Andersen's Fairy Tales
“You shall sleep with me to-night, with all my animals,” said the little
robber maiden. They had something to eat and drink; and then went into
a corner, where straw and carpets were lying. Beside them, on laths and
perches, sat nearly a hundred pigeons, all asleep, seemingly; but yet
they moved a little when the robber maiden came. “They are all mine,”
said she, at the same time seizing one that was next to her by the legs
and shaking it so that its wings fluttered. “Kiss it,” cried the little
girl, and flung the pigeon in Gerda's face. “Up there is the rabble of
the wood,” continued she, pointing to several laths which were fastened
before a hole high up in the wall; “that's the rabble; they would all
fly away immediately, if they were not well fastened in. And here is my
dear old Bac”; and she laid hold of the horns of a reindeer, that had a
bright copper ring round its neck, and was tethered to the spot. “We are
obliged to lock this fellow in too, or he would make his escape. Every
evening I tickle his neck with my sharp knife; he is so frightened at
it!” and the little girl drew forth a long knife, from a crack in the
wall, and let it glide over the Reindeer's neck. The poor animal kicked;
the girl laughed, and pulled Gerda into bed with her.
“Do you intend to keep your knife while you sleep?” asked Gerda; looking
at it rather fearfully.
“I always sleep with the knife,” said the little robber maiden. “There
is no knowing what may happen. But tell me now, once more, all about
little Kay; and why you have started off in the wide world alone.” And
Gerda related all, from the very beginning: the Wood-pigeons cooed above
in their cage, and the others slept. The little robber maiden wound her
arm round Gerda's neck, held the knife in the other hand, and snored so
loud that everybody could hear her; but Gerda could not close her eyes,
for she did not know whether she was to live or die. The robbers sat
round the fire, sang and drank; and the old female robber jumped about
so, that it was quite dreadful for Gerda to see her.
Then the Wood-pigeons said, “Coo! Coo! We have seen little Kay! A white
hen carries his sledge; he himself sat in the carriage of the Snow
Queen, who passed here, down just over the wood, as we lay in our nest.
She blew upon us young ones; and all died except we two. Coo! Coo!”
“What is that you say up there?” cried little Gerda. “Where did the Snow
Queen go to? Do you know anything about it?”
“She is no doubt gone to Lapland; for there is always snow and ice
there. Only ask the Reindeer, who is tethered there.”
“Ice and snow is there! There it is, glorious and beautiful!” said the
Reindeer. “One can spring about in the large shining valleys! The Snow
Queen has her summer-tent there; but her fixed abode is high up towards
the North Pole, on the Island called Spitzbergen.”
“Oh, Kay! Poor little Kay!” sighed Gerda.
“Do you choose to be quiet?” said the robber maiden. “If you don't, I
shall make you.”
In the morning Gerda told her all that the Wood-pigeons had said; and
the little maiden looked very serious, but she nodded her head, and
said, “That's no matter--that's no matter. Do you know where Lapland
lies!” she asked of the Reindeer.
“Who should know better than I?” said the animal; and his eyes rolled in
his head. “I was born and bred there--there I leapt about on the fields
of snow.”
“Listen,” said the robber maiden to Gerda. “You see that the men are
gone; but my mother is still here, and will remain. However, towards
morning she takes a draught out of the large flask, and then she sleeps
a little: then I will do something for you.” She now jumped out of bed,
flew to her mother; with her arms round her neck, and pulling her by the
beard, said, “Good morrow, my own sweet nanny-goat of a mother.” And her
mother took hold of her nose, and pinched it till it was red and blue;
but this was all done out of pure love.
When the mother had taken a sup at her flask, and was having a nap, the
little robber maiden went to the Reindeer, and said, “I should very much
like to give you still many a tickling with the sharp knife, for then
you are so amusing; however, I will untether you, and help you out,
so that you may go back to Lapland. But you must make good use of your
legs; and take this little girl for me to the palace of the Snow Queen,
where her playfellow is. You have heard, I suppose, all she said; for
she spoke loud enough, and you were listening.”
The Reindeer gave a bound for joy. The robber maiden lifted up little
Gerda, and took the precaution to bind her fast on the Reindeer's back;
she even gave her a small cushion to sit on. “Here are your worsted
leggins, for it will be cold; but the muff I shall keep for myself, for
it is so very pretty. But I do not wish you to be cold. Here is a pair
of lined gloves of my mother's; they just reach up to your elbow. On
with them! Now you look about the hands just like my ugly old mother!”
And Gerda wept for joy.
“I can't bear to see you fretting,” said the little robber maiden. “This
is just the time when you ought to look pleased. Here are two loaves and
a ham for you, so that you won't starve.” The bread and the meat were
fastened to the Reindeer's back; the little maiden opened the door,
called in all the dogs, and then with her knife cut the rope that
fastened the animal, and said to him, “Now, off with you; but take good
care of the little girl!”
And Gerda stretched out her hands with the large wadded gloves towards
the robber maiden, and said, “Farewell!” and the Reindeer flew on over
bush and bramble through the great wood, over moor and heath, as fast as
he could go.
“Ddsa! Ddsa!” was heard in the sky. It was just as if somebody was
sneezing.
“These are my old northern-lights,” said the Reindeer, “look how they
gleam!” And on he now sped still quicker--day and night on he went: the
loaves were consumed, and the ham too; and now they were in Lapland.
SIXTH STORY. The Lapland Woman and the Finland Woman
Suddenly they stopped before a little house, which looked very
miserable. The roof reached to the ground; and the door was so low, that
the family were obliged to creep upon their stomachs when they went in
or out. Nobody was at home except an old Lapland woman, who was dressing
fish by the light of an oil lamp. And the Reindeer told her the whole
of Gerda's history, but first of all his own; for that seemed to him of
much greater importance. Gerda was so chilled that she could not speak.
“Poor thing,” said the Lapland woman, “you have far to run still. You
have more than a hundred miles to go before you get to Finland; there
the Snow Queen has her country-house, and burns blue lights every
evening. I will give you a few words from me, which I will write on a
dried haberdine, for paper I have none; this you can take with you to
the Finland woman, and she will be able to give you more information
than I can.”
When Gerda had warmed herself, and had eaten and drunk, the Lapland
woman wrote a few words on a dried haberdine, begged Gerda to take care
of them, put her on the Reindeer, bound her fast, and away sprang the
animal. “Ddsa! Ddsa!” was again heard in the air; the most charming
blue lights burned the whole night in the sky, and at last they came to
Finland. They knocked at the chimney of the Finland woman; for as to a
door, she had none.
There was such a heat inside that the Finland woman herself went about
almost naked. She was diminutive and dirty. She immediately loosened
little Gerda's clothes, pulled off her thick gloves and boots; for
otherwise the heat would have been too great--and after laying a piece
of ice on the Reindeer's head, read what was written on the fish-skin.
She read it three times: she then knew it by heart; so she put the fish
into the cupboard--for it might very well be eaten, and she never threw
anything away.
Then the Reindeer related his own story first, and afterwards that of
little Gerda; and the Finland woman winked her eyes, but said nothing.
“You are so clever,” said the Reindeer; “you can, I know, twist all the
winds of the world together in a knot. If the seaman loosens one knot,
then he has a good wind; if a second, then it blows pretty stiffly; if
he undoes the third and fourth, then it rages so that the forests are
upturned. Will you give the little maiden a potion, that she may possess
the strength of twelve men, and vanquish the Snow Queen?”
“The strength of twelve men!” said the Finland woman. “Much good that
would be!” Then she went to a cupboard, and drew out a large skin rolled
up. When she had unrolled it, strange characters were to be seen written
thereon; and the Finland woman read at such a rate that the perspiration
trickled down her forehead.
But the Reindeer begged so hard for little Gerda, and Gerda looked so
imploringly with tearful eyes at the Finland woman, that she winked, and
drew the Reindeer aside into a corner, where they whispered together,
while the animal got some fresh ice put on his head.
“'Tis true little Kay is at the Snow Queen's, and finds everything there
quite to his taste; and he thinks it the very best place in the world;
but the reason of that is, he has a splinter of glass in his eye, and in
his heart. These must be got out first; otherwise he will never go back
to mankind, and the Snow Queen will retain her power over him.”
“But can you give little Gerda nothing to take which will endue her with
power over the whole?”
“I can give her no more power than what she has already. Don't you see
how great it is? Don't you see how men and animals are forced to serve
her; how well she gets through the world barefooted? She must not hear
of her power from us; that power lies in her heart, because she is
a sweet and innocent child! If she cannot get to the Snow Queen by
herself, and rid little Kay of the glass, we cannot help her. Two miles
hence the garden of the Snow Queen begins; thither you may carry the
little girl. Set her down by the large bush with red berries, standing
in the snow; don't stay talking, but hasten back as fast as possible.”
And now the Finland woman placed little Gerda on the Reindeer's back,
and off he ran with all imaginable speed.
“Oh! I have not got my boots! I have not brought my gloves!” cried
little Gerda. She remarked she was without them from the cutting frost;
but the Reindeer dared not stand still; on he ran till he came to the
great bush with the red berries, and there he set Gerda down, kissed her
mouth, while large bright tears flowed from the animal's eyes, and then
back he went as fast as possible. There stood poor Gerda now, without
shoes or gloves, in the very middle of dreadful icy Finland.
She ran on as fast as she could. There then came a whole regiment of
snow-flakes, but they did not fall from above, and they were quite
bright and shining from the Aurora Borealis. The flakes ran along
the ground, and the nearer they came the larger they grew. Gerda well
remembered how large and strange the snow-flakes appeared when she
once saw them through a magnifying-glass; but now they were large and
terrific in another manner--they were all alive. They were the outposts
of the Snow Queen. They had the most wondrous shapes; some looked like
large ugly porcupines; others like snakes knotted together, with their
heads sticking out; and others, again, like small fat bears, with the
hair standing on end: all were of dazzling whiteness--all were living
snow-flakes.
Little Gerda repeated the Lord's Prayer. The cold was so intense that
she could see her own breath, which came like smoke out of her mouth. It
grew thicker and thicker, and took the form of little angels, that grew
more and more when they touched the earth. All had helms on their heads,