“The Snow Queen” by Hans Christian Anderson
Retold by Kay Woodward
Once upon a time, there lived a sprite who was more wicked than any other. He spent his days thinking of nasty tricks and vile schemes, because nothing made him happier than causing mischief.
One day, the sprite made a magic mirror that warped and twisted all it reflected. Anything good or beautiful appeared horrible and mean. Magnificent oak trees turned to boiled spinach. Handsome princes looked like trolls. Fair maidens were now wizened, warty witches, and they sobbed when they saw themselves. Meanwhile, anything bad or ugly became so hideous that there really were no words to describe it. The sprite delighted in showing the mirror to everything and everyone he met. He’d never had so much fun.
But after a while, the sprite grew weary of tormenting people with the magic mirror. “I’m bored,” he said. “What nasty trick can I play now?”
And that was when he had the most evil idea of all. He would show his magic mirror to the angels, and he would dance with joy when their beautiful faces became monstrously ugly. He would laugh while they cried.
But as the sprite flew upwards with the mirror, something curious happened. The mirror began to smile. The higher he went, the wider the smile grew and the mirror began to tremble with pure happiness.
Soon, it was shaking so much that it shattered, exploding into a million glittering pieces, each one as small as a grain of sand and as sharp as a pin.
Whirled away by the wind, they were blown to all four corners of the world.
And whenever a splinter flew into someone’s eye, that poor person saw the world as an ugly and evil place. Even worse, if a splinter found its way into a person’s heart, it would grow colder and colder, until it was frozen like a block of ice.
In a land far away from the wicked sprite, there stood a walled town so beautiful that all who visited never wanted to leave. In narrow streets, houses jostled for space. The buildings were so tall that they seemed to skim the sky, so close together that their roofs touched. And there was so little outside space that for most townspeople their only garden was a flowerpot.
At the very top of the tallest houses lived two children named Kay and Gerda. They were the closest of neighbors and the best of friends. Each child grew a beautiful
1 climbing rosebush, and their branches entwined, arching between the two garrets where they lived.
In summer, the two friends hopped between their two homes, laughing and playing together. In winter, their windows were decorated with spirals and swirls of frost. The latches froze shut, but that didn’t stop Kay and Gerda from seeing each other. They heated coins on the stove and pressed them on the windowpanes, melting peepholes to spy through. To be together, they went down, down, down the many stairs of one house and then up, up, up the stairs of the other, while outside snowstorms raged.
One wintry day, Kay’s grandmother gathered the two child close. “Let me tell you about the Snow Queen,” she whispered. “She flies where the snow is thickest. She peers into warm houses and covers the windows with magnificent frost patterns. Everything she touches becomes cold.” Kay and Gerda shivered.
That night, Kay climbed onto a chair and looked through his window-and that was when he saw her, beckoning to him. She was beautiful and she was delicate and she was made of dazzling, sparkling ice. Her gown was a million tiny snowflakes. Her eyes were like stars. But these stars didn’t twinkle; they shone with a cold, hard light that frightened Kay so much he fell off his chair. When he looked again, the Snow Queen was gone.
______
At the first sight of spring, winter fled. Green leaves sprouted, swallows build their nests, and sunbeams slanted down into the uppermost rooms of the town houses. Kay and Gerda flung open their windows, clambering outside to play once more.
“Goodbye, winter!” Kay shouted. Yet as he waved, he thought longingly of the beautiful Snow Queen, who by now seemed little more than a dream.
It was the best summer. Kay and Gerda spent hours together on the rooftops, laughing, singing, and tending their rosebushes. That year, the ruby-red flowers were beauty itself. It was as if they would never stop blooming.
One perfect day, the children were reading Kay’s favorite storybook-birds and beasts roamed over every page. Then, as the clock in the church tower struck five, he gasped.
“Ow!” said Kay. “I feel such a pain in my heart.”
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And then something cold and sharp flew into his eye. “Now I have grit in my eye, too!” he said, blinking wildly.
But it wasn’t grit in Kay’s eye. It was a splinter of glass from the sprite’s magic mirror. And the pain in his heart was where another splinter had pierced him. “Dearest Kay,” said Gerda, and comforted him with a hug.
Meanwhile, an icy numbness was creeping through Kay’s body and soon he felt no pain. “I think the grit has gone now,” he said. But he was wrong. The splinter was still stuck in his eye. And the splinter in his heart had already turned to ice. He pushed Gerda away roughly and she began to sob. “What are you crying for?” he said. “Is it because you are so ugly?” Gerda cried harder.
Kay had now become crueler and colder than a hundred winters. He seized the storybook from Gerda and tore the pages into a thousand pieces, shouting with laughter as they blew away on the wind. Then he pulled up the roses that she loved and stamped on them until the petals whirled all around. Poor Gerda felt as if he were stamping on her heart.
Where once he had been warm and loving, now Kay was as cold as ice. As winter approached, he became mesmerized by the snowflakes that started to fall. Each one was as perfect as a magnificent flower or a beautiful star.
Now, the bigger boys used to tie a sled to the back of a farmer’s wagon in order to get a good ride without any effort. “I’m going sledding with the other boys,” Kay told Gerda, ignoring her sad face. “Don’t bother coming.”
In the market square, as Kay watched, a great white sleigh glided past, driven by a woman in a huge white coat and crown. “It’s mine,” he thought, creeping up behind it and tying on a rope.
With the crack of a whip, they were off, speeding through the streets so quickly that the houses and the townspeople were a blur. They raced towards the city gates, the snowflakes growing even bigger until they were like great white hares running alongside.
Without warning, the sleigh slowed and the driver turned. She was tall and slender and icily beautiful. Her white coat was made of snow.
“You look cold, Kay. Come and shelter here inside my coat,” she said.
As if in a dream, Kay stepped inside the Snow Queen’s sleigh. She wrapped her great coat around his shoulders and it was like sinking into the softest snowdrift.
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“Are you still cold?” she asked. Then she kissed his forehead, and where her lips touched him, Kay’s skin turned icy. His heart, which was already half-frozen, turned so cold that he thought he might die. But then, curiously, something changed inside him and he began to feel stronger. He no longer felt the cold.
When the Snow Queen kissed Kay a second time, all memories of Gerda, Grandma, and his beloved home disappeared like melting snowflakes, leaving no trace at all.
______
The townspeople spoke of Kay’s mysterious disappearance with quiet sadness. Some believed that he had been taken by wolves, others that he had fallen through the river’s ice. But no one knew for sure.
Only Gerda believed that Kay still lived. When spring came, she kissed her mother goodbye, picked up her best red shoes, and went down to the riverbank to find him.
“Is it true that you have taken my best friend?” she asked the gently flowing water. The river did not reply, so Gerda, who was a determined young girl, tried again. “I will give you my red shoes as a present if you will return Kay to me,” she said.
And then it seemed to Gerda as if the little blue waves nodded to her, so she took one final look at her red shoes, which were the most precious things she owned, and hurled them into the river.
The little waves washed them to the shore and Gerda tried again, thinking that perhaps she had not thrown the shoes far enough.
Splash-Splash.
A second time, the waves bore the shoes to the riverbank, and hope began to burn inside Gerda. Was the river telling her that Kay had not drowned here? Spying a boat at the water’s edge, she clambered in and pushed it away from the bank. When she reached the middle of the river, she threw in the red shoes one final time.
Ker-splosh!
Yet now the boat was drifting quickly downstream and Gerda was frightened. Faster and faster she went, the red shoes bobbing along behind. She began to cry. But no one heard her except the sparrows, and they flew along the bank, singing as if to comfort her.
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Finally, the boat thudded to a halt beside a cherry orchard. There stood a pretty thatched cottage with red and blue windows, almost hidden by pale blossom.
Smiling with relief, Gerda wondered if Kay had come this way. She climbed out of the boat and set off to find him.
Slowly, Gerda pushed open the garden gate. “Is anyone there?” she called. At once an old woman appeared, leaning on a crooked stick. She wore an elaborate hat that was decorated with the most amazing flowers.
“Hello, dear,” she said. “Do come inside and tell me about yourself.”
So Gerda told the old woman about her home and Kay and the roses they grew together, and that Kay had vanished and how she wouldn’t stop until she found him.
“Have you seen him?” she asked.
“I have not,” said the old woman. “But he will doubtless come this way, and while you are waiting for him, you may enjoy cherries from the garden, help tend my flowers, and live with me.”
But while Gerda ate the wonderful cherries, the old woman began to brush her hair with a hairbrush that glittered and sparkled and made her forget all about Kay. For the old woman was actually an enchantress, and while she was not evil, she had often longed for a dear little girl like Gerda to live with her.
That night, the enchantress cast a spell on all the roses in her garden, which sank down into the soil at once. “Now there is nothing to remind Gerda of Kay,” she whispered. “She will stay with me forever.”
The summer went by, filled with sunshine and sweet-smelling flowers. Yet Gerda felt sad and she did not know why. Then one day she spotted the one rose that the enchantress had forgotten to hide, which was woven into her hat. Gerda gasped as the memories of Kay flooded back and she ran out into the garden to be alone and weep. Watered by Gerda’s tears, the hidden roses emerged above ground once more.
“Is Kay dead?” Gerda asked them.
The roses shook their pretty heads. “Then I must find him!” cried Gerda. But when she opened the gate, she found that outside the endless summer of the enchantress’s garden, it was now autumn. “I have wasted the entire summer!” she said.
And she set off at once to find Kay.
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While Gerda was walking, she noticed dark beady eyes watching her from a tree and saw that they belonged to a raven the color of midnight.
“Good day!” she said to the bird.
“Caw, caw!” the bird replied, flying down to land beside her. “Where are you going?”
Gerda told the raven the story of her journey so far and asked if he’d seen Kay.
“I might,” said the raven,” but I am afraid he has forgotten you and fallen in love with a princess.”
Gerda hugged and kissed the bird with delight. She was not even the tiniest bit jealous and cared only that Kay was safe and well. So she asked the raven to tell her more.
“In this kingdom, there lives a princess who is amazingly smart,” said the raven. “She longed to marry. But she did not want an ordinary type of husband-one who would be charming and handsome and say only what he thought she wanted to hear. The princess wanted a husband who was as wise as an owl and as clever as a cat. She wanted a man who knew how to answer for himself.”
“Very sensible,” said Gerda. “I like this princess already.”
“Before long, the line of suitors stretched three times around the palace,” said the raven. “But as soon as they met the princess, each one of them was struck dumb. All they could do was repeat the same few words, over and over again. The princess was not impressed.
The next day, a boy with neither horse nor fine clothes marched boldly up to the palace,” the raven continued. “His eyes sparkled like diamonds, but his clothes were shabby and his shoes creaked.”
“That’s Kay!” cried Gerda.
The raven nodded. “When he spoke, the princess fell under his spell. But he wanted to hear what she had to say, too, which made her love him all the more.”
“Oh, please take me to the palace to find Kay,” begged Gerda.
“It would be my pleasure,” cawed the raven.
Gerda’s clothes were so tattered and torn that the raven knew she would never get past the palace guards. But he had a plan. His sweetheart was another raven who lived at the palace. She would know how to sneak Gerda inside.
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The raven’s sweetheart listened to Gerda’s tale with tears in her dark, beady eyes. “Of course I will help you,” she said. “But first, I will find you some food. You look as if you haven’t eaten in days.” And she fluttered away to the palace kitchens.
“Isn’t she wonderful?” sighed the raven.
Long after nightfall, the raven’s sweetheart led Gerda and the raven through the palace gardens to an old wooden door hidden behind a mulberry bush. She poked her beak into the lock and wiggled it around until there was a soft click. “These stairs lead up to the palace bedrooms,” she said.
Gerda peered upwards into the darkness, suddenly more frightened than she’d ever been in her life. She climbed the stairs slowly and at the top saw a room that made her gasp with delight. Its glass ceiling was shaped like the leaves of a palm tree. Two lily-shaped beds hung from a thick golden stem in the center of the room. In one bed lay the princess. In the other lay-
“Kay!” Gerda cried, gently shaking the figure.
But it was some other boy, and not Kay at all.
“Poor little thing!” said the prince and princess when they heard Gerda’s sad tale.
“We will help,” they promised.
The royal couple were as good as their word. The very next day, they dressed Gerda in silk and velvet and gave her a carriage of pure gold. It was lined with sugarplums and beneath the seats were fruit and gingerbread.
Gerda could hardly believe such kindness. She longed to stay but she had to continue her quest. So, waving good-bye to the prince and princess and with her friends the ravens flying alongside the carriage for the first few miles, she went onward, her carriage shining like a sunbeam.
Gerda loved the dazzling golden carriage. So did the robbers that were hiding in the deep, dark woods. And as night fell, they pounced.
“Oof!” said Gerda as she was tugged from her carriage and dropped on the hard ground.
“How plump and how beautiful she is!” said the oldest robber. “She is like a fattened lamb.” And she stared greedily at Gerda, pulling out a shiny knife. Then, “Ow!” she cried, for her very own daughter had bitten her ear.
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“She shall play with me!” said the little robber maiden who dearly wanted a friend. Pulling Gerda back inside the carriage, they rode away, over tree stumps and through streams, deeper into the dark woods. At last, they arrived in the courtyard of the robbers’ castle.
It was old and tumbledown, with cracks zigzagging from tower to dungeon. Magpies and rooks squawked. Bulldogs growled. But the little robber maiden was proud of her home and showed off her pets, including a pair of pigeons and a reindeer called Bey, who had eyes the color of molasses.
That night, the little robber maiden slept close to Gerda, in case the robbers should return. Bey watched over them. For Gerda, there was no chance of escape or sleep.
But as she lay there, the pigeons began to coo. “We have seen Kay!” they said. “He is with the Snow Queen.”
“He’s alive?” Gerda gasped.
“They came past here and were headed north to Lapland,” added Bey. “The Snow Queen’s palace is there.”
Gerda’s eyes widened. “Do you know the way?” she asked.
“Of course,” said Bey. “I was born there.”
“Excuse me,” said the little robber maiden, who had heard everything and who was far kinder than she looked. “I will help you both. Bey, if you will take this little girl to the Snow Queen’s palace for me, then I will set you free.”
The reindeer bounded for joy. Gerda was so happy that she twirled. Once again, she was on her way.
It was a long, long journey. By day, the pale winter sun hovered above the snowy horizon. By night, the northern lights lit their way, magical waves of color rippling and swaying in the dark sky above. And not once did Gerda let go of Bey’s chocolate- brown fur.
Just as Gerda thought they might never stop, they came across a small house in Finland, a bigger country where Lapland is, and saw that it had neither doors nor windows. Indeed, the only way in or out was by the chimney. Gently, Gerda knocked on the wall.
“Come in!” called a Finnish woman, peeping out of the top of the chimney. She was smudged with soot from the fire and her eyes twinkled a warm welcome.
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Inside the heat was stifling and Gerda took off her gloves and boots and placed a piece of ice on Bey’s nose to keep him cool. The reindeer sensed magic in the Finnish woman.
“Will you give this little maiden a potion so that she may have the strength of twelve men and defeat the Snow Queen?” he asked.
The Finnish woman snorted. “The strength of twelve men?” she said. “Pah! That would not be enough.” Then she smiled sadly. “It is true that Kay is at the Snow Queen’s palace and thinks it is the very best place in the world. But it is also true that he has a splinter of evil glass in his eye and one in his heart. While these splinters remain, the Snow Queen will never lose her power over him and he will never leave.”
“Can you give Gerda nothing that will help her?” pleaded Bey.
At this, the Finnish woman smiled. “I can give this child no more power than what she has already,” she said. “Don’t you see how great that is? She started her journey alone. Yet see how far she has come. The power to rescue Kay lies in her own heart, nowhere else.”
So the next morning, the Finnish woman pointed the way to the Snow Queen’s palace and Bey and Gerda set off once again on their journey.
______
Kay’s new home was built from neither brick nor stone, neither tile nor glass. Instead, its walls were of driven snow, its windows and doors of shining ice. And inside, there were a hundred glittering and glistening halls, each one empty and magnificent, and each one colder than the last. All were lit by the northern lights, which swooped and soared overhead like rainbows gone wild.
The Snow Queen sat in the grandest hall of all, on a throne of icicles and frost. Before her was a vast frozen lake that was cracked, like a broken mirror, into a thousand pieces.
“I am going to give you a challenge,” she told Kay. “If you can spell out the word ‘Eternity’ using only pieces of ice, then I will give you the whole world as a gift.” And she smiled a thin, wintry smile.
Kay was blue with cold, yet he felt nothing. The Snow Queen had kissed away all feeling from his body. He looked at the shattered lake and thought how every piece of ice looked just like the next.
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Over and over, he tried to solve the ice puzzle, but even though he could make birds and beasts and flowers and sleighs, he could not spell the word ‘Eternity.’ And every day that he tried and failed, Kay grew colder and colder.
“I am going to warm lands,” said the Snow Queen one day, climbing into her magnificent white sleigh. “It is time for winter to visit them.”
And in less time than it takes a snowflake to fall, she was gone. But by now Kay was so cold, he did not even see her leave.
Bey carried Gerda until he could carry her no more. Then the faithful reindeer set her down and kissed her good-bye.
And now Gerda was all alone in a white wilderness. But she wasn’t afraid. She ran on, over ice and snow, until she came across snowflakes so big and so monstrous that they looked like ugly porcupines and twisted snakes and angry bears. “Begone!” shouted Gerda. “I’m not afraid of you.”
Meanwhile, Kay sat all alone in the empty hall, his eyelashes sparkling with frost and his eyes with ice. Still he stared at the frozen puzzle. He was too cold even to move the pieces now, but he thought and thought of how to rearrange them. It was when he thought his skull might crack from thinking so hard that he heard a voice.
“Kay! I have found you at last!” cried Gerda.
Kay heard a voice that tugged at his frozen heart, but he thought it must be a dream, for no one came here but the Snow Queen.
But it was Gerda. She saw her beloved Kay and ran to him. “Kay!” she said again. “Am I too late?” And she sobbed so hard that her burning tears fell on him.
With a warmth that spread, the tears reached his heart, thawing the ice and melting the splinter stuck there. And now that he could feel again, Kay wept with joy. His flowing tears washed the second splinter from his eye and he remembered his old friend at once.
“Gerda!” he cried. Then, “Oh, how cold and empty it is here.” He held fast to his friend, who laughed through her tears.
As for the pieces of ice, they were so delighted to see such happiness that they jumped and danced and somersaulted. And when they rested at last, they fell into place spelling the word that the Snow Queen had told Kay to make: Eternity.
“Let’s go home,” said Kay.
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So Gerda and Kay left the Snow Queen’s palace and headed south, their faces wreathed with smiles. It would be a long journey, but they both knew that one day they would reach the walled town, and their families, and the high, high rooftops where their roses grew.
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