or would you prefer a permanent position as court ravens, with all the scraps from the kitchen?”

And both the Ravens nodded, and begged for a fixed appointment; for they thought of their old age, and said, “It is a good thing to have a provision for our old days.”

Both Ravens nodded and begged for a permanent job. They were thinking of their old age and said, “It is good to have something to live on when we are old.”

And the Prince got up and let Gerda sleep in his bed, and more than this he could not do. She folded her little hands and thought, “How good men and animals are!” and she then fell asleep and slept soundly. All the dreams flew in again, and they now looked like the angels; they drew a little sledge, in which little Kay sat and nodded his head; but the whole was only a dream, and therefore it all vanished as soon as she awoke.

The Prince got up and let Gerda sleep in his bed. He could do no more than that. She folded her little hands and thought, “How good people and animals are!” Then she fell asleep and slept soundly. All the dreams flew in again, and now they looked like angels. They pulled a little sled, with little Kay sitting in it and nodding his head. But it was all a dream, so it vanished as soon as she woke up.

The next day she was dressed from head to foot in silk and velvet. They offered to let her stay at the palace, and lead a happy life; but she begged to have a little carriage with a horse in front, and for a small pair of shoes; then, she said, she would again go forth in the wide world and look for Kay.

The next day, she was dressed from head to toe in silk and velvet. They offered to let her stay at the palace and live happily. But she begged for a small carriage with a horse to pull it and a small pair of shoes. Then, she said, she would go out into the wide world again to look for Kay.

Shoes and a muff were given her; she was, too, dressed very nicely; and when she was about to set off, a new carriage stopped before the door. It was of pure gold, and the arms of the Prince and Princess shone like a star upon it; the coachman, the footmen, and the outriders, for outriders were there, too, all wore golden crowns. The Prince and the Princess assisted her into the carriage themselves, and wished her all success. The Raven of the woods, who was now married, accompanied her for the first three miles. He sat beside Gerda, for he could not bear riding backwards; the other Raven stood in the doorway, and flapped her wings; she could not accompany Gerda, because she suffered from headache since she had had a fixed appointment and ate so much. The carriage was lined inside with sugar-plums, and in the seats were fruits and gingerbread.

She was given shoes and a muff and was dressed very nicely. Just as she was about to leave, a new carriage stopped in front of the door. It was made of pure gold. The Prince and Princess's coats of arms shone like a star on it. The coachman, the footmen, and the outriders all wore golden crowns. Yes, there were outriders too. The Prince and Princess helped her into the carriage themselves and wished her every success. The Raven of the woods, who was now married, went with her for the first three miles. He sat beside Gerda because he could not bear to ride backward. The other Raven stood in the doorway and flapped her wings. She could not go with Gerda because she had suffered from headaches since getting a permanent position and eating so much. The carriage was lined with sugar-plums, and the seats held fruit and gingerbread.

“Farewell! Farewell!” cried Prince and Princess; and Gerda wept, and the Raven wept. Thus passed the first miles; and then the Raven bade her farewell, and this was the most painful separation of all. He flew into a tree, and beat his black wings as long as he could see the carriage, that shone from afar like a sunbeam.

“Farewell! Farewell!” cried the Prince and Princess. Gerda wept, and the Raven wept. They traveled on for a few miles. Then the Raven said goodbye to Gerda, and this was the most painful parting of all. He flew into a tree and beat his black wings as long as he could see the carriage. In the distance, it shone like a sunbeam.

They drove through the dark wood; but the carriage shone like a torch, and it dazzled the eyes of the robbers, so that they could not bear to look at it.

They drove through the dark woods, but the carriage shone like a torch. It dazzled the robbers so much that they could not bear to look at it.

“'Tis gold! 'Tis gold!” they cried; and they rushed forward, seized the horses, knocked down the little postilion, the coachman, and the servants, and pulled little Gerda out of the carriage.

“It’s gold! It’s gold!” they cried. They rushed forward and seized the horses. They knocked down the little postilion, the coachman, and the servants, and pulled little Gerda out of the carriage.

“How plump, how beautiful she is! She must have been fed on nut-kernels,” said the old female robber, who had a long, scrubby beard, and bushy eyebrows that hung down over her eyes. “She is as good as a fatted lamb! How nice she will be!” And then she drew out a knife, the blade of which shone so that it was quite dreadful to behold.

“How plump and beautiful she is! She must have been fed on nut kernels,” said the old woman robber. She had a long, scruffy beard and bushy eyebrows that hung down over her eyes. “She is as good as a fattened lamb! How delicious she will be!” Then she pulled out a knife. Its blade shone so brightly that it was dreadful to look at.

“Oh!” cried the woman at the same moment. She had been bitten in the ear by her own little daughter, who hung at her back; and who was so wild and unmanageable, that it was quite amusing to see her. “You naughty child!” said the mother: and now she had not time to kill Gerda.

“Oh!” the woman cried at the same moment. Her own little daughter, who was hanging on her back, had bitten her ear. The girl was so wild and hard to control that she was quite amusing to watch. “You naughty child!” said the mother. Now she had no time to kill Gerda.

“She shall play with me,” said the little robber child. “She shall give me her muff, and her pretty frock; she shall sleep in my bed!” And then she gave her mother another bite, so that she jumped, and ran round with the pain; and the Robbers laughed, and said, “Look, how she is dancing with the little one!”

“She’ll play with me,” said the little robber child. “She’ll give me her muff and her pretty dress. She’ll sleep in my bed!” Then she bit her mother again, making her jump and run around in pain. The Robbers laughed and said, “Look how she’s dancing with the little one!”

“I will go into the carriage,” said the little robber maiden; and she would have her will, for she was very spoiled and very headstrong. She and Gerda got in; and then away they drove over the stumps of felled trees, deeper and deeper into the woods. The little robber maiden was as tall as Gerda, but stronger, broader-shouldered, and of dark complexion; her eyes were quite black; they looked almost melancholy. She embraced little Gerda, and said, “They shall not kill you as long as I am not displeased with you. You are, doubtless, a Princess?”

“I will ride in the carriage,” said the little robber girl. She always got her way because she was very spoiled and stubborn. She and Gerda got in, and they drove over the stumps of cut-down trees, deeper and deeper into the woods. The little robber girl was as tall as Gerda, but stronger and broader-shouldered, with a dark complexion. Her eyes were pitch-black and looked almost sad. She hugged little Gerda and said, “They won't kill you as long as I am pleased with you. You must be a Princess?”

“No,” said little Gerda; who then related all that had happened to her, and how much she cared about little Kay.

“No,” said little Gerda. Then she told them everything that had happened to her and how much she cared about little Kay.

The little robber maiden looked at her with a serious air, nodded her head slightly, and said, “They shall not kill you, even if I am angry with you: then I will do it myself”; and she dried Gerda's eyes, and put both her hands in the handsome muff, which was so soft and warm.

The little robber girl looked at her seriously and nodded slightly. She said, “They won't kill you, even if I'm angry with you. Then I'll do it myself.” She wiped Gerda's eyes and put both hands into the beautiful muff, which was so soft and warm.

At length the carriage stopped. They were in the midst of the court-yard of a robber's castle. It was full of cracks from top to bottom; and out of the openings magpies and rooks were flying; and the great bull-dogs, each of which looked as if he could swallow a man, jumped up, but they did not bark, for that was forbidden.

At last, the carriage stopped in the middle of the courtyard of a robber's castle. The castle was full of cracks from top to bottom. Magpies and rooks flew out of the openings. Great bulldogs jumped up, each looking as if it could swallow a man. But they did not bark, because barking was forbidden.

In the midst of the large, old, smoking hall burnt a great fire on the stone floor. The smoke disappeared under the stones, and had to seek its own egress. In an immense caldron soup was boiling; and rabbits and hares were being roasted on a spit.

A great fire burned on the stone floor in the middle of the large, old, smoky hall. The smoke disappeared beneath the stones and had to find its own way out. Soup was boiling in a huge cauldron, and rabbits and hares were roasting on a spit.

“You shall sleep with me to-night, with all my animals,” said the little robber maiden. They had something to eat and drink; and then went into a corner, where straw and carpets were lying. Beside them, on laths and perches, sat nearly a hundred pigeons, all asleep, seemingly; but yet they moved a little when the robber maiden came. “They are all mine,” said she, at the same time seizing one that was next to her by the legs and shaking it so that its wings fluttered. “Kiss it,” cried the little girl, and flung the pigeon in Gerda's face. “Up there is the rabble of the wood,” continued she, pointing to several laths which were fastened before a hole high up in the wall; “that's the rabble; they would all fly away immediately, if they were not well fastened in. And here is my dear old Bac”; and she laid hold of the horns of a reindeer, that had a bright copper ring round its neck, and was tethered to the spot. “We are obliged to lock this fellow in too, or he would make his escape. Every evening I tickle his neck with my sharp knife; he is so frightened at it!” and the little girl drew forth a long knife, from a crack in the wall, and let it glide over the Reindeer's neck. The poor animal kicked; the girl laughed, and pulled Gerda into bed with her.

“You’ll sleep with me tonight, with all my animals,” said the little robber maiden. They had something to eat and drink, then went to a corner covered with straw and carpets. Beside them, nearly a hundred pigeons sat on wooden slats and perches. They all seemed to be asleep, but they moved a little when the robber maiden came. “They’re all mine,” she said, grabbing the nearest pigeon by its legs. She shook it until its wings fluttered. “Kiss it,” the little girl cried, and flung the pigeon into Gerda’s face. “Up there is the rabble of the woods,” she continued, pointing to several wooden slats fastened across a hole high in the wall. “That’s the rabble. They’d all fly away at once if they weren’t securely shut in. And here’s my dear old Bac.” She grabbed the horns of a reindeer tethered nearby, with a bright copper ring around its neck. “We have to keep this fellow tied up too, or he’d escape. Every evening I tickle his neck with my sharp knife. He’s so frightened of it!” The little girl pulled a long knife from a crack in the wall and slid it over the reindeer’s neck. The poor animal kicked. The girl laughed and pulled Gerda into bed with her.

“Do you intend to keep your knife while you sleep?” asked Gerda; looking at it rather fearfully.

“Are you going to keep your knife while you sleep?” asked Gerda, looking at it fearfully.

“I always sleep with the knife,” said the little robber maiden. “There is no knowing what may happen. But tell me now, once more, all about little Kay; and why you have started off in the wide world alone.” And Gerda related all, from the very beginning: the Wood-pigeons cooed above in their cage, and the others slept. The little robber maiden wound her arm round Gerda's neck, held the knife in the other hand, and snored so loud that everybody could hear her; but Gerda could not close her eyes, for she did not know whether she was to live or die. The robbers sat round the fire, sang and drank; and the old female robber jumped about so, that it was quite dreadful for Gerda to see her.

“I always sleep with the knife,” said the little robber girl. “You never know what may happen. But now tell me once more all about little Kay, and why you set out into the wide world alone.” Gerda told her everything, from the very beginning. The Wood-pigeons cooed in their cage above them, and the others slept. The little robber girl wrapped one arm around Gerda's neck and held the knife in her other hand. She snored so loudly that everyone could hear her. But Gerda could not close her eyes, because she did not know whether she would live or die. The robbers sat around the fire, singing and drinking. The old woman robber jumped about so wildly that Gerda was terrified to watch her.

Then the Wood-pigeons said, “Coo! Coo! We have seen little Kay! A white hen carries his sledge; he himself sat in the carriage of the Snow Queen, who passed here, down just over the wood, as we lay in our nest. She blew upon us young ones; and all died except we two. Coo! Coo!”

Then the Wood-pigeons said, “Coo! Coo! We have seen little Kay! A white hen carries his sled. Kay sat in the Snow Queen's carriage. She passed here, just above the woods, while we were in our nest. She blew on us young birds, and all died except the two of us. Coo! Coo!”

“What is that you say up there?” cried little Gerda. “Where did the Snow Queen go to? Do you know anything about it?”

“What are you saying up there?” cried little Gerda. “Where did the Snow Queen go? Do you know anything about it?”

“She is no doubt gone to Lapland; for there is always snow and ice there. Only ask the Reindeer, who is tethered there.”

“She has surely gone to Lapland, because there is always snow and ice there. Just ask the Reindeer tied up there.”

“Ice and snow is there! There it is, glorious and beautiful!” said the Reindeer. “One can spring about in the large shining valleys! The Snow Queen has her summer-tent there; but her fixed abode is high up towards the North Pole, on the Island called Spitzbergen.”

“There is ice and snow there, glorious and beautiful!” said the Reindeer. “You can leap about in the great, shining valleys! The Snow Queen has her summer tent there. But her permanent home is far north, near the North Pole, on the island called Spitzbergen.”

“Oh, Kay! Poor little Kay!” sighed Gerda.

“Oh, Kay! Poor little Kay!” sighed Gerda.

“Do you choose to be quiet?” said the robber maiden. “If you don't, I shall make you.”

“Will you be quiet?” said the robber maiden. “If you don't, I'll make you.”

In the morning Gerda told her all that the Wood-pigeons had said; and the little maiden looked very serious, but she nodded her head, and said, “That's no matter—that's no matter. Do you know where Lapland lies!” she asked of the Reindeer.

In the morning, Gerda told her everything the Wood-pigeons had said. The little girl looked very serious, but she nodded and said, “That doesn't matter. That doesn't matter. Do you know where Lapland is?” she asked the Reindeer.

“Who should know better than I?” said the animal; and his eyes rolled in his head. “I was born and bred there—there I leapt about on the fields of snow.”

“Who would know better than I do?” said the animal, rolling his eyes. “I was born and raised there. I leaped about in the snowy fields there.”

“Listen,” said the robber maiden to Gerda. “You see that the men are gone; but my mother is still here, and will remain. However, towards morning she takes a draught out of the large flask, and then she sleeps a little: then I will do something for you.” She now jumped out of bed, flew to her mother; with her arms round her neck, and pulling her by the beard, said, “Good morrow, my own sweet nanny-goat of a mother.” And her mother took hold of her nose, and pinched it till it was red and blue; but this was all done out of pure love.

“Listen,” the robber maiden said to Gerda. “You can see that the men are gone, but my mother is still here, and she will stay. However, toward morning she takes a drink from the large flask and then sleeps for a while. Then I will do something for you.” She jumped out of bed and rushed to her mother. She put her arms around her neck, pulled her beard, and said, “Good morning, my own sweet nanny-goat of a mother.” Her mother grabbed her nose and pinched it until it was red and blue. But all this was done out of pure love.

When the mother had taken a sup at her flask, and was having a nap, the little robber maiden went to the Reindeer, and said, “I should very much like to give you still many a tickling with the sharp knife, for then you are so amusing; however, I will untether you, and help you out, so that you may go back to Lapland. But you must make good use of your legs; and take this little girl for me to the palace of the Snow Queen, where her playfellow is. You have heard, I suppose, all she said; for she spoke loud enough, and you were listening.”

After the mother had taken a drink from her flask and fallen asleep, the little robber girl went to the Reindeer. She said, “I would love to tickle you many more times with the sharp knife, because you are so amusing when I do. But I will untie you and help you escape, so you can go back to Lapland. You must make good use of your legs and take this little girl for me to the Snow Queen’s palace. Her playmate is there. I suppose you heard everything she said. She spoke loudly enough, and you were listening.”

The Reindeer gave a bound for joy. The robber maiden lifted up little Gerda, and took the precaution to bind her fast on the Reindeer's back; she even gave her a small cushion to sit on. “Here are your worsted leggins, for it will be cold; but the muff I shall keep for myself, for it is so very pretty. But I do not wish you to be cold. Here is a pair of lined gloves of my mother's; they just reach up to your elbow. On with them! Now you look about the hands just like my ugly old mother!”

The Reindeer leaped for joy. The robber maiden lifted little Gerda up and made sure to tie her securely onto the Reindeer's back. She even gave her a small cushion to sit on. “Here are your woolen leggings, because it will be cold. But I’ll keep the muff for myself, because it’s so pretty. Still, I don’t want you to be cold. Here’s a pair of my mother’s lined gloves. They reach all the way to your elbows. Put them on! Now your hands look just like my ugly old mother’s!”

And Gerda wept for joy.

And Gerda cried with joy.

“I can't bear to see you fretting,” said the little robber maiden. “This is just the time when you ought to look pleased. Here are two loaves and a ham for you, so that you won't starve.” The bread and the meat were fastened to the Reindeer's back; the little maiden opened the door, called in all the dogs, and then with her knife cut the rope that fastened the animal, and said to him, “Now, off with you; but take good care of the little girl!”

“I can't bear to see you worrying,” said the little robber maiden. “You should be happy now. Here are two loaves of bread and a ham for you, so you won't starve.” The bread and meat were fastened to the Reindeer's back. The little maiden opened the door and called in all the dogs. Then she cut the rope holding the Reindeer with her knife and said to him, “Now, off you go, but take good care of the little girl!”

And Gerda stretched out her hands with the large wadded gloves towards the robber maiden, and said, “Farewell!” and the Reindeer flew on over bush and bramble through the great wood, over moor and heath, as fast as he could go.

Gerda stretched out her hands in their large padded gloves toward the robber girl and said, “Goodbye!” The Reindeer raced on through the great forest, over bushes and brambles, across moors and heath, as fast as he could.

“Ddsa! Ddsa!” was heard in the sky. It was just as if somebody was sneezing.

“Ddsa! Ddsa!” came a sound from the sky. It was just as if someone were sneezing.

“These are my old northern-lights,” said the Reindeer, “look how they gleam!” And on he now sped still quicker—day and night on he went: the loaves were consumed, and the ham too; and now they were in Lapland.

“These are my old northern lights,” said the Reindeer. “Look how they gleam!” He sped on even faster, traveling day and night. The loaves and the ham were eaten, and now they were in Lapland.

Suddenly they stopped before a little house, which looked very miserable. The roof reached to the ground; and the door was so low, that the family were obliged to creep upon their stomachs when they went in or out. Nobody was at home except an old Lapland woman, who was dressing fish by the light of an oil lamp. And the Reindeer told her the whole of Gerda's history, but first of all his own; for that seemed to him of much greater importance. Gerda was so chilled that she could not speak.

Suddenly they stopped in front of a little house that looked very miserable. Its roof reached the ground. The door was so low that the family had to crawl on their stomachs to get in or out. Nobody was home except an old Lapland woman, who was cleaning fish by the light of an oil lamp. The Reindeer told her all of Gerda's story, but first he told her his own. His own story seemed much more important to him. Gerda was so cold that she could not speak.

“Poor thing,” said the Lapland woman, “you have far to run still. You have more than a hundred miles to go before you get to Finland; there the Snow Queen has her country-house, and burns blue lights every evening. I will give you a few words from me, which I will write on a dried haberdine, for paper I have none; this you can take with you to the Finland woman, and she will be able to give you more information than I can.”

“Poor thing,” said the Lapland woman, “you still have a long way to run. You must travel more than a hundred miles before you reach Finland. The Snow Queen has her country house there, and she burns blue lights every evening. I will write a few words for you on a dried fish, because I have no paper. You can take the fish to the Finland woman. She will be able to tell you more than I can.”

When Gerda had warmed herself, and had eaten and drunk, the Lapland woman wrote a few words on a dried haberdine, begged Gerda to take care of them, put her on the Reindeer, bound her fast, and away sprang the animal. “Ddsa! Ddsa!” was again heard in the air; the most charming blue lights burned the whole night in the sky, and at last they came to Finland. They knocked at the chimney of the Finland woman; for as to a door, she had none.

When Gerda had warmed herself and had something to eat and drink, the Lapland woman wrote a few words on a dried cod. She asked Gerda to keep it safe, then put her on the Reindeer and tied her securely in place. Away sprang the Reindeer. “Ddsa! Ddsa!” rang out in the air again. Beautiful blue lights glowed in the sky all night, and at last they reached Finland. They knocked at the chimney of the Finland woman's house, because she had no door.

There was such a heat inside that the Finland woman herself went about almost naked. She was diminutive and dirty. She immediately loosened little Gerda's clothes, pulled off her thick gloves and boots; for otherwise the heat would have been too great—and after laying a piece of ice on the Reindeer's head, read what was written on the fish-skin. She read it three times: she then knew it by heart; so she put the fish into the cupboard—for it might very well be eaten, and she never threw anything away.

It was so hot inside that the Finland woman herself wore almost no clothes. She was small and dirty. She immediately loosened little Gerda's clothes and took off her thick gloves and boots. Otherwise, Gerda would have been too hot. The woman placed a piece of ice on the Reindeer's head, then read what was written on the fish skin. She read it three times and knew it by heart. Then she put the fish in the cupboard. It could still be eaten, and she never threw anything away.

Then the Reindeer related his own story first, and afterwards that of little Gerda; and the Finland woman winked her eyes, but said nothing.

Then the Reindeer told his own story first, followed by little Gerda’s story. The Finland woman blinked, but said nothing.

“You are so clever,” said the Reindeer; “you can, I know, twist all the winds of the world together in a knot. If the seaman loosens one knot, then he has a good wind; if a second, then it blows pretty stiffly; if he undoes the third and fourth, then it rages so that the forests are upturned. Will you give the little maiden a potion, that she may possess the strength of twelve men, and vanquish the Snow Queen?”

“You are so clever,” said the Reindeer. “I know you can tie all the winds of the world together in a knot. If a sailor loosens one knot, he gets a good wind. If he loosens a second, the wind blows quite strongly. If he unties the third and fourth, the wind rages so fiercely that it uproots forests. Will you give the little girl a potion so she can have the strength of twelve men and defeat the Snow Queen?”

“The strength of twelve men!” said the Finland woman. “Much good that would be!” Then she went to a cupboard, and drew out a large skin rolled up. When she had unrolled it, strange characters were to be seen written thereon; and the Finland woman read at such a rate that the perspiration trickled down her forehead.

“The strength of twelve men!” said the Finland woman. “What good would that do!” Then she went to a cupboard and pulled out a large rolled-up skin. She unrolled it, revealing strange characters written on it. The Finland woman read so quickly that sweat trickled down her forehead.

But the Reindeer begged so hard for little Gerda, and Gerda looked so imploringly with tearful eyes at the Finland woman, that she winked, and drew the Reindeer aside into a corner, where they whispered together, while the animal got some fresh ice put on his head.

But the Reindeer pleaded so hard for little Gerda, and Gerda looked so pleadingly at the Finland woman through tearful eyes, that the woman winked. She drew the Reindeer aside into a corner, where they whispered together while fresh ice was put on his head.

“'Tis true little Kay is at the Snow Queen's, and finds everything there quite to his taste; and he thinks it the very best place in the world; but the reason of that is, he has a splinter of glass in his eye, and in his heart. These must be got out first; otherwise he will never go back to mankind, and the Snow Queen will retain her power over him.”

“It's true that little Kay is with the Snow Queen, and he finds everything there just to his liking. He thinks it is the best place in the world. But that is because he has a splinter of glass in his eye and another in his heart. Both must be taken out first. Otherwise, he will never return to other people, and the Snow Queen will keep her power over him.”

“But can you give little Gerda nothing to take which will endue her with power over the whole?”

“But can’t you give little Gerda something to take with her that will give her power over it all?”

“I can give her no more power than what she has already. Don't you see how great it is? Don't you see how men and animals are forced to serve her; how well she gets through the world barefooted? She must not hear of her power from us; that power lies in her heart, because she is a sweet and innocent child! If she cannot get to the Snow Queen by herself, and rid little Kay of the glass, we cannot help her. Two miles hence the garden of the Snow Queen begins; thither you may carry the little girl. Set her down by the large bush with red berries, standing in the snow; don't stay talking, but hasten back as fast as possible.” And now the Finland woman placed little Gerda on the Reindeer's back, and off he ran with all imaginable speed.

“I cannot give her more power than she already has. Don't you see how great her power is? Don't you see how men and animals are compelled to serve her? And how well she travels through the world barefoot? We must not tell her about her power. It lies in her heart because she is a sweet and innocent child! If she cannot reach the Snow Queen by herself and rid little Kay of the glass, we cannot help her. The Snow Queen's garden begins two miles from here. You can carry the little girl there. Set her down beside the large bush with red berries, standing in the snow. Don't stay to talk, but hurry back as fast as possible.” Then the Finland woman placed little Gerda on the Reindeer's back, and he ran off as fast as he possibly could.

“Oh! I have not got my boots! I have not brought my gloves!” cried little Gerda. She remarked she was without them from the cutting frost; but the Reindeer dared not stand still; on he ran till he came to the great bush with the red berries, and there he set Gerda down, kissed her mouth, while large bright tears flowed from the animal's eyes, and then back he went as fast as possible. There stood poor Gerda now, without shoes or gloves, in the very middle of dreadful icy Finland.

“Oh! I don’t have my boots! I didn’t bring my gloves!” cried little Gerda. The biting frost made her realize she had neither. But the Reindeer dared not stop. He ran on until he reached the great bush with red berries. There he set Gerda down and kissed her on the mouth. Large, bright tears flowed from his eyes. Then he ran back as fast as he could. Poor Gerda stood there without shoes or gloves, in the middle of dreadful, icy Finland.

She ran on as fast as she could. There then came a whole regiment of snow-flakes, but they did not fall from above, and they were quite bright and shining from the Aurora Borealis. The flakes ran along the ground, and the nearer they came the larger they grew. Gerda well remembered how large and strange the snow-flakes appeared when she once saw them through a magnifying-glass; but now they were large and terrific in another manner—they were all alive. They were the outposts of the Snow Queen. They had the most wondrous shapes; some looked like large ugly porcupines; others like snakes knotted together, with their heads sticking out; and others, again, like small fat bears, with the hair standing on end: all were of dazzling whiteness—all were living snow-flakes.

She ran on as fast as she could. Then a whole regiment of snowflakes appeared, but they did not fall from above. They shone brightly in the light of the Aurora Borealis. The flakes moved along the ground, growing larger as they came closer. Gerda remembered how large and strange snowflakes had looked when she once saw them through a magnifying glass. But these were large and terrifying in a different way. They were all alive. They were the Snow Queen's outposts. They had the strangest shapes. Some looked like large, ugly porcupines. Others looked like snakes knotted together, with their heads sticking out. Still others looked like small, fat bears with their fur standing on end. All were dazzling white. All were living snowflakes.

Little Gerda repeated the Lord's Prayer. The cold was so intense that she could see her own breath, which came like smoke out of her mouth. It grew thicker and thicker, and took the form of little angels, that grew more and more when they touched the earth. All had helms on their heads, and lances and shields in their hands; they increased in numbers; and when Gerda had finished the Lord's Prayer, she was surrounded by a whole legion. They thrust at the horrid snow-flakes with their spears, so that they flew into a thousand pieces; and little Gerda walked on bravely and in security. The angels patted her hands and feet; and then she felt the cold less, and went on quickly towards the palace of the Snow Queen.

Little Gerda recited the Lord's Prayer. It was so cold that she could see her breath coming from her mouth like smoke. Her breath grew thicker and thicker and took the shape of little angels. The angels grew bigger and bigger when they touched the ground. They all wore helmets and carried spears and shields. More and more angels appeared, and by the time Gerda finished the Lord's Prayer, a whole legion surrounded her. They thrust their spears at the horrible snowflakes, breaking them into a thousand pieces. Little Gerda walked on bravely and safely. The angels patted her hands and feet, and she felt the cold less. Then she hurried on toward the Snow Queen's palace.

But now we shall see how Kay fared. He never thought of Gerda, and least of all that she was standing before the palace.

But now let us see how Kay was doing. He never thought of Gerda, and certainly did not imagine she was standing outside the palace.

The walls of the palace were of driving snow, and the windows and doors of cutting winds. There were more than a hundred halls there, according as the snow was driven by the winds. The largest was many miles in extent; all were lighted up by the powerful Aurora Borealis, and all were so large, so empty, so icy cold, and so resplendent! Mirth never reigned there; there was never even a little bear-ball, with the storm for music, while the polar bears went on their hind legs and showed off their steps. Never a little tea-party of white young lady foxes; vast, cold, and empty were the halls of the Snow Queen. The northern-lights shone with such precision that one could tell exactly when they were at their highest or lowest degree of brightness. In the middle of the empty, endless hall of snow, was a frozen lake; it was cracked in a thousand pieces, but each piece was so like the other, that it seemed the work of a cunning artificer. In the middle of this lake sat the Snow Queen when she was at home; and then she said she was sitting in the Mirror of Understanding, and that this was the only one and the best thing in the world.

The palace walls were made of driving snow, and its windows and doors were made of cutting winds. It had more than a hundred halls, depending on how the winds drove the snow. The largest stretched for many miles. All were lit by the powerful Aurora Borealis, and all were so vast, so empty, so icy cold, and so dazzling! There was never any fun there. There was not even a little bear ball, with the storm playing music. At such a ball, polar bears might have walked on their hind legs and shown off their dance steps. There was never a little tea party for young lady foxes in their white coats. The Snow Queen’s halls were vast, cold, and empty. The northern lights shone so precisely that you could tell exactly when they were at their brightest or dimmest. In the middle of the empty, endless snow hall was a frozen lake. It was cracked into a thousand pieces, but each piece looked so much like the others that the lake seemed to be the work of a skilled craftsman. When the Snow Queen was at home, she sat in the middle of the lake. She said she was sitting in the Mirror of Understanding, and that it was the only and best thing in the world.

Little Kay was quite blue, yes nearly black with cold; but he did not observe it, for she had kissed away all feeling of cold from his body, and his heart was a lump of ice. He was dragging along some pointed flat pieces of ice, which he laid together in all possible ways, for he wanted to make something with them; just as we have little flat pieces of wood to make geometrical figures with, called the Chinese Puzzle. Kay made all sorts of figures, the most complicated, for it was an ice-puzzle for the understanding. In his eyes the figures were extraordinarily beautiful, and of the utmost importance; for the bit of glass which was in his eye caused this. He found whole figures which represented a written word; but he never could manage to represent just the word he wanted—that word was “eternity”; and the Snow Queen had said, “If you can discover that figure, you shall be your own master, and I will make you a present of the whole world and a pair of new skates.” But he could not find it out.

Little Kay was blue, almost black with cold. But he did not notice, because she had kissed away all feeling of cold from his body. His heart was a lump of ice. He was dragging around some flat, pointed pieces of ice and arranging them in every possible way. He wanted to make something with them, just as we make geometric shapes with little flat pieces of wood called the Chinese Puzzle. Kay made all kinds of shapes, including the most complicated ones. It was an ice puzzle that challenged his mind. To him, the shapes were extraordinarily beautiful and of the utmost importance, because of the bit of glass in his eye. He made complete shapes that formed written words, but he could never form the one word he wanted: “eternity”. The Snow Queen had said, “If you can find that shape, you shall be your own master, and I will give you the whole world and a pair of new skates.” But he could not find it.

“I am going now to warm lands,” said the Snow Queen. “I must have a look down into the black caldrons.” It was the volcanoes Vesuvius and Etna that she meant. “I will just give them a coating of white, for that is as it ought to be; besides, it is good for the oranges and the grapes.” And then away she flew, and Kay sat quite alone in the empty halls of ice that were miles long, and looked at the blocks of ice, and thought and thought till his skull was almost cracked. There he sat quite benumbed and motionless; one would have imagined he was frozen to death.

“I am going to warm lands now,” said the Snow Queen. “I must look down into the black cauldrons.” She meant the volcanoes Vesuvius and Etna. “I will give them a coating of white, because that is how they should be. Besides, it is good for the oranges and the grapes.” Then she flew away, leaving Kay alone in the empty halls of ice, which stretched for miles. He looked at the blocks of ice and thought so hard that his skull nearly cracked. There he sat, numb and motionless. One might have thought he was frozen to death.

Suddenly little Gerda stepped through the great portal into the palace. The gate was formed of cutting winds; but Gerda repeated her evening prayer, and the winds were laid as though they slept; and the little maiden entered the vast, empty, cold halls. There she beheld Kay: she recognised him, flew to embrace him, and cried out, her arms firmly holding him the while, “Kay, sweet little Kay! Have I then found you at last?”

Suddenly, little Gerda stepped through the great entrance into the palace. The gate was made of piercing winds. But Gerda said her evening prayer, and the winds grew still, as if they were asleep. The little girl entered the vast, empty, cold halls. There she saw Kay and recognized him. She rushed to embrace him and held him tightly as she cried, “Kay, sweet little Kay! Have I found you at last?”

But he sat quite still, benumbed and cold. Then little Gerda shed burning tears; and they fell on his bosom, they penetrated to his heart, they thawed the lumps of ice, and consumed the splinters of the looking-glass; he looked at her, and she sang the hymn:

But he sat perfectly still, numb and cold. Then little Gerda shed burning tears, which fell on his chest and reached his heart. They melted the lumps of ice and dissolved the splinters of the mirror. He looked at her, and she sang the hymn:

“The rose in the valley is blooming so sweet, And angels descend there the children to greet.”

“The rose in the valley is blooming so sweetly, and angels come down to greet the children there.”

Hereupon Kay burst into tears; he wept so much that the splinter rolled out of his eye, and he recognised her, and shouted, “Gerda, sweet little Gerda! Where have you been so long? And where have I been?” He looked round him. “How cold it is here!” said he. “How empty and cold!” And he held fast by Gerda, who laughed and wept for joy. It was so beautiful, that even the blocks of ice danced about for joy; and when they were tired and laid themselves down, they formed exactly the letters which the Snow Queen had told him to find out; so now he was his own master, and he would have the whole world and a pair of new skates into the bargain.

Then Kay burst into tears. He wept so much that the splinter rolled out of his eye. He recognized Gerda and shouted, “Gerda, sweet little Gerda! Where have you been all this time? And where have I been?” He looked around. “How cold it is here!” he said. “How empty and cold!” He held on tightly to Gerda, who laughed and wept for joy. The moment was so beautiful that even the blocks of ice danced for joy. When the blocks were tired, they lay down and formed exactly the letters the Snow Queen had told him to find. So now he was his own master, and he would have the whole world and a pair of new skates as well.

Gerda kissed his cheeks, and they grew quite blooming; she kissed his eyes, and they shone like her own; she kissed his hands and feet, and he was again well and merry. The Snow Queen might come back as soon as she liked; there stood his discharge written in resplendent masses of ice.

Gerda kissed his cheeks, and they grew rosy. She kissed his eyes, and they shone like her own. She kissed his hands and feet, and he was well and happy again. The Snow Queen could come back whenever she liked. His release was written there in brilliant pieces of ice.

They took each other by the hand, and wandered forth out of the large hall; they talked of their old grandmother, and of the roses upon the roof; and wherever they went, the winds ceased raging, and the sun burst forth. And when they reached the bush with the red berries, they found the Reindeer waiting for them. He had brought another, a young one, with him, whose udder was filled with milk, which he gave to the little ones, and kissed their lips. They then carried Kay and Gerda—first to the Finland woman, where they warmed themselves in the warm room, and learned what they were to do on their journey home; and they went to the Lapland woman, who made some new clothes for them and repaired their sledges.

They took each other by the hand and wandered out of the large hall. They talked about their old grandmother and the roses on the roof. Wherever they went, the winds stopped raging, and the sun came out. When they reached the bush with the red berries, they found the Reindeer waiting for them. He had brought another, a young reindeer, whose udder was full of milk. He gave the milk to the children and kissed their lips. The two reindeer then carried Kay and Gerda first to the Finland woman. There, the children warmed themselves in her warm room and learned what to do on their journey home. Then they went to the Lapland woman, who made them some new clothes and repaired their sledges.

The Reindeer and the young hind leaped along beside them, and accompanied them to the boundary of the country. Here the first vegetation peeped forth; here Kay and Gerda took leave of the Lapland woman. “Farewell! Farewell!” they all said. And the first green buds appeared, the first little birds began to chirrup; and out of the wood came, riding on a magnificent horse, which Gerda knew (it was one of the leaders in the golden carriage), a young damsel with a bright-red cap on her head, and armed with pistols. It was the little robber maiden, who, tired of being at home, had determined to make a journey to the north; and afterwards in another direction, if that did not please her. She recognised Gerda immediately, and Gerda knew her too. It was a joyful meeting.

The Reindeer and the young doe leaped along beside them, accompanying them to the border of the country. Here the first plants were beginning to appear, and Kay and Gerda said goodbye to the Lapland woman. “Farewell! Farewell!” they all said. The first green buds appeared, and the first little birds began to chirp. A young girl rode out of the woods on a magnificent horse that Gerda recognized. It had been one of the lead horses pulling the golden carriage. The girl wore a bright red cap and carried pistols. It was the little robber girl. Tired of being at home, she had decided to travel north, and then somewhere else if she did not like it there. She recognized Gerda at once, and Gerda recognized her too. It was a joyful meeting.

“You are a fine fellow for tramping about,” said she to little Kay; “I should like to know, faith, if you deserve that one should run from one end of the world to the other for your sake?”

“You’re a fine fellow to travel so far for,” she said to little Kay. “I really wonder if you deserve to have someone run from one end of the world to the other for you.”

But Gerda patted her cheeks, and inquired for the Prince and Princess.

But Gerda patted her cheeks and asked about the Prince and Princess.

“They are gone abroad,” said the other.

“They have gone abroad,” said the other.

“But the Raven?” asked little Gerda.

“But what about the Raven?” asked little Gerda.

“Oh! The Raven is dead,” she answered. “His tame sweetheart is a widow, and wears a bit of black worsted round her leg; she laments most piteously, but it's all mere talk and stuff! Now tell me what you've been doing and how you managed to catch him.”

“Oh! The Raven is dead,” she answered. “His tame sweetheart is a widow and wears a bit of black yarn around her leg. She grieves terribly, but it's all just talk and nonsense! Now tell me what you've been doing and how you managed to catch him.”

And Gerda and Kay both told their story.

And Gerda and Kay both told their story.

And “Schnipp-schnapp-schnurre-basselurre,” said the robber maiden; and she took the hands of each, and promised that if she should some day pass through the town where they lived, she would come and visit them; and then away she rode. Kay and Gerda took each other's hand: it was lovely spring weather, with abundance of flowers and of verdure. The church-bells rang, and the children recognised the high towers, and the large town; it was that in which they dwelt. They entered and hastened up to their grandmother's room, where everything was standing as formerly. The clock said “tick! tack!” and the finger moved round; but as they entered, they remarked that they were now grown up. The roses on the leads hung blooming in at the open window; there stood the little children's chairs, and Kay and Gerda sat down on them, holding each other by the hand; they both had forgotten the cold empty splendor of the Snow Queen, as though it had been a dream. The grandmother sat in the bright sunshine, and read aloud from the Bible: “Unless ye become as little children, ye cannot enter the kingdom of heaven.”

And “Schnipp-schnapp-schnurre-basselurre,” said the robber maiden. She took each of them by the hand and made them a promise. If she ever passed through their town, she would visit them. Then she rode away. Kay and Gerda took each other’s hand. The spring weather was lovely, with flowers and greenery everywhere. Church bells rang, and the children recognized the tall towers and the large town where they lived. They entered the town and hurried up to their grandmother’s room. Everything there was just as it had been before. The clock said “tick! tack!” and its hand moved around. But as they entered, they noticed that they were now grown up. The roses on the roof outside were blooming and hung in through the open window. Their little children’s chairs were there, and Kay and Gerda sat down on them, holding hands. They had both forgotten the cold, empty splendor of the Snow Queen, as if it had been a dream. Their grandmother sat in the bright sunshine and read aloud from the Bible: “Unless you become like little children, you cannot enter the kingdom of heaven.”

And Kay and Gerda looked in each other's eyes, and all at once they understood the old hymn:

Kay and Gerda looked into each other's eyes, and suddenly they understood the old hymn:

“The rose in the valley is blooming so sweet, And angels descend there the children to greet.”

“The rose in the valley is blooming so sweetly, and angels come down there to greet the children.”

There sat the two grown-up persons; grown-up, and yet children; children at least in heart; and it was summer-time; summer, glorious summer!

The two adults sat there, grown up yet still children, at least at heart. And it was summer, glorious summer!