The Snow Queen

Long ago, an evil goblin made a magic mirror that twisted everything good into something ugly. Beautiful things looked rotten, kind faces seemed cruel, and joy appeared silly. One day the mirror slipped from his hands, fell from the sky, and shattered into a million sharp splinters. Some tiny pieces blew across the world. If a splinter flew into someone’s eye, they only saw the bad in everything. If a splinter reached a heart, that heart turned cold like ice.

In a big city lived two children, Gerda and Kay. They were neighbors who could step from one attic window to the other, where they kept little gardens in wooden boxes. Their roses climbed the boxes and nodded to each other across the gutter. In summer they sat among the leaves, reading and talking. In winter they looked through frosted panes and told stories. Gerda’s grandmother told them about the Snow Queen, who rode the skies and ruled the snowflakes.

One winter day, the tiny splinters from the goblin’s mirror whirled through the streets. A piece flew into Kay’s eye. Another pricked his heart. At once he changed. He laughed at the roses and broke off their heads. He teased Gerda and said the snowflakes were better than flowers because each one was perfect and sharp. When the first sleighs rattled over the snow, he tied his little sled to a grand sleigh driven by a tall woman in white fur. Her eyes shone like ice, and the cold air around her did not bite her at all. It was the Snow Queen.

The Snow Queen drew Kay out of the city and into the white fields. She kissed him on the forehead, and the kiss felt colder than winter. She kissed him again, and he forgot Gerda, his home, and the roses. She lifted him into her sleigh, and away they flew, higher and farther, toward the north and the glittering lights of her palace.

When Kay did not return, people whispered that he had fallen into the river. Gerda would not believe it. She brought her best shoes to the river as a gift and asked, "Have you taken my friend?" The river rocked the shoes back, as if to say no. Gerda climbed into a little boat to speak more clearly, but the rope slipped, and the current carried her away.

The river brought her to a small, sunlit house. An old woman with a wide hat painted with flowers welcomed Gerda, combed her hair, and fed her sweet cherries. The old woman loved flowers so much that she made her garden bloom like summer, even though it was not. She wished to keep Gerda and, without meaning harm, made Gerda forget about Kay. In that garden grew every flower—except roses.

Days passed. The flowers told their own stories, but none knew of Kay. One morning Gerda noticed a rose painted on the old woman’s hat. It tugged at her heart. "Where are the roses?" she cried. She ran through the garden until she found a rosebush hidden by the path. The sight of the roses brought everything back—her window boxes, her friend, and her promise to find him. Gerda thanked the flowers, slipped away, and ran on.

She came to a dark wood and met a helpful crow. "Caw!" said the crow. "In the city nearby, a wise princess has married a clever boy. Perhaps he is your Kay." With the crow and his tame lady crow, Gerda crept into the palace that night. She peeped at the sleeping prince. He was kind, but he was not Kay. The prince and princess listened to Gerda’s story and felt sorry for her. They gave her warm clothes, a little muff, and a golden coach for the road.

Before long, robbers rushed from the forest and seized the coach. Their knives flashed, and their laughter was loud. The fiercest was a little robber girl with sharp eyes. She kept Gerda for herself, not to harm but to have a companion. In the robbers’ hall, among growling dogs and roasted meat, Gerda told her tale again. The little robber girl liked brave stories. "Kay in the Snow Queen’s palace?" she said. "I have a reindeer from Lapland who knows the way to the north. I will let you go."

That night she freed Gerda and the reindeer. She wrapped Gerda in a fur cloak and put bread and ham in a bag. "Go quickly," she whispered. "I want to see the world one day too."

The reindeer ran over frozen lakes and snowy hills until they reached a tiny hut in Lapland. A Lapland woman read the robber girl’s message, written on a dried fish, warmed Gerda by the fire, and sent them farther to a wise woman in Finland. The Finland woman listened, wiped sweat from her brow though the air was icy, and said, "Kay is with the Snow Queen, playing with sharp pieces of ice. He thinks it is the finest game. The splinter in his heart and eye hold him fast. I cannot give you stronger magic. You already have the greatest power—your innocent heart, your love, and your prayer."

So the reindeer carried Gerda to the Snow Queen’s palace, a place made of wind and glare, with halls of endless snow and floors of shining ice. The snowflakes there were like living guards—great white bees, wolves, and spears of frost. Gerda folded her hands and sang the little song she and Kay used to sing by the roses. Her warm breath became bright angels that danced around her and shattered the snowflake guards.

In the highest, coldest hall, Kay sat alone. He was blue with cold, yet he did not feel it. He was arranging bits of ice into shapes, trying to make the word that the Snow Queen had told him—"Eternity." She had said that if he could form that word, she would give him the whole world and a new pair of skates. Kay’s eye glittered with hard ice, and his heart was a lump of frost.

"Kay!" cried Gerda, running to him. She threw her arms around his neck and sang the rose-song again. Her tears fell hot on his chest. They flowed through to his heart and melted the frozen splinter. Kay began to cry too, and as his tears ran, the shard in his eye washed out. He blinked and saw Gerda truly at last. "Gerda! Where have I been? How long it has been so cold!" he said.

As they laughed and wept together, the pieces of ice rattled and slid into place all by themselves. They spelled "Eternity," and the spell that held Kay broke. When the Snow Queen returned, she found only an empty hall and a puzzle completed.

The reindeer carried Gerda and Kay southward. They stopped again with the Finland woman and the Lapland woman, who wished them well. In the forest, the robber girl met them, riding on a pony with a sharp knife at her belt. She grinned at Gerda. "You found him! Good. Now I will go and see the world!" she cried, and away she galloped.

At last Gerda and Kay reached their city. The roofs were the same, the windows were the same, and the roses were blooming in their boxes once more. They climbed into their old attic and sat down by the flowers. They had journeyed far and grown in their hearts, yet when they looked at each other, they were still the same children who loved the roses and the stories. They knew now that the warmest magic of all is a faithful, loving friend.