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
