THE SNOW QUEEN
                    IN SEVEN STORIES

                    STORY THE FIRST


    WHICH describes a looking-glass and the broken fragments.

    You must attend to the commencement of this story, for
when we get to the end we shall know more than we do now about
a very wicked hobgoblin; he was one of the very worst, for he
was a real demon. One day, when he was in a merry mood, he
made a looking-glass which had the power of making everything
good or beautiful that was reflected in it almost shrink to
nothing, while everything that was worthless and bad looked
increased in size and worse than ever. The most lovely
landscapes appeared like boiled spinach, and the people became
hideous, and looked as if they stood on their heads and had no
bodies. Their countenances were so distorted that no one could
recognize them, and even one freckle on the face appeared to
spread over the whole of the nose and mouth. The demon said
this was very amusing. When a good or pious thought passed
through the mind of any one it was misrepresented in the
glass; and then how the demon laughed at his cunning
invention. All who went to the demon's school- for he kept a
school- talked everywhere of the wonders they had seen, and
declared that people could now, for the first time, see what
the world and mankind were really like. They carried the glass
about everywhere, till at last there was not a land nor a
people who had not been looked at through this distorted
mirror. They wanted even to fly with it up to heaven to see
the angels, but the higher they flew the more slippery the
glass became, and they could scarcely hold it, till at last it
slipped from their hands, fell to the earth, and was broken
into millions of pieces. But now the looking-glass caused more
unhappiness than ever, for some of the fragments were not so
large as a grain of sand, and they flew about the world into
every country. When one of these tiny atoms flew into a
person's eye, it stuck there unknown to him, and from that
moment he saw everything through a distorted medium, or could
see only the worst side of what he looked at, for even the
smallest fragment retained the same power which had belonged
to the whole mirror. Some few persons even got a fragment of
the looking-glass in their hearts, and this was very terrible,
for their hearts became cold like a lump of ice. A few of the
pieces were so large that they could be used as window-panes;
it would have been a sad thing to look at our friends through
them. Other pieces were made into spectacles; this was
dreadful for those who wore them, for they could see nothing
either rightly or justly. At all this the wicked demon laughed
till his sides shook- it tickled him so to see the mischief he
had done. There were still a number of these little fragments
of glass floating about in the air, and now you shall hear
what happened with one of them.

                      SECOND STORY
             A LITTLE BOY AND A LITTLE GIRL

    In a large town, full of houses and people, there is not
room for everybody to have even a little garden, therefore
they are obliged to be satisfied with a few flowers in
flower-pots. In one of these large towns lived two poor
children who had a garden something larger and better than a
few flower-pots. They were not brother and sister, but they
loved each other almost as much as if they had been. Their
parents lived opposite to each other in two garrets, where the
roofs of neighboring houses projected out towards each other
and the water-pipe ran between them. In each house was a
little window, so that any one could step across the gutter
from one window to the other. The parents of these children
had each a large wooden box in which they cultivated kitchen
herbs for their own use, and a little rose-bush in each box,
which grew splendidly. Now after a while the parents decided
to place these two boxes across the water-pipe, so that they
reached from one window to the other and looked like two banks
of flowers. Sweet-peas drooped over the boxes, and the
rose-bushes shot forth long branches, which were trained round
the windows and clustered together almost like a triumphal
arch of leaves and flowers. The boxes were very high, and the
children knew they must not climb upon them, without
permission, but they were often, however, allowed to step out
together and sit upon their little stools under the
rose-bushes, or play quietly. In winter all this pleasure came
to an end, for the windows were sometimes quite frozen over.
But then they would warm copper pennies on the stove, and hold
the warm pennies against the frozen pane; there would be very
soon a little round hole through which they could peep, and
the soft bright eyes of the little boy and girl would beam
through the hole at each window as they looked at each other.
Their names were Kay and Gerda. In summer they could be
together with one jump from the window, but in winter they had
to go up and down the long staircase, and out through the snow
before they could meet.

    "See there are the white bees swarming," said Kay's old
grandmother one day when it was snowing.

    "Have they a queen bee?" asked the little boy, for he knew
that the real bees had a queen.

    "To be sure they have," said the grandmother. "She is
flying there where the swarm is thickest. She is the largest
of them all, and never remains on the earth, but flies up to
the dark clouds. Often at midnight she flies through the
streets of the town, and looks in at the windows, then the ice
freezes on the panes into wonderful shapes, that look like
flowers and castles."

    "Yes, I have seen them," said both the children, and they
knew it must be true.

    "Can the Snow Queen come in here?" asked the little girl.

    "Only let her come," said the boy, "I'll set her on the
stove and then she'll melt."

    Then the grandmother smoothed his hair and told him some
more tales. One evening, when little Kay was at home, half
undressed, he climbed on a chair by the window and peeped out
through the little hole. A few flakes of snow were falling,
and one of them, rather larger than the rest, alighted on the
edge of one of the flower boxes. This snow-flake grew larger
and larger, till at last it became the figure of a woman,
dressed in garments of white gauze, which looked like millions
of starry snow-flakes linked together. She was fair and
beautiful, but made of ice- shining and glittering ice. Still
she was alive and her eyes sparkled like bright stars, but
there was neither peace nor rest in their glance. She nodded
towards the window and waved her hand. The little boy was
frightened and sprang from the chair; at the same moment it
seemed as if a large bird flew by the window. On the following
day there was a clear frost, and very soon came the spring.
The sun shone; the young green leaves burst forth; the
swallows built their nests; windows were opened, and the
children sat once more in the garden on the roof, high above
all the other rooms. How beautiful the roses blossomed this
summer. The little girl had learnt a hymn in which roses were
spoken of, and then she thought of their own roses, and she
sang the hymn to the little boy, and he sang too:-

                  "Roses bloom and cease to be,
                   But we shall the Christ-child see."

Then the little ones held each other by the hand, and kissed
the roses, and looked at the bright sunshine, and spoke to it
as if the Christ-child were there. Those were splendid summer
days. How beautiful and fresh it was out among the
rose-bushes, which seemed as if they would never leave off
blooming. One day Kay and Gerda sat looking at a book full of
pictures of animals and birds, and then just as the clock in
the church tower struck twelve, Kay said, "Oh, something has
struck my heart!" and soon after, "There is something in my
eye."

    The little girl put her arm round his neck, and looked
into his eye, but she could see nothing.

    "I think it is gone," he said. But it was not gone; it was
one of those bits of the looking-glass- that magic mirror, of
which we have spoken- the ugly glass which made everything
great and good appear small and ugly, while all that was
wicked and bad became more visible, and every little fault
could be plainly seen. Poor little Kay had also received a
small grain in his heart, which very quickly turned to a lump
of ice. He felt no more pain, but the glass was there still.
"Why do you cry?" said he at last; "it makes you look ugly.
There is nothing the matter with me now. Oh, see!" he cried
suddenly, "that rose is worm-eaten, and this one is quite
crooked. After all they are ugly roses, just like the box in
which they stand," and then he kicked the boxes with his foot,
and pulled off the two roses.

    "Kay, what are you doing?" cried the little girl; and
then, when he saw how frightened she was, he tore off another
rose, and jumped through his own window away from little
Gerda.

    When she afterwards brought out the picture book, he said,
"It was only fit for babies in long clothes," and when
grandmother told any stories, he would interrupt her with
"but;" or, when he could manage it, he would get behind her
chair, put on a pair of spectacles, and imitate her very
cleverly, to make people laugh. By-and-by he began to mimic
the speech and gait of persons in the street. All that was
peculiar or disagreeable in a person he would imitate
directly, and people said, "That boy will be very clever; he
has a remarkable genius." But it was the piece of glass in his
eye, and the coldness in his heart, that made him act like
this. He would even tease little Gerda, who loved him with all
her heart. His games, too, were quite different; they were not
so childish. One winter's day, when it snowed, he brought out
a burning-glass, then he held out the tail of his blue coat,
and let the snow-flakes fall upon it. "Look in this glass,
Gerda," said he; and she saw how every flake of snow was
magnified, and looked like a beautiful flower or a glittering
star. "Is it not clever?" said Kay, "and much more interesting
than looking at real flowers. There is not a single fault in
it, and the snow-flakes are quite perfect till they begin to
melt."

    Soon after Kay made his appearance in large thick gloves,
and with his sledge at his back. He called up stairs to Gerda,
"I've got to leave to go into the great square, where the
other boys play and ride." And away he went.

    In the great square, the boldest among the boys would
often tie their sledges to the country people's carts, and go
with them a good way. This was capital. But while they were
all amusing themselves, and Kay with them, a great sledge came
by; it was painted white, and in it sat some one wrapped in a
rough white fur, and wearing a white cap. The sledge drove
twice round the square, and Kay fastened his own little sledge
to it, so that when it went away, he followed with it. It went
faster and faster right through the next street, and then the
person who drove turned round and nodded pleasantly to Kay,
just as if they were acquainted with each other, but whenever
Kay wished to loosen his little sledge the driver nodded
again, so Kay sat still, and they drove out through the town
gate. Then the snow began to fall so heavily that the little
boy could not see a hand's breadth before him, but still they
drove on; then he suddenly loosened the cord so that the large
sled might go on without him, but it was of no use, his little
carriage held fast, and away they went like the wind. Then he
called out loudly, but nobody heard him, while the snow beat
upon him, and the sledge flew onwards. Every now and then it
gave a jump as if it were going over hedges and ditches. The
boy was frightened, and tried to say a prayer, but he could
remember nothing but the multiplication table.

    The snow-flakes became larger and larger, till they
appeared like great white chickens. All at once they sprang on
one side, the great sledge stopped, and the person who had
driven it rose up. The fur and the cap, which were made
entirely of snow, fell off, and he saw a lady, tall and white,
it was the Snow Queen.

    "We have driven well," said she, "but why do you tremble?
here, creep into my warm fur." Then she seated him beside her
in the sledge, and as she wrapped the fur round him he felt as
if he were sinking into a snow drift.

    "Are you still cold," she asked, as she kissed him on the
forehead. The kiss was colder than ice; it went quite through
to his heart, which was already almost a lump of ice; he felt
as if he were going to die, but only for a moment; he soon
seemed quite well again, and did not notice the cold around
him.

    "My sledge! don't forget my sledge," was his first
thought, and then he looked and saw that it was bound fast to
one of the white chickens, which flew behind him with the
sledge at its back. The Snow Queen kissed little Kay again,
and by this time he had forgotten little Gerda, his
grandmother, and all at home.

    "Now you must have no more kisses," she said, "or I should
kiss you to death."

    Kay looked at her, and saw that she was so beautiful, he
could not imagine a more lovely and intelligent face; she did
not now seem to be made of ice, as when he had seen her
through his window, and she had nodded to him. In his eyes she
was perfect, and she did not feel at all afraid. He told her
he could do mental arithmetic, as far as fractions, and that
he knew the number of square miles and the number of
inhabitants in the country. And she always smiled so that he
thought he did not know enough yet, and she looked round the
vast expanse as she flew higher and higher with him upon a
black cloud, while the storm blew and howled as if it were
singing old songs. They flew over woods and lakes, over sea
and land; below them roared the wild wind; the wolves howled
and the snow crackled; over them flew the black screaming
crows, and above all shone the moon, clear and bright,- and so
Kay passed through the long winter's night, and by day he
slept at the feet of the Snow Queen.

                        THIRD STORY
               THE FLOWER GARDEN OF THE WOMAN
                     WHO COULD CONJURE

    But how fared little Gerda during Kay's absence? What had
become of him, no one knew, nor could any one give the
slightest information, excepting the boys, who said that he
had tied his sledge to another very large one, which had
driven through the street, and out at the town gate. Nobody
knew where it went; many tears were shed for him, and little
Gerda wept bitterly for a long time. She said she knew he must
be dead; that he was drowned in the river which flowed close
by the school. Oh, indeed those long winter days were very
dreary. But at last spring came, with warm sunshine. "Kay is
dead and gone," said little Gerda.

    "I don't believe it," said the sunshine.

    "He is dead and gone," she said to the sparrows.

    "We don't believe it," they replied; and at last little
Gerda began to doubt it herself. "I will put on my new red
shoes," she said one morning, "those that Kay has never seen,
and then I will go down to the river, and ask for him." It was
quite early when she kissed her old grandmother, who was still
asleep; then she put on her red shoes, and went quite alone
out of the town gates toward the river. "Is it true that you
have taken my little playmate away from me?" said she to the
river. "I will give you my red shoes if you will give him back
to me." And it seemed as if the waves nodded to her in a
strange manner. Then she took off her red shoes, which she
liked better than anything else, and threw them both into the
river, but they fell near the bank, and the little waves
carried them back to the land, just as if the river would not
take from her what she loved best, because they could not give
her back little Kay. But she thought the shoes had not been
thrown out far enough. Then she crept into a boat that lay
among the reeds, and threw the shoes again from the farther
end of the boat into the water, but it was not fastened. And
her movement sent it gliding away from the land. When she saw
this she hastened to reach the end of the boat, but before she
could so it was more than a yard from the bank, and drifting
away faster than ever. Then little Gerda was very much
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 by the shore, and sang, as if to comfort her, "Here we
are! Here we are!" The boat floated with the stream; little
Gerda sat quite still with only her stockings on her feet; the
red shoes floated after her, but she could not reach them
because the boat kept so much in advance. The banks on each
side of the river were very pretty. There were beautiful
flowers, old trees, sloping fields, in which cows and sheep
were grazing, but not a man to be seen. Perhaps the river will
carry me to little Kay, thought Gerda, and then she became
more cheerful, and raised her head, and looked at the
beautiful green banks; and so the boat sailed on for hours. At
length she came to a large cherry orchard, in which stood a
small red house with strange red and blue windows. It had also
a thatched roof, and outside were two wooden soldiers, that
presented arms to her as she sailed past. Gerda called out to
them, for she thought they were alive, but of course they did
not answer; and as the boat drifted nearer to the shore, she
saw what they really were. Then Gerda called still louder, and
there came a very old woman out of the house, leaning on a
crutch. She wore a large hat to shade her from the sun, and on
it were painted all sorts of pretty flowers. "You poor little
child," said the old woman, "how did you manage to come all
this distance into the wide world on such a rapid rolling
stream?" And then the old woman walked in the water, seized
the boat with her crutch, drew it to land, and lifted Gerda
out. And Gerda was glad to feel herself on dry ground,
although she was rather afraid of the strange old woman. "Come
and tell me who you are," said she, "and how came you here."

    Then Gerda told her everything, while the old woman shook
her head, and said, "Hem-hem;" and when she had finished,
Gerda asked if she had not seen little Kay, and the old woman
told her he had not passed by that way, but he very likely
would come. So she told Gerda not to be sorrowful, but to
taste the cherries and look at the flowers; they were better
than any picture-book, for each of them could tell a story.
Then she took Gerda by the hand and led her into the little
house, and the old woman closed the door. The windows were
very high, and as the panes were red, blue, and yellow, the
daylight shone through them in all sorts of singular colors.
On the table stood beautiful cherries, and Gerda had
permission to eat as many as she would. While she was eating
them the old woman combed out her long flaxen ringlets with a
golden comb, and the glossy curls hung down on each side of
the little round pleasant face, which looked fresh and
blooming as a rose. "I have long been wishing for a dear
little maiden like you," said the old woman, "and now you must
stay with me, and see how happily we shall live together." And
while she went on combing little Gerda's hair, she thought
less and less about her adopted brother Kay, for the old woman
could conjure, although she was not a wicked witch; she
conjured only a little for her own amusement, and now, because
she wanted to keep Gerda. Therefore she went into the garden,
and stretched out her crutch towards all the rose-trees,
beautiful though they were; and they immediately sunk into the
dark earth, so that no one could tell where they had once
stood. The old woman was afraid that if little Gerda saw roses
she would think of those at home, and then remember little
Kay, and run away. Then she took Gerda into the flower-garden.
How fragrant and beautiful it was! Every flower that could be
thought of for every season of the year was here in full
bloom; no picture-book could have more beautiful colors. Gerda
jumped for joy, and played till the sun went down behind the
tall cherry-trees; then she slept in an elegant bed with red
silk pillows, embroidered with colored violets; and then she
dreamed as pleasantly as a queen on her wedding day. The next
day, and for many days after, Gerda played with the flowers in
the warm sunshine. She knew every flower, and yet, although
there were so many of them, it seemed as if one were missing,
but which it was she could not tell. One day, however, as she
sat looking at the old woman's hat with the painted flowers on
it, she saw that the prettiest of them all was a rose. The old
woman had forgotten to take it from her hat when she made all
the roses sink into the earth. But it is difficult to keep the
thoughts together in everything; one little mistake upsets all
our arrangements.

    "What, are there no roses here?" cried Gerda; and she ran
out into the garden, and examined all the beds, and searched
and searched. There was not one to be found. Then she sat down
and wept, and her tears fell just on the place where one of
the rose-trees had sunk down. The warm tears moistened the
earth, and the rose-tree sprouted up at once, as blooming as
when it had sunk; and Gerda embraced it and kissed the roses,
and thought of the beautiful roses at home, and, with them, of
little Kay.

    "Oh, how I have been detained!" said the little maiden, "I
wanted to seek for little Kay. Do you know where he is?" she
asked the roses; "do you think he is dead?"

    And the roses answered, "No, he is not dead. We have been
in the ground where all the dead lie; but Kay is not there."

    "Thank you," said little Gerda, and then she went to the
other flowers, and looked into their little cups, and asked,
"Do you know where little Kay is?" But each flower, as it
stood in the sunshine, dreamed only of its own little fairy
tale of history. Not one knew anything of Kay. Gerda heard
many stories from the flowers, as she asked them one after
another about him.

    And what, said the tiger-lily? "Hark, do you hear the
drum? - 'turn, turn,'- there are only two notes, always,
'turn, turn.' Listen to the women's song of mourning! Hear the
cry of the priest! In her long red robe stands the Hindoo
widow by the funeral pile. The flames rise around her as she
places herself on the dead body of her husband; but the Hindoo
woman is thinking of the living one in that circle; of him,
her son, who lighted those flames. Those shining eyes trouble
her heart more painfully than the flames which will soon
consume her body to ashes. Can the fire of the heart be
extinguished in the flames of the funeral pile?"

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

    "That is my story," said the tiger-lily.

    What, says the convolvulus? "Near yonder narrow road
stands an old knight's castle; thick ivy creeps over the old
ruined walls, leaf over leaf, even to the balcony, in which
stands a beautiful maiden. She bends over the balustrades, and
looks up the road. No rose on its stem is fresher than she; no
apple-blossom, wafted by the wind, floats more lightly than
she moves. Her rich silk rustles as she bends over and
exclaims, 'Will he not come?'

    "Is it Kay you mean?" asked Gerda.

    "I am only speaking of a story of my dream," replied the
flower.

    What, said the little snow-drop? "Between two trees a rope
is hanging; there is a piece of board upon it; it is a swing.
Two pretty little girls, in dresses white as snow, and with
long green ribbons fluttering from their hats, are sitting
upon it swinging. Their brother who is taller than they are,
stands in the swing; he has one arm round the rope, to steady
himself; in one hand he holds a little bowl, and in the other
a clay pipe; he is blowing bubbles. As the swing goes on, the
bubbles fly upward, reflecting the most beautiful varying
colors. The last still hangs from the bowl of the pipe, and
sways in the wind. On goes the swing; and then a little black
dog comes running up. He is almost as light as the bubble, and
he raises himself on his hind legs, and wants to be taken into
the swing; but it does not stop, and the dog falls; then he
barks and gets angry. The children stoop towards him, and the
bubble bursts. A swinging plank, a light sparkling foam
picture,- that is my story."

    "It may be all very pretty what you are telling me," said
little Gerda, "but you speak so mournfully, and you do not
mention little Kay at all."

    What do the hyacinths say? "There were three beautiful
sisters, fair and delicate. The dress of one was red, of the
second blue, and of the third pure white. Hand in hand they
danced in the bright moonlight, by the calm lake; but they
were human beings, not fairy elves. The sweet fragrance
attracted them, and they disappeared in the wood; here the
fragrance became stronger. Three coffins, in which lay the
three beautiful maidens, glided from the thickest part of the
forest across the lake. The fire-flies flew lightly over them,
like little floating torches. Do the dancing maidens sleep, or
are they dead? The scent of the flower says that they are
corpses. The evening bell tolls their knell."

    "You make me quite sorrowful," said little Gerda; "your
perfume is so strong, you make me think of the dead maidens.
Ah! is little Kay really dead then? The roses have been in the
earth, and they say no."

    "Cling, clang," tolled the hyacinth bells. "We are not
tolling for little Kay; we do not know him. We sing our song,
the only one we know."

    Then Gerda went to the buttercups that were glittering
amongst the bright green leaves.

    "You are little bright suns," said Gerda; "tell me if you
know where I can find my play-fellow."

    And the buttercups sparkled gayly, and looked again at
Gerda. What song could the buttercups sing? It was not about
Kay.

    "The bright warm sun shone on a little court, on the first
warm day of spring. His bright beams rested on the white walls
of the neighboring house; and close by bloomed the first
yellow flower of the season, glittering like gold in the sun's
warm ray. An old woman sat in her arm chair at the house door,
and her granddaughter, a poor and pretty servant-maid came to
see her for a short visit. When she kissed her grandmother
there was gold everywhere: the gold of the heart in that holy
kiss; it was a golden morning; there was gold in the beaming
sunlight, gold in the leaves of the lowly flower, and on the
lips of the maiden. There, that is my story," said the
buttercup.

    "My poor old grandmother!" sighed Gerda; "she is longing
to see me, and grieving for me as she did for little Kay; but
I shall soon go home now, and take little Kay with me. It is
no use asking the flowers; they know only their own songs, and
can give me no information."

    And then she tucked up her little dress, that she might
run faster, but the narcissus caught her by the leg as she was
jumping over it; so she stopped and looked at the tall yellow
flower, and said, "Perhaps you may know something."

    Then she stooped down quite close to the flower, and
listened; and what did he say?

    "I can see myself, I can see myself," said the narcissus.
"Oh, how sweet is my perfume! Up in a little room with a bow
window, stands a little dancing girl, half undressed; she
stands sometimes on one leg, and sometimes on both, and looks
as if she would tread the whole world under her feet. She is
nothing but a delusion. She is pouring water out of a tea-pot
on a piece of stuff which she holds in her hand; it is her
bodice. 'Cleanliness is a good thing,' she says. Her white
dress hangs on a peg; it has also been washed in the tea-pot,
and dried on the roof. She puts it on, and ties a
saffron-colored handkerchief round her neck, which makes the
dress look whiter. See how she stretches out her legs, as if
she were showing off on a stem. I can see myself, I can see
myself."

    "What do I care for all that," said Gerda, "you need not
tell me such stuff." And then she ran to the other end of the
garden. The door was fastened, but she pressed against the
rusty latch, and it gave way. The door sprang open, and little
Gerda ran out with bare feet into the wide world. She looked
back three times, but no one seemed to be following her. At
last she could run no longer, so she sat down to rest on a
great stone, and when she looked round she saw that the summer
was over, and autumn very far advanced. She had known nothing
of this in the beautiful garden, where the sun shone and the
flowers grew all the year round.

    "Oh, how I have wasted my time?" said little Gerda; "it is
autumn. I must not rest any longer," and she rose up to go on.
But her little feet were wounded and sore, and everything
around her looked so cold and bleak. The long willow-leaves
were quite yellow. The dew-drops fell like water, leaf after
leaf dropped from the trees, the sloe-thorn alone still bore
fruit, but the sloes were sour, and set the teeth on edge. Oh,
how dark and weary the whole world appeared!

                         FOURTH STORY
                    THE PRINCE AND PRINCESS

    Gerda was obliged to rest again, and just opposite the
place where she sat, she saw a great crow come hopping across
the snow toward her. He stood looking at her for some time,
and then he wagged his head and said, "Caw, caw; good-day,
good-day." He pronounced the words as plainly as he could,
because he meant to be kind to the little girl; and then he
asked her where she was going all alone in the wide world.

    The word alone Gerda understood very well, and knew how
much it expressed. So then she told the crow the whole story
of her life and adventures, and asked him if he had seen
little Kay.

    The crow nodded his head very gravely, and said, "Perhaps
I have- it may be."

    "No! Do you think you have?" cried little Gerda, and she
kissed the crow, and hugged him almost to death with joy.

    "Gently, gently," said the crow. "I believe I know. I
think it may be little Kay; but he has certainly forgotten you
by this time for the princess."

    "Does he live with a princess?" asked Gerda.

    "Yes, listen," replied the crow, "but it is so difficult
to speak your language. If you understand the crows' language
then I can explain it better. Do you?"

    "No, I have never learnt it," said Gerda, but my
grandmother understands it, and used to speak it to me. I wish
I had learnt it."

    "It does not matter," answered the crow; "I will explain
as well as I can, although it will be very badly done;" and he
told her what he had heard. "In this kingdom where we now
are," said he, "there lives a princess, who is so wonderfully
clever that she has read all the newspapers in the world, and
forgotten them too, although she is so clever. A short time
ago, as she was sitting on her throne, which people say is not
such an agreeable seat as is often supposed, she began to sing
a song which commences in these words:

                   'Why should I not be married?'

'Why not indeed?' said she, and so she determined to marry if
she could find a husband who knew what to say when he was
spoken to, and not one who could only look grand, for that was
so tiresome. Then she assembled all her court ladies together
at the beat of the drum, and when they heard of her intentions
they were very much pleased. 'We are so glad to hear it,' said
they, we were talking about it ourselves the other day.' You
may believe that every word I tell you is true," said the
crow, "for I have a tame sweetheart who goes freely about the
palace, and she told me all this."

    Of course his sweetheart was a crow, for "birds of a
feather flock together," and one crow always chooses another
crow.

    "Newspapers were published immediately, with a border of
hearts, and the initials of the princess among them. They gave
notice that every young man who was handsome was free to visit
the castle and speak with the princess; and those who could
reply loud enough to be heard when spoken to, were to make
themselves quite at home at the palace; but the one who spoke
best would be chosen as a husband for the princess. Yes, yes,
you may believe me, it is all as true as I sit here," said the
crow. "The people came in crowds. There was a great deal of
crushing and running about, but no one succeeded either on the
first or second day. They could all speak very well while they
were outside in the streets, but when they entered the palace
gates, and saw the guards in silver uniforms, and the footmen
in their golden livery on the staircase, and the great halls
lighted up, they became quite confused. And when they stood
before the throne on which the princess sat, they could do
nothing but repeat the last words she had said; and she had no
particular wish to hear her own words over again. It was just
as if they had all taken something to make them sleepy while
they were in the palace, for they did not recover themselves
nor speak till they got back again into the street. There was
quite a long line of them reaching from the town-gate to the
palace. I went myself to see them," said the crow. "They were
hungry and thirsty, for at the palace they did not get even a
glass of water. Some of the wisest had taken a few slices of
bread and butter with them, but they did not share it with
their neighbors; they thought if they went in to the princess
looking hungry, there would be a better chance for
themselves."

    "But Kay! tell me about little Kay!" said Gerda, "was he
amongst the crowd?"

    "Stop a bit, we are just coming to him. It was on the
third day, there came marching cheerfully along to the palace
a little personage, without horses or carriage, his eyes
sparkling like yours; he had beautiful long hair, but his
clothes were very poor."

    "That was Kay!" said Gerda joyfully. "Oh, then I have
found him;" and she clapped her hands.

    "He had a little knapsack on his back," added the crow.

    "No, it must have been his sledge," said Gerda; "for he
went away with it."

    "It may have been so," said the crow; "I did not look at
it very closely. But I know from my tame sweetheart that he
passed through the palace gates, saw the guards in their
silver uniform, and the servants in their liveries of gold on
the stairs, but he was not in the least embarrassed. 'It must
be very tiresome to stand on the stairs,' he said. 'I prefer
to go in." The rooms were blazing with light. Councillors and
ambassadors walked about with bare feet, carrying golden
vessels; it was enough to make any one feel serious. His boots
creaked loudly as he walked, and yet he was not at all
uneasy."

    "It must be Kay," said Gerda, "I know he had new boots on,
I have heard them creak in grandmother's room."

    "They really did creak," said the crow, "yet he went
boldly up to the princess herself, who was sitting on a pearl
as large as a spinning wheel, and all the ladies of the court
were present with their maids, and all the cavaliers with
their servants; and each of the maids had another maid to wait
upon her, and the cavaliers' servants had their own servants,
as well as a page each. They all stood in circles round the
princess, and the nearer they stood to the door, the prouder
they looked. The servants' pages, who always wore slippers,
could hardly be looked at, they held themselves up so proudly
by the door."

    "It must be quite awful," said little Gerda, "but did Kay
win the princess?"

    "If I had not been a crow," said he, "I would have married
her myself, although I am engaged. He spoke just as well as I
do, when I speak the crows' language, so I heard from my tame
sweetheart. He was quite free and agreeable and said he had
not come to woo the princess, but to hear her wisdom; and he
was as pleased with her as she was with him."

    "Oh, certainly that was Kay," said Gerda, "he was so
clever; he could work mental arithmetic and fractions. Oh,
will you take me to the palace?"

    "It is very easy to ask that," replied the crow, "but how
are we to manage it? However, I will speak about it to my tame
sweetheart, and ask her advice; for I must tell you it will be
very difficult to gain permission for a little girl like you
to enter the palace."

    "Oh, yes; but I shall gain permission easily," said Gerda,
"for when Kay hears that I am here, he will come out and fetch
me in immediately."

    "Wait for me here by the palings," said the crow, wagging
his head as he flew away.

    It was late in the evening before the crow returned. "Caw,
caw," he said, she sends you greeting, and here is a little
roll which she took from the kitchen for you; there is plenty
of bread there, and she thinks you must be hungry. It is not
possible for you to enter the palace by the front entrance.
The guards in silver uniform and the servants in gold livery
would not allow it. But do not cry, we will manage to get you
in; my sweetheart knows a little back-staircase that leads to
the sleeping apartments, and she knows where to find the key."

    Then they went into the garden through the great avenue,
where the leaves were falling one after another, and they
could see the light in the palace being put out in the same
manner. And the crow led little Gerda to the back door, which
stood ajar. Oh! how little Gerda's heart beat with anxiety and
longing; it was just as if she were going to do something
wrong, and yet she only wanted to know where little Kay was.
"It must be he," she thought, "with those clear eyes, and that
long hair." She could fancy she saw him smiling at her, as he
used to at home, when they sat among the roses. He would
certainly be glad to see her, and to hear what a long distance
she had come for his sake, and to know how sorry they had been
at home because he did not come back. Oh what joy and yet fear
she felt! They were now on the stairs, and in a small closet
at the top a lamp was burning. In the middle of the floor
stood the tame crow, turning her head from side to side, and
gazing at Gerda, who curtseyed as her grandmother had taught
her to do.

    "My betrothed has spoken so very highly of you, my little
lady," said the tame crow, "your life-history, Vita, as it may
be called, is very touching. If you will take the lamp I will
walk before you. We will go straight along this way, then we
shall meet no one."

    "It seems to me as if somebody were behind us," said
Gerda, as something rushed by her like a shadow on the wall,
and then horses with flying manes and thin legs, hunters,
ladies and gentlemen on horseback, glided by her, like shadows
on the wall.

    "They are only dreams," said the crow, "they are coming to
fetch the thoughts of the great people out hunting."

    "All the better, for we shall be able to look at them in
their beds more safely. I hope that when you rise to honor and
favor, you will show a grateful heart."

    "You may be quite sure of that," said the crow from the
forest.

    They now came into the first hall, the walls of which were
hung with rose-colored satin, embroidered with artificial
flowers. Here the dreams again flitted by them but so quickly
that Gerda could not distinguish the royal persons. Each hall
appeared more splendid than the last, it was enought to
bewilder any one. At length they reached a bedroom. The
ceiling was like a great palm-tree, with glass leaves of the
most costly crystal, and over the centre of the floor two
beds, each resembling a lily, hung from a stem of gold. One,
in which the princess lay, was white, the other was red; and
in this Gerda had to seek for little Kay. She pushed one of
the red leaves aside, and saw a little brown neck. Oh, that
must be Kay! She called his name out quite loud, and held the
lamp over him. The dreams rushed back into the room on
horseback. He woke, and turned his head round, it was not
little Kay! The prince was only like him in the neck, still he
was young and pretty. Then the princess peeped out of her
white-lily bed, and asked what was the matter. Then little
Gerda wept and told her story, and all that the crows had done
to help her.

    "You poor child," said the prince and princess; then they
praised the crows, and said they were not angry for what they
had done, but that it must not happen again, and this time
they should be rewarded.

    "Would you like to have your freedom?" asked the princess,
"or would you prefer to be raised to the position of court
crows, with all that is left in the kitchen for yourselves?"

    Then both the crows bowed, and begged to have a fixed
appointment, for they thought of their old age, and said it
would be so comfortable to feel that they had provision for
their old days, as they called it. And then the prince got out
of his bed, and gave it up to Gerda,- he could do no more; and
she lay down. She folded her little hands, and thought, "How
good everyone is to me, men and animals too;" then she closed
her eyes and fell into a sweet sleep. All the dreams came
flying back again to her, and they looked like angels, and one
of them drew a little sledge, on which sat Kay, and nodded to
her. But all this was only a dream, and vanished as soon as
she awoke.

    The following day she was dressed from head to foot in
silk and velvet, and they invited her to stay at the palace
for a few days, and enjoy herself, but she only begged for a
pair of boots, and a little carriage, and a horse to draw it,
so that she might go into the wide world to seek for Kay. And
she obtained, not only boots, but also a muff, and she was
neatly dressed; and when she was ready to go, there, at the
door, she found a coach made of pure gold, with the
coat-of-arms of the prince and princess shining upon it like a
star, and the coachman, footman, and outriders all wearing
golden crowns on their heads. The prince and princess
themselves helped her into the coach, and wished her success.
The forest crow, who was now married, accompanied her for the
first three miles; he sat by Gerda's side, as he could not
bear riding backwards. The tame crow stood in the door-way
flapping her wings. She could not go with them, because she
had been suffering from headache ever since the new
appointment, no doubt from eating too much. The coach was well
stored with sweet cakes, and under the seat were fruit and
gingerbread nuts. "Farewell, farewell," cried the prince and
princess, and little Gerda wept, and the crow wept; and then,
after a few miles, the crow also said "Farewell," and this was
the saddest parting. However, he flew to a tree, and stood
flapping his black wings as long as he could see the coach,
which glittered in the bright sunshine.

                             FIFTH STORY
                         LITTLE ROBBER-GIRL

    The coach drove on through a thick forest, where it
lighted up the way like a torch, and dazzled the eyes of some
robbers, who could not bear to let it pass them unmolested.

    "It is gold! it is gold!" cried they, rushing forward, and
seizing the horses. Then they struck the little jockeys, the
coachman, and the footman dead, and pulled little Gerda out of
the carriage.

    "She is fat and pretty, and she has been fed with the
kernels of nuts," said the old robber-woman, who had a long
beard and eyebrows that hung over her eyes. "She is as good as
a little lamb; how nice she will taste!" and as she said this,
she drew forth a shining knife, that glittered horribly. "Oh!"
screamed the old woman the same moment; for her own daughter,
who held her back, had bitten her in the ear. She was a wild
and naughty girl, and the mother called her an ugly thing, and
had not time to kill Gerda.

    "She shall play with me," said the little robber-girl;
"she shall give me her muff and her pretty dress, and sleep
with me in my bed." And then she bit her mother again, and
made her spring in the air, and jump about; and all the
robbers laughed, and said, "See how she is dancing with her
young cub."

    "I will have a ride in the coach," said the little
robber-girl; and she would have her own way; for she was so
self-willed and obstinate.

    She and Gerda seated themselves in the coach, and drove
away, over stumps and stones, into the depths of the forest.
The little robber-girl was about the same size as Gerda, but
stronger; she had broader shoulders and a darker skin; her
eyes were quite black, and she had a mournful look. She
clasped little Gerda round the waist, and said,-

    "They shall not kill you as long as you don't make us
vexed with you. I suppose you are a princess."

    "No," said Gerda; and then she told her all her history,
and how fond she was of little Kay.

    The robber-girl looked earnestly at her, nodded her head
slightly, and said, "They sha'nt kill you, even if I do get
angry with you; for I will do it myself." And then she wiped
Gerda's eyes, and stuck her own hands in the beautiful muff
which was so soft and warm.

    The coach stopped in the courtyard of a robber's castle,
the walls of which were cracked from top to bottom. Ravens and
crows flew in and out of the holes and crevices, while great
bulldogs, either of which looked as if it could swallow a man,
were jumping about; but they were not allowed to bark. In the
large and smoky hall a bright fire was burning on the stone
floor. There was no chimney; so the smoke went up to the
ceiling, and found a way out for itself. Soup was boiling in a
large cauldron, and hares and rabbits were roasting on the
spit.

    "You shall sleep with me and all my little animals
to-night," said the robber-girl, after they had had something
to eat and drink. So she took Gerda to a corner of the hall,
where some straw and carpets were laid down. Above them, on
laths and perches, were more than a hundred pigeons, who all
seemed to be asleep, although they moved slightly when the two
little girls came near them. "These all belong to me," said
the robber-girl; and she seized the nearest to her, held it by
the feet, and shook it till it flapped its wings. "Kiss it,"
cried she, flapping it in Gerda's face. "There sit the
wood-pigeons," continued she, pointing to a number of laths
and a cage which had been fixed into the walls, near one of
the openings. "Both rascals would fly away directly, if they
were not closely locked up. And here is my old sweetheart
'Ba;' and she dragged out a reindeer by the horn; he wore a
bright copper ring round his neck, and was tied up. "We are
obliged to hold him tight too, or else he would run away from
us also. I tickle his neck every evening with my sharp knife,
which frightens him very much." And then the robber-girl drew
a long knife from a chink in the wall, and let it slide gently
over the reindeer's neck. The poor animal began to kick, and
the little robber-girl laughed, and pulled down Gerda into bed
with her.

    "Will you have that knife with you while you are asleep?"
asked Gerda, looking at it in great fright.

    "I always sleep with the knife by me," said the
robber-girl. "No one knows what may happen. But now tell me
again all about little Kay, and why you went out into the
world."

    Then Gerda repeated her story over again, while the
wood-pigeons in the cage over her cooed, and the other pigeons
slept. The little robber-girl put one arm across Gerda's neck,
and held the knife in the other, and was soon fast asleep and
snoring. But Gerda could not close her eyes at all; she knew
not whether she was to live or die. The robbers sat round the
fire, singing and drinking, and the old woman stumbled about.
It was a terrible sight for a little girl to witness.

    Then the wood-pigeons said, "Coo, coo; we have seen little
Kay. A white fowl carried his sledge, and he sat in the
carriage of the Snow Queen, which drove through the wood while
we were lying in our nest. She blew upon us, and all the young
ones died excepting us two. Coo, coo."

    "What are you saying up there?" cried Gerda. "Where was
the Snow Queen going? Do you know anything about it?"

    "She was most likely travelling to Lapland, where there is
always snow and ice. Ask the reindeer that is fastened up
there with a rope."

    "Yes, there is always snow and ice," said the reindeer;
"and it is a glorious place; you can leap and run about freely
on the sparkling ice plains. The Snow Queen has her summer
tent there, but her strong castle is at the North Pole, on an
island called Spitzbergen."

    "Oh, Kay, little Kay!" sighed Gerda.

    "Lie still," said the robber-girl, "or I shall run my
knife into your body."

    In the morning Gerda told her all that the wood-pigeons
had said; and the little robber-girl looked quite serious, and
nodded her head, and said, "That is all talk, that is all
talk. Do you know where Lapland is?" she asked the reindeer.

    "Who should know better than I do?" said the animal, while
his eyes sparkled. "I was born and brought up there, and used
to run about the snow-covered plains."

    "Now listen," said the robber-girl; "all our men are gone
away,- only mother is here, and here she will stay; but at
noon she always drinks out of a great bottle, and afterwards
sleeps for a little while; and then, I'll do something for
you." Then she jumped out of bed, clasped her mother round the
neck, and pulled her by the beard, crying, "My own little
nanny goat, good morning." Then her mother filliped her nose
till it was quite red; yet she did it all for love.

    When the mother had drunk out of the bottle, and was gone
to sleep, the little robber-maiden went to the reindeer, and
said, "I should like very much to tickle your neck a few times
more with my knife, for it makes you look so funny; but never
mind,- I will untie your cord, and set you free, so that you
may run away to Lapland; but you must make good use of your
legs, and carry this little maiden to the castle of the Snow
Queen, where her play-fellow is. You have heard what she told
me, for she spoke loud enough, and you were listening."

    Then the reindeer jumped for joy; and the little
robber-girl lifted Gerda on his back, and had the forethought
to tie her on, and even to give her her own little cushion to
sit on.

    "Here are your fur boots for you," said she; "for it will
be very cold; but I must keep the muff; it is so pretty.
However, you shall not be frozen for the want of it; here are
my mother's large warm mittens; they will reach up to your
elbows. Let me put them on. There, now your hands look just
like my mother's."

    But Gerda wept for joy.

    "I don't like to see you fret," said the little
robber-girl; "you ought to look quite happy now; and here are
two loaves and a ham, so that you need not starve." These were
fastened on the reindeer, and then the little robber-maiden
opened the door, coaxed in all the great dogs, and then cut
the string with which the reindeer was fastened, with her
sharp knife, and said, "Now run, but mind you take good care
of the little girl." And then Gerda stretched out her hand,
with the great mitten on it, towards the little robber-girl,
and said, "Farewell," and away flew the reindeer, over stumps
and stones, through the great forest, over marshes and plains,
as quickly as he could. The wolves howled, and the ravens
screamed; while up in the sky quivered red lights like flames
of fire. "There are my old northern lights," said the
reindeer; "see how they flash." And he ran on day and night
still faster and faster, but the loaves and the ham were all
eaten by the time they reached Lapland.

                      SIXTH STORY
                 THE LAPLAND WOMAN AND
                   THE FINLAND WOMAN

    They stopped at a little hut; it was very mean looking;
the roof sloped nearly down to the ground, and the door was so
low that the family had to creep in on their hands and knees,
when they went in and out. There was no one at home but an old
Lapland woman, who was cooking fish by the light of a
train-oil lamp. The reindeer told her all about Gerda's story,
after having first told his own, which seemed to him the most
important, but Gerda was so pinched with the cold that she
could not speak. "Oh, you poor things," said the Lapland
woman, "you have a long way to go yet. You must travel more
than a hundred miles farther, to Finland. The Snow Queen lives
there now, and she burns Bengal lights every evening. I will
write a few words on a dried stock-fish, for I have no paper,
and you can take it from me to the Finland woman who lives
there; she can give you better information than I can." So
when Gerda was warmed, and had taken something to eat and
drink, the woman wrote a few words on the dried fish, and told
Gerda to take great care of it. Then she tied her again on the
reindeer, and he set off at full speed. Flash, flash, went the
beautiful blue northern lights in the air the whole night
long. And at length they reached Finland, and knocked at the
chimney of the Finland woman's hut, for it had no door above
the ground. They crept in, but it was so terribly hot inside
that that woman wore scarcely any clothes; she was small and
very dirty looking. She loosened little Gerda's dress, and
took off the fur boots and the mittens, or Gerda would have
been unable to bear the heat; and then she placed a piece of
ice on the reindeer's head, and read what was written on the
dried fish. After she had read it three times, she knew it by
heart, so she popped the fish into the soup saucepan, as she
knew it was good to eat, and she never wasted anything. The
reindeer told his own story first, and then little Gerda's,
and the Finlander twinkled with her clever eyes, but she said
nothing. "You are so clever," said the reindeer; "I know you
can tie all the winds of the world with a piece of twine. If a
sailor unties one knot, he has a fair wind; when he unties the
second, it blows hard; but if the third and fourth are
loosened, then comes a storm, which will root up whole
forests. Cannot you give this little maiden something which
will make her as strong as twelve men, to overcome the Snow
Queen?"

    "The Power of twelve men!" said the Finland woman; "that
would be of very little use." But she went to a shelf and took
down and unrolled a large skin, on which were inscribed
wonderful characters, and she read till the perspiration ran
down from her forehead. But the reindeer begged so hard for
little Gerda, and Gerda looked at the Finland woman with such
beseeching tearful eyes, that her own eyes began to twinkle
again; so she drew the reindeer into a corner, and whispered
to him while she laid a fresh piece of ice on his head,
"Little Kay is really with the Snow Queen, but he finds
everything there so much to his taste and his liking, that he
believes it is the finest place in the world; but this is
because he has a piece of broken glass in his heart, and a
little piece of glass in his eye. These must be taken out, or
he will never be a human being again, and the Snow Queen will
retain her power over him."

    "But can you not give little Gerda something to help her
to conquer this power?"

    "I can give her no greater power than she has already,"
said the woman; "don't you see how strong that is? How men and
animals are obliged to serve her, and how well she has got
through the world, barefooted as she is. She cannot receive
any power from me greater than she now has, which consists in
her own purity and innocence of heart. If she cannot herself
obtain access to the Snow Queen, and remove the glass
fragments from little Kay, we can do nothing to help her. Two
miles from here the Snow Queen's garden begins; you can carry
the little girl so far, and set her down by the large bush
which stands in the snow, covered with red berries. Do not
stay gossiping, but come back here as quickly as you can."
Then the Finland woman lifted little Gerda upon the reindeer,
and he ran away with her as quickly as he could.

    "Oh, I have forgotten my boots and my mittens," cried
little Gerda, as soon as she felt the cutting cold, but the
reindeer dared not stop, so he ran on till he reached the bush
with the red berries; here he set Gerda down, and he kissed
her, and the great bright tears trickled over the animal's
cheeks; then he left her and ran back as fast as he could.

    There stood poor Gerda, without shoes, without gloves, in
the midst of cold, dreary, ice-bound Finland. She ran forwards
as quickly as she could, when a whole regiment of snow-flakes
came round her; they did not, however, fall from the sky,
which was quite clear and glittering with the northern lights.
The snow-flakes ran along the ground, and the nearer they came
to her, the larger they appeared. Gerda remembered how large
and beautiful they looked through the burning-glass. But these
were really larger, and much more terrible, for they were
alive, and were the guards of the Snow Queen, and had the
strangest shapes. Some were like great porcupines, others like
twisted serpents with their heads stretching out, and some few
were like little fat bears with their hair bristled; but all
were dazzlingly white, and all were living snow-flakes. Then
little Gerda repeated the Lord's Prayer, and the cold was so
great that she could see her own breath come out of her mouth
like steam as she uttered the words. The steam appeared to
increase, as she continued her prayer, till it took the shape
of little angels who grew larger the moment they touched the
earth. They all wore helmets on their heads, and carried
spears and shields. Their number continued to increase more
and more; and by the time Gerda had finished her prayers, a
whole legion stood round her. They thrust their spears into
the terrible snow-flakes, so that they shivered into a hundred
pieces, and little Gerda could go forward with courage and
safety. The angels stroked her hands and feet, so that she
felt the cold less, and she hastened on to the Snow Queen's
castle.

    But now we must see what Kay is doing. In truth he thought
not of little Gerda, and never supposed she could be standing
in the front of the palace.

                        SEVENTH STORY
               OF THE PALACE OF THE SNOW QUEEN
               AND WHAT HAPPENED THERE AT LAST

    The walls of the palace were formed of drifted snow, and
the windows and doors of the cutting winds. There were more
than a hundred rooms in it, all as if they had been formed
with snow blown together. The largest of them extended for
several miles; they were all lighted up by the vivid light of
the aurora, and they were so large and empty, so icy cold and
glittering! There were no amusements here, not even a little
bear's ball, when the storm might have been the music, and the
bears could have danced on their hind legs, and shown their
good manners. There were no pleasant games of snap-dragon, or
touch, or even a gossip over the tea-table, for the young-lady
foxes. Empty, vast, and cold were the halls of the Snow Queen.
The flickering flame of the northern lights could be plainly
seen, whether they rose high or low in the heavens, from every
part of the castle. In the midst of its empty, endless hall of
snow was a frozen lake, broken on its surface into a thousand
forms; each piece resembled another, from being in itself
perfect as a work of art, and in the centre of this lake sat
the Snow Queen, when she was at home. She called the lake "The
Mirror of Reason," and said that it was the best, and indeed
the only one in the world.

    Little Kay was quite blue with cold, indeed almost black,
but he did not feel it; for the Snow Queen had kissed away the
icy shiverings, and his heart was already a lump of ice. He
dragged some sharp, flat pieces of ice to and fro, and placed
them together in all kinds of positions, as if he wished to
make something out of them; just as we try to form various
figures with little tablets of wood which we call "a Chinese
puzzle." Kay's fingers were very artistic; it was the icy game
of reason at which he played, and in his eyes the figures were
very remarkable, and of the highest importance; this opinion
was owing to the piece of glass still sticking in his eye. He
composed many complete figures, forming different words, but
there was one word he never could manage to form, although he
wished it very much. It was the word "Eternity." The Snow
Queen had said to him, "When you can find out this, you shall
be your own master, and I will give you the whole world and a
new pair of skates." But he could not accomplish it.

    "Now I must hasten away to warmer countries," said the
Snow Queen. "I will go and look into the black craters of the
tops of the burning mountains, Etna and Vesuvius, as they are
called,- I shall make them look white, which will be good for
them, and for the lemons and the grapes." And away flew the
Snow Queen, leaving little Kay quite alone in the great hall
which was so many miles in length; so he sat and looked at his
pieces of ice, and was thinking so deeply, and sat so still,
that any one might have supposed he was frozen.

    Just at this moment it happened that little Gerda came
through the great door of the castle. Cutting winds were
raging around her, but she offered up a prayer and the winds
sank down as if they were going to sleep; and she went on till
she came to the large empty hall, and caught sight of Kay; she
knew him directly; she flew to him and threw her arms round
his neck, and held him fast, while she exclaimed, "Kay, dear
little Kay, I have found you at last."

    But he sat quite still, stiff and cold.

    Then little Gerda wept hot tears, which fell on his
breast, and penetrated into his heart, and thawed the lump of
ice, and washed away the little piece of glass which had stuck
there. Then he looked at her, and she sang-

                 "Roses bloom and cease to be,
                  But we shall the Christ-child see."

    Then Kay burst into tears, and he wept so that the
splinter of glass swam out of his eye. Then he recognized
Gerda, and said, joyfully, "Gerda, dear little Gerda, where
have you been all this time, and where have I been?" And he
looked all around him, and said, "How cold it is, and how
large and empty it all looks," and he clung to Gerda, and she
laughed and wept for joy. It was so pleasing to see them that
the pieces of ice even danced about; and when they were tired
and went to lie down, they formed themselves into the letters
of the word which the Snow Queen had said he must find out
before he could be his own master, and have the whole world
and a pair of new skates. Then Gerda kissed his cheeks, and
they became blooming; and she kissed his eyes, and they shone
like her own; she kissed his hands and his feet, and then he
became quite healthy and cheerful. The Snow Queen might come
home now when she pleased, for there stood his certainty of
freedom, in the word she wanted, written in shining letters of
ice.

    Then they took each other by the hand, and went forth from
the great palace of ice. They spoke of the grandmother, and of
the roses on the roof, and as they went on the winds were at
rest, and the sun burst forth. When they arrived at the bush
with red berries, there stood the reindeer waiting for them,
and he had brought another young reindeer with him, whose
udders were full, and the children drank her warm milk and
kissed her on the mouth. Then they carried Kay and Gerda first
to the Finland woman, where they warmed themselves thoroughly
in the hot room, and she gave them directions about their
journey home. Next they went to the Lapland woman, who had
made some new clothes for them, and put their sleighs in
order. Both the reindeer ran by their side, and followed them
as far as the boundaries of the country, where the first green
leaves were budding. And here they took leave of the two
reindeer and the Lapland woman, and all said- Farewell. Then
the birds began to twitter, and the forest too was full of
green young leaves; and out of it came a beautiful horse,
which Gerda remembered, for it was one which had drawn the
golden coach. A young girl was riding upon it, with a shining
red cap on her head, and pistols in her belt. It was the
little robber-maiden, who had got tired of staying at home;
she was going first to the north, and if that did not suit
her, she meant to try some other part of the world. She knew
Gerda directly, and Gerda remembered her: it was a joyful
meeting.

    "You are a fine fellow to go gadding about in this way,"
said she to little Kay, "I should like to know whether you
deserve that any one should go to the end of the world to find
you."

    But Gerda patted her cheeks, and asked after the prince
and princess.

    "They are gone to foreign countries," said the
robber-girl.

    "And the crow?" asked Gerda.

    "Oh, the crow is dead," she replied; "his tame sweetheart
is now a widow, and wears a bit of black worsted round her
leg. She mourns very pitifully, but it is all stuff. But now
tell me how you managed to get him back."

    Then Gerda and Kay told her all about it.

    "Snip, snap, snare! it's all right at last," said the
robber-girl.

    Then she took both their hands, and promised that if ever
she should pass through the town, she would call and pay them
a visit. And then she rode away into the wide world. But Gerda
and Kay went hand-in-hand towards home; and as they advanced,
spring appeared more lovely with its green verdure and its
beautiful flowers. Very soon they recognized the large town
where they lived, and the tall steeples of the churches, in
which the sweet bells were ringing a merry peal as they
entered it, and found their way to their grandmother's door.
They went upstairs into the little room, where all looked just
as it used to do. The old clock was going "tick, tick," and
the hands pointed to the time of day, but as they passed
through the door into the room they perceived that they were
both grown up, and become a man and woman. The roses out on
the roof were in full bloom, and peeped in at the window; and
there stood the little chairs, on which they had sat when
children; and Kay and Gerda seated themselves each on their
own chair, and held each other by the hand, while the cold
empty grandeur of the Snow Queen's palace vanished from their
memories like a painful dream. The grandmother sat in God's
bright sunshine, and she read aloud from the Bible, "Except ye
become as little children, ye shall in no wise enter into the
kingdom of God." And Kay and Gerda looked into each other's
eyes, and all at once understood the words of the old song,

                    "Roses bloom and cease to be,
                     But we shall the Christ-child see."

And they both sat there, grown up, yet children at heart; and
it was summer,- warm, beautiful summer.


                            THE END