Andersen's Fairy Tales
recounted: and the more he related, the more he remembered himself; and
it appeared as if those times had really been happy times. “But they may
still come--they may still come! Humpy-Dumpy fell downstairs, and yet
he got a princess!” and he thought at the moment of a nice little Birch
Tree growing out in the woods: to the Fir, that would be a real charming
princess.
“Who is Humpy-Dumpy?” asked the Mice. So then the Fir Tree told the
whole fairy tale, for he could remember every single word of it; and the
little Mice jumped for joy up to the very top of the Tree. Next night
two more Mice came, and on Sunday two Rats even; but they said the
stories were not interesting, which vexed the little Mice; and they,
too, now began to think them not so very amusing either.
“Do you know only one story?” asked the Rats.
“Only that one,” answered the Tree. “I heard it on my happiest evening;
but I did not then know how happy I was.”
“It is a very stupid story! Don't you know one about bacon and tallow
candles? Can't you tell any larder stories?”
“No,” said the Tree.
“Then good-bye,” said the Rats; and they went home.
At last the little Mice stayed away also; and the Tree sighed: “After
all, it was very pleasant when the sleek little Mice sat round me, and
listened to what I told them. Now that too is over. But I will take good
care to enjoy myself when I am brought out again.”
But when was that to be? Why, one morning there came a quantity of
people and set to work in the loft. The trunks were moved, the tree was
pulled out and thrown--rather hard, it is true--down on the floor, but a
man drew him towards the stairs, where the daylight shone.
“Now a merry life will begin again,” thought the Tree. He felt the fresh
air, the first sunbeam--and now he was out in the courtyard. All passed
so quickly, there was so much going on around him, the Tree quite forgot
to look to himself. The court adjoined a garden, and all was in flower;
the roses hung so fresh and odorous over the balustrade, the lindens
were in blossom, the Swallows flew by, and said, “Quirre-vit! My husband
is come!” but it was not the Fir Tree that they meant.
“Now, then, I shall really enjoy life,” said he exultingly, and spread
out his branches; but, alas, they were all withered and yellow! It was
in a corner that he lay, among weeds and nettles. The golden star of
tinsel was still on the top of the Tree, and glittered in the sunshine.
In the court-yard some of the merry children were playing who had danced
at Christmas round the Fir Tree, and were so glad at the sight of him.
One of the youngest ran and tore off the golden star.
“Only look what is still on the ugly old Christmas tree!” said he,
trampling on the branches, so that they all cracked beneath his feet.
And the Tree beheld all the beauty of the flowers, and the freshness in
the garden; he beheld himself, and wished he had remained in his dark
corner in the loft; he thought of his first youth in the wood, of the
merry Christmas-eve, and of the little Mice who had listened with so
much pleasure to the story of Humpy-Dumpy.
“'Tis over--'tis past!” said the poor Tree. “Had I but rejoiced when I
had reason to do so! But now 'tis past, 'tis past!”
And the gardener's boy chopped the Tree into small pieces; there was a
whole heap lying there. The wood flamed up splendidly under the large
brewing copper, and it sighed so deeply! Each sigh was like a shot.
The boys played about in the court, and the youngest wore the gold star
on his breast which the Tree had had on the happiest evening of his
life. However, that was over now--the Tree gone, the story at an end.
All, all was over--every tale must end at last.
THE SNOW QUEEN
FIRST STORY. Which Treats of a Mirror and of the Splinters
Now then, let us begin. When we are at the end of the story, we shall
know more than we know now: but to begin.
Once upon a time there was a wicked sprite, indeed he was the most
mischievous of all sprites. One day he was in a very good humor, for
he had made a mirror with the power of causing all that was good and
beautiful when it was reflected therein, to look poor and mean; but
that which was good-for-nothing and looked ugly was shown magnified
and increased in ugliness. In this mirror the most beautiful landscapes
looked like boiled spinach, and the best persons were turned into
frights, or appeared to stand on their heads; their faces were so
distorted that they were not to be recognised; and if anyone had a mole,
you might be sure that it would be magnified and spread over both nose
and mouth.
“That's glorious fun!” said the sprite. If a good thought passed through
a man's mind, then a grin was seen in the mirror, and the sprite laughed
heartily at his clever discovery. All the little sprites who went to his
school--for he kept a sprite school--told each other that a miracle had
happened; and that now only, as they thought, it would be possible to
see how the world really looked. They ran about with the mirror; and at
last there was not a land or a person who was not represented distorted
in the mirror. So then they thought they would fly up to the sky,
and have a joke there. The higher they flew with the mirror, the more
terribly it grinned: they could hardly hold it fast. Higher and higher
still they flew, nearer and nearer to the stars, when suddenly the
mirror shook so terribly with grinning, that it flew out of their hands
and fell to the earth, where it was dashed in a hundred million and more
pieces. And now it worked much more evil than before; for some of these
pieces were hardly so large as a grain of sand, and they flew about in
the wide world, and when they got into people's eyes, there they stayed;
and then people saw everything perverted, or only had an eye for that
which was evil. This happened because the very smallest bit had the
same power which the whole mirror had possessed. Some persons even got
a splinter in their heart, and then it made one shudder, for their heart
became like a lump of ice. Some of the broken pieces were so large that
they were used for windowpanes, through which one could not see one's
friends. Other pieces were put in spectacles; and that was a sad affair
when people put on their glasses to see well and rightly. Then the
wicked sprite laughed till he almost choked, for all this tickled his
fancy. The fine splinters still flew about in the air: and now we shall
hear what happened next.
SECOND STORY. A Little Boy and a Little Girl
In a large town, where there are so many houses, and so many people,
that there is no roof left for everybody to have a little garden; and
where, on this account, most persons are obliged to content themselves
with flowers in pots; there lived two little children, who had a garden
somewhat larger than a flower-pot. They were not brother and sister; but
they cared for each other as much as if they were. Their parents lived
exactly opposite. They inhabited two garrets; and where the roof of the
one house joined that of the other, and the gutter ran along the extreme
end of it, there was to each house a small window: one needed only to
step over the gutter to get from one window to the other.
The children's parents had large wooden boxes there, in which vegetables
for the kitchen were planted, and little rosetrees besides: there was a
rose in each box, and they grew splendidly. They now thought of placing
the boxes across the gutter, so that they nearly reached from one window
to the other, and looked just like two walls of flowers. The tendrils
of the peas hung down over the boxes; and the rose-trees shot up long
branches, twined round the windows, and then bent towards each other: it
was almost like a triumphant arch of foliage and flowers. The boxes were
very high, and the children knew that they must not creep over them; so
they often obtained permission to get out of the windows to each other,
and to sit on their little stools among the roses, where they could play
delightfully. In winter there was an end of this pleasure. The windows
were often frozen over; but then they heated copper farthings on the
stove, and laid the hot farthing on the windowpane, and then they had a
capital peep-hole, quite nicely rounded; and out of each peeped a gentle
friendly eye--it was the little boy and the little girl who were looking
out. His name was Kay, hers was Gerda. In summer, with one jump, they
could get to each other; but in winter they were obliged first to
go down the long stairs, and then up the long stairs again: and
out-of-doors there was quite a snow-storm.
“It is the white bees that are swarming,” said Kay's old grandmother.
“Do the white bees choose a queen?” asked the little boy; for he knew
that the honey-bees always have one.
“Yes,” said the grandmother, “she flies where the swarm hangs in the
thickest clusters. She is the largest of all; and she can never remain
quietly on the earth, but goes up again into the black clouds. Many a
winter's night she flies through the streets of the town, and peeps in
at the windows; and they then freeze in so wondrous a manner that they
look like flowers.”
“Yes, I have seen it,” said both the children; and so they knew that it
was true.
“Can the Snow Queen come in?” said the little girl.
“Only let her come in!” said the little boy. “Then I'd put her on the
stove, and she'd melt.”
And then his grandmother patted his head and told him other stories.
In the evening, when little Kay was at home, and half undressed, he
climbed up on the chair by the window, and peeped out of the little
hole. A few snow-flakes were falling, and one, the largest of all,
remained lying on the edge of a flower-pot.
The flake of snow grew larger and larger; and at last it was like a
young lady, dressed in the finest white gauze, made of a million little
flakes like stars. She was so beautiful and delicate, but she was of
ice, of dazzling, sparkling ice; yet she lived; her eyes gazed fixedly,
like two stars; but there was neither quiet nor repose in them. She
nodded towards the window, and beckoned with her hand. The little boy
was frightened, and jumped down from the chair; it seemed to him as if,
at the same moment, a large bird flew past the window.
The next day it was a sharp frost--and then the spring came; the sun
shone, the green leaves appeared, the swallows built their nests, the
windows were opened, and the little children again sat in their pretty
garden, high up on the leads at the top of the house.
That summer the roses flowered in unwonted beauty. The little girl had
learned a hymn, in which there was something about roses; and then she
thought of her own flowers; and she sang the verse to the little boy,
who then sang it with her:
“The rose in the valley is blooming so sweet,
And angels descend there the children to greet.”
And the children held each other by the hand, kissed the roses, looked
up at the clear sunshine, and spoke as though they really saw angels
there. What lovely summer-days those were! How delightful to be out in
the air, near the fresh rose-bushes, that seem as if they would never
finish blossoming!
Kay and Gerda looked at the picture-book full of beasts and of birds;
and it was then--the clock in the church-tower was just striking
five--that Kay said, “Oh! I feel such a sharp pain in my heart; and now
something has got into my eye!”
The little girl put her arms around his neck. He winked his eyes; now
there was nothing to be seen.
“I think it is out now,” said he; but it was not. It was just one of
those pieces of glass from the magic mirror that had got into his eye;
and poor Kay had got another piece right in his heart. It will soon
become like ice. It did not hurt any longer, but there it was.