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The Snow Queen by Hans Christian Andersen.
Start of Story
'What!' said Gerda, 'are there no roses here?' and she sprang in among
the flower-beds and sought, but in vain! Her hot tears fell on the very
places where the roses used to be; when the warm drops moistened the
earth the rose-trees shot up again, just as full of bloom as when they
sank. Gerda embraced the roses and kissed them, and then she thought of
the lovely roses at home, and this brought the thought of little Kay.
'Oh, how I have been delayed,' said the little girl, 'I ought to have
been looking for Kay! Don't you know where he is?' she asked the roses.
'Do you think he is dead and gone?'
'He is not dead,' said the roses. 'For we have been down underground,
you know, and all the dead people are there, but Kay is not among them.'
'Oh, thank you!' said little Gerda, and then she went to the other
flowers and looked into their cups and said, 'Do you know where Kay is?'
But each flower stood in the sun and dreamt its own dreams. Little Gerda
heard many of these, but never anything about Kay.
And what said the Tiger lilies?
'Do you hear the drum? rub-a-dub, it has only two notes, rub-a-dub,
always the same. The wailing of women and the cry of the preacher. The
Hindu woman in her long red garment stands on the pile, while the flames
surround her and her dead husband. But the woman is only thinking of the
living man in the circle round, whose eyes burn with a fiercer fire than
that of the flames which consume the body. Do the flames of the heart
die in the fire?'
'I understand nothing about that,' said little Gerda.
'That is my story,' said the Tiger lily.
'What does the convolvulus say?'
'An old castle is perched high over a narrow mountain path, it is
closely covered with ivy, almost hiding the old red walls, and creeping
up leaf upon leaf right round the balcony where stands a beautiful
maiden. She bends over the balustrade and looks eagerly up the road. No
rose on its stem is fresher than she; no apple blossom wafted by the
wind moves more lightly. Her silken robes rustle softly as she bends
over and says, 'Will he never come?''
'Is it Kay you mean?' asked Gerda.
'I am only talking about my own story, my dream,' answered the
What said the little snowdrop?
'Between two trees a rope with a board is hanging; it is a swing. Two
pretty little girls in snowy frocks and green ribbons fluttering on
their hats are seated on it. Their brother, who is bigger than they are,
stands up behind them; he has his arms round the ropes for supports, and
holds in one hand a little bowl and in the other a clay pipe. He is
blowing soap-bubbles. As the swing moves the bubbles fly upwards in all
their changing colours, the last one still hangs from the pipe swayed by
the wind, and the swing goes on.
A little black dog runs up, he is almost as light as the bubbles, he stands up on his hind legs and wants
to be taken into the swing, but it does not stop. The little dog falls
with an angry bark; they jeer at it; the bubble bursts. A swinging
plank, a fluttering foam picture--that is my story!'
'I daresay what you tell me is very pretty, but you speak so sadly and
you never mention little Kay.'
What says the hyacinth?
'They were three beautiful sisters, all most delicate, and quite
transparent. One wore a crimson robe, the other a blue, and the third
was pure white. These three danced hand-in-hand, by the edge of the lake
in the moonlight. They were human beings, not fairies of the wood. The
fragrant air attracted them, and they vanished into the wood; here the
fragrance was stronger still. Three coffins glide out of the wood
towards the lake, and in them lie the maidens. The fire-flies flutter
lightly round them with their little flickering torches. Do these
dancing maidens sleep, or are they dead? The scent of the flower says
that they are corpses. The evening bell tolls their knell.'
'You make me quite sad,' said little Gerda; 'your perfume is so strong
it makes me think of those dead maidens. Oh, is little Kay really dead?
The roses have been down underground, and they say no.'
'Ding, dong,' tolled the hyacinth bells; 'we are not tolling for little
Kay; we know nothing about him. We sing our song, the only one we know.'
And Gerda went on to the buttercups shining among their dark green
'You are a bright little sun,' said Gerda. 'Tell me if you know where I
shall find my playfellow.'
The buttercup shone brightly and returned Gerda's glance. What song
could the buttercup sing? It would not be about Kay.
'God's bright sun shone into a little court on the first day of spring.
The sunbeams stole down the neighbouring white wall, close to which
bloomed the first yellow flower of the season; it shone like burnished
gold in the sun. An old woman had brought her arm-chair out into the
sun; her granddaughter, a poor and pretty little maid-servant, had come
to pay her a short visit, and she kissed her. There was gold, heart's
gold, in the kiss. Gold on the lips, gold on the ground, and gold above,
in the early morning beams! Now that is my little story,' said the
'Oh, my poor old grandmother!' sighed Gerda. 'She will be longing to see
me, and grieving about me, as she did about Kay. But I shall soon go
home again and take Kay with me. It is useless for me to ask the flowers
about him. They only know their own stories, and have no information to
Then she tucked up her little dress, so that she might run the faster;
but the narcissus blossoms struck her on the legs as she jumped over
them, so she stopped and said, 'Perhaps you can tell me something.'
She stooped down close to the flower and listened. What did it say?
'I can see myself, I can see myself,' said the narcissus. 'Oh, how sweet
is my scent. Up there in an attic window stands a little dancing girl
half dressed; first she stands on one leg, then on the other, and looks
as if she would tread the whole world under her feet. She is only a
delusion. She pours some water out of a teapot on to a bit of stuff that
she is holding; it is her bodice. "Cleanliness is a good thing," she
says. Her white dress hangs on a peg; it has been washed in the teapot,
too, and dried on the roof. She puts it on, and wraps a saffron-coloured
scarf round her neck, which makes the dress look whiter. See how high
she carries her head, and all upon one stem. I see myself, I see
'I don't care a bit about all that,' said Gerda; 'it's no use telling me
And then she ran to the end of the garden. The door was fastened, but
she pressed the rusty latch, and it gave way. The door sprang open, and
little Gerda ran out with bare feet into the wide world. She looked back
three times, but nobody came after her. At last she could run no
further, and she sat down on a big stone. When she looked round she saw
that the summer was over; it was quite late autumn. She would never have
known it inside the beautiful garden, where the sun always shone, and
the flowers of every season were always in bloom.
'Oh, how I have wasted my time,' said little Gerda. 'It is autumn. I
must not rest any longer,' and she got up to go on.
Oh, how weary and sore were her little feet, and everything round looked
so cold and dreary. The long willow leaves were quite yellow. The damp
mist fell off the trees like rain, one leaf dropped after another from
the trees, and only the sloe-thorn still bore its fruit; but the sloes
were sour and set one's teeth on edge. Oh, how grey and sad it looked,
out in the wide world.