Hans Andersen's Fairy Tales

by H. C. Andersen

The little girl turned and looked at him. He winked his eyes; no, there was nothing to be seen.

‘I believe it is gone,’ said he; but gone it was not. It was one of those glass splinters from the Magic Mirror, the wicked glass which made everything great and good reflected in it to appear little and hateful, and which magnified everything ugly and mean. Poor Kay had also received a splinter in his heart; it would now become hard and cold like a lump of ice. He felt the pain no longer, but the splinter was there.

‘Why do you cry?’ asked he; ‘you look so ugly when you cry! there is nothing the matter with me. Fie!’ exclaimed he again, ‘this rose has an insect in it, and just look at this! After all, they are ugly roses! and it is an ugly box they grow in!’ then he kicked the box, and tore off the roses.

‘O Kay, what are you doing?’ cried the little girl, but when he saw how it grieved her, he tore off another rose, and jumped down through his own window, away from his once dear little Gerda.

Ever afterwards when she brought forward the picture-book, he called it a baby’s book, and when her grandmother told stories, he interrupted her with a ‘but,’ and sometimes, whenever he could manage it, he would get behind her, put on her spectacles, and speak just as she did; he did this in a very droll manner, and so people laughed at him. Very soon he could mimic everybody in the street. All that was singular and awkward about them could Kay imitate, and his neighbours said, ‘What a remarkable head that boy has!’ But no, it was the glass splinter which had fallen into his eye, the glass splinter which had pierced into his heart—it was these which made him regardless whose feelings he wounded, and even made him tease the little Gerda who loves him so fondly.

His games were now quite different from what they used to be, they were so rational! One winter’s day when it was snowing, he came out with a large burning-glass in his hand, and holding up the skirts of his blue coat let the snow-flakes fall upon them. ‘Now look through the glass, Gerda!’ said he, returning to the house. Every snow-flake seemed much larger, and resembled a splendid flower, or a star with ten points; they were quite beautiful. ‘See, how curious!’ said Kay, ‘these are far more interesting than real flowers, there is not a single blemish in them; they would be quite perfect if only they did not melt.’

Soon after this Kay came in again, with thick gloves on his hands, and his sledge slung across his back. He called out to Gerda, ‘I have got leave to drive on the great square where the other boys play!’ and away he went.

The boldest boys in the square used to fasten their sledges firmly to the wagons of the country people, and thus drive a good way along with them; this they thought particularly pleasant. Whilst they were in the midst of their play, a large sledge painted white passed by; in it sat a person wrapped in a rough white fur, and wearing a rough white cap. When the sledge had driven twice round the square, Kay bound to it his little sledge, and was carried on with it. On they went, faster and faster, into the next street. The person who drove the large sledge turned round and nodded kindly to Kay, just as if they had been old acquaintances, and every time Kay was going to loose his little sledge turned and nodded again, as if to signify that he must stay. So Kay sat still, and they passed through the gates of the town. Then the snow began to fall so thickly that the little boy could not see his own hand, but he was still carried on. He tried hastily to unloose the cords and free himself from the large sledge, but it was of no use; his little carriage could not be unfastened, and glided on swift as the wind. Then he cried out as loud as he could, but no one heard him, the snow fell and the sledge flew; every now and then it made a spring as if driving over hedges and ditches. He was very much frightened; he would have repeated ‘Our Father,’ but he could remember nothing but the multiplication table.

The snow-flakes seemed larger and larger, at last they looked like great white fowls. All at once they fell aside, the large sledge stopped, and the person who drove it arose from the seat. He saw that the cap and coat were entirely of snow, that it was a lady, tall and slender, and dazzlingly white—it was the Snow Queen!

‘We have driven fast!’ said she, ‘but no one likes to be frozen; creep under my bear-skin,’ and she seated him in the sledge by her side, and spread her cloak around him—he felt as if he were sinking into a drift of snow.