The reindeer told his story first and then little Gerda’s, and the Finn woman blinked with her wise eyes, but didn’t say anything.
“You are so wise,” said the reindeer, “I know you can tie the winds of the world with a thread. When the captain unties the first knot, he gets a good wind. When he unties the second, it blows stiffly, and if he unties the third and fourth, it will storm so trees blow down. Won’t you give the little girl a drink so she can gain the strength of twelve men and conquer the Snow Queen?”2
“The strength of twelve men,” said the Finn woman, “yes, that should help!” She went to a shelf and took down a large rolled-up hide and spread it out. There were remarkable letters written on it, and the Finn woman read so intently that sweat poured from her forehead.
But the reindeer begged again for little Gerda, and Gerda looked pleadingly at the Finn woman with her eyes full of tears so that the woman started blinking her eyes again and drew the reindeer into a corner. She whispered to him while he got a fresh piece of ice on his head:
“Little Kai is with the Snow Queen and finds everything to his liking. He thinks it’s the best place in the world, but that’s because he has gotten a splinter in his heart and a little chip of glass in his eye. They have to come out first, or he’ll never become human again, and the Snow Queen will keep her power over him.”
“But can’t you give little Gerda something to take so she can gain power over all of it?”
“I can’t give her greater power than she already has. Can’t you see how great it is? Don’t you see how people and animals must serve her, how she has come so far in the world, even barefoot? We can’t tell her of this power; it’s in her heart. It’s because she is a sweet innocent child. If she can’t reach the Snow Queen by herself and get the glass splinters out of little Kai, we can’t help. The Snow Queen’s garden starts two miles from here. Carry the little girl in there and let her off by the big bush with red berries standing in the snow. Don’t waste time gossiping, but hurry back here.” And the Finn woman lifted Gerda onto the reindeer, and he ran off as fast as he could.
“Oh, I forgot my boots! I forgot my mittens!” called the lit tle girl who noticed this in the biting cold. But the reindeer didn’t dare stop. It ran until it came to the bush with the red berries. There he let Gerda off and kissed her on the lips. Big bright tears ran down the animal’s cheeks, and then it ran back as fast as it could. Poor Gerda was standing there without shoes, without gloves, in the middle of terrible ice-cold Finnmark.
She ran ahead as fast as she could. Then a whole regiment of snowflakes appeared. But these didn’t fall from the sky, which was quite clear and shining with northern lights. The snowflakes ran along the ground, and the closer they came, the bigger they got. Gerda certainly remembered how big and odd they had looked the time she saw the snowflakes through the magnifying glass, but here they were certainly much bigger and more terrible. They were alive—they were the Snow Queen’s sentries. They had the strangest shapes. Some looked like large nasty porcupines, others like big bunches of snakes with their heads sticking out, still others like small fat bears with their hair bristling. All of them were shining white, and all of them were living snowflakes.
Then little Gerda said the Lord’s Prayer, and the cold was so intense that she could see her own breath. It came out of her mouth like smoke. It became more and more condensed and formed into small bright angels. They grew and grew when they touched the ground, and all of them had helmets on their heads and spears and shields in their hands. They became more and more numerous, and when Gerda had finished her prayer, she had a whole legion around her. They struck with their spears at the dreadful snowflakes so that they broke into a hundred pieces, and little Gerda walked safely and confidently forward. The angels patted her feet and hands so she didn’t feel the cold as much, and she walked quickly towards the Snow Queen’s castle.
But now we should see how Kai is doing. He certainly wasn’t thinking about little Gerda, and least of all that she was standing outside the castle.
SEVENTH STORY
WHAT HAPPENED IN THE SNOW QUEEN’S CASTLE AND WHAT HAPPENED LATER
The castle’s walls were made of drifting snow, and the windows and doors of cutting winds. There were over a hundred rooms, depending on how the snow drifted. The largest stretched for many miles, and they were all illuminated by the northern lights. They were so vast, so empty, so icy cold, and so dazzling. There was never any gaiety here, not even so much as a little bear ball where the storm could blow, and the polar bears could walk on their hind legs and show their fine manners. Never a little party game with snout slapping and paw clapping. Never a little coffee klatch for the white fox maidens. The Snow Queen’s rooms were empty, vast, and cold. The northern lights shone so regularly that you could calculate when they would be at their highest and when at their lowest. Right in the middle of the empty unending hall of snow was a frozen lake. It was cracked in a thousand pieces, but each piece was exactly alike so it was a work of art, and in the middle of this is where the Snow Queen sat when she was at home. And she said that she sat on the mirror of reason, and that it was the world’s only and best one.
Little Kai was quite blue from cold, actually almost black, but he didn’t notice it because the Snow Queen had kissed the icy shivers from him, and his heart was practically an ice clump. He was carrying around some sharp, flat pieces of ice which he positioned in all sorts of ways, trying to make something out of it. It’s like when the rest of us use little wooden pieces and make figures from them. It’s called a tangram. Kai was also making figures and very complicated ones. It was the game of Icy Reason. To his eyes the figures were quite excellent and of the very highest importance. That was because of the bit of glass in his eye! He made whole figures that composed a written word, but he could never write the one word that he wanted: eternity. The Snow Queen had told him, “If you can figure out that design for me, you’ll be your own master, and I’ll give you the whole world and a new pair of skates.” But he couldn’t do it.
“Now I’m off to the warm countries,” said the Snow Queen. “I want to go there and peek into the black pots!” She meant the fire-sprouting volcanoes Etna and Vesuvius as we call them. “I’m going to whiten them up a bit! They need it, and it looks good on the lemons and grapes.” And the Snow Queen flew away, and Kai sat quite alone in the many-mile long empty ice hall and looked at the ice pieces and thought and thought until his brain creaked. He sat quite stiff and still. You would think he had frozen to death.
And it was then that little Gerda walked into the castle through the big portal that was filled with biting winds. But she said an evening prayer, and the winds died down as though they wanted to go to sleep. She walked into the vast, empty, cold hall and saw Kai. She recognized him, and threw her arms around his neck. She held him tight and called, “Kai! sweet little Kai! Now I’ve found you!”
But he sat completely still, stiff and cold. Little Gerda started crying hot tears. They fell on Kai’s chest and pressed into his heart where they melted the clump of ice and consumed the little bit of mirror in there. He looked at her, and she sang the hymn:
Then Kai burst into tears. He cried so that the splinter of glass washed out of his eye. He recognized her and cried joy fully, “Gerda! sweet little Gerda! Where have you been so long? And where have I been?” He looked around. “How cold it is here! How big and empty it is!” and he held Gerda tight. She laughed and cried for joy. It
