krolowa sniegu po angielsku.docx

THE SNOW QUEEN

FIRST STORY. Which Treats of a Mirror and of the Splinters

Now then, let us begin. When we are at the end of the story, we shall know
more than we know now: but to begin.

Once upon a time there was a wicked sprite, indeed he was the most mischievous
of all sprites. One day he was in a very good humor, for he had made a mirror
with the power of causing all that was good and beautiful when it was
reflected therein, to look poor and mean; but that which was good-for-nothing
and looked ugly was shown magnified and increased in ugliness. In this mirror
the most beautiful landscapes looked like boiled spinach, and the best persons
were turned into frights, or appeared to stand on their heads; their faces
were so distorted that they were not to be recognised; and if anyone had a
mole, you might be sure that it would be magnified and spread over both nose
and mouth.

"That's glorious fun!" said the sprite. If a good thought passed through a
man's mind, then a grin was seen in the mirror, and the sprite laughed
heartily at his clever discovery. All the little sprites who went to his
school--for he kept a sprite school--told each other that a miracle had
happened; and that now only, as they thought, it would be possible to see how
the world really looked. They ran about with the mirror; and at last there was
not a land or a person who was not represented distorted in the mirror. So
then they thought they would fly up to the sky, and have a joke there. The
higher they flew with the mirror, the more terribly it grinned: they could
hardly hold it fast. Higher and higher still they flew, nearer and nearer to
the stars, when suddenly the mirror shook so terribly with grinning, that it
flew out of their hands and fell to the earth, where it was dashed in a
hundred million and more pieces. And now it worked much more evil than before;
for some of these pieces were hardly so large as a grain of sand, and they
flew about in the wide world, and when they got into people's eyes, there they
stayed; and then people saw everything perverted, or only had an eye for that
which was evil. This happened because the very smallest bit had the same power
which the whole mirror had possessed. Some persons even got a splinter in
their heart, and then it made one shudder, for their heart became like a lump
of ice. Some of the broken pieces were so large that they were used for
windowpanes, through which one could not see one's friends. Other pieces were
put in spectacles; and that was a sad affair when people put on their glasses
to see well and rightly. Then the wicked sprite laughed till he almost choked,
for all this tickled his fancy. The fine splinters still flew about in the
air: and now we shall hear what happened next.


SECOND STORY. A Little Boy and a Little Girl

In a large town, where there are so many houses, and so many people, that
there is no roof left for everybody to have a little garden; and where, on
this account, most persons are obliged to content themselves with flowers in
pots; there lived two little children, who had a garden somewhat larger than a
flower-pot. They were not brother and sister; but they cared for each other as
much as if they were. Their parents lived exactly opposite. They inhabited two
garrets; and where the roof of the one house joined that of the other, and the
gutter ran along the extreme end of it, there was to each house a small
window: one needed only to step over the gutter to get from one window to the
other.

The children's parents had large wooden boxes there, in which vegetables for
the kitchen were planted, and little rosetrees besides: there was a rose in
each box, and they grew splendidly. They now thought of placing the boxes
across the gutter, so that they nearly reached from one window to the other,
and looked just like two walls of flowers. The tendrils of the peas hung down
over the boxes; and the rose-trees shot up long branches, twined round the
windows, and then bent towards each other: it was almost like a triumphant
arch of foliage and flowers. The boxes were very high, and the children knew
that they must not creep over them; so they often obtained permission to get
out of the windows to each other, and to sit on their little stools among the
roses, where they could play delightfully. In winter there was an end of this
pleasure. The windows were often frozen over; but then they heated copper
farthings on the stove, and laid the hot farthing on the windowpane, and then
they had a capital peep-hole, quite nicely rounded; and out of each peeped a
gentle friendly eye--it was the little boy and the little girl who were
looking out. His name was Kay, hers was Gerda. In summer, with one jump, they
could get to each other; but in winter they were obliged first to go down the
long stairs, and then up the long stairs again: and out-of-doors there was
quite a snow-storm.

"It is the white bees that are swarming," said Kay's old grandmother.

"Do the white bees choose a queen?" asked the little boy; for he knew that the
honey-bees always have one.

"Yes," said the grandmother, "she flies where the swarm hangs in the thickest
clusters. She is the largest of all; and she can never remain quietly on the
earth, but goes up again into the black clouds. Many a winter's night she
flies through the streets of the town, and peeps in at the windows; and they
then freeze in so wondrous a manner that they look like flowers."

"Yes, I have seen it," said both the children; and so they knew that it was
true.

"Can the Snow Queen come in?" said the little girl.

"Only let her come in!" said the little boy. "Then I'd put her on the stove,
and she'd melt."

And then his grandmother patted his head and told him other stories.

In the evening, when little Kay was at home, and half undressed, he climbed up
on the chair by the window, and peeped out of the little hole. A few
snow-flakes were falling, and one, the largest of all, remained lying on the
edge of a flower-pot.

The flake of snow grew larger and larger; and at last it was like a young
lady, dressed in the finest white gauze, made of a million little flakes like
stars. She was so beautiful and delicate, but she was of ice, of dazzling,
sparkling ice; yet she lived; her eyes gazed fixedly, like two stars; but
there was neither quiet nor repose in them. She nodded towards the window, and
beckoned with her hand. The little boy was frightened, and jumped down from
the chair; it seemed to him as if, at the same moment, a large bird flew past
the window.

The next day it was a sharp frost--and then the spring came; the sun shone,
the green leaves appeared, the swallows built their nests, the windows were
opened, and the little children again sat in their pretty garden, high up on
the leads at the top

of the house.

That summer the roses flowered in unwonted beauty. The little girl had learned
a hymn, in which there was something about roses; and then she thought of her
own flowers; and she sang the verse to the little boy, who then sang it with
her:

"The rose in the valley is blooming so sweet,
And angels descend there the children to greet."

And the children held each other by the hand, kissed the roses, looked up at
the clear sunshine, and spoke as though they really saw angels there. What
lovely summer-days those were! How delightful to be out in the air, near the
fresh rose-bushes, that seem as if they would never finish blossoming!

Kay and Gerda looked at the picture-book full of beasts and of birds; and it
was then--the clock in the church-tower was just striking five--that Kay said,
"Oh! I feel such a sharp pain in my heart; and now something has got into my
eye!"

The little girl put her arms around his neck. He winked his eyes; now there
was nothing to be seen.

"I think it is out now," said he; but it was not. It was just one of those
pieces of glass from the magic mirror that had got into his eye; and poor Kay
had got another piece right in his heart. It will

soon become like ice. It did
not hurt any longer, but there it was.

"What are you crying for?" asked he. "You look so ugly! There's nothing the
matter with me. Ah," said he at once, "that rose is cankered! And look, this
one is quite crooked! After all, these roses are very ugly! They are just like
the box they are planted in!" And then he gave the box a good kick with his
foot, and pulled both the roses up.

"What are you doing?" cried the little girl; and as he perceived her fright,
he pulled up another rose, got in at the window, and hastened off from dear
little Gerda.

Afterwards, when she brought her picture-book, he asked, "What horrid beasts
have you there?" And if his grandmother told them stories, he always
interrupted her; besides, if he could manage it, he would get behind her, put
on her spectacles, and imitate her way of speaking; he copied all her ways,
and then everybody laughed at him. He was soon able to imitate the gait and
manner of everyone in the street. Everything that was peculiar and displeasing
in them--that Kay knew how to imitate: and at such times all the people said,
"The boy is certainly very clever!" But it was the glass he had got in his
eye; the glass that was sticking in his heart, which made him tease even
little Gerda, whose whole soul was devoted to him.

His games now were quite different to what they had formerly been, they were
so very knowing. One winter's day, when the flakes of snow were flying about,
he spread the skirts of his blue coat, and caught the snow as it fell.

"Look through this glass, Gerda," said he. And every flake seemed larger, and
appeared like a magnificent flower, or beautiful star; it was splendid to look
at!

"Look, how clever!" said Kay. "That's much more interesting than real flowers!
They are as exact as possible; there is not a fault in them, if they did not
melt!"

It was not long after this, that Kay came one day with large gloves on, and
his little sledge at his back, and bawled right into Gerda's ears, "I have
permission to go out into the square where the others are playing"; and off he
was in a moment.

There, in the market-place, some of the boldest of the boys used to tie their
sledges to the carts as they passed by, and so they were pulled along, and got
a good ride. It was so capital! Just as they were in the very height of their
amusement, a large sledge passed by: it was painted quite white, and there was
someone in it wrapped up in a rough white mantle of fur, with a rough white
fur cap on his head. The sledge drove round the square twice, and Kay tied on
his sledge as quickly as he could, and off he drove with it. On they went
quicker and quicker into the next street; and the person who drove turned
round to Kay, and nodded to him in a friendly manner, just as if they knew
each other. Every time he was going to untie his sledge, the person nodded to
him, and then Kay sat quiet; and so on they went till they came outside the
gates of the town. Then the snow began to fall so thickly that the little boy
could not see an arm's length before him, but still on he went: when suddenly
he let go the string he held in his hand in order to get loose from the
sledge, but it was of no use; still the little vehicle rushed on with the
quickness of the wind. He then cried as loud as he could, but no one heard
him; the snow drifted and the sledge flew on, and sometimes it gave a jerk as
though they were driving over hedges and ditches. He was quite frightened, and
he tried to repeat the Lord's Prayer; but all he could do, he was only able to
remember the multiplication table.

The snow-flakes grew larger and larger, till at last they looked just like
great white fowls. Suddenly they flew on one side; the large sledge stopped,
and the person who drove rose up. It was a lady; her cloak and cap were of
snow. She was tall and of slender figure, and of a dazzling whiteness. It was
the Snow Queen.

"We have travelled fast," said she; "but it is freezingly cold. Come under my
bearskin." And she put him in the sledge beside her, wrapped the fur round
him, and he felt as though he were sinking in a snow-wreath.

"Are you still cold?" asked she; and then she kissed his forehead. Ah! it was
colder than ice; it penetrated to his very heart, which was already almost a
frozen lump; it seemed to him as if he were about to die--but a moment more
and it was quite congenial to him, and he did not remark the cold that was
around him.

"My sledge! Do not forget my sledge!" It was the first thing he thought of. It
was there tied to one of the white chickens, who flew along with it on his
back behind the large sledge. The Snow Queen kissed Kay once more, and then he
forgot little Gerda, grandmother, and all whom he had left at his home.

"Now you will have no more kisses," said she, "or else I should kiss you to
death!"

Kay looked at her. She was very beautiful; a more clever, or a more lovely
countenance he could not fancy to himself; and she no longer appeared of ice
as before, when she sat outside the window, and beckoned to him; in his eyes
she was perfect, he did not fear her at all, and told her that he could
calculate in his head and with fractions, even; that he knew the number of
square miles there were in the different countries, and how many inhabitants
they contained; and she smiled while he spoke. It then seemed to him as if
what he knew was not enough, and he looked upwards in the large huge empty
space above him, and on she flew with him; flew high over the black clouds,
while the storm moaned and whistled as though it were singing some old tune.
On they flew over woods and lakes, over seas, and many lands; and beneath them
the chilling storm rushed fast, the wolves howled, the snow crackled; above
them flew large screaming crows, but higher up appeared the moon, quite large
and bright; and it was on it that Kay gazed during the long long winter's
night; while by day he slept at the feet of the Snow Queen.


THIRD STORY. Of the Flower-Garden At the Old Woman's Who Understood Witchcraft

But what became of little Gerda when Kay did not return? Where could he be?
Nobody knew; nobody could give any intelligence. All the boys knew was, that
they had seen him tie his sledge to another large and splendid one, which
drove down the street and out of the town. Nobody knew where he was; many sad
tears were shed, and little Gerda wept long and bitterly; at last she said he
must be dead; that he had been drowned in the river which flowed close to the
town. Oh! those were very long and dismal winter evenings!

At last spring came, with its warm sunshine.

"Kay is dead and gone!" said little Gerda.

"That I don't believe," said the Sunshine.

"Kay is dead and gone!" said she to the Swallows.

"That I don't believe," said they: and at last little Gerda did not think so
any longer either.

"I'll put on my red shoes," said she, one morning; "Kay has never seen them,
and then I'll go down to the river and ask there."

It was quite early; she kissed her old grandmother, who was still asleep, put
on her red shoes, and went alone to the river.

"Is it true that you have taken my little playfellow? I will make you a
present of my red shoes, if you will give him back to me."

And, as it seemed to her, the blue waves nodded in a strange manner; then she
took off her red shoes, the most precious things she possessed, and threw them
both into the river. But they fell close to the bank, and the little waves
bore them immediately to land; it was as if the stream would not take what was
dearest to her; for in reality it had not got little Kay; but Gerda thought
that she had not thrown the shoes out far enough, so she clambered into a boat
which lay among the rushes, went to the farthest end, and threw out the shoes.
But the boat was not fastened, and the motion which she occasioned, made it
drift from the shore. She observed this, and hastened to get back; but before
she could do so, the boat was more than a yard from the land, and was gliding
quickly onward.

Little Gerda was very frightened, and began to cry; but no one heard her
except the sparrows, and they could not carry her to land; but they flew along
the bank, and sang as if to comfort her, "Here we are! Here we are!" The boat
drifted with the stream, little Gerda sat quite still without shoes, for they
were swimming behind the boat, but she could not reach them, because the boat
went much faster than they did.

The banks on both sides were beautiful; lovely flowers, venerable trees, and
slopes with sheep and cows, but not a human being was to be seen.

"Perhaps the river will carry me to little Kay," said she; and then she grew
less sad. She rose, and looked for many hours at the beautiful green banks.
Presently she sailed by a large cherry-orchard, where was a little cottage
with curious red and blue windows; it was thatched, and before it two wooden
soldiers stood sentry, and presented arms when anyone went past.

Gerda called to them, for she thought they were alive; but they, of course,
did not answer. She came close to them, for the stream drifted the boat quite
near the land.

Gerda called still louder, and an old woman then came out of the cottage,
leaning upon a crooked stick. She had a large broad-brimmed hat on, painted
with the most splendid flowers.

"Poor little child!" said the old woman. "How did you get upon the large rapid
river, to be driven about so in the wide world!" And then the old woman went
into the water, caught hold of the boat with her crooked stick, drew it to the
bank, and lifted little Gerda out.

And Gerda was so glad to be on dry land again; but she was rather afraid of
the strange old woman.

"But come and tell me who you are, and how you came here," said she.

And Gerda told her all; and the old woman shook her head and said, "A-hem!
a-hem!" and when Gerda had told her everything, and asked her if she had not
seen little Kay, the woman answered that he had not passed there, but he no
doubt would come; and she told her not to be cast down, but taste her
cherries, and look at her flowers, which were finer than any in a
picture-book, each of which could tell a whole story. She then took Gerda by
the hand, led her into the little cottage, and locked the door.

The windows were very high up; the glass was red, blue, and green, and the
sunlight shone through quite wondrously in all sorts of colors. On the table
stood the most exquisite cherries, and Gerda ate as many as she chose, for she
had permission to do so. While she was eating, the old woman combed her hair
with a golden comb, and her hair curled and shone with a lovely golden color
around that sweet little face, which was so round and so like a rose.

"I have often longed for such a dear little girl," said the old woman. "Now
you shall see how well we agree together"; and while she combed little Gerda's
hair, the child forgot her foster-brother Kay more and more, for the old woman
understood magic; but she was no evil being, she only practised witchcraft a
little for her own private amusement, and now she wanted very much to keep
little Gerda. She therefore went out in the garden, stretched out her crooked
stick towards the rose-bushes, which, beautifully as they were blowing, all
sank into the earth and no one could tell where they had stood. The old woman
feared that if Gerda should see the roses, she would then think of her own,
would remember little Kay, and run away from her.

She now led Gerda into the flower-garden. Oh, what odour and what loveliness
was there! Every flower that one could think of, and of every season, stood
there in fullest bloom; no picture-book could be gayer or more beautiful.
Gerda jumped for joy, and played till the sun set behind the tall cherry-tree;
she then had a pretty bed, with a red silken coverlet filled with blue
violets. She fell asleep, and had as pleasant dreams as ever a queen on her
wedding-day.

The next morning she went to play with the flowers in the warm sunshine, and
thus passed away a day. Gerda knew every flower; and, numerous as they were,
it still seemed to Gerda that one was wanting, though she did not know which.
One day while she was looking at the hat of the old woman painted with
flowers, the most beautiful of them all seemed to her to be a rose. The old
woman had forgotten to take it from her hat when she made the others vanish in
the earth. But so it is when one's thoughts are not collected. "What!" said
Gerda. "Are there no roses here?" and she ran about amongst the flowerbeds,
and looked, and looked, but there was not one to be found. She then sat down
and wept; but her hot tears fell just where a rose-bush had sunk; and when her
warm tears watered the ground, the tree shot up suddenly as fresh and blooming
as when it had been swallowed up. Gerda kissed the roses, thought of her own
dear roses at home, and with them of little Kay.

"Oh, how long I have stayed!" said the little girl. "I intended to look for
Kay! Don't you know where he is?" she asked of the roses. "Do you think he is
dead and gone?"

"Dead he certainly is not," said the Roses. "We have been in the earth where
all the dead are, but Kay was not there."

"Many thanks!" said little Gerda; and she went to the other flowers, looked
into their cups, and asked, "Don't you know where little Kay is?"

But every flower stood in the sunshine, and dreamed its own fairy tale or its
own story: and they all told her very many things, but not one knew anything
of Kay.

Well, what did the Tiger-Lily say?

"Hearest thou not the drum? Bum! Bum! Those are the only two tones. Always
bum! Bum! Hark to the plaintive song of the old woman, to the call of the
priests! The Hindoo woman in her long robe stands upon the funeral pile; the
flames rise around her and her dead husband, but the Hindoo woman thinks on
the living one in the surrounding circle; on him whose eyes burn hotter than
the flames--on him, the fire of whose eyes pierces her heart more than the
flames which soon will burn her body

to ashes. Can the heart's flame die in
the flame of the funeral pile?"

"I don't understand that at all," said little Gerda.

"That is my story," said the Lily.

What did the Convolvulus say?

"Projecting over a narrow mountain-path there hangs an old feudal castle.
Thick evergreens grow on the dilapidated walls, and around the altar, where a
lovely maiden is standing: she bends over the railing and looks out upon the
rose. No fresher rose hangs on the branches than she; no appleblossom carried
away by the wind is more buoyant! How her silken robe is rustling!

"'Is he not yet come?'"

"Is it Kay that you mean?" asked little Gerda.

"I am speaking about my story--about my dream

," answered the Convolvulus.

What did the Snowdrops say?

"Between the trees a long board is hanging--it is a swing. Two little girls
are sitting in it, and swing themselves backwards and forwards; their frocks
are as white as snow, and long green silk ribands flutter from their bonnets.
Their brother, who is older than they are, stands up in the swing; he twines
his arms round the cords to hold himself fast, for in one hand he has a little
cup, and in the other a clay-pipe. He is blowing soap-bubbles. The swing
...