What does the little snowdrop say?“Between the trees on a rope hangs a wide board. It’s a swing, and two lovely little girls—dresses as white as snow, long green silk ribbons waving from their hats—are swinging. Their brother, who’s bigger than they are, stands up on the swing. He has his arm around the rope to hold on, but in one hand he has a little saucer, in the other a little clay pipe. He’s blowing soap bubbles. The swing is swinging, and the bubbles fly with lovely changing colors—the last is still hanging at the pipe bowl and bends with the wind. The swing is swinging. The little black dog, as light as the bubbles, stands up on its hind legs and wants to get on the swing. It swings by. The dog falls, barks, and is angry. It’s being teased, the bubbles burst—a swinging board, a leaping lathering picture is my song!”
It is possible that it’s really lovely, what you’re talking about, but you tell it so sadly and you don’t mention Kai at all.”
What do the hyacinths say?“There were three lovely sisters, so transparent and delicate. One had a red dress, the second one’s was blue, and the third’s quite white. They danced hand in hand by a quiet lake in the clear moonlight. They weren’t fairies; they were human beings. There was a wonderful sweet fragrance, and the girls disappeared into the woods. The scent grew stronger—three coffins, in which the lovely girls lay, glided out from the edge of the forest over the lake. Shining glowworms flew around like small wavering lights. Are the dancing girls sleeping or are they dead? The flower fragrance says they’re corpses—the evening bell rings for the dead!”
“You make me really sad,” said little Gerda. “Your scent is so strong that I have to think of dead girls! Oh, is little Kai really dead? The roses have been in the ground, and they say he’s not!”
“Ding, dong,” rang the hyacinth bells. “We aren’t ringing for little Kai; we don’t know him. We’re just singing our song, the only one we know!”
So Gerda went to the buttercup, shining out from between glistening green leaves.
“You’re a clear little sun!” Gerda said, “Tell me if you know where I can find my playmate?”
And the buttercup shone so beautifully and looked at Gerda again. What song could the buttercup sing? It wasn’t about Kai either.In a little yard God’s sun shone so warmly the very first day of spring. The rays slid down the neighbor’s white wall, close by grew the first yellow flowers, shining gold in the warm rays of the sun. Old grandmother was sitting out in her chair. Her granddaughter, a poor pretty servant girl, came home for a short visit; she kissed her grandmother. There was gold, the heart’s gold, in the blessed kiss. Gold on the lips, gold on the ground, gold in the morning hours all around!
“See, that’s my little story,” said the buttercup.”
“My poor old grandmother!” sighed Gerda. “I’m sure she’s longing for me and is sad about me, like she was for little Kai. But I’ll soon be home again, and I’ll bring Kai with me. It’s no use asking the flowers, they only know their own songs, and can’t tell me anything.” And then she tied up her little dress so she could run faster, but the narcissus hit her in the leg as she jumped over it so she stopped, looked at the tall yellow flower, and asked, “Do you perhaps know something?” She bent right down to the narcissus, and what did it say?“I can see myself! I can see myself!” said the narcissus. “Oh, how I smell!—In the little garret room, partly dressed, is a little dancer. First she stands on one leg, then on two, she kicks at the whole world. She’s only an optical illusion. She pours water from a teapot onto a piece of fabric that she’s holding. It’s her girdle—Cleanliness is next to Godliness! The white dress hangs on a hook. It’s also washed in the teapot and dried on the roof. She puts it on; the saffron yellow scarf around her neck makes the dress shine whiter. One leg lifts! Look how she stands tall on one stem! I can see myself! I can see myself!”
“I don’t care about that at all,” said Gerda. “That’s nothing to tell me!” And then she ran to the edge of the garden.
The door was closed, but she wiggled the rusty metal hook so it came loose, and the door flew open allowing little Gerda to run out into the wide world in her bare feet. She looked back three times, but no one was coming after her. After a while she couldn’t run any more and sat down on a big rock, and when she looked around, the summer was over. It was late in the autumn. You couldn’t notice that inside the beautiful garden, where there was always sunshine and the flowers of all seasons.
“God, I’ve wasted so much time!” said little Gerda. “It’s autumn already! So I dare not rest!” And she got up to go.
Oh, how tender and tired her little feet were, and all around it looked so cold and damp. The long willow leaves were all yellow and fog dripped into the water from them, one leaf after another fell, only the blackthorn had fruit on it, firm and sour. Oh, how grey and dismal seemed the wide world!
FOURTH STORY
APRINCE AND PRINCESS
Gerda had to rest again. Right above where she was sitting a big crow hopped on the snow. It had been sitting and watching her for a long time and turning its head. Now it said, “Crocay—goo day goo day.” It couldn’t say it any better but it meant well, and asked where she was going so all alone in the wide world. That word—alone—Gerda understood very well and felt the concern so she told the crow her whole life story and asked it if had seen Kai.
And the crow nodded quite thoughtfully and said, “Could be, could be.”
“What? You think so?” cried the little girl and almost squeezed the crow to death from all the kisses she gave him.
“Take it easy, take it easy!” said the crow. “I think, I know—I think it could be little Kai, but I guess he’s forgotten you for the princess!”
“Is he living with a princess?” asked Gerda.
“Yes, imagine,” said the crow, “but it’s so hard for me to speak your language. If you understand Crocawish, I can explain it better.”
“No, I haven’t learned that,” said Gerda, “but my grandmother knew it, and she knew High Falutin too. If only I’d learned it!”
“It doesn’t matter,” said the crow. “I’ll speak as well as I can, but it’ll be awful anyway,” and then he told her what he knew.
“In this kingdom, where we’re sitting, there lives a princess who is immensely intelligent, but then she has also read all the newspapers in the world and forgotten them again, that’s how smart she is. The other day she was sitting on her throne, and they say that isn’t much fun. Then she started humming a lit tle song, the one that goes: ‘Why shouldn’t I get married?’ ‘There’s something in that,’ she said, and then she wanted to get married, but she
