No More Learning

He was quite hoarse, and
could not pronounce "Bow wow" properly. He had once been an indoor
dog, and lay by the fire, and he had been hoarse ever since. "The
sun will make you run some day. I saw him, last winter, make your
predecessor run, and his predecessor before him. Away, away, they
all have to go. "

"I don't understand you, comrade," said the Snow Man. "Is that
thing up yonder to teach me to run? I saw it running itself a little
while ago, and now it has come creeping up from the other side.

"You know nothing at all," replied the yard-dog; "but then, you've
only lately been patched up. What you see yonder is the moon, and
the one before it was the sun. It will come again to-morrow, and
most likely teach you to run down into the ditch by the well; for I
think the weather is going to change. I can feel such pricks and stabs
in my left leg; I am sure there is going to be a change. "

"I don't understand him," said the Snow Man to himself; "but I
have a feeling that he is talking of something very disagreeable.
The one who stared so just now, and whom he calls the sun, is not my
friend; I can feel that too. "

"Away, away," barked the yard-dog, and then he turned round
three times, and crept into his kennel to sleep.

There was really a change in the weather. Towards morning, a thick
fog covered the whole country round, and a keen wind arose, so that
the cold seemed to freeze one's bones; but when the sun rose, the
sight was splendid. Trees and bushes were covered with hoar frost, and
looked like a forest of white coral; while on every twig glittered
frozen dew-drops. The many delicate forms concealed in summer by
luxuriant foliage, were now clearly defined, and looked like
glittering lace-work. From every twig glistened a white radiance.
The birch, waving in the wind, looked full of life, like trees in
summer; and its appearance was wondrously beautiful. And where the sun
shone, how everything glittered and sparkled, as if diamond dust had
been strewn about; while the snowy carpet of the earth appeared as
if covered with diamonds, from which countless lights gleamed,
whiter than even the snow itself.

"This is really beautiful," said a young girl, who had come into
the garden with a young man; and they both stood still near the Snow
Man, and contemplated the glittering scene. "Summer cannot show a more
beautiful sight," she exclaimed, while her eyes sparkled.

"And we can't have such a fellow as this in the summer time,"
replied the young man, pointing to the Snow Man; "he is capital. "

The girl laughed, and nodded at the Snow Man, and then tripped
away over the snow with her friend. The snow creaked and crackled
beneath her feet, as if she had been treading on starch.

"Who are these two? " asked the Snow Man of the yard-dog. "You have
been here longer than I have; do you know them? "

"Of course I know them," replied the yard-dog; "she has stroked my
back many times, and he has given me a bone of meat. I never bite
those two. "

"But what are they? " asked the Snow Man.

"They are lovers," he replied; "they will go and live in the
same kennel by-and-by, and gnaw at the same bone. Away, away! "

"Are they the same kind of beings as you and I? " asked the Snow
Man.

"Well, they belong to the same master," retorted the yard-dog.
"Certainly people who were only born yesterday know very little. I can
see that in you. I have age and experience. I know every one here in
the house, and I know there was once a time when I did not lie out
here in the cold, fastened to a chain. Away, away! "

"The cold is delightful," said the Snow Man; "but do tell me
tell me; only you must not clank your chain so; for it jars all
through me when you do that. "

"Away, away! " barked the yard-dog; "I'll tell you; they said I was
a pretty little fellow once; then I used to lie in a velvet-covered
chair, up at the master's house, and sit in the mistress's lap. They
used to kiss my nose, and wipe my paws with an embroidered
handkerchief, and I was called 'Ami, dear Ami, sweet Ami. ' But after a
while I grew too big for them, and they sent me away to the
housekeeper's room; so I came to live on the lower story. You can look
into the room from where you stand, and see where I was master once;
for I was indeed master to the housekeeper. It was certainly a smaller
room than those up stairs; but I was more comfortable; for I was not
being continually taken hold of and pulled about by the children as
I had been. I received quite as good food, or even better. I had my
own cushion, and there was a stove--it is the finest thing in the
world at this season of the year. I used to go under the stove, and
lie down quite beneath it. Ah, I still dream of that stove. Away,
away! "

"Does a stove look beautiful? " asked the Snow Man, "is it at all
like me? "

"It is just the reverse of you," said the dog; "it's as black as a
crow, and has a long neck and a brass knob; it eats firewood, so
that fire spurts out of its mouth. We should keep on one side, or
under it, to be comfortable. You can see it through the window, from
where you stand. "

Then the Snow Man looked, and saw a bright polished thing with a
brazen knob, and fire gleaming from the lower part of it. The Snow Man
felt quite a strange sensation come over him; it was very odd, he knew
not what it meant, and he could not account for it. But there are
people who are not men of snow, who understand what it is. "'And why
did you leave her? " asked the Snow Man, for it seemed to him that
the stove must be of the female sex. "How could you give up such a
comfortable place? "

"I was obliged," replied the yard-dog. "They turned me out of
doors, and chained me up here. I had bitten the youngest of my
master's sons in the leg, because he kicked away the bone I was
gnawing. 'Bone for bone,' I thought; but they were so angry, and
from that time I have been fastened with a chain, and lost my bone.
Don't you hear how hoarse I am. Away, away! I can't talk any more like
other dogs. Away, away, that is the end of it all. "

But the Snow Man was no longer listening. He was looking into
the housekeeper's room on the lower storey; where the stove stood on
its four iron legs, looking about the same size as the Snow Man
himself. "What a strange crackling I feel within me," he said.
"Shall I ever get in there? It is an innocent wish, and innocent
wishes are sure to be fulfilled. I must go in there and lean against
her, even if I have to break the window. "

"You must never go in there," said the yard-dog, "for if you
approach the stove, you'll melt away, away. "

"I might as well go," said the Snow Man, "for I think I am
breaking up as it is. "

During the whole day the Snow Man stood looking in through the
window, and in the twilight hour the room became still more
inviting, for from the stove came a gentle glow, not like the sun or
the moon; no, only the bright light which gleams from a stove when
it has been well fed. When the door of the stove was opened, the
flames darted out of its mouth; this is customary with all stoves. The
light of the flames fell directly on the face and breast of the Snow
Man with a ruddy gleam. "I can endure it no longer," said he; "how
beautiful it looks when it stretches out its tongue? "

The night was long, but did not appear so to the Snow Man, who
stood there enjoying his own reflections, and crackling with the cold.
In the morning, the window-panes of the housekeeper's room were
covered with ice. They were the most beautiful ice-flowers any Snow
Man could desire, but they concealed the stove. These window-panes
would not thaw, and he could see nothing of the stove, which he
pictured to himself, as if it had been a lovely human being. The
snow crackled and the wind whistled around him; it was just the kind
of frosty weather a Snow Man might thoroughly enjoy. But he did not
enjoy it; how, indeed, could he enjoy anything when he was "stove
sick? "

"That is terrible disease for a Snow Man," said the yard-dog; "I
have suffered from it myself, but I got over it. Away, away," he
barked and then he added, "the weather is going to change. " And the
weather did change; it began to thaw. As the warmth increased, the
Snow Man decreased. He said nothing and made no complaint, which is
a sure sign. One morning he broke, and sunk down altogether; and,
behold, where he had stood, something like a broomstick remained
sticking up in the ground. It was the pole round which the boys had
built him up. "Ah, now I understand why he had such a great longing
for the stove," said the yard-dog. "Why, there's the shovel that is
used for cleaning out the stove, fastened to the pole. " The Snow Man
had a stove scraper in his body; that was what moved him so. "But it's
all over now. Away, away. " And soon the winter passed. "Away, away,"
barked the hoarse yard-dog. But the girls in the house sang,

"Come from your fragrant home, green thyme;
Stretch your soft branches, willow-tree;
The months are bringing the sweet spring-time,
When the lark in the sky sings joyfully.
Come gentle sun, while the cuckoo sings,
And I'll mock his note in my wanderings. "


And nobody thought any more of the Snow Man.




THE SNOW QUEEN

IN SEVEN STORIES


STORY THE FIRST

Which describes a looking-glass and the broken fragments.

You must attend to the commencement of this story, for when we get
to the end we shall know more than we do now about a very wicked
hobgoblin; he was one of the very worst, for he was a real demon.
One day, when he was in a merry mood, he made a looking-glass which
had the power of making everything good or beautiful that was
reflected in it almost shrink to nothing, while everything that was
worthless and bad looked increased in size and worse than ever. The
most lovely landscapes appeared like boiled spinach, and the people
became hideous, and looked as if they stood on their heads and had
no bodies. Their countenances were so distorted that no one could
recognize them, and even one freckle on the face appeared to spread
over the whole of the nose and mouth. The demon said this was very
amusing. When a good or pious thought passed through the mind of any
one it was misrepresented in the glass; and then how the demon laughed
at his cunning invention. All who went to the demon's school--for he
kept a school--talked everywhere of the wonders they had seen, and
declared that people could now, for the first time, see what the world
and mankind were really like. They carried the glass about everywhere,
till at last there was not a land nor a people who had not been looked
at through this distorted mirror. They wanted even to fly with it up
to heaven to see the angels, but the higher they flew the more
slippery the glass became, and they could scarcely hold it, till at
last it slipped from their hands, fell to the earth, and was broken
into millions of pieces. But now the looking-glass caused more
unhappiness than ever, for some of the fragments were not so large
as a grain of sand, and they flew about the world into every
country. When one of these tiny atoms flew into a person's eye, it
stuck there unknown to him, and from that moment he saw everything
through a distorted medium, or could see only the worst side of what
he looked at, for even the smallest fragment retained the same power
which had belonged to the whole mirror. Some few persons even got a
fragment of the looking-glass in their hearts, and this was very
terrible, for their hearts became cold like a lump of ice. A few of
the pieces were so large that they could be used as window-panes; it
would have been a sad thing to look at our friends through them. Other
pieces were made into spectacles; this was dreadful for those who wore
them, for they could see nothing either rightly or justly. At all this
the wicked demon laughed till his sides shook--it tickled him so to
see the mischief he had done. There were still a number of these
little fragments of glass floating about in the air, and now you shall
hear what happened with one of them.


SECOND STORY

A LITTLE BOY AND A LITTLE GIRL


In a large town, full of houses and people, there is not room
for everybody to have even a little garden, therefore they are obliged
to be satisfied with a few flowers in flower-pots. In one of these
large towns lived two poor children who had a garden something
larger and better than a few flower-pots. They were not brother and
sister, but they loved each other almost as much as if they had
been. Their parents lived opposite to each other in two garrets, where
the roofs of neighboring houses projected out towards each other and
the water-pipe ran between them. In each house was a little window, so
that any one could step across the gutter from one window to the
other. The parents of these children had each a large wooden box in
which they cultivated kitchen herbs for their own use, and a little
rose-bush in each box, which grew splendidly. Now after a while the
parents decided to place these two boxes across the water-pipe, so
that they reached from one window to the other and looked like two
banks of flowers. Sweet-peas drooped over the boxes, and the
rose-bushes shot forth long branches, which were trained round the
windows and clustered together almost like a triumphal arch of
leaves and flowers. The boxes were very high, and the children knew
they must not climb upon them, without permission, but they were
often, however, allowed to step out together and sit upon their little
stools under the rose-bushes, or play quietly. In winter all this
pleasure came to an end, for the windows were sometimes quite frozen
over. But then they would warm copper pennies on the stove, and hold
the warm pennies against the frozen pane; there would be very soon a
little round hole through which they could peep, and the soft bright
eyes of the little boy and girl would beam through the hole at each
window as they looked at each other. Their names were Kay and Gerda.
In summer they could be together with one jump from the window, but in
winter they had to go up and down the long staircase, and out
through the snow before they could meet.

"See there are the white bees swarming," said Kay's old
grandmother one day when it was snowing.

"Have they a queen bee? " asked the little boy, for he knew that
the real bees had a queen.

"To be sure they have," said the grandmother. "She is flying there
where the swarm is thickest. She is the largest of them all, and never
remains on the earth, but flies up to the dark clouds. Often at
midnight she flies through the streets of the town, and looks in at
the windows, then the ice freezes on the panes into wonderful
shapes, that look like flowers and castles. "

"Yes, I have seen them," said both the children, and they knew
it must be true.

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

"Only let her come," said the boy, "I'll set her on the stove
and then she'll melt. "

Then the grandmother smoothed his hair and told him some more
tales. One evening, when little Kay was at home, half undressed, he
climbed on a chair by the window and peeped out through the little
hole. A few flakes of snow were falling, and one of them, rather
larger than the rest, alighted on the edge of one of the flower boxes.
This snow-flake grew larger and larger, till at last it became the
figure of a woman, dressed in garments of white gauze, which looked
like millions of starry snow-flakes linked together. She was fair
and beautiful, but made of ice--shining and glittering ice. Still
she was alive and her eyes sparkled like bright stars, but there was
neither peace nor rest in their glance. She nodded towards the
window and waved her hand. The little boy was frightened and sprang
from the chair; at the same moment it seemed as if a large bird flew
by the window. On the following day there was a clear frost, and
very soon came the spring. The sun shone; the young green leaves burst
forth; the swallows built their nests; windows were opened, and the
children sat once more in the garden on the roof, high above all the
other rooms. How beautiful the roses blossomed this summer. The little
girl had learnt a hymn in which roses were spoken of, and then she
thought of their own roses, and she sang the hymn to the little boy,
and he sang too:--

"Roses bloom and cease to be,
But we shall the Christ-child see. "

Then the little ones held each other by the hand, and kissed the
roses, and looked at the bright sunshine, and spoke to it as if the
Christ-child were there. Those were splendid summer days. How
beautiful and fresh it was out among the rose-bushes, which seemed
as if they would never leave off blooming. One day Kay and Gerda sat
looking at a book full of pictures of animals and birds, and then just
as the clock in the church tower struck twelve, Kay said, "Oh,
something has struck my heart! " and soon after, "There is something in
my eye. "

The little girl put her arm round his neck, and looked into his
eye, but she could see nothing.

"I think it is gone," he said. But it was not gone; it was one
of those bits of the looking-glass--that magic mirror, of which we
have spoken--the ugly glass which made everything great and good
appear small and ugly, while all that was wicked and bad became more
visible, and every little fault could be plainly seen. Poor little Kay
had also received a small grain in his heart, which very quickly
turned to a lump of ice. He felt no more pain, but the glass was there
still. "Why do you cry? " said he at last; "it makes you look ugly.
There is nothing the matter with me now. Oh, see! " he cried
suddenly, "that rose is worm-eaten, and this one is quite crooked.
After all they are ugly roses, just like the box in which they stand,"
and then he kicked the boxes with his foot, and pulled off the two
roses.

"Kay, what are you doing? " cried the little girl; and then, when
he saw how frightened she was, he tore off another rose, and jumped
through his own window away from little Gerda.

When she afterwards brought out the picture book, he said, "It was
only fit for babies in long clothes," and when grandmother told any
stories, he would interrupt her with "but;" or, when he could manage
it, he would get behind her chair, put on a pair of spectacles, and
imitate her very cleverly, to make people laugh. By-and-by he began to
mimic the speech and gait of persons in the street. All that was
peculiar or disagreeable in a person he would imitate directly, and
people said, "That boy will be very clever; he has a remarkable
genius. " But it was the piece of glass in his eye, and the coldness in
his heart, that made him act like this. He would even tease little
Gerda, who loved him with all her heart. His games, too, were quite
different; they were not so childish. One winter's day, when it
snowed, he brought out a burning-glass, then he held out the tail of
his blue coat, and let the snow-flakes fall upon it. "Look in this
glass, Gerda," said he; and she saw how every flake of snow was
magnified, and looked like a beautiful flower or a glittering star.
"Is it not clever? " said Kay, "and much more interesting than
looking at real flowers. There is not a single fault in it, and the
snow-flakes are quite perfect till they begin to melt. "

Soon after Kay made his appearance in large thick gloves, and with
his sledge at his back. He called up stairs to Gerda, "I've got to
leave to go into the great square, where the other boys play and
ride. " And away he went.

In the great square, the boldest among the boys would often tie
their sledges to the country people's carts, and go with them a good
way. This was capital. But while they were all amusing themselves, and
Kay with them, a great sledge came by; it was painted white, and in it
sat some one wrapped in a rough white fur, and wearing a white cap.
The sledge drove twice round the square, and Kay fastened his own
little sledge to it, so that when it went away, he followed with it.
It went faster and faster right through the next street, and then
the person who drove turned round and nodded pleasantly to Kay, just
as if they were acquainted with each other, but whenever Kay wished to
loosen his little sledge the driver nodded again, so Kay sat still,
and they drove out through the town gate.
Then the snow began to
fall so heavily that the little boy could not see a hand's breadth
before him, but still they drove on; then he suddenly loosened the
cord so that the large sled might go on without him, but it was of
no use, his little carriage held fast, and away they went like the
wind. Then he called out loudly, but nobody heard him, while the
snow beat upon him, and the sledge flew onwards. Every now and then it
gave a jump as if it were going over hedges and ditches. The boy was
frightened, and tried to say a prayer, but he could remember nothing
but the multiplication table.

The snow-flakes became larger and larger, till they appeared
like great white chickens. All at once they sprang on one side, the
great sledge stopped, and the person who had driven it rose up. The
fur and the cap, which were made entirely of snow, fell off, and he
saw a lady, tall and white, it was the Snow Queen.

"We have driven well," said she, "but why do you tremble? here,
creep into my warm fur. " Then she seated him beside her in the sledge,
and as she wrapped the fur round him he felt as if he were sinking
into a snow drift.

"Are you still cold," she asked, as she kissed him on the
forehead. The kiss was colder than ice; it went quite through to his
heart, which was already almost a lump of ice; he felt as if he were
going to die, but only for a moment; he soon seemed quite well
again, and did not notice the cold around him.

"My sledge! don't forget my sledge," was his first thought, and
then he looked and saw that it was bound fast to one of the white
chickens, which flew behind him with the sledge at its back. The
Snow Queen kissed little Kay again, and by this time he had
forgotten little Gerda, his grandmother, and all at home.

"Now you must have no more kisses," she said, "or I should kiss
you to death. "

Kay looked at her, and saw that she was so beautiful, he could not
imagine a more lovely and intelligent face; she did not now seem to be
made of ice, as when he had seen her through his window, and she had
nodded to him. In his eyes she was perfect, and she did not feel at
all afraid. He told her he could do mental arithmetic, as far as
fractions, and that he knew the number of square miles and the
number of inhabitants in the country. And she always smiled so that he
thought he did not know enough yet, and she looked round the vast
expanse as she flew higher and higher with him upon a black cloud,
while the storm blew and howled as if it were singing old songs.
They flew over woods and lakes, over sea and land; below them roared
the wild wind; the wolves howled and the snow crackled; over them flew
the black screaming crows, and above all shone the moon, clear and
bright,--and so Kay passed through the long winter's night, and by day
he slept at the feet of the Snow Queen.


THIRD STORY

THE FLOWER GARDEN OF THE WOMAN WHO COULD CONJURE


But how fared little Gerda during Kay's absence? What had become
of him, no one knew, nor could any one give the slightest information,
excepting the boys, who said that he had tied his sledge to another
very large one, which had driven through the street, and out at the
town gate. Nobody knew where it went; many tears were shed for him,
and little Gerda wept bitterly for a long time. She said she knew he
must be dead; that he was drowned in the river which flowed close by
the school. Oh, indeed those long winter days were very dreary. But at
last spring came, with warm sunshine. "Kay is dead and gone," said
little Gerda.

"I don't believe it," said the sunshine.

"He is dead and gone," she said to the sparrows.

"We don't believe it," they replied; and at last little Gerda
began to doubt it herself. "I will put on my new red shoes," she
said one morning, "those that Kay has never seen, and then I will go
down to the river, and ask for him. " It was quite early when she
kissed her old grandmother, who was still asleep; then she put on
her red shoes, and went quite alone out of the town gates toward the
river. "Is it true that you have taken my little playmate away from
me? " said she to the river. "I will give you my red shoes if you
will give him back to me. " And it seemed as if the waves nodded to her
in a strange manner. Then she took off her red shoes, which she
liked better than anything else, and threw them both into the river,
but they fell near the bank, and the little waves carried them back to
the land, just as if the river would not take from her what she
loved best, because they could not give her back little Kay. But she
thought the shoes had not been thrown out far enough. Then she crept
into a boat that lay among the reeds, and threw the shoes again from
the farther end of the boat into the water, but it was not fastened.
And her movement sent it gliding away from the land. When she saw this
she hastened to reach the end of the boat, but before she could so
it was more than a yard from the bank, and drifting away faster than
ever. Then little Gerda was very much frightened, and began to cry,
but no one heard her except the sparrows, and they could not carry her
to land, but they flew along by the shore, and sang, as if to
comfort her, "Here we are! Here we are! " The boat floated with the
stream; little Gerda sat quite still with only her stockings on her
feet; the red shoes floated after her, but she could not reach them
because the boat kept so much in advance. The banks on each side of
the river were very pretty. There were beautiful flowers, old trees,
sloping fields, in which cows and sheep were grazing, but not a man to
be seen. Perhaps the river will carry me to little Kay, thought Gerda,
and then she became more cheerful, and raised her head, and looked
at the beautiful green banks; and so the boat sailed on for hours.
At length she came to a large cherry orchard, in which stood a small
red house with strange red and blue windows. It had also a thatched
roof, and outside were two wooden soldiers, that presented arms to her
as she sailed past. Gerda called out to them, for she thought they
were alive, but of course they did not answer; and as the boat drifted
nearer to the shore, she saw what they really were. Then Gerda
called still louder, and there came a very old woman out of the house,
leaning on a crutch. She wore a large hat to shade her from the sun,
and on it were painted all sorts of pretty flowers. "You poor little
child," said the old woman, "how did you manage to come all this
distance into the wide world on such a rapid rolling stream? " And then
the old woman walked in the water, seized the boat with her crutch,
drew it to land, and lifted Gerda out. And Gerda was glad to feel
herself on dry ground, although she was rather afraid of the strange
old woman. "Come and tell me who you are," said she, "and how came you
here. "

Then Gerda told her everything, while the old woman shook her
head, and said, "Hem-hem;" and when she had finished, Gerda asked if
she had not seen little Kay, and the old woman told her he had not
passed by that way, but he very likely would come. So she told Gerda
not to be sorrowful, but to taste the cherries and look at the
flowers; they were better than any picture-book, for each of them
could tell a story. Then she took Gerda by the hand and led her into
the little house, and the old woman closed the door. The windows
were very high, and as the panes were red, blue, and yellow, the
daylight shone through them in all sorts of singular colors. On the
table stood beautiful cherries, and Gerda had permission to eat as
many as she would. While she was eating them the old woman combed
out her long flaxen ringlets with a golden comb, and the glossy
curls hung down on each side of the little round pleasant face,
which looked fresh and blooming as a rose. "I have long been wishing
for a dear little maiden like you," said the old woman, "and now you
must stay with me, and see how happily we shall live together. " And
while she went on combing little Gerda's hair, she thought less and
less about her adopted brother Kay, for the old woman could conjure,
although she was not a wicked witch; she conjured only a little for
her own amusement, and now, because she wanted to keep Gerda.
Therefore she went into the garden, and stretched out her crutch
towards all the rose-trees, beautiful though they were; and they
immediately sunk into the dark earth, so that no one could tell
where they had once stood. The old woman was afraid that if little
Gerda saw roses she would think of those at home, and then remember
little Kay, and run away. Then she took Gerda into the flower-garden.
How fragrant and beautiful it was! Every flower that could be
thought of for every season of the year was here in full bloom;
no picture-book could have more beautiful colors. Gerda jumped
for joy, and played till the sun went down behind the tall
cherry-trees; then she slept in an elegant bed with red silk
pillows, embroidered with colored violets; and then she dreamed as
pleasantly as a queen on her wedding day. The next day, and for many
days after, Gerda played with the flowers in the warm sunshine. She
knew every flower, and yet, although there were so many of them, it
seemed as if one were missing, but which it was she could not tell.
One day, however, as she sat looking at the old woman's hat with the
painted flowers on it, she saw that the prettiest of them all was a
rose. The old woman had forgotten to take it from her hat when she
made all the roses sink into the earth. But it is difficult to keep
the thoughts together in everything; one little mistake upsets all our
arrangements.

"What, are there no roses here? " cried Gerda; and she ran out into
the garden, and examined all the beds, and searched and searched.
There was not one to be found. Then she sat down and wept, and her
tears fell just on the place where one of the rose-trees had sunk
down. The warm tears moistened the earth, and the rose-tree sprouted
up at once, as blooming as when it had sunk; and Gerda embraced it and
kissed the roses, and thought of the beautiful roses at home, and,
with them, of little Kay.

"Oh, how I have been detained! " said the little maiden, "I
wanted to seek for little Kay. Do you know where he is? " she asked the
roses; "do you think he is dead? "

And the roses answered, "No, he is not dead. We have been in the
ground where all the dead lie; but Kay is not there. "

"Thank you," said little Gerda, and then she went to the other
flowers, and looked into their little cups, and asked, "Do you know
where little Kay is? " But each flower, as it stood in the sunshine,
dreamed only of its own little fairy tale of history. Not one knew
anything of Kay. Gerda heard many stories from the flowers, as she
asked them one after another about him.

And what, said the tiger-lily? "Hark, do you hear the drum? --'turn,
turn,'--there are only two notes, always, 'turn, turn. ' Listen
to the women's song of mourning! Hear the cry of the priest! In
her long red robe stands the Hindoo widow by the funeral pile. The
flames rise around her as she places herself on the dead body of her
husband; but the Hindoo woman is thinking of the living one in that
circle; of him, her son, who lighted those flames. Those shining
eyes trouble her heart more painfully than the flames which will
soon consume her body to ashes. Can the fire of the heart be
extinguished in the flames of the funeral pile? "

"I don't understand that at all," said little Gerda.

"That is my story," said the tiger-lily.

What, says the convolvulus? "Near yonder narrow road stands an old
knight's castle; thick ivy creeps over the old ruined walls, leaf over
leaf, even to the balcony, in which stands a beautiful maiden. She
bends over the balustrades, and looks up the road. No rose on its stem
is fresher than she; no apple-blossom, wafted by the wind, floats more
lightly than she moves. Her rich silk rustles as she bends over and
exclaims, 'Will he not come? '

"Is it Kay you mean? " asked Gerda.

"I am only speaking of a story of my dream," replied the flower.

What, said the little snow-drop? "Between two trees a rope is
hanging; there is a piece of board upon it; it is a swing. Two
pretty little girls, in dresses white as snow, and with long green
ribbons fluttering from their hats, are sitting upon it swinging.
Their brother who is taller than they are, stands in the swing; he has
one arm round the rope, to steady himself; in one hand he holds a
little bowl, and in the other a clay pipe; he is blowing bubbles. As
the swing goes on, the bubbles fly upward, reflecting the most
beautiful varying colors. The last still hangs from the bowl of the
pipe, and sways in the wind. On goes the swing; and then a little
black dog comes running up. He is almost as light as the bubble, and
he raises himself on his hind legs, and wants to be taken into the
swing; but it does not stop, and the dog falls; then he barks and gets
angry. The children stoop towards him, and the bubble bursts. A
swinging plank, a light sparkling foam picture,--that is my story. "

"It may be all very pretty what you are telling me," said little
Gerda, "but you speak so mournfully, and you do not mention little Kay
at all. "

What do the hyacinths say? "There were three beautiful sisters,
fair and delicate. The dress of one was red, of the second blue, and
of the third pure white. Hand in hand they danced in the bright
moonlight, by the calm lake; but they were human beings, not fairy
elves. The sweet fragrance attracted them, and they disappeared in the
wood; here the fragrance became stronger. Three coffins, in which
lay the three beautiful maidens, glided from the thickest part of
the forest across the lake. The fire-flies flew lightly over them,
like little floating torches. Do the dancing maidens sleep, or are
they dead? The scent of the flower says that they are corpses. The
evening bell tolls their knell. "

"You make me quite sorrowful," said little Gerda; "your perfume is
so strong, you make me think of the dead maidens. Ah! is little Kay
really dead then? The roses have been in the earth, and they say no. "

"Cling, clang," tolled the hyacinth bells. "We are not tolling for
little Kay; we do not know him. We sing our song, the only one we
know. "

Then Gerda went to the buttercups that were glittering amongst the
bright green leaves.

"You are little bright suns," said Gerda; "tell me if you know
where I can find my play-fellow. "

And the buttercups sparkled gayly, and looked again at Gerda. What
song could the buttercups sing? It was not about Kay.

"The bright warm sun shone on a little court, on the first warm
day of spring. His bright beams rested on the white walls of the
neighboring house; and close by bloomed the first yellow flower of the
season, glittering like gold in the sun's warm ray. An old woman sat
in her arm chair at the house door, and her granddaughter, a poor
and pretty servant-maid came to see her for a short visit. When she
kissed her grandmother there was gold everywhere: the gold of the
heart in that holy kiss; it was a golden morning; there was gold in
the beaming sunlight, gold in the leaves of the lowly flower, and on
the lips of the maiden. There, that is my story," said the buttercup.

"My poor old grandmother! " sighed Gerda; "she is longing to see
me, and grieving for me as she did for little Kay; but I shall soon go
home now, and take little Kay with me. It is no use asking the
flowers; they know only their own songs, and can give me no
information. "

And then she tucked up her little dress, that she might run
faster, but the narcissus caught her by the leg as she was jumping
over it; so she stopped and looked at the tall yellow flower, and
said, "Perhaps you may know something. "

Then she stooped down quite close to the flower, and listened; and
what did he say?

"I can see myself, I can see myself," said the narcissus. "Oh, how
sweet is my perfume! Up in a little room with a bow window, stands a
little dancing girl, half undressed; she stands sometimes on one
leg, and sometimes on both, and looks as if she would tread the
whole world under her feet. She is nothing but a delusion. She is
pouring water out of a tea-pot on a piece of stuff which she holds
in her hand; it is her bodice. 'Cleanliness is a good thing,' she
says. Her white dress hangs on a peg; it has also been washed in the
tea-pot, and dried on the roof. She puts it on, and ties a
saffron-colored handkerchief round her neck, which makes the dress
look whiter. See how she stretches out her legs, as if she were
showing off on a stem. I can see myself, I can see myself. "

"What do I care for all that," said Gerda, "you need not tell me
such stuff. " And then she ran to the other end of the garden. The door
was fastened, but she pressed against the rusty latch, and it gave
way. The door sprang open, and little Gerda ran out with bare feet
into the wide world. She looked back three times, but no one seemed to
be following her. At last she could run no longer, so she sat down
to rest on a great stone, and when she looked round she saw that the
summer was over, and autumn very far advanced. She had known nothing
of this in the beautiful garden, where the sun shone and the flowers
grew all the year round.

"Oh, how I have wasted my time? " said little Gerda; "it is autumn.
I must not rest any longer," and she rose up to go on. But her
little feet were wounded and sore, and everything around her looked so
cold and bleak. The long willow-leaves were quite yellow. The
dew-drops fell like water, leaf after leaf dropped from the trees, the
sloe-thorn alone still bore fruit, but the sloes were sour, and set
the teeth on edge. Oh, how dark and weary the whole world appeared!


FOURTH STORY

THE PRINCE AND PRINCESS


Gerda was obliged to rest again, and just opposite the place where
she sat, she saw a great crow come hopping across the snow toward her.
He stood looking at her for some time, and then he wagged his head and
said, "Caw, caw; good-day, good-day. " He pronounced the words as
plainly as he could, because he meant to be kind to the little girl;
and then he asked her where she was going all alone in the wide world.

The word alone Gerda understood very well, and knew how much it
expressed. So then she told the crow the whole story of her life and
adventures, and asked him if he had seen little Kay.

The crow nodded his head very gravely, and said, "Perhaps I
have--it may be. "

"No! Do you think you have? " cried little Gerda, and she kissed
the crow, and hugged him almost to death with joy.

"Gently, gently," said the crow. "I believe I know. I think it may
be little Kay; but he has certainly forgotten you by this time for the
princess. "

"Does he live with a princess? " asked Gerda.

"Yes, listen," replied the crow, "but it is so difficult to
speak your language. If you understand the crows' language then I
can explain it better. Do you? "

"No, I have never learnt it," said Gerda, "but my grandmother
understands it, and used to speak it to me. I wish I had learnt it. "

"It does not matter," answered the crow; "I will explain as well
as I can, although it will be very badly done;" and he told her what
he had heard. "In this kingdom where we now are," said he, "there
lives a princess, who is so wonderfully clever that she has read all
the newspapers in the world, and forgotten them too, although she is
so clever. A short time ago, as she was sitting on her throne, which
people say is not such an agreeable seat as is often supposed, she
began to sing a song which commences in these words:

'Why should I not be married? '

'Why not indeed? ' said she, and so she determined to marry if she
could find a husband who knew what to say when he was spoken to, and
not one who could only look grand, for that was so tiresome.