Fairy Tales

THE SNOW QUEEN AN ADVENTURE IN SEVEN STORIES

THE FIRST STORY

WHICH IS ABOUT THE MIRROR AND THE FRAGMENTS

ALL RIGHT! Now WE’LL begin. When we’re at the end of the story, we’ll know more than we know now, for we’ll know just how evil this troll was. He was one of the absolute worst. He was “the devil” himself! One day he was in a really good mood because he had made a mirror that caused everything good and beautiful it reflected to shrink to almost nothing, and anything that was worthless and ugly to stand out and look even worse. The most beautiful landscapes looked like cooked spinach in it, and the best people became nasty looking or stood on their heads without stomachs. Faces became so contorted that they were unrecognizable, and if you had a freckle, you could be sure that it would cover your nose and mouth. The devil said that it was great fun. If a person had a good, pious thought, a sneer would appear in the mirror, and the troll devil would laugh in glee at his clever invention. All those who attended the troll-school—you see, he conducted a troll-school-spread the word that a miracle had occurred. It was now possible to see, they said, what the world and people really looked like. They ran around with the mirror, and finally there wasn’t a country or a person who hadn’t been distorted in it. Then they wanted to fly up to heaven itself to make fun of the angels and the Lord. The higher they flew with the mirror, the more it sneered. They could hardly hold on to it. Higher and higher they flew, closer to God and the angels. Then the mirror shook so violently from sneering that it flew out of their hands and fell to the earth where it broke in hundreds of millions, billions, and even more pieces, bringing about even more unhappiness than before. This was because some of the pieces were no bigger than a grain of sand, and these flew about in the world, and when they got into people’s eyes, they stayed there and people saw everything wrong, or only had an eye for what was wrong with a thing since every little piece of mirror retained the power of the whole. Some people also got a little piece of the mirror in their hearts, and it was quite dreadful. The heart became like a clump of ice. Some of the mirror pieces were so big that they were used for window panes, but you wouldn’t want to look at your friends through those. Other pieces were used for glasses, and then it went badly when people put them on just to see and to see justly. The devil laughed so his sides split, and he was tickled pink! But in the air some pieces of mirror were still flying around. Now listen to what happened!

SECOND STORY

A LITTLE BOY AND A LITTLE GIRL

In the big city, where there are so many houses and people that there isn’t enough space for all people to have a little garden, and where most people have to be contented with flowers in pots, there lived two poor children who had a garden slightly larger than a flowerpot. They weren’t brother and sister, but they loved each other as if they were. Their parents lived right next to each other in two garret rooms, where the roof from one house leaned right up against its neighbor, and the gutters ran along the edges of the roof. From each house a little garret window opened, and you just had to stride over the gutters to get from one window to the next.

The parents each had a large wooden box outside their windows, and here they grew kitchen herbs that they used for cooking, and a little rose tree. There was one in each box, and they grew very nicely. Then the parents decided to place the boxes crosswise over the gutters so they almost reached from one window to the next, and it looked almost exactly like two flower beds. The peas hung down over the boxes, and the rose trees shot out long shoots that wound around the windows and turned towards each other so that it became almost a kind of arbor of greenery and flowers. Since the boxes were very high, the children knew that they couldn’t climb on them, but they were often allowed to climb out to each other and sit on their small footstools under the roses. And they played there very nicely.

All those who attended the troll-school spread the word that a miracle had occurred.

Of course in the winter, that pleasure was over. The windows were often covered with frost, but then they warmed copper pennies on the stove, laid them against the frosty panes, and made delightful peepholes that were perfectly round. Behind each peered a gentle and friendly eye, one from each window; it was the little boy and the little girl. His name was Kai and hers was Gerda. In the summer they could easily see each other with just a leap, but in the winter they had to go down many, many steps and then up many more steps, and outside the snow drifted around.

“The white bees are swarming,” said the old grandmother.

“Do they have a queen bee too?” asked the little boy because he knew that the real bees had one.

“They do!” said grandmother. “She is flying where they are closest together. She is the biggest of them all, and she never rests on this earth. She flies up into the black clouds. Many winter nights she flies through the city’s streets and peeks in the windows, and then they freeze so strangely, like flowers.”

“Oh yes, I’ve seen that!” said both children, and then they knew it was true.

“Can the Snow Queen come inside here?” asked the little girl.

“Just let her come,” said the boy, “and I’ll set her on the warm stove so she’ll melt.”

But the grandmother smoothed his hair and told other stories.

That evening when little Kai was home and partly undressed, he crept up on his chair by the window and peered out of his little peephole. A couple of snowflakes fell outside, and one of these, the biggest, remained lying on the edge of one of the flower boxes. The snowflake grew and grew, finally it became a woman, dressed in the finest whitest gauze, as though she were made of millions of star-like specks. She was very beautiful and fine, but made of ice, the dazzling, gleaming ice—still she was alive. Her eyes stared like two clear stars, but there was no calm or quiet in them. She nodded at the window and waved her hand. The little boy became frightened and leaped down from the chair, and then it was as if a big bird flew by the window.

The next day there was clear frost—and then came spring. The sun shone, greenery sprouted, the swallows built nests, windows were opened, and the little children once again sat in their little garden high up in the gutters above all the stories of the house.

The roses bloomed so exceptionally that summer; the little girl had learned a hymn, and there were roses in it, and when she heard it, she thought of her own and sang it for the little boy, and he sang along:“Roses in the valley grow

And baby Jesus there we know”1

And the little ones held hands, kissed the roses, and looked at God’s clear sunshine and talked to it, as if the Christ child were there. What beautiful summer days they were! How blessed it was to be out by the fresh rose trees that never seemed to stop blooming!

Kai and Gerda sat looking at a picture book of animals and birds, it was then—the clock struck five on the big church tower—that Kai cried, “Ouch! Something stuck my heart! And I have something in my eye!”

The little girl took hold of his neck to look. He blinked his eyes—no, there was nothing to be seen.

“I think it’s gone,” he said, but it wasn’t gone. It was one of those splinters that had come from the mirror, the troll mirror, the one that we surely remember: the nasty glass which made everything good and great reflected in it seem small and ugly, while the evil and worthless qualities stood out, so that every flaw in a thing was immediately noticed. Poor Kai had also gotten a piece right into his heart. It would soon become like a clump of ice. After a while it didn’t hurt anymore, but it was there.

“Why are you crying?” he asked. “It makes you look ugly! There’s nothing wrong with me! Yuck!” he cried out. “That rose there is worm eaten! And look how crooked that one is! Those really are some ugly roses. They look like the boxes they’re standing in,” and he kicked hard with his foot against the box and tore the two roses off.

“Kai, what are you doing!” cried the little girl, and when he saw her alarm, he tore another rose off and ran through his window away from dear little Gerda.

When she came later with the picture book, he said it was for babies, and if Grandmother told stories, he always had a but-whenever he could he would walk behind her, put on glasses, and talk like her. It was a good imitation, and people laughed at him. Soon he was able to mimic the speech and walk of all the people in the street. Everything that was peculiar to them and unattractive, he was able to mimic, and people said, “That boy’s got a good head on him,” but it was because of the glass he had gotten in his eye, the glass that sat in his heart, and that was why he also made fun of little Gerda, who loved him with all her soul.

His games were now quite different than before. They were so rational. One winter day when the snowflakes were drifting around, he came with a big magnifying glass, held out the blue tail of his jacket and let the snowflakes fall on it.

“Look through the glass, Gerda,” he said, and every snowflake looked much bigger and looked like a magnificent flower or a ten pointed star. It was lovely to see.

“Do you see how intricate they are?” Kai asked, “It’s much more interesting than with real flowers! And they have no flaws at all. They’re quite perfect, if they just don’t melt.”

A little later Kai came wearing big gloves with his sled on his back, and he yelled right into Gerda’s ears: “I’m allowed to go sledding in the big square where the others play,” and off he ran.

In the square the boldest boys often tied their sleds to the farmer’s wagon and rode a good distance with it. It was the greatest fun. As they were playing, a big sleigh arrived. It was painted all white, and there was someone sitting in it wrapped in a wooly white fur and with a white wooly hat. The sleigh drove around the square twice, and Kai quickly got his little sled tied to it, and rode along. It went faster and faster, right into the next street. The one who was driving turned its head and nodded in such a friendly way to Kai; it was as if they knew each other. Every time Kai wanted to loosen his sled, the person nodded again, and so Kai stayed. They drove right out of the city gates. Then the snow started falling so hard that the little boy couldn’t see his hand in front of his face, but he rushed along. He quickly dropped the rope to get loose from the big sleigh, but it didn’t help; his little sled was stuck, and they rushed on as fast as the wind. He cried out loudly then, but no one heard him, and the snow drifted around, and the sleigh rushed on. Every now and then it gave a leap, and it was as if it rushed over furrows and fences. He was very scared and wanted to say the Lord’s Prayer, but he could only remember the multiplication tables.

The snow flakes became bigger and bigger; finally they looked like big white hens. Then they fell to the side, the big sleigh stopped, and the person driving it stood up. The coat and hat were made of snow. It was a woman, so tall and dignified, so shining white—it was the Snow Queen.

“We’re making good time,” she said, “but you’re freezing. Creep into my bearskin fur,” and she placed him in the sleigh with her, put the fur around him, and it was as if he sank into a snowdrift.

“Are you still cold?” she asked and then she kissed him on the forehead. Oh, it was colder than ice. It went right into his heart, which of course was partly a clump of ice. He felt like he was going to die—but only for a moment, then it felt good, and he didn’t notice the cold around him anymore.

“My sled! Don’t forget my sled!” was the first thing he thought of, and it was tied to one of the white hens, that flew after them with the sled on its back. The Snow Queen kissed Kai one more time, and by then he had forgotten little Gerda and Grandmother and all of them at home.

“Now you can’t have more kisses,” she said, “otherwise I’d kiss you to death!”

Kai looked at her. She was so beautiful, a wiser more lovely face he couldn’t imagine. She didn’t seem to be ice, like the time she sat outside his window and waved at him. To his eyes she was perfect, and he didn’t feel at all afraid. He told her that he could do math in his head, with fractions, knew the areas of countries, and how many inhabitants they had. She kept smiling at him, and then he felt that what he knew wasn’t enough. He looked up into the great high sky and she flew with him, flew high up to the black cloud, and the storm whistled and whined as if it were singing centuries-old songs. They flew over forests and lakes, over oceans and land. Under them roared the cold wind, the wolves howled, and black screaming crows flew over the sparkling snow. But above them the huge moon shone brightly, and Kai watched it the whole long, long winter night. In the daytime he slept by the Snow Queen’s feet.

Kai and the Snow Queen.

THIRD STORY

THE FLOWER GARDEN OF THE WOMAN WHO KNEW MAGIC

But how was little Gerda getting along now that Kai wasn’t there anymore? Where was he anyway?—No one knew, no one could tell. The boys could only tell that they had seen him tie his little sled to a magnificent big one that drove into the street and out the city gates. No one knew where he was. Many tears were shed, and little Gerda cried her eyes out. Then they said he was dead, drowned in the river that ran close by the city. Oh, what long dark winter days these were!

Then spring came with warmer sunshine.

“Kai is dead and gone,” little Gerda said.

“I don’t believe it,” said the sunshine.

“He’s dead and gone,” she said to the swallows.

“I don’t believe it,” they answered, and finally little Gerda didn’t believe it either.

“I’ll put on my new red shoes,” she said one morning, “the ones Kai has never seen, and go down to the river and ask about him.”

It was early. She kissed her old Grandmother, who was sleeping, put on her red shoes, and went by herself out of the gate to the river.

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

And she thought the waves nodded so strangely, so she took her red shoes, her most prized possession, and threw them out into the river, but they fell close by the bank, and the little waves brought them right back to her. It was as if the river didn’t want to take the dearest thing she had since it didn’t have little Kai. But she thought that she hadn’t thrown them out far enough so she climbed into a boat that lay in the rushes. She went to the farthest end of the boat and threw the shoes, but the boat was not tied firmly, and the motion she made caused it to glide away from shore. She noticed it and hurried to get out, but before she could, the boat was over a yard away from land and was moving more quickly still.

Little Gerda became very frightened and started to cry, but no one heard her except the little grey sparrows, and they couldn’t carry her to land. But they flew along the bank and sang as if to console her, “Here we are! Here we are!” The boat flowed with the current. Little Gerda sat quite still in her stocking feet. Her little red shoes were floating behind, but they couldn’t reach the boat, which was moving faster.

It was lovely along the banks, with beautiful flowers, old trees and slopes with sheep and cows, but there was not a person to be seen.

“Maybe the river will carry me to little Kai,” and that thought cheered her up. So Gerda stood up and looked for many hours at the lovely green banks. Then she came to a big cherry orchard where there was a little house with strange red and blue windows, a straw roof, and two wooden soldiers who saluted all who passed by.

Gerda called to them because she thought they were real, but of course they didn’t answer. She came quite close to them for the river was pushing the boat towards shore. Gerda shouted even louder and then an old, old woman came out of the house. She was leaning on a crooked cane, and she wore a big sun hat decorated with the most beautiful flowers.

“You poor little child,” said the old woman, “how did you get out there in that strong current, pulled along into the wide world?” and the old woman walked out into the water, hooked the boat with her cane, pulled it ashore, and lifted little Gerda out.

“How did you get out there in that strong current, pulled along into the wide world?”

Gerda was glad to be on solid ground again, but a little bit afraid of the strange old woman.

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

And Gerda told her everything, and the old one shook her head and said, “Hm, hm.” When Gerda had told her everything, and asked her if she had seen little Kai, the woman said that he had not passed by, but he would surely come. Gerda shouldn’t be sad, but taste her cherries and look at her flowers, they were more beautiful than any picture book; each of them could tell a whole story. Then she took Gerda by the hand, and they went into the little house, and the old woman locked the door.

The windows were very high up, and the glass was red, blue, and yellow. The day light shone in so strangely with all the colors, but on the table stood the most lovely cherries, and Gerda ate as many as she wanted because she wasn’t afraid to do that. While she ate, the old woman combed her hair with a gold comb, and the hair curled and shone beautifully around the friendly little face that was so round and looked like a rose.

“I have really longed for such a sweet little girl,” said the old woman. “You’ll see, we’ll get along nicely together.” And as she was combing her hair, Gerda forgot more and more about her foster-brother Kai because the old woman could do magic, but she wasn’t an evil troll at all. She just did a little magic for her own pleasure, and now she wanted to keep little Gerda. So she went out into the garden, stretched her crooked cane out towards all the rose trees, and with their lovely blooms they sank down into the black earth, and you couldn’t see where they had been. The old woman was afraid that if Gerda saw the roses, she would think of her own roses, remember little Kai, and then run away.

She led Gerda out into the garden.—Oh, what scents and sights! All imaginable flowers, for every season, stood here in magnificent bloom. No picture book could be more colorful or beautiful. Gerda jumped with joy and played until the sun went down behind the big cherry trees. Then she was given a lovely bed with red silk comforters, filled with blue violets, and she slept and dreamed as beautifully as any queen on her wedding day.

The next day she played again with the flowers in the warm sunshine—and so passed many days. Gerda knew each flower, but despite how many there were, she seemed to feel that one was missing, but she didn’t know which one. Then one day she sat and looked at the old woman’s sun hat with the painted flowers, and the most beautiful one was a rose. The old woman had forgotten to remove it from the hat, when she conjured the others into the ground. But that’s what it’s like to be absent-minded ! “What!” said Gerda, “There aren’t any roses here!” and she ran through the flower beds, looked and looked, but there were none to be found. Then she sat down and cried, but her hot tears fell just where a rose tree had sunk, and when the warm tears watered the earth, the tree shot up at once, as full of blooms as when it sank, and Gerda embraced it, kissed the roses, and thought about the beautiful roses at home and with them of little Kai.

“Oh, I’ve been delayed too long!” said the little girl. “I was going to find Kai!—Don’t you know where he is?” she asked the roses. “Do you think he’s dead and gone?”

“Dead he’s not,” said the roses. “We’ve been in the earth where you can find the dead, and Kai wasn’t there.”

“Oh, thank you!” little Gerda said, and she went to the other flowers and looked into their cups and asked, “Don’t you know where little Kai is?”

But every flower stood in the sunlight and dreamed its own adventure or story, and Gerda heard so many of them, but no one knew anything about Kai.

And what did the tiger lily say?“Do you hear the drum: boom boom! There are only two tones, always boom boom! Hear the women’s song of lament! Hear the priests’ shouts!—In her long red coat the Hindu wife stands on the pyre. The flames shoot up around her and her dead husband, but the Hindu wife is thinking of the living within the circle : he, whose eyes burn hotter than flames, the fire in whose eyes touches her heart more than the flames that soon will burn her body to ashes. Can the flame of the heart die in the flames of the bonfire?”

“I don’t understand that at all!” said little Gerda.

“That’s my tale,” said the tiger lily.

What does the morning glory say?“Overhanging the narrow mountain road there’s an old feudal castle. Thick vinca minor grows up the old red walls, leaf upon leaf, up to the balcony. There’s a lovely girl standing there. She leans over the railing and looks down the road. No rose hangs more freshly from its branches than she does. No apple blossom, when the wind carries it from the tree, sways more lightly than she does. How the magnificent silk dress rustles. ‘Isn’t he coming?’”

“Do you mean Kai?” asked little Gerda.

“I am just talking about my own story, my dream,” answered the morning glory.

What does the little snowdrop say?“Between the trees on a rope hangs a wide board. It’s a swing, and two lovely little girls—dresses as white as snow, long green silk ribbons waving from their hats—are swinging. Their brother, who’s bigger than they are, stands up on the swing. He has his arm around the rope to hold on, but in one hand he has a little saucer, in the other a little clay pipe. He’s blowing soap bubbles. The swing is swinging, and the bubbles fly with lovely changing colors—the last is still hanging at the pipe bowl and bends with the wind. The swing is swinging. The little black dog, as light as the bubbles, stands up on its hind legs and wants to get on the swing. It swings by. The dog falls, barks, and is angry. It’s being teased, the bubbles burst—a swinging board, a leaping lathering picture is my song!”

It is possible that it’s really lovely, what you’re talking about, but you tell it so sadly and you don’t mention Kai at all.”

What do the hyacinths say?“There were three lovely sisters, so transparent and delicate. One had a red dress, the second one’s was blue, and the third’s quite white. They danced hand in hand by a quiet lake in the clear moonlight. They weren’t fairies; they were human beings. There was a wonderful sweet fragrance, and the girls disappeared into the woods. The scent grew stronger—three coffins, in which the lovely girls lay, glided out from the edge of the forest over the lake. Shining glowworms flew around like small wavering lights. Are the dancing girls sleeping or are they dead? The flower fragrance says they’re corpses—the evening bell rings for the dead!”

“You make me really sad,” said little Gerda. “Your scent is so strong that I have to think of dead girls! Oh, is little Kai really dead? The roses have been in the ground, and they say he’s not!”

“Ding, dong,” rang the hyacinth bells. “We aren’t ringing for little Kai; we don’t know him. We’re just singing our song, the only one we know!”

So Gerda went to the buttercup, shining out from between glistening green leaves.

“You’re a clear little sun!” Gerda said, “Tell me if you know where I can find my playmate?”

And the buttercup shone so beautifully and looked at Gerda again. What song could the buttercup sing? It wasn’t about Kai either.In a little yard God’s sun shone so warmly the very first day of spring. The rays slid down the neighbor’s white wall, close by grew the first yellow flowers, shining gold in the warm rays of the sun. Old grandmother was sitting out in her chair. Her granddaughter, a poor pretty servant girl, came home for a short visit; she kissed her grandmother. There was gold, the heart’s gold, in the blessed kiss. Gold on the lips, gold on the ground, gold in the morning hours all around!

“See, that’s my little story,” said the buttercup.”

“My poor old grandmother!” sighed Gerda. “I’m sure she’s longing for me and is sad about me, like she was for little Kai. But I’ll soon be home again, and I’ll bring Kai with me. It’s no use asking the flowers, they only know their own songs, and can’t tell me anything.” And then she tied up her little dress so she could run faster, but the narcissus hit her in the leg as she jumped over it so she stopped, looked at the tall yellow flower, and asked, “Do you perhaps know something?” She bent right down to the narcissus, and what did it say?“I can see myself! I can see myself!” said the narcissus. “Oh, how I smell!—In the little garret room, partly dressed, is a little dancer. First she stands on one leg, then on two, she kicks at the whole world. She’s only an optical illusion. She pours water from a teapot onto a piece of fabric that she’s holding. It’s her girdle—Cleanliness is next to Godliness! The white dress hangs on a hook. It’s also washed in the teapot and dried on the roof. She puts it on; the saffron yellow scarf around her neck makes the dress shine whiter. One leg lifts! Look how she stands tall on one stem! I can see myself! I can see myself!”

“I don’t care about that at all,” said Gerda. “That’s nothing to tell me!” And then she ran to the edge of the garden.

The door was closed, but she wiggled the rusty metal hook so it came loose, and the door flew open allowing little Gerda to run out into the wide world in her bare feet. She looked back three times, but no one was coming after her. After a while she couldn’t run any more and sat down on a big rock, and when she looked around, the summer was over. It was late in the autumn. You couldn’t notice that inside the beautiful garden, where there was always sunshine and the flowers of all seasons.

“God, I’ve wasted so much time!” said little Gerda. “It’s autumn already! So I dare not rest!” And she got up to go.

Oh, how tender and tired her little feet were, and all around it looked so cold and damp. The long willow leaves were all yellow and fog dripped into the water from them, one leaf after another fell, only the blackthorn had fruit on it, firm and sour. Oh, how grey and dismal seemed the wide world!

FOURTH STORY

APRINCE AND PRINCESS

Gerda had to rest again. Right above where she was sitting a big crow hopped on the snow. It had been sitting and watching her for a long time and turning its head. Now it said, “Crocay—goo day goo day.” It couldn’t say it any better but it meant well, and asked where she was going so all alone in the wide world. That word—alone—Gerda understood very well and felt the concern so she told the crow her whole life story and asked it if had seen Kai.

And the crow nodded quite thoughtfully and said, “Could be, could be.”

“What? You think so?” cried the little girl and almost squeezed the crow to death from all the kisses she gave him.

“Take it easy, take it easy!” said the crow. “I think, I know—I think it could be little Kai, but I guess he’s forgotten you for the princess!”

“Is he living with a princess?” asked Gerda.

“Yes, imagine,” said the crow, “but it’s so hard for me to speak your language. If you understand Crocawish, I can explain it better.”

“No, I haven’t learned that,” said Gerda, “but my grandmother knew it, and she knew High Falutin too. If only I’d learned it!”

“It doesn’t matter,” said the crow. “I’ll speak as well as I can, but it’ll be awful anyway,” and then he told her what he knew.

“In this kingdom, where we’re sitting, there lives a princess who is immensely intelligent, but then she has also read all the newspapers in the world and forgotten them again, that’s how smart she is. The other day she was sitting on her throne, and they say that isn’t much fun. Then she started humming a lit tle song, the one that goes: ‘Why shouldn’t I get married?’ ‘There’s something in that,’ she said, and then she wanted to get married, but she wanted a husband who could answer when you said something to him, not just one who stood around looking distinguished, because that’s so boring. Then she had all the ladies in waiting drummed up, and when they heard what she wanted, they were very pleased. ‘I like that,’ they said, ‘I thought about that the other day myself.’ Every word I’m saying is true,” said the crow. “I have a tame sweetheart who has complete access to the castle, and she tells me everything.”

Naturally his sweetheart was also a crow, for birds of a feather flock together, and so crows pick crows.

“The newspapers came out right away with a border of hearts and the princess’s signature. You could read that any young man who was attractive was welcome to come up to the castle and talk to the princess, and the one who talked well about what he knew, and spoke the best, would be the one the princess would marry!—Well, well,” said the crow, “Believe you me, as sure as I’m sitting here, people came streaming to the castle. There was a rustling and bustling, but it was of no use, neither the first day nor the next. They could all speak well enough when they were out on the street, but when they entered the castle gates and saw the sentries in silver and lackeys in gold livery up the steps, and the big lighted rooms, they became disconcerted. And when they stood in front of the throne, where the princess sat, they couldn’t say a thing except repeat what she had just said, and she didn’t care to hear that again. It was as if people in there had eaten snuff and had fallen into a trance until they were out on the street where they could talk again. There was a row of them all the way from the city gates to the castle. I myself went in to have a look!” said the crow, “They were both hungry and thirsty, but they didn’t even get a glass of lukewarm water from the castle. Some of the smarter ones had taken some sandwiches along, but they didn’t share with their neighbors. They were thinking: ‘Let him look hungry, then the princess won’t pick him.’”

“But Kai? little Kai?” asked Gerda. “When did he come? Was he among the many?”

“Just wait, just wait. We’ll get to him in a moment. It was on the third day, and a little person arrived without a horse or a wagon, quite confidently marching right up to the castle. His eyes shone like yours. He had lovely long hair, but his clothes were poor!”

“It was Kai!” rejoiced Gerda. “Oh, I have found him!” and she clapped her hands.

“He had a little knapsack on his back,” said the crow.

“No, that must have been his sled,” said Gerda, “because he went away with his sled.”

“That could be,” said the crow. “I didn’t pay such close attention. But I have it from my tame sweetheart that when he came through the castle gates and saw the sentries in silver and the lackeys in gold up the steps, he wasn’t the least bit dispirited. He nodded at them and said, ‘It must be boring standing on the steps; I’ll go inside.’ Inside the rooms were shining with lights, and Privy Councilors and Excellencies walked in bare feet bearing gold platters—there was reason enough to feel solemn. His boots were creaking terribly loudly, but he still didn’t become afraid!”

“It’s certainly Kai,” said Gerda. “I know he had new boots. I heard them creaking in grandmother’s parlor.”

“Well, they certainly creaked!” said the crow, “and he went dauntlessly in to present himself to the princess, who was sitting on a pearl as big as a spinning wheel. All the ladies-in-waiting with their maids and maids’ maids and all the cavaliers with their servants and servants’ servants, with their pages, were standing all around. And the closer they stood to the door, the prouder they were. The servants’ servants’ page, who always wears slippers, stood so proudly by the door that you almost couldn’t look at him.”

“That must be awful,” said little Gerda, “but Kai actually got the princess?!”

“If I weren’t a crow, I would have taken her, even though I am engaged. He is to have spoken as well as I do when I speak Crocawish, according to my tame sweetheart. He was confident and lovely. He had not come to propose, just to hear the wisdom of the princess, and he approved of it, and she approved of him too.”

“Yes, of course it was Kai,” said Gerda. “He’s so smart he can even do math with fractions in his head. Oh—won’t you take me to the castle?”

“He’s so smart he can even do math with fractions in his head. ”

“That’s easier said than done,” said the crow. “How would we do that? I’ll talk to my tame sweetheart about it. She’ll give us advice, but I must tell you that a little girl like you will never be allowed in there.”

“Oh yes, I will,” said Gerda. “When Kai hears I’m here, he’ll come right out and get me.”

“Wait for me by those steps over the fence,” said the crow, who cocked his head and flew away.

Not until it was dark did the crow come back: “Caw caw,” he said. “I bring many greetings from her, and here’s a little bread for you. She took it from the kitchen. There’s plenty there, and you must be hungry—it’s not possible for you to enter the castle because you’re barefoot. The sentries in silver and lackeys in gold would never allow it, but don’t cry. You’ll get up there anyway. My sweetheart knows a little back stairway that leads to the bedroom, and she knows where to take the key.”

And they went into the garden, into a big avenue, where one leaf after another fell, and when the lights in the castle started going out, one after another, the crow led little Gerda to a back door that was standing ajar.

Oh, how Gerda’s heart was pounding from fear and longing ! She felt as if she were going to do something wicked, but she only wanted to know if it was little Kai. Oh yes, it had to be him! She could so vividly see his wise eyes, his long hair. She could really see how he smiled just like he had when they sat at home under the roses. He would surely be glad to see her and hear what a long way she had come for his sake, and know how sad they all were at home when he didn’t come back. Oh, such fear and joy!

Then they were on the steps. There was a little lamp burning on a cupboard. In the middle of the floor stood the tame crow and cocked its head from side to side and observed Gerda, who curtsied as her grandmother had taught her.

“My fiance has spoken very well of you, my little miss,” said the tame crow. “Your vita, as it’s called, is also very touching— if you’ll take the lamp, I’ll lead the way. We’ll go straight there. Then we won’t meet anyone.”

“I think there’s someone coming behind us,” said Gerda, and something roared past her. There were shadows on the walls, horses with flying manes and slender legs, hunters, and men and women riding.

“That’s only the dreams,” said the crow. “They come and take their Highnesses’ thoughts along hunting. That’s good because then you can see them better in bed. But be sure, if you get honor and favor, to show a thankful heart!”

“Well, that’s nothing to talk about!” said the crow from the woods.

Then they entered the first room. There were pink satin walls with artificial flowers. Here the dreams were flying past them, but they went so fast that Gerda didn’t see their Highnesses. One room was more magnificent than the next. You really could be stupefied! And then they were in the bedroom. The ceiling in there looked like a big palm with fronds of glass, expensive glass, and in the middle of the floor hung two beds on a thick stalk, and they looked like lilies. One was white, and in it lay the princess. The second was red, and that’s where Gerda looked for little Kai. She bent one of the red leaves to the side and saw a brown neck.—Oh, it was Kai!—She called his name quite loudly, and held the lamp up to him—the dreams roared by on horses back to the hall again—he awoke, turned his head and—it was not little Kai.

The prince only resembled him in the neck, but he was young and handsome. And the princess peered out from the white lily bed and asked what was happening. Then little Gerda started crying and told her whole story, and everything that the crows had done for her.

“You poor little thing,” said the prince and princess, and they praised the crows and said they weren’t angry with them at all, but they shouldn’t do it again. However, they would get a reward.

“Do you want to fly free?” asked the princess, “or do you want permanent positions as Court Crows with all the scraps in the kitchen?”

And both crows bowed and asked to have permanent positions because they were thinking of their old age and said, “It’s better to have a bird in the hand than two in the bush,” as they put it.

The prince got up from his bed and let Gerda sleep there, and he couldn’t do more than that. She folded her small hands and thought, “How good people and animals are,” and then she closed her eyes and slept so peacefully. All the dreams came flying in again, and they looked like God’s angels, and they pulled a little sled, and Kai was sitting on it nodding; but it was all only dreams, and so it was all gone as soon as she awoke.

The next day she was dressed from top to toe in silk and velvet. She was invited to stay at the castle and have a good future, but she only asked for a little carriage with a horse and a pair of little boots. Then she would drive out in the wide world again to find Kai.

And she was given both boots and a muff. She was dressed beautifully, and when she was ready to leave, there was a new coach of pure gold waiting by the door. The prince and princess’ coat of arms shone from it like a star. The coachman, servants, and outriders—for there were outriders too—were wearing gold crowns. The prince and princess helped her into the coach and wished her luck. The forest crow, who had gotten married, followed along the first three miles. He sat beside her because he couldn’t stand driving backwards. The other crow stood at the gate and flapped her wings. She didn’t come along because she suffered from a headache ever since she had gained a permanent position and too much to eat. Inside, the coach was lined with sugar pastries, and under the seats were fruits and peppernut cookies.

“Farewell, farewell,” shouted the prince and princess, and little Gerda cried, and the crow cried—that’s how the first miles went. Then the crow said good bye too, and that was the hardest parting. He flew up in a tree and flapped his black wings as long as he could see the coach, which shone like clear sunshine.

FIFTH STORY

THE LITTLE ROBBER GIRL

They drove through the dark forest, but the coach shone like a flame, and it blinded the robbers so they couldn’t stand it.

“It’s gold! It’s gold!” they yelled, rushed forward, seized the horses, killed the little outriders, the driver, and servants, and pulled little Gerda from the coach.

“She is plump. She is sweet. She’s been fed on nut meats,” said the old robber crone. She had a long, bristly beard and eyebrows that hung down over her eyes. “She’s as good as a fat little lamb! Oh, she’ll be tasty!” And then she pulled out her shiny knife that glittered so it was frightful.

“Ouch!” cried the crone just then. She had been bitten in the ear by her little daughter, who hung on her back, and who was so wild and naughty that it was a delight to watch her. “You loathsome brat!” said her mother, who didn’t have time to butcher Gerda.

“She’s going to play with me!” said the little robber girl. “She’ll give me her muff and her lovely dress, and she’ll sleep with me in my bed.” And then she bit again so the robber woman jumped in the air and spun around, and all the robbers laughed and said, “See how she dances with her kid!”

“I want to get into the coach,” said the little robber girl, and she must and would have her own way because she was so spoiled and stubborn. She and Gerda sat inside, and then they drove over stubble and thorns deeper into the forest. The little robber girl was as big as Gerda, but she was stronger, more broad-shouldered, and dark-skinned. Her eyes were quite black and looked almost sad. She put her arm around Gerda’s waist and said, “They won’t slaughter you as long as I don’t get angry with you! I guess you’re a princess?”

“No,” said little Gerda, and told her everything she had experienced, and how much she cared about little Kai.

The robber girl looked quite seriously at her, nodded her head a little, and said, “They won’t kill you, even if I get angry with you. I’ll do it myself.” Then she dried Gerda’s eyes and put both her hands into the beautiful muff that was so soft and warm.

“She is plump. She is sweet. She’s been fed on nut meats. ”

The coach stopped. They were in the middle of the courtyard of a robber castle. It was cracked from top to bottom, and ravens and crows flew out of the open holes. Big vicious dogs that looked like they could each swallow a person leaped high in the air, but they didn’t bark because that was forbidden.

In the big, old, sooty main room there was a great fire burning in the middle of the stone floor. The smoke drifted up under the ceiling and had to find its own way out. Soup was boiling in a big kettle, and both hares and rabbits were on the spit.

“You’ll sleep here with me tonight with all my little pets,” said the robber girl. They had something to eat and drink and then went into a corner where straw and blankets were lying. Above them were almost a hundred pigeons, sitting on sticks and perches. They all seemed to be asleep, but they turned a bit when the little girls came.

“They’re all mine!” said the little robber girl and quickly grabbed one of the closest birds. She held it by the legs and shook it so that it flapped its wings. “Kiss it!” she commanded and flapped it in Gerda’s face. “These are the wood rascals,” she continued and pointed behind a number of bars that were covering a hole high up on the wall. “They’re wood rascals, those two. They fly right away if they aren’t properly locked in. And here is my old sweetheart, Bae,” and she pulled the horn of a reindeer. He had a shiny copper ring around his neck and was tied up. “We have to keep him tied up too, or he would run away from us. Every single evening I tickle his throat with my sharp knife. He’s very afraid of it.” And the little girl pulled a long knife from a crack in the wall, and let it glide across the reindeer’s throat. The poor animal kicked his legs, and the robber girl laughed and pulled Gerda into the bed with her.

“You take the knife to bed with you?” asked Gerda and looked a bit anxiously at it.

“I always sleep with my knife,” said the little robber girl. “You never know what might happen. But now, tell me again what you said before about little Kai, and why you went out into the wide world.” And Gerda told the story from the beginning, and the wood pigeons cooed in their cage while the other pigeons slept. The little robber girl laid her arm across Gerda’s neck, held the knife in her other hand, and slept so that you could hear it. But Gerda couldn’t close her eyes at all. She didn’t know whether she would live or die. The robbers sat around the fire singing and drinking, and the robber woman turned somersaults. Oh, it was just awful for the little girl to see!

Then the wood pigeons said, “Coo, coo! We’ve seen little Kai. A white hen was carrying his sled, and he was sitting in the Snow Queen’s coach. It flew low over the forest as we were lying in our nest. She blew at us young ones, and all died except us two—coo, coo!”

“What’s that you’re saying up there?” called Gerda. “Where did the Snow Queen go? Do you know anything about that?”

“She probably went to Lapland because there’s always snow and ice there. Ask the reindeer who’s tied up with the rope.”

“There’s ice and snow there, and it’s a good and blessed place,” said the reindeer. “You can run freely around in the big bright valleys there. It’s where the Snow Queen has her summer tent, but her permanent castle is up by the North Pole on the island called Spitsbergen.”

“Oh Kai! Little Kai!” sighed Gerda.

“Lie quietly now,” said the robber girl, “or you’ll get the knife in your stomach!”

In the morning, Gerda told her everything the wood pigeons had said, and the little robber girl looked very serious, but nodded her head and said, “It doesn’t matter. Never mind.—Do you know where Lapland is?” she asked the reindeer.

“Who would know better than me?” said the animal, and his eyes sparkled. “I was born and bred there, and I have run all over the snowy fields of Lapland.”

“Listen,” said the robber girl to Gerda, “you can see that all the men are gone. But mother is still here. She’ll stay, but sometime during the morning she’ll drink out of that big bottle and take a little nap. Then I’ll do something for you.” She jumped out of bed, threw her arms around her mother’s neck, pulled at her beard, and said, “My own sweet billy goat, good morning!” And her mother pinched her nose so it turned red and blue, but all of it was done out of love.

When her mother had drunk from her bottle and was taking a little nap, the robber girl went to the reindeer and said, “It would give me the greatest pleasure to continue to tickle you many more times with my sharp knife because you’re so much fun then, but it doesn’t matter. I’m going to loosen your rope and help you outside so that you can run to Lapland, but don’t let the grass grow under your feet. Take this little girl to the Snow Queen’s castle where her playmate is. You’ve certainly heard what she told me because she spoke loudly enough, and you eavesdrop.”

The reindeer leaped up in joy. The robber girl lifted Gerda onto the reindeer and took care to tie her fast, and even gave her a little pillow to sit on. “Never mind,” she said, “here are your fleecy boots because it will be cold. But I’m keeping the muff. It’s way too beautiful! But you won’t freeze. Here are mother’s big mittens. They’ll reach all the way up to your elbows. Put them on!—Now your hands look just like my horrid mother’s.”

And Gerda wept for joy.

“I can’t stand that wailing,” said the little robber girl. “Now just be happy. And here are two breads and a ham for you, so you won’t starve.” Both of these were tied onto the reindeer’s back. The little robber girl opened the door and coaxed the big dogs inside. Then she cut the rope with her knife and said to the reindeer, “Now run! But take good care of the little girl.”

And Gerda stretched out her hands, with the big robber mittens on them, towards the robber girl and said good bye. The reindeer flew off over bushes and stubble through the big forest, over swamps and plains as fast as he could. The wolves howled, and the ravens shrieked. Sounds like “Soosh, Soosh” came from the sky as if it were sneezing redness.

“Those are my old northern lights,” said the reindeer. “See how they shine!” He ran even faster, night and day. The breads were eaten—the ham too—and then they were in Lapland.

SIXTH STORY

THE SAMI WOMAN AND THE FINN WOMAN

They stopped at a little house. It was so pitiful. The roof reached down to the ground, and the door was so low that the family had to creep on their stomachs when they wanted to go in or out. There was no one home except an old Sami woman, who was frying fish over an oil lamp. The reindeer told Gerda’s entire story, but first his own because he thought that was much more important, and Gerda was so frozen from cold that she couldn’t talk.

“Oh, you poor things!” said the Sami woman. “You still have a long way to go. You’ll have to go over a hundred miles into Finnmark because that’s where the Snow Queen is now, and she bums northern lights every night. I’ll write a few words on a dried cod—I don’t have any paper—for you to take to the Finn woman up there. She can give you better information than I can.”

And after Gerda had warmed up and had had something to eat and drink, the Sami woman wrote a few words on a dried cod and told Gerda to take good care of it. Then she tied Gerda firmly on the reindeer’s back again, and off it sprang. “Soosh, soosh” came from the air, and all night the most beautiful blue northern lights shone. They came to Finnmark and knocked on the Finn woman’s chimney because she didn’t even have a door.

It was so hot in there that the Finn woman herself had almost no clothes on. She was little and had quite muddy skin. She loosened Gerda’s clothing right away and took her mittens and boots off; otherwise she would have been too hot. She laid a piece of ice on the reindeer’s head and then read what was written on the dried cod. She read it three times so she knew it by heart and then put the fish in the kettle, for it could certainly be eaten, and she never wasted anything.

The reindeer told his story first and then little Gerda’s, and the Finn woman blinked with her wise eyes, but didn’t say anything.

“You are so wise,” said the reindeer, “I know you can tie the winds of the world with a thread. When the captain unties the first knot, he gets a good wind. When he unties the second, it blows stiffly, and if he unties the third and fourth, it will storm so trees blow down. Won’t you give the little girl a drink so she can gain the strength of twelve men and conquer the Snow Queen?”²

“The strength of twelve men,” said the Finn woman, “yes, that should help!” She went to a shelf and took down a large rolled-up hide and spread it out. There were remarkable letters written on it, and the Finn woman read so intently that sweat poured from her forehead.

But the reindeer begged again for little Gerda, and Gerda looked pleadingly at the Finn woman with her eyes full of tears so that the woman started blinking her eyes again and drew the reindeer into a corner. She whispered to him while he got a fresh piece of ice on his head:

“Little Kai is with the Snow Queen and finds everything to his liking. He thinks it’s the best place in the world, but that’s because he has gotten a splinter in his heart and a little chip of glass in his eye. They have to come out first, or he’ll never become human again, and the Snow Queen will keep her power over him.”

“But can’t you give little Gerda something to take so she can gain power over all of it?”

“I can’t give her greater power than she already has. Can’t you see how great it is? Don’t you see how people and animals must serve her, how she has come so far in the world, even barefoot? We can’t tell her of this power; it’s in her heart. It’s because she is a sweet innocent child. If she can’t reach the Snow Queen by herself and get the glass splinters out of little Kai, we can’t help. The Snow Queen’s garden starts two miles from here. Carry the little girl in there and let her off by the big bush with red berries standing in the snow. Don’t waste time gossiping, but hurry back here.” And the Finn woman lifted Gerda onto the reindeer, and he ran off as fast as he could.

“Oh, I forgot my boots! I forgot my mittens!” called the lit tle girl who noticed this in the biting cold. But the reindeer didn’t dare stop. It ran until it came to the bush with the red berries. There he let Gerda off and kissed her on the lips. Big bright tears ran down the animal’s cheeks, and then it ran back as fast as it could. Poor Gerda was standing there without shoes, without gloves, in the middle of terrible ice-cold Finnmark.

She ran ahead as fast as she could. Then a whole regiment of snowflakes appeared. But these didn’t fall from the sky, which was quite clear and shining with northern lights. The snowflakes ran along the ground, and the closer they came, the bigger they got. Gerda certainly remembered how big and odd they had looked the time she saw the snowflakes through the magnifying glass, but here they were certainly much bigger and more terrible. They were alive—they were the Snow Queen’s sentries. They had the strangest shapes. Some looked like large nasty porcupines, others like big bunches of snakes with their heads sticking out, still others like small fat bears with their hair bristling. All of them were shining white, and all of them were living snowflakes.

Then little Gerda said the Lord’s Prayer, and the cold was so intense that she could see her own breath. It came out of her mouth like smoke. It became more and more condensed and formed into small bright angels. They grew and grew when they touched the ground, and all of them had helmets on their heads and spears and shields in their hands. They became more and more numerous, and when Gerda had finished her prayer, she had a whole legion around her. They struck with their spears at the dreadful snowflakes so that they broke into a hundred pieces, and little Gerda walked safely and confidently forward. The angels patted her feet and hands so she didn’t feel the cold as much, and she walked quickly towards the Snow Queen’s castle.

But now we should see how Kai is doing. He certainly wasn’t thinking about little Gerda, and least of all that she was standing outside the castle.

SEVENTH STORY

WHAT HAPPENED IN THE SNOW QUEEN’S CASTLE AND WHAT HAPPENED LATER

The castle’s walls were made of drifting snow, and the windows and doors of cutting winds. There were over a hundred rooms, depending on how the snow drifted. The largest stretched for many miles, and they were all illuminated by the northern lights. They were so vast, so empty, so icy cold, and so dazzling. There was never any gaiety here, not even so much as a little bear ball where the storm could blow, and the polar bears could walk on their hind legs and show their fine manners. Never a little party game with snout slapping and paw clapping. Never a little coffee klatch for the white fox maidens. The Snow Queen’s rooms were empty, vast, and cold. The northern lights shone so regularly that you could calculate when they would be at their highest and when at their lowest. Right in the middle of the empty unending hall of snow was a frozen lake. It was cracked in a thousand pieces, but each piece was exactly alike so it was a work of art, and in the middle of this is where the Snow Queen sat when she was at home. And she said that she sat on the mirror of reason, and that it was the world’s only and best one.

Little Kai was quite blue from cold, actually almost black, but he didn’t notice it because the Snow Queen had kissed the icy shivers from him, and his heart was practically an ice clump. He was carrying around some sharp, flat pieces of ice which he positioned in all sorts of ways, trying to make something out of it. It’s like when the rest of us use little wooden pieces and make figures from them. It’s called a tangram. Kai was also making figures and very complicated ones. It was the game of Icy Reason. To his eyes the figures were quite excellent and of the very highest importance. That was because of the bit of glass in his eye! He made whole figures that composed a written word, but he could never write the one word that he wanted: eternity. The Snow Queen had told him, “If you can figure out that design for me, you’ll be your own master, and I’ll give you the whole world and a new pair of skates.” But he couldn’t do it.

“Now I’m off to the warm countries,” said the Snow Queen. “I want to go there and peek into the black pots!” She meant the fire-sprouting volcanoes Etna and Vesuvius as we call them. “I’m going to whiten them up a bit! They need it, and it looks good on the lemons and grapes.” And the Snow Queen flew away, and Kai sat quite alone in the many-mile long empty ice hall and looked at the ice pieces and thought and thought until his brain creaked. He sat quite stiff and still. You would think he had frozen to death.

And it was then that little Gerda walked into the castle through the big portal that was filled with biting winds. But she said an evening prayer, and the winds died down as though they wanted to go to sleep. She walked into the vast, empty, cold hall and saw Kai. She recognized him, and threw her arms around his neck. She held him tight and called, “Kai! sweet little Kai! Now I’ve found you!”

But he sat completely still, stiff and cold. Little Gerda started crying hot tears. They fell on Kai’s chest and pressed into his heart where they melted the clump of ice and consumed the little bit of mirror in there. He looked at her, and she sang the hymn:“Roses in the valley grow

And baby Jesus there we know”

Then Kai burst into tears. He cried so that the splinter of glass washed out of his eye. He recognized her and cried joy fully, “Gerda! sweet little Gerda! Where have you been so long? And where have I been?” He looked around. “How cold it is here! How big and empty it is!” and he held Gerda tight. She laughed and cried for joy. It was so wonderful that even the pieces of ice danced with joy all around them, and when they were tired and lay down, they lay precisely in those letters that the Snow Queen had said he should find. So now he was his own master, and she would give him the whole world and a new pair of skates.

As Gerda kissed his cheeks, they flushed. She kissed his eyes, and they lit up like hers. She kissed his hands and feet, and he was hale and hearty. The Snow Queen could return. His release was written there in shining pieces of ice.

And they held hands and walked out of the big castle. They talked about Grandmother and about the roses up on the roof. And wherever they walked, the winds were still, and the sun came out, and when they reached the bush with the red berries, the reindeer was waiting. He had another young reindeer with him, whose udder was full and she gave the little ones her warm milk and kissed them on the lips. Then they carried Kai and Gerda first to the Finn woman, where they warmed up in the hot room and got information about the trip home, then to the Sami woman who had sewn new clothes for them and who had prepared her sleigh.

The reindeer and the young reindeer ran along side and followed them to the border of the country. There where the first green appeared on the ground they parted from the reindeer and the Sami woman. “Farewell,” they all said. And the first little birds started chirping. There were green buds on the trees, and riding out of the trees came a magnificent horse that Gerda recognized, for it had pulled the gold coach, and on this horse was a young girl with a shining red cap on her head and pistols in front. It was the little robber girl, who was bored with being at home and wanted to travel first north and then to other quarters if she wasn’t satisfied. She recognized Gerda right away, and Gerda recognized her. What a joy it was!

“You’re a fine fellow for trudging about!” she said to little Kai. “I wonder if you deserve having someone run to the ends of the earth for your sake!”

But Gerda patted her on the cheek and asked about the prince and princess.

“They’re traveling abroad,” said the robber girl.

“And the crow?” asked little Gerda.

“Well, the crow is dead,” she answered. “The tame sweet heart has become a widow and walks around with a piece of black yarn around her leg. She complains pathetically, but it’s all nonsense! But tell me how it went and how you found him!”

So both Gerda and Kai told their stories.

“All’s well that end’s well,” said the robber girl, took them both by the hand and promised that if she ever came by their city she would look them up, and then she rode off into the wide world. But Kai and Gerda walked hand in hand. They walked through a lovely springtime, and there were flowers, and it was green. The church bells rang, and they recognized the high towers of the big city. It was the one they lived in, and they entered it and went to Grandmother’s door, up the stairs, into the living room, where everything was in the same place as before, and the clock said “tick, tock” as the hand turned. But as they went through the door, they noticed that they were grown up. The roses from the roof gutter were blooming inside the open windows, and there stood the small children’s chairs. Kai and Gerda each sat down on theirs and held hands. They had forgotten like a heavy dream the cold empty mag nificence of the Snow Queen’s castle. Grandmother was sitting in God’s clear sunshine reading aloud from the Bible: “Verily I say unto you, except ye become as little children, ye shall not enter the kingdom of heaven.”

And Kai and Gerda looked into each other’s eyes and understood at once the old hymn:“Roses in the valley grow

And baby Jesus there we know”

And there they both sat, grown up and yet children—chil—dren in their hearts—and it was summer, the warm blessed summer.

NOTES

1 From the hymn “Den yndigste Rose er funden” (1732; “Now Found Is the Fairest of Roses”), by H. A. Brorson.

2 The Finns were thought to possess magic powers. Andersen took his information about the Sami from a book by B. M. Keilhau, Reise i østog Vest-Finnmarken samt til Beeren-Eiland og Spitsbergen i Aarene 1827 og 1828 (1831; Travels in East and West Finnmark, Bear Island, and Spitsbergen in the years 1827 and 1828). The Sami are the indigenous people of northern Scandinavia.