The Little Robber-Maiden
Now Gerda was driven through a gloomy forest, but the coach shone like a torch, and it dazzled the eyes of some robbers who were in the woods so that they could not bear to look at it.
“’Tis gold! ’Tis gold!” cried they; and they rushed forward, seized the horses, knocked down the little postilion, the coachman, and the servants, and pulled little Gerda out of the carriage.
“How plump, how beautiful she is! She must have been fed on nut-kernels,” said an old robber-woman, who had a long, scrubby beard, and bushy eyebrows that hung down over her eyes. “She will taste as good as a fatted lamb!” And then she drew out a knife, the blade of which shone so that it was quite dreadful to behold.
“Let her alone,” called out a little robber-child. “She will give me her muff, and her pretty frock; she shall sleep in my bed!”
“I will have a ride in her carriage,” said the little robber-maiden. She would have her will, for she was very spoiled, and very headstrong. She and Gerda got in; and then away they drove over the stumps of felled trees, deeper and deeper into the woods. The little robber-maiden was as tall as Gerda, but stronger, broader-shouldered, and of dark complexion; her eyes were quite black. She embraced little Gerda, and said, “They shall not kill you as long as I am not displeased with you. You are, doubtless, a princess?”
“No,” said little Gerda, who then related all that had happened to her, and how much she cared about little Kay.
The little robber-maiden looked at her with a serious air, nodded her head slightly, and said, “They shall not kill you, even if I am angry with you: then I will do it myself;” and she dried Gerda’s eyes, and put both her hands in the handsome muff, which was so soft and warm.
At length the carriage stopped. They were in the midst of the courtyard of a robber’s castle. It was full of cracks from top to bottom; and out of the openings magpies and rooks were flying; and the great bulldogs, each of which looked as if he could swallow a man, jumped up, but they did not bark, for that was forbidden.
In the midst of the large, old, smoking hall burnt a great fire on the stone floor. The smoke disappeared under the stones, and had to seek its own egress. In an immense cauldron soup was boiling; and rabbits and hares were being roasted on a spit.
“You shall sleep with me to-night, with my little animals,” said the little robber-maiden. They had something to eat and drink; and then went into a corner, where straw and carpets were lying. Beside them, on perches, sat nearly a hundred pigeons, all asleep, seemingly, but yet they moved a little when the robber-maiden came. “They are all mine,” said she, at the same time seizing one that was next to her by the legs, and shaking it so that its wings fluttered.
“Kiss it!” cried the little girl, flapping the pigeon in Gerda’s face. “There are a lot of them,” continued she, pointing to a hole high up in the wall. “They would all fly away immediately, if they were not well fastened in. And here is my dear old Bac.” She laid hold of the horns of a reindeer, that had a bright copper ring round its neck, and was tethered to the spot. “We are obliged to lock this fellow in, too, or he would make his escape. Every evening I tickle his neck with my sharp knife, which he is very much afraid of!” and the little girl drew forth a long knife from a crack in the wall, and let it glide gently across the reindeer’s neck. The poor animal began to kick and the girl laughed, and pulled Gerda into bed with her.
“Do you intend to keep your knife while you sleep?” asked Gerda, looking at it rather fearfully.
“I always sleep with the knife,” said the little robber-maiden: “there is no knowing what may happen. But tell me now, once more, all about little Kay; and why you have started off in the wide world alone.” And Gerda related all, from the very beginning. The little robber-maiden wound her arm round Gerda’s neck, held the knife in the other hand, and snored so loud that everybody could hear her. But Gerda could not close her eyes, not knowing whether she was to live or die. The robbers sat round the fire, and the old robber-woman jumped about so, that it was dreadful for Gerda to see her.
Then the wood-pigeons said, “Coo! coo! we have seen little Kay! A white hen carries his sledge; he himself sat in the carriage of the Snow-Queen, which passed right over the forest as we lay in our nests. She blew upon us young ones, and all died except we two. Coo! coo!”
“What is that you say up there?” cried little Gerda. “Where did the Snow-Queen go to? Do you know anything about it?”
“She is no doubt gone to Lapland; for there are always snow and ice there. Only ask the Reindeer, who is tethered here.”
“Aye, ice and snow indeed! There it is glorious and beautiful!” said the Reindeer. “One can spring about in the large, shining valleys! The Snow-Queen has her summer-tent there; but her fixed abode is high up towards the North Pole, on the island called Spitzbergen.”
“O Kay! poor little Kay!” sighed Gerda.
“Do you choose to be quiet?” said the robber-maiden. “If you don’t, I shall make you.”
In the morning Gerda told her all that the wood-pigeons had said; and the little maiden looked very serious, but she nodded her head, and said, “That’s no matter—that’s no matter. Do you know where Lapland lies?” asked she of the Reindeer.
“Who should know better than I?” said the animal; and his eyes rolled in his head. “I was born and bred there; there I leapt about on the fields of snow.”
“Listen,” said the robber-maiden to Gerda. “You see that the men are gone; but my mother is still here, and will remain. As soon as she sleeps a little I will do something for you.” She now jumped out of bed, flew to her mother; and with her arms round her neck said, “Good-morning, you old stupid! good-morning.” And her mother in return took hold of her nose, and pinched it till it was red and blue,—and all this was out of pure love.
When the mother had taken a sup, and was having a nap, the little robber-maiden went to the Reindeer, and said, “I should very much like to give you still many a tickling with a sharp knife, for then you are so amusing; however, I will untether you, and help you out, so that you may get back to Lapland. But you must make good use of your legs; and take this little girl for me to the palace of the Snow-Queen, where her playfellow is. You have heard, I suppose, all she said; for she spoke loud enough, and you were listening.”
The Reindeer gave a bound for joy. The robber-maiden lifted up little Gerda, and took the precaution to bind her fast on the Reindeer’s back; she even gave her a small cushion to sit on. “Here are your worsted leggins, for it will be cold; but the muff I shall keep for myself, for it is so very pretty. But I do not wish you to be cold. Here is a pair of lined gloves belonging to my mother; they will just reach up to your elbow.”
And Gerda wept for joy.
“I can’t bear to see you fretting,” said the little robber-maiden. “This is just the time when you ought to look pleased. Here are two loaves and a ham for you, so now you won’t starve.” The bread and the meat were fastened to the Reindeer’s back; the little maiden opened the door, called in all the dogs, and then with her knife cut the rope that fastened the animal, and said to him, “Now off with you; but take good care of the little girl!”
And Gerda stretched out her hands with the large, wadded gloves toward the robber-maiden, and said, “Farewell!” and the Reindeer flew on over bush and bramble, through the great wood, over moor and heath, as fast as he could go.