The Snow Queen in Seven Stories —Fourth Story — The Princess and Prince

As the seasons continued to turn Gerda found herself having to rest more and more often as the Somer-child stayed for less and less time each day, and Winter-child swept through in her mournful dance, cloaked in bitter laughter.

One day, whilst Gerda was forced to rest, that she spied a great crow come hop, hop, hopping across the snow towards her. He stood looking at her for some little time before wagging his head and saying, “Caw, caw. Good day, Good day”. Being by nature a kinder bird than most of his kind he pronounced his words as plainly as he could for the little girl to understand. “Caw, caw. Where are you going, all alone in this wide world, whilst the Winter-child dances in the air and lies on the ground?”

Gerda understood, not just the words, but the kindness meant with them, and so told the crow the whole story of her life and adventures, and asked him if he had seen Kai.

The crow nodded his head gravely and said, “Perhaps I have — maybe, anyway”.

“No! Do you think you have?” cried Gerda, kissing the crow and hugging him almost to death in her joy.

“Cae, gentle now, little one,” admonished the crow, “I think I know. I think it might be Kai, but if he is then he has certainly forgotten you after all this time and by now thinks only of the princess.”

“Does he live with a princess?” asked Gerda, not a little stunned at this news.

“Caw, caw, yes, yes,” replied the crow, “but it is so difficult to speak your language. Do you understand the crows language. It would be so much easier for me to explain. Caw, do you?”

“No, I never learnt it,” said Gerda, “My grandmother understands it and used to speak it to me. I wish I had learnt it now.”

“Caw, well, it does not matter,” sighed the crow, inasmuch as crows can sigh. “I will explain as well as I can, although it will be very badly done. Caw, listen closely now, for this is what I’ve heard. In this kingdom, where we stand now, lives a princess who is so wonderfully clever she has read all the newspapers in the world, and forgotten them too, although she is so clever. A short time ago, as she was sitting on her throne, which I’ve heard is not such an agreeable seat as people suppose, she began to sing a song which started with these words:

‘Why should I not be married?’

Caw, well, I can think of reasons, but then I’m a crow and not meant to rule. Perhaps it is different for princesses, although I cannot see how. But the princess said, ‘Why not indeed?’ and so she is determined to marry if only she could find a husband who knew what to say when required, and of much more import, to know when to say it; and not one that would merely look handsome, for there were plenty enough statues around the palace that could do that job already. So she assembled all her court ladies together at the beat of the drum, and when they heard of her intentions they were very pleased. Perhaps they were looking for the scraps discarded by the princess in her search for a husband. Caw, I can understand that, I guess.”

“But how do you know all this?” asked Gerda, wide-eyed as she listened to the crow wander his way through a mix of philosophical thought, court gossip, and a crow’s thoughts on marriage and scavenging.

“Caw, I may not look a royal bird, that is true, but I have a sweetheart who goes freely about the palace, and she told me all this.”

“Well, with the announcement newspapers were published immediately,” continued the crow, “and they had a border of hearts and the initials of the princess amongst them. And advertised in each every one a simple enough invitation; that every young man who was handsome was free to visit the castle and speak with the princess; and those who could reply loud enough to be heard would be allowed to make themselves at home in the castle, but only the one who spoke best would be chosen by the princess.

Well, you can imagine. The people, men and women both, came in droves. There was a great deal of crushing and running about, but no one succeeded either on the first or second day, although I’ve heard it told that one or two of her court ladies may have found a paramour of their own amongst those who failed.

See, although most of the people who came — caw, well arrived anyway; with plans to win the princess’s hand knowing that they could speak right well while they were outside in the streets, it was a different matter when they entered the palace gates and saw the guards in their silver uniforms, and the footmen in their golden livery on the staircase, and the great halls all lit up. It was so strange to them that it confused them something fierce and so when they stood before the throne on which the princess sat they could do nothing but repeat the last words she had said.

Well, I’ve met some fine mynah birds in my time, but I can see how a princess might not want one as husband material, even if it is a human doing the same thing, caw, if you see what I mean. After all, there’s only so many times you can hear your own words over again, you know?

Of caw — course, sorry, slip of the beak there; it didn’t help that these poor people had been queueing all day to get in to speak, or as it were, not speak to the princess. Most of them, by the time they reached the throne, looked as if they had taken something to make them sleepy and the queue! Well, that stretched all the way from the palace to the town gate. I went to see them myself and I have to say, humans seem to have less sense than crows. Not a one of them would scavenge for food, and nary a one had thought to bring any food with them. And those who had brought food, well, they refused to share it, which is just downright rude, if you ask me. I mean, I’m not above a bit of scavenging, but a bit of pie always goes down nice and…”

“But Kai! Tell me about Kai!”, cried Gerda, “Was he amongst the crowd?”

“Caw, now hang on, I was just coming to that,” said the crow, “Now, where was I? Oh yes. Two days of starving queues and mumbling fools, and not a scrap of pie or bread and butter for a poor crow when, on the third day, there came a little personage marching to the palace, cheerfully enough for all that he didn’t have a horse or carriage. His eyes sparkled like yours; he had beautiful long hair, but his clothes were very poor. He must have something about him though, for the queue said not a word as he marched past them and entered the palace ahead of them. Even threw a bit a sausage my way as he went inside. Good lad, I liked the cut of him.”

“That was Kai!” said Gerda joyfully, “Oh, then I have found him,” and she clapped her hands.

“He did have a little knapsack on his back,” added the crow.

“No, it must have been his sledge,” said Gerda, “for he went away with it.”

“Caw — could have been. Could have been,” replied the crow, “ I did not look at it very closely what with racing to get to that bit of sausage. But I know from my sweetheart in the palace that he passed through the palace gates, saw the guards in their silver uniform, and the servants in their liveries of gold of the stairs, and was not the least bit embarrassed. ‘It must be rather tiresome to stand on the stairs,’ he said, ‘I prefer to go in.’ And the rooms were blazing with light, all filled with councillors and ambassadors walking about in their bare feet, a bit like you really, carrying golden vessels. Caw, well, that would be enough to make anyone feel serious. Except not this boy. His boots creaked loudly as he walked, yet he was not at all uneasy.”

“It must be Kai,” said Gerda, “I know he had new boots on, I have hear them creak in grandmother’s room”

The crow cast her a sideways look. “Uh, caw, well, yes. Anyway, those boots really did creak, yet he went boldly up to the princess herself, who was sitting on a pearl as large as a spinning wheel, and almost all of the ladies of the court were present with their maids, the ones not being there making themselves busy with lads and lasses that had caught their eye during the first two days, if you remember, and all the cavaliers with their servants; and each of the maids had another maid to wait upon her, and the cavalier’s servants had their own servants, as well as a page each, so although I didn’t see it myself, I reckon that was bunch of cavaliers and servants that had plenty of sausage to go around. More so than those poor buggers starving in the street, anyway. And all of them, the ladies of the courts, the maids, the maids of the maids, the cavaliers, the servants, the pages of the servants, well they all stood in circles around the princess, and the nearer they stood to the door, the prouder they looked, they held themselves so proudly by the door. The servants’ pages, who always wore slippers, could hardly be looked at, they held themselves so proudly by the door. If you ask me it’s because they knew it’d be less hassle to slip out to the latrine if they got caught short but according to my sweetheart, apparently nothing to do with that.”

“It must be quite awful,” said Gerda, “but did Kai win the princess?”

“Well, I wouldn’t have said that he won her. Caw, no. Remember, she is a princess, and he was somebody who came in off the street, so if anybody in that relationship is going to be in charge it’s going to be her. Mind you, truth be told, if I were not a crow, and faithfully engaged, I would have married her myself, and she would have won herself a good prize there. But he spoke just as well as what I do, at least, what I do when I speak the crows’ language anyhows, or so I did hear from my sweetheart. He was quite free and agreeable and said he had not come to woo the princess, but to hear her wisdom; and he was pleased with her as she was with him. Which I reckon comes across more as cocky arrogance than confidence, but then I am a crow, and the princess seemed to think elsewise.”

“Oh, certainly that was Kai,” said Gerda, “he was so clever; he could work mental arithmetic and fractions. Oh, will you take me to the palace?”

“Mental arithmetic and fractions you say,” replied the crow, “Caw, well, I’m only a crow that speaks human so I can’t say how much use that would be to a prince, but what I do know is that while it’s easy to ask ‘Will you take me to the palace?’ the doing of it won’t be. I mean, how are we to manage it?”

“What about your sweetheart?” asked Gerda.

The crow looked puzzled. “Caw, I don’t know if she knows mental arithmetic and fractions.”

“No,” Gerda said, “I meant, can she get us into the palace?”

“Well, I can speak to her, and ask her advice, but I must tell you it will be very difficult to gain permission for a little girl like you to enter the palace.”

“Oh no, that will be easy,” replied Gerda,” for when Kai hears that I am here, he will come out and fetch me in immediately.”

“Caw, caw, I don’t know that the princess will be quite that willing to have you come into the palace to meet up with her betrothed, but wait here by the palings and I’ll find out what I can from my sweetheart”. And with that the crow wagged his head as he flew away.

It was late evening before the crow returned.

“Caw, caw,” he said, “she sends you greeting, my betrothed that is, and not the princess. Look, here is a little roll which she took from the kitchen from you; there is plenty of bread there, and although I pointed out that you seem a lot smarter than most of the people who queued we both think you must be hungry. Food is scarce to come by now that Winter-child has settled in for her stay in these lands.”

“Thank you for the roll,” said Gerda, taking it gratefully. “And the palace?”

“Caw, caw, well a bit of bad news there. It is not possible to enter the palace by the front entrance for the guards in silver uniform and the servants in gold livery would not allow it. But do not cry, because you’ll make your roll soggy. We will manage to get you in; my sweetheart knows a little back-staircase that leads to the sleeping apartments, and she knows where to find the key.”

And so, after finishing her roll, Gerda and her corvine companion went into the garden through the great avenue, where the leaves were falling one after another, faster than the snow, and they could see the lights in the palace being put out in the same manner. And the crow led Gerda to the back door, which stood ajar and not doubt was letting in a dreadful cold draft.

Oh! How Gerda’s heart beat with anxiety and longing; it was just as if she were going to do something wrong, and yet she only wanted to know where Kai was. “It must be he,” she thought, “with those clear eyes, and that long hair.” It was almost as if she could see him smiling at her, as used to at home, when they sat amongst the roses, before the church bell tolled that fateful noon. He would certainly be glad to see her, and hear what a long distance she had come for his sake, and to know how sorry they had been at home because he had not come back.

What joy and fear she felt, now standing on the stairs, ahead of her a small closet at the top where a lamp was burning. In the middle of the floor stood her companion’s sweetheart, turning her head from side to side, and gazing at Gerda, who curtseyed as her grandmother had taught her.

“My betrothed has spoken so very highly of you, my little lady,” said the crow, “your life-history — Vita, as it may be called — is very touching. If you will take the lamp I will walk before you. We will go straight along this way, when we shall meet no one.”

“It seems to me as if somebody were behind us,” said Gerda, as something rushed by her like a shadow on the wall, followed quickly by shadows of horses with flying manes and thin legs, hunters, ladies and gentlemen on horseback, all of which glided by her, but their shadows only, with no corporeal reality present to cast such darkness from the light.

“They are only dreams,” said the crow,” they are coming to fetch the thoughts of the great people out hunting.”

“All the better, for we shall be able to look at them in their beds more safely. I hope that when you rise to honour and favour, you will show a grateful heart.”

“You may be quite sure of that,” said the crow from the forest.

They came into the first hall, the walls of which were hung with rose-coloured satin, embroidered with flowers. Once more the dreams flitted past them, but now so quickly that Gerda could not distinguish person from person.

From there they passed into a succession of halls, each appearing more splendid than the last, enough to bewilder anyone. And, at last, they reached a bedroom. The ceiling was like a palm tree, with glass leaves of crystal, and in the centre of the floor two beds, each resembling a lily hanging from a stem of gold; one of white in which the princess lay, and one of red and it was in this bed that Gerda had to seek for Kai.

She pushed one of the red leaves aside and saw a neck. Oh, that must be Kai! She called his name out quite lout, and held the lamp over him. The dreams rushed back into the room and he awoke.

And it was not Kai. The prince was like him only in age and was otherwise quite different from Gerda’s Kai. Then the princess peeped out of her white lily bed and, being somewhat startled by a stranger and two crows appearing out of nowhere in the royal bedchambers still showed remarkable restraint and kindness in not immediately calling for the guards and, instead, asked Gerda what was the matter.

Gerda wept and told her story, and all the crows had done to help her.

“You poor child,” said the princess and the prince; then they praised the crows, and said they were no angry for what they had done, but that it must not happen again, Cook had asked if perhaps they could avoid leaving their droppings in the kitchen, and this time they should be rewarded.

“Would you like to have you freedom?” asked the princess, “or would you prefer to be raised to the position of court crows, with all that is left in the kitchen for yourselves, bearing in mind what the Cook had requested?”

Then both the crows bowed, and begged to have a fixed appointment, for they thought of their old age, and a freedom to starve to death didn’t sound as appealing as it might have once done. Instead it would be so comfortable to feel that they had provision for their old days, as they called it.

And then the prince got out of his bed, and gave it up to Gerda, — he could do no more. And as she lay down she folded her hands and thought, “How good everyone is to me, men and animals too” She closed her eyes and fell into a sweet sleep. All the dreams came flying back again to her, and they looked like angels, and one of them drew a little sledge, on which sat Kai, and nodded to her.

And outside Winter-child swirled through the land, chasing Somer-child, desperate to reach him for she loved him deeper than a brother, and Somer-child loved her more than a sister, forever chasing her, but both forever kept apart from each other by a crueller fate than I care to imagine.

But for Gerda all of this was only a dream, and vanished as soon as she awoke.

The following day saw Gerda dressed anew, swathed head to foot in silk and velvet, and the princess and the prince invited her to stay at the palace for a few days and enjoy herself, but she only begged for a pair of boots.

And a little carriage.

And a horse to draw it.

And some feed for the horse would be nice as well. Some food for Gerda wouldn’t go amiss, either.

And she obtained not only all of this, but also a muff, and she was neatly dressed for when she stepped into a coach of pure gold, with the coat-of-arms of the prince and princess shining upon it like a star, and the coach man, footman, and outriders all wearing golden crowns on their heads.

The princess and prince themselves helped her into the coach and wished her every success. The forest crow, now married, accompanied her for the first three miles sitting by Gerda’s side whilst his sweetheart stood in the door-way of the palace flapping her wings.

The coach was well stored with sweet cakes, and under the seat were fruit and gingerbread nuts, which is a story for another day, but does explain how gingerbread people came about.

“Farewell, farewell,” cried the princess and prince, and Gerda wept, and the crow wept, and then, after a few miles, the crow also said, “Farewell,” and this was the saddest parting. However, he flew to a tree, and stood flapping his black wings as long as he could see the coach, which glittered in the bright sunshine.

And in the far distance could be heard the weeping of the Winter-child.