The Snow Queen:
A Fairy Tale in Seven Stories
Sneedronningen: Et eventyr i syv historier
“The Snow Queen,” one of the great quest narratives of children’s literature, traces the paths of two children through wonders and marvels as they journey to the ends of the earth. Although Kai and Gerda are not biological siblings, they are bonded as brother and sister. In the course of their travels, they pass from childhood through adolescence to become adults—adults who remain children at heart. Their trial-ridden journey contains all the classic features of a fairy tale: a courageous heroine who maintains her wits, melodramatic contests between good and evil, helpers and donors who aid the innocent heroine in her quest, villains with seductive powers, perilous journeys that lead to breathtaking adventures, and the triumph of the innocent and pure in heart over evil. The fairy tale has also been framed as an allegory for adults, illustrating the dangerous seductions of science and reason and predicting their defeat by the life-giving forces of Christian salvation. “The Snow Queen” operates on multiple levels, its simplicity concealing depth and complexity that yield new meanings with each reading.
Much as Andersen explicitly endorses purity of soul and the faith, hope, and charity embodied in Gerda, he cannot but let slip one hint after another about the attractions of Kai’s existence in the realm of the Snow Queen. If we trust the tale, we find that the realm of the Snow Queen is constructed as a world of exquisite aesthetic purity—chaste and sensual, spare yet luxurious, and disciplined but undomesticated. In the end, Gerda’s pious Christian vision cannot always compete with the enchanting icy attractions available to Kai. “When we read of Kai’s catastrophic predicament, the Snow Queen herself seems to preempt the author, and only a rapturous sensuality seems adequate to convey her thrilling excesses of coldness,” one critic comments. “And when Kai, now on solid ground, submits without volition to little Gerda’s wholesome and restorative kisses, we can’t help but listen for the thrum of the returning sled, in which we once soared through the air and submitted to the dizzying, promise-filled kisses of the Snow Queen” (Eisenberg, 111). Kai may not have the power to get back on the sled, but we get back on every time we turn the pages of “The Snow Queen.”
Andersen described the writing of “The Snow Queen” as “sheer joy”: “It occupied my mind so fully that it came out dancing across the page.” Although the story is one of the longest among his works, it took only five days to write. It has danced its way to the top of the list of Andersen’s fairy tales and is seen by many as his greatest accomplishment. Andersen himself believed that many of his finest stories were written after travels to Rome, Naples, Constantinople, and Athens in 1841. He returned to Copenhagen reinvigorated by the encounter with the “Orient” and began inventing his own tales rather than relying on the folklore of his culture. Andersen believed that he had finally found his true voice, and “The Snow Queen,” even if it does not mark a clean break with the earlier fairy tales, offers evidence of a more reflective style committed to forging new mythologies rather than producing lighthearted entertainments.
The earliest film adaptation of Andersen’s tale was Snezhnaya Koroleva, released in the Soviet Union in 1957 and exported to America in 1959, with voices dubbed by Sandra Dee and Tommy Kirk. Since then, four other films have been made, a second in the USSR, one in Denmark, one in the United States, and one in the United Kingdom.
THE FIRST STORY, CONCERNING A MIRROR AND ITS SHARDS
Look out! We’re about to begin.1 And when we reach the end of the story, we’ll know more than we do now2—all because of an evil troll! He was one of the very worst—the “devil” himself!3 One day he was in a really good mood, for he had just finished making a mirror4 that could shrink the image of whatever was good and beautiful down to almost nothing, while anything worthless and ugly was magnified and would look even worse. In this mirror, the loveliest landscapes looked like boiled spinach, and the kindest people looked hideous or seemed to be standing on their heads with their stomachs missing. Faces looked so deformed that you couldn’t recognize them, and if someone had just a single freckle, you could be sure that it would spread until it covered both nose and mouth.
That was all great fun, the “devil” said. If anyone had a kind, pious thought, the mirror would begin to grin, and the troll-devil would burst out laughing at his clever invention. Everyone who attended his troll school (for he ran one) spread the news that a miracle had taken place.5 Now for the first time, they claimed, you could see what the world and its people were really like. The students ran all over the place with the mirror until there was not a single country or person left to disfigure in it. They even wanted to fly all the way up to heaven to make fun of the angels and of God himself. The higher they flew with the mirror, the more it chuckled until finally they could barely hold on to it. They flew higher and higher, closer to God and the angels, but suddenly the mirror shook so hard with laughter that it flew out of their hands and crashed down to earth, where it shattered into a hundred million billion pieces and even more than that.
Once it broke, the mirror caused more unhappiness than ever, for some of the shards weren’t even the size of a grain of sand, and they blew around all over the world. If a tiny particle got into your eye, it stayed there and made everything look bad or else it only let you see what was wrong with things, for every microscopic particle had the exact same power as the entire mirror. A little splinter from the mirror landed in the hearts of some people, and that was really dreadful because then their hearts became as hard as a chunk of ice. The shards were so large at times that you could use them as windowpanes, but you wouldn’t want to see any of your friends through a window like that. Other pieces were turned into eyeglasses, and that caused a lot of trouble because people put them on, thinking they would see better or judge more fairly. The evil troll laughed until his sides split, and that really tickled him in a delightful way. But outside, tiny bits of glass were still flying around through the air. Now let’s hear what happened next!6
EDMUND DULAC
The devil is represented as a figure with cloven hoofs and with the head of a learned man. He delights in the mirror he has invented, a mirror in which everything good and beautiful shrinks down almost to nothing. Oddly, the mirror held up to the devil does not reflect his own grotesque body.
HARRY CLARKE
“Those who visited the goblin school declared everywhere that a wonder had been wrought” is the caption for this image, which shows various decorative students in awe of the devil’s mirror.
SECOND STORY: A LITTLE BOY AND A LITTLE GIRL
In the big city,7 where there are so many houses and people that you rarely have enough room for a little garden and usually have to settle for a flowerpot, there once lived two poor children, whose garden was just a tiny bit larger than a flowerpot. They were not brother and sister, but they were as fond of each other as if they had been. Their parents lived right next to each other in the garrets of two adjoining houses. A rain gutter ran between the two houses,8 and there was a little window on each side, right near where the two roofs met. To get from one window to the other, all you had to do was leap across the gutter.
Outside the two windows, each family had a large wooden flowerbox, with room for herbs but also for a little rosebush.9 There was one rosebush in each of the flowerboxes, and both were flourishing. One day the parents had the idea of putting the boxes across the rain gutter so that they nearly reached from one window to the next. It was like having two walls of flowers, with pea-vines dangling down from the boxes and the roses sending out long tendrils that wound around the windows and then reached over toward each other, very nearly forming a triumphal arch made of greenery and flowers. The boxes were up very high, and the children knew that they were not allowed to climb out to them, but they could put their little footstools out on the roof beneath the roses, and there they played happily together.
KAY NIELSEN
A fragment from the devil’s mirror lodges in a heart, turning it to ice. The crystalline forms above the heart contrast with the rounded shapes of the clouds in the sky and forms on earth. The chilling effect of the icy heart can be seen in the wilted flower.
During the winter months, though, the fun was over. The windows were often completely frosted over, but the children would heat copper pennies on the stove, press them against the frozen windowpane, and make the best peepholes you can imagine,10 perfectly round. Behind each peephole you could see a friendly eye, one peering out from each window—the little boy and the little girl. His name was Kai and hers was Gerda.11 In the summer they could reach each other with a single leap, but in the winter they had to run all the way downstairs, then all the way upstairs, with snow swirling outside.
“The white bees are swarming out there,” Grandmother said.12 “Do they also have a queen bee?” asked the little boy, for he knew that real bees had one.
“Yes, they do!” Grandmother replied. “And she hovers in the thick of the swarm! She’s bigger than the others, and she never lands on the ground but flies straight up into the black clouds. On many a winter night, she flies through the streets of the city and peers in through the windows. Then the glass mysteriously freezes over, as if covered with flowers.”
“Yes, I’ve seen that!” both children said at the same time, and they knew that it was true.
“Is the Snow Queen able to come into houses?”13 the little girl asked.
EDMUND DULAC
The diaphanous figure of the Snow Queen floats above the rooftops, barely visible, yet covering them with the ice and snow that are her element. The warm glow of the interior lights mingles with the sparkling ice scattered by her over the houses. The church in the background, with its rose window, towers behind her.
“Just let her try!” the little boy said. “I’ll put her on the hot stove and melt her.”
Grandmother just stroked his head and kept on telling stories.
That evening, when little Kai was back home and half undressed, he climbed up on the chair by the window and looked through the little peephole. A few snowflakes were still falling outside, and one of them—the largest of all—landed on the edge of one of the flowerboxes. The snowflake grew and grew until suddenly it turned into a woman14 wearing a dress made of white gossamer so fine and sheer that it looked like millions of sparkling snowflakes. She was both beautiful and elegant but made of ice, dazzling, sparkling ice. And yet she was alive. Her eyes glittered like two bright stars, but there was nothing peaceful or calm about them. She nodded toward the window and beckoned with her hand. The little boy was so startled that he jumped down from the chair. Just then it seemed as if a huge bird was flying past the window.15
The next day was clear and cold, but then everything began to melt, and suddenly spring had arrived. The sun was shining; green shoots sprouted from the ground; swallows were building their nests; windows were opened wide; and once again the two children were sitting in their little garden high up on the roof above all the other houses.
The rose blossoms were unusually beautiful that summer. The little girl had learned a hymn with a verse about roses, and its words made her think about her own flowers. She sang it for the little boy, and he joined in:
“Down in the valley,16 where roses grow wild,
There we can speak with our dear Christ child!”
The children held hands, kissed the roses, and looked up at God’s clear sunshine,17 speaking to it as if the Christ Child were right there. The summer days were glorious, and it was heavenly to be outdoors near the fragrant rosebushes, which never seemed to stop blooming.
One day Kai and Gerda were looking at a book with pictures of birds and animals when suddenly—just as the clock on the tall church tower was striking five—Kai cried out: “Ouch! Something just stung my heart! And now there’s something in my eye too!”18
The little girl drew him close to her, and he blinked, but no, she couldn’t see a thing.
“I think it’s gone,” he said, but it was not gone. It was one of those particles of glass from the mirror, the troll’s mirror. You remember that terrible mirror, don’t you, and how it could turn everything great and good into something small and hideous, while evil and wicked things were enlarged, and any flaw became instantly visible? Poor little Kai! A tiny piece had also lodged itself right in his heart, and soon his heart would turn into a lump of ice. It didn’t hurt any longer, but the piece of glass was still there.
“Why are you crying?” Kai asked Gerda. “It makes you look so ugly! There’s nothing the matter with me!” Then suddenly he shouted: “Ugh! That rose over there has been chewed up by a worm!19 And look, this one’s just plain crooked! If you stop to think about it, these flowers all look just disgusting! They’re just like the boxes they grow in!” And with that, he kicked the boxes hard with his foot and broke off two of the roses.
“Kai, what are you doing!” the little girl cried. When he saw her look of horror, he just broke off another rose and ran inside through the window, leaving dear little Gerda all alone.20
From then on, whenever Gerda took out her picture book, he would tell her it was only for babies. And whenever Grandmother told stories, he would interrupt with “but.” If he had the chance, he would put a pair of spectacles on his nose, follow her around, and imitate the way she talked. He did such a good job of mocking her that people would burst out laughing. Before long Kai was able to walk and talk exactly like all the people living on that street. He knew how to imitate anything odd or unappealing about a person, and people would say: “That boy must have a good head on his shoulders!” But it was the glass in his eye and the glass in his heart that made him tease even little Gerda, who adored him with all her heart.
Kai’s games were now quite different from what they used to be. They had become so very clever. One winter day when snowflakes were swirling around and making drifts, he went outdoors with a large magnifying glass,21 spread out one side of his blue coat, and let the snowflakes fall on it.
“Look through the glass, Gerda!” he shouted. The snowflakes all appeared much larger and seemed like beautiful flowers or ten-pointed stars. They were lovely to look at.
“Can’t you see how fancy they are?” Kai declared. “They’re far more interesting to look at than real flowers! They have no flaws at all, and they’re absolutely perfect, as long as they don’t melt.”
A little while later, Kai showed up wearing big gloves, with a sled on his back. He shouted right into Gerda’s ear: “I get to go sledding on the main square, where everyone else gets to play!” And off he went.
Over on the square, the boldest boys hitched their sleds to the farmers’ wagons and rode along for a while. That was great fun. Right in the middle of the games, a huge sleigh pulled up. It was white all over, and the only person sitting inside it was wrapped in a thick white fur coat and wearing a fleecy white hat. The sleigh drove twice around the square, and Kai quickly fastened his little sled to it and took off. He rode along into the next street, going faster and faster. The driver turned around and gave Kai a friendly nod, as if they knew each other. Each time Kai wanted to unfasten his little sled, the driver would nod again and Kai would stay right where he was, even when they drove right through the town gates.
HARRY CLARKE
The Snow Queen dominates the image, with spikes of color that flow into the white background that is her element. Kai is connected to her visually through the golden road linking him and his sled to the enchantress. His attire is unusually formal for a sleigh ride, but Harry Clarke’s compositional style is always less playful than stately.
Snow began to fall so thickly that the little boy could not even see his hands when he held them up in front of his face as they sped on. Suddenly he dropped the rope to unhitch himself from the large sleigh, but nothing happened. His little sled was still fastened securely, and it flew along like the wind. Kai shouted as loud as he could, but no one could hear him, and the snow swirled around him, creating drifts, as the sleigh flew forward. Every now and then, it would bounce as if it were clearing ditches and fences. Kai was terrified and tried to say his prayers, but all he could remember were his multiplication tables.22
The snowflakes kept growing until they started to look like big white hens. Suddenly they leaped out of the way, and the big sleigh came to a halt. The driver stood up. It was a woman, and her fur coat and cap were made of pure snow. She was tall and slender, brilliantly white. It was the Snow Queen.23
“We’ve arrived safely!” she proclaimed. “But you must be freezing! Come crawl under my bearskin coat.” She invited Kai to sit beside her in the sleigh and wrapped the fur coat around him. He felt as if he were sinking into a snowdrift.
“Are you still cold?” she asked and kissed him on the forehead. Brrr! That kiss was colder than ice and went straight to his heart, which was already halfway to becoming a lump of ice. Kai felt as if he were dying, but only for a moment. Then he became quite comfortable and no longer noticed the cold all around him.
“My sled! Don’t forget my sled!”—that was the first thing he remembered. It was tied to one of the white chickens, which was flying behind the sleigh with the sled on its back. The Snow Queen kissed Kai again,24 and in a flash he forgot all about little Gerda, Grandmother, and everyone else back home.
“That’s the last kiss you’ll get,” she said, “or else I might kiss you to death!” Kai looked at her. She was so beautiful.25 He couldn’t imagine a wiser, lovelier face. She no longer seemed made of ice, as she had when she first appeared at the window and beckoned to him. In his eyes, she seemed perfect, and he was no longer afraid of her. He told her that he could do numbers in his head—even fractions—and that he knew the square mileage for every country as well as “how many inhabitants.” She just kept smiling, and he began to worry that he didn’t really know enough. He looked up at the great big sky above, and she soared away with him,26 high up into the black clouds. The storm whistled and roared, as if it were singing old ballads. They flew over forests and lakes, over sea and land. Beneath them the wind blew cold, wolves howled, and the snow glittered. Black crows screeched above them. But way up high the moon was shining brightly and clearly. Kai fixed his gaze on it all through the long winter’s night, and during the day he slept at the feet of the Snow Queen.
THIRD STORY: THE FLOWER GARDEN OF THE WOMAN WHO KNOWS MAGIC
How was little Gerda managing now that Kai was gone? Where could he be? No one knew, and no one could tell her anything. The boys could only report that they had watched him hitch his little sled to a magnificent sleigh that had sped down the street and disappeared through the town gate. No one knew what had become of him. Many tears were shed, and little Gerda cried long and hard. People were sure that he was dead—he must have drowned in the river not far from town. Oh, those were long, gloomy, winter days.
And then spring came, and with it warmer sunshine.
“Kai must be dead and gone!” little Gerda said.
“I don’t think so!” the sunshine said.27
“He is dead and gone!” she told the swallows.
EDMUND DULAC
Seated on blocks of ice that form a throne, the Snow Queen stares straight ahead with a hypnotic gaze. The perfect symmetry and frozen rigidity of her pose reveal important contrasts to what Gerda will represent in the story.
“We don’t think so!” they replied, and soon little Gerda didn’t believe it either.
“I’ll put on my new red shoes,”28 she declared one morning, “the ones that Kai has never seen. And then I’ll walk down to the river to ask about him!”
Very early the next morning, Gerda kissed her old grandmother, who was still sleeping, put on her red shoes, and went all by herself out the town gate over to the river.
“Is it true that you have taken my playmate? I will give you my red shoes if you bring him back to me!”
She had a feeling that the waves were nodding to her in some odd way. And so she removed the red shoes, the most precious thing she owned, and threw them into the river. The shoes landed right near the shore, and the smaller waves washed them right back to her. It was as if the river could not possibly accept her most precious possession, for it had not taken Kai. Gerda began to worry that she had not tossed the shoes far enough out into the river, and so she climbed into a boat lying in the reeds, hidden from view. From the far end of it, she threw the shoes overboard, but, since the boat had not been moored, her movements were just strong enough to make it glide into the waters. Gerda felt the boat moving and tried to get back ashore. By the time she reached the other end, the boat was already more than two feet away and rapidly gaining speed.
Little Gerda was so terrified that she began to cry, but no one could hear her except the sparrows, and they couldn’t possibly bring her back to the shore. They flew along the riverbank and tried to comfort her with their song: “Here we are! Here we are!” The boat was carried downstream by the current, and little Gerda sat quite still in her stocking feet. Her little red shoes floated along behind her, but they could not catch up with the boat, which was picking up speed.
The two sides of the river were beautiful, with lovely flowers, majestic trees, and cows and sheep grazing on steep slopes. There was not a person in sight.29
“Maybe the river will carry me to little Kai,” Gerda thought and right away she was in better spirits. She stood up and gazed for hours at the beautiful green riverbanks. After a while, the boat drew near to a big cherry orchard, where you could see a little house with strange red and blue windows and a thatched roof. Two wooden soldiers were posted outside it, and they presented arms to everyone who sailed by.
Thinking that they were alive, Gerda shouted to them, but of course they didn’t respond. She drifted quite close to them, for the current was pushing the boat right near the shore.
Gerda shouted even louder, and then a really old woman walked out of the house.30 She was leaning on the crook of her cane and on her head she wore a huge sun hat with the loveliest flowers painted on it.
“You poor little child!” the old woman exclaimed. “How did you ever end up on this big, swift river, drifting so far out into the wide world?” The old woman waded right out into the water, caught hold of the boat with the crook of her cane, pulled it to shore, and lifted little Gerda out.
Gerda was very happy to be back on dry land, but she felt a little afraid of the strange old woman. “Come, tell me who you are and how you found your way here!” the woman said.
Gerda told her about everything that had happened, and the old woman shook her head, saying nothing but “Hmm! Hmm!” When Gerda finished her story and asked if the old woman had seen little Kai, the woman reported that he had not yet appeared but that he probably would, sooner or later. She told Gerda to cheer up and invited her to come in and eat some cherries and take a look at her flowers, which were far more beautiful than any you can find in picture books. Each one had a story to tell. She then took Gerda’s hand and walked with her into the house, locking the door once they were inside.
The windows were high up on the walls, and sunlight shone through their red, blue, and yellow panes in a strange mix of colors. On the table Gerda found a bowl with the most delicious cherries imaginable, and she ate her fill, for she was no longer afraid. While she was eating, the old woman combed her hair with a golden comb. Gerda’s hair fell in shiny gold ringlets on either side of her cheerful little face, which looked like a round rose in bloom.
EDMUND DULAC
Gerda arrives in her boat (note that there are no oars) at the house of the woman who knows magic. The crone wears a hat covered with sunflowers and clothing with oval patterns. Her home is guarded by wooden soldiers, and her garden is filled with blossoms.
“I’ve often wished for a sweet little girl like you,” the old woman told her. “Just wait and see—we’re going to get along very well!” The old woman combed Gerda’s hair, and the longer she combed, the less Gerda could remember about Kai, who was like a brother to her. The old woman knew magic. She wasn’t a wicked witch—she just dabbled in magic to amuse herself, and she was determined to keep little Gerda around. She went down to the garden, pointed her cane at all the rosebushes, and even the ones with lovely blossoms sank down into the black earth, without leaving a trace behind them. The old woman was worried that if Gerda saw the roses, she would think about her own, remember little Kai, and run away.
The old woman showed Gerda the flower garden. How fragrant and lovely it was there! Every flower you could imagine from every season stood there in full bloom. No picture book could have been more colorful and beautiful. Gerda jumped for joy and played in the garden until the sun sank behind the tall cherry trees. Then the old woman tucked her into a lovely bed with red silk comforters filled with blue violets. There she slept, and she had dreams as lovely as those of a queen on her wedding day.
HARRY CLARKE
“How did you manage to come on the great rolling river” reads the caption, which shows Gerda arriving at the hut of the woman who knows magic. Wooden soldiers guard the modest abode with its stylized, formal gardens. Gerda is dwarfed by her surroundings and looks at the woman with some trepidation.
The next morning, and for many days after that, Gerda played in the warm sunshine among the flowers.31 She knew the name of every single flower, but no matter how many she recognized, she was sure that one was missing, although she could not figure out which one. Then one day she was sitting and looking at the old woman’s sunhat with the painted flowers. The most beautiful flower on it was a rose. The old woman had forgotten the rose on her hat when she made the real roses disappear into the earth. But that’s just what happens if you don’t have your wits about you!
“Why are there no roses here?” Gerda asked. She ran around all the flower beds, searching high and low, but there was not a rose in sight. Then she sat down and burst into tears. Her hot tears hit the very spot where a rosebush had disappeared, and when Gerda’s warm tears moistened the earth, the rosebush suddenly shot up. It was in full bloom, just like on the day it had disappeared. Gerda put her arms around the bush, kissed the blossoms, and remembered all the lovely roses back home. That made her think about Kai.
“Oh no, I’ve been here far too long!” the little girl exclaimed. “I should have been looking for Kai.”
“Do you know where he is?” she asked the roses. “Can it be that he is dead and gone?”
“No, he’s not dead,” the roses said. “We have spent time under the ground with all the dead people, and Kai was nowhere in sight!”
“Thank you so much!” Gerda said to them. She went to the other flowers, looked into their blossoms, and asked: “Can you tell me where Kai is?”
All the flowers were standing in the sunlight, dreaming up their own fairy tales and fables. Little Gerda listened to one after another, but not one of the flowers knew anything about where Kai was.
What did the tiger lily have to say?32
“Can you hear the drum? Boom! Boom! It has only those two sounds, Boom! Boom! Listen to the mournful song of the women! Hear the cries of the priest! The Hindu woman stands in her long red robes on the funeral pyre. Flames leap up around her and the body of her husband. But the Hindu woman has thoughts only for the living man in the circle, he whose eyes burn hotter than flames and whose fiery glances have touched her heart more powerfully than the flames that will soon consume her body. Can the fire burning in the heart die in the flames of the pyre?”
“I don’t understand that at all!” little Gerda said.
“It’s my tale!” the tiger lily replied.
What does the morning glory have to say?33
“An ancient castle rises high above a narrow mountain path. Thick ivy grows across old red walls, leaf upon leaf, up to the balcony, where a lovely maiden is waiting. She leans over the railing to gaze down at the path. A rose still on its branch does not look as fresh as she does; an apple blossom floating in the breeze is not lighter than she is. Hear the rustling of her magnificent silken gown! ‘Will he never come?’ ”
“Do you mean Kai?” little Gerda asked.
“I am only telling you my tale, my dream,” the morning glory answered.
What does the little daisy have to say?34
“A long board is hanging from ropes between the trees—it’s a swing. Two sweet little girls, wearing dresses white as snow and hats with long green silk ribbons fluttering in the breeze, are swinging back and forth. Their brother, who is older, is standing on the swing with his arm hooked around the rope to keep his balance because in one hand he has a little bowl and in the other a clay pipe. He’s blowing soap bubbles. The swing goes back and forth and the bubbles, always changing color, float into the distance. The last bubble is still clinging to the bowl of his pipe, and fluttering in the air as the swing moves back and forth. A little black dog, as light as the bubbles, gets on his hind legs and tries to climb up on the swing, which flies in the other direction. The dog loses his balance and begins barking angrily. The children laugh, and the bubble bursts. A swinging board reflected in a bursting soap bubble—that’s my song.”
“What you’re telling me may be beautiful, but you tell it so sadly, and you haven’t said a word about Kai. What do the hyacinths have to say?”35
“There once lived three lovely sisters, pale and delicate. One wore a red dress, the other a blue dress, and the third sister’s dress was white. They danced hand in hand in the clear moonlight right near a glassy lake. They were not elfin folk. They were human children. The air was so sweet that the girls vanished into the forest. The scent grew stronger. Three coffins came gliding out of the woods across the lake, and the girls were lying in them. Fireflies hovered about them like small, flickering lights. Are the dancing girls asleep or are they dead? The fragrance of the flowers reveals that they are corpses and the evening bell tolls for the dead.”
“You are making me feel so sad,” Gerda said. “You have such a strong scent that I can’t help but think of the dead girls! Is Kai really dead? The roses have looked beneath the earth, and they say no!”
“Ding, dong,” sounded the hyacinth bells. “We aren’t ringing for Kai—we don’t even know who he is! We are just singing our song. It’s the only one we know!”
Gerda went over to the buttercup, which shone brightly from among its gleaming green leaves.
“You are just like a radiant little sun,” said Gerda. “Tell me, do you have any idea where I can find my playmate?”
The buttercup was shining beautifully when it looked at Gerda again. What kind of song could the buttercup sing?36 It was not about Kai either.
“God’s warm sun was shining onto a small courtyard on the very first day of spring. Its rays shimmered down the white wall of a house next door, near the first yellow flowers of spring gleaming like gold in the warm sunshine. Grandmother was sitting outside in her chair when her granddaughter, a poor but pretty servant girl, arrived home for a short visit. She kissed her grandmother and there was gold, a heart full of gold, in that blessed kiss. There was gold on her lips, gold in the ground where it lies, and gold in the sky when the sun rises. There—now you have my little story!” the buttercup said.
“Oh, my poor old grandmother,” Gerda sighed. “I’m sure that she’s missing me, and she is grieving for me just as much as she did for little Kai. But I’ll be home again soon, and I’ll bring Kai back with me. It’s no use asking the flowers for help. They just sing their own songs, and they haven’t been able to tell me anything.” She gathered up her skirt so that she would be able to run faster, but the narcissus smacked her leg when she jumped over it. She stopped to look at the tall yellow flower and asked: “Do you know anything?” She bent down to listen to the narcissus.37 What did it have to say?
“I can see myself! I can see myself!” the narcissus said. “And my scent is so fragrant! Up in a small attic room, a little dancer is standing up—she’s half-dressed. First she gets up on one foot, then on both, and finally she kicks her heels at the whole world. But she’s just an illusion. She pours water from a teapot over a piece of clothing in her hand—it’s her corset. Cleanliness is a good thing! Her white dress is hanging from a hook. It was washed in her teapot and hung on the roof to dry. She puts it on and ties a scarf of saffron yellow around her neck. The dress looks more radiant than ever. Lift your leg high in the air! See how she balances on that stem! I can see myself! I can see myself!”
“I didn’t like that one bit!” Gerda said. “What a story to tell me!” And she ran over to the far edge of the garden.
The gate was fastened, but she jiggled the rusty latch until it gave way, and the gate flew open. Gerda ran barefoot out into the wide world. She looked back three times, but no one was following her. Finally she could go no farther and sat down to rest on a big rock. When she looked up she realized that summer was over, and it was already late in the fall. She would never have known it inside that beautiful garden where the sun was always shining and flowers from every season were always in full bloom. “My goodness! I’ve wasted so much time!” said little Gerda. “It’s already fall. I can’t stay around here any longer!” And she got up to leave.
Oh my, her little feet were so tender and sore,38 and everything around her was so cold and raw. The long leaves of the willow tree had turned completely yellow, and drops of mist were rolling down them as one leaf after another fell to the ground. Only the blackthorn bush still had berries on it, and they were so sour that they made your lips pucker up. How gray and dreary everything looked in the wide world.
FOURTH STORY: THE PRINCE AND THE PRINCESS
Gerda had to stop and rest, and a big crow came hopping across the snow39 right near where she was sitting. He stood there for a long time, watching her and cocking his head from time to time. Finally he said: “Caw! Caw! Good caw-dy day!” That was the best he could do. He wanted to be kind to the little girl and asked her what she was doing all alone in the wide world.40 Gerda understood what he meant by “alone,” and she knew the word’s meaning firsthand. She told the crow the entire story of her life, and she asked if he had seen Kai.
The crow nodded thoughtfully and replied, “It’s possible, entirely possible!”
“What! Have you really seen him?” the little girl cried, and she nearly smothered the crow with kisses.
“Take it easy! Take it easy!” said the crow. “It’s possible that I’ve seen Kai. But by now he has probably forgotten you because of the princess.”
“Is he living with a princess?” Gerda asked.
“Yes, but pay attention!” the crow said. “I have a hard time with your language. If you understood crow speech, it would be much easier to explain!”
“I never learned that language!” Gerda said. “But my grandmother knows it, and she also knows P-speech. I wish I had learned it!”
“Never mind!” said the crow. “I’ll tell you all about it, as best I can, but I can’t promise that it will be any good.” And then he told her what he knew.
“The kingdom in which we are now living is ruled by a princess so uncommonly clever that she has read all the newspapers in the world and then forgotten every word printed in them—that’s how clever she is.41 The other day, when she was sitting on her throne—and that’s not nearly as amusing as people think—she started humming an old tune that went like this: ‘Why, oh why, should I not marry?’
“‘There’s an idea,’ she said to herself, and she made up her mind to marry as soon as she could find a husband who would know how to respond when spoken to. She was not interested in someone who would just stand around looking dignified, because that would be really dull. And so she summoned her ladies-in-waiting, and, when they heard what she had in mind, they were delighted. ‘Oh, we like that idea!’ they said. ‘We had the same idea just the other day!’ ”
“Believe me,” the crow said, “every word I report is true. I have a tame sweetheart who has the run of the castle, and she gave me a full report.” His sweetheart was, of course, also a crow, for birds of a feather flock together.
The next day’s newspapers came out with a border of hearts42 and the princess’s initials right by them. Any attractive young man, it said in the paper, was welcome to visit the castle and speak with the princess. The princess was planning to marry the man who seemed most at home in the castle and who spoke the most eloquently.43 “Yes, indeed,” the crow said. “Believe me, it’s all as true as the fact that I’m sitting here. Young men flocked to the castle, and there was a lot of pushing and shoving, but neither on the first day nor on the second was anyone chosen. No one had trouble speaking well out on the street. The moment the men entered the gates of the castle and caught sight of the royal guards wearing silver and the servants wearing gold and then reached the brightly lit halls at the top of the stairs, they were struck dumb. Facing the princess who was seated on her throne, they couldn’t think of a thing to say and just repeated the last word she had uttered, which she did not particularly care to hear again. It was as if everyone in the room had swallowed snuff and dozed off. As soon as they were back outside, they had no trouble talking. People were lined up all the way from the town gates to the castle. I saw them myself!” the crow said. “They were growing hungry and thirsty, but no one from the castle brought so much as a glass of lukewarm water. Some of the more clever fellows had packed bread and cheese,44 but they refused to share what they had with anyone. Here’s what they thought: ‘If that fellow looks hungry, then the princess won’t choose him!’ ”
EDMUND DULAC
The clever princess sits on the throne with crumpled newspapers at her feet—all the newspapers in the world that she has read and forgotten. Like the Snow Queen, she wears clothing that sparkles and glitters.
“But what about Kai, little Kai!” Gerda interrupted. “When did he get there? Was he there in the crowd?”
“Patience! Patience! I’m just getting to him! On the third day, a little fellow, with neither horse nor carriage, marched boldly up to the castle. His eyes sparkled like yours do, and he had lovely long hair, but his clothes were in tatters.”
“That must have been Kai!” Gerda shouted, and she clapped her hands for joy. “I’ve found him at last!”
“He was carrying a little bundle on his back,” the crow told her.
“No, that must have been his sled,” Gerda said. “He had it with him when he left.”
“You could be right,” said the crow. “I didn’t look all that closely! But I do know from my tame sweetheart that when he marched through the palace gates and saw the royal guards dressed in silver and when he climbed the stairs and saw the servants dressed in gold, he wasn’t the least bit daunted. He just nodded to them and said: ‘It must be terribly dull to stand on the steps all day long. I think I’d rather go inside.’ The halls were brightly lit. Ministers of state and various excellencies were walking about barefoot, carrying golden trays. It was enough to make anyone nervous! Kai’s boots began to creak loudly,45 but he wasn’t at all afraid!”
“Then it had to be Kai,” said Gerda. “I know that he was wearing new boots. I heard them creak in Grandmother’s parlor.”
“Oh, they creaked all right!” said the crow, “But he was bold and walked right up to the princess, who was sitting on a pearl that was as big as a spinning wheel.46 All of the ladiesin-waiting with their servant girls, and the servant girls with their servant girls, and all of the chamberlains, with their servants and their servants’ pages, were standing at attention in the hall. The closer they were to the door, the prouder they looked. The page to the servants’ servants, who never wears anything but slippers, looked so swollen with pride as he stood at the doorway that you hardly dared look at him.”
“That must have been terrible,” Gerda said. “And yet Kai still won the princess!”
“If I weren’t a crow, I would have won her myself, even though I’m already betrothed to another. They say he spoke as well as I speak (when I use crow speech). That’s what my tame sweetheart told me. He was dashing and charming. He wasn’t there to court the princess but to listen to her wise words. He liked what he heard, and she took a shine to him too!”
“Then it had to be Kai,” Gerda said. “He is so smart that he can do numbers in his head—even fractions! Oh, you must take me to the castle!”
“That’s easier said than done,” the crow replied. “How will we manage it? I’ll talk it over with my tame sweetheart. She can probably give us some advice, but I’d better warn you that a little girl like you will never be allowed to walk right into the castle.”
“Yes, I will!” said Gerda. “When Kai realizes that I’m here, he’ll come right out to get me!”
“Wait for me over there by the fence!” the crow said, and he bobbed his head and flew away.
The crow did not return until after dark. “Caw! Caw!” he said. “My sweetheart sends you warm greetings, and here’s a crust of bread for you. They have all they need in the kitchen, where she found it, and you must be hungry! They’ll never let you into the castle, especially with bare feet. The guardsmen in silver and the footmen in gold will simply not allow it. But don’t cry, we’ll find a way to smuggle you in. My sweetheart happens to know about a little back staircase leading up to the bedroom, and she also knows where they keep the key.”
Off the two went into the garden, down the tree-lined promenade where the leaves were falling, one by one. After the lights went out in the castle, one by one, the crow took Gerda around to the back door, which was standing ajar.
Gerda’s heart was pounding with fear and longing!47 She felt as if she were about to do something wrong, but all she wanted to do was make sure that Kai was there. Yes, Kai had to be there, she thought, as she recalled his wise eyes and long hair. She had vivid memories of the smile on his face when they were sitting at home beneath the roses. She was sure that he would be happy to see her. And he would be glad to hear just how far she had traveled to find him and how sad everyone at home had been when he hadn’t returned. Gerda was frightened but she also felt lighthearted.
HARRY CLARKE
Kai is seated at a table that contains three volumes with the titles: “Andersen’s Stories for the Household, illustrated by Harry Clarke,” “The Rule of Three,” and “The Vulgar Fraction.” Above his head can be seen various numbers in decorative shapes.
Now they were on the staircase. A little lamp on a cabinet was burning brightly. There stood the tame crow, right in the middle of the room, turning her head every which way as she looked at Gerda, who curtsied just as Grandmother had taught her.
“My fiancé has spoken highly of you, my dear young lady,” the tame crow said. “Your life story, your vita, as we say, is also quite moving! Please take the lamp, and I’ll lead the way. We’ll take the most direct route so that we won’t run into anyone!”
“It feels like someone is on the stairs right behind us!” Gerda said, and something rushed past her like shadows on a wall:48 horses with flowing manes and slender legs, gamekeepers, lords and ladies on horseback.
“Those are nothing but dreams!” the crow said. “They come and take the thoughts of their royal highnesses out hunting, which is good because then you can get a better look at them in their beds. I trust that, when you rise to a position of honor and nobility, you will show heartfelt gratitude!”
“That’s no way to talk!” said the crow from the forest.
They entered the first room, which had walls covered with rose-colored satin and painted flowers. The dream shadows rushed by again, but so quickly that Gerda did not have a chance to see the lords and ladies. Each room was more magnificent than the next—almost overwhelming—and then they reached the bedroom. The ceiling in there looked like a huge palm tree, with leaves of glass, priceless glass. In the middle of the room two beds that looked just like lilies49 were hanging from a massive stalk of gold. One was white, and the princess was sleeping in it. The other one was red, and Gerda hoped to find Kai in it. She bent back one of the red leaves and saw the nape of a brown neck. Oh, it had to be Kai! She called out his name and held the lamp near his face, and the dreams galloped back into the room. He awoke, turned his head, and—it was not Kai after all.
The prince’s neck may have looked like Kai’s, but nothing else about him did. Still, he was young and handsome. The princess peeked out from the white lily bed and asked what had happened. Little Gerda started crying. She told them the entire story and described what the crows had done for her.
“You poor dear!” the prince and the princess said. They praised the crows and assured them that they were not at all angry, but that they should never do what they had done again. This time, however, they would receive a reward.
“Would you like your freedom?” the princess asked. “Or would you rather have lifetime appointments as court crows, with the right to scraps from the kitchen floor?”
Both crows bowed deeply and asked to have permanent positions, for they were thinking about the future and how important it was to have something for “our golden years,” as they called them.
The prince climbed out of his bed and let Gerda sleep in it. It was all he could do for her. Gerda clasped her little hands together and thought: “How nice people and animals can be.” Then she closed her eyes and slept peacefully. All the dreams came flying back in again, and they looked just like God’s angels. They were pulling a little sled on which Kai was riding. He nodded in her direction, but it was just a dream, and when Gerda awoke, he had vanished.
The next day Gerda was dressed from head to toe in silk and velvet. She had been invited to stay at the castle and to live there in luxury, but instead she asked for a little carriage, a horse, and a pair of boots. That way she could go back into the wide world and look for Kai.
Gerda was given a pair of boots and also a fur muff.50 She was dressed exquisitely, and just as she was about to leave, a coach covered in pure gold drew up to the door. The coat of arms belonging to the prince and the princess glittered on it like a star. The driver, the footmen, and the postilions—yes, there were even postilions—were wearing crowns made of gold. The prince and princess themselves helped Gerda climb into the carriage and wished her good luck. The crow from the forest, who was now married, traveled with her for the first three miles. He sat right next to Gerda, for it would have made him ill to ride backward. The other crow stood at the gate and flapped her wings. She could not ride in the carriage because she had been suffering constant headaches from eating too much in her new position. The carriage was lined on the inside with sugar pastries, and on the seats were plates piled high with fruit and gingerbread.
“Farewell! Farewell!” the prince and the princess called out. Gerda was weeping, and the crow was shedding tears as well. The two sobbed for the first couple of miles, then the crow also had to bid her farewell, and that was the hardest separation of all. He flew up into a tree and continued flapping his black wings until the carriage, which was sparkling like bright sunshine, disappeared.
FIFTH STORY:
THE LITTLE ROBBER GIRL
They rode through a dark forest, and Gerda’s carriage was like a torch. It shone so brightly that it hurt the robbers’ eyes until they could stand it no longer.
“It’s gold! It’s gold!” they shouted, and they sped forward, seized the horses, and killed the driver, the postilions, and the footmen. They dragged Gerda from the carriage.
“How plump and tender she looks, just as if she’d been fattened up on pecans!” shouted an old robber hag,51 who sported a long, bristly beard and brows that hung down over her eyes. “She’ll be as tasty as a fat little lamb! What a dainty dish she will make!” And then she pulled out a shiny knife, which had a dreadful glint to it.
EDMUND DULAC
The brightly lit carriage is an alluring target for the trio of robbers perched on the ledge, along with the two others hidden behind trees. The dark tangle of branches and the size of the menacing robbers make the coach look all the more vulnerable.
HARRY CLARKE
“She is fat—she is pretty—she is fed with nut kernels!” reads the caption to an image that shows Gerda surrounded by robbers who seem dressed more for the stage than for pillaging. Surrounded by open blades, Gerda also has birds above her and flowers at her feet. Her elaborate costume and headdress draw the viewer’s attention, as does the gleam of the coach on the horizon.
“Ouch!” the old hag suddenly howled. She had been bitten on the ear by her own daughter, who was riding on her back and looked delightfully wild and reckless.
“You nasty little brat!” her mother said, and that kept her from chopping Gerda to pieces.
“I want her to play with me!”52 the little robber girl said. “She will have to give me her muff and that beautiful dress she’s wearing. And she’s going to sleep next to me!” She bit down again so hard that the robber hag hopped up and down and spun around. The robbers all started laughing and said, “Look how she’s dancing with her little brat.”
“I’m going to ride in the carriage,” the little robber girl said, and ride she did, because she was so headstrong and spoiled that she always got her way. She and Gerda climbed into the carriage, and the two drove over stumps and brambles, deep into the forest. The little robber girl was no taller than Gerda, but she was stronger, with broad shoulders and dark skin. Her eyes were coal-black, and they had a sad expression. She put her arms around Gerda and said, “I won’t let them chop you up into pieces as long as we stay on good terms. You must be a princess.”
“No,” Gerda said, and she told the robber girl about everything that had happened to her and about how fond she was of Kai.
The robber girl gave her a solemn look, nodded in her direction, and said, “Even if I do get angry with you, I won’t let them chop you to pieces because I’d rather do it myself!” Then she dried Gerda’s eyes and put both her hands inside the beautiful muff, which was soft and warm.
When the carriage came to a stop, they found themselves in the courtyard of the robbers’ castle. It had a long crack that ran from the very top to the bottom. Ravens and crows could be seen flying in and out of the holes in its walls, and bulldogs—so large that they looked as if they could devour a person in one bite—were leaping high up into the air. But the dogs did not bark at all, for that was forbidden.
A big fire was burning on the stone floor in the middle of a cavernous, soot-stained room. Smoke drifted up to the rafters and tried to find a way out. A large cauldron of soup was boiling,53 and rabbits and hares were roasting on spits.
“Tonight you will sleep here with me and with all my little animals,” the robber girl said. They ate and drank, and then went over to a corner strewn with straw and blankets. Above their heads, nearly a hundred doves were roosting on pegs and rafters. They appeared to be asleep, but they stirred just a bit when the little girls approached. “They are all mine!” the little robber girl said as she grabbed hold of the one nearest to her, holding it by the legs and shaking it until it flapped its wings. “Kiss it!” she shouted,54 and the bird fluttered in Gerda’s face.
“That’s where I keep the wild pigeons,” she continued, pointing to an opening high up in the wall with bars over it. “They’re wood pigeons, those two, and they’d fly away in a minute if I didn’t make sure to lock them up. And here is my dear old Baa,” she said, tugging on the antlers of a reindeer who was tethered by a shiny copper ring around its neck. “We have to keep an eye on him too, or else he’ll run away from us. Every night I tickle his neck with my knife blade. He’s so terrified of it!” The robber girl pulled a long knife out of a crack in the wall and let it slide along the reindeer’s throat. The poor animal kicked his legs, but the robber girl just laughed and dragged Gerda into bed.
“Are you going to keep the knife while you’re sleeping?” Gerda asked, eyeing it nervously.
“I always sleep with this knife!” the little robber girl said. “You never know what might happen. But tell me again what you told me before about Kai and why you ventured out into the wide world.”
Gerda told the story all over again from the beginning, and the wood doves cooed in their cage overhead, while the tame doves slept. The little robber girl clasped Gerda’s neck with one arm, gripped her knife with her other hand, and fell asleep, snoring loudly. But Gerda did not dare close her eyes, since she had no idea whether she was going to live or die. The robbers sat around the fire, singing and drinking, and the old robber hag was turning somersaults. Oh, it was a terrible sight for a little girl to see.
All at once the wood doves said, “Coo, coo! We’ve seen little Kai. A white hen was pulling his sled, and he was seated in the Snow Queen’s sleigh as it raced over the tops of the trees where we build our nests. The Snow Queen’s icy breath killed all the baby pigeons except for the two of us, who managed to survive, coo, coo!”
“What’s that you’re talking about up there?” little Gerda asked. “Where was the Snow Queen going? Do you have any idea at all?”
“She was probably bound for Lapland,55 where there is always snow and ice. Why don’t you ask the reindeer tied up over there?”
“Yes, there is plenty of ice and snow there. It’s a place of bliss and goodness!” the reindeer said. “You can prance around freely across those great glittering plains. The Snow Queen sets her summer tent up there, but her permanent residence is in a castle closer to the North Pole, on an island called Spitsbergen!”56
“Oh, Kai, poor Kai,” Gerda sighed.
“Just lie still and be quiet,” the little robber girl said, “or else I’ll poke you in the stomach with my knife!”
In the morning Gerda told her everything that the wood doves had said, and the little robber girl looked thoughtful, nodded her head, and said, “Never mind! Never mind!” Then she turned to the reindeer and asked: “Do you know where Lapland is?”
“Who would know better than I?” the reindeer replied, and his eyes sparkled. “I was born and bred there, and it was there that I played in fields of snow.”
“Listen carefully!” the little robber girl said to Gerda. “You can see that all of the men are gone now, but Mother is still here, and she’s not leaving. Later this morning she’ll take a swig from that big bottle over there, and then she’ll lie down for a little nap upstairs. That’s when I’ll be able to help you out.” She jumped out of bed, threw her arms around her mother’s neck, pulled on her beard, and said, “Good morning, my own dear, sweet goat!”57 Her mother pinched her nose until it turned red and blue, but it was all done out of affection.
As soon as the mother had taken a swig from the bottle and was settling down for a nap, the little robber girl went over to the reindeer and said: “I’m itching to tickle you many more times with my sharp blade, because it’s so much fun. But never mind, I’m going to untie your rope and take you outdoors so that you can get back to Lapland. But be quick and take this little girl to the Snow Queen’s palace, where she’ll be able to find her playmate. I’m sure you heard her entire story, for she was talking rather loudly and you were probably eavesdropping, as you always do.”
The reindeer leaped for joy. The little robber girl lifted Gerda up on his back, took care to strap her in, and even gave her a little cushion to sit on. “And while we’re at it,” she said, “you can have your fur boots back, for it is going to be cold. I’ll hold on to your muff, because it is just too pretty to part with, but, don’t worry, you won’t freeze. You can have my mother’s big mittens—they’ll reach all the way up to your elbows. There, put them on! Now your hands look just like my hideous mother’s paws.”
“I don’t like to see you blubbering,” the little robber girl said. “You ought to be pleased! Here are two loaves of bread and a ham so that you won’t go hungry.” After tying both bundles to the reindeer’s back, the little robber girl opened the door, called all the big dogs indoors, cut the rope with her knife, and said to the reindeer, “Run as fast as you can! But take good care of that little girl!”
Gerda stretched out her hands with those big mittens on them to the little robber girl and said good-bye. The reindeer bounded off, over bushes and brambles, through the great forest, across swamps and plains, as fast as he could run. The wolves howled, and the ravens shrieked. The sky seemed to say, “Kerchoo! Kerchoo!” as if it were sneezing red streaks of light.
“Those are my old Northern lights,”58 the reindeer said. “See how brilliantly they are glowing!” And on he ran, faster than ever, all day and night. The loaves of bread had been eaten and the ham was gone too, but by then they were already in Lapland.
SIXTH STORY: THE LAPP WOMAN
AND THE FINN WOMAN
They stopped in front of a small house. It was a wretched hovel.59 The roof was almost touching the ground, and the doorway was so low that the family living there had to crawl on their bellies to go in or out. No one was at home except for an old Lapp woman, who was frying fish over a whale-oil lamp. The reindeer reported Gerda’s entire history, but he told his own first, since he believed it was far more important. Gerda was so frozen to the bone that she couldn’t even open her mouth.
“Oh, you poor creatures,” the Lapp woman said. “And you still have a long way to go! It’s another hundred miles at least to Finnmark,60 where the Snow Queen is taking her country vacation. Every single night she sets off her blue fireworks. I don’t have any paper, but I’ll write a few words down on a dried codfish61 and you can give it to the Finn woman up there. She knows more about all of this than I do!”
After Gerda warmed up and had something to eat and drink, the Lapp woman wrote a few words down on the dried codfish, gave it to Gerda for safekeeping, and strapped her back onto the reindeer. Off Baa ran, and all night long you could hear “Whoosh! Whoosh!”—and the lovely blue Northern lights were flashing overhead. At last they reached Finnmark and knocked on the chimney of the Finn woman, for she did not even have a door.
It was so hot inside that the Finn woman was walking around with practically nothing on. She was little and rather grimy. But she didn’t hesitate to help Gerda unbutton and take off her mittens and boots—the heat would have wilted her otherwise—and she put a piece of ice on the reindeer’s head. Then she looked at the words written on the codfish. She read the message three times until she knew it by heart and then tossed the fish into the kettle of soup, for it was still perfectly good. She never liked to waste anything.
The reindeer told his story first, then he reported what had happened to little Gerda. The Finn woman blinked her wise eyes, and spoke not a word.
“You are so wise,” the reindeer said. “I know that you can tie all the winds of the world together62 with a bit of thread. When a skipper unties just one of the knots, he has a good wind. When he unties a second, he’ll get a stiff wind, and if he unties the third and fourth knots, there’s a storm so fierce that it topples the trees. Can’t you give this little girl a drink—one that can give her the strength of twelve men and help her overpower the Snow Queen?”
“The strength of twelve men?” said the Finn woman. “A lot of good that would do!” She walked over to some shelves, took down a large rolled-up hide, and spread it out. Strange letters63 were written all over it, and the Finn woman pored over them until sweat began rolling down her brow.
The reindeer kept pleading with the Finn woman to help little Gerda, and the tears in Gerda’s eyes implored her as well. The old woman began to blink, and she pulled the reindeer aside into a corner. While she was putting fresh ice on his head, she whispered: “It’s all true. Little Kai is with the Snow Queen, and he finds everything to his liking and taste. He thinks it is the best place on earth, but that’s only because he has a glass splinter in his heart and a little speck of glass in his eye. Until they are removed, he will never be human again and the Snow Queen will have him in her power.”
“Can’t you give Gerda something to drink that will make her more powerful than the Snow Queen?”
“I can’t give her more power than she already has. Don’t you see how much she possesses? Haven’t you noticed how man and beast alike want to help her? Look how far she’s come in the wide world on those bare feet! But we mustn’t tell her about this power. Her strength lies deep in her heart, for she is a sweet, innocent child.64 If she cannot reach the Snow Queen on her own and rid Kai of those pieces of glass, then there’s nothing that we can do! The Snow Queen’s garden lies two miles from here. Carry the little girl over there and put her down in the snow over by the big bush covered with red berries. But don’t dawdle and be sure to hurry back!” The Finn woman lifted Gerda onto the reindeer, and he dashed off as fast as he could.
“Oh, I forgot my boots! And where are my mittens!” little Gerda shouted as she began to feel the sting of the cold wind. But the reindeer did not dare stop. He raced on until he came to the great big bush covered with red berries. Then he put Gerda down and kissed her on the lips, while big sparkling tears ran down his cheeks. Off he sped as fast as he could.
Gerda was standing there all alone—no shoes, no mittens65—out in the middle of the icy cold Finnmark.
Gerda ran forward as fast as possible. An entire regiment of snowflakes came swirling toward her. They weren’t falling from the sky, which was completely clear and ablaze with the Northern lights. The snowflakes were skimming the ground, and the closer they came, the larger they grew. Gerda recalled how enormous and strange they had seemed to her when she had looked at them through the magnifying glass, but now they were even bigger and more monstrous. They were alive, and they formed the Snow Queen’s advance guard. They had the strangest shapes imaginable: some looked like ugly overgrown hedgehogs, others like clusters of snakes rearing their heads in every direction, and still others like fat little cubs with their hair standing on end. All of them were a dazzling white color. They were snowflakes that had come to life.
Gerda said her prayers. It was so cold that she could see her own breath freezing in front of her like a column of smoke. Her breath became even denser and then it began to take the shape of little angels that grew even bigger66 when they touched the ground. All of them had helmets on their heads and were carrying spears and shields in their hands. They kept coming one after another, and by the time Gerda had finished her prayers, she was surrounded by a legion of them. When they thrust their spears at the horrid snowflakes, they shattered into a hundred pieces. Gerda kept on walking, feeling quite safe, and undaunted. The angels rubbed her hands and feet so that she wouldn’t feel the cold, and she marched briskly to the Snow Queen’s castle.
Now we must return to Kai and see how he is doing. He certainly wasn’t thinking about little Gerda, and he never imagined that she might be waiting just outside the castle.
EDMUND DULAC
A tear rolls down the cheek of the reindeer as he kisses Gerda, who is without boots and mittens. The reindeer does everything in his power to help Gerda survive. In this scene, he has located bushes with red berries that will provide nourishment.
SEVENTH STORY: WHAT HAPPENED
AT THE SNOW QUEEN’ S CASTLE AND
ELSEWHERE
The castle walls were made of snowdrifts, and the windows and doors of biting winds. There were more than a hundred rooms, all shaped by the drifting snow, and the largest stretched on for several miles. The vast, empty spaces were all lit by the bright Northern lights and looked both glacial and brilliant. There was never any real joy here, not so much as a little dance for the polar bears, for which the wind could have supplied the music as the bears walked on their hind legs to display their good breeding. Not even a little card game with paw-slapping and back-smacking, or just a cozy little coffee klatch where the white fox vixens could gossip. The Snow Queen’s rooms were immense, empty, frozen expanses. The Northern lights blazed with such reliability that you could tell the time by when they were at their brightest or at their dimmest. In the middle of the vast, empty room of ice was a frozen lake. It had cracked into a thousand pieces, and each piece looked so much like every other piece that it seemed like a work of art. When she was at home, the Snow Queen would sit in the exact center, and she would call the lake the Mirror of Reason,67 the only one of its kind and the best thing in the whole world.
Kai had grown blue from the cold—in fact he had almost turned black. But he didn’t notice anything at all,68 because the Snow Queen had kissed away his icy shivers, and by now his heart had practically turned into a lump of ice. He was racing around, moving sharp, flat pieces of ice and configuring them in all sorts of different ways—just as we arrange and rearrange pieces of wood in those little Chinese puzzles.69 Kai was trying to work something out while he was creating ingenious patterns. It was an ice puzzle of the mind. To him the designs seemed remarkable and deeply important,70 but that was only because of the speck of glass in his eye. He arranged his pieces to spell out written words, but he could never manage to put together the one word he really wanted. That word was Eternity.71 The Snow Queen had told him: “If you can puzzle that out, you’ll be your own master, and I will give you the whole world and a pair of new skates.”72 But Kai could not figure it out.
“Now I’m off to warmer countries,” the Snow Queen declared. “I want to go take a peek at my black cauldrons!” She was referring to the volcanoes known as Mt. Etna and Vesuvius.73 “I’m going to give them a coat of whitewash. It has to be done; it is good for the lemons and grapes!” And away she flew, leaving Kai all alone in the vast, empty room of ice that stretched on for miles. He continued to puzzle over the pieces of ice, and his head began to ache from all the thinking he had been doing. He was sitting so quietly and stiffly that he looked like someone who had frozen to death.
Just then little Gerda entered the castle through the huge portal made of piercing winds. As soon as she spoke her evening prayer, the winds began to die down, just as if they were falling asleep. The little girl entered the vast, empty, frozen room, and at once she caught sight of Kai. She recognized him immediately, threw her arms around him, held him close, and cried: “Kai! Dear Kai! I’ve found you at last!”
But Kai sat motionless, stiff and cold. Gerda shed hot tears,74 and when they fell on Kai’s chest, they went straight to his heart, melting the lump of ice and dissolving the little shard from the mirror. Kai looked at Gerda, and she began singing a hymn:
“Down in the valley, where roses grow wild,
There we can speak with our dear Christ child!”
Kai burst into tears. He cried so hard that the speck of glass washed right out of his eye. Suddenly he recognized Gerda and shouted, “Gerda! Sweet Gerda! Where have you been all this time? And where have I been?” He looked around and said: “It’s so cold here! And it’s immense and empty too!” He held Gerda tightly, and she started laughing so hard that tears of joy were rolling down her cheeks. It was all so wonderful that even the chunks of ice around them were dancing for joy. When the chunks grew tired, they collapsed on the ground to form a pattern making the exact word the Snow Queen had told Kai he must find in order to become his own master and receive the whole world and a pair of new skates.
Gerda kissed Kai’s cheeks,75 and they turned red. She kissed his eyes, and they began to shine like hers. She kissed his hands and feet, and he felt strong and healthy once again. The Snow Queen could come back whenever she wanted. The order for Kai’s release was written on the floor in letters of shining ice.
Kai and Gerda strolled hand in hand out of the enormous palace. They talked about Grandmother and about the roses up on the roof. Wherever they went, the winds quieted down, and the sun broke through. When they reached the bush covered with red berries, the reindeer was waiting for them.76 Another young reindeer had joined him, and her udder was full of warm milk for the children. She kissed them on the lips. The reindeer carried Kai and Gerda back to the Finn woman first, and they warmed themselves up in her cozy cottage and were given directions for the journey home. Then they visited the Lapp woman, who had sewn them new clothes and prepared her sleigh for them.
The reindeer, with his young companion bounding alongside, followed Kai and Gerda all the way to the border of the country, to the point where you could see the first green buds. The two children bid farewell to the reindeer and to the Lapp woman. “Good-bye,” they all said. The first little birds began to chirp, and green buds could be seen everywhere in the forest. A young girl wearing a bright red cap on her head and holding two pistols came riding out of the forest on a magnificent horse that Gerda recognized immediately—it was the horse that had drawn the golden carriage. The little robber girl had grown tired of staying at home and wanted to head north, and, if that didn’t amuse her, she was planning to go elsewhere. She recognized Gerda at once, and Gerda knew her as well. It was a happy reunion.
KAY NIELSEN
Gerda and Kai walk hand in hand through a landscape that combines winter and spring, with a frozen tree to the left and a tree sending out shoots to the right. The glacial middle ground shows signs of a thaw both above it and below it.
“You’re a fine fellow, running off like that!” she said to Kai. “I wonder if you really deserve having someone go to the ends of the earth for your sake.”77
Gerda just patted her cheek and asked about the prince and princess.
“They’re traveling in foreign lands,” the robber girl said.
“And the crow?” Gerda asked.
“Oh, the crow is dead,”78 she replied. “His tame sweetheart is now a widow, and she has wrapped a bit of black woolen yarn around her leg. She complains constantly, and it’s really all nonsense. But tell me now what you’ve been up to and how you managed to find Kai.”
Gerda and Kai both told the story.
“Abracadabra, hocus-pocus, bibbety-bobbety-boo!” said the robber girl, and took them both by the hand. She promised to visit if she ever found her way to the town where they were living. And then she rode out into the wide world. Kai and Gerda walked away hand in hand, and as they walked, it turned into a beautiful spring day, with green everywhere and flowers in bloom. The church bells were ringing, and they recognized the tall towers of the town in which they had grown up. They went straight to Grandmother’s door, up the staircase into the living room, where everything was just as it had been. The clock went “Tick! Tock!” and its hands spun around. As they walked through the door, they realized that they had turned into grown-ups. The roses on the roof were blooming in the open windows. The children’s two chairs were still there. Kai and Gerda sat down in them and held hands. They had forgotten the cold, empty splendor of the Snow Queen’s castle. It was nothing more than a bad dream. Grandmother was sitting in God’s bright sunshine and reading out loud from the Bible: “Unless you become as little children, you shall not enter the Kingdom of God.”
Kai and Gerda looked into each other’s eyes, and suddenly they understood the old hymn:
“Down in the valley, where roses grow wild,
There we can speak with our dear Christ child!”
There they sat, and they were grown-ups and children at the same time,79 children at heart. And it was summer—warm, wonderful summer.
1. Look out! We’re about to begin. Andersen does not use the impersonal, formulaic “once upon a time” of fairy tales and instead creates an embodied narrator who summons an imaginary audience to attention. His exclamatory remark also evokes a sense of physical engagement, anticipating the joy of adventure, the excitement of a journey, and the thrilling exhilaration Kai feels when hitched to the sled of the Snow Queen. Acting as a bridge between “long ago and far away” and the “here and now,” Andersen’s narrator also suggests that this is a tale to be read out loud, one that can build a bond between older and wiser tellers of tales and their listeners. Andersen himself, in an ingenious formulation, observed that his works were “written to be heard, that is how I know when they are good enough to be read.” He conceded that his dramatic readings of the stories were not always appreciated: “I did not have enough experience to know that an author should not do this, at least not in my country” (Travels, 22).
2. we’ll know more than we do now. The narrator straightaway makes the point that his story turns on the production of knowledge as well as entertainments. The introduction of the devil in the very first paragraph emphasizes a broad nexus of concerns that draws together division, sin, and the acquisition of knowledge. In some ways, readers will be repeating the experience of Kai and Gerda, who move from innocence to experience through knowledge.
3. He was one of the very worst—the “devil” himself! The hybrid figure of the devil/ troll represents a compromise between the Christian devil and the trolls of pagan
4. he had just finished making a mirror. Magical mirrors figure prominently in the folklore of many cultures. Mirrors can answer questions, make wishes come true, and predict the future. Moreover, they not only reflect but also transform. Whether we look at the folklore of Aztec Mexico or ancient Egypt, shadows and mirror images are generally seen as magically empowered embodiments of the soul. It comes as no surprise that bargains involving both shadows and mirrors animate the desires of devils and other fiends. Andersen weds folkloric tradition—contracts involving the soul—with literary convention, in which the mirror represents mimetic practices, capturing reality and reflecting it back to us in new ways. His mirror has magic qualities with the capacity to shrink what is “good and beautiful” and to enlarge what is “worthless and ugly.” It reflects and distorts reality, and at the same time functions as a tool of the devil, who is invested in making a mockery of everything worthwhile through its surface. Andersen’s contrast between the beautiful and the hideous appropriates fairy-tale aesthetics, which align the beautiful with the good and the hideous with what is morally worthless. The devil’s distorting mirror can also be read as a metaphor for satiric art, which attempts not to capture reality but to engage in its disfigurement and thereby reveal what is amiss and untrue in our world.
Sabine Melchior-Bonnet, in her history of the mirror, points out that the theology of sin positioned the “mad stare” as the greatest obstacle to salvation: “All things visual, including seeing and thus knowing oneself, were linked together through sin. Most sins, pride or arrogance first and foremost, derive from sight. The mirror served as an attribute of sin because it is the emblem of the powers of sight, whose perverse effects it increases” (Melchior-Bonnet, 193). Vanity, as we know from lore. In Scandinavian folklore, trolls live in castles and haunt surrounding areas after nightfall. When exposed to sunlight, they turn into stone or simply burst. Today, children in Anglo-American cultures know them from stories about creatures who live under bridges and make demands on those who use them—most notably the Norwegian “Three Billy Goats Gruff.”
“The Red Shoes” and “The Girl Who Trod on the Loaf,” is the cardinal sin in Andersen’s fictional world. Looking and desiring to be looked at create problems for both Karen and Inger in those two stories.
5. a miracle had taken place. Andersen’s troll-devil is a kind of artistic anti-Christ whose art consists of finding truth (“you could see what the world and its people were really like”) through criticism and satiric distortion. The plan to take the mirror up to the angels and God is doomed to fail in its hubris and defiant ambition, much like the biblical effort to build a Tower of Babel that would reach to the heavens. Shattered as it approaches the heavens, the mirror produces fragments that are lodged everywhere on earth. The shattering, fragmentation, and splintering represent the opposite of love, a power that unites and overcomes oppositions and antagonism. For many theologians, the devil is seen as the being that divides and creates enmity. The devil says to Jesus: “My name is Legion, for we are many” (Mark 5:9). The transition from plenitude and wholeness to division and sin reveals the action of evil in the world. God’s creation is shattered and atomizes into isolated fragments that create hell on earth.
Yet mirrors, even as they introduce the notion of self-division and self-deception, are also linked with reflection and selfknowledge. In this sense, Andersen’s devil, like his biblical counterpart, can be linked with salvation as well as damnation. As the patron of multiplicity and variation, he helps to produce a world that contrasts sharply with the monotonous domain of the Snow Queen. As Roger Sale, an expert on children’s literature, points out, “The Snow Queen” is long and complex, “because it must be, in order to show that the world, when it is not dominated by the Snow Queen, is not paradise but the world, multiple, varied, usually helpful to a distressed girl if it doesn’t have to go far out of its way to do so” (Sale, 71).
6. Now let’s hear what happened next! The colloquial tone enters once again to introduce the main story and to refocus the attention of the audience, which has been distracted by the back story about the devil and his mirror. The mythological/ biblical background takes advantage of comic anaphora, that is, the repeated use of parallel phrases (“A little splinter from the mirror landed in the hearts of some people,” “The shards were so large at times,” “Other pieces were turned into eyeglasses”) that culminate in the grotesque image of the devil laughing until his sides split and thereby becoming the very embodiment of self-division. In an oral storytelling situation, the use of repetition would provide the opportunity for poetic improvisation and audience engagement, although it would also have the effect of distracting from the main contours of the plot.
7. In the big city. The urban landscape is introduced as a crowded, dense space, filled with houses and people, but lacking space for the organic growth found in gardens. The window boxes represent an effort to reclaim natural beauty in improbable city spaces and to create an appealing site that invites imitation by the two children, who play “happily” under the roses. The tale begins with a “cosmic prologue staging the opposition between God and the Devil,” then shifts to “a small idyllic ambience created by poor bourgeois parents in order to preserve benign nature within an urban milieu” (Johansen 2002, 37). In the story “The Drop of Water,” Andersen satirized the cruelties of life in the big city. No doubt he had Copenhagen in mind, a place that contrasted sharply with his native Odense, and for his entire life he had a powerful love/hate relationship with the city and its inhabitants.
8. A rain gutter ran between the two houses. The gutter creates a bridge and introduces the importance of connection early on in the story. As an architectural device that channels a vital natural substance coming down from the heavens, it has an important symbolic significance, particularly since the notion of fluidity and mobility will come to be opposed to rigidity and stasis.
9. a little rosebush. Roses were first grown about 5,000 years ago in the ancient gardens of Asia and Africa. They are among the oldest cultivated flowers and grew in the mythical gardens of Semiramis, queen of Assyria, and Midas, King of Phrygia. In every mythological system, the rose has become the emblem of beauty and love, but not without complications, for it is well known that roses do not bloom for long, that they are vulnerable to insects, blight, and wind, and that they grow on a plant that bears thorns. In Greek mythology, Aphrodite, goddess of love, is said to have created the rose by mixing her tears with the blood of her lover Adonis. Roman antiquity turned the rose into a symbol of love and beauty affiliated with Venus. For early Christians, the strong pagan associations with the rose produced resistance to exploiting its iconic power, but it was eventually declared to be a symbol of the blood of the martyrs and came to be associated with the Virgin Mary (like Christ, she is the Mystic Rose that is sometimes a white rose or a rose without thorns). Because of the earlier associations with Venus, Bacchus, and other classical deities, the rose was displaced by the lily as the Virgin’s floral symbol. In Dante’s Divine Comedy, the rose becomes a symbol of Christ, who is described as “the Rose in which the Word became incarnate” (Paradiso 23, 73). The beauty of the rose has long been linked with the beauty of song, primarily through the association between nightingale and rose, which was said to have received its color from the blood of the nightingale.
ARTHUR RACKHAM
Kai and Gerda enjoy their rooftop meeting place, which represents an island of greenery in an urban setting. Gerda is shown here with a book, even though it is she who will liberate Kai from the icy spell of Reason.
10. the best peepholes you can imagine. The copper coins that create spy-holes on the frozen windowpanes are a reminder that heat and warmth have the power to defeat cold and frost. Note also the contrast that follows between summer and winter, with the one season associated with the empowering freedom of a single leap and the other marked by hurdles in the form of “lots of steps.” Sight and visual pleasure are emphasized throughout the story, and the theme of vision is introduced early on through the peepholes.
11. Gerda. Edvard Collin, the son of Andersen’s benefactor Jonas Collin, had a daughter named Gerda, who died at the age of four. In a letter to Henriette Collin, Andersen wrote: “Yesterday, when I left Kalundborg on the steamship Gerda, I thought about Kai and Gerda, and about the child after whom the fairy tale’s Gerda was named.”
12. “The white bees are swarming out there,” Grandmother said. It is not clear whether “Grandmother” is related to Kai or to Gerda. That the parents of the two children are mentioned only in connection with the window boxes and never clearly differentiated leads to a sense of kinship between Kai and Gerda, one reinforced by the fact that the only woman present at home seems to be grandmother to both.
13. “Is the Snow Queen able to come into houses?” The contrasts between heat and cold, summer and winter, sun and moon, flora and frost, city and garden are expanded here to include inside and outside. The Snow Queen can thrive only out-of-doors, and for that reason, warm interior spaces provide a safe zone for humans.
14. it turned into a woman. In The Fairy Tale of My Life, Andersen describes being haunted by the image of a snow maiden who is an agent of death: “I recollected that, in the winter before, when our window-panes were frozen, my father pointed to them and showed us a figure like that of a maiden with outstretched arms. ‘She is come to fetch me,’ he said in jest. And now, while he was lying there on the bed, dead, my mother remembered this, and I thought about it as well” (14). Andersen’s mother had also referred to the ice maiden as the figure who had carried her husband to his death. Sixteen years after writing “The Snow Queen,” Andersen published a story called “The Ice Maiden,” which tells of a supernatural creature who inhabits Swiss lakes and glaciers and kisses people to death. As in “The Snow Queen,” death is linked with seductive beauty and erotic desire.
15. Just then it seemed as if a huge bird was flying past the window. It is not clear whether the presence of the bird offers a rational explanation for Kai’s vision of the Snow Queen or whether the bird foreshadows Kai’s flight with the Snow Queen. In Andersen’s world, the boundaries between human and animal sometimes seem as porous as in the pagan world of Ovid, where humans are constantly shifting shape.
16. Down in the valley. The verse comes from a popular hymn, still sung in Denmark at Christmas, by H. A. Brorson, called “The Loveliest Rose.”
17. God’s clear sunshine. Sunshine, warmth, clarity, and divine powers are set in opposition to ice, chill, bewilderment, and diabolical forces.
18. “Ouch! Something just stung my heart! And now there’s something in my eye too!” The effect of the glass splinter is felt at once and leads to a sudden metamorphosis that critics have connected with a compressed form of the physical and mental transformations of growing up. Kai can no longer tolerate childish activities, and his behavior takes a deeply cynical turn. One critic finds that Kai acts “like the typical adolescent”—a boy in crisis who must differentiate himself from women and consolidate his male identity. “The effect of the splinters,” Wolfgang Lederer writes, “appears to be that they bring about the onset of a perfectly normal, if disagreeable adolescent phase. To that extent they can hardly be considered detrimental. But we do recall that the splinters are to represent sinfulness; in what manner adolescent withdrawal into intellectuality may be a sin is not at all clear” (Lederer, 27–28). In his autobiography A Sort of Life (1971), the novelist Graham Greene famously declared: “There is a splinter of ice in the heart of a writer.” He was very likely drawing on Andersen’s “Snow Queen” to explain the emotional distance writers establish to real-life sorrows and tragedies.
19. “That rose over there has been chewed up by a worm!” Kai cannot see the rose itself, only its flaws, which are magnified by the splinter in his eye. For him, the inorganic, mathematical beauty of the snow “flowers” becomes far more appealing than the flawed beauty of real flowers.
20. leaving dear little Gerda all alone. Kai’s change in perception is followed by an effort to separate himself from Gerda, then from the grandmother, both of whom represent not just femininity but also the domestic and local. The Snow Queen, by contrast, is an exotic regal presence linked with the power of logic, reason, and calculation. Francis Spufford points out that “The Snow Queen is the inverse of Gerda; her sterility, her intellect, her icy composure, all take their force from being reversals of conventional female qualities. It is mythically apt that her roles as antimother and anti-wife should be vested in the lineaments of beauty, all emptied to white: white furs, white hair, white skin” (Spufford, 141). The word “alone” appears here for the first time, introducing the double notion of the solitary nature of Gerda’s quest and the solitude of Kai’s experience in the realm of the Snow Queen.
21. with a large magnifying glass. Mirrors, glass, magnifying glasses, and windowpanes form a symbolic nexus of hard, sometimes transparent substances that seem to heighten understanding and consciousness but in fact also impede it. They will, of course, be connected with the ice, snow, snowflakes, and other crystalline substances of arresting beauty but sinister power.
22. all he could remember were his multiplication tables. Kai is drawn into an ice-cold realm of mathematical reasoning that stands in direct opposition to a domestic world of warmth in which prayer and passion perform small miracles.
23. It was the Snow Queen. In Norse mythology, Niflheim (Mistland) is the realm of ice and cold and constitutes the resting place for those who have died of old age or illness rather than of wounds from the battlefield. It represents the land of the dead, a frigid Nordic counterpart to the fire and brimstone hell of the church fathers. It is ruled over by Hel, Queen of Death, a figure whose kinship with Mother Holle of German folklore is unmistakable. Mother Holle may be less imposing and seductive, but she too brings the winter season when she shakes her comforter to cover the earth with snow. The Snow Queen has clear connections with these Nordic and Germanic figures of death, although she has none of their redemptive qualities.
24. The Snow Queen kissed Kai again. The Snow Queen secures her power over Kai through a kiss, and he begins to feel at home even as he loses the memory of his former home. Like vampires, lamiae, and other supernatural monsters, the Snow Queen uses seductive charms to trap her victims and rob them of their life substance.
25. She was so beautiful. The Snow Queen’s beauty is connected with mathematical perfection, but her realm of deadly beauty—however exquisite, sublime, and pure—can lead only to destructive solitude and intellectual solipsism. Her connection with the harsh and cold side of what we call Mother Nature, rather than with her more benign, nurturing aspects, is captured concisely in Gilles Deleuze’s formulation: “Nature herself is cold, maternal and severe. The Trinity of the masochistic dream is summed up in the words: cold—maternal—severe, icy—sentimental—cruel.” Naomi Wood, who has written extensively on children’s literature, points out that the Snow Queen figure can be found in the work of many British writers from Charles Kingsley to Philip Pullman: “In these fantasies, the cold mother is beautiful, frequently clad in furs, travels rapidly by flying or in a sled or some combination, and offers the child sublimity, rarefied love, and power. The child accepting her gifts understands their danger, yet that danger takes him or her to another developmental level. Under the cold mother’s tutelage, the beloved child explores the far reaches of human potentiality and either dies or is translated into new levels of existence—or both” (Wood, 199).
26. she soared away with him. Kai not only has the chance to fly “like the wind” on land behind the Snow Queen’s sleigh in his own sled, he also flies through the skies to the dark cloud that is the domain of the Snow Queen. The bleak landscape through which Kai passes contains acoustical allusions to the animals at the command of the Nordic god Odin, whose wolves are named Geri and Freki and whose two ravens, Huginn and Muninn, tellingly, represent Thought and Memory—just what Kai has lost. In this context, it is worth noting that Andersen’s home town, Odense, was named after Odin, god of war and wisdom.
27. “I don’t think so!” the sunshine said. Gerda too will leave home, but her journey takes a very different turn and occurs in the spring rather than in the winter. Instead of succumbing to the lure of the Snow Queen and taking flight to foreign regions, she first engages in dialogue with nature (sunshine and swallows), then sails down the river in search of Kai. The river can be seen as the River of Life but it also has associations with the River Styx, the stream that carried the living to the land of death in Greek and Roman mythology.
28. “I’ll put on my new red shoes.” Andersen’s story “The Red Shoes” was written in the very same year that he was working on “The Snow Queen.” For Gerda, the shoes are a prized object, “the most precious thing” she owns. Their color has been seen as marking an awakening to sexuality, but the shoes seem to signal vanity more than anything else. Gerda, unlike Karen, is willing to sacrifice the beautiful shoes in order to save Kai. Without shoes, she appears as a defenseless child as she makes her way in the world and the condition of being barefoot, especially in icy regions, is seen as a sign of both vulnerability and vitality. The heroine of “The Little Match Girl” is also barefoot.
29. There was not a person in sight. Like the children of fairy tales, Gerda will enter a realm in which nature (flowers, trees, sheep, and cows) plays a dominant role and in which she becomes a child of nature, dependent on its good offices. To be sure, she will encounter human figures, but they are generally recluses who keep company with nature rather than with other human beings. Again and again, Gerda finds herself on her own, required to make decisions without adult supervision and often required to act as an adult around creatures who behave in childish, irresponsible ways.
30. a really old woman walked out of the house. The old woman, with her cane and her curious house, calls to mind the witch in “Hansel and Gretel,” a story recorded by the Brothers Grimm in 1812. But it soon becomes apparent that she has a deeper mythological significance than the witch in that tale. Her garden, which contains every flower imaginable, suggests that she is, like the Greek goddess Demeter, the patron deity of agriculture and a goddess of fertility. A Mother Earth figure, her realm is not only that of vegetation and organic growth but also death and decay. As a woman who knows magic, she cultivates organic flowers, just as the Snow Queen is able to create crystalline flowers. Like the Snow Queen, the old woman also has the capacity to induce amnesia, leading Gerda to neglect her mission and dwell in a land of beauty. As she combs Gerda’s golden locks, the girl begins to forget Kai and to live for the sheer pleasure of the moment. The old woman seems more interested in companionship than control, and, unlike the Snow Queen, she is more maternal than magnetic.
31. Gerda played in the warm sunshine among the flowers. In the realm of the woman who knows magic, Gerda lives in a place filled with aesthetic pleasures and delights: “No picture book could have been more colorful or beautiful.” The old woman provides nourishment and shelter—the most delicious cherries and the loveliest bedding. Superlatives are attached to all objects and vibrant colors are seen everywhere. Yet what is “most beautiful” is missing. The flower painted on the old woman’s hat—the representation of natural beauty through art—reminds Gerda of her task and she leaves with renewed determination to find Kai and to bring him back home.
32. What did the tiger lily have to say? The flowers respond to Gerda’s question about Kai with stories about the all-consuming and self-immolating power of love. As symbols of self-absorption, each tells a tale that indulges in melodramatic action. The tiger lily’s story about the Hindu custom of suttee, the burning of widows on the funeral pyres of their husbands, seems at first to illustrate the powerful sacrifices made in the name of love and the redemptive power of true passion, but in fact it turns on a variety of issues ranging from coerced marriages and infidelity to starcrossed lovers and secret ardor. The language of nature speaks in vividly expressive terms, but it does not always impart wisdom.
33. What does the morning glory have to say? The beautiful girl on the balcony recalls Rapunzel in the tower, waiting for the prince to arrive. Romantic longing is represented in the image of the languishing girl, whose story is told by a flower that blooms in the morning and fades by afternoon, thus representing transience. The blend of patience and edginess communicated by the girl on the balcony represents the mixed emotions stirring in Gerda as she searches for Kai rather than patiently waiting for his return.
34. What does the little daisy have to say? The daisy, symbol of purity, sings about the beauty of childhood innocence. The two girls, dressed like daisies with their white dresses and green silk ribbons, swing back and forth, enjoying the sheer delight of freedom and flight. The boy with his pipe produces bubbles that reflect the beauty of the scene but that periodically burst as a reminder of the evanescence of youth, beauty, innocence, and all earthly things. The image of the beautiful, colorful bubble reflecting the girls swinging highlights the importance of aesthetics in Andersen’s fairy tales.
35. “What do the hyacinths have to say?” The hyacinth, said to have sprung from the blood of the beautiful youth Hyacinthus, is linked with death. The three beautiful sisters enter the woods as dancers and return from the woods in the moonlight in coffins, suggesting the perils of the journeys undertaken by Gerda and Kai. The colors of the dresses—red, blue, and white—when mixed, produce the purple of the hyacinth. As in “The Little Mermaid,” color is used repeatedly to supply ignition power that will kindle the imagination of readers, inspiring them to visualize the scene.
36. What kind of song could the buttercup sing? The song of the buttercup sounds a cheerful note at last, with its description of warm, golden sunshine and the gold of kisses, hearts, eyes, and sunrises. The sunshine shimmering down the wall produces another sparkling surface, much like the mirrors, ice, glass, or the “glassy lake” of the previous song. Andersen relies on these shimmering surfaces to create dazzling aesthetic effects.
37. She bent down to listen to the narcissus. The narcissus, a flower linked to selfabsorption, grew at the spot where Narcissus pined away looking at his mirror image in the river in Ovid’s Metamorphoses. Listening to the vain chatter of the narcissus animates Gerda, who may also risk becoming fascinated by her own reveries and turning into a creature seduced into remaining in an earthly paradise where time stands still. The warning is sufficiently strong to propel Gerda into action as she realizes that time has flown by while she has lingered in the paradise of the woman who knows magic. Unlike Karen of “The Red Shoes” and Inger in “The Girl Who Trod on the Loaf,” Gerda is not seduced by appearances or enamored of her own image.
38. her little feet were so tender and sore. Gerda, like the heroine of the Scandinavian tale “East of the Sun and West of the Moon,” who wears out a pair of iron shoes while searching for her beloved, wears herself out in pursuit of one who has gone astray. In sacrificing her shoes to the river, she makes a profound symbolic gesture that strips her not only of vanity but also of protection from the elements. As a traveler, she has a special need for shoes, for without them her mobility is severely restricted.
39. a big crow came hopping across the snow. It is not by chance that Gerda meets a crow as soon as she departs from the amnesia-inducing realm of the old woman (recall that Odin’s crows are named Thought and Memory). Gerda, who communicated quite easily with swallows and sparrows when she set out on her journey, is now unable to speak a language that her wise grandmother, who is attuned to the forces of nature, speaks fluently.
40. all alone in the wide world. Once again, the reader is reminded that Gerda remains isolated as she traverses vast expanses. And yet there is also a sense of adventure, an openness to experience that Andersen sees as the stuff of stories. In his autobiography, he writes about his decision to leave home—“just like the heroes in the many adventure stories I had read to get out—all alone—into the world” (49). Andersen’s enterprising nature was fueled by the stories he read as a child: “my imagination for adventure was awakened. I thought of life itself as an adventure and looked forward to appearing in it myself as a hero” (The Fairy Tale of My Life, 42). As an adult, he traveled far more frequently than most of his contemporaries, and, although he declined an invitation to travel to the United States (a friend had perished crossing the Atlantic), he eagerly accepted nearly every other invitation, traveling by carriage, boat, and even (later in the century) on a train. The sense of adventure was balanced by a recognition that travel could also produce solitude. On a trip to the Jura mountains in 1833, Andersen described feeling an overwhelming sense of loneliness as he looked at the strange darkness formed by the mountains and spruce trees. Gerda does not have the linguistic skills of her grandmother, who understands the language of birds and P-speech (academic speech).
41. “that’s how clever she is.” Andersen was a master of what is known as crosswriting, producing texts that are directed at two audiences: children and adults. The satirical barb at newspapers is embedded in a tale for children and adds spice for the adult readers. As Andersen wrote to a friend: “Now I tell stories of my own accord, seize an idea for the adults—and then tell it for the children while still keeping in mind the fact that mother and father are often listening too, and they must have a little something for thought” (Grønbech, 91–92).
42. border of hearts. The border of hearts provides an interesting contrast to death notices, which traditionally have black borders. The sentimental touch is not in the style of Gerda, who is less of a romantic.
43. the man who seemed most at home in the castle and who spoke the most eloquently. The princess is making somewhat unusual demands (no other fairy-tale princess seeks these qualities in a man), and Andersen may have invented these traits because they matched so perfectly his own strengths. He was, of course, an expert in making himself at home in the manors and castles of aristocrats and royals, and he prided himself on his eloquence and on the fact that he had provided Denmark with a “poet.”
The riddle princess is found in myths and fairy tales the world over. Turandot is perhaps the most famous of these virgins, who execute suitors unable to answer their questions or to carry out assigned tasks. Portia, in The Merchant of Venice, is a milder version of the type, dismissing rather than decapitating the unqualified suitors. In his essay “The Theme of the Three Caskets,” Freud meditates on the motif and shows how a story about making choices for the sake of love masks an obsession with death. “The Snow Queen” might also be seen as a tale in which romance and passion are deeply enmeshed with anxieties about mortality. Andersen’s princess, in the subplot to “The Snow Queen,” is more whimsical and eccentric than belligerent and bloodthirsty, but the princess in his story “The Traveling Companion” has a garden in which suitors hang from trees.
44. “some of the more clever fellows had packed bread and cheese.” Andersen creates comic effects by moving seamlessly from descriptions of courtly fashion (guards dressed in silver and servants in gold) and the protocols and players of royal life (ministers of state, various excellencies, and a princess sitting on a throne) to the buffoon-like behavior of the suitors, who parrot the princess’s words and refuse to share their provisions.
45. “Kai’s boots began to creak loudly.” At his confirmation, Andersen prided himself on a new pair of boots: “My delight was extreme; my only fear was that some people would not see them, and therefore I drew them up over my trousers and marched through the church. The boots creaked, and that pleased me no end, for the congregation would know that they were brand new. My sense of piety was disturbed; I was aware of it, and I felt a terrible sense of guilt that my thoughts should be on my new boots as much as they were with God” (Fairy Tale of My Life, 22).
46. “a pearl that was as big as a spinning wheel.” A precious stone with many layers, the pearl seems an odd object to serve as a throne. Its round shape and color could be seen as evoking the moon, and its use as a throne offers a humorous touch. The allusion to a spinning wheel connects the story to the instrument whose use often provided the occasion for oral storytelling and adds a humble touch to the royal throne. Here again, Andersen yokes a precious object with the homespun.
47. Gerda’s heart was pounding with fear and longing! Gerda, unlike her fairy-tale counterparts, possesses a transparent mind, and we learn about her thoughts and emotions throughout her adventures. Her love of Kai keeps her from despair and helps her to overcome her fear of the unknown. In the term “longing,” there is one of the few hints that her love for Kai is more than sisterly. Gerda has a psychological depth absent from fairy-tale figures like Little Red Riding Hood or Cinderella, who are revealed to us solely through their actions. As W. H. Auden put it, “In the folk tale, as in the Greek epic and tragedy, situation and character are hardly separable; a man reveals what he is in what he does, or what happens to him is a revelation of what he is” (Auden, 207).
48. something rushed past her like shadows on a wall. Slavic folklore often features mysterious spectral horsemen representing various times of day. The hunting parties that haunt this particular castle are described as creatures from dreams, imaginative beings that can be brought to life in fiction but that rarely inhabit fairy-tale worlds, where few characters have a dream life. Just two years after finishing “The Snow Queen,” Andersen wrote “The Shadow,” which offers further evidence of his deep fascination with the interplay of light and dark and the chiaroscuro effects produced.
49. two beds that looked just like lilies. The chaste relationship between prince and princess becomes evident from the arrangement of the beds. The riddle princess remains locked in a state of virginal purity, unable to move to a condition of mature adult sexuality. Gerda is eager to continue on her journey once she realizes her error. Both couples in “The Snow Queen” are presented as passionately drawn to each other, but without a trace of erotic desire. In real life, Andersen seemed unable to consummate a romantic relationship, and he makes sure that the couples in his fairy tales remain drawn to each other in powerful but chaste ways. Note the striking use of color in this passage and how the attributes used to kindle our imagination and to help us visualize the scene have more to do with light and color than anything else.
50. a pair of boots and also a fur muff. Gerda receives a carriage—one that is linked with sunshine through its gold—but, just as importantly, she has received something to protect her hands and feet. Like the Snow Queen, she now has something made of fur and a magnificent mode of transportation. Her carriage, with its bounty of sugar pastries, fruit, and cookies, represents pure wish-fulfillment for a child. The fetishizing of feet and hands, along with boots and muffs, is intriguing, given the chaste and pious register in which the tale moves.
51. an old robber hag. Andersen most likely drew on the Grimms’ “Robber Bridegroom,” a horrific story derived from Apuleius’s Cupid and Psyche, to construct Gerda’s precarious brush with the bandits. In the Roman story from the second century, a young woman is about to be chopped into pieces by robbers when the crone who makes their supper puts her own life in jeopardy by intervening to protect her. The hag who forms part of the robber band in Andersen’s story does not turn out to be an unexpectedly benign protector (like the giant’s wife in “Jack and the Beanstalk”) but a bloodthirsty fiend who resembles the cannibalistic witch of “Hansel and Gretel.” It is never easy to predict whether the women Kai and Gerda encounter will be benefactors or villains.
52. “I want her to play with me!” The robber girl’s insistence on friendship is more terrifying than comforting. Her efforts to befriend Gerda perpetually turn into lifethreatening gestures. While Gerda’s relationship to Kai remains chaste, even after they mature into adults, her encounter with the robber girl is charged with passionate overtones, erotic and morbid, but also affectionate and playful.
53. A large cauldron of soup was boiling. From Shakespeare’s Macbeth to Goethe’s Faust, the cauldron functions as a sign of witchery, a vessel of plenty that would seem to nourish life but that may in fact be bubbling with toxic substances.
54. “Kiss it!” she shouted. The bandit girl may be the youthful progeny of the old robber woman, but, in her connection with animals, she resembles Artemis or Diana, the “Lady of the Wild Things,” a virgin goddess who is also the huntress of the gods. Diana roved the hills with her maidens and hunting dogs, and any man who approached her risked being torn to bits. The little robber girl, alternately compassionate and sadistic, threatens to chop Gerda into pieces and takes some rather appalling liberties with her. Her intimacies are aggressively sensual—she heats her hands in Gerda’s “beautiful muff,” which is soft and warm. Her aggressive moves are charged with sexual overtones—she threatens to poke Gerda in the stomach with her knife if she does not lie still in bed.
55. “bound for Lapland.” Also known as Sápmi, Lapland is a region inhabited by the Sami people. It includes the northern regions of Scandinavia, Finland, and the Kola peninsula in Russia.
56. “Spitsbergen!” The largest island in the Svalbard archipelago, Spitsbergen is located in the Arctic Ocean and administered by Norway. The name means “jagged peaks,” and the island is situated so far north that the sun disappears for four months in the winter.
57. “my own dear, sweet goat!” The Norse god Thor is said to have driven a chariot pulled by two powerful goats, who symbolize thunder and lightning. Goats figure prominently in Christian orthodoxy as satanic creatures who serve as familiars to witches, transporting them to the witches’ Sabbath, over which a goatlike devil presides.
58. “Northern lights.” The common name for aurora borealis, the Northern lights are like silent fireworks that can be seen on clear winter nights in regions near the earth’s magnetic pole. The bands and streamers of colored light appear in their most spectacular form in Finnish Lapland, where the number of auroral displays can be as high as two hundred per year. The Finnish term revontulet for the Northern lights means “fox fires,” referring to fables about arctic foxes creating the celestial spectacle by brushing their tales against the snow. As always, Andersen uses light effects to inspire the characters but also to ignite the imagination of the reader.
59. a wretched hovel. This new abode has been seen as a womblike dwelling. Both the Lapp woman and the Finn woman can be seen as “wise women,” friendly witches who, however eccentric or macabre they may appear, provide Gerda with vital information and assistance in her travels.
60. “Finnmark.” Finnmark forms the northernmost part of the Scandinavian peninsula. It borders on the Arctic Ocean to the north and on Finland to the south. It is the largest county of Norway, but also has the smallest population.
61. “dried codfish.” The codfish is often dried in order to preserve it. When left to stiffen, it is as flat as a sheet of paper and can be used as a writing tablet. For a deeper understanding of the fish and its significance, particularly for Scandinavian countries, see Mark Kurlansky’s Cod: A Biography of the Fish That Changed the World.
62. “you can tie all the winds of the world together.” The Lapp woman, like the witches, enchantresses, and wise women of fairy tales, seems to have a special command over the forces of nature. The four winds in Andersen’s story represent varying degrees of strength, but in many myths, they represent different colors. The Apache people, for example, have black, blue, yellow, and white winds. In “East of the Sun and West of the Moon,” the four winds act in concert with each other as a relay team for the heroine. Gerda, like the heroine of that tale, embarks on an arduous journey to release a young man from a magical spell. Knots are often used to work magic and are seen as storing energy that can be released for a specific purpose.
63. Strange letters. The Finn woman is most likely consulting runes, an ancient Germanic writing system that was thought to have sacral significance and magical qualities. Runic inscriptions were used in Iceland, the British Isles, and in Scandinavian lands for many centuries, from about the third century through 1600. The term rune means mystery, secret, or whisper, and each rune has special magical properties and meanings. More than 4,000 runic inscriptions and several runic manuscripts exist, with the majority from Scandinavian countries.
64. she is a sweet, innocent child. The importance of childhood innocence famously becomes evident in Andersen’s “The Emperor’s New Clothes.” In “The Snow Queen,” Andersen deepens the significance of that innocence, connecting it with the redemptive power of the Christ child.
65. Gerda was standing there all alone—no shoes, no mittens. Like the little match girl and the ugly duckling, Gerda is completely exposed to the icy elements and must fend for herself. Andersen repeatedly created solitary icons of suffering, diminutive figures set in glacial surroundings that combine the sublime and the terrible. In “The Girl Who Trod on the Loaf,” he created the image of a vain child who is subjected to a humiliating display of her abject state.
66. little angels that grew even bigger. Gerda’s warm breath serves as the perfect weapon against the “terrible snowflakes.” Interiority and innocence, combined with ardent prayer, give birth to the angels that defeat the snowflakes, demolishing them as they splinter into hundreds of pieces.
67. Mirror of Reason. As at the beginning of the tale, a mirror of powerful symbolic import appears. Unlike the devil’s mirror, which produced grotesque distortions of reality, this mirror possesses geometric precision and mathematical exactitude. Its fragments do not come in all shapes and sizes, as was the case with the devil’s mirror. Instead, each piece is exactly like the next, suggestive of a monstrous monotony that, as we learn, takes the form of “eternity.” This mirror is even more perilous than the devil’s looking glass, yet it is also an optical illusion created by the fragment of the looking glass in Kai’s eye.
68. he didn’t notice anything at all. Blue with cold, Kai begins to resemble his frigid surroundings and loses the capacity to feel, to touch, and to become aware or to be touched and moved emotionally.
69. Chinese puzzles. Andersen is most likely referring to the tangram, an ancient Chinese puzzle that consists of seven pieces which, when fitted together, form a square. The seven pieces include five triangles of different sizes, a square, and a parallelogram, and the object is to create specific designs with all seven pieces, which may not overlap in the new design.
70. the designs seemed remarkable and deeply important. The Snow Queen’s element is the snowflake or crystal, which illustrates “the spontaneous creation of pattern and form” (Libbrecht, 21). Snowflakes, formed by condensation, are attractive precisely because of their patterned complexity and their symmetries even amid endless variation.
71. Eternity. Kai is not seeking the immortality promised by Christ: “Whoso eateth my flesh, and drinketh my blood, hath eternal life” (John 6:54). Instead he serves the master of reason and is striving to gain immortality through his intellectual labors. A. S. Byatt’s meditation on the significance of the Snow Queen is intriguing. Reflecting on Yeats’s dictum “The intellect of man is forced to choose / Perfection of the life, or of the work,” she views “the frozen, stony women” in Andersen’s work as images of “choosing the perfection of the work, rejecting . . . the imposed biological cycle, blood, kiss, roses, birth, death, and the hungry generations” (Byatt, 78).
72. “I will give you the whole world and a pair of new skates.” The Snow Queen’s offer conflates high and low registers, echoing the words of the devil: “All these things will I give thee, if thou wilt fall down and worship me” (Matthew 4:8–10). She also introduces an object of desire that, however ordinary and diminutive in contrast to the “whole world,” would have a powerful appeal to children reading the tale. W. H. Auden used the reward and the scene in which Kai works on the ice puzzle to identify the difference between folklore and literature. The ice puzzle would never appear in a folktale, he insisted, “firstly because the human situation with which it is concerned is an historical one, created by Descartes, Newton and their successors, and secondly, because no folk tale would analyze its own symbol and explain that the game with the ice-splinters was the game of reason. Further, the promised reward, ‘the whole world and a new pair of skates,’ has not only a surprise and a subtlety of which the folk tale is incapable, but also a uniqueness by which one can identify its author” (Auden, 205).
73. Mt. Etna and Vesuvius. Mt. Etna lies on the east coast of Sicily and is the largest of Italy’s three active volcanoes. In ancient times, it was thought to mark the spot of Tartarus, the Greek underworld. Vesuvius, which is located east of Naples, is famous for the destruction of Pompeii in 79 AD. Andersen made eight trips to Italy in his lifetime, the most significant of which was perhaps his first journey to Naples, in 1834. It was there that he linked the volcanic eruptions of Mt. Vesuvius with his own troubled sensual stirrings, or what he called the “Neapolitan passion.” Letters to friends provide detailed accounts of the smoke, steam, and lava he witnessed, and Andersen made several pen-and-ink drawings of the “splendors” of Vesuvius and Etna. In his 1835 novel The Improvisatore, Andersen revealed the degree to which the smoldering volcano of Naples captured the intensity of sensual experience: “My blood was like boiling lava. . . . Everything was flames outside, as in my blood. The air currents rippled with heat, Vesuvius was aglow with fire, the eruptions lit up everything around” (Jens Andersen, 522).
74. Gerda shed hot tears. The tears, warm and liquid, stand in sharp contrast to the hard, frigid surfaces of the Snow Queen’s realm. Gerda’s animating kisses also differ markedly from the paralyzing kiss of the Snow Queen.
75. Gerda kissed Kai’s cheeks. Described as “love’s first snowdrop” (Burns), “a heartquake” (Byron), and “the shine / Of heaven ambrosial” (Keats), the kiss has long been the subject of poetic meditations. With its venerable history, from the biblical story recounting Judas’s betrayal of Christ through fairy tales like “The Frog Prince” or “Sleeping Beauty” to Rodin’s rendition of a lip-, limb-, and soul-locked marble couple, kisses range dramatically in meaning, signaling both seduction and betrayal as well as compassion, romance, and redemption. In Andersen’s work, they are linked with both love and death. His poem “The Dying Child” ends with the child joyfully telling its mother of being kissed by an angel. “The Snow Queen” has kisses in abundance: the kisses planted on rosebushes by the young Kai and Gerda, the icy kisses of the Snow Queen, Gerda’s good-bye kisses to her grandmother, the reindeer’s soft kisses on Gerda’s mouth, and, finally, Gerda’s liberating kiss at the end of the story.
76. the reindeer was waiting for them. Like the Finn woman and the Lapp woman, the reindeer functions as one of a series of helpers who provide nourishment, clothing, and transportation. Each stands in contrast to the cold, boreal mother incarnated by the Snow Queen.
77. “go to the ends of the earth for your sake.” Like the heroine in “East of the Sun and West of the Moon” (which exists in multiple variant forms in Scandinavian countries), Gerda must travel to the ends of the earth to find her beloved Kai.
78. “the crow is dead.” The prince and princess, on the road to foreign countries, and the two crows, one in mourning and the other dead, can be seen as doublings of the couple formed by Gerda and Kai, with the prince and princess evoking adventure and voyages into the wide world, the crows representing banality and loss, and Gerda and Kai signaling a blend of what characterizes the other pairs.
79. they were grown-ups and children at the same time. Time has stood still, but Gerda and Kai return as adults who are still able to occupy the small chairs in which they sat as children. Retaining the beauty and innocence of childhood, they live as chaste partners in an eternal present, with the grandmother reading from the Bible in “God’s clear sunshine.” The concluding tableau may not be a utopia to everyone’s taste, but it is decidedly a “happily ever after,” with its “warm” and “wonderful” summer.
