Whenever a good child dies, an angel of God comes down from heaven, takes the dead child in his arms, spread out his great white wings, and flies with him over all the places which the child had loved during his life. Then h gathers a large handful of flowers, which he carries up to the Almighty, that they may bloom more brightly i heaven than they do on earth. And the Almighty presses the flowers to His heart, but He kisses the flower tha pleases Him best, and it receives a voice, and is able to join the song of the chorus of bliss.

These words were spoken by an angel of God, as he carried a dead child up to heaven, and the child listened as if in a dream. Then they passed over well-known spots, where the little one had often played, and through beautiful gardens full of lovely flowers.

“Which of these shall we take with us to heaven to be transplanted there?” asked the angel.

Close by grew a slender, beautiful, rose-bush, but some wicked hand had broken the stem, and the half-opened rosebuds hung faded and withered on the trailing branches.

“Poor rose-bush!” said the child, “let us take it with us to heaven, that it may bloom above in God’s garden.”

The angel took up the rose-bush; then he kissed the child, and the little one half opened his eyes. The angel gathered also some beautiful flowers, as well as a few humble buttercups and heart’s-ease.

“Now we have flowers enough,” said the child; but the angel only nodded, he did not fly upward to heaven. It was night, and quite still in the great town. Here they remained, and the angel hovered over a small, narrow street, in which lay a large heap of straw, ashes, and sweepings from the houses of people who had removed. There lay fragments of plates, pieces of plaster, rags, old hats, and other rubbish not pleasant to see.

Amidst all this confusion, the angel pointed to the pieces of a broken flower-pot, and to a lump of earth which had fallen out of it. The earth had been kept from falling to pieces by the roots of a withered field-flower, which had been thrown amongst the rubbish.

“We will take this with us,” said the angel, “I will tell you why as we fly along.”

And as they flew the angel related the history.

“Down in that narrow lane, in a low cellar, lived a poor sick boy; he had been afflicted from his childhood, and even in his best days he could just manage to walk up and down the room on crutches once or twice, but no more. During some days in summer, the sunbeams would lie on the floor of the cellar for about half an hour. In this spot the poor sick boy would sit warming himself in the sunshine, and watching the red blood through his delicate fingers as he held them before his face. Then he would say he had been out, yet he knew nothing of the green forest in its spring verdure, till a neighbor’s son brought him a green bough from a beech-tree. This he would place over his head, and fancy that he was in the beech-wood while the sun shone, and the birds carolled gayly. One spring day the neighbor’s boy brought him some field-flowers, and among them was one to which the root still adhered. This he carefully planted in a flower-pot, and placed in a window-seat near his bed. And the flower had been planted by a fortunate hand, for it grew, put forth fresh shoots, and blossomed every year. It became a splendid flower-garden to the sick boy, and his little treasure upon earth. He watered it, and cherished it, and took care it should have the benefit of every sunbeam that found its way into the cellar, from the earliest morning ray to the evening sunset. The flower entwined itself even in his dreams– for him it bloomed, for him spread its perfume. And it gladdened his eyes, and to the flower he turned, even in death, when the Lord called him. He has been one year with God. During that time the flower has stood in the window, withered and forgotten, till at length cast out among the sweepings into the street, on the day of the lodgers’ removal. And this poor flower, withered and faded as it is, we have added to our nosegay, because it gave more real joy than the most beautiful flower in the garden of a queen.”

“But how do you know all this?” asked the child whom the angel was carrying to heaven.

“I know it,” said the angel, “because I myself was the poor sick boy who walked upon crutches, and I know my own flower well.”

Then the child opened his eyes and looked into the glorious happy face of the angel, and at the same moment they found themselves in that heavenly home where all is happiness and joy. And God pressed the dead child to His heart, and wings were given him so that he could fly with the angel, hand in hand. Then the Almighty pressed all the flowers to His heart; but He kissed the withered field-flower, and it received a voice. Then it joined in the song of the angels, who surrounded the throne, some near, and others in a distant circle, but all equally happy. They all joined in the chorus of praise, both great and small,– the good, happy child, and the poor field-flower, that once lay withered and cast away on a heap of rubbish in a narrow, dark street.

Hans Christian Andersen in Denmark

Information about destinations which H.C. Andersen travelled to or stayed at is available in the menu item “HCA in Denmark”. H.C. Andersen loved travelling, experiencing new places and revisiting with old acquaintances. He gained a lot of inspiration from his travels, for example, the place “Regisse Kilden” shows H.C. Andersen’s child-like faith which is encouraged in his novel Only a Fiddler(1837) where the protagonists, Christian and Naomi, experience ennui in an effort to change their destinies – destinies that are already predetermined. The map shows points _ public places where You can experience sculptures and other pieces of art which are inspired by, or in honor of, H.C. Andersen, e.g. “The Shepherdess and the Chimney-Sweep”, but also public places like Odense Cathedral, The H.C. Andersen Museum and places of education where he lived or stayed for a long period of time like Bredegade Slagelse and settlements like Odense Convent of Noble Maidens and d’Angleterre.

Awards & Medals in the name of H.C. Andersen

Since H.C. Andersen must be acknowledges as Denmark’s greatest writer – especially seen in light of his appreciation abroad – awards & medals given in his name are seen as prestigious. Some of the awards are given in context with his birthday April 2^nd every year, some are given in context with H.C. Andersen festivals in Odense, and some are given in context with the institutions’ matters. Common for these awards, however, is that they honor the writer. In the menu item “Awards & Medals” are pieces of information about the different awards, medals and scholarships.

Novels by Hans Christian Andersen

H.C. Andersen wrote a total of six novels and he published his first, The Improvisatore, in 1835. The novel was one of Andersen’s attempts at gaining an audience. It was also through his novels that he gained a foothold in his day in age as a writer and became acknowledged abroad. However, Andersen felt that he could gain greater success through his fairy tales, and this could be the reason why he did not publish more novels. The menu item “Novels” contains summaries of H.C. Andersen’s six novels.

The Improvisatore

The Improvisatore is a Bildungsroman in which the mature and serene Antonio recounts his quest to built his own life in the world from childhood into his adult life…

O.T.

The novel depicts a friendship between Otto, who is brought up by his grandfather in western Jutland, and Vilhelm, who is of noble Funen ancestry…

Only a Fiddler

Only a Fiddler depicts the story of the musical, poor child, Christian, and the jewish girl, Naomi, who have known each other since childhood…

The Two Baronesses

Elisabeth enters the world in an abandoned farm by Funens southern seas. Her parents are traveling musicians…

To Be, or Not To Be

Niels Bryde is born and grows up in the Round Tower, where his father is a gatekeeper…

Lucky Peer

The novel portrays Peers life from birth through struggle in school to success before his death…

Hans Christian Andersen’s fairy tales

There are 212 registered fairy tales by H.C. Andersen and in the menu item “Fairy tales”, there are 157 of the published fairy tales.

The 20 most popular H.C. Andersen fairy tales in Denmark have interpreting pictures of the fairy tales’ titles. The fairy tales include: Clumsy Hans, The Little Match Girl, The Nightingale, The Flying Trunk, The Wild Swans, The Steadfast Tin Soldier, The Emperor’s New Clothes, The Little Mermaid, The Traveling Companion, The Naughty Boy, Thumbelina, Little Ida’s Flowers, The Princess on the Pea, Little Claus and Big Claus, and The Tinder Box. The fairy tale, “The Ugly Duckling”, has been animated and can be seen as a cartoon. Within several of H.C. Andersen’s fairy tales, You can read relevant information in context of the fairy tale, e.g. “The Tallow Candle” has additional pieces of information explaining how it was discovered, how it was dated and how it was verified, in addition to H.C. Andersen’s relation to Madam Bunkeflod.

Fairy tales by Hans Christian Andersen

Hans Christian Andersen er mest berømt for sine eventyr. Hans første eventyrsamling udkom i 1835 og han udgav værker lige til sin død i 1875. H.C. Andersen udgav selv 156 af de eventyrlige tekster, siden er der blevet udgivet 18 mere, altså er 174 af H. C. Andersens eventyr og historier blevet udgivet. Men i alt kan der argumenteres for at 212 tekster er blevet udgivet og bør indgå under betegnelsen eventyr.
Så sent som i 2012 fandt man i Stadsarkivet på Fyn et manuskript til et aldrig udgivet eventyr af H. C. Andersen. Selvom hans eventyr i vestlige lande, i særdeleshed i Skandinavien ses som underholdning for børn, indeholder alle eventyr også pointer, moraler og filosofi for voksne. Dette har givet digteren stor popularitet i især Asien hvor han i Kina kendes som An Tusheng “den vise discipel” og er lige så anerkendt hos voksne som hos børn.

Denne side indeholder 167 af H.C. Andersens eventyr. Mange veksler mellem at kalde hans eventyrlige tekster for eventyr og historier. I H.C. Andersens forfatterskab betegner historier en bevægelse mod en større æstetisk bredde, hvor der eksperimenteres med det realistiske og sådan er mere for det voksne publikum og i mindre grad for børn. De første, publicerede seks hæfter af HCAs eventyr går under betegnelsen: Fortalt for børn, siden udkom en række nye eventyr og billedbog – uden billeder, men i 1852 udkom den første samling afHistorier.

Hans Christian Andersen Biography

H.C. Andersen (1805-1875) is known by everyone as the world famous, Danish poet, writer and artist who was already recognized and considered an original author in his time. He is mostly recognized for his fairy tales which are translated into more than 125 different languages and are still used for interpretation and for general joy in our day in age. However, H.C. Andersen did more than write his beloved fairy tales. Among other things, he published six novels, poetry and was very skilled at papercuttings. He is also believed to be the originator of the Danish knitted Christmas heart.

Biography

Within Hans Christian Andersen’s biography, you can read more about how H.C. Andersen was a subclass child in the Danish town, Odense, with dreams of becoming an artist. You can also read about his work with great literary works, his interest in acting and entertainment, e.g. Madam Bunkeflod. In addition, You can read about how he did when he travelled to Copenhagen to follow his dreams and established a career in 1819. H.C. Andersen died in 1875 and was buried at Assistens cementary.

Hans Christian Andersen’s Biography

• Childhood in Odense
• Youth in Copenhagen
• Career

Visit Andersen – An international H.C. Andersen Universe

Visit Andersen is an international H.C. Andersen universe, and the first collective online universe for anyone who seeks H.C. Andersen related information or entertainment. Visit Andersen offers a variety of H.C. Andersen related information and activities.

A long and a short version of a biography that describes his life and accomplishments. Read his travelogues and all of his 157 published fairy tales which are also animated and recorded for You to listen to. Visit Andersen features summaries of his six novels, pictures of H.C. Andersen’s paper cuttings and a description of his poetry.

Visit Andersen also features an overview of the prizes and medals that are annually and bi-annually awarded in H.C. Andersen’s name. It is possible to buy e-books, regular books and a number of different H.C. Andersen related articles in the menu point “Store”.

Visit Andersen LTD.

Visit Andersen was founded in 2013. Visit Andersen is an online universe that features cultural and tourist dissemination. Visit Andersen addresses both the national and international segment of people who take an interest in H.C Andersen. The data on the site is a combination of new and well-known material, all exciting and high quality material. Visit Andersen works with cultural and social institutions, all with knowledge about H.C. Andersen, and are, among others, The University of Southern Denmark and The Hans Christian Andersen Center.

The university’s ideas are plenty and some have already been implemented at the university. Pictures have been made for H.C. Andersen’s 20 most read fairy tales, and the fairy tale “The Ugly Duckling” has been animated and is available for viewers as a cartoon. It will be possible to experience several of H.C. Andersen’s fairy tales in for of podcasts, in different languages like English and German. Later on, it will be possible to experience H.C. Andersen’s work as edutainment and in the form of games.

Visit Andersen and Social Media

On Facebook, Visit Andersen has created a place for those who are interested in receiving information directly via their social media feed. In relation to the animating of the fairy tales, Visit Andersen run a YouTube channel where You can watch some of the products made by the university. You can also find Visit Andersen on Google+,Twitter and Instagram.

Besides the web page VisitAndersen.com, You can also find the web pages: www.visitandersen.dk, www.visitandersen.de, www.visitandersen.cn, www.visitandersen.co.uk.

Original translation

A Tale in Seven Stories

First Story

Which Has to Do with a Mirror and its Fragments

Now then! We will begin. When the story is done you shall know a great deal more than you do know.

He was a terribly bad hobgoblin, a goblin of the very wickedest sort and, in fact, he was the devil himself. One day the devil was in a very good humor because he had just finished a mirror which had this peculiar power: everything good and beautiful that was reflected in it seemed to dwindle to almost nothing at all, while everything that was worthless and ugly became most conspicuous and even uglier than ever. In this mirror the loveliest landscapes looked like boiled spinach, and the very best people became hideous, or stood on their heads and had no stomachs. Their faces were distorted beyond any recognition, and if a person had a freckle it was sure to spread until it covered both nose and mouth.

“That’s very funny!” said the devil. If a good, pious thought passed through anyone’s mind, it showed in the mirror as a carnal grin, and the devil laughed aloud at his ingenious invention.

All those who went to the hobgoblin’s school-for he had a school of his own-told everyone that a miracle had come to pass. Now, they asserted, for the very first time you could see how the world and its people really looked. They scurried about with the mirror until there was not a person alive nor a land on earth that had not been distorted.

Then they wanted to fly up to heaven itself, to scoff at the angels, and our Lord. The higher they flew with the mirror, the wider it grinned. They could hardly manage to hold it. Higher they flew, and higher still, nearer to heaven and the angels. Then the grinning mirror trembled with such violence that it slipped from their hands and fell to the earth, where it shattered into hundreds of millions of billions of bits, or perhaps even more. And now it caused more trouble than it did before it was broken, because some of the fragments were smaller than a grain of sand and these went flying throughout the wide world. Once they got in people’s eyes they would stay there. These bits of glass distorted everything the people saw, and made them see only the bad side of things, for every little bit of glass kept the same power that the whole mirror had possessed.

A few people even got a glass splinter in their hearts, and that was a terrible thing, for it turned their hearts into lumps of ice. Some of the fragments were so large that they were used as window panes-but not the kind of window through which you should look at your friends. Other pieces were made into spectacles, and evil things came to pass when people put them on to see clearly and to see justice done. The fiend was so tickled by it all that he laughed till his sides were sore. But fine bits of the glass are still flying through the air, and now you shall hear what happened.

Second Story

A Little Boy and a Little Girl

In the big city it was so crowded with houses and people that few found room for even a small garden and most people had to be content with a flowerpot, but two poor children who lived there managed to have a garden that was a little bigger than a flowerpot. These children were not brother and sister, but they loved each other just as much as if they had been. Their parents lived close to one another in the garrets of two adjoining houses. Where the roofs met and where the rain gutter ran between the two houses, their two small windows faced each other. One had only to step across the rain gutter to go from window to window.

In these windows, the parents had a large box where they planted vegetables for their use, and a little rose bush too. Each box had a bush, which thrived to perfection. Then it occurred to the parents to put these boxes across the gutter, where they very nearly reached from one window to the other, and looked exactly like two walls of flowers. The pea plants hung down over the boxes, and the rose bushes threw out long sprays that framed the windows and bent over toward each other. It was almost like a little triumphal arch of greenery and flowers. The boxes were very high, and the children knew that they were not to climb about on them, but they were often allowed to take their little stools out on the roof under the roses, where they had a wonderful time playing together.

Winter, of course, put an end to this pleasure. The windows often frosted over completely. But they would heat copper pennies on the stove and press these hot coins against the frost-coated glass. Then they had the finest of peepholes, as round as a ring, and behind them appeared a bright, friendly eye, one at each window-it was the little boy and the little girl who peeped out. His name was Kay and hers was Gerda. With one skip they could join each other in summer, but to visit together in the wintertime they had to go all the way downstairs in one house, and climb all the way upstairs in the other. Outside the snow was whirling.

“See the white bees swarming,” the old grandmother said.

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

“Yes, indeed they do,” the grandmother said. “She flies in the thick of the swarm. She is the biggest bee of all, and can never stay quietly on the earth, but goes back again to the dark clouds. Many a wintry night she flies through the streets and peers in through the windows. Then they freeze over in a strange fashion, as if they were covered with flowers.”

“Oh yes, we’ve seen that,” both the children said, and so they knew it was true.

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

“Well, let her come!” cried the boy. “I would put her on the hot stove and melt her.”

But Grandmother stroked his head, and told them other stories.

That evening when little Kay was at home and half ready for bed, he climbed on the chair by the window and looked out through the little peephole. A few snowflakes were falling, and the largest flake of all alighted on the edge of one of the flower boxes. This flake grew bigger and bigger, until at last it turned into a woman, who was dressed in the finest white gauze which looked as if it had been made from millions of star-shaped flakes. She was beautiful and she was graceful, but she was ice-shining, glittering ice. She was alive, for all that, and her eyes sparkled like two bright stars, but in them there was neither rest nor peace. She nodded toward the window and beckoned with her hand. The little boy was frightened, and as he jumped down from the chair it seemed to him that a huge bird flew past the window.

The next day was clear and cold. Then the snow thawed, and springtime came. The sun shone, the green grass sprouted, swallows made their nests, windows were thrown open, and once again the children played in their little roof garden, high up in the rain gutter on top of the house.

That summer the roses bloomed their splendid best. The little girl had learned a hymn in which there was a line about roses that reminded her of their own flowers. She sang it to the little boy, and he sang it with her:

“Where roses bloom so sweetly in the vale, There shall you find the Christ Child, without fail.”

The children held each other by the hand, kissed the roses, looked up at the Lord’s clear sunshine, and spoke to it as if the Christ Child were there. What glorious summer days those were, and how beautiful it was out under those fragrant rose bushes which seemed as if they would never stop blooming.

Kay and Gerda were looking at a picture book of birds and beasts one day, and it was then-just as the clock in the church tower was striking five-that Kay cried:

“Oh! something hurt my heart. And now I’ve got something in my eye.”

The little girl put her arm around his neck, and he blinked his eye. No, she couldn’t see anything in it.

“I think it’s gone,” he said. But it was not gone. It was one of those splinters of glass from the magic mirror. You remember that goblin’s mirror-the one which made everything great and good that was reflected in it appear small and ugly, but which magnified all evil things until each blemish loomed large. Poor Kay! A fragment had pierced his heart as well, and soon it would turn into a lump of ice. The pain had stopped, but the glass was still there.

“Why should you be crying?” he asked. “It makes you look so ugly. There’s nothing the matter with me.” And suddenly he took it into his head to say:

“Ugh! that rose is all worm-eaten. And look, this one is crooked. And these roses, they are just as ugly as they can be. They look like the boxes they grow in.” He gave the boxes a kick, and broke off both of the roses.

“Kay! what are you doing?” the little girl cried. When he saw how it upset her, he broke off another rose and then leaped home through his own window, leaving dear little Gerda all alone.

Afterwards, when she brought out her picture book, he said it was fit only for babes in the cradle. And whenever Grandmother told stories, he always broke in with a “but-.” If he could manage it he would steal behind her, perch a pair of spectacles on his nose, and imitate her. He did this so cleverly that it made everybody laugh, and before long he could mimic the walk and the talk of everyone who lived on that street. Everything that was odd or ugly about them, Kay could mimic so well that people said, “That boy has surely got a good head on him!” But it was the glass in his eye and the glass in his heart that made him tease even little Gerda, who loved him with all her soul.

Now his games were very different from what they used to be. They became more sensible. When the snow was flying about one wintry day, he brought a large magnifying glass out of doors and spread the tail of his blue coat to let the snowflakes fall on it.

“Now look through the glass,” he told Gerda. Each snowflake seemed much larger, and looked like a magnificent flower or a ten-pointed star. It was marvelous to look at.

“Look, how artistic!” said Kay. “They are much more interesting to look at than real flowers, for they are absolutely perfect. There isn’t a flaw in them, until they start melting.”

A little while later Kay came down with his big gloves on his hands and his sled on his back. Right in Gerda’s ear he bawled out, “I’ve been given permission to play in the big square where the other boys are!” and away he ran.

In the square some of the more adventuresome boys would tie their little sleds on behind the farmer’s carts, to be pulled along for quite a distance. It was wonderful sport. While the fun was at its height, a big sleigh drove up. It was painted entirely white, and the driver wore a white, shaggy fur cloak and a white, shaggy cap. As the sleigh drove twice around the square, Kay quickly hooked his little sled behind it, and down the street they went, faster and faster. The driver turned around in a friendly fashion and nodded to Kay, just as if they were old acquaintances. Every time Kay started to unfasten his little sleigh, its driver nodded again, and Kay held on, even when they drove right out through the town gate.

Then the snow began to fall so fast that the boy could not see his hands in front of him, as they sped on. He suddenly let go the slack of the rope in his hands, in order so get loose from the big sleigh, but it did no good. His little sled was tied on securely, and they went like the wind. He gave a loud shout, but nobody heard him. The snow whirled and the sleigh flew along. Every now and then it gave a jump, as if it were clearing hedges and ditches. The boy was terror-stricken. He tried to say his prayers, but all he could remember was his multiplication tables.

The snowflakes got bigger and bigger, until they looked like big white hens. All of a sudden the curtain of snow parted, and the big sleigh stopped and the driver stood up. The fur coat and the cap were made of snow, and it was a woman, tall and slender and blinding white-she was the Snow Queen herself.

“We have made good time,” she said. “Is it possible that you tremble from cold? Crawl under my bear coat.” She took him up in the sleigh beside her, and as she wrapped the fur about him he felt as if he were sinking into a snowdrift.

“Are you still cold?” she asked, and kissed him on the forehead. Brer-r-r. That kiss was colder than ice. He felt it right down to his heart, half of which was already an icy lump. He felt as if he were dying, but only for a moment. Then he felt quite comfortable, and no longer noticed the cold.

“My sled! Don’t forget my sled!” It was the only thing he thought of. They tied it to one of the white hens, which flew along after them with the sled on its back. The Snow Queen kissed Kay once more, and then he forgot little Gerda, and Grandmother, and all the others at home.

“You won’t get any more kisses now,” she said, “or else I should kiss you to death.” Kay looked at her. She was so beautiful! A cleverer and prettier face he could not imagine. She no longer seemed to be made of ice, as she had seemed when she sat outside his window and beckoned to him. In his eyes she was perfect, and she was not at all afraid. He told her how he could do mental arithmetic even with fractions, and that he knew the size and population of all the countries. She kept on smiling, and he began to be afraid that he did not know as much as he thought he did. He looked up at the great big space overhead, as she flew with him high up on the black clouds, while the storm whistled and roared as if it were singing old ballads.

They flew over forests and lakes, over many a land and sea. Below them the wind blew cold, wolves howled, and black crows screamed as they skimmed across the glittering snow. But up above the moon shone bright and large, and on it Kay fixed his eyes throughout that long, long winter night. By day he slept at the feet of the Snow Queen.

Third Story

The Flower Garden of the Woman Skilled in Magic

How did little Gerda get along when Kay did not come back? Where could he be? Nobody knew. Nobody could give them any news of him. All that the boys could say was that they had seen him hitch his little sled to a fine big sleigh, which had driven down the street and out through the town gate. Nobody knew what had become of Kay. Many tears were shed, and little Gerda sobbed hardest of all. People said that he was dead-that he must have been drowned in the river not far from town. Ah, how gloomy those long winter days were!

But spring and its warm sunshine came at last.

“Kay 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.

“We don’t believe it,” they sang. Finally little Gerda began to disbelieve it too. One morning she said to herself:

“I’ll put on my new red shoes, the ones Kay has never seen, and I’ll go down by the river to ask about him.”

It was very early in the morning. She kissed her old grandmother, who was still asleep, put on her red shoes, and all by herself she hurried out through the town gate and down to the river.

“Is it true that you have taken my own little playmate? I’ll give you my red shoes if you will bring him back to me.”

It seemed to her that the waves nodded very strangely. So she took off her red shoes that were her dearest possession, and threw them into the river. But they fell near the shore, and the little waves washed them right back to her. It seemed that the river could not take her dearest possession, because it did not have little Kay. However, she was afraid that she had not thrown them far enough, so she clambered into a boat that lay among the reeds, walked to the end of it, and threw her shoes out into the water again. But the boat was not tied, and her movements made it drift away from the bank. She realized this, and tried to get ashore, but by the time she reached the other end of the boat it was already more than a yard from the bank, and was fast gaining speed.

Little Gerda was so frightened that she began to cry, and no one was there to hear her except the sparrows. They could not carry her to land, but they flew along the shore twittering, “We are here! Here we are!” as if to comfort her. The boat drifted swiftly down the stream, and Gerda sat there quite still, in her stocking feet. Her little red shoes floated along behind, but they could not catch up with her because the boat was gathering headway. It was very pretty on both sides of the river, where the flowers were lovely, the trees were old, and the hillsides afforded pasture for cattle and sheep. But not one single person did Gerda see.

“Perhaps the river will take me to little Kay,” she thought, and that made her feel more cheerful. She stood up and watched the lovely green banks for hour after hour.

Then she came to a large cherry orchard, in which there was a little house with strange red and blue windows. It had a thatched roof, and outside it stood two wooden soldiers, who presented arms to everyone who sailed past.

Gerda thought they were alive, and called out to them, but of course they did not answer her. She drifted quite close to them as the current drove the boat toward the bank. Gerda called even louder, and an old, old woman came out of the house. She leaned on a crooked stick; she had on a big sun hat, and on it were painted the most glorious flowers.

“You poor little child!” the old woman exclaimed. “However did you get lost on this big swift river, and however did you drift so far into the great wide world?” The old woman waded right into the water, caught hold of the boat with her crooked stick, pulled it in to shore, and lifted little Gerda out of it.

Gerda was very glad to be on dry land again, but she felt a little afraid of this strange old woman, who said to her:

“Come and tell me who you are, and how you got here.” Gerda told her all about it. The woman shook her head and said, “Hmm, hmm!” And when Gerda had told her everything and asked if she hadn’t seen little Kay, the woman said he had not yet come by, but that he might be along any day now. And she told Gerda not to take it so to heart, but to taste her cherries and to look at her flowers. These were more beautiful than any picture book, and each one had a story to tell. Then she led Gerda by the hand into her little house, and the old woman locked the door.

The windows were placed high up on the walls, and through their red, blue, and yellow panes the sunlight streamed in a strange mixture of all the colors there are. But on the table were the most delicious cherries, and Gerda, who was no longer afraid, ate as many as she liked. While she was eating them, the old woman combed her hair with a golden comb. Gerda’s pretty hair fell in shining yellow ringlets on either side of a friendly little face that was as round and blooming as a rose.

“I’ve so often wished for a dear little girl like you,” the old woman told her. “Now you’ll see how well the two of us will get along.” While her hair was being combed, Gerda gradually forgot all about Kay, for the old woman was skilled in magic. But she was not a wicked witch. She only dabbled in magic to amuse herself, but she wanted very much to keep little Gerda. So she went out into her garden and pointed her crooked stick at all the rose bushes. In the full bloom of their beauty, all of them sank down into the black earth, without leaving a single trace behind. The old woman was afraid that if Gerda saw them they would remind her so strongly of her own roses, and of little Kay, that she would run away again.

Then Gerda was led into the flower garden. How fragrant and lovely it was! Every known flower of every season was there in full bloom. No picture book was ever so pretty and gay. Gerda jumped for joy, and played in the garden until the sun went down behind the tall cherry trees. Then she was tucked into a beautiful bed, under a red silk coverlet quilted with blue violets. There she slept, and there she dreamed as gloriously as any queen on her wedding day.

The next morning she again went out into the warm sunshine to play with the flowers-and this she did for many a day. Gerda knew every flower by heart, and, plentiful though they were, she always felt that there was one missing, but which one she didn’t quite know. One day she sat looking at the old woman’s sun hat, and the prettiest of all the flowers painted on it was a rose. The old woman had forgotten this rose on her hat when she made the real roses disappear in the earth. But that’s just the sort of thing that happens when one doesn’t stop to think.

“Why aren’t there any roses here?” said Gerda. She rushed out among the flower beds, and she looked and she looked, but there wasn’t a rose to be seen. Then she sat down and cried. But her hot tears fell on the very spot where a rose bush had sunk into the ground, and when her warm tears moistened the earth the bush sprang up again, as full of blossoms as when it disappeared. Gerda hugged it, and kissed the roses. She remembered her own pretty roses, and thought of little Kay.

“Oh how long I have been delayed,” the little girl said. “I should have been looking for Kay. Don’t you know where he is?” she asked the roses. “Do you think that he is dead and gone?”

“He isn’t dead,” the roses told her. “We have been down in the earth where the dead people are, but Kay is not there.”

“Thank you,” said little Gerda, who went to all the other flowers, put her lips near them and asked, “Do you know where little Kay is?”

But every flower stood in the sun, and dreamed its own fairy tale, or its story. Though Gerda listened to many, many of them, not one of the flowers knew anything about Kay.

What did the tiger lily say?

“Do you hear the drum? Boom, boom! It was only two notes, always boom, boom! Hear the women wail. Hear the priests chant. The Hindoo woman in her long red robe stands on the funeral pyre. The flames rise around her and her dead husband, but the Hindoo woman is thinking of that living man in the crowd around them. She is thinking of him whose eyes are burning hotter than the flames-of him whose fiery glances have pierced her heart more deeply than these flames that soon will burn her body to ashes. Can the flame of the heart die in the flame of the funeral pyre?”

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

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

What did the trumpet flower say?

“An ancient castle rises high from a narrow path in the mountains. The thick ivy grows leaf upon leaf where it climbs to the balcony. There stands a beautiful maiden. She leans out over the balustrade to look down the path. No rose on its stem is as graceful as she, nor is any apple blossom in the breeze so light. Hear the rustle of her silk gown, sighing, ‘Will he never come?'”

“Do you mean Kay?” little Gerda asked.

“I am talking about my story, my own dream,” the trumpet flower replied.

What did the little snowdrop say?

“Between the trees a board hangs by two ropes. It is a swing. Two pretty little girls, with frocks as white as snow, and long green ribbons fluttering from their hats, are swinging. Their brother, who is bigger than they are, stands behind them on the swing, with his arms around the ropes to hold himself. In one hand he has a little cup, and in the other a clay pipe. He is blowing soap bubbles, and as the swing flies the bubbles float off in all their changing colors. The last bubble is still clinging to the bowl of his pipe, and fluttering in the air as the swing sweeps to and fro. A little black dog, light as a bubble, is standing on his hind legs and trying to get up in the swing. But it does not stop. High and low the swing flies, until the dog loses his balance, barks, and loses his temper. They tease him, and the bubble bursts. A swinging board pictured in a bubble before it broke-that is my story.”

“It may be a very pretty story, but you told it very sadly and you didn’t mention Kay at all.”

What did the hyacinths say?

“There were three sisters, quite transparent and very fair. One wore a red dress, the second wore a blue one, and the third went all in white. Hand in hand they danced in the clear moonlight, beside a calm lake. They were not elfin folk. They were human beings. The air was sweet, and the sisters disappeared into the forest. The fragrance of the air grew sweeter. Three coffins, in which lie the three sisters, glide out of the forest and across the lake. The fireflies hover about them like little flickering lights. Are the dancing sisters sleeping or are they dead? The fragrance of the flowers says they are dead, and the evening bell tolls for their funeral.”

“You are making me very unhappy,” little Gerda said. “Your fragrance is so strong that I cannot help thinking of those dead sisters. Oh, could little Kay really be dead? The roses have been down under the ground, and they say no.”

“Ding, dong,” tolled the hyacinth bells. “We do not toll for little Kay. We do not know him. We are simply singing our song-the only song we know.”

And Gerda went on to the buttercup that shone among its glossy green leaves.

“You are like a bright little sun,” said Gerda. “Tell me, do you know where I can find my playmate?”

And the buttercup shone brightly as it looked up at Gerda. But what sort of song would a buttercup sing? It certainly wouldn’t be about Kay.

“In a small courtyard, God’s sun was shining brightly on the very first day of spring. Its beams glanced along the white wall of the house next door, and close by grew the first yellow flowers of spring shining like gold in the warm sunlight. An old grandmother was sitting outside in her chair. Her granddaughter, a poor but very pretty maidservant, had just come home for a little visit. She kissed her grandmother, and there was gold, a heart full of gold, in that kiss. Gold on her lips, gold in her dreams, and gold above in the morning beams. There, I’ve told you my little story,” said the buttercup.

“Oh, my poor old Grandmother,” said Gerda. “She will miss me so. She must be grieving for me as much as she did for little Kay. But I’ll soon go home again, and I’ll bring Kay with me. There’s no use asking the flowers about him. They don’t know anything except their own songs, and they haven’t any news for me.”

Then she tucked up her little skirts so that she could run away faster, but the narcissus tapped against her leg as she was jumping over it. So she stopped and leaned over the tall flower.

“Perhaps you have something to tell me,” she said.

What did the narcissus say?

“I can see myself! I can see myself! Oh, how sweet is my own fragrance! Up in the narrow garret there is a little dancer, half dressed. First she stands on one leg. Then she stands on both, and kicks her heels at the whole world. She is an illusion of the stage. She pours water from the teapot over a piece of cloth she is holding-it is her bodice. Cleanliness is such a virtue! Her white dress hangs from a hook. It too has been washed in the teapot, and dried on the roof. She puts it on, and ties a saffron scarf around her neck to make the dress seem whiter. Point your toes! See how straight she balances on that single stem. I can see myself! I can see myself!”

“I’m not interested,” said Gerda. “What a thing to tell me about!”

She ran to the end of the garden, and though the gate was fastened she worked the rusty latch till it gave way and the gate flew open. Little Gerda scampered out into the wide world in her bare feet. She looked back three times, but nobody came after her. At last she could run no farther, and she sat down to rest on a big stone, and when she looked up she saw that summer had gone by, and it was late in the fall. She could never have guessed it inside the beautiful garden where the sun was always shining, and the flowers of every season were always in full bloom.

“Gracious! how long I’ve dallied,” Gerda said. “Fall is already here. I can’t rest any longer.”

She got up to run on, but how footsore and tired she was! And how cold and bleak everything around her looked! The long leaves of the willow tree had turned quite yellow, and damp puffs of mist dropped from them like drops of water. One leaf after another fell to the ground. Only the blackthorn still bore fruit, and its fruit was so sour that it set your teeth on edge.

Oh, how dreary and gray the wide world looked.

Fourth Story

The Prince and the Princess

The next time that Gerda was forced to rest, a big crow came hopping across the snow in front of her. For a long time he had been watching her and cocking his head to one side, and now he said, “Caw, caw! Good caw day!” He could not say it any better, but he felt kindly inclined toward the little girl, and asked her where she was going in the great wide world, all alone. Gerda understood him when he said “alone,” and she knew its meaning all too well. She told the crow the whole story of her life, and asked if he hadn’t seen Kay. The crow gravely nodded his head and cawed, “Maybe I have, maybe I have!”

“What! do you really think you have?” the little girl cried, and almost hugged the crow to death as she kissed him.

“Gently, gently!” said the crow. “I think that it may have been little Kay that I saw, but if it was, then he has forgotten you for the Princess.”

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

“Yes. Listen!” said the crow. “But it is so hard for me to speak your language. If you understand crow talk, I can tell you much more easily.”

“I don’t know that language,” said Gerda. “My grandmother knows it, just as well as she knows baby talk, and I do wish I had learned it.”

“No matter,” said the crow. “I’ll tell you as well as I can, though that won’t be any too good.” And he told her all that he knew.

“In the kingdom where we are now, there is a Princess who is uncommonly clever, and no wonder. She has read all the newspapers in the world and forgotten them again – that’s how clever she is. Well, not long ago she was sitting on her throne. That’s by no means as much fun as people suppose, so she fell to humming an old tune, and the refrain of it happened to run:

“Why, oh, why, shouldn’t I get married?”

” ‘Why, that’s an idea!’ said she. And she made up her mind to marry as soon as she could find the sort of husband who could give a good answer when anyone spoke to him, instead of one of those fellows who merely stand around looking impressive, for that is so tiresome. She had the drums drubbed to call together all her ladies-in-waiting, and when they heard what she had in mind they were delighted.

” ‘Oh, we like that!’ they said. ‘We were just thinking the very same thing.’

“Believe me,” said the crow, “every word I tell you is true. I have a tame ladylove who has the run of the palace, and I had the whole story straight from her.” Of course his ladylove was also a crow, for birds of a feather will flock together.

“The newspapers immediately came out with a border of hearts and the initials of the Princess, and you could read an announcement that any presentable young man might go to the palace and talk with her. The one who spoke best, and who seemed most at home in the palace, would be chosen by the Princess as her husband.

“Yes, yes,” said the crow, “believe me, that’s as true as it is that here I sit. Men flocked to the palace, and there was much crowding and crushing, but on neither the first nor the second day was anyone chosen. Out in the street they were all glib talkers, but after they entered the palace gate where the guardsmen were stationed in their silver-braided uniforms, and after they climbed up the staircase lined with footmen in gold-embroidered livery, they arrived in the brilliantly lighted reception halls without a word to say. And when they stood in front of the Princess on her throne, the best they could do was to echo the last word of her remarks, and she didn’t care to hear it repeated.

“It was just as if everyone in the throne room had his stomach filled with snuff and had fallen asleep; for as soon as they were back in the streets there was no stopping their talk.

“The line of candidates extended all the way from the town gates to the palace. I saw them myself,” said the crow. “They got hungry and they got thirsty, but from the palace they got nothing-not even a glass of lukewarm water. To be sure, some of the clever candidates had brought sandwiches with them, but they did not share them with their neighbors. Each man thought, ‘Just let him look hungry, then the Princess won’t take him!’ ”

“But Kay, little Kay,” Gerda interrupted, “when did he come? Was he among those people?”

“Give me time, give me time! We are just coming to him. On the third day a little person, with neither horse nor carriage, strode boldly up to the palace. His eyes sparkled the way yours do, and he had handsome long hair, but his clothes were poor.”

“Oh, that was Kay!” Gerda said, and clapped her hands in glee. “Now I’ve found him.”

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

“No, that must have been his sled,” said Gerda. “He was carrying it when he went away.”

“Maybe so,” the crow said. “I didn’t look at it carefully. But my tame ladylove told me that when he went through the palace gates and saw the guardsmen in silver, and on the staircase the footmen in gold, he wasn’t at all taken aback. He nodded and he said to them:

” ‘It must be very tiresome to stand on the stairs. I’d rather go inside.’

“The halls were brilliantly lighted. Ministers of state and privy councilors were walking about barefooted, carrying golden trays in front of them. It was enough to make anyone feel solemn, and his boots creaked dreadfully, but he wasn’t a bit afraid.”

“That certainly must have been Kay,” said Gerda. “I know he was wearing new boots. I heard them creaking in Grandmother’s room.”

“Oh, they creaked all right,” said the crow. “But it was little enough he cared as he walked straight to the Princess, who was sitting on a pearl as big as a spinning wheel. All the ladies-in-waiting with their attendants and their attendants’ attendants, and all the lords-in-waiting with their gentlemen and their gentlemen’s men, each of whom had his page with him, were standing there, and the nearer they stood to the door the more arrogant they looked. The gentlemen’s men’s pages, who always wore slippers, were almost too arrogant to look as they stood at the threshold.”

“That must have been terrible!” little Gerda exclaimed. “And yet Kay won the Princess?”

“If I weren’t a crow, I would have married her myself, for all that I’m engaged to another. They say he spoke as well as I do when I speak my crow language. Or so my tame ladylove tells me. He was dashing and handsome, and he was not there to court the Princess but to hear her wisdom. This he liked, and she liked him.”

“Of course it was Kay,” said Gerda. “He was so clever that he could do mental arithmetic even with fractions. Oh, please take me to the palace.”

“That’s easy enough to say,” said the crow, “but how can we manage it? I’ll talk it over with my tame ladylove, and she may be able to suggest something, but I must warn you that a little girl like you will never be admitted.”

“Oh, yes I shall,” said Gerda. “When Kay hears about me, he will come out to fetch me at once.”

“Wait for me beside that stile,” the crow said. He wagged his head and off he flew.

Darkness had set in when he got back.

“Caw, caw!” he said. “My ladylove sends you her best wishes, and here’s a little loaf of bread for you. She found it in the kitchen, where they have all the bread they need, and you must be hungry. You simply can’t get into the palace with those bare feet. The guardsmen in silver and the footmen in gold would never permit it. But don’t you cry. We’ll find a way. My ladylove knows of a little back staircase that leads up to the bedroom, and she knows where they keep the key to it.”

Then they went into the garden and down the wide promenade where the leaves were falling one by one. When, one by one, the lights went out in the palace, the crow led little Gerda to the back door, which stood ajar.

Oh, how her heart did beat with fear and longing. It was just as if she were about to do something wrong, yet she only wanted to make sure that this really was little Kay. Yes, truly it must be Kay, she thought, as she recalled his sparkling eyes and his long hair. She remembered exactly how he looked when he used to smile at her as they sat under the roses at home. Wouldn’t he be glad to see her! Wouldn’t he be interested in hearing how far she had come to find him, and how sad they had all been when he didn’t come home. She was so frightened, and yet so happy.

Now they were on the stairway. A little lamp was burning on a cupboard, and there stood the tame crow, cocking her head to look at Gerda, who made the curtsy that her grandmother had taught her.

“My fiancé has told me many charming things about you, dear young lady,” she said. “Your biography, as one might say, is very touching. Kindly take the lamp and I shall lead the way. We shall keep straight ahead, where we aren’t apt to run into anyone.”

“It seems to me that someone is on the stairs behind us,” said Gerda. Things brushed past, and from the shadows on the wall they seemed to be horses with spindly legs and waving manes. And there were shadows of huntsmen, ladies and gentlemen, on horseback.

“Those are only dreams,” said the crow. “They come to take the thoughts of their royal masters off to the chase. That’s just as well, for it will give you a good opportunity to see them while they sleep. But I trust that, when you rise to high position and power, you will show a grateful heart.”

“Tut tut! You’ve no need to say that,” said the forest crow.

Now they entered the first room. It was hung with rose-colored satin, embroidered with flowers. The dream shadows were flitting by so fast that Gerda could not see the lords and ladies. Hall after magnificent hall quite bewildered her, until at last they reached the royal bedroom.

The ceiling of it was like the top of a huge palm tree, with leaves of glass, costly glass. In the middle of the room two beds hung from a massive stem of gold. Each of them looked like a lily. One bed was white, and there lay the Princess. The other was red, and there Gerda hoped to find little Kay. She bent one of the scarlet petals and saw the nape of a little brown neck. Surely this must be Kay. She called his name aloud and held the lamp near him. The dreams on horseback pranced into the room again, as he awoke-and turned his head-and it was not little Kay at all.

The Prince only resembled Kay about the neck, but he was young and handsome. The Princess peeked out of her lily-white bed, and asked what had happened. Little Gerda cried and told them all about herself, and about all that the crows had done for her.

“Poor little thing,” the Prince and the Princess said. They praised the crows, and said they weren’t the least bit angry with them, but not to do it again. Furthermore, they should have a reward.

“Would you rather fly about without any responsibilities,” said the Princess, “or would you care to be appointed court crows for life, with rights to all scraps from the kitchen?”

Both the crows bowed low and begged for permanent office, for they thought of their future and said it was better to provide for their “old age,” as they called it.

The Prince got up, and let Gerda have his bed. It was the utmost that he could do. She clasped her little hands and thought, “How nice the people and the birds are.” She closed her eyes, fell peacefully asleep, and all the dreams came flying back again. They looked like angels, and they drew a little sled on which Kay sat. He nodded to her, but this was only in a dream, so it all disappeared when she woke up.

The next day she was dressed from her head to her heels in silk and in velvet too. They asked her to stay at the palace and have a nice time there, but instead she begged them to let her have a little carriage, a little horse, and a pair of little boots, so that she could drive out into the wide world to find Kay.

They gave her a pair of boots, and also a muff. They dressed her as nicely as could be and, when she was ready to go, there at the gate stood a brand new carriage of pure gold. On it the coat of arms of the Prince and the Princess glistened like a star.

The coachman, the footman, and the postilions-for postilions there were-all wore golden crowns. The Prince and the Princess themselves helped her into the carriage, and wished her Godspeed. The forest crow, who was now a married man, accompanied her for the first three miles, and sat beside Gerda, for it upset him to ride backward. The other crow stood beside the gate and waved her wings. She did not accompany them because she was suffering from a headache, brought on by eating too much in her new position. Inside, the carriage was lined with sugared cookies, and the seats were filled with fruit and gingerbread.

“Fare you well, fare you well,” called the Prince and Princess. Little Gerda cried and the crow cried too, for the first few miles. Then the crow said good-by, and that was the saddest leave-taking of all. He flew up into a tree and waved his big black wings as long as he could see the carriage, which flashed as brightly as the sun.

Fifth Story

The Little Robber Girl

The carriage rolled on into a dark forest. Like a blazing torch, it shone in the eyes of some robbers. They could not bear it.

“That’s gold! That’s gold!” they cried. They sprang forward, seized the horses, killed the little postilions, the coachman, and the footman, and dragged little Gerda out of the carriage.

“How plump and how tender she looks, just as if she’d been fattened on nuts!” cried the old robber woman, who had a long bristly beard, and long eyebrows that hung down over her eyes. “She looks like a fat little lamb. What a dainty dish she will be!” As she said this she drew out her knife, a dreadful, flashing thing.

“Ouch!” the old woman howled. At just that moment her own little daughter had bitten her ear. The little girl, whom she carried on her back, was a wild and reckless creature. “You beasty brat!” her mother exclaimed, but it kept her from using that knife on Gerda.

“She shall play with me,” said the little robber girl. “She must give me her muff and that pretty dress she wears, and sleep with me in my bed.” And she again gave her mother such a bite that the woman hopped and whirled around in pain. All the robbers laughed, and shouted:

“See how she dances with her brat.”

“I want to ride in the carriage,” the little robber girl said, and ride she did, for she was too spoiled and headstrong for words. She and Gerda climbed into the carriage and away they drove over stumps and stones, into the depths of the forest. The little robber girl was no taller than Gerda, but she was stronger and much broader in the shoulders. Her skin was brown and her eyes coal-black-almost sad in their expression. She put her arms around Gerda, and said:

“They shan’t kill you unless I get angry with you. I think you must be a Princess.”

“No, I’m not,” said little Gerda. And she told about all that had happened to her, and how much she cared for little Kay. The robber girl looked at her gravely, gave a little nod of approval, and told her:

“Even if I should get angry with you, they shan’t kill you, because I’ll do it myself!” Then she dried Gerda’s eyes, and stuck her own hands into Gerda’s soft, warm muff.

The carriage stopped at last, in the courtyard of a robber’s castle. The walls of it were cracked from bottom to top. Crows and ravens flew out of every loophole, and bulldogs huge enough to devour a man jumped high in the air. But they did not bark, for that was forbidden.

In the middle of the stone-paved, smoky old hall, a big fire was burning. The smoke of it drifted up to the ceiling, where it had to find its own way out. Soup was boiling in a big caldron, and hares and rabbits were roasting on the spit.

“Tonight you shall sleep with me and all my little animals,” the robber girl said. After they had something to eat and drink, they went over to a corner that was strewn with rugs and straw. On sticks and perches around the bedding roosted nearly a hundred pigeons. They seemed to be asleep, but they stirred just a little when the two little girls came near them.

“They are all mine, ” said the little robber girl. She seized the one that was nearest to her, held it by the legs and shook it until it flapped its wings. “Kiss it,” she cried, and thrust the bird in Gerda’s face. “Those two are the wild rascals,” she said, pointing high up the wall to a hole barred with wooden sticks. “Rascals of the woods they are, and they would fly away in a minute if they were not locked up.”

“And here is my old sweetheart, Bae,” she said, pulling at the horns of a reindeer that was tethered by a shiny copper ring around his neck. “We have to keep a sharp eye on him, or he would run away from us too. Every single night I tickle his neck with my knife blade, for he is afraid of that.” From a hole in the wall she pulled a long knife, and rubbed it against the reindeer’s neck. After the poor animal had kicked up its heals, the robber girl laughed and pulled Gerda down into the bed with her.

“Are you going to keep that knife in bed with you?” Gerda asked, and looked at it a little frightened.

“I always sleep with my knife,” the little robber girl said. “You never can tell what may happen. But let’s hear again what you told me before about little Kay, and about why you are wandering through the wide world.”

Gerda told the story all over again, while the wild pigeons cooed in their cage overhead, and the tame pigeons slept. The little robber girl clasped one arm around Gerda’s neck, gripped her knife in the other hand, fell asleep, and snored so that one could hear her. But Gerda could not close her eyes at all. She did not know whether she was to live or whether she was to die. The robbers sat around their fire, singing and drinking, and the old robber woman was turning somersaults. It was a terrible sight for a little girl to see.

Then the wood pigeons said, “Coo, coo. We have seen little Kay. A white hen was carrying his sled, and Kay sat in the Snow Queen’s sleigh. They swooped low, over the trees where we lay in our nest. The Snow Queen blew upon us, and all the young pigeons died except us. Coo, coo.”

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

“She was probably bound for Lapland, where they always have snow and ice. Why don’t you ask the reindeer who is tethered beside you?”

“Yes, there is ice and snow in that glorious land,” the reindeer told her. “You can prance about freely across those great, glittering fields. The Snow Queen has her summer tent there, but her stronghold is a castle up nearer the North Pole, on the island called Spitzbergen.”

“Oh, Kay, little Kay,” Gerda sighed.

“Lie still,” said the robber girl, “or I’ll stick my knife in your stomach.”

In the morning Gerda told her all that the wood pigeons had said. The little robber girl looked quite thoughtful. She nodded her head, and exclaimed, “Leave it to me! Leave it to me.

“Do you know where Lapland is?” she asked the reindeer.

“Who knows it better than I?” the reindeer said, and his eyes sparkled. “There I was born, there I was bred, and there I kicked my heels in freedom, across the fields of snow.”

“Listen!” the robber girl said to Gerda. “As you see, all the men are away. Mother is still here, and here she’ll stay, but before the morning is over she will drink out of that big bottle, and then she usually dozes off for a nap. As soon as that happens, I will do you a good turn.”

She jumped out of bed, rushed over and threw her arms around her mother’s neck, pulled at her beard bristles, and said, “Good morning, my dear nanny-goat.” Her mother thumped her nose until it was red and blue, but all that was done out of pure love.

As soon as the mother had tipped up the bottle and dozed off to sleep, the little robber girl ran to the reindeer and said, “I have a good notion to keep you here, and tickle you with my sharp knife. You are so funny when I do, but never mind that. I’ll untie your rope, and help you find your way outside, so that you can run back to Lapland. But you must put your best leg forward and carry this little girl to the Snow Queen’s palace, where her playmate is. I suppose you heard what she told me, for she spoke so loud, and you were eavesdropping.”

The reindeer was so happy that he bounded into the air. The robber girl hoisted little Gerda on his back, carefully tied her in place, and even gave her a little pillow to sit on. I don’t do things half way,” she said. “Here, take back your fur boots, for it’s going to be bitter cold. I’ll keep your muff, because it’s such a pretty one. But your fingers mustn’t get cold. Here are my mother’s big mittens, which will come right up to your elbows. Pull them on. Now your hands look just like my ugly mother’s big paws.”

And Gerda shed happy tears.

“I don’t care to see you blubbering,” said the little robber girl. “You ought to look pleased now. Here, take these two loaves of bread and this ham along, so that you won’t starve.”

When these provisions were tied on the back of the reindeer, the little robber girl opened the door and called in all the big dogs. Then she cut the tether with her knife and said to the reindeer, “Now run, but see that you take good care of the little girl.”

Gerda waved her big mittens to the little robber girl, and said good-by. then the reindeer bounded away, over stumps and stones, straight through the great forest, over swamps and across the plains, as fast as he could run. The wolves howled, the ravens shrieked, and ker-shew, ker-shew! the red streaks of light ripped through the heavens, with a noise that sounded like sneezing.

“Those are my old Northern Lights,” said the reindeer. “See how they flash.” And on he ran, faster than ever, by night and day. The loaves were eaten and the whole ham was eaten-and there they were in Lapland.

Sixth Story

The Lapp Woman and the Finn Woman

They stopped in front of the little hut, and a makeshift dwelling it was. The roof of it almost touched the ground, and the doorway was so low that the family had to lie on their stomachs to crawl in it or out of it. No one was at home except an old Lapp woman, who was cooking fish over a whale-oil lamp. The reindeer told her Gerda’s whole story, but first he told his own, which he thought was much more important. Besides, Gerda was so cold that she couldn’t say a thing.

“Oh, you poor creatures,” the Lapp woman said, “you’ve still got such a long way to go. Why, you will have to travel hundreds of miles into the Finmark. For it’s there that the Snow Queen is taking a country vacation, and burning her blue fireworks every evening. I’ll jot down a message on a dried codfish, for I haven’t any paper. I want you to take it to the Finn woman who lives up there. She will be able to tell you more about it than I can.”

As soon as Gerda had thawed out, and had had something to eat and drink, the Lapp woman wrote a few words on a dried codfish, told Gerda to take good care of it, and tied her again on the back of the reindeer. Off he ran, and all night long the skies crackled and swished as the most beautiful Northern Lights flashed over their heads. At last they came to the Finmark, and knocked at the Finn woman’s chimney, for she hadn’t a sign of a door. It was so hot inside that the Finn woman went about almost naked. She was small and terribly dowdy, but she at once helped little Gerda off with her mittens and boots, and loosened her clothes. Otherwise the heat would have wilted her. Then the woman put a piece of ice on the reindeer’s head, and read what was written on the codfish. She read it three times and when she knew it by heart, she put the fish into the kettle of soup, for they might as well eat it. She never wasted anything.

The reindeer told her his own story first, and then little Gerda’s. The Finn woman winked a knowing eye, but she didn’t say anything.

“You are such a wise woman,” said the reindeer, “I know that you can tie all the winds of the world together with a bit of cotton thread. If the sailor unties one knot he gets a favorable wind. If he unties another he gets a stiff gale, while if he unties the third and fourth knots such a tempest rages that it flattens the trees in the forest. Won’t you give this little girl something to drink that will make her as strong as twelve men, so that she may overpower the Snow Queen?”

“Twelve strong men,” the Finn woman sniffed. ” Much good that would be.”

She went to the shelf, took down a big rolled-up skin, and unrolled it. On this skin strange characters were written, and the Finn woman read them until the sweat rolled down her forehead.

The reindeer again begged her to help Gerda, and little Gerda looked at her with such tearful, imploring eyes, that the woman began winking again. She took the reindeer aside in a corner, and while she was putting another piece of ice on his head she whispered to him:

“Little Kay is indeed with the Snow Queen, and everything there just suits him fine. He thinks it is the best place in all the world, but that’s because he has a splinter of glass in his heart and a small piece of it in his eye. Unless these can be gotten out, he will never be human again, and the Snow Queen will hold him in her power.”

“But can’t you fix little Gerda something to drink which will give her more power than all those things?”

“No power that I could give could be as great as that which she already has. Don’t you see how men and beasts are compelled to serve her, and how far she has come in the wide world since she started out in her naked feet? We mustn’t tell her about this power. Strength lies in her heart, because she is such a sweet, innocent child. If she herself cannot reach the Snow Queen and rid little Kay of those pieces of glass, then there’s no help that we can give her. The Snow Queen’s garden lies about eight miles from here. You may carry the little girl there, and put her down by the big bush covered with red berries that grows on the snow. Then don’t you stand there gossiping, but hurry to get back here.”?

The Finn woman lifted little Gerda onto the reindeer, and he galloped away as fast as he could.

“Oh!” cried Gerda, “I forgot my boots and I forgot my mittens.” She soon felt the need of them in that knife-like cold, but the reindeer did not dare to stop. He galloped on until they came to the big bush that was covered with red berries. Here he set Gerda down and kissed her on the mouth, while big shining tears ran down his face. Then he ran back as fast as he could. Little Gerda stood there without boots and without mittens, right in the middle of icy Finmark.

She ran as fast as ever she could. A whole regiment of snowflakes swirled toward her, but they did not fall from the sky, for there was not a cloud up there, and the Northern Lights were ablaze.

The flakes skirmished along the ground, and the nearer they came the larger they grew. Gerda remembered how large and strange they had appeared when she looked at them under the magnifying glass. But here they were much more monstrous and terrifying. They were alive. They were the Snow Queen’s advance guard, and their shapes were most strange. Some looked like ugly, overgrown porcupines. Some were like a knot of snakes that stuck out their heads in every direction, and others were like fat little bears with every hair a-bristle. All of them were glistening white, for all were living snowflakes.

It was so cold that, as little Gerda said the Lord’s Prayer, she could see her breath freezing in front of her mouth, like a cloud of smoke. It grew thicker and thicker, and took the shape of little angels that grew bigger and bigger the moment they touched the ground. All of them had helmets on their heads and they carried shields and lances in their hands. Rank upon rank, they increased, and when Gerda had finished her prayer she was surrounded by a legion of angels. They struck the dread snowflakes with their lances and shivered them into a thousand pieces. Little Gerda walked on, unmolested and cheerful. The angels rubbed her hands and feet to make them warmer, and she trotted briskly along to the Snow Queen’s palace.

But now let us see how little Kay was getting on. Little Gerda was furthest from his mind, and he hadn’t the slightest idea that she was just outside the palace.

Seventh Story

What Happened in The Snow Queen’s Palace

and

What Came of it

The walls of the palace were driven snow. The windows and doors were the knife-edged wind. There were more than a hundred halls, shaped as the snow had drifted, and the largest of these extended for many a mile. All were lighted by the flare of the Northern Lights. All of the halls were so immense and so empty, so brilliant and so glacial! There was never a touch of gaiety in them; never so much as a little dance for the polar bears, at which the storm blast could have served for music, and the polar bears could have waddled about on their hind legs to show off their best manners. There was never a little party with such games as blind-bear’s buff or hide the paw-kerchief for the cubs, nor even a little afternoon coffee over which the white fox vixens could gossip. Empty, vast, and frigid were the Snow Queen’s halls. The Northern Lights flared with such regularity that you could time exactly when they would be at the highest and lowest. In the middle of the vast, empty hall of snow was a frozen lake. It was cracked into a thousand pieces, but each piece was shaped so exactly like the others that it seemed a work of wonderful craftsmanship. The Snow Queen sat in the exact center of it when she was at home, and she spoke of this as sitting on her “Mirror of Reason.” She said this mirror was the only one of its kind, and the best thing in all the world.

Little Kay was blue, yes, almost black, with the cold. But he did not feel it, because the Snow Queen had kissed away his icy tremblings, and his heart itself had almost turned to ice.

He was shifting some sharp, flat pieces of ice to and fro, trying to fit them into every possible pattern, for he wanted to make something with them. It was like the Chinese puzzle game that we play at home, juggling little flat pieces of wood about into special designs. Kay was cleverly arranging his pieces in the game of ice-cold reason. To him the patterns were highly remarkable and of the utmost importance, for the chip of glass in his eye made him see them that way. He arranged his pieces to spell out many words; but he could never find the way to make the one word he was so eager to form. The word was “Eternity.” The Snow Queen had said to him, “If you can puzzle that out you shall be your own master, and I’ll give you the whole world and a new pair of skates.” But he could not puzzle it out.

“Now I am going to make a flying trip to the warm countries,” the Snow Queen told him. “I want to go and take a look into the black caldrons.” She meant the volcanos of Etna and Vesuvius. “I must whiten them up a bit. They need it, and it will be such a relief after all those yellow lemons and purple grapes.”

And away she flew. Kay sat all alone in that endless, empty, frigid hall, and puzzled over the pieces of ice until he almost cracked his skull. He sat so stiff and still that one might have thought he was frozen to death.

All of a sudden, little Gerda walked up to the palace through the great gate which was a knife-edged wind. But Gerda said her evening prayer. The wind was lulled to rest, and the little girl came on into the vast, cold, empty hall. Then she saw Kay. She recognized him at once, and ran to throw her arms around him. She held him close and cried, “Kay, dearest little Kay! I’ve found you at last!”

But he sat still, and stiff, and cold. Gerda shed hot tears, and when they fell upon him they went straight to his heart. They melted the lump of ice and burned away the splinter of glass in it. He looked up at her, and she sang:

“Where roses bloom so sweetly in the vale, There shall you find the Christ Child, without fail.”

Kay burst into tears. He cried so freely that the little piece of glass in his eye was washed right out. “Gerda!” He knew her, and cried out in his happiness, “My sweet little Gerda, where have you been so long? And where have I been?” He looked around him and said, “How cold it is here! How enormous and empty!” He held fast to Gerda, who laughed until happy tears rolled down her cheeks. Their bliss was so heavenly that even the bits of glass danced about them and shared in their happiness. When the pieces grew tired, they dropped into a pattern which made the very word that the Snow Queen had told Kay he must find before he became his own master and received the whole world and a new pair of skates.

Gerda kissed his cheeks, and they turned pink again. She kissed his eyes, and they sparkled like hers. She kissed his hands and feet, and he became strong and well. The Snow Queen might come home now whenever she pleased, for there stood the order for Kay’s release, written in letters of shining ice.

Hand in hand, Kay and Gerda strolled out of that enormous palace. They talked about Grandmother, and about the roses on their roof. Wherever they went, the wind died down and the sun shone out. When they came to the bush that was covered with red berries, the reindeer was waiting to meet them. He had brought along a young reindeer mate who had warm milk for the children to drink, and who kissed them on the mouth. Then these reindeer carried Gerda and Kay first to the Finn woman. They warmed themselves in her hot room, and when she had given them directions for their journey home they rode on to the Lapp woman. She had made them new clothes, and was ready to take them along in her sleigh.

Side by side, the reindeer ran with them to the limits of the North country, where the first green buds were to be seen. Here they said good-by to the two reindeer and to the Lapp woman. “Farewell,” they all said.

Now the first little birds began to chirp, and there were green buds all around them in the forest. Through the woods came riding a young girl on a magnificent horse that Gerda recognized, for it had once been harnessed to the golden carriage. The girl wore a bright red cap on her head, and a pair of pistols in her belt. She was the little robber girl, who had grown tired of staying at home, and who was setting out on a journey to the North country. If she didn’t like it there, why, the world was wide, and there were many other places where she could go. She recognized Gerda at once, and Gerda knew her too. It was a happy meeting.

“You’re a fine one for gadding about,” she told little Kay. “I’d just like to know whether you deserve to have someone running to the end of the earth for your sake.”

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

“They are traveling in foreign lands,” the girl told her.

“And the crow?”

“Oh, the crow is dead,” she answered. “His tame ladylove is now a widow, and she wears a bit of black wool wrapped around her leg. She takes great pity on herself, but that’s all stuff and nonsense. Now tell me what has happened to you and how you caught up with Kay.”

Gerda and Kay told her their story.

“Snip snap snurre, basse lurre,” said the robber girl. “So everything came out all right.” She shook them by the hand, and promised that if ever she passed through their town she would come to see them. And then she rode away.

Kay and Gerda held each other by the hand. And as they walked along they had wonderful spring weather. The land was green and strewn with flowers, church bells rang, and they saw the high steeples of a big town. It was the one where they used to live. They walked straight to Grandmother’s house, and up the stairs, and into the room, where everything was just as it was when they left it. And the clock said tick-tock, and its hands were telling the time. But the moment they came in the door they noticed one change. They were grown-up now.

The roses on the roof looked in at the open window, and their two little stools were still out there. Kay and Gerda sat down on them, and held each other by the hand. Both of them had forgotten the icy, empty splendor of the Snow Queen’s palace as completely as if it were some bad dream. Grandmother sat in God’s good sunshine, reading to them from her Bible:

“Except ye become as little children, ye shall not enter into the Kingdom of Heaven.”

Kay and Gerda looked into each other’s eyes, and at last they understood the meaning of their old hymn:

“Where roses bloom so sweetly in the vale, There shall you find the Christ Child, without fail.”

And they sat there, grown-up, but children still-children at heart. And it was summer, warm, glorious summer.

About this fairy tale

The fairy tale The Snow Queen was first published 21 December 1844; Nye Eventyr. Første Bind. Anden Samling. (Danish title)

Original translation

Poor john was greatly troubled, because his father was very ill and could not recover. Except for these two, there was no one in their small room. The lamp on the table had almost burned out, for it was quite late at night.

You have been a good son, John,” his dying father said, “and the Lord will help you along in the world.” He looked at his son with earnest, gentle eyes, sighed deeply, and fell dead as if he were falling asleep.

John cried bitterly, for now he had no one in all the world, neither father nor mother, sister nor brother. Poor John! He knelt at the bedside, and kissed his dead father’s hand. He cried many salty tears, until at last his eyes closed, and he fell asleep with his head resting against the hard bed-stead.

Then he had a strange dream. He saw the sun and the moon bow down to him. He saw his father well again and strong, and heard him laughing as he always laughed when he was happy. A beautiful girl, with a crown of gold on her lovely long hair, stretched out her hand to John, and his father said, “See what a bride you have won. She is the loveliest girl in the world.” Then he awoke, and all these fine things were gone. His father lay cold and dead on the bed, and there was no one with them. Poor John!

The following week the dead man was buried. John walked close behind the coffin; he could no longer see his kind father, who had loved him so. He heard how they threw the earth down upon the coffin, and watched the last corner of it until a shovel of earth hid even that. He was so sad that he felt as if his heart were breaking in pieces. Then those around him sang a psalm which sounded so lovely that tears came to his eyes. He cried, and that did him good in his grief. The sun shone in its splendor down on the green trees, as if to say, “John, you must not be so unhappy. Look up and see how fair and blue the sky is. Your father is there, praying to the good Lord that things will always go well with you.”

“I’ll always be good,” John said. “Then I shall go to join my father in heaven. How happy we shall be to see each other again! How much I shall have to tell him, and how much he will have to show me and to teach me about the joys of heaven, just as he used to teach me here on earth. Oh, what joy that will be!”

He could see it all so clearly that he smiled, even though tears were rolling down his cheeks. The little birds up in the chestnut trees twittered, “Chirp, chirp! Chirp, chirp!” They were so happy and gay, for although they had attended a funeral they knew very well that the dead man had gone to heaven, where he now wore wings even larger and lovelier than theirs. They knew that he was happy now, because here on earth he had been a good man, and this made them glad.

John saw them fly from the green trees far out into the world, and he felt a great desire to follow them. But first he carved a large wooden cross to mark his father’s grave. When he took it there in the evening he found the grave neatly covered with sand and flowers. Strangers had done this, for they had loved the good man who now was dead.

Early the next morning, John packed his little bundle and tucked his whole inheritance into a money belt. All that he had was fifty dollars and a few pieces of silver, but with this he meant to set off into the world. But first he went to the churchyard, where he knelt and repeated the Lord’s Prayer over his father’s grave. Then he said, “Farewell, father dear! Ill always be good, so you may safely pray to our Lord that things will go well with me.”

The fields through which he passed were full of lovely flowers that flourished in the sunshine and nodded in the breeze, as if to say, “Welcome to the green pastures! Isn’t it nice here?” But John turned round for one more look at the old church where as a baby he had been baptised, and where he had gone with his father every Sunday to sing the hymns. High up, in one of the belfry windows, he saw the little church goblin with his pointed red cap, raising one arm to keep the sun out of his eyes. John nodded good-by to him, and the little goblin waved his red cap, put his hand on his heart, and kissed his finger tips to him again and again, to show that he wished John well and hoped that he would have a good journey.

As John thought of all the splendid things he would see in the fine big world ahead of him, he walked on and on – farther away than he had ever gone before. He did not even know the towns through which he passed, nor the people whom he met. He was far away among strangers.

The first night he slept under a haystack in the fields, for he had no other bed. But he thought it very comfortable, and the king himself could have no better. The whole field, the brook, the haystack, and the blue sky overhead, made a glorious bedroom. The green grass patterned with red and white flowers was his carpet. The elder bushes and hedges of wild roses were bouquets of flowers, and for his wash bowl he had the whole brook full of clear fresh water. The reeds nodded their heads to wish him both “Good night,” and “Good morning.” The moon was really a huge night lamp, high up in the blue ceiling where there was no danger of its setting fire to the bed curtains. John could sleep peacefully, and sleep he did, never once waking until the sun rose and all the little birds around him began singing, “Good morning! Good morning! Aren’t you up yet?”

The church bells rang, for it was Sunday. People went to hear the preacher, and John went with them. As he sang a hymn and listened to God’s Word, he felt just as if he were in the same old church where he had been baptised, and where he had sung the hymns with his father.

There were many, many graves in the churchyard, and some were overgrown with high grass. Then John thought of his own father’s grave and of how it too would come to look like these, now that he could no longer weed and tend it. So he knelt down to weed out the high grass. He straightened the wooden crosses that had fallen, and replaced the wreaths that the wind had blown from the graves. “Perhaps,” he thought, “someone will do the same for my fathers grave, now that I cannot take care of it.”

Outside the churchyard gate stood an old beggar, leaning on his crutch and John gave him the few pieces of silver that he had. Happy and high-spirited, John went farther on – out into the wide world. Toward nightfall the weather turned dreadfully stormy. John hurried along as – fast as he could to find shelter, but it soon grew dark. At last he came to a little church which stood very lonely upon a hill. Fortunately the door was ajar, and he slipped inside to stay until the storm abated.

“I’ll sit down here in the corner,” he said, “for I am very tired and need a little rest.” So he sat down, put his hands together, and said his evening prayer. Before he knew it he was fast asleep and dreaming, while it thundered and lightened outside.

When he woke up it was midnight. The storm had passed, and the moon shone upon him through the window. In the middle of the church stood an open coffin and in it lay a dead man, awaiting burial. John was not at all frightened. His conscience was clear, and he was sure that the dead do not harm anyone. It is the living who do harm, and two such harmful living men stood beside the dead one, who had been put here in the church until he could be buried. They had a vile scheme to keep him from resting quietly in his coffin. They intended to throw his body out of the church – the helpless dead man’s body.

Why do you want to do such a thing?” John asked. “It is a sin and a shame. In Heaven’s name, let the man rest.”

“Stuff and nonsense!” the two evil men exclaimed. “He cheated us. He owed us money which he could not pay, and now that he has cheated us by dying we shall not get a penny of it. So we intend to revenge ourselves. Like a dog he shall lie outside the church door.”

“I have only fifty dollars,” John cried. “It is my whole inheritance, but I’ll give it to you gladly if you will solemnly promise to let the poor dead man rest in peace. I can do without the money. I have my healthy, strong arms, and Heaven will always help me.”

“Why certainly,” the villainous fellows agreed. “If you are willing to pay his debt, we won’t lay a hand on him, you can count on that.”

They took the money he gave them and went away roaring with laughter at his simplicity. John laid the body straight again in its coffin, folded its hands, and took his leave. He went away through the great forest, very well pleased.

All around him, wherever moonlight fell between the trees, he saw little elves playing merrily. They weren’t disturbed when he came along because they knew he was a good and innocent fellow. It is only the wicked people who never are allowed to see the elves. Some of the elves were no taller than your finger, and their long yellow hair was done up with golden combs. Two by two, they seesawed on the big raindrops, which lay thick on the leaves and tall grass. Sometimes the drops rolled from under them, and then they tumbled down between the grass blades. The little manikins would laugh and made a great to-do about it, for it was a very funny sight. They sang, and John knew all their pretty little songs, which had been taught him when he was a small boy.

Big spotted spiders, wearing silver crowns, were kept busy spinning long bridges and palaces from one bush to another, and as the tiny dewdrops formed on these webs they sparkled like glass in the moonlight. All this went on until sunrise, when the little elves hid in the buds of flowers. Then the wind struck the bridges and palaces, which were swept away like cobwebs.

John had just come out of the forest, when behind him a man’s strong voice called out, “Ho there, comrade! Where are you bound?

“I’m bound for the wide world,” John told him. “I have neither father nor mother. I am a poor boy, but I am sure the Lord will look after me.”

“I am off to the wide world, too,” the stranger said. “Shall we keep each other company?”

“Yes indeed,” John replied. So they strode along together.

They got to like each other very much, for both of them were kindly. But John soon found that he was not nearly so wise as the stranger, who had seen most of the world, and knew how to tell about almost everything.

The sun was high in the heavens when they sat down under a big tree to eat their breakfast. Just then an old woman came hobbling along. Oh! she was so old that she bent almost double and walked with a crutch. On her back was a load of firewood she had gotten from the forest. Her apron was tied up and John could see these big bunches of fern fronds and willow switches sticking out. As she came near the two travelers, her foot slipped. She fell down, and screamed aloud, for the poor old woman had broken her leg.

John suggested that they carry the woman to her home right away, but the stranger opened up his knapsack and took out a little jar of salve, which he said would mend her leg completely and at once, so that she could walk straight home as well as if her leg had never been broken. But in return he asked for the three bunches of switches that she carried in her apron.

“That’s a very high price!” The old woman dubiously nodded her head. She did not want to give up the switches, but it was not very pleasant to lie there with a broken leg, so she let him have the three bunches. No sooner had he rubbed her with the salve than the old woman got to her feet and walked off much better than she had come – all this the salve could do. Obviously it was not the sort of thing you can buy from the apothecary.

“What on earth do you want with those bunches of switches?” John asked his companion.

“Oh, they are three nice bundles of herbs,” he said. “They just happened to strike my fancy, because I’m an odd sort of fellow.”

When they had gone on for quite a distance, John remarked, “See how dark the sky has grown. Those are dreadfully dense clouds.”

“No,” his comrade said, “those are not clouds. They are mountains – splendid high mountains, where you can get clear above the clouds into perfectly fresh air. It is glorious, believe me. Tomorrow we shall certainly be far up in the world.”

But they were not so near as they seemed to be. It took a whole day to reach the mountains, where the dark forests rose right up to the skies, and where the boulders were almost as large as a whole town. To climb over all of them would be heavy going indeed, so John and his companion went to an inn to rest and strengthen themselves for tomorrow’s journey.

Down in the big tap-room at the inn were many people, because a showman was there with a puppet-show. He had just set up his little theatre, and the people sat there waiting to see the play. Down in front, a burly old butcher had taken a seat, the very best one too, and his big bulldog – how vicious it looked – sat beside him, with his eyes popping as wide as everyone else’s.

Then the play started. It was a very pleasant play, all about a king and a queen who sat on a velvet throne. They wore gold crowns on their heads and long trains to their costumes, all of which they could very well afford. The prettiest little wooden dolls, with glass eyes and big mustaches, stood by to open and shut all the doors so that fresh air might come into the room. It was a very pleasant play, it wasn’t sad at all. But just as the queen rose and swept across the stage – heaven only knows what possessed the big bulldog to do it – as the fat butcher was not holding him, the dog made a jump right on to the stage, snatched up the queen by her slender waist, and crunched her until she cracked in pieces. It was quite tragic!

The poor showman was badly frightened, and quite upset about the queen; for she was his prettiest little puppet, and the ugly bulldog had bitten off her head. But after a while, when the audience had gone, the stranger who had come with John said that he could soon mend her. He produced his little jar, and rubbed the puppet with some of the ointment that had cured the poor old woman who had broken her leg. The moment the salve was applied to the puppet, she was as good as new – nay, better. She could even move by herself, and there was no longer any need to pull her strings. Except hat she could not speak, the puppet was just like a live woman. The showman was delighted that he didn’t have to pull strings for this puppet, who could dance by herself. None of the others could do that.

In the night, after everyone in the inn had gone to bed, someone was heard sighing so terribly, and the sighs went on for so long, that everybody got up to see who it could be. The showman went straight to his little theatre, because the sighs seemed to come from there. All the wooden puppets were in a heap, with the king and his attendants mixed all together, and it was they who sighed so profoundly. They looked so pleading with their big glass eyes, and all of them wanted to be rubbed a little, just as the queen had been, so that they too would be able to move by themselves. The queen went down on her knees and held out her lovely golden crown as if to say: “Take even this from me, if you will only rub my king and his courtiers.”

The poor showman felt so sorry for them that he could not keep back his tears. Immediately he promised the traveling companion to give him all the money he would take in at the next performance, if only he would anoint four or five of the nicest puppets. But the traveling companion said he would not take any payment, except the big sword that hung at the showman’s side. On receiving it he anointed six of the puppets, who began to dance so well that all the girls, the real live girls who were watching, began to dance too. The coachman danced with the cook, and the waiter with the chambermaid. All the guests joined the dance, and the shovel and tongs did too, but these fell down as soon as they took their first step. It was a lively night indeed!

Next morning, John and his companion set off up the lofty mountainside and through the vast pine forests. They climbed so high that at last the church towers down below looked like little red berries among all that greenery. They could see in the distance, many and many a mile away, places where neither of them had ever been. Never before had John seen so many of the glories of this lovely world at once. The sun shone bright in the clear blue air, and along the mountainside he could also hear the hunters sounding their horns. It was all so fair and sweet that tears came into his eyes, and he could not help crying out, “Almighty God, I could kiss your footsteps in thankfulness for all the splendors that you have given us in this world.”

His traveling companion also folded his hands and looked out over the woods and towns that lay before them in the warm sunlight. Just then they heard a wonderful sound overhead. They looked up, and saw a large white swan sweeping above them and singing as they had never before heard any bird sing. But the song became fainter and fainter, until the bird bowed his head and dropped slowly down dead at their feet – the lovely bird!

“Two such glorious wings!” said the traveling companion. “Wings so large and white as these are worth a good deal of money. I’ll take them with me. You can see now what a good thing it was that I got a sword.” With one stroke he cut off both wings of the dead swan, for he wanted to keep them.

They journeyed many and many a mile over the mountains, until at last they saw a great town rise before them, with more than a hundred towers that shone like silver in the sun. In the midst of the town there was a magnificent marble palace, with a roof of red gold. That was where the King lived.

John and his companion did not want to enter the town at once. They stopped at a wayside inn outside the town to put on fresh clothes, for they wanted to look presentable when they walked through the streets. The innkeeper told them what the King was a good man who never harmed anyone. But as for his daughter – Heaven help us – she was a bad Princess.

She was pretty enough. No one could be more lovely or more entertaining than she – but what good did that do? She was a wicked witch, who was responsible for many handsome Princes’ losing their lives. She had decreed that any man might come to woo her. Anybody might come, whether he were Prince or beggar, it made no difference to her, but he must guess the answer to three questions that she asked him. If he knew the answers, she would marry him and he would be King over all the land when her father died. But if he could not guess the right answers, she either had him hanged or had his head chopped off. That was how bad and wicked the beautiful Princess was.

The old King, her father, was terribly distressed about it, but he could not keep her from being so wicked, because he had once told her that he would never concern himself with her suitors – she could do as she liked with them. Whenever a Prince had come to win the Princess’s hand by making three guesses, he had failed. Then he was either hanged or beheaded, for each suitor was warned beforehand, when he was still free to abandon his courtship. The old King was so distressed by all this trouble and grief that for one entire day every year he and all his soldiers went down on their knees to pray that the Princess might reform; but she never would. As a sign of mourning, old women who drank schnapps would dye it black before they quaffed it – so deeply – did they mourn – and more than that they couldn’t do.

“That abominable Princess,” John said, “ought to be flogged. It would be just the thing for her, and if I were the old King I’d have her whipped till her blood ran.”

“Hurrah!” they heard people shout outside the inn. The Princess was passing by, and she was so very beautiful that everyone who saw her forgot how wicked she was, and everyone shouted “Hurrah.” Twelve lovely maidens, all dressed in white silk and carrying golden tulips, rode beside her on twelve coal-black horses. The Princess herself rode a snow-white horse, decorated with diamonds and rubies. Her riding costume was of pure gold, and the whip that she carried looked like a ray of sunlight. The gold crown on her head twinkled like the stars of heaven, and her cloak was made from thousands of bright butterfly wings. But she herself it; was far lovelier than all these things.

When John first set eyes on her, his face turned red – as red as blood – and he could hardly speak a single word. The Princess was the living image of the lovely girl with the golden crown, of whom he had dreamed on the night when his father died. He found the Princess so fair that he could not help falling in love with her.

“Surely,” he thought, “it can’t be true that she is a wicked witch who has people hanged or beheaded when they can’t guess what she asks them. Anyone at all may ask for her hand, even though he is the poorest beggar, so I really will go to the palace, for I cannot help doing it!

Everyone told him he ought not to try it, lest he meet with the same fate that had befallen the others. His traveling companion also tried to persuade him not to go, but John felt sure he would succeed. He brushed his shoes and his coat, washed his face and his hands, and combed his handsome blond hair. Then, all alone, he went through the town to the palace.

“Come in,” the old King said when John came knocking at his door. As John opened it the old King advanced to meet him, wearing a dressing gown and a pair of embroidered slippers. He had his crown on his head, his sceptre in one hand, and his orb in the other. “Just a minute,” he said, tucking the orb under his arm so that he could offer a hand to John. But the moment he heard that John had come as a suitor, he fell to sobbing so hard that both the orb and sceptre dropped to the floor, and he had to use his dressing gown to wipe his eyes. The poor old King!

“Don’t try it!” he said. “You will fare badly like all the others. Come, let me show them to you.”

Then he led John into the Princess’s pleasure garden, where he saw a fearful thing. From every tree hung three or four Kings’ sons who had been suitors of the Princess but had not been able to answer the questions she put to them. The skeletons rattled so in every breeze that they terrified the little birds, who never dared come to the garden. All the flowers were tied to human bones, and human skulls grinned up from every flower pot. What a charming garden for a Princess!

“There!” said the old King, “you see. It will happen to you as it happened to all these you see here. Please don’t try it. You would make me awfully unhappy, for I take these things deeply to heart.

John kissed the good old King’s hand, and said he was sure everything would go well; for he was infatuated with the Princess’s beauty. Just then the Princess and all of her ladies rode into the palace yard, so they went over to wish her good morning. She was lovely to look at, and when she held out her hand to John he fell in love more deeply than ever. How could she be such a wicked witch as all the people called her?

The whole party went to the palace hall, where little pages served them jam and gingerbread. But the old King was so miserable that he couldn’t eat anything at all. Besides, the gingerbread was too hard for his teeth.

It was arranged that John was to visit the palace again the following morning, when the judges and the full council would be assembled to hear how he made out with his answer. If he made out well he would have to come back two more times, but as yet no one had ever answered the first question, so they had forfeited their lives in the first attempt.

However, John was not at all afraid of his trial. Far from it! he was jubilant, and thought only of how lovely the Princess was. He felt sure that help would come to him, though he didn’t know how it would come, and he preferred not to think about it. He fairly danced along the road when he returned to the inn, where his comrade awaited him. John could not stop telling him how nicely the Princess had treated him, and how lovely she was. He said that he could hardly wait for tomorrow to come, when he would go to the palace and try his luck in guessing. But his comrade shook his head, and was very sad.

“I am so fond of you,” he said, “and we might have been comrades together for a long while to come, but now I am apt to lose you soon, poor, dear John! I feel like crying, but I won’t spoil your happiness this evening, which is perhaps the last one we shall ever spend together. We shall be as merry as merry can be, and tomorrow, when you are gone, I’ll have time enough for my tears.”

Everyone in the town had heard at once that the Princess had a new suitor, and therefore everyone grieved. The theatre was closed; the women who sold cakes tied crape around their sugar pigs; the King and the preachers knelt in the churches; and there was widespread lamentation. For they were all sure that John’s fate would be no better than that of all those others.

Late that evening, the traveling companion made a large bowl of punch, and said to John, “Now we must be merry and drink to the health of the Princess.” But when John had drunk two glasses of the punch he felt so sleepy that he couldn’t hold his eyes open, and he fell sound asleep. His comrade quietly lifted him from the chair and put him to bed. As soon as it was entirely dark he took the two large wings he had cut off the swan, and fastened them to his own shoulders. Then he put into his pocket the biggest bunch of switches that had been given him by the old woman who had: fallen and broken her leg. He opened the window and flew straight over the house tops to the palace, where he sat down in a corner under the window which looked into the Princess’s bedroom.

All was quiet in the town until the clock struck a quarter to twelve. Then the window opened and the Princess flew out of it, cloaked in white and wearing long black wings. She soared over the town to a high mountain, but the traveling companion had made himself invisible, so that she could not see him as he flew after her and lashed her so hard with his switch that he drew blood wherever he struck. Ah, how she fled through the air! The wind caught her cloak, which billowed out from her like a sail, and the moonlight shone through it.

“How it hails! how it hails!” the Princess cried at each blow, but it was no more than she deserved.

At last she came to the mountain and knocked on it. With a thunderous rumbling, the mountainside opened and the Princess went in. No one saw the traveling companion go in after her, for he had made himself completely invisible. They went down a big, long passage where the walls were lighted in a peculiar fashion. Thousands of glittering spiders ran along he walls and gave off a fiery glow. Then they entered a vast hall, built of silver and gold. Red and blue blossoms the size of sunflowers covered the walls, but no one could pick them, for the stems were ugly poisonous snakes, and the flowers were flames darting out between their fangs. The ceiling was alive with glittering glow-worms, and sky-blue bats that zapped their transparent wings. The place looked really terrible! A throne in the center of the floor was held up by four horse skeletons in a harness of fiery red spiders. The throne itself was of milk-colored glass, and its cushions consisted of little black mice biting each other’s tails. The canopy above it was made of rose-red spider webs, speckled with charming little green flies that sparkled like emeralds.

On the throne sat an old sorcerer, with a crown on his hideous head and a sceptre in his hand. He kissed the Princess on her forehead, and made her sit with him on the costly throne as the music struck up. Big black grasshoppers played upon mouth-harps, and the owl beat upon his own stomach, because he had no drum. It was a most fantastic concert! Many tiny goblins, with will-o’-the-wisps stuck in their little caps, capered around the hall. Nobody could see the traveling companion, who had placed himself behind the throne, where he could see and hear everything. The courtiers who now appeared seemed imposing and stately enough, but any-one with an observing eye could soon see what it all meant. They were mere cabbage heads stuck upon broomsticks, which the sorcerer had dressed in embroidered clothes and conjured into liveliness. But that didn’t matter, for they were only needed to keep up appearances.

After the dance had gone on for a while, the Princess told the sorcerer that she had a new suitor, and she asked what question she should put to him when he came to the palace tomorrow.

“Listen to me,” said the sorcerer, “I’ll tell you what; you must think of something commonplace and then he will never guess what it is. Think of one of your shoes. He won’t guess that. Then off with his head, and when you come tomorrow night remember to fetch me his eyes, so that I may eat them.”

The Princess made a low curtsey, and promised not to forget about the eyes. The sorcerer opened the mountain for her, and she flew homeward. But the traveling companion flew behind her and thrashed her so hard with his switch that she bitterly complained of the fearful hailstorm, and made all the haste she could to get back through the open window of her bedroom. The traveling companion flew back to the inn, where John was still asleep. Taking off the wings he tumbled into bed, for he had good reason to feel tired.

It was very early the next morning when John awoke. When his comrade arose he told John of a very strange dream he had had about the Princess and one of her shoes. He begged him to ask the Princess if she didn’t have one of her shoes in mind. This, of course, was what he had overheard the sorcerer say in the mountain, but he didn’t tell John about that. He merely told him to be sure to guess that the Princess had her shoe in mind.

“I may as well ask about that as anything else,” John agreed. “Maybe your dream was true, for I have always thought that God would look after me. However, I’ll be saying good-by, because if I guess wrong I shall never see you again.”

They embraced, and John went straight through the town and up to the palace. The whole hall was packed with people. The judges sat in their armchairs, with eiderdown pillows behind their heads because they had so much to think about, and the old King stood there wiping his eyes with a white handkerchief. Then the Princess entered. She was even lovelier than she was the day before, and she bowed to everyone in the most agreeable fashion. To John she held out her hand and wished him, “Good morning to you.”

John was required to guess what she had in mind. She looked at him most charmingly until she heard him say the one word “shoe.” Her face turned chalk-white and she trembled from head to foot. But there was nothing she could do about it. His guess was right.

Merciful Heavens! How glad the old King was. He turned heels over head for joy, and everyone applauded both his performance and that of John, who had guessed rightly the first time.

The traveling companion beamed with delight when he heard how well things had gone. But John clasped his hands together and thanked God, who he was sure would help him through the two remaining trials. The following day he was to guess again.

That evening went by just like the previous one. As soon as John was asleep, his comrade flew behind the Princess to the mountain and thrashed her even harder than before, for this time he had taken two scourges of switches. No one saw him, but he heard all that was said. The Princess was to think of her glove, and he told this to John as if he had dreamed it.

Naturally, John had no trouble in guessing correctly, and there was unbounded rejoicing in the palace. The whole court turned heels over head as they had seen the King do on the first occasion. But the Princess lay on her sofa, without a word to say. Now everything depended on John’s answer to the third question. If it was right, he would get the lovely Princess and inherit the whole kingdom after the old King died. But if he guessed wrong, he would forfeit his life, and the wizard would eat his beautiful blue eyes.

That evening John said his prayers, went to bed early, and fell serenely asleep. But his comrade tied the wings to his back, buckled the sword to his side, took all three scourges of switches, and flew off to the palace.

The night was pitch black. A gale blew so hard that it swept tiles from the roofs. In the garden where the skeletons dangled, the trees bent before the blast like reeds. Lightning flashed every moment, and thunder kept up one unbroken roar the whole night through. The window was flung open, and out flew the Princess. She was deathly pale, but she laughed at the weather and thought it was not bad enough. Her white cloak lashed about in the wind like the sail of a ship, and the traveling companion thrashed her with his three switches until blood dripped to the ground. She could scarcely fly any farther, but at last she came to the mountain.

“How it hails and blows!” she said. “I have never been out in such weather.”

“One may get too much of a good thing,” the sorcerer agreed.

Now she told him how John had guessed right a second time, and if he succeeded again tomorrow, then he won, and never again could she come out to him in the mountains. Never again could she perform such tricks of magic as before, and therefore she felt very badly about it.

“He won’t guess it this time,” said the sorcerer. “I shall hit upon something that he will never guess unless he’s a greater magician than I am. But first let’s have our fun.

He took the Princess by both hands, and they danced around with all the little goblins and will-o’-the-wisps that were in the hall. The red spiders spun merrily up and down the walls, the fiery flowers seemed to throw off sparks, the owl beat the drum, the crickets piped, and the black grasshoppers played on mouth organs. It was an extremely lively ball.

After they had danced a while the Princess had to start home, for fear that she might be missed at the castle. The sorcerer said he would go with her, to enjoy that much more of her company.

Away they flew through the storm, and the traveling companion wore out all three scourges on their backs. Never had the sorcerer felt such a hailstorm. As he said good-by to the Princess outside the palace, he whispered to her, “Think of my head.”

But the traveling companion overheard it, and just at the moment when the Princess slipped in through her window and the sorcerer was turning around, he caught him by his long black beard, and with the sword he cut the sorcerer’s ugly head off, right at the shoulders, so that the sorcerer himself didn’t even see it. He threw the body into the sea for the fishes to eat, but the head he only dipped in the water, wrapped it in his silk handkerchief, and took it back to the inn, where he lay down to sleep.

Next morning he gave John the handkerchief but told him not to open it until the Princess asked him to guess what she had thought about.

The hall was so full of people that they were packed together as closely as radishes tied together in a bundle. The judges sat in their chairs with the soft pillows. The old King had put on his new clothes, and his crown and sceptre had been polished to look their best. But the Princess was deathly pale, and she wore black, as if she were attending a funeral.

“Of what have I thought?” she asked John. He at once untied the handkerchief, and was quite frightened himself when he saw the sorcerer’s hideous head roll out of it. Everyone there shuddered at this terrible sight, but the Princess sat like stone, without a word to say. Finally she got up and gave John her hand, for his guess was good. She looked no one in the face, but sighed and said:

“You are my master now. Our wedding will be held this evening.”

“I like that!” the old King shouted. “This is as things should be.”

All the people shouted “Hurrah!” The military band played in the streets, the bells rang out, and the cake women took the crape off their sugar pigs, now that everyone was celebrating. Three entire oxen stuffed with ducks and chickens were roasted whole in the center of the market square, and everyone could cut himself a piece of them. The fountains spurted up the best of wine. Whoever bought a penny bun at the bakery got six large buns thrown in for good measure, and all the buns had raisins in them.

That evening the entire town was illuminated. The soldiers fired their cannon, and the boys set off firecrackers. At the palace there was eating and drinking, dancing and the clinking of glasses. All the lordly gentlemen and all the lovely ladies danced together. For a long way off you could hear them sing:

“Here are many pretty girls, and don’t they love to dance! See them hop and swing around whenever they’ve a chance. Dance! my pretty maid, anew, till the sole flies of your shoe.

But the Princess was still a witch, and she had no love for John at all. His comrade kept this in mind, and gave him three feathers from the swan’s wings, and a little bottle with a few drops of liquid in it. He said that John must put a large tub of water beside the Princess’s bed, and just as she was about to get in bed he must give her a little push, so that she would tumble into the tub. There he must dip her three times, after he had thrown the feathers and the drops of liquid into the water. That would free her from the spell of sorcery, and make her love him dearly.

John did everything his companion had advised him to do, though the Princess shrieked as he dipped her into the water, and struggled as he held her in the shape of a large black swan with flashing eyes. The second time, she came out of the water as a swan entirely white except for a black ring around its neck. John prayed hard, and as he forced the bird under the water once more it changed into the beautiful Princess. She was fairer than ever, and she thanked him with tears in her beautiful eyes for having set her free from the sorcerer’s spell.

In the morning the old King came with all his court, and congratulations lasted all through the day. Last of all came John’s traveling companion; he had his stick in his hand and the knapsack on his back. John embraced him time and again, and said that he must not leave-them. He must stay here with John, who owed all his happiness to him. But the traveling companion shook his head. Gently and kindly he said:

“No, my time is now up. I have done no more than pay my debt to you. Do you remember the dead man whom the wicked men wanted to harm? You gave all that you had so that he might have rest in his grave. I am that dead man.” And at once he disappeared.

The wedding celebration lasted a whole month. John and his Princess loved each other dearly, and the old King lived on for many a happy day to let their little children ride astride his knee and play with his sceptre. But it was John who was King over all the land.

About this story

The fairy tale The Traveling Companion was first published 16th December 1835;Eventyr, fortalte for Børn. Første Samling. Andet Hefte. (Danish title)