Part 7

And the raven nodded his head, half doubtfully, and said, ‘That is possible--possible.’

‘Do you think so?’ exclaimed the little girl, and she kissed the raven so vehemently that it is a wonder she did not squeeze him to death.

‘More moderately!--moderately!’ said the raven. ‘I think I know. I think it may be little Kay; but he has certainly forsaken thee for the princess.’

‘Dwells he with a princess?’ asked Gerda.

‘Listen to me,’ said the raven, ‘but it is so difficult to speak your language! Do you understand Ravenish? If so, I can tell you much better.’

‘No! I have never learned Ravenish,’ said Gerda, ‘but my grandmother knew it, and Pye-language also. Oh, how I wish I had learned it!’

‘Never mind,’ said the raven, ‘I will relate my story in the best manner I can, though bad will be the best’; and he told all he knew.

‘In the kingdom wherein we are now sitting, there dwells a princess, a most uncommonly clever princess. All the newspapers in the world has she read, and forgotten them again, so clever is she. It is not long since she ascended the throne, which I have heard is not quite so agreeable a situation as one would fancy; and immediately after she began to sing a new song, the burden of which was this, “Why should I not marry me?” “There is some sense in this song!” said she, and she determined she would marry, but at the same time declared that the man whom she would choose must be able to answer sensibly whenever people spoke to him, and must be good for something else besides merely looking grand and stately. The ladies of the court were then all drummed together, in order to be informed of her intentions, whereupon they were highly delighted, and one exclaimed, “That is just what I wish”; and another, that she had lately been thinking of the very same thing. Believe me,’ continued the raven, ‘every word I say is true, for I have a tame beloved who hops at pleasure about the palace, and she has told me all this.’

Of course the ‘beloved’ was also a raven, for birds of a feather flock together.

‘Proclamations, adorned with borders of hearts, were immediately issued, wherein, after enumerating the style and titles of the princess, it was set forth that every well-favoured youth was free to go to the palace and converse with the princess, and that whoever should speak in such wise as showed that he felt himself at home, there would be the one the princess would choose for her husband.

‘Yes, indeed,’ continued the raven, ‘you may believe me; all this is as true as that I sit here. The people all crowded to the palace; there was famous pressing and squeezing; but it was all of no use, either the first or the second day; the young men could speak well enough while they were outside the palace gates, but when they entered, and saw the royal guard in silver uniform, and the lackeys on the staircase in gold, and the spacious saloon, all lighted up, they were quite confounded. They stood before the throne where the princess sat, and when she spoke to them, they could only repeat the last word she had uttered, which, you know, it was not particularly interesting for her to hear over again. It was just as though they had been struck dumb the moment they entered the palace, for as soon as they got out, they could talk fast enough. There was a regular procession constantly moving from the gates of the town to the gates of the palace. I was there, and saw it with my own eyes,’ said the raven. ‘They grew both hungry and thirsty whilst waiting at the palace, but no one could get even so much as a glass of water; to be sure, some of them, wiser than the rest, had brought with them slices of bread and butter, but none would give any to his neighbour, for he thought to himself, “Let him look hungry, and then the princess will be sure not to choose him.”’

‘But Kay, little Kay, when did he come?’ asked Gerda; ‘was he among the crowd?’

‘Presently, presently; we have just come to him. On the third day arrived a youth with neither horse nor carriage; gaily he marched up to the palace; his eyes sparkled like yours; he had long beautiful hair, but was very meanly clad.’

‘That was Kay!’ exclaimed Gerda. ‘Oh then I have found him,’ and she clapped her hands with delight.

‘He carried a knapsack on his back,’ said the raven.

‘No, not a knapsack,’ said Gerda, ‘a sledge, for he had a sledge with him when he left home.’

‘It is possible,’ rejoined the raven, ‘I did not look very closely, but this I heard from my beloved, that when he entered the palace gates and saw the royal guard in silver, and the lackeys in gold upon the staircase, he did not seem in the least confused, but nodded pleasantly and said to them, “It must be very tedious standing out here; I prefer going in.” The halls glistened with light, cabinet councillors and excellencies were walking about bare-footed and carrying golden keys--it was just a place to make a man solemn and silent--and the youth’s boots creaked horribly, yet he was not at all afraid.’

‘That most certainly was Kay!’ said Gerda; ‘I know he had new boots; I have heard them creak in my grandmother’s room.’

‘Indeed they did creak,’ said the raven, ‘but merrily went he up to the princess, who was sitting upon a pearl as large as a spinning-wheel, whilst all the ladies of the court, with the maids of honour and their handmaidens, ranged in order, stood on one side, and all the gentlemen in waiting, with their gentlemen, and their gentlemen’s gentlemen, who also kept pages, stood ranged in order on the other side, and the nearer they were to the door the prouder they looked. The gentlemen’s gentlemen’s page, who always wears slippers, one dare hardly look at, so proudly he stands at the door.’

‘That must be dreadful!’ said little Gerda. ‘And has Kay really won the princess?’

‘Had I not been a raven I should have won her myself,

notwithstanding my being betrothed. The young man spoke as well as I speak when I converse in Ravenish; that I have heard from my tame beloved. He was handsome and lively--“He did not come to woo her,” he said, “he had only come to hear the wisdom of the princess,” and he liked her much, and she liked him in return.’

‘Yes, to be sure, that was Kay,’ said Gerda; ‘he was so clever, he could reckon in his head, even fractions! Oh, will you not take me into the palace?’

‘Ah! that is easily said,’ replied the raven, ‘but how is it to be done? I will talk it over with my tame beloved; she will advise us what to do, for I must tell you that such a little girl as you are will never gain permission to enter publicly.’

‘Yes, I shall!’ cried Gerda. ‘When Kay knows that I am here, he will immediately come out and fetch me.’

‘Wait for me at the trellis yonder,’ said the raven. He wagged his head and away he flew.

The raven did not return till late in the evening. ‘Caw, caw,’ said he. ‘My tame beloved greets you kindly, and sends you a piece of bread which she took from the kitchen; there is plenty of bread there, and you must certainly be hungry. It is not possible for you to enter the palace, for you have bare feet; the royal guard in silver uniform, and the lackeys in gold, would never permit it; but do not weep, thou shalt go there. My beloved knows a little back staircase leading to the sleeping apartments, and she knows also where to find the key.’

And they went into the garden, down the grand avenue, where the leaves dropped upon them as they passed along, and, when the lights in the palace one by one had all been extinguished, the raven took Gerda to a back-door which stood half open. Oh, how Gerda’s heart beat with fear and expectation! It was just as though she was about to do something wrong, although she only wanted to know whether Kay was really there--yes, it must be he, she remembered so well his bright eyes and long hair. She would see if his smile were the same as it used to be when they sat together under the rose-trees. He would be so glad to see her, to hear how far she had come for his sake, how all his home mourned his absence. Her heart trembled with fear and joy.

They went up the staircase. A small lamp placed on a cabinet gave a glimmering light; on the floor stood the tame raven, who first turned her head on all sides, and then looked at Gerda, who made her curtsy, as her grandmother had taught her.

‘My betrothed has told me much about you, my good young maiden,’ said the tame raven; ‘your adventures, too, are extremely interesting! If you will take the lamp, I will show you the way. We are going straight on, we shall not meet any one now.’

‘It seems to me as if some one were behind us,’ said Gerda; and in fact there was a rushing sound as of something passing; strange-looking shadows flitted rapidly along the wall, horses with long, slender legs and fluttering manes, huntsmen, knights, and ladies.

‘These are only dreams!’ said the raven; ‘they come to amuse the great personages here at night; you will have a better opportunity of looking at them when you are in bed. I hope that when you arrive at honours and dignities you will show a grateful heart.’

‘Do not talk of that!’ said the wood-raven.

They now entered the first saloon; its walls were covered with rose-coloured satin, embroidered with gold flowers. The Dreams rustled past them, but with such rapidity that Gerda could not see them. The apartments through which they passed vied with each other in splendour, and at last they reached the sleeping-hall. In the centre of this room stood a pillar of gold resembling the stem of a large palm-tree, whose leaves of glass, costly glass, formed the ceiling, and depending from the tree, hung near the door, on thick golden stalks, two beds in the form of lilies--the one was white, wherein reposed the princess, the other was red, and here must Gerda seek her playfellow, Kay. She bent aside one of the red leaves and saw a brown neck. Oh, it must be Kay! She called him by his name aloud, held the lamp close to him, the Dreams again rushed by--he awoke, turned his head, and behold! it was not Kay.

The prince resembled him only about the throat; he was, however, young and handsome; and the princess looked out from the white lily petals, and asked what was the matter. Then little Gerda wept and told her whole story, and what the ravens had done for her. ‘Poor child!’ said the prince and princess; and they praised the ravens, and said they were not at all angry with them. Such liberties must never be taken again in their palace, but this time they should be rewarded.

‘Would you like to fly away free to the woods?’ asked the princess, addressing the ravens, ‘or to have the appointment secured to you as Court-Ravens with the perquisites belonging to the kitchen, such as crumbs and leavings?’

And both the ravens bowed low and chose the appointment at Court, for they thought of old age, and said it would be so comfortable to be well provided for in their declining years. Then the prince arose and made Gerda sleep in his bed; and she folded her little hands, thinking, ‘How kind both men and animals are to me!’ She closed her eyes and slept soundly and sweetly, and all the Dreams flitted about her; they looked like angels from heaven, and seemed to be drawing a sledge whereon Kay sat and nodded to her. But this was only fancy, for as soon as she awoke all the beautiful visions had vanished.

The next day she was dressed from head to foot in silk and velvet. She was invited to stay at the palace and enjoy all sorts of diversions, but she begged only for a little carriage and a horse, and a pair of little boots,--all she desired was to go again into the wide world to seek Kay.

And they gave her the boots and a muff besides; she was dressed so prettily. And as soon as she was ready there drove up to the door a new carriage of pure gold with the arms of the prince and princess glittering upon it like a star, the coachman, the footman, and outriders, all wearing gold crowns. The prince and princess themselves helped her into the carriage and wished her success. The wood-raven, who was now married, accompanied her the first three miles; he sat by her side, for riding backwards was a thing he could not bear. The other raven stood at the door flapping her wings; she did not go with them on account of a headache she had felt ever since she had received her appointment, in consequence of eating too much. The carriage was well provided with sugar-plums, fruit, and gingerbread nuts.

‘Farewell! farewell!’ cried the prince and princess. Little Gerda wept, and the raven wept out of sympathy. But his farewell was a far sorer trial; he flew up to the branch of a tree and flapped his black wings at the carriage till it was out of sight.

PART THE FIFTH

THE LITTLE ROBBER MAIDEN

They drove through the dark, dark forest; the carriage shone like a torch. Unfortunately its brightness attracted the eyes of the robbers who dwelt in the forest-shades; they could not bear it.

‘That is gold! gold!’ cried they. Forward they rushed, seized the horses, stabbed the outriders, coachman, and footmen to death, and dragged little Gerda out of the carriage.

‘She is plump, she is pretty, she has been fed on nut-kernels,’ said the old robber-wife, who had a long, bristly beard, and eyebrows hanging like bushes over her eyes. ‘She is like a little fat lamb, and how smartly she is dressed!’ and she drew out her bright dagger, glittering most terribly.

‘Oh, oh!’ cried the woman, for at the very moment she had lifted her dagger to stab Gerda, her own wild and wilful daughter jumped upon her back and bit her ear violently. ‘You naughty child!’ said the mother.

‘She shall play with me,’ said the little robber-maiden, ‘she shall give me her muff and her pretty frock, and sleep with me in my bed!’ And then she bit her mother again, till the robber-wife sprang up and shrieked with pain, whilst the robbers all laughed, saying, ‘Look at her playing with her young one!’

‘I will get into the carriage,’ and so spoiled and wayward was the little robber-maiden that she always had her own way, and she and Gerda sat together in the carriage, and drove over stock and stone farther and farther into the wood. The little robber-maiden was about as tall as Gerda, but much stronger; she had broad shoulders, and a very dark skin; her eyes were quite black, and had an expression almost melancholy. She put her arm round Gerda’s waist, and said, ‘She shall not kill thee so long as I love thee! Art thou not a princess?’

‘No!’ said Gerda; and then she told her all that had happened to her, and how much she loved little Kay.

The robber-maiden looked earnestly in her face, shook her head, and said, ‘She shall not kill thee even if I do quarrel with thee; then, indeed, I would rather do it myself!’ And she dried Gerda’s tears, and put both her hands into the pretty muff that was so soft and warm.

The carriage at last stopped in the middle of the courtyard of the robbers’ castle. This castle was half-ruined; crows and ravens flew out of the openings, and some fearfully large bull-dogs, looking as if they could devour a man in a moment, jumped round the carriage; they did not bark, for that was forbidden.

The maidens entered a large, smoky hall, where a tremendous fire was blazing on the stone floor; the smoke rose up to the ceiling, seeking a way of escape, for there was no chimney; a large caldron full of soup was boiling over the fire, whilst hares and rabbits were roasting on the spit.

‘Thou shalt sleep with me and my little pets to-night!’ said the robber-maiden. Then they had some food, and afterwards went to the corner wherein lay straw and a piece of carpet. Nearly a hundred pigeons were perched on staves and laths around them; they seemed to be asleep, but were startled when the little maidens approached.

‘These all belong to me,’ said Gerda’s companion, and seizing hold of one of the nearest, she held the poor bird by the feet and swung it. ‘Kiss it,’ said she, flapping it into Gerda’s face. ‘The rabble from the wood sit up there,’ continued she, pointing to a number of laths fastened across a hole in the wall; ‘those are wood-pigeons, they would fly away if I did not keep them shut up. And here is my old favourite!’ She pulled forward by the horn a reindeer who wore a bright copper ring round his neck, by which he was fastened to a large stone. ‘We are obliged to chain him up, or he would run away from us; every evening I tickle his neck with my sharp dagger; it makes him fear me so much!’ and the robber-maiden drew out a long dagger from a gap in the wall, and passed it over the reindeer’s throat; the poor animal struggled and kicked, but the girl laughed, and then she pulled Gerda into bed with her.

‘Will you keep the dagger in your hand whilst you sleep?’ asked Gerda, looking timidly at the dangerous plaything.

‘I always sleep with my dagger by my side,’ replied the little robber-maiden; ‘one never knows what may happen. But now tell me all over again what you told me before about

Kay, and the reason of your coming into the wide world all by yourself.’

And Gerda again related her history, and the wood-pigeons imprisoned above listened, but the others were fast asleep. The little robber-maiden threw one arm round Gerda’s neck, and holding the dagger with the other, was also soon asleep; one could hear her heavy breathing, but Gerda could not close her eyes throughout the night--she knew not what would become of her, whether she would even be suffered to live. The robbers sat round the fire drinking and singing. Oh, it was a dreadful night for the poor little girl!

Then spoke the wood-pigeons, ‘Coo, coo, coo! we have seen little Kay. A white fowl carried his sledge, he himself was in the Snow Queen’s chariot, which passed through the wood whilst we sat in our nest. She breathed upon us young ones as she passed, and all died of her breath excepting us two,--coo, coo, coo!’

‘What are you saying?’ cried Gerda; ‘where was the Snow Queen going? Do you know anything about it?’

‘She travels most likely to Lapland, where ice and snow abide all the year round. Ask the reindeer bound to the rope there.’

‘Yes, ice and snow are there all through the year; it is a glorious land!’ said the reindeer. ‘There, free and happy, one can roam through the wide sparkling valleys! There the Snow Queen has her summer-tent; her strong castle is very far off, near the North Pole, on the island called Spitsbergen.’

‘O Kay, dear Kay!’ sighed Gerda.

‘You must lie still,’ said the robber-maiden, ‘or I will thrust my dagger into your side.’

When morning came Gerda repeated to her what the wood-pigeons had said, and the little robber-maiden looked grave for a moment, then nodded her head, saying, ‘No matter! no matter! Do you know where Lapland is?’ asked she of the reindeer.

‘Who should know but I?’ returned the animal, his eyes kindling. ‘There was I born and bred, there how often have I bounded over the wild icy plains!’

‘Listen to me!’ said the robber-maiden to Gerda. ‘You see all our men are gone; my mother is still here and will remain, but towards noon she will drink a little out of the great flask, and after that she will sleep--then I will do something for you!’ And so saying she jumped out of bed, sprang upon her mother, pulled her by the beard, and said, ‘My own dear mam, good morning!’ and the mother caressed her so roughly that she was red and blue all over; however, it was from pure love.

When her mother was fast asleep, the robber-maiden went up to the reindeer, and said, ‘I should have great pleasure in stroking you a few more times with my sharp dagger, for then you look so droll, but never mind, I will unloose your chain and help you to escape, on condition that you run as fast as you can to Lapland, and take this little girl to the castle of the Snow Queen, where her playfellow is. You must have heard her story, for she speaks loud enough, and you know well how to listen.’

The reindeer bounded with joy, and the robber-maiden lifted Gerda on his back, taking the precaution to bind her on firmly, as well as to give her a little cushion to sit on. ‘And here,’ said she, ‘are your fur boots, you will need them in that cold country; the muff I must keep myself, it is too pretty to part with; but you shall not be frozen. Here are my mother’s huge gloves, they reach up to the elbow; put them on--now your hands look as clumsy as my old mother’s!’

And Gerda shed tears of joy.

‘I cannot bear to see you crying!’ said the little robber-maiden, ‘you ought to look glad; see, here are two loaves and a piece of bacon for you, that you may not be hungry on the way.’ She fastened this provender also on the reindeer’s back, opened the door, called away the great dogs, and then cutting asunder with her dagger the rope which bound the reindeer, shouted to him, ‘Now then, run! but take good care of the little girl.’

And Gerda stretched out her hands to the robber-maiden and bade her farewell, and the reindeer fleeted through the forest, over stock and stone, over desert and heath, over meadow and moor. The wolves howled and the ravens shrieked. ‘Isch! Isch!’ a red light flashed--one might have fancied the sky was sneezing.

‘Those are my dear old Northern Lights!’ said the reindeer; ‘look at them, how beautiful they are!’ And he ran faster than ever, night and day he ran--the loaves were eaten, so was the bacon--at last they were in Lapland.

PART THE SIXTH

THE LAPLAND WOMAN AND THE FINLAND WOMAN

They stopped at a little hut, a wretched hut it was; the roof very nearly touched the ground, and the door was so low that whoever wished to go either in or out was obliged to crawl upon hands and knees. No one was at home except the old Lapland woman, who was busy boiling fish over a lamp filled with train oil. The reindeer related to her Gerda’s whole history, not, however, till after he had made her acquainted with his own, which appeared to him of much more importance. Poor Gerda, meanwhile, was so overpowered by the cold that she could not speak.

‘Ah, poor things!’ said the Lapland woman, ‘you have still a long way before you! You have a hundred miles to run before you can arrive in Finland: the Snow Queen dwells there, and burns blue lights every evening. I will write for you a few words on a piece of dried stock-fish--paper I have none--and you may take it with you to the wise Finland woman who lives there; she will advise you better than I can.’

So when Gerda had well warmed herself and taken some food, the Lapland woman wrote a few words on a dried stock-fish, bade Gerda take care of it, and bound her once more firmly on the reindeer’s back.

Onwards they sped, the wondrous Northern Lights, now of the loveliest, brightest blue colour, shone all through the night, and amidst these splendid illuminations they arrived in Finland, and knocked at the chimney of the wise-woman, for door to her house she had none.

Hot, very hot was it within--so much so that the wise-woman wore scarcely any clothing; she was low in stature and very dirty. She immediately loosened little Gerda’s dress, took off her fur boots and thick gloves, laid a piece of ice on the reindeer’s head, and then read what was written on the stock-fish. She read it three times. After the third reading she knew it by heart, and threw the fish into the porridge-pot, for it might make a very excellent supper, and she never wasted anything.

The reindeer then repeated his own story, and when that was finished he told of little Gerda’s adventures, and the wise-woman twinkled her wise eyes, but spoke not a word.