The Snow Queen in Seven Stories — Fifth Story —The Little Robber-Girl

The coach drove on through the thick forest, where its lamps lit the way like a torch, and dazzled the eyes of some robbers, who could not bear to let the coach pass them untouched.

“It’s gold! It’s gold!” they cried, rushing forward to seize the horse, striking dead the jockey, coachman, and footman; and pulling Gerda from the carriage.

“She is fat, and pretty, and she been fed with the nuts and kernels,” said the old robber-woman, “She is as good as a little lamb, and pre-stuffed with nuts; how nice she will taste!” and, as she said this, drew forth a shining knife.

“Oh!” screamed the old woman for in that moment her daughter held her back and had bitten her ear. She was a wild girl, and her mother called her ugly, but she had no patience for her mother killing Gerda, preferring instead a friend her own age. I mean, Social Services and a really, really good psychologist would have been a lot better for her, but you make do with what you can get when you can get it when you’re living in the middle of a forest with a bunch of murderous cannibal robbers, you know?

“She shall play with me,” said the little robber-girl, “she shall give me her muff and her pretty dress, and sleep with me in my bed because the nights aren’t getting any warmer, and not one of you can tan hide or fur worth a damn.” And then she bit her mother again and made her spring into the air, and jump about and all the robbers laughed and said, “See how she is dancing with her young cub.”

“I will have a ride in the coach,” said the little robber-girl, and would have her own way, for having been brought up by a mob of murderous cannibal robbers had given her a damned fine spirit of independence, and no willingness to put up with bullying or idiocy, both of which tend to be rife amongst those who willingly take up the life of being a murderous, cannibal robber.

She and Gerda seated themselves in the coach and drove away, over stumps and stones, into the depths of the forest. The little robber-girl was about the same size as Gerda, but stronger; broader of shoulder, with eyes of deepest brown that verged on black; and, quite unsurprisingly, she had a mournful look.

She clasped Gerda around the waist and said, “They shall not kill you as long as you don’t make us vexed with you. I suppose you are a princess.”

“No,” said Gerda, “I mean, I did wake up a princess in her bedroom, and her prince. And a couple of crows helped me do that, so the princess decided to help me and so gave me a pair of boots; and a little carriage; and a horse to draw it; and feed for the horse; and food for myself and the servants, of course; oh, and that muff as well.”

And things would have gone rather badly for Gerda at that point, given that the robber-girl had no patience for idiots, but it was rather hard to ignore the point that Gerda had been driving around in a fully stocked coach, in very nice finery, but with an accent that owed more to cow herding than ruling.

And so Gerda found herself telling the robber-girl all her history, and how fond she was of Kai.

The robber-girl looked earnestly at her, nodded her head slightly and said, “They shan’t kill you, even if I do get angry with you, for I will do it myself.”

And then she wiped Gerda’s eyes, and stuck her own hands in the beautiful mink fur muff, which was so soft and warm.

The coach stopped in the courtyard of the robber’s castle, the walls of which were cracked from top to bottom; murderous cannibal robbers not being noted for their ability to maintain buildings of historical significance. Ravens and crows flew in and out of the holes and crevices, while great bulldogs, either of which looked as if they could swallow a man, were jumping about, but they were not allowed to bark. In the large, smokey, and noticeably drafty hall, a bright fire was burning on the stone floor. There was no chimney, so the smoke was left to find it’s own way up to the ceiling and from there a way out for itself. Soup was boiling in a large cauldron, and hares and rabbits were roasting on a the spit.

“You shall sleep with me and all my little animals tonight,” said the robber-girl, after they had something to eat and drink. So she took Gerda to a corner of the hall where some straw and carpets had been laid down. Above them, perched wherever they could find room, were at least a hundred pigeons who all seemed to be roosting, although they moved slightly when the two girls came near them. “These all belong to me,” said the robber-girl and she seized the nearest to her, held it by the feet, and shot it till it flapped its wings. “Kiss it,” she cried, flapping it in Gerda’s face.

“There sit the wood pigeons,” she continued, abandoning the attempt to get Gerda to kiss a pigeon as abruptly as she had started it, and pointing to a number of laths and a cage that had been fixed into the walls. “Both rascals would fly away if they were not locked up. And here is my old sweetheart, Ba,” as she dragged out a reindeer by the horn. He wore a bright copper ring around his neck, and was tied up. “We are obliged to hold him tight too, or else he would run away form us also. I tickle his neck every evening with my sharp knife, which frightens him very much.” And then the robber-girl drew a long knife from a chink in the wall and let it slide gently over the reindeer’s neck, even as the poor animal started to kick.

Laughing, the robber-girl pulled Gerda down into the bed with her.

“Will you have that knife with you while you are asleep?” asked Gerda, looking at it with great fight.

The robber-girl looked at Gerda and then out into the hall. “I always sleep with the knife by me. No one knows what may happen, but this knife helps stop it before it starts. But now, tell me again all about Kai, and why you went out into the world”.

And so Gerda repeated her story, while the wood pigeons cooed and the other pigeons slept. When she finished the robber-girl put one arm across her neck and, knife held firmly in the other hand, was soon asleep and snoring. But Gerda was too afraid to even close her eyes, not knowing whether she was to live or die. The robbers sat around the fire, singing and drinking, while the old woman stumbled about. It was a terrible sight for a little girl to witness.

The the wood pigeons said, “Coo, coo; we have seen Kai. A white sled towed his sledge, and he sat in the carriage of the Snow Queen which drove through the wood while we were lying in our nest. She blew upon us, and all the young ones died apart us two. Coo, coo.”

“What are you saying?” cried Gerda. “Where was the Snow Queen going? Do you know anything about it?”

“She was most likely travelling to Lapland, where the Winter-child can always be found, and there is always snow and ice. Ask the reindeer that is fastened up there with a rope.”

“Yes, the Winter-child forever mourns and weeps, and there is always snow and ice,” said the reindeer, “and it is a glorious place; you can leap and run about freely on the sparkling ice plains. The Snow Queen has her summer tent there, but her strong castle is at the North Pole, on an island called Spitzbergen.”

“Oh, Kai, little Kai!” sighed Gerda, waking the robber-girl.

“Lie still, or I shall run my knife into your body.”

The following morning Gerda told her all the wood pigeons had told her. Looking quite serious the robber-girl nodded her head and said, “That is all talk, that is all talk.” Turning to the reindeer she asked, “Do you know where Lapland is?”

“Who should know better than I do?” said the animal, while his eyes sparkled. “I was born and brought up there, and used to run about the snow covered plains.”

“Now listen,” said the the robber-girl, “all our men are gone away. Only mother is here, and here she will stay, but at noon she always drinks out of a great bottle, and afterwards sleeps for a little while. And it is then that I’ll do something for you.”

With those words the robber-girl jumped out of bed and clasped her mother around the neck, before busying herself around the castle for the rest of the morning.

When noon came round, and the mother had drunk out of the bottle and had gone to sleep the robber-girl went to the reindeer and said, “I should like very much to tickle your neck a few more times with my knife, for it makes you look so funny, but never mind. I will untie you cord and set you free, so that you may run away to Lapland. But you must make good use of your legs and carry this girl to the castle of the Snow Queen, where her friend is. You have heard what she told me, for she spoke loud enough, and you were listening.”

And the reindeer jumped for joy as the robber-girl lifted Gerda onto his back, giving her a cushion to sit on, and tieing her on so she would not fall.

Then the reindeer jumped for joy; and the little robber-girl lifted Gerda on his back, and had the forethought to tie her on, and even to give her her own little cushion to sit on.

“Here are your boots,” said the robber-girl, “for it will be very cold where the Winter-child eternally walks, but I must keep the muff for it is so very pretty. However, you shall not be frozen for the want of it. Here are my mother’s large warm mittens. Look, they will reach up to your elbows; here, put them on. There, now your hands look just like my mother’s.”

And Gerda wept for joy.

“I don’t like to see you fret,” said the robber-girl, “Here. Two loaves and a ham, so you will not starve.”

And with that the robber-girl opened the door to the castle, coaxed in the great dogs, and then cut the cord binding the reindeer with her knife and said, “Now run, but mind you take good care of the girl.”

And as Gerda stretched out her hand with the great mitten on it towards the robber-girl the reindeer raced away with a start, flying over stumps and stones, through the great forest, over marshes and plains, as quickly as he could. Days and nights passed and the reindeer ran faster and faster. The wolves howled, and the ravens screamed, and the sky flamed red with quivering lights.

“There are my old northern lights,” said the reindeer to himself, Gerda fast asleep on his back, “and now I am home.”

And for the first time in an eternity the Winter-child stopped her dance, just for a moment, for in the faintest dreams of hope she felt the Somer-child draw near.