The Queen the Princes and the Mermaid Read online

  Now they were on the stairs. A small lamp was burning on top of a cabinet. And in the middle of the floor stood the tame crow. It turned its head this way and that and looked at Gerda, who curtseyed as Grandmother had taught her.

  “My fiancé has spoken highly of you, young miss,” the tame crow said. “Your story is so touching! If you will carry the lamp, then I’ll walk in front. We’ll go this way so we don’t run into anyone.”

  “I think there’s someone behind us!” said Gerda, and then something rushed past her like shadows on the wall – horses with fluttering manes and thin legs, grooms, lords and ladies on horseback.

  “Those are only dreams,” said the tame crow. “They come for the royal family’s thoughts and take them hunting – which is good, since then it will be easy to look at the prince and princess in their beds. But if they give you honour and power, I’d like you to remember who to thank!”

  “Hold your tongue!” said the crow from the forest.

  Then they entered the first room. The walls were hung with rose-coloured satin, sewn with flowers. When the dreams rushed back past them, they moved so quickly that Gerda didn’t catch sight of the royal family. Each room was more magnificent than the last – you could easily get confused – but soon they reached the royal sleeping chamber. The ceiling looked like a great palm tree with leaves of costly glass, and in the middle of the room, two beds that looked like two lilies hung from a trunk of gold. One bed was white, and in it lay the princess; the other bed was red, and it was here that Gerda looked for Kai. She turned back one of the red petals and saw a brown neck – oh, it was Kai! “Kai!” she cried out, quite loudly, and held the lamp up to his head. The dreams rushed back into the bedroom on horseback as he woke up, turned his face to her, and… it was not Kai.

  It was only his neck that looked like Kai’s, though the prince was also young and handsome. From the white-lily bed, the princess peeped out and asked what the matter was. Then Gerda wept and told her the entire story, including all that the crows had done for her.

  “Poor child!” said the prince and princess together. They praised the crows and said that they weren’t angry with them at all – though they shouldn’t try anything like that again. Still, they did deserve a reward.

  “Would you like to fly free?” the princess asked them. “Or would you like steady jobs as court crows, with all the scraps you want from the kitchen?”

  Both crows bowed and asked for steady jobs. They said, “It’s good to have something for the old fellow” – which is what they called their old age.

  The prince got out of his bed and let Gerda sleep there; that was the best he could do. She folded her small hands together and thought, People and animals are so kind. And then she closed her eyes and fell into heavenly sleep. The dreams all came flying back into the chamber, looking like God’s angels and pulling a sled, and Kai sat on it nodding. But the whole thing was just a dream – and it vanished again as soon as she woke up.

  The following day, the prince and princess dressed her in silk and velvet from top to toe. They offered to let her stay at the palace and enjoy herself. But Gerda only asked if she might have a little wagon, a horse, and a pair of small boots. Then she would drive out into the wide world once more and look for Kai.

  They gave her a muff as well as boots, so that now she was very prettily dressed. And when she went to the palace gates to leave, a new carriage of pure gold was standing there. The royal coat of arms shone from it like a star, while a coachman, servants, and outriders – for there were outriders too – sat waiting with golden crowns on their heads. The prince and princess helped Gerda into the carriage themselves, and they wished her the best of luck. The forest crow came along for the first fifteen miles; it had just married its tame sweetheart. It sat next to Gerda because it couldn’t bear to ride backward. The crow’s wife stood at the palace gates, beating its wings – it didn’t join them because it had had a headache ever since getting a steady job and having far too much to eat. The inside of the carriage was lined with sugared pretzels, and there were fruit and ginger snaps piled up beneath the seats.

  “Goodbye! goodbye!” called the prince and princess. Gerda wept, and the crow wept too – and so they passed the first miles. Then the crow also said goodbye, and that parting was the hardest. It flew up into a tree and flapped its black wings as long as it could see the carriage, which shone like the sun.

  Fifth Story

  THE LITTLE BANDIT GIRL

  Gerda drove on through the dark forest, the carriage shining like fire. But the glare was too much for the eyes of the watching bandits.

  “It’s gold! gold!” they shouted, rushing forward. They seized the horses, killed the coachman, servants, and outriders, and pulled Gerda out of the carriage.

  “How plump and tasty – she must have been fattened on nuts!” exclaimed the old bandit woman. She had a long wiry beard and bushy eyebrows that hung down over her eyes. “Like a fat little lamb. Oh, she’ll be scrumptious!” She drew her bright knife and it flashed terribly.

  “Ow!” said the old woman. Her ear had been bitten by her small daughter, who was hanging on her back – a girl so naughty and wild, it was a wonder to see. “You little terror!” cried the mother, who was now too busy to kill Gerda.

  “She’s going to play with me!” the bandit girl said. “She’ll give me her muff and her fine dress, and she’ll sleep with me in my bed!” Then she bit her mother again, which made the old woman jump in the air and whirl around. All the bandits laughed, saying, “Look how she’s dancing with her daughter!”

  “Let me in the carriage!” demanded the bandit girl. There was nothing to do but let her have her way – that’s how stubborn and spoiled she was. She got into the carriage with Gerda and they drove away through thickets and thorns, ever deeper into the forest. The bandit girl was the same size as Gerda but stronger, darker, and broader in the shoulder. Her eyes were quite black; they almost looked sad. She put her arm around Gerda’s waist and said, “They won’t kill you – as long as you don’t make me angry. I suppose you’re a princess?”

  “No,” said Gerda, and she told the girl everything she’d been through, and how much she missed Kai.

  The bandit girl looked at her with a serious face, gave a little nod, and said, “They won’t kill you even if you do make me angry. In that case I’ll kill you myself!” Then she dried Gerda’s tears and placed her own hands in the lovely muff, which was very soft and warm indeed.

  The carriage stopped. They were in the courtyard of the bandits’ castle, which had great cracks running from top to bottom. Ravens and crows flew out of the gaps, and giant bulldogs – each looking like it could swallow a person whole – leapt high in the air. But they did not bark, because that was forbidden.

  In the big blackened old hall, a large fire was burning in the middle of the stone floor. There was no chimney, so the smoke gathered under the ceiling and had to find its own way out. Soup was on the boil in a big cauldron, and wild rabbits roasted on spits.

  “You’re going to sleep here tonight with me and all my creatures,” the bandit girl said. The two girls ate and drank and then went over to a corner, where there was straw and blankets. Overhead, a hundred wood pigeons were perching in the rafters. They appeared to be sleeping, but they shifted in place when the girls came over.

  “They all belong to me!” the bandit girl said. She grabbed one of the closest birds by the leg and shook it so that it flapped its wings. “Kiss it!” she yelled, holding it out so that its wings struck Gerda in the face. “And I call those two my wood canaries,” she said, pointing to some bars placed in front of a hole high in the wall. “Wood canaries, ha! They’ll fly away if I don’t shut them in properly. And here’s my old sweetheart, Baa.” She tugged on the antlers of a reindeer that was tied up by a bright copper ring around its neck. “We can’t let him go free either, otherwise
he’ll run away. I tickle his throat every night with my sharp knife – he gets so scared!” And she drew a long knife out of a crack in the wall and let it slide across the reindeer’s throat. The poor creature kicked out its legs, but the bandit girl just laughed and pulled Gerda down into the bed beside her.

  “Are you sure you want the knife in bed with you?” asked Gerda, looking at it a little fearfully.

  “I always sleep with a knife!” said the bandit girl. “You never know what might happen. But now I want you to tell me again what you told me before, about Kai and why you’ve gone wandering around the wide world.” And Gerda told the story from the beginning, while the two wood pigeons in the cage cooed and the other pigeons slept. Then the young bandit girl laid one arm around Gerda’s neck, with the knife in her other hand, and slept quite loudly, so anyone could hear. Yet Gerda couldn’t even close her eyes; she didn’t know whether she was going to live or die. And meanwhile the bandits sat around the fire, singing and drinking, and the old bandit woman turned somersaults. Oh! it was terrible for young Gerda to watch.

  Then the two wood pigeons spoke. “Coo, coo! We’ve seen young Kai. A white chicken was carrying his sled while he sat in the Snow Queen’s sleigh, swooping low over the forest. We were in our nest with our brothers and sisters. Then she blew on us, and everyone died except us two, coo! coo!”

  “What are you saying up there?” Gerda called out. “Where was the Snow Queen going? What can you tell me?”

  “She was travelling to Lapland, no doubt. Because it’s always snow and ice there! Just ask the reindeer who’s tied up next to you.”

  “Ice and snow yes, it’s simply grand!” the reindeer said. “You can leap freely around the great shining valleys. The Snow Queen has her summer tent there, but her palace is up toward the North Pole – a place they call Spitsbergen.”

  “Oh Kai!” sighed Gerda. “Poor Kai!”

  “Lie still and stop moving!” shouted the bandit girl. “Or else I’ll run this knife through your belly!”

  The next morning, Gerda told her everything that the wood pigeons had said. The bandit girl looked quite serious, but then she nodded her head and said, “No matter! no matter!” She turned to the reindeer. “Do you know where Lapland is?”

  “Who knows better than I?” said the animal, its eyes dancing in its head. “I was born and bred there, and used to leap around its fields of snow.”

  “Listen,” the bandit girl told Gerda. “You can see that all the men are out. But my mother’s still here and she won’t leave. Later this morning, though, she’ll drink from her big bottle and take a short nap upstairs. Then I’ll be able to help you.” The girl jumped out of bed. She went over and grabbed her mother by the neck and pulled on her beard, saying, “My sweet little billy goat – good morning!” And her mother flicked the girl under the nose until it turned red and blue, but it was all done out of love.

  When her mother had drunk from her bottle and fallen asleep, the bandit girl went over to the reindeer and said, “I have a huge desire to tickle you again and again with my sharp knife, because it makes you act so funny. But never mind. I’m going to undo your rope and take you outside so you can run to Lapland. Be sure to make good use of your legs! And bring this little girl to the Snow Queen’s palace, where her playmate is. I know you heard what she was telling me because she was talking so loud – and because you like to eavesdrop!”

  The reindeer bounded into the air with happiness. Then the bandit girl lifted young Gerda onto its back, taking care to tie her fast. And she made sure to give Gerda a small cushion to sit on. “You’ve got your fur boots,” the bandit girl said, “so the cold won’t bother you. But I’m keeping the muff, it’s just too delicious. You won’t freeze though. Here, take my mother’s big mittens, they go almost up to your elbow. Put them on! Now your hands look just like my horrid mother’s.”

  Gerda wept with joy.

  “No bawling!” cried the bandit girl. “I want you to look cheerful. And here are two loaves of bread and a ham, so you won’t starve.” She tied them behind Gerda, opened the door, let in all the giant dogs, and then cut the reindeer’s rope with her knife. “Now run!” she told it. “And take good care of the little girl!”

  Gerda stretched out her mittened hands toward the bandit girl and said goodbye. And then the reindeer thundered off, over bush and scrub, through deep forest, over moor and steppe, as fast as it could run. The wolves howled and the ravens squawked. “Whoosh! Whoosh!” cried the sky, which looked as if it had a nosebleed.

  “The northern lights! My dear northern lights!” said the reindeer. “How they gleam!” And on it ran, faster than ever; night and day it ran. The loaves were eaten, the ham too, and then – then they were in Lapland.

  Sixth Story

  THE SAMI WOMAN AND THE FINNISH WOMAN

  Gerda and the reindeer stopped in front of a miserable little house. The roof went all the way down to the ground, and the doorway was so low that the family must have crawled on their bellies when they wanted to go in or out. Nobody was home except an old Sami woman, who stood and grilled fish by the light of a whale-oil lamp. The reindeer told her Gerda’s entire story – but first it told the woman its own story, because it felt that was much more important, and because Gerda was so weak with cold that she couldn’t speak.

  “Oh, you poor creatures,” said the Sami woman, “you still have a long way to run! You’ll have to travel another five hundred miles into Lapland to get to where the Snow Queen lives, where she burns blue lights every blessed night. Just give me a chance to write a couple of words on a dry codfish, since I don’t have any paper. I’ll send it with you to give the Finnish woman up there – she’ll tell you more than I can.”

  After Gerda thawed out and had something to eat and drink, the Sami woman wrote a few words on a dried cod. She told Gerda to take good care of it and tied her to the reindeer again, which bounded away. “Whoosh! Whoosh!” came the sound again from high in the air, and the entire night sky blazed blue with the most gorgeous northern lights. And then they came to Lapland and knocked on the Finnish woman’s chimney, because she didn’t even have a door.

  It was hot inside, so the old Finnish woman was walking around nearly naked. She was small and rather filthy. She loosened Gerda’s clothing straight away and removed her mittens and boots – otherwise Gerda would have got too hot – and placed a piece of ice on the reindeer’s head. Then she read the writing on the codfish. She read it three times, until she knew it by heart, and then she put the fish in the frying pan – it was still perfectly fine to eat, and she tried never to waste anything.

  The reindeer told her its story, and then Gerda’s. The Finnish woman blinked her wise eyes but didn’t say a word.

  “You’re so wise,” the reindeer said. “I know you can bind all the winds of the world in a piece of thread. And if a sea captain unties one knot, he’ll have good wind; if he unties another, it’ll blow hard; and if he unties a third and fourth, storms will rage till the forests fall down. Would you be kind and make this little girl a drink to give her the strength of twelve men so she can conquer the Snow Queen?”

  “The strength of twelve men – that’s an idea, ha!” The Finnish woman went over to a shelf and took down a large roll of hide. She unrolled it to reveal some writing in strange letters. She began to read, and as she read, sweat poured down her forehead.

  But the reindeer begged so much on Gerda’s behalf, and Gerda looked so pleadingly at the Finnish woman, her eyes full of tears, that the woman began to blink too. She pulled the reindeer into a corner, placed some fresh ice on its head, and whispered, “Young Kai is with the Snow Queen, all right. Everything is just as he wants it to be; he thinks he’s in the nicest place in the world. But that’s because he’s got a splinter of glass in his heart and another in his eye. They have to be removed. Otherwise he won’t ever be human again, and the Snow Qu
een will keep him in her power.”

  “But can’t you give Gerda something that will give her some power?”

  “I can’t give the girl more power than she already has! Can’t you see how powerful she is? Can’t you see how people and animals all serve her? And how far she’s got in the world on just her own two feet? We must not let her know the power that lives in her heart – that lives in the sweet innocence of a child. If she can’t go to the Snow Queen and remove the glass from Kai herself, there’s nothing we can do to help.

  “Listen,” the old woman continued. “Nine miles from here – that’s where the grounds of the Snow Queen’s palace begin. You can carry the little girl that far. Set her down by the big bush with red berries that stands there in the snow. And don’t stand around gossiping – hurry straight back!” Then the Finnish woman lifted Gerda onto the reindeer, and off it ran as fast as its legs could carry it.

  “Oh no, I don’t have my boots! I don’t have my mittens!” Gerda wailed into the stinging cold air. But the reindeer didn’t dare stop, and it ran until it came to the big bush with red berries. It set Gerda down and kissed her on the mouth as big shiny tears ran down its cheeks, then it galloped back as fast as it could. And there stood poor Gerda, shoeless, mittenless, alone in the middle of frightful, ice-cold Lapland.

  She started to run as fast as she was able. And then there came a whole troop of snowflakes. But they did not fall from the sky; the sky was crystal clear and glittered with the northern lights. No, the snowflakes ran along the ground – and the closer they came, the bigger they got. Gerda remembered how big and unnatural they had looked, back when she’d seen them through the magnifying glass. But here the snowflakes were large in a very different and terrifying way – for they were alive, they were the Snow Queen’s advance soldiers. And they took on the strangest shapes. Some looked like big ugly porcupines, others like great knots of snakes whose heads all poked outward, and others like fat little bears whose fur stuck straight out – all of the snowflakes brilliant white, all of them alive.