El príncipe y la princesa

Gerda no tuvo más remedio que tomarse otro descanso. Y he aquí que en medio de la nieve, en el sitio donde se había sentado, saltó una gran corneja que llevaba buen rato allí contemplando a la niña y bamboleando la cabeza. Finalmente, le dijo: -¡Crac, crac, buenos días, buenos días!

No sabía decirlo mejor, pero sus intenciones eran buenas, y le preguntó adónde iba tan sola por aquellos mundos de Dios. 

Gerda comprendió muy bien la palabra sola y el sentido que encerraba. Contó, pues, a la corneja toda su historia y luego le preguntó si había visto a Kay.

La corneja hizo un gesto significativo con la cabeza y respondió: -¡A lo mejor!

-¿Cómo? ¿Crees que lo has visto? -exclamó la niña, besando al ave tan fuertemente que por poco la ahoga.

-¡Cuidado, cuidado! -protestó la corneja-. Me parece que era el pequeño Kay. Sin embargo, te ha olvidado por la princesa.

-¿Vive con una princesa? -preguntó Gerda.

-Sí, escucha -dijo la corneja-; pero me resulta difícil hablar tu lengua. Si entendieses la nuestra, te lo podría contar mejor.

-Lo siento, pero no la sé -respondió Gerda-. Mi abuelita sí la entendía, y también la lengua de las pes. ¡Qué lástima, que yo no la aprendiera!

-No importa -contestó la corneja-. Te lo contaré lo mejor que sepa; claro que resultará muy deficiente. Y le explicó lo que sabía.

-En este reino en que nos encontramos, vive una princesa de lo más inteligente; tanto, que se ha leído todos los periódicos del mundo, y los ha vuelto a olvidar. Ya ves si es lista. Uno de estos días estaba sentada en el trono -lo cual no es muy divertido, según dicen-; el hecho es que se puso a canturrear una canción que decía así: 

«¿Y si me buscara un marido?». «Oye, eso merece ser meditado», pensó, y tomó la resolución de casarse. Pero quería un marido que supiera responder cuando ella le hablara; un marido que no se limitase a permanecer plantado y lucir su distinción; esto era muy aburrido. Convocó entonces a todas las damas de la Corte, y cuando ellas oyeron lo que la Reina deseaba, se pusieron muy contentas. «¡Esto me gusta! -exclamaron todas-; hace unos días que yo pensaba también en lo mismo». 

Te advierto que todo lo que digo es verdad -observó la corneja-. Lo sé por mi novia, que tiene libre entrada en palacio; está domesticada. La novia era otra corneja, claro está. Pues una corneja busca siempre a una semejante y, naturalmente, es siempre otra corneja.

Los periódicos aparecieron enseguida con el monograma de la princesa dentro de una orla de corazones. Podía leerse en ellos que todo joven de buen parecer estaba autorizado a presentarse en palacio y hablar con la princesa; el que hablase con desenvoltura y sin sentirse intimidado, y desplegase la mayor elocuencia, sería elegido por la princesa como esposo. Puedes creerme -insistió la corneja-, es verdad, tan verdad como que estoy aquí ahora. Acudió una multitud de hombres, todo eran aglomeraciones y carreras, pero nada salió de ello, ni el primer día ni el segundo. Todos hablaban bien mientras estaban en la calle; pero en cuanto franqueaban la puerta de palacio y veían los centinelas en uniforme plateado y los criados con librea de oro en las escaleras, y los grandes salones iluminados, perdían la cabeza. Y cuando se presentaban ante el trono ocupado por la princesa, no sabían hacer otra cosa que repetir la última palabra que ella dijera, y esto a la princesa no le interesaba ni pizca. Era como si al llegar al salón del trono se les hubiese metido rapé en el estómago y hubiesen quedado aletargados, no despertando hasta encontrarse nuevamente en la calle; entonces recobraban el uso de la palabra. Y había una enorme cola que llegaba desde el palacio hasta la puerta de la ciudad. Yo estaba también, como espectadora. Y pasaban hambre y sed, pero en el palacio no se les servía ni un vaso de agua. Algunos, más listos, se habían traído bocadillos, pero no creas que los compartieran con el vecino. Pensaban: «Mejor que tenga cara de hambriento, así no lo querrá la princesa».

-Pero, ¿y Kay, y el pequeño Kay? -preguntó Gerda-. ¿Cuándo llegó? ¿Estaba entre la multitud?

-Espera, espera, ya saldrá el pequeño Kay. El tercer día se presentó un personajito, sin caballo ni coche, pero muy alegre. Sus ojos brillaban como los tuyos, tenía un cabello largo y hermoso, pero vestía pobremente.

-¡Era Kay! -exclamó Gerda, alborozada-. ¡Oh, lo he encontrado! Y dio una palmada.

-Llevaba un pequeño zurrón a la espalda -prosiguió la corneja. 

-No, debía de ser su trineo -replicó Gerda-, pues se marchó con el trineo.

-Es muy posible -admitió la corneja-, no me fijé bien; pero lo que sí sé, por mi novia domesticada, es que el tal individuo, al llegar a la puerta de palacio y ver la guardia en uniforme de plata y a los criados de la escalera en librea dorada, no se turbó lo más mínimo, sino que, saludándoles con un gesto de la cabeza, dijo: «Debe ser pesado estarse en la escalera; yo prefiero entrar». Los salones eran un ascua de luz; los consejeros privados y de Estado andaban descalzos llevando fuentes de oro. Todo era solemne y majestuoso. Los zapatos del recién llegado crujían ruidosamente, pero él no se inmutó.

-¡Es Kay, sin duda alguna! -repitió Gerda-. Sé que llevaba zapatos nuevos. Oí crujir sus suelas en casa de la abuelita.

-¡Ya lo creo que crujían! -prosiguió la corneja-, y nuestro hombre se presentó alegremente ante la princesa, la cual estaba sentada sobre una gran perla, del tamaño de un torno de hilar. Todas las damas de la Corte, con sus doncellas y las doncellas de las doncellas, y todos los caballeros con sus criados y los criados de los criados, que a su vez tenían asistente, estaban colocados en semicírculo; y cuanto más cerca de la puerta, más orgullosos parecían. Al asistente del criado del criado, que va siempre en zapatillas, uno casi no se atreve a mirarlo; tal es la altivez con que se está junto a la puerta.

-¡Debe ser terrible -exclamó Gerda-. ¿Y vas a decirme que Kay se casó con la princesa?

-De no haber sido yo corneja me habría quedado con ella, y esto que estoy prometido. Parece que él habló tan bien como lo hago yo cuando hablo en mi lengua; así me lo ha dicho mi novia domesticada. Era audaz y atractivo. No se había presentado para conquistar a la princesa, sino sólo para escuchar su conversación. Y la princesa le gustó, y ella, por su parte, quedó muy satisfecha con él.

-Sí, seguro que era Kay -dijo Gerda-. ¡Siempre ha sido tan inteligente! Fíjate que sabía calcular de memoria con quebrados. ¡Oh, por favor, llévame al palacio!

-¡Niña, qué pronto lo dices! -replicó la corneja-. Tendré que consultarlo con mi novia domesticada; seguramente podrá aconsejarnos, pues de una cosa estoy seguro: que jamás una chiquilla como tú será autorizada a entrar en palacio por los procedimientos reglamentarios.

-¡Sí, me darán permiso! -afirmó Gerda-. Cuando Kay sepa que soy yo, saldrá enseguida a buscarme.

-Aguárdame en aquella cuesta -dijo la corneja, y, saludándola con un movimiento de la cabeza, se alejó volando.

Cuando regresó, anochecía ya.

-¡Rah! ¡rah! -gritó-. Ella me ha encargado que te salude, y ahí va un panecillo que sacó de la cocina. Allí hay mucho pan, y tú debes de estar hambrienta. No es posible que entres en el palacio; vas descalza; los centinelas en uniforme de plata y los criados en librea de oro no te lo permitirán. Pero no llores, de un modo u otro te introducirás. Mi novia conoce una escalerita trasera que conduce al dormitorio, y sabe dónde hacerse con las llaves.

Se fueron al jardín, a la gran avenida donde las hojas caían sin parar; y cuando en el palacio se hubieron apagado todas las luces una tras otra, la corneja condujo a Gerda a una puerta trasera que estaba entornada.

¡Oh, cómo le palpitaba a la niña el corazón, de angustia y de anhelo! Le parecía como si fuera a cometer una mala acción, y, sin embargo, sólo quería saber si Kay estaba allí. Que estaba, era casi seguro; y en su imaginación veía sus ojos inteligentes, su largo cabello; lo veía sonreír como antes, cuando se reunían en casa entre las rosas. Sin duda estaría contento de verla, de enterarse del largo camino que había recorrido en su busca; de saber la aflicción de todos los suyos al no regresar él. ¡Oh, qué miedo, y, a la vez, qué contento!

Llegaron a la escalera, iluminada por una lamparilla colocada sobre un armario. En el suelo esperaba la corneja domesticada, volviendo la cabeza en todas direcciones. Miró a Gerda, que la saludó con una inclinación, tal como le enseñara abuelita.

-Mi prometido me ha hablado muy bien de usted, señorita -dijo la corneja domesticada-. Su biografía, como vulgarmente se dice, o sea, la historia de su vida, es, por otra parte, muy conmovedora. Haga el favor de coger la lámpara, y yo guiaré. Lo mejor es ir directamente por aquí, así no encontraremos a nadie.

-Tengo la impresión de que alguien nos sigue – exclamó Gerda; en efecto, algo pasó con un silbido; eran como sombras que se deslizaban por la pared, caballos de flotantes melenas y delgadas patas, cazadores, caballeros y damas cabalgando.

-Son sueños nada más -dijo la corneja-. Vienen a buscar los pensamientos de Su Alteza para llevárselos de caza. 

-Tanto mejor, así podrá usted contemplarla a sus anchas en la cama. Pero confío en que, si es usted elevada a una condición honorífica y distinguida, dará pruebas de ser agradecida.

-Puede estar segura de eso, intervino la corneja del bosque.

Llegaron al primer salón, tapizado de color de rosa, con hermosas flores en las paredes. Pasaban allí los sueños rumoreando, pero tan vertiginosos, que Gerda no pudo ver a los nobles personajes. Cada salón superaba al anterior en magnificencia; era para perder la cabeza. Al fin llegaron al dormitorio, cuyo techo parecía una gran palmera con hojas de cristal, pero cristal precioso; en el centro, de un grueso tallo de oro, colgaban dos camas, cada una semejante a un lirio. En la primera, blanca, dormía la princesa; en la otra, roja, Gerda debía buscar a Kay. Separó una de las hojas encarnadas y vio un cuello moreno. ¡Era Kay! Pronunció su nombre en voz alta, acercando la lámpara -los sueños volvieron a pasar veloces por la habitación-, él se despertó, volvió la cabeza y… ¡no era Kay! El príncipe se le parecía sólo por el pescuezo, pero era joven y guapo. La princesa, parpadeando por entre la blanca hoja de lirio, preguntó qué ocurría. Gerda rompió a llorar y le contó toda su historia y lo que por ella habían hecho las cornejas.

-¡Pobre pequeña! -exclamaron los príncipes; elogiaron a las cornejas y dijeron que no estaban enfadados, aunque aquello no debía repetirse. Por lo demás, recibirían una recompensa.

-¿Prefieren marcharse libremente -preguntó la princesa- o quedarse en palacio en calidad de cornejas de Corte, con derecho a todos los desperdicios de la cocina?

Las dos cornejas se inclinaron respetuosamente y manifestaron que optaban por el empleo fijo, pues pensaban en la vejez y en que sería muy agradable contar con algo positivo para cuando aquella llegase. El príncipe se levantó de la cama y la cedió a Gerda; realmente no podía hacer más. Ella cruzó las manos, pensando: «¡Qué buenas son las personas y los animales, después de todo!», y cerrando los ojos, se quedó dormida. Acudieron de nuevo todos los sueños, y creyó ver angelitos de Dios que guiaban un trineo en el que viajaba Kay, el cual la saludaba con la cabeza. Pero todo aquello fue un sueño, y se desvaneció en el momento de despertarse.

Al día siguiente la vistieron de seda y terciopelo de pies a cabeza. La invitaron a quedarse en palacio, donde lo pasaría muy bien; pero ella pidió sólo un cochecito con un caballo y un par de zapatitos, para seguir corriendo el mundo en busca de Kay. 

Le dieron zapatos y un manguito y la vistieron primorosamente, y cuando se dispuso a partir, había en la puerta una carroza nueva de oro puro; los escudos del príncipe y de la princesa brillaban en ella como estrellas. El cochero, criados y postillones -pues no faltaban tampoco los postillones-, llevaban sendas coronas de oro. Los príncipes en persona la ayudaron a subir al coche y le desearon toda clase de venturas. La corneja silvestre, que ya se había casado, la acompañó un trecho de tres millas, posada a su lado, pues no podía soportar ir de espaldas. La otra corneja se quedó en la puerta batiendo las alas; no siguió porque desde que contaba con un empleo fijo, sufría de dolores de cabeza, pues comía con exceso. El interior del coche estaba acolchado con rosquillas de azúcar, y en el asiento había fruta y mazapán.

-¡Adiós, adiós! -gritaron el príncipe y la princesa; y Gerda lloraba, y lloraba también la corneja-. Al cabo de unas millas se despidió también ésta, y resultó muy dura aquella despedida. Se subió volando a un árbol, y permaneció en él agitando las negras alas hasta que desapareció el coche, que relucía como el sol.

The Prince and Princess

“GERDA was obliged to rest again, and just opposite the place where she sat, she saw a great crow come hopping across the snow toward her. He stood looking at her for some time, and then he wagged his head and said, “Caw, caw; good-day, good-day.” 

He pronounced the words as plainly as he could, because he meant to be kind to the little girl; and then he asked her where she was going all alone in the wide world.

The word alone Gerda understood very well, and knew how much it expressed. So then she told the crow the whole story of her life and adventures, and asked him if he had seen little Kay.

The crow nodded his head very gravely, and said, “Perhaps I have—it may be.”

“No! Do you think you have?” cried little Gerda, and she kissed the crow, and hugged him almost to death with joy.

“Gently, gently,” said the crow. “I believe I know. I think it may be little Kay; but he has certainly forgotten you by this time for the princess.”

“Does he live with a princess?” asked Gerda.

“Yes, listen,” replied the crow, “but it is so difficult to speak your language. If you understand the crows’ language1 then I can explain it better. Do you?”

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

“It does not matter,” answered the crow; “I will explain as well as I can, although it will be very badly done;” and he told her what he had heard. 

“In this kingdom where we now are,” said he, “there lives a princess, who is so wonderfully clever that 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 people say is not such an agreeable seat as is often supposed, she began to sing a song which commences in these words:

‘Why should I not be married?’ ‘Why not indeed?’ said she, and so she determined to marry if she could find a husband who knew what to say when he was spoken to, and not one who could only look grand, for that was so tiresome. Then she assembled all her court ladies together at the beat of the drum, and when they heard of her intentions they were very much pleased. ‘We are so glad to hear it,’ said they, ‘we were talking about it ourselves the other day.’ 

"You may believe that every word I tell you is true,” said the crow, “for I have a tame sweetheart who goes freely about the palace, and she told me all this. Of course his sweetheart was a crow, for “birds of a feather flock together,” and one crow always chooses another crow.

“Newspapers were published immediately, with a border of hearts, and the initials of the princess among them. They gave notice 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 when spoken to, were to make themselves quite at home at the palace; but the one who spoke best would be chosen as a husband for the princess. Yes, yes, you may believe me, it is all as true as I sit here,” said the crow. “The people came in crowds. There was a great deal of crushing and running about, but no one succeeded either on the first or second day. They could all speak very well while they were outside in the streets, but when they entered the palace gates, and saw the guards in silver uniforms, and the footmen in their golden livery on the staircase, and the great halls lighted up, they became quite confused. And when they stood before the throne on which the princess sat, they could do nothing but repeat the last words she had said; and she had no particular wish to hear her own words over again. It was just as if they had all taken something to make them sleepy while they were in the palace, for they did not recover themselves nor speak till they got back again into the street. There was quite a long line of them reaching from the town-gate to the palace. I went myself to see them,” said the crow. “They were hungry and thirsty, for at the palace they did not get even a glass of water. Some of the wisest had taken a few slices of bread and butter with them, but they did not share it with their neighbors; they thought if they went in to the princess looking hungry, there would be a better chance for themselves.”

“But Kay! tell me about little Kay!” said Gerda, “was he amongst the crowd?”

“Stop a bit, we are just coming to him. It was on the third day, there came marching cheerfully along to the palace a little personage, without horses or carriage, his eyes sparkling like yours; he had beautiful long hair, but his clothes were very poor.”

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

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

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

“It may have been so,” said the crow; “I did not look at it very closely. But I know from my tame sweetheart that he passed through the palace gates, saw the guards in their silver uniform, and the servants in their liveries of gold on the stairs, but he was not in the least embarrassed. ‘It must be very tiresome to stand on the stairs,’ he said. ‘I prefer to go in.’ The rooms were blazing with light. Councillors and ambassadors walked about with bare feet, carrying golden vessels; it was enough to make any one feel serious. His boots creaked loudly as he walked, and yet he was not at all uneasy.”

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

“They really did creak,” said the crow, “yet he went boldly up to the princess herself, who was sitting on a pearl as large as a spinning wheel, and all the ladies of the court were present with their maids, and all the cavaliers with their servants; and each of the maids had another maid to wait upon her, and the cavaliers’ servants had their own servants, as well as a page each. They all stood in circles round the princess, and the nearer they stood to the door, the prouder they looked. The servants’ pages, who always wore slippers, could hardly be looked at, they held themselves up so proudly by the door.”

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

“If I had not been a crow,” said he, “I would have married her myself, although I am engaged. He spoke just as well as I do, when I speak the crows’ language, so I heard from my tame 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 as pleased with her as she was with him.”

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

“It is very easy to ask that,” replied the crow, “but how are we to manage it? However, I will speak about it to my tame sweetheart, and ask her advice; for I must tell you it will be very difficult to gain permission for a little girl like you to enter the palace.”

“Oh, yes; but I shall gain permission easily,” said Gerda, “for when Kay hears that I am here, he will come out and fetch me in immediately.”

“Wait for me here by the palings,” said the crow, wagging his head as he flew away.

It was late in the evening before the crow returned. 

“Caw, caw,” he said, “she sends you greeting, and here is a little roll which she took from the kitchen for you; there is plenty of bread there, and she thinks you must be hungry. It is not possible for you to enter the palace by the front entrance. The guards in silver uniform and the servants in gold livery would not allow it. But do not cry, 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.”

Then they went into the garden through the great avenue, where the leaves were falling one after another, and they could see the light in the palace being put out in the same manner. And the crow led little Gerda to the back door, which stood ajar. 

Oh! how little 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 little Kay was. “It must be he,” she thought, “with those clear eyes, and that long hair.” She could fancy she saw him smiling at her, as he used to at home, when they sat among the roses. He would certainly be glad to see her, and to hear what a long distance she had come for his sake, and to know how sorry they had been at home because he did not come back. Oh what joy and yet fear she felt! 

They were now on the stairs, and in a small closet at the top a lamp was burning. In the middle of the floor stood the tame crow, turning her head from side to side, and gazing at Gerda, who curtseyed as her grandmother had taught her to do.

“My betrothed has spoken so very highly of you, my little lady,” said the tame 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, then 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, and then horses with flying manes and thin legs, hunters, ladies and gentlemen on horseback, glided by her, like shadows on the wall.

“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 honor and favor, you will show a grateful heart.”

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

They now came into the first hall, the walls of which were hung with rose-colored satin, embroidered with artificial flowers. Here the dreams again flitted by them but so quickly that Gerda could not distinguish the royal persons. Each hall appeared more splendid than the last, it was enought to bewilder any one. At length they reached a bedroom. The ceiling was like a great palm-tree, with glass leaves of the most costly crystal, and over the centre of the floor two beds, each resembling a lily, hung from a stem of gold. One, in which the princess lay, was white, the other was red; and in this Gerda had to seek for little Kay. She pushed one of the red leaves aside, and saw a little brown neck. Oh, that must be Kay! She called his name out quite loud, and held the lamp over him. The dreams rushed back into the room on horseback. He woke, and turned his head round, it was not little Kay! The prince was only like him in the neck, still he was young and pretty. Then the princess peeped out of her white-lily bed, and asked what was the matter. Then little Gerda wept and told her story, and all that the crows had done to help her.

“You poor child,” said the prince and princess; then they praised the crows, and said they were not angry for what they had done, but that it must not happen again, and this time they should be rewarded.

“Would you like to have your 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?”

Then both the crows bowed, and begged to have a fixed appointment, for they thought of their old age, and said 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 she lay down. She folded her little hands, and thought, “How good everyone is to me, men and animals too;” then 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 Kay, and nodded to her. But all this was only a dream, and vanished as soon as she awoke.

The following day she was dressed from head to foot in silk and velvet, and they 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, so that she might go into the wide world to seek for Kay. 

And she obtained, not only boots, but also a muff, and she was neatly dressed; and when she was ready to go, there, at the door, she found a coach made of pure gold, with the coat-of-arms of the prince and princess shining upon it like a star, and the coachman, footman, and outriders all wearing golden crowns on their heads. The prince and princess themselves helped her into the coach, and wished her success. The forest crow, who was now married, accompanied her for the first three miles; he sat by Gerda’s side, as he could not bear riding backwards. The tame crow stood in the door-way flapping her wings. She could not go with them, because she had been suffering from headache ever since the new appointment, no doubt from eating too much. The coach was well stored with sweet cakes, and under the seat were fruit and gingerbread nuts. 

“Farewell, farewell,” cried the prince and princess, and little 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.