Stories from Hans Andersen | Page 6

eating, the old woman
combed her hair with a golden comb, so that the hair curled, and shone
like gold round the pretty little face, which was as sweet as a rose.
'I have long wanted a little girl like you!' said the old woman. 'You will
see how well we shall get on together.' While she combed her hair
Gerda had forgotten all about Kay, for the old woman was learned in
the magic art; but she was not a bad witch, she only cast spells over
people for a little amusement, and she wanted to keep Gerda. She
therefore went into the garden and waved her hooked stick over all the
rose-bushes, and however beautifully they were flowering, all sank
down into the rich black earth without leaving a trace behind them. The
old woman was afraid that if Gerda saw the roses she would be
reminded of Kay, and would want to run away. Then she took Gerda
into the flower garden. What a delicious scent there was! and every
imaginable flower for every season was in that lovely garden; no
picture-book could be brighter or more beautiful. Gerda jumped for joy
and played till the sun went down behind the tall cherry trees. Then she
was put into a lovely bed with rose-coloured silken coverings stuffed

with violets; she slept and dreamt as lovely dreams as any queen on her
wedding day.
The next day she played with the flowers in the garden again--and
many days passed in the same way. Gerda knew every flower, but
however many there were, she always thought there was one missing,
but which it was she did not know.
One day she was sitting looking at the old woman's sun hat with its
painted flowers, and the very prettiest one of them all was a rose. The
old woman had forgotten her hat when she charmed the others away.
This is the consequence of being absent-minded.
'What!' said Gerda, 'are there no roses here?' and she sprang in among
the flower-beds and sought, but in vain! Her hot tears fell on the very
places where the roses used to be; when the warm drops moistened the
earth the rose-trees shot up again, just as full of bloom as when they
sank. Gerda embraced the roses and kissed them, and then she thought
of the lovely roses at home, and this brought the thought of little Kay.
'Oh, how I have been delayed,' said the little girl, 'I ought to have been
looking for Kay! Don't you know where he is?' she asked the roses. 'Do
you think he is dead and gone?'
'He is not dead,' said the roses. 'For we have been down underground,
you know, and all the dead people are there, but Kay is not among
them.'
'Oh, thank you!' said little Gerda, and then she went to the other flowers
and looked into their cups and said, 'Do you know where Kay is?'
But each flower stood in the sun and dreamt its own dreams. Little
Gerda heard many of these, but never anything about Kay.
And what said the Tiger lilies?
'Do you hear the drum? rub-a-dub, it has only two notes, rub-a-dub,
always the same. The wailing of women and the cry of the preacher.

The Hindu woman in her long red garment stands on the pile, while the
flames surround her and her dead husband. But the woman is only
thinking of the living man in the circle round, whose eyes burn with a
fiercer fire than that of the flames which consume the body. Do the
flames of the heart die in the fire?'
'I understand nothing about that,' said little Gerda.
'That is my story,' said the Tiger lily.
'What does the convolvulus say?'
'An old castle is perched high over a narrow mountain path, it is closely
covered with ivy, almost hiding the old red walls, and creeping up leaf
upon leaf right round the balcony where stands a beautiful maiden. She
bends over the balustrade and looks eagerly up the road. No rose on its
stem is fresher than she; no apple blossom wafted by the wind moves
more lightly. Her silken robes rustle softly as she bends over and says,
'Will he never come?''
'Is it Kay you mean?' asked Gerda.
'I am only talking about my own story, my dream,' answered the
convolvulus.
What said the little snowdrop?
'Between two trees a rope with a board is hanging; it is a swing. Two
pretty little girls in snowy frocks and green ribbons fluttering on their
hats are seated on it. Their brother, who is bigger than they are, stands
up behind them; he has his arms round the ropes for supports, and holds
in one hand a little bowl