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Once upon
a time...
Once upon a time there lived a peasant called Ivan, and he
had a wife whose name was Marie. They would have been quite happy
except for one thing: they had no children to play with, and as they
were now old people they did not find that watching the children of
their neighbours at all made up to them for having one of their own.
One winter, which nobody living will ever forget, the snow lay so
deep that it came up to the knees of even the tallest man. When it
had all fallen, and the sun was shining again, the children ran out
into the street to play, and the old man and his wife sat at their
window and gazed at them. The children first made a sort of little
terrace, and stamped it hard and firm, and then they began to make a
snow woman. Ivan and Marie watched them, the while thinking about
many things.
Suddenly Ivan's face brightened, and, looking at his wife, he said,
'Wife, why shouldn't we make a snow woman too?'
'Why not?' replied Marie, who happened to be in a very good temper;
'it might amuse us a little. But there is no use making a woman. Let
us make a little snow child, and pretend it is a living one.'
'Yes, let us do that,' said Ivan, and he took down his cap and went
into the garden with his old wife.
Then the two set to work with all their might to make a doll out of
the snow. They shaped a little body and two little hands and two
little feet. On top of all they placed a ball of snow, out of which
the head was to be.
'What in the world are you doing?' asked a passer-by.
'Can't you guess?' returned Ivan.
'Making a snow-child,' replied Marie.
They had finished the nose and the chin. Two holes were left for the
eyes, and Ivan carefully shaped out the mouth. No sooner had he done
so than he felt a warm breath upon his cheek. He started back in
surprise and looked--and behold! the eyes of the child met his, and
its lips, which were as red as raspberries, smiled at him!
'What is it?' cried Ivan, crossing himself. 'Am I mad, or is the
thing bewitched?'
The snow-child bent its head as if it had been really alive. It
moved its little arms and its little legs in the snow that lay about
it just as the living children did theirs.
'Ah! Ivan, Ivan,' exclaimed Marie, trembling with joy, 'heaven has
sent us a child at last!' And she threw herself upon Snowflake (for
that was the snow-child's name) and covered her with kisses. And the
loose snow fell away from Snowflake as an egg shell does from an
egg, and it was a little girl whom Marie held in her arms.
'Oh! my darling Snowflake!' cried the old woman, and led her into
the cottage.
And Snowflake grew fast; each hour as well as each day made a
difference, and every day she became more and more beautiful. The
old couple hardly knew how to contain themselves for joy, and
thought of nothing else. The cottage was always full of village
children, for they amused Snowflake, and there was nothing in the
world they would not have done to amuse her. She was their doll, and
they were continually inventing new dresses for her, and teaching
her songs or playing with her. Nobody knew how clever she was! She
noticed everything, and could learn a lesson in a moment. Anyone
would have taken her for thirteen at least! And, besides all that,
she was so good and obedient; and so pretty, too! Her skin was as
white as snow, her eyes as blue as forget-me-nots, and her hair was
long and golden. Only her cheeks had no colour in them, but were as
fair as her forehead.
So the winter went on, till at last the spring sun mounted higher in
the heavens and began to warm the earth. The grass grew green in the
fields, and high in the air the larks were heard singing. The
village girls met and danced in a ring, singing, 'Beautiful spring,
how came you here? How came you here? Did you come on a plough, or
was it a harrow?' Only Snowflake sat quite still by the window of
the cottage.
'What is the matter, dear child?' asked Marie. 'Why are you so sad?
Are you ill? or have they treated you unkindly?'
'No,' replied Snowflake, 'it is nothing, mother; no one has hurt me;
I am well.'
The spring sun had chased away the last snow from its hiding place
under the hedges; the fields were full of flowers; nightingales sang
in the trees, and all the world was gay. But the gayer grew the
birds and the flowers the sadder became Snowflake. She hid herself
from her playmates, and curled herself up where the shadows were
deepest, like a lily amongst its leaves. Her only pleasure was to
lie amid the green willows near some sparkling stream. At the dawn
and at twilight only she seemed happy. When a great storm broke, and
the earth was white with hail, she became bright and joyous as the
Snowflake of old; but when the clouds passed, and the hail melted
beneath the sun, Snowflake would burst into tears and weep as a
sister would weep over her brother.
The spring passed, and it was the eve of St. John, or Midsummer Day.
This was the greatest holiday of the year, when the young girls met
in the woods to dance and play. They went to fetch Snowflake, and
said to Marie: 'Let her come and dance with us.'
But Marie was afraid; she could not tell why, only she could not
bear the child to go. Snowflake did not wish to go either, but they
had no excuse ready. So Marie kissed the girl and said: 'Go, my
Snowflake, and be happy with your friends, and you, dear children,
be careful of her. You know she is the light of my eyes to me.'
'Oh, we will take care of her,' cried the girls gaily, and they ran
off to the woods. There they wore wreaths, gathered nosegays, and
sang songs some sad, some merry. And whatever they did Snowflake did
too.
When the sun set they lit a fire of dry grass, and placed themselves
in a row, Snowflake being the last of all. 'Now, watch us,' they
said, 'and run just as we do.'
And they all began to sing and to jump one after another across the
fire.
Suddenly, close behind them, they heard a sigh, then a groan. 'Ah!'
They turned hastily and looked at each other. There was nothing.
They looked again. Where was Snowflake? She has hidden herself for
fun, they thought, and searched for her everywhere. 'Snowflake!
Snowflake!' But there was no answer. 'Where can she be? Oh, she must
have gone home.' They returned to the village, but there was no
Snowflake.
For days after that they sought her high and low. They examined
every bush and every hedge, but there was no Snowflake. And long
after everyone else had given up hope Ivan and Marie would wander
through the woods crying 'Snowflake, my dove, come back, come back!'
And sometimes they thought they heard a call, but it was never the
voice of Snowflake.
And what had become of her? Had a fierce wild beast seized her and
dragged her into his lair in the forest? Had some bird carried her
off across the wide blue sea?
No, no beast had touched her, no bird had borne her away. With the
first breath of flame that swept over her when she ran with her
friends Snowflake had melted away, and a little soft haze floating
upwards was all that remained of her.
Snowflake
from the Pink Fairy Book
Story Edited
by Andrew Lang |
