“That rose there is worm eaten! And look how crooked that one is! Those really are some ugly roses. They look like the boxes they’re standing in,” and he kicked hard with his foot against the box and tore the two roses off.
“Kai, what are you doing!” cried the little girl, and when he saw her alarm, he tore another rose off and ran through his window away from dear little Gerda.
When she came later with the picture book, he said it was for babies, and if Grandmother told stories, he always had a but-whenever he could he would walk behind her, put on glasses, and talk like her. It was a good imitation, and people laughed at him. Soon he was able to mimic the speech and walk of all the people in the street. Everything that was peculiar to them and unattractive, he was able to mimic, and people said, “That boy’s got a good head on him,” but it was because of the glass he had gotten in his eye, the glass that sat in his heart, and that was why he also made fun of little Gerda, who loved him with all her soul.
His games were now quite different than before. They were so rational. One winter day when the snowflakes were drifting around, he came with a big magnifying glass, held out the blue tail of his jacket and let the snowflakes fall on it.
“Look through the glass, Gerda,” he said, and every snowflake looked much bigger and looked like a magnificent flower or a ten pointed star. It was lovely to see.
“Do you see how intricate they are?” Kai asked, “It’s much more interesting than with real flowers! And they have no flaws at all. They’re quite perfect, if they just don’t melt.”
A little later Kai came wearing big gloves with his sled on his back, and he yelled right into Gerda’s ears: “I’m allowed to go sledding in the big square where the others play,” and off he ran.
In the square the boldest boys often tied their sleds to the farmer’s wagon and rode a good distance with it. It was the greatest fun. As they were playing, a big sleigh arrived. It was painted all white, and there was someone sitting in it wrapped in a wooly white fur and with a white wooly hat. The sleigh drove around the square twice, and Kai quickly got his little sled tied to it, and rode along. It went faster and faster, right into the next street. The one who was driving turned its head and nodded in such a friendly way to Kai; it was as if they knew each other. Every time Kai wanted to loosen his sled, the person nodded again, and so Kai stayed. They drove right out of the city gates. Then the snow started falling so hard that the little boy couldn’t see his hand in front of his face, but he rushed along. He quickly dropped the rope to get loose from the big sleigh, but it didn’t help; his little sled was stuck, and they rushed on as fast as the wind. He cried out loudly then, but no one heard him, and the snow drifted around, and the sleigh rushed on. Every now and then it gave a leap, and it was as if it rushed over furrows and fences. He was very scared and wanted to say the Lord’s Prayer, but he could only remember the multiplication tables.
The snow flakes became bigger and bigger; finally they looked like big white hens. Then they fell to the side, the big sleigh stopped, and the person driving it stood up. The coat and hat were made of snow. It was a woman, so tall and dignified, so shining white—it was the Snow Queen.
“We’re making good time,” she said, “but you’re freezing. Creep into my bearskin fur,” and she placed him in the sleigh with her, put the fur around him, and it was as if he sank into a snowdrift.
“Are you still cold?” she asked and then she kissed him on the forehead. Oh, it was colder than ice. It went right into his heart, which of course was partly a clump of ice. He felt like he was going to die—but only for a moment, then it felt good, and he didn’t notice the cold around him anymore.
“My sled! Don’t forget my sled!” was the first thing he thought of, and it was tied to one of the white hens, that flew after them with the sled on its back. The Snow Queen kissed Kai one more time, and by then he had forgotten little Gerda and Grandmother and all of them at home.
“Now you can’t have more kisses,” she said, “otherwise I’d kiss you to death!”
Kai looked at her. She was so beautiful, a wiser more lovely face he couldn’t imagine. She didn’t seem to be ice, like the time she sat outside his window and waved at him. To his eyes she was perfect, and he didn’t feel at all afraid. He told her that he could do math in his head, with fractions, knew the areas of countries, and how many inhabitants they had. She kept smiling at him, and then he felt that what he knew wasn’t enough. He looked up into the great high sky and she flew with him, flew high up to the black cloud, and the storm whistled and whined as if it were singing centuries-old songs. They flew over forests and lakes, over oceans and land. Under them roared the cold wind, the wolves howled, and black screaming crows flew over the sparkling snow. But above them the huge moon shone brightly, and Kai watched it the whole long, long winter night. In the daytime he slept by the Snow Queen’s feet.
THIRD STORY
THE FLOWER GARDEN OF THE WOMAN WHO KNEW MAGIC
But how was little Gerda getting along now that Kai wasn’t there anymore? Where was he anyway?—No one knew, no one could tell. The boys could only tell that they had seen him tie his little sled to a magnificent big one that drove into the street and out the city gates. No one knew where he was. Many tears were shed, and little Gerda cried her eyes out. Then they said he was dead, drowned in the river that ran close by the city. Oh, what long dark winter days these were!
Then spring came with warmer sunshine.
“Kai is dead and gone,” little Gerda said.
“I don’t believe it,” said the sunshine.
“He’s dead and gone,” she said to the swallows.
“I don’t believe it,” they answered, and finally little Gerda didn’t believe it either.
“I’ll put on my new red shoes,” she said one morning, “the ones Kai has never seen, and go down to the river and ask about him.”
It was early. She kissed her old Grandmother, who was sleeping, put on her red shoes, and went by herself out of the gate to the river.
“Is it true that you’ve taken my little playmate? I’ll give you my red shoes if you’ll give him back to me!”
And she thought the waves nodded so strangely, so she took her red shoes, her most prized possession, and threw them out into the river, but they fell close by the bank, and the little waves brought them right back to her. It was as if the river didn’t want to take the dearest thing she had since it didn’t have little Kai. But she thought that
