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Book Three
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 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!
Book Four
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.
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