was so wonderful that even the pieces of ice danced with joy all around them, and when they were tired and lay down, they lay precisely in those letters that the Snow Queen had said he should find. So now he was his own master, and she would give him the whole world and a new pair of skates.
As Gerda kissed his cheeks, they flushed. She kissed his eyes, and they lit up like hers. She kissed his hands and feet, and he was hale and hearty. The Snow Queen could return. His release was written there in shining pieces of ice.
And they held hands and walked out of the big castle. They talked about Grandmother and about the roses up on the roof. And wherever they walked, the winds were still, and the sun came out, and when they reached the bush with the red berries, the reindeer was waiting. He had another young reindeer with him, whose udder was full and she gave the little ones her warm milk and kissed them on the lips. Then they carried Kai and Gerda first to the Finn woman, where they warmed up in the hot room and got information about the trip home, then to the Sami woman who had sewn new clothes for them and who had prepared her sleigh.
The reindeer and the young reindeer ran along side and followed them to the border of the country. There where the first green appeared on the ground they parted from the reindeer and the Sami woman. “Farewell,” they all said. And the first little birds started chirping. There were green buds on the trees, and riding out of the trees came a magnificent horse that Gerda recognized, for it had pulled the gold coach, and on this horse was a young girl with a shining red cap on her head and pistols in front. It was the little robber girl, who was bored with being at home and wanted to travel first north and then to other quarters if she wasn’t satisfied. She recognized Gerda right away, and Gerda recognized her. What a joy it was!
“You’re a fine fellow for trudging about!” she said to little Kai. “I wonder if you deserve having someone run to the ends of the earth for your sake!”
But Gerda patted her on the cheek and asked about the prince and princess.
“They’re traveling abroad,” said the robber girl.
“And the crow?” asked little Gerda.
“Well, the crow is dead,” she answered. “The tame sweet heart has become a widow and walks around with a piece of black yarn around her leg. She complains pathetically, but it’s all nonsense! But tell me how it went and how you found him!”
So both Gerda and Kai told their stories.
“All’s well that end’s well,” said the robber girl, took them both by the hand and promised that if she ever came by their city she would look them up, and then she rode off into the wide world. But Kai and Gerda walked hand in hand. They walked through a lovely springtime, and there were flowers, and it was green. The church bells rang, and they recognized the high towers of the big city. It was the one they lived in, and they entered it and went to Grandmother’s door, up the stairs, into the living room, where everything was in the same place as before, and the clock said “tick, tock” as the hand turned. But as they went through the door, they noticed that they were grown up. The roses from the roof gutter were blooming inside the open windows, and there stood the small children’s chairs. Kai and Gerda each sat down on theirs and held hands. They had forgotten like a heavy dream the cold empty mag nificence of the Snow Queen’s castle. Grandmother was sitting in God’s clear sunshine reading aloud from the Bible: “Verily I say unto you, except ye become as little children, ye shall not enter the kingdom of heaven.”
And Kai and Gerda looked into each other’s eyes and understood at once the old hymn:
And there they both sat, grown up and yet children—chil—dren in their hearts—and it was summer, the warm blessed summer.
NOTES
1 From the hymn “Den yndigste Rose er funden” (1732; “Now Found Is the Fairest of Roses”), by H. A. Brorson.
2 The Finns were thought to possess magic powers. Andersen took his information about the Sami from a book by B. M. Keilhau,
THE RED SHOES
ONCE THERE WAS A little girl who was so delicate and lovely, but in the summer she always went barefoot because she was poor. In the winter she wore big wooden shoes, and her little insteps turned so red that it was terrible.
In the middle of the village there lived an old shoemaker’s widow. She sewed a pair of little shoes out of old, red strips of cloth as best she could. They were quite awkwardly made, but she meant well, and they were made for the little girl. The little girl’s name was Karen.
The very day her mother was buried, she received the red shoes and wore them for the first time. They weren’t exactly appropriate for mourning, but she didn’t have any others, and so she walked behind the poor straw coffin in the red shoes without stockings.
Just then a large, old coach came by and in it sat a large, old woman. She looked at the little girl and felt sorry for her so she said to the parson, “Listen, let me take that little girl. I’ll be good to her.”
And Karen thought it was because of the red shoes, but the old woman said they were awful, and they were burned. Karen herself was dressed in neat, clean clothes. She had to learn to read and sew, and people said that she was pretty. But the mirror said, “You’re much more than pretty—you’re beautiful!”
One day the queen was traveling through the country, and she had her little daughter, the princess, with her. People streamed to the castle—Karen too—to see the little princess standing in lovely white clothes in a window being admired. She was wearing neither a train nor a gold crown, but had lovely red leather shoes on. Of course, they were altogether nicer than the shoes the old shoemaker had sewed for Karen. Yes, nothing in the world can compare to red shoes!
Now Karen was old enough to be confirmed. She had gotten new clothes, and she was also to have new shoes. The rich shoemaker in town measured her little foot. This was in his own house, where there were big glass cases full of elegant shoes and shiny boots. They were lovely, but the old woman couldn’t see very well so she got no pleasure from them. Among the shoes was a pair of red ones, just like those the princess had worn. How splendid they were! The shoemaker said they had been made for a count’s daughter, but had not fit.
