THE SNOW QUEEN IN SEVEN STORIES [2]
then just
as the clock in the church tower struck twelve, Kay said, "Oh,
something has struck my heart!" and soon after, "There is something in
my eye."
The little girl put her arm round his neck, and looked into his
eye, but she could see nothing.
"I think it is gone," he said. But it was not gone; it was one
of those bits of the looking-glass- that magic mirror, of which we
have spoken- the ugly glass which made everything great and good
appear small and ugly, while all that was wicked and bad became more
visible, and every little fault could be plainly seen. Poor little Kay
had also received a small grain in his heart, which very quickly
turned to a lump of ice. He felt no more pain, but the glass was there
still. "Why do you cry?" said he at last; "it makes you look ugly.
There is nothing the matter with me now. Oh, see!" he cried
suddenly, "that rose is worm-eaten, and this one is quite crooked.
After all they are ugly roses, just like the box in which they stand,"
and then he kicked the boxes with his foot, and pulled off the two
roses.
"Kay, what are you doing?" cried the little girl; and then, when
he saw how frightened she was, he tore off another rose, and jumped
through his own window away from little Gerda.
When she afterwards brought out the picture book, he said, "It was
only fit for babies in long clothes," and when grandmother told any
stories, he would interrupt her with "but;" or, when he could manage
it, he would get behind her chair, put on a pair of spectacles, and
imitate her very cleverly, to make people laugh. By-and-by he began to
mimic the speech and gait of persons in the street. All that was
peculiar or disagreeable in a person he would imitate directly, and
people said, "That boy will be very clever; he has a remarkable
genius." But it was the piece of glass in his eye, and the coldness in
his heart, that made him act like this. He would even tease little
Gerda, who loved him with all her heart. His games, too, were quite
different; they were not so childish. One winter's day, when it
snowed, he brought out a burning-glass, then he held out the tail of
his blue coat, and let the snow-flakes fall upon it. "Look in this
glass, Gerda," said he; and she saw how every flake of snow was
magnified, and looked like a beautiful flower or a glittering star.
"Is it not clever?" said Kay, "and much more interesting than
looking at real flowers. There is not a single fault in it, and the
snow-flakes are quite perfect till they begin to melt."
Soon after Kay made his appearance in large thick gloves, and with
his sledge at his back. He called up stairs to Gerda, "I've got to
leave to go into the great square, where the other boys play and
ride." And away he went.
In the great square, the boldest among the boys would often tie
their sledges to the country people's carts, and go with them a good
way. This was capital. But while they were all amusing themselves, and
Kay with them, a great sledge came by; it was painted white, and in it
sat some one wrapped in a rough white fur, and wearing a white cap.
The sledge drove twice round the square, and Kay fastened his own
little sledge to it, so that when it went away, he followed with it.
It went faster and faster right through the next street, and then
the person who drove turned round and nodded pleasantly to Kay, just
as if they were acquainted with each other, but whenever Kay wished to
loosen his little sledge the driver nodded again, so Kay sat still,
and they drove out through the town gate. Then the snow began to
fall so heavily that the little boy could not see a hand's breadth
before him, but still they drove on; then he suddenly loosened the
cord so that the large sled might go on without him, but it was of
no use, his little carriage held fast, and away they went like the
wind. Then he called out loudly, but nobody heard him, while the
snow beat upon him, and the sledge flew onwards. Every now and then it
as the clock in the church tower struck twelve, Kay said, "Oh,
something has struck my heart!" and soon after, "There is something in
my eye."
The little girl put her arm round his neck, and looked into his
eye, but she could see nothing.
"I think it is gone," he said. But it was not gone; it was one
of those bits of the looking-glass- that magic mirror, of which we
have spoken- the ugly glass which made everything great and good
appear small and ugly, while all that was wicked and bad became more
visible, and every little fault could be plainly seen. Poor little Kay
had also received a small grain in his heart, which very quickly
turned to a lump of ice. He felt no more pain, but the glass was there
still. "Why do you cry?" said he at last; "it makes you look ugly.
There is nothing the matter with me now. Oh, see!" he cried
suddenly, "that rose is worm-eaten, and this one is quite crooked.
After all they are ugly roses, just like the box in which they stand,"
and then he kicked the boxes with his foot, and pulled off the two
roses.
"Kay, what are you doing?" cried the little girl; and then, when
he saw how frightened she was, he tore off another rose, and jumped
through his own window away from little Gerda.
When she afterwards brought out the picture book, he said, "It was
only fit for babies in long clothes," and when grandmother told any
stories, he would interrupt her with "but;" or, when he could manage
it, he would get behind her chair, put on a pair of spectacles, and
imitate her very cleverly, to make people laugh. By-and-by he began to
mimic the speech and gait of persons in the street. All that was
peculiar or disagreeable in a person he would imitate directly, and
people said, "That boy will be very clever; he has a remarkable
genius." But it was the piece of glass in his eye, and the coldness in
his heart, that made him act like this. He would even tease little
Gerda, who loved him with all her heart. His games, too, were quite
different; they were not so childish. One winter's day, when it
snowed, he brought out a burning-glass, then he held out the tail of
his blue coat, and let the snow-flakes fall upon it. "Look in this
glass, Gerda," said he; and she saw how every flake of snow was
magnified, and looked like a beautiful flower or a glittering star.
"Is it not clever?" said Kay, "and much more interesting than
looking at real flowers. There is not a single fault in it, and the
snow-flakes are quite perfect till they begin to melt."
Soon after Kay made his appearance in large thick gloves, and with
his sledge at his back. He called up stairs to Gerda, "I've got to
leave to go into the great square, where the other boys play and
ride." And away he went.
In the great square, the boldest among the boys would often tie
their sledges to the country people's carts, and go with them a good
way. This was capital. But while they were all amusing themselves, and
Kay with them, a great sledge came by; it was painted white, and in it
sat some one wrapped in a rough white fur, and wearing a white cap.
The sledge drove twice round the square, and Kay fastened his own
little sledge to it, so that when it went away, he followed with it.
It went faster and faster right through the next street, and then
the person who drove turned round and nodded pleasantly to Kay, just
as if they were acquainted with each other, but whenever Kay wished to
loosen his little sledge the driver nodded again, so Kay sat still,
and they drove out through the town gate. Then the snow began to
fall so heavily that the little boy could not see a hand's breadth
before him, but still they drove on; then he suddenly loosened the
cord so that the large sled might go on without him, but it was of
no use, his little carriage held fast, and away they went like the
wind. Then he called out loudly, but nobody heard him, while the
snow beat upon him, and the sledge flew onwards. Every now and then it