Part 8
‘Thou art so powerful,’ continued the reindeer, ‘that I know thou canst twist all the winds of the world into a thread, of which if the pilot loosen one knot he will have a favourable wind; if he loosen the second it will blow sharp, and if he loosen the third, so tremendous a storm will arise that the trees of the forest will be uprooted, and the ship wrecked. Wilt thou not mix for this little maiden that wonderful draught which will give her the strength of twelve men, and thus enable her to overcome the Snow Queen?’
‘The strength of twelve men!’ repeated the wise-woman, ‘that would be of much use to be sure!’ and she walked away, drew forth a large parchment roll from a shelf and began to read. What strange characters were seen inscribed on the scroll as the wise-woman slowly unrolled it! She read so intently that the perspiration ran down her forehead.
But the reindeer pleaded so earnestly for little Gerda, and Gerda’s eyes were raised so entreatingly and tearfully, that at last the wise-woman’s eyes began to twinkle again out of sympathy, and she drew the reindeer into a corner, and putting a fresh piece of ice upon his head, whispered thus:
‘Little Kay is still with the Snow Queen, in whose abode everything is according to his taste, and therefore he believes it to be the best place in the world. But that is because he has a glass splinter in his heart, and a glass splinter in his eye--until he has got rid of them he will never feel like a human being, and the Snow Queen will always maintain her influence over him.’
‘But canst thou not give something to little Gerda whereby she may overcome all these evil influences?’
‘I can give her no power so great as that which she already possesses. Seest thou not how strong she is? Seest thou not that both men and animals must serve her--a poor little girl wandering barefoot through the world? Her power is greater than ours; it proceeds from her heart, from her being a loving and innocent child. If this power which she already possesses cannot give her access to the Snow Queen’s palace, and enable her to free Kay’s eye and heart from the glass fragment, we can do nothing for her! Two miles hence is the Snow Queen’s garden; thither thou canst carry the little maiden. Put her down close by the bush bearing red berries and half covered with snow: lose no time, and hasten back to this place!’
And the wise-woman lifted Gerda on the reindeer’s back, and away they went.
‘Oh, I have left my boots behind! I have left my gloves behind,’ cried little Gerda, when it was too late. The cold was piercing, but the reindeer dared not stop; on he ran until he reached the bush with the red berries. Here he set Gerda down, kissed her, the tears rolling down his cheeks the while, and ran fast back again--which was the best thing he could do. And there stood poor Gerda, without shoes, without gloves, alone in that barren region, that terribly icy-cold Finland.
She ran on as fast as she could; a whole regiment of snow-flakes came to meet her. They did not fall from the sky, which was cloudless and bright with the Northern Lights; they ran straight along the ground, and the farther Gerda advanced the larger they grew. Gerda then remembered how large and curious the snow-flakes had appeared to her when one day she had looked at them through a burning-glass; these, however, were very much larger, they were living forms, they were in fact the Snow Queen’s guards. Their shapes were the strangest that could be imagined; some looked like great ugly porcupines, others like snakes rolled into knots with their heads peering forth, and others like little fat bears with bristling hair--all, however, were alike dazzlingly white--all were living snow-flakes. Little Gerda began to repeat ‘Our Father’: meanwhile, the cold was so intense that she could see her own breath, which, as it escaped her mouth, ascended into the air like vapour; the cold grew intense, the vapour more dense, and at length took the forms of little bright angels which, as they touched the earth, became larger and more distinct. They wore helmets on their heads, and carried shields and spears in their hands; their number increased so rapidly that, by the time Gerda had finished her prayer, a whole legion stood around her. They thrust with their spears against the horrible snow-flakes, which fell into thousands of pieces, and little Gerda walked on unhurt and undaunted. The angels touched her hands and feet, and then she scarcely felt the cold, and boldly approached the Snow Queen’s palace.
But before we accompany her there, let us see what Kay is doing. He is certainly not thinking of little Gerda; least of all can he imagine that she is now standing at the palace gate.
PART THE SEVENTH
WHICH TREATS OF THE SNOW QUEEN’S PALACE, AND OF WHAT CAME TO PASS THEREIN
The walls of the palace were formed of the driven snow, its doors and windows of the cutting winds. There were above a hundred halls, the largest of them many miles in extent, all illuminated by the Northern Lights, all alike vast, empty, icily cold, and dazzlingly white. No sounds of mirth ever resounded through these dreary spaces; no cheerful scene refreshed the sight--not even so much as a bear’s ball, such as one might imagine sometimes takes place, the tempest forming a band of musicians, and the polar bears standing on their hind paws and exhibiting themselves in the oddest positions. Nor was there ever a card-assembly, wherein the cards might be held in the mouth and dealt out by paws; nor even a small select coffee-party for the white young lady foxes. Vast, empty, and cold were the Snow Queen’s chambers, and the Northern Lights flashed, now high, now low, in regular gradations. In the midst of the empty, interminable snow saloon lay a frozen lake; it was broken into a thousand pieces, but these pieces so exactly resembled each other, that the breaking of them might well be deemed a work of more than human skill. The Snow Queen, when at home, always sat in the centre of this lake; she used to say that she was then sitting on the Mirror of Reason, and that hers was the best, indeed the only one, in the world.
Little Kay was quite blue, nay, almost black with cold, but he did not observe it, for the Snow Queen had kissed away the shrinking feeling he used to experience, and his heart was like a lump of ice. He was busied among the sharp icy fragments, laying and joining them together in every possible way, just as people do with what are called Chinese puzzles. Kay could form the most curious and complete figures--this was the ice-puzzle of reason--and in his eyes these figures were of the utmost importance. He often formed whole words, but there was one word he could never succeed in forming--it was Eternity. The Snow Queen had said to him, ‘When thou canst put that figure together, thou shalt become thine own master and I will give thee the whole world, and a new pair of skates besides.’
But he could never do it.
‘Now I am going to the warm countries,’ said the Snow Queen. ‘I shall flit through the air, and look into the black caldrons’--she meant the burning mountains, Etna and Vesuvius. ‘I shall whiten them a little; that will be good for the citrons and vineyards.’ So away flew the Snow Queen, leaving Kay sitting all alone in the large empty hall of ice. He looked at the fragments, and thought and thought till his head ached. He sat so still and so stiff that one might have fancied that he too was frozen.
Cold and cutting blew the winds when little Gerda passed through the palace gates, but she repeated her evening prayer, and they immediately sank to rest. She entered the large, cold, empty hall: she saw Kay, she recognised him, she flew upon his neck, she held him fast, and cried, ‘Kay! dear, dear Kay! I have found thee at last!’
But he sat still as before, cold, silent, motionless; his unkindness wounded poor Gerda deeply. Hot and bitter were the tears she shed; they fell upon his breast, they reached his heart, they thawed the ice and dissolved the tiny splinter of glass within it. He looked at her whilst she sang her hymn--
‘Our roses bloom and fade away, Our Infant Lord abides alway; May we be blessed His face to see, And ever little children be!’
Then Kay burst into tears. He wept till the glass splinter floated in his eye and fell with his tears; he knew his old companion immediately, and exclaimed with joy, ‘Gerda, my dear little Gerda, where hast thou been all this time?--and where have I been?’
He looked around him. ‘How cold it is here! how wide and empty!’ and he embraced Gerda, whilst she laughed and wept by turns. Even the pieces of ice took part in their joy; they danced about merrily, and when they were wearied and lay down they formed of their own accord the mystical letters of which the Snow Queen had said that when Kay could put them together he should be his own master, and that she would give him the whole world, with a new pair of skates besides.
And Gerda kissed his cheeks, whereupon they became fresh and glowing as ever; she kissed his eyes, and they sparkled like her own; she kissed his hands and feet, and he was once more healthy and merry. The Snow Queen might now come home as soon as she liked--it mattered not; Kay’s charter of freedom stood written on the mirror in bright icy characters.
They took each other by the hand, and wandered forth out of the palace, talking meanwhile about the aged grandmother and the rose-trees on the roof of their houses; and as they walked on, the winds were hushed into a calm, and the sun burst forth in splendour from among the dark storm-clouds. When they arrived at the bush with the red berries, they found the reindeer standing by awaiting their arrival; he had brought with him another and younger reindeer, whose udders were full, and who gladly gave her warm milk to refresh the young travellers.
The old reindeer and the young hind now carried Kay and Gerda on their backs, first to the little hot room of the wise-woman of Finland, where they warmed themselves, and received advice how to proceed in their journey home, and afterwards to the abode of the Lapland woman, who made them some new clothes and provided them with a sledge.
The whole party now ran on together till they came to the boundary of the country; but just where the green leaves began to sprout, the Lapland woman and the two reindeers took their leave. ‘Farewell! farewell!’ said they all. And the first little birds they had seen for many a long day began to chirp, and warble their pretty songs; and the trees of the forest burst upon them full of rich and variously tinted foliage. Suddenly the green boughs parted asunder, and a spirited horse galloped up. Gerda knew it well, for it was the one which had been harnessed to her gold coach; and on it sat a young girl wearing a bright scarlet cap, and with pistols on the holster before her. It was indeed no other than the robber-maiden, who, weary of her home in the forest, was going on her travels, first to the north and afterwards to other parts of the world. She at once recognised Gerda, and Gerda had not forgotten her. Most joyful was their greeting.
‘A fine gentleman you are, to be sure, you graceless young truant!’ said she to Kay. ‘I should like to know if you deserved that any one should be running to the end of the world on your account!’
But Gerda stroked her cheeks, and asked after the prince and princess.
‘They are gone travelling into foreign countries,’ replied the robber-maiden.
‘And the raven?’ asked Gerda.
‘Ah! the raven is dead,’ returned she. ‘The tame beloved has become a widow; so she hops about with a piece of worsted wound round her leg; she moans most piteously, and chatters more than ever! But tell me now all that has happened to you, and how you managed to pick up your old playfellow.’
And Gerda and Kay told their story.
‘Snip-snap-snurre-basselurre!’ said the robber-maiden. She pressed the hands of both, promised that if ever she passed through their town she would pay them a visit, and then bade them farewell, and rode away out into the wide world.
Kay and Gerda walked on hand in hand, and wherever they went it was spring, beautiful spring, with its bright flowers and green leaves.
They arrived at a large town, the church bells were ringing merrily, and they immediately recognised the high towers rising into the sky--it was the town wherein they had lived. Joyfully they passed through the streets, joyfully they stopped at the door of Gerda’s grandmother. They walked up the stairs and entered the well-known room. The clock said ‘Tick, tick!’ and the hands moved as before. Only one alteration could they find, and that was in themselves, for they saw that they were now full-grown persons. The rose-trees on the roof blossomed in front of the open window, and there beneath them stood the children’s stools. Kay and Gerda went and sat down upon them, still holding each other by the hands; the cold, hollow splendour of the Snow Queen’s palace they had forgotten, it seemed to them only an unpleasant dream. The grandmother meanwhile sat amid God’s bright sunshine, and read from the Bible these words: ‘Unless ye become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven.’
And Kay and Gerda gazed on each other; they now understood the words of their hymn--
‘Our roses bloom and fade away, Our Infant Lord abides alway; May we be blessed His face to see, And ever little children be!’
There they sat, those two happy ones, grown-up and yet children--children in heart, while all around them glowed bright summer,--warm, glorious summer.
ELFIN-MOUNT
Several large lizards were running nimbly in and out among the clefts of an old tree; they could understand each other perfectly well, for they all spoke the lizards’ language. ‘Only hear what a rumbling and grumbling there is in the old Elfin-mount yonder!’ observed one lizard. ‘I have not been able to close my eyes for the last two nights; I might as well have had the toothache, for the sleep I have had!’
‘There is something in the wind, most certainly!’ rejoined the second lizard. ‘They raise the Mount upon four red pillars till cock-crowing; there is a regular cleaning and dusting going on, and the Elfin-maidens are learning new dances--such a stamping they make in them! There is certainly something in the wind!’
‘Yes; I have been talking it over with an earth-worm of my acquaintance,’ said a third lizard. ‘The earth-worm has just come from the Mount; he has been grubbing in the ground there for days and nights together, and has overheard a good deal; he can’t see at all, poor wretch! but no one can be quicker than he is at feeling and hearing. They are expecting strangers at the Elfin-mount--distinguished strangers; but who they are, the earth-worm would not say; most likely he did not know. All the wills-o’-the-wisp are engaged to form a procession of torches--so they call it; and all the silver and gold, of which there is such a store in the Elfin-mount, is being fresh rubbed up, and set out to shine in the moonlight.’
‘But who can these strangers be?’ exclaimed all the lizards with one voice. ‘What can be in the wind? Only listen!--what buzzing and humming!’
Just then the Elfin-mount parted asunder; and an elderly Elfin damsel came tripping out--she was the old Elfin-King’s housekeeper, and distantly related to his family, on which account she wore an amber heart on her forehead, but was otherwise plainly dressed. Like all other elves, she was hollow in the back. She was very quick and light-footed; trip--trip--trip, away she ran, straight into the marsh, to the night-raven. ‘You are invited to Elfin-mount, for this very evening,’ said she; ‘but will you not first do us a very great kindness, and be the bearer of the other invitations? You do not keep house, yourself, you know; so you can easily oblige us. We are expecting some very distinguished strangers, Trolds in fact; and his Elfin Majesty intends to welcome them in person.’
‘Who are to be invited?’ inquired the night-raven.
‘Why, to the grand ball all the world may come; even men, if they could but talk in their sleep, or do a little bit of anything in our way. But the first banquet must be very select; none but guests of the very highest rank must be present. To say the truth, I and the King have been having a little dispute; for I insist, that not even ghosts may be admitted to-night. The Mer-King and his daughters must be invited first; they don’t much like coming on land, but I’ll promise they shall each have a wet stone, or, perhaps, something better still, to sit on; and then, I think, they cannot possibly refuse us this time. All old Trolds of the first rank we must have; also, the River-Spirit and the Nisses; and, I fancy, we cannot pass over the Death-Horse and Kirkegrim; true, they do not belong to our set, they are too solemn for us, but they are connected with the family, and pay us regular visits.’
‘Caw!’ said the night-raven; and away he flew to bear the invitations.
The Elfin-maidens were still dancing in the Elfin-mount; they danced with long scarfs woven from mist and moonlight, and for those who like that sort of thing it looks pretty enough. The large state-room in the Mount had been regularly cleaned and cleared out; the floor had been washed with moonshine, and the walls rubbed with witches’ fat till they shone as tulips do when held up to the light. In the kitchen, frogs were roasting on the spit; while divers other choice dishes, such as mushroom seed, hemlock soup, etc., were prepared or preparing. These were to supply the first courses; rusty nails, bits of coloured glass, and such like dainties, were to come in for the dessert; there was also bright saltpetre wine, and ale brewed in the brewery of the Wise Witch of the Moor.
The old Elfin-King’s gold crown had been fresh rubbed with powdered slate-pencil; new curtains had been hung up in all the sleeping-rooms,--yes, there was indeed a rare bustle and commotion.
‘Now, we must have the rooms scented with cows’ hairs and swine’s bristles; and then, I think, I shall have done my part!’ said the Elfin-King’s housekeeper.
‘Dear papa,’ said the youngest of the daughters, ‘won’t you tell me now who these grand visitors are?’
‘Well!’ replied His Majesty, ‘I suppose there’s no use in keeping it a secret. Let two of my daughters get themselves ready for their wedding-day, that’s all! Two of them most certainly will be married. The Chief of the Norwegian Trolds, he who dwells in old Dofrefield, and has so many castles of freestone among these rocky fastnesses, besides a gold-mine,--which is a capital thing, let me tell you,--he is coming down here with his two boys, who are both to choose themselves a bride. Such an honest, straightforward, true old Norseman is this mountain chief! so merry and jovial! he and I are old comrades; he came down here years ago to fetch his wife; she is dead now; she was the daughter of the Rock-King at Möen. Oh, how I long to see the old Norseman again! His sons, they say, are rough unmannerly cubs, but perhaps report may have done them injustice, and at any rate they are sure to improve in a year or two, when they have sown their wild oats. Let me see how you will polish them up!’
‘And how soon are they to be here?’ inquired his youngest daughter again.
‘That depends on wind and weather!’ returned the Elfin-King. ‘They travel economically; they come at the ship’s convenience. I wanted them to pass over by Sweden, but the old man would not hear of that. He does not keep pace with the times, that’s the only fault I can find with him.’
Just then two wills-o’-the-wisp were seen dancing up in a vast hurry, each trying to get before the other, and to be the first to bring the news.
‘They come, they come!’ cried both with one voice.
‘Give me my crown, and let me stand in the moonlight!’ said the Elfin-King.
And his seven daughters lifted their long scarfs and bowed low to the earth.
There stood the Trold Chief from the Dofrefield, wearing a crown composed of icicles and polished pine cones; for the rest, he was equipped in a bear-skin cloak and sledge-boots; his sons were clad more slightly, and kept their throats uncovered, by way of showing that they cared nothing about the cold.
‘Is that a mount?’ asked the youngest of them, pointing to it. ‘Why, up in Norway we should call it a cave!’
‘You foolish boy!’ replied his father; ‘a cave you go into, a mount you go up! Where are your eyes, not to see the difference?’
The only thing that surprised them in this country, they said, was that the people should speak and understand their language.
‘Behave yourselves now!’ said the old man; ‘don’t let your host fancy you never went into decent company before!’
And now they all entered the Elfin-mount, into the grand saloon, where a really very select party was assembled, although at such short notice that it seemed almost as though some fortunate gust of wind had blown them together. And every possible arrangement had been made for the comfort of each of the guests; the Mer-King’s family, for instance, sat at table in large tubs of water, and they declared they felt quite as if they were at home. All behaved with strict good-breeding except the two young northern Trolds, who at last so far forgot themselves as to put their legs on the table.
‘Take your legs away from the plates!’ said their father, and they obeyed, but not so readily as they might have done. Presently they took some pine cones out of their pockets and began pelting the lady who sat between them, and then, finding their boots incommode them, they took them off, and coolly gave them to this lady to hold. But their father, the old mountain Chief, conducted himself very differently; he talked so delightfully about the proud Norse mountains, and the torrents, white with dancing spray, that dashed foaming down their rocky steeps with a noise loud and hoarse as thunder, yet musical as the full burst of an organ, touched by a master hand; he told of the salmon leaping up from the wild waters while the Neck was playing on his golden harp; he told of the star-light winter nights when the sledge bells tinkled so merrily, and the youths ran with lighted torches over the icy crust, so glassy and transparent that through it they could see the fishes whirling to and fro in deadly terror beneath their feet; he told of the gallant northern youths and pretty maidens singing songs of old time, and dancing the Hallinge dance,--yes, so charmingly he described all this, that you could not but fancy you heard and saw it all. Oh fie, for shame: all of a sudden the mountain Chief turned round upon the elderly Elfin maiden, and gave her a cousinly salute, and he was not yet connected ever so remotely with the family.
The young Elfin-maidens were now called upon to dance. First they danced simple dances, then stamping dances, and
they did both remarkably well. Last came the most difficult of all, the ‘Dance out of the dance,’ as it was called. Bravo! how long their legs seemed to grow, and how they whirled and spun about! You could hardly distinguish legs from arms, or arms from legs. Round and round they went, such whirling and twirling, such whirring and whizzing there was that it made the death-horse feel quite dizzy, and at last he grew so unwell that he was obliged to leave the table.