Transcript
A (0:00)
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B (0:30)
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C (1:20)
I'm Keith Morrison and this is episode two of Hans Christian Andersen's the Snow Queen. Our heroine, Gerda, is on a desperate quest to find her best friend, Kay. Her search has sent her down a rushing river, far away from home and everything she knows. She is frightened, of course she is, but determined too. She has spotted a small house on the riverbank and she's cried out for help, hoping someone inside that little place can save her. And now an old woman has emerged and she casts her beady eyes on Gerda. Who is this strange woman, friend or foe? Here again is the Snow Queen by Hans Christian Andersen. She wore a large hat to shade her from the sun, painted with all sorts of pretty flowers. You poor little child, said the old woman. How did you manage to come all this distance into the wide world on such a fast flowing stream? And then the old woman walked into the water and seized the boat with her crutch and drew it to land and lifted little Gerda out. Gerda was glad to feel herself on dry ground again, although she was rather afraid of the strange old woman. Come and tell me who you are, the old lady said, and how you came here. Then Gerda told her everything, but the old woman shook her head and made sympathetic sounds when she had finished, Gerda asked if she had seen Kay, and the old woman told her he had not passed by that way, but he very likely would come. She told Gerda not to be sad, but to taste the cherries and look at the flowers. They were better than any picture book, for each of them could tell a story. And then the old woman took Gerda by the hand, led her into the little house and closed the door. The windows were very high, and as the panes were red and blue and yellow, the daylight shone through them in all sorts of shining colors. On the table stood some beautiful cherries, and Gerda had permission to eat as many as she wanted. While she was munching on them, the old woman combed out her long golden ringlets with a shiny comb, and the glossy curls hung down on each side of the little round, pretty face, which looked as fresh and blooming as a rose. I've long been wishing for a dear little maiden like you, the old woman said. And now you must stay with me and see how happily we shall live together. And well she went on combing little Gerda's hair. The girl thought less and less about her adopted brother Kay, for the old woman could conjure. That's right. She could call upon spirits and craft magic. But she was not a wicked witch. No, she conjured only a little for her own amusement. And she did so now because she wanted to keep Gerda. Therefore she went into the garden and stretched out her crutch toward all the Rhodes trees, beautiful though they were. And they immediately sunk into the dark earth so that no one could tell where they had once stood. The old woman was afraid that if little Gerda saw those roses, they would remind her of the ones at home, and then she'd remember little Kay and run away. Next, the old lady took Gerda to the flower garden. How fragrant and beautiful it was. Every flower that could be thought of for every season of the year was here in full bloom. No picture book could have more beautiful colors. Gerda jumped for joy and played until the sun went down behind the tall cherry trees. And then she slept in an elegant bed with red silk pillows embroidered with colored violets. And then she dreamed as pleasantly as a queen on her wedding day. The next day, and for many days after, Gerda played with the flowers in the warm sunshine. She knew every flower, and yet, although there were so many of them, it seemed as if one were missing, but which it was, she could not tell. One day, however, as she sat looking at the old woman's Hat with the painted flowers on it. She saw that the prettiest of them all was a rose. The old woman had forgotten to erase it from her hat when she made all the roses sink into the earth. And now that one little mistake was upsetting her whole plot. What? Are there no roses here? Cried Gerda. And she ran out into the garden. She examined all the flower beds and searched and searched. There was not one to be found. Then she sat down and wept, and her tears fell precisely on one spot, the one spot where rose trees once stood. Her warm tears moistened the earth, and the rose tree sprouted up at once as blooming as when it had sunk. Gerda embraced it and kissed the roses and thought of the beautiful roses at home, and with them, of course, of little Kay. Oh, how I've been detained, said the little maiden. I want to look for Kay. Do you know where he is? She asked the roses. Do you think he's dead? And the roses answered, no, he is not dead. We have been in the ground where all the dead lie, but Kay is not there. Thank you, thank you, said little Gerda. And then she went to the other flowers and looked into their cups and asked, did do you know where little Kay is? But each flower, as it stood in the sunshine, dreamed only of its own fairy tale or history. No one knew anything of Kay, but Gerda was determined. She asked each of the flowers, one after the other, about Kay. And they each recounted their own colorful but very mysterious stories. What? Said the tiger Lily. This is the tale she told. In her long red robe stands the Hindu widow by the funeral pile, said the tiger Lily. The flames rise around her as she places herself on the dead body of her husband. But the Hindu woman was thinking of the living one in the circle of him, her son who lighted those flames. Those shining eyes trouble her heart more painfully than the flames which will soon consume her body to ashes. Can the fire of the heart be extinguished in the flames of a funeral pile? I don't understand you at all, said little Gerda. That is my story. What? Said the morning glory. Near yonder narrow road stands an old knight's castle, said the glory. Thick ivy creeps over the old ruined walls, leaf over leaf, even to the balcony in which stands a beautiful maiden. She bends over the railing and looks up the road. No rose on its stem is fresher than she. No apple blossom floats more lightly than she moves. Her rich silk rustles as she bends over and exclaims, will he not come? Is it Kay you mean? Ask Gerda. I'M only speaking of a story of my dream, replied the flower. What? Said the snowdrop. Between two trees is a swing. Two pretty little girls in dresses white as snow, are swinging upon it. Their brother stands in the swing. He has one arm around a rope to steady himself, and with the other he is blowing bubbles. And as the swing goes on, the bubbles fly upward and reflect the most beautiful colors. On goes the swing. And then a little black dog comes running up. He's almost as light as the bubble and he raises himself on his hind legs and wants to be taken into the swing. But it does not stop and the dog falls. And then he barks and gets angry. The children stoop towards him and the bubble bursts. That is my story. You all speak so mournfully and you do not mention little Kay at all, said Gerda. Then Gerda went to the buttercups that were glittering amongst the bright green leaves. You are little bright suns, said Gerda. Tell me if you know where I can find my playfellow. And the buttercup sparkled gaily and looked again at Gerda. What song could the buttercup sing? It was not about Kay, but it reminded Gerda of someone else she knew. The bright warm sun shone down on the first warm day of spring, said the buttercups. An old woman sat in her armchair at the door and her granddaughter, a poor servant maid, came to see her. When she kissed her grandmother, there was gold everywhere. The gold of the heart in that kiss. It was a golden morning. There was gold in the beaming sunlight, gold in the leaves of the lowly flower, gold and on the lips of the maiden there. That is my story, said the buttercup. My poor old grandmother. Exclaimed Gerda. She is longing to see me and grieving for me as she did for Kay. But I shall soon go home now and take Kay with me. It's no use asking the flowers. They only know their own songs and can give me no information. And then she tucked up her little dress that she might run faster and and ran to the other end of the garden. The door was fastened, but she pressed against the rusty latch and it gave way. The door sprang open and Gerda ran out with bare feet into the wide world. She looked back three times, but no one seemed to be following her. At last she could run no longer and she sat down to rest on a great stone. And when she looked around she saw that the summer was over and autumn was very far advanced. She had known nothing of this in the beautiful garden where the sun shone and the flowers grew all the year round. Oh, I've wasted my time, said little Gerda. It is autumn. I must not rest any longer. And she rose up to go on. But her feet were wounded and sore and everything around her looked so, so cold and bleak. The long willow leaves were quite yellow, the dew drops fell like water. Leaf after leaf dropped from the tree. Oh, how dark and weary the whole world appeared. And so Gerda has broken free from the old woman's grasp. She remembers her grandmother now, and her home and all that is safe and warm she could. She should turn right around and go home this instant. But when you love someone the way Gerda loves Kay, you don't always do what you should, now do you? The McDonald's Snack Wrap is back. You brought it back. Ranch Snack Wrap? Spicy Snack wrap. You broke the Internet for a snack? Snack Wrap is back.