The Queen the Princes and the Mermaid Read online

  And Gerda told her everything. The old woman shook her head and said, “Hmm! hmm!” When Gerda had finished and asked her if she’d seen Kai, the old woman said he hadn’t come by, but he surely would. Gerda mustn’t be sad – she should just taste the woman’s cherries and look at her flowers. They were prettier than any picture book, and each flower could tell an entire story. Then the woman took Gerda by the hand. They went inside the little house, and the old woman shut the door.

  The windows were placed up high, with red, blue, and yellow glass. The daylight looked very odd in there with all the colours. But on the table were the prettiest cherries, and Gerda ate as many as she wanted – she wasn’t afraid. And as she ate, the old woman combed Gerda’s hair with a golden comb, and the hair curled and shone pretty and yellow around Gerda’s small friendly face, which was round and looked just like a rose.

  “What a sweet little girl,” the old woman said. “Just what I’ve always longed for. Now you’ll see how well we get along!” And the more she combed Gerda’s hair, the more the girl forgot about Kai, even though he’d been like a brother to her. For the old woman practised witchcraft, though she was not an evil witch; she just did a little magic for her own pleasure. And what she wanted now was to keep the young girl for herself.

  So she went out into her garden and stretched her crook toward all the roses. The roses were blooming quite prettily, but now they sank down into the black soil so that you couldn’t tell where they had been. The old woman was afraid that if Gerda saw them, she’d start thinking of her roses back home and then remember Kai – and run away.

  Now the old woman led Gerda back out into the flower garden. My goodness! Such beauty and fine smells! Every imaginable flower from the entire year stood there in the most magnificent blossom. No picture book could be more colourful or gorgeous. Gerda leapt with joy and played until the sun went down behind the tall cherry trees. Then she was given a fine bed, with red silk blankets stuffed with blue violets. She fell asleep and dreamt as gloriously as a queen on her wedding day.

  In the morning, she played with the flowers again in the warm sunshine. And in this way, many days passed.

  Gerda knew each and every flower – yet in spite of their great number, it seemed that one was missing. But which one? She couldn’t say. Then one day she was sitting and looking at the old woman’s sunhat, and its painted flowers. She noticed that the prettiest of them all was the rose – for the old woman had forgotten to take it off her hat when she made the real roses vanish into the earth. That’s what happens when you don’t think things through!

  “What!” said Gerda. “Aren’t there any roses here?” She leapt from flowerbed to flowerbed, searching and searching, but there were none to be found. Then she sat down and wept. Her tears fell on the exact spot where a rosebush had sunk into the earth. And when her hot tears had watered the ground, the rosebush immediately sprang up and burst into flower, just as it had been before it sank. Gerda embraced it and kissed the roses, thinking of her lovely roses at home. And then she thought of Kai.

  “Oh no, I’m so late!” she exclaimed. “I was supposed to find Kai! Do you know where he is?” she asked the roses. “Do you think he’s dead and gone?”

  “He’s not dead,” the roses said. “We’ve been down in the earth, where all the dead are – and Kai wasn’t there!”

  “Thank you so much!” Gerda went over to the other flowers and peered into their blossoms, asking, “Do you know where dear Kai is?”

  But as each flower stood there in the sun, it was dreaming its own story. Gerda heard lots and lots of them, but none of the flowers knew anything about Kai.

  And what did the fire lily say?

  “Do you hear the drum? Boom! boom! Just two tones, always boom! boom! Listen to the dirge of the women! Listen to the shout of the priests! The Hindu wife stands on top of the bonfire in her long red dress, the flames leaping up around her and her dead husband. But the person the Hindu wife is thinking about is still alive! He’s here in the crowd – the man whose eyes burn hotter than the flames, the man whose fiery eyes touch her heart more than the flames that will soon burn her body to ash. Will the fire of her heart die in the bonfire flames?”

  “I don’t understand that one bit!” said Gerda.

  “It’s my fairytale,” the fire lily said.

  And what did the morning glory say?

  “Above a narrow mountain road, a castle clings to the rock. Thick periwinkle covers the ancient red walls, leaf by leaf; it covers the balcony. And there stands a lovely girl. She bends over the edge of the parapet and peers down the mountain pass. No rose on its stem blooms more freshly than she does; no apple blossom, when the wind carries it from the tree, drifts more delicately. How her splendid silk gown rustles! And she wonders: ‘Is he coming?’”

  “Are you talking about Kai?” asked Gerda.

  “I only tell my tale,” the morning glory said. “My dream.”

  What did the little snowdrop say?

  “Among the trees, a long board is hanging from ropes: a swing. Two charming girls – their dresses white as snow, long green ribbons of silk fluttering from their hats – sit and swing, while their big brother stands upon the board. He has an arm wrapped around one rope to hold himself up, for he has a small bowl in one hand and a clay pipe in the other; he’s blowing soap bubbles. The swing moves back and forth, and the bubbles float with lovely, changing colours. The last bubble hangs on the pipestem, the bubble bulges in the breeze; the swing moves back and forth. Their little black dog stands on its hind legs, light as the bubbles; it wants to join them on the swing. The swing is flying and the dog tumbles, barks, gets upset; it feels it’s being teased. The bubbles pop. A swinging board, reflected in a bubble as it bursts – that is my song!”

  “A pretty picture, perhaps – but you say it so sadly. And you don’t talk about Kai at all! What does the hyacinth say?”

  “There once were three charming sisters, delicate and fair. The first sister’s gown was red, the second sister’s blue, the third’s quite white. Hand in hand, they danced beside the still lake in the bright moonlight. They were not elf-girls; they were human. Then there came a very sweet smell, and the girls disappeared into the forest. The sweet smell grew stronger. Three coffins – with the three girls inside – drift from the thick forest across the lake. Fireflies hover, glowing like small candles in the air. Are the dancing girls asleep, or are they dead? The smell of flowers says they are corpses. The evening bell tolls for the dead!”

  “You grieve me greatly,” Gerda said. “Your smell is so strong, I can’t help thinking of the dead girls! Oh dear – is Kai really dead then? The roses have been down in the earth, and they say he isn’t!”

  “Ding-dong!” tolled the hyacinth’s bells. “We do not ring for Kai, because we don’t know who he is. We only sing our song – the only one we can!”

  Then Gerda went over to the buttercup, which was shining in the middle of its green glossy leaves.

  “You’re a bright little sun!” said Gerda. “Tell me, if you know – where can I find my playmate?”

  The buttercup shone radiantly and gazed at Gerda. What song would the buttercup sing? But it wasn’t about Kai either.

  “In a small courtyard, the glorious sun shines warmly on the first day of spring; its rays slide down the neighbour’s white wall. The first yellow flowers grow close by, gleaming gold in the hot sunbeams. An old grandmother is sitting out in her chair. Her granddaughter, the beautiful poor servant girl, has come home for a quick visit; she kisses her grandmother. There is gold – heart’s gold – in that blessed kiss. Gold on the mouth, gold in the earth, gold high in the early morning air! There,” said the buttercup, “that’s my little story!”

  “Poor old Grandmother!” Gerda sighed. “Yes, she must be longing for me, she must be grieving – just like she grieved for dear Kai. But I
’m going home soon, and I’ll bring Kai with me… It’s no good asking the flowers, they only know their own songs. They don’t tell me anything!”

  And Gerda gathered up her little dress so she could run more quickly. But the narcissus struck her leg as she jumped over it. She stopped and looked at the tall yellow flower and said, “Perhaps you know something?” And she bent down to the narcissus. And what did it say?

  “I can see myself, I can see myself!” it exclaimed. “Oh, what a strong scent I have! Up in a tiny attic room, half dressed, stands a little dancer. Now she stands on one leg, now two, she kicks for the entire world to see; she’s just a trick of the light. She pours water from the teapot onto a piece of clothing in her hand; it’s her corset. Being clean is being good! Her white dress hangs on a hook. It too has been washed in the teapot and dried on the roof. She puts it on and then wraps her scarf around her neck. The scarf is saffron yellow, which makes the dress shine even more whitely. Leg in the air – see how she struts on one stalk! I can see myself! I can see myself!”

  “I don’t care one bit!” said Gerda. “That’s not something to tell me!” And she ran to the edge of the garden.

  The door was shut, but she twisted the rusty latch until it came free and the door sprang open. Then out she ran on bare feet into the great wide world. She looked behind her three times, but no one came after her. She ran until she couldn’t run anymore and sat down on a large rock. She looked around. Summer had passed, and it was late autumn. She hadn’t been able to see that in the lovely garden, where there’d always been sunshine and flowers from every time of year.

  “Goodness, I’m so late!” Gerda cried. “It’s autumn now – so I don’t dare rest!” And she stood up to walk.

  Oh, how her little feet grew tender and tired; how everything looked cold and raw. The long willow leaves were quite yellow, and the mist dripped in droplets from their tips, one leaf falling after another. Only the blackthorn still stood with fruit, tight and bitter. Oh, how the wide world was heavy and grey.

  Fourth Story

  THE PRINCE AND PRINCESS

  Gerda had to rest again. Then, just across from where she was sitting, a large crow began hopping up and down on a stone. It had been perching there a while, looking at her and waggling its head. Now it said, “Caw! caw! Goo’ daw, goo’ daw!” The crow couldn’t say it any more clearly than that, but it wanted to help the young girl. It asked her where she was going, all alone in the great world. Alone: Gerda understood that word very well, she felt how heavy it was. So she told the crow her whole life story and asked: had it maybe seen Kai?

  The crow nodded thoughtfully and said, “Could be! could be!”

  “Do you think so?” And she kissed the crow so hard that she nearly squished it to death.

  “Easy now, easy now!” said the crow. “I think I know – I think it might be young Kai! But I dare say he’s forgotten you for the princess now!”

  “Is he staying with a princess?” asked Gerda.

  “Yes, listen here!” said the crow. “But it’s so hard for me to speak your language. If you understood crow, I could explain it better.”

  “No, I haven’t learned crow,” said Gerda. “But Grandmother knows it, and she speaks pigeon too. If only I’d learned!”

  “No matter!” said the crow. “I’ll tell you as best I can, but I’m afraid I won’t do it very well.” And then it told her what it knew.

  “In this kingdom, there lives a princess who is terribly clever. She’s read all the newspapers in the world and then forgotten them – that’s how clever she is. A little while ago she was sitting on her throne – and they say in fact it’s not much fun, sitting on a throne. She found herself humming a tune that goes, ‘Why Shouldn’t I Marry?’ ‘Hey,’ she said, ‘that’s not such a bad idea.’ And so the princess decided to get married. But she wanted a husband who could answer when she spoke to him – not just someone who stood there and looked respectable, for that would be deadly dull. She called together all the ladies in her court, and when they heard what she wanted, they were delighted. ‘A marvellous idea!’ they cried. ‘We were just thinking the very same thing!’ Believe me,” said the crow, “every word I say is true, every word. I have a tame sweetheart who flies freely about the palace, and she tells me everything!

  “The newspapers rushed out a special edition,” the crow went on, “with a border of hearts and the princess’s signature. It said that every pleasant young man was invited to come to the palace and speak with the princess. Whoever spoke best and sounded like he belonged there – well, the princess would take him as her husband!

  “Yes, yes!” the crow said. “You can take my word for it, as sure as I’m perching here: the men came streaming in. Such a rush and a crush! Yet nothing came of it the first day, and nothing the second day either. All the young men were able to speak just fine when they were out on the street. But when they came in through the palace gate and saw the guards dressed in silver, and the footmen on the stairs in gold, and the great rooms full of light, they became confused. They stood before the throne where the princess was seated, and the only thing they could say was the last word that the princess had just said. And she wasn’t very interested in hearing that again! It was as if the men got snuff in their bellies and fell into a trance until they went back onto the street again – yes, then they could talk. There was a line there that reached from the palace to the city gates. I went to see it myself!” the crow said. “The men waiting grew hungry and thirsty, but the palace wouldn’t give them so much as a warm glass of water. Some of the smarter ones probably took a sandwich along, but they didn’t share it with their neighbours in the line. They were thinking, ‘Let him look hungry – then the princess won’t choose him!’”

  “But what about Kai?” asked Gerda. “When did he come? Was he with all the others?”

  “Hold on, hold on! I’m just getting to him. It was on the third day, when a small fellow arrived with neither horse nor wagon. He walked right up to the palace as bold as brass. His eyes were shining like yours and he had lovely long hair, but his clothes were ragged.”

  “That was Kai!” shouted Gerda with joy. “Ah, so I’ve found him!” She clapped her hands together.

  “He had a small backpack,” said the crow.

  “No, that was probably his sled,” said Gerda. “He took his sled when he left.”

  “Could be! could be!” said the crow. “I wasn’t watching closely. But I know from my tame sweetheart that when he went through the palace gate and saw the palace guards in silver and the footmen up the stairs in gold, he wasn’t downhearted at all. He nodded to them and said, ‘It must be dull to stand on the stairs, I’d rather go inside!’ The large rooms blazed with light. Ministers and privy councillors were walking around in bare feet carrying golden platters; they could make anyone feel solemn. The boy’s boots creaked terribly loudly, but he wasn’t afraid at all!”

  “That must have been Kai!” Gerda shouted. “I know he had new boots – I heard them creaking in Grandmother’s room!”

  “They certainly creaked!” cried the crow. “And he marched straight in to see the princess. She was sitting on a pearl the size of a spinning wheel. All the court ladies, with their maids and maids’ maids, and all the gentlemen-in-waiting, with their servants and servants’ servants and the pageboys of their servants’ servants, stood arranged about her. And the closer they stood to the door, the prouder they looked. The pageboy of a servants’ servant always goes about in slippers, but he’s nearly impossible to look at in the doorway, he stands there so proud!”

  “How awful!” said Gerda. “And yet Kai still won the princess!”

  “If I hadn’t been a crow, I would have married her myself, even though I’m already engaged. I’m told he spoke just as well as I speak when I speak crow – so says my sweetheart. The boy was cheerful and charming. He hadn’t come to
propose marriage; he just wanted to hear how clever the princess was. It pleased him – and he pleased her!”

  “Of course he did – it was Kai!” cried Gerda. “He’s so clever he can do fractions in his head. Please, won’t you show me into the palace?”

  “Easy to say, easy to say!” said the crow. “But how shall we do that? I’ll have to ask my sweetheart; she can give us advice. Because I must say, a little girl like you will never be allowed very far inside.”

  “Yes I will!” said Gerda. “When Kai hears I’m outside, he’ll come straight out and get me!”

  “Wait for me over there by the fence,” the crow said. Then it waggled its head and flew off.

  The crow didn’t return until it was dark. “How nice, how nice!” it cried. “She sends her warmest greetings, my sweetheart does. And here’s a bit of bread for you – she took it from the kitchen, there’s plenty of bread there and you must be hungry. But it’s quite impossible for you to get into the palace. You have bare feet, after all, and the guards in silver and the footmen in gold will not permit it. But don’t cry, we’ll get you inside. My sweetheart knows a little back stairway that leads to the sleeping chambers – and she knows where to get the key!”

  And so they went to the palace and walked into the gardens and along the wide avenue, where one leaf fell after the other. They waited until the lights went off in the palace, one by one, and then the crow led Gerda to a back door that stood open a crack.

  How her heart beat with fright and longing! It was as if she were about to do something bad – but she just wanted to know whether Kai was there. It must be him, it must! She could see his clever eyes in front of her, his long hair; she could see just the way he smiled, like when they were sitting beneath the roses at home. Surely he would be glad to see her, to hear what a long way she had travelled for his sake, and how sad everyone at home had been when he didn’t return. Ah, she felt such fear and joy.