THE SNOW QUEEN - STORY II

THE SNOW QUEEN

A FAIRYTALE IN SE7EN STORIES

STORY THE SECON2 

KAI

AND GERDA

Two children, Kai and Gerda, lived opposite each other in a provincial town. They were such good friends that many people thought they were brother and sister — but no sibling pair ever played as happily as Gerda and Kai, with never a fight or a cross word.
Although both their families were rather middling, Kai and Gerda didn't care, for they were happy with each other's company and didn't need any expensive toys. Through the springtime, summer, and autumn, for three quarters of the year, they would spend hours on the balconies outside the attic windows of their houses. Their respective fathers had built each of them a little window-box, and two planks were high across the street so they could walk or crawl from one house to the other. Kai and Gerda loved these window-boxes; they grew pretty flowers in them to attract butterflies and other pollinating creatures. Their pride and joy were two rose bushes, one in each box. Gerda's roses were scarlet, and Kai's were the colour of ivory. Each year in May, both of these bushes would burst into flower and wind their way out across the street, twining themselves around each other, as if they too loved each other as much as Kai and Gerda.
In the winter, the children had to find other games to play in their spare time, for it grew cold and icy in their country, and the flowers in the window-boxes faded, and Gerda and Kai watched their rose-blooms wither away. The planks between the windowsills were put away until springtime, and the children had to run down three flights of stairs, and back up three flights more on the other side, in order to see each other. They would skate on the ice and play in the soft snow, not fearing the cold, for Kai's grandmother was always ready with a cup of hot chocolate and a warm rug to make them snug and cozy again. It felt so good to sit by the window, cocooned in soft wool, and press warmed-up coins against the frosty glass panes and stare out at the winter scenes through the little magic spyholes they had created.
Grandmother would tell the children stories of the mysteries of winter; how a particularly strong swirl of snow meant the Snow Queen was in flight. She told them how the terrible Queen would ride at the heart of the storm, exulting in the fierce cold.
"I'm not afraid of her!" boasted young Kai. "I'll catch that giant flake and put her on the fire — she won't be so scary then!"
Gerda grinned at Kai adoringly, but Granny smiled and stroked his auburn hair. "Many brave boys have said that, but still she flies — better to keep the windows shut and be careful she doesn't catch you!"
Kai looked nervous at this, but Gerda squeezed his left hand for comfort, and he soon forgot his fears.
One night, after Gerda had gone home to bed, Kai stayed by the window, staring out at the falling snow. The flakes looked clean and bright against the gaslamps in the street. They fell even thicker, as if they wanted to cover the whole world so everything could start again. As Kai stared, transfixed, one large flake drifted across the street towards him, pushing the smaller flakes aside as if it had a purpose all of its own. The giant flake settled on the balcony outside the window, next to the barren rose bush. and Kai could see every sharp detail of its cold beauty. Even as he looked, the snowflake grew taller, and the lines slowly took a human shape. The crystals became a shimmering white gown crusted with glittering frosty jewels. Kai raised his gaze and gasped as he saw two cold, ice-blue eyes staring back at him. He felt himself shiver as those eyes burned into his, as if searching into his very soul. The white gown fluttered, and a pale arm emerged, so pale he could almost see through it. The ice-woman beckoned Kai to come to her with a single long index finger.
For a moment, Kai forgot where he was and moved to open the window. Just as quickly, he remembered all his grandmother's warnings and slammed the shutters closed, rattling the panes and the pictures on the wall. He was surprised to find himself out of breath and a bit shaky. "The Snow Queen," he said to himself. "That must have been the Snow Queen!"

Soon after, the thaws came, and brought with them March rains and strong, blustery winds. As Kai and Gerda walked together home from school one day, Kai turned to Gerda to ask her a question. Before he could speak, he winced and rubbed at his left eye. Gerda looked concerned.
"Are you all right, Kai?" she asked. "Shall I look into your eye for you?"
"Well, I can't feel anything, so you'd better," replied Kai in a grumpy voice. As he spoke, he winced again, and coughed and gulped as if he had swallowed a bug. But it wasn't an insect at all.
Gerda looked into Kai's left eye, but she saw nothing — for no one sees a shard of the sorcerer's mirror. She could see Kai squinting with discomfort, and her own eyes watered in sympathy, while he continued to swallow repeatedly, as if he'd swallowed something unpleasant and it had lodged in his throat.
"Oh, stop that, Gerda," snorted Kai. "You look so ugly when you cry. Dry up your eyes and don't be such a baby."
Gerda was hurt at Kai's words, but she thought it was because he was in pain. However, it wasn't pain that caused Kai to speak so harshly; it was the shard of looking-glass he had just swallowed or breathed in, working its way down into his heart.
Over the next few months, Kai said many more hurtful things, and upset Gerda every day. One day, when she asked him to look at a storybook, he sneered and said books were for babies. When she invited him to smell the roses on their bushes, he tore off the blooms and crushed them underfoot.
"What use are roses?" he coldly asked. "They don't feed anybody or make anything!"
"But they are beautiful, Kai," said Gerda, puzzled that he no longer understood.
"I don't care about beauty!" snarled Kai. "I know the nine times table by heart, I can do fractions in my head, and I know how a wheel turns; what use are flowers and books to me?"
Even his granny wasn't spared Kai's malice. When she sat in her chair and told stories to the younger children at the orphanage, Kai would stand behind her, mimicking her expressions and her gestures. Kai was very good at spotting little flaws in other people, and he could do funny impressions of all his teachers and classmates at school. Everyone thought they were hilarious, especially Kai himself. Gerda was the only one who thought they were cruel.

Winter came around once more, and the snows set in. Kai rarely played with Gerda, but instead took his sled into the town square and raced against the older boys. With the school bullies, they played games of rough and tumble in the snow, which often ended in a bloody nose, a black eye, or someone crying. It was never Kai. 
Just after the turn of the new year, around Twelfth Night, Kai was racing in the square as usual, when a shining, brand new sleigh came proudly up the main street towards them. Kai stopped and stared as the grand sleigh glided past. The strong, white horse trotted proudly in front, head up, tossing its snowy white mane. The sleigh itself was edged and gilded in silver, and painted in intricate patterns of white and icy blue. The driver was heavily wrapped in white furs, wearing both an overcoat and a shapka hat of what seemed to be Arctic fox skin, but Kai saw a glimpse of frosty platinum blond hair, and pale white wrists below the gloves holding the reins. Kai looked down ruefully at his own crude wooden sled. When he looked up again, the white horse had stopped, and the driver was staring at him over the back of the sleigh. The driver's head lifted from among the furs, and Kai found himself staring into the icy abyss of the Snow Queen's eyes.
The Snow Queen beckoned to Kai, and this time he was powerless to resist. As he approached, she spoke to him for the first time. Her voice was barely more than a whisper, but it rang in Kai's head as loud and clear as a church bell.
"Come with me," she breathed. "Tie your sled to the back of mine. We'll go for a fast ride — it will be exciting!"
To Kai, the invitation was as good as an order. As soon as his sled was tethered to the Snow Queen's sleigh, the white horse set off at a steady trot. As the horse picked up speed, Kai clung on to the side of his sled, afraid lest he be thrown against the pavement or a wall as the horse turned at a street corner. They passed through the main gate of the town; the horse was cantering, and its great strides soon left the comforting sights and smells of the town far behind. Now they were in the open country, covered in a thick white blanket. Kai was frightened. He began to struggle with the fastenings of the sled, but his hands were too cold and numb to undo the knot. He tried to scream for help, but the word froze in his throat, and what stole through his parted lips was the nine times table.
The sleigh seemed to be gliding on a cushion of air. They crashed through the forest, and the branches of the snow-covered treetops whistled and whipped at them like icy limbs. They rode along a frozen river-bed, and the horse and sleigh cast a pale and ghostly reflection in the water. They flew northwards over a range of hills; the sleigh went so fast that Kai's stomach lurched as they crested each hill and plunged down the other side.
At last, the sleigh slowed. Kai was petrified with cold and fear — he would've cried, but the tears froze before they could roll down his cheeks. The Snow Queen turned in her seat and smiled at him.
"You poor thing. You must be freeezing... Come and sit by me, then you won't feel a thing."
Kai was unable to protest. He stumbled forwards and climbed into the carriage alongside the Snow Queen. She wrapped her enormous white fur cloak around his shoulders and drew him closer to her. Her body held no warmth, and Kai shivered as the horse strode forwards once more, and the wind whipped up again.
The Snow Queen turned his face towards her. Her lips curved upwards in a smile, but her glacial eyes burned into his own. The Snow Queen kissed Kai on the forehead. His teeth stopped chattering and he no longer shivered. The blood froze in his veins, and his heart hardened even more, as he forgot his home, granny, Gerda, and the short life he had led. For an instant he thought that he was going to die, yet he awakened as quickly as he had fallen unconscious. A frosty pallor came over his features, but the biting wind no longer stung his cheeks, now so pale that the veins could be seen through. He forgot his fears, and smiled back at the Snow Queen. 
Now she seemed more beautiful and intelligent than ever, with nothing sinister about her. Never had he seen more perfect a sight. Kai told her that he could do fractions by head, and draw diagrams as well, and that he knew the surface and the number of inhabitants of every state in the continent, and she burst into a tinkling laugh.
"Then, you certainly are a boy for me, my little cold-blooded prince."
In the end, after hours of flying through the cold winter air, they entered the far Northern region where there is darkness all winter long, and a weary Kai fell asleep at the feet of the Snow Queen.

ECHO AND NARCISSUS - II

ECHO AND NARCISSUS
Adapted from the retelling by Elsie Finnimore Buckley

Second Story
A face like a peach hides a heart hard as steel:
no passion for others this youth seems to feel...

Now, it chanced one day that the young Narcissus strayed away from his companions in the hunt, and when he tried to find them he only wandered further, and lost his way upon the lonely heights of Helicon. He was now in the bloom of his youth, nearing manhood, and fair as a flower in spring, and all who saw him straightway loved him and longed for him. But, though his face was smooth and soft as maiden's, his heart was hard as steel; and while many loved him and sighed for him, they could kindle no answering flame in his breast, but he would spurn them, and treat them with scorn, and go on his way, nothing caring. When he was born, the blind seer Teiresias had prophesied concerning him,

"So long as he sees not himself he shall live and be happy."

And his words came true, for Narcissus cared for neither man nor woman, but only for his own pleasure; and because he was so fair that all who saw him loved him forhis beauty, he found it easy to get from them what he would. But he himself knew nought of love, and therefore but little of grief; for love at the best brings joy and sorrow hand in hand, and if unreturned, it brings nought but pain.

Now, when the nymphs saw Narcissus wandering alone through the woods, they, too, loved him for his beauty, and they followed him wherever he went. But because he was a mortal they were shy of him, and would not show themselves, but hid behind the trees and rocks so that he should not see them; and amongst the others Echo followed him, too. At last, when he found he had really wandered astray, he began to shout for one of his companions.

"Ho, there! where art thou?" he cried.

"Where art thou?" answered Echo.

When he heard the voice, he stopped and listened, but he could hear nothing more. Then he called again.

"I am here in the wood—Narcissus."

"In the wood—Narcissus," said she.

"Come hither," he cried.

"Come hither," she answered.

Wondering at the strange voice which answered him, he looked all about, but could see no one.

"Art thou close at hand?" he asked.

"Close at hand," answered Echo.

Wondering the more at seeing no one, he went forward in the direction of the voice. Echo, when she found he was coming towards her, fled further, so that when next he called, her voice sounded far away. But wherever she was, he still followed after her, and she saw that he would not let her escape; for wherever she hid, if he called, she had to answer, and so show him her hiding-place. By now they had come to an open space in the trees, where the green lawn sloped down to a clear pool in the hollow. Here by the margin of the water she stood, with her back to the tall, nodding bulrushes, and as Narcissus came out from the trees she wrung her hands, and the salt tears dropped from her eyes; for she loved him, and longed to speak to him, and yet she could not say a word. When he saw her he stopped.

"Art thou she who calls me?" he asked.

"Who calls me?" she answered.

"I have told thee, Narcissus," he said.

"Narcissus," she cried, and held out her arms to him.

"Who art thou?" he asked.

"Who art thou?" said she.

"Have I not told thee," he said impatiently, "Narcissus?"

"Narcissus," she said again, and still held out her hands beseechingly.

"Tell me," he cried, "who art thou and why dost thou call me?"

"Why dost thou call me?" said she.

At this he grew angry.

"Maiden, whoever thou art, thou hast led me a pretty dance through the woods, and now thou dost nought but mock me."

"Thou dost nought but mock me," said she.

At this he grew yet more angry, and began to abuse her, but every word of abuse that he spoke she hurled back at him again.

ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE - IV

Adapted from the retelling by Elsie Finnimore Buckley

Fourth Story
In which Orpheus visits a royal court, cheers a queen up, and stirs a heart of steel

And Orpheus went on his way, with hope beating high in his heart, till he came to the portals of the palace of Death. On the threshold lay Cerberus, the three-headed hound of hell, who night and day kept watch beside the gate to see that no one passed in save those who had died upon earth, and that those who had passed him once should pass him never again. When he heard Orpheus coming, he sprang to his feet and snarled and growled and bared his sharp white fangs; but as the strains of music grew clearer he sank silent to the ground, and stretched his three great heads between his paws. Orpheus, as he passed by, bent down and stroked him, and the fierce beast licked his hands. So did he enter into the gates of Death, and passed through the shadowy halls, till he stood before the throne of Hades, the king. A dim and awful form did he sit, wrapped about in darkness and mist, and on his right hand sat Persephone, his wife, whom he stole from the meadows of Sicily. When he saw Orpheus his eyes gleamed like the gleam of cold steel, and he stretched forth his gaunt right arm towards him.

"What dost thou here, Orpheus?" he asked.

"I am come to ask thee a boon, O King," he answered.

"There be many that ask me a boon," said Hades, "but none that receive it."

"Yet none have stood before thee in the flesh, as I do, O King, to ask their boon."

"Because thou hast trespassed unlawfully on my domain, dost thou think I will grant thee thy boon?"

"Nay; but because my grief is so great that I have dared what none have dared before me, I pray thee to hear me."

Without waiting for an answer, he struck his lyre and sang to them the story of his life, and of how he had loved and lost Eurydice. The eyes of the pale queen brightened when she heard him, and the colour came back to her cheeks, as the song brought back to her mind the days of her girlhood and the sunlit meadows of Sicily. Then a great pity filled her heart for Eurydice, who had left the green earth for ever, and might not return, as she herself did, in the springtime, living only the dark winter months below. As Orpheus ceased his song she laid her hand upon her husband's.

"My lord," she said, "grant his boon, I pray thee. He is brave and true-hearted, and he sings as no man has ever sung before."

But the stern king sat with his head upon his hand and eyes cast down, deep in thought. At length he spoke, and his voice was soft and kind.

"Orpheus," he said, "thou hast touched my heart with thy singing. Yet it lies not with me to grant thee thy boon."

"But if the Queen, thy wife, may return to the earth in the springtime, may not Eurydice, too, come back at thy command?" asked Orpheus.

"The ways of the gods are not the ways of mortals, Orpheus; they walk by paths you may not tread. Yet, though I have no power to give thee back Eurydice, thou mayest win her thyself if thou hast the strength."

"How may that be?" cried Orpheus. "For the sake of Eurydice I have strength for any venture."

"No strength of the flesh can win her, Orpheus, but the strength of a faith unfaltering. I will send for her, and when thou seest her stand within the hall, holding out her hands towards thee, thou must harden thy heart, and turn and flee before her by the way thou camest. For the love of thee she will follow, and she will entreat thee to look at her and give her thy hand over the stony way. But thou must neither look at her nor speak to her. One look, one word, will be thine undoing, and she must vanish from thine eyes for ever. The spell of thy song still rests upon the guardians of my kingdom, and they will let thee and thy wife pass by. But think not by word nor deed to help her. Alone she passed from life to death, and alone she must pass back from death to life. Her love and thy faith can be the only bond between you. Hast thou the strength for this?"

"My Lord," cried Orpheus, "'tis but a small thing to ask of a love like mine."

LIEUTENANTS I: THE STALWART KIND

Some lieutenants in fiction are too old for their rank. Others are young and effeminate. And there is a third kind of stalwart thirty-somethings, like this one:

...a species of butcher,

built for strength, tall, virile in face, cold and harsh, brave in the

service of the throne, rude in his manners, with an iron will in

action, but supple in manoeuvres, withal an ambitious noble,

possessing the honor of a soldier and the wiles of a politician. He

had the hand his face demanded,--large and hairy like that of a

gorrrilla; his manners were brusque, his speech concise.

The Cursed Child, Honoré de Balzac.