The Halcyon Fairy Book Page 7

  Everyone in this fairy tale is either dead or unspeakably self-centered. “I ogled the girl and the fairy killed her, but now that she’s trapped in a horrible shadowy undeath, I enjoy ogling her from a distance, but find it annoying that I cannot actually press my sheeply attentions upon her.”

  “However, I noticed that one of my companions in misfortune was also very attentive to this little sprite, and I found out that he had been her lover, whom the cruel Ragotte had taken away from her long before; since then I have cared for, and thought of, nothing but how I might regain my freedom.

  It’s no fun ogling the dead when you know they’re the property of another enchanted sheep. (Dear god, how am I even in a situation where I am typing that in context?)

  “I have often been in the forest; that is where I have seen you, lovely Princess, sometimes driving your chariot, which you did with all the grace and skill in the world; sometimes riding to the chase on so spirited a horse that it seemed as if no one but yourself could have managed it, and sometimes running races on the plain with the Princesses of your Court — running so lightly that it was you always who won the prize. Oh!

  “Princess, I have loved you so long, and yet how dare I tell you of my love! what hope can there be for an unhappy sheep like myself?”

  Also, I’m a stalker sheep.

  Miranda was so surprised and confused by all that she had heard that she hardly knew what answer to give to the King of the Sheep, but she managed to make some kind of little speech, which certainly did not forbid him to hope, and said that she should not be afraid of the shadows now she knew that they would some day come to life again. “Alas!” she continued, “if my poor Patypata, my dear Grabugeon, and pretty little Tintin, who all died for my sake, were equally well off, I should have nothing left to wish for here!”

  Prisoner though he was, the King of the Sheep had still some powers and privileges. “Go,” said he to his Master of the Horse,

  The sheep have horses … ? Wow, this is getting kind of Animal Farm here.

  “go and seek the shadows of the little black girl, the monkey, and the dog: they will amuse our Princess.”

  Let’s trap them in shadowy undeath too! It’ll make her feel better!

  And an instant afterward Miranda saw them coming toward her, and their presence gave her the greatest pleasure, though they did not come near enough for her to touch them.

  I like to think they spent their off hours plotting to trap her in a hellish undeath, too.

  The King of the Sheep was so kind and amusing, and loved Miranda so dearly, that at last she began to love him too. Such a handsome sheep, who was so polite and considerate, could hardly fail to please,

  I realize that love will find a way and all, and of course he can talk, which is something, but … err … SHEEP! Jesus Christ, people! “Where the men are men, and the sheep are enchanted princes who are really kind of bastards.”

  especially if one knew that he was really a king, and that his strange imprisonment would soon come to an end. So the Princess’s days passed very gaily while she waited for the happy time to come. The King of the Sheep, with the help of all the flock, got up balls, concerts, and hunting parties, and even the shadows joined in all the fun, and came, making believe to be their own real selves.

  The horrible fraying of my soul in the black wind between worlds is hardly noticeable during the party!

  One evening, when the couriers arrived (for the King sent most carefully for news — and they always brought the very best kinds),

  I will admit, I do love that line. Almost Carroll-esque.

  it was announced that the sister of the Princess Miranda was going to be married to a great Prince, and that nothing could be more splendid than all the preparations for the wedding.

  “Ah!” cried the young Princess, “how unlucky I am to miss the sight of so many pretty things!

  Oh my god, could you be any more shallow?

  Here am I imprisoned under the earth, with no company but sheep and shadows, while my sister is to be adorned like a queen and surrounded by all who love and admire her, and everyone but myself can go to wish her joy!”

  Wish her joy. Uhhuh. Mind you, the line “no company but sheep and shadows” isn’t bad either. “I’m half-sick of sheep and shadows!” she said, in a very strange retelling of the Lady of Shalott …

  “Why do you complain, Princess?” said the King of the Sheep. “Did I say that you were not to go to the wedding? Set out as soon as you please; only promise me that you will come back, for I love you too much to be able to live without you.”

  Miranda was very grateful to him, and promised faithfully that nothing in the world should keep her from coming back. The King caused an escort suitable to her rank to be got ready for her, and she dressed herself splendidly, not forgetting anything that could make her more beautiful. Her chariot was of mother-of-pearl, drawn by six dun-colored griffins just brought from the other side of the world, and she was attended by a number of guards in splendid uniforms, who were all at least eight feet high and had come from far and near to ride in the Princess’s train.

  They were secretly hoping for a pickup basketball game with the other guards.

  Miranda reached her father’s palace just as the wedding ceremony began, and everyone, as soon as she came in, was struck with surprise at her beauty and the splendor of her jewels. She heard exclamations of admiration on all sides; and the King her father looked at her so attentively that she was afraid he must recognize her, but he was so sure that she was dead that the idea never occurred to him.

  However, the fear of not getting away made her leave before the marriage was over. She went out hastily, leaving behind her a little coral casket set with emeralds. On it was written in diamond letters: “Jewels for the Bride,” and when they opened it, which they did as soon as it was found, there seemed to be no end to the pretty things it contained. The King, who had hoped to join the unknown Princess and find out who she was, was dreadfully disappointed when she disappeared so suddenly, and gave orders that if she ever came again the doors were to be shut that she might not get away so easily.

  Some faint echoes of Cinderella here, again, but it’s getting a little creepy with the king.

  Short as Miranda’s absence had been, it had seemed like a hundred years to the King of the Sheep. He was waiting for her by a fountain in the thickest part of the forest, and the ground was strewn with splendid presents which he had prepared for her to show his joy and gratitude at her coming back.

  As soon as she was in sight he rushed to meet her, leaping and bounding like a real sheep. He caressed her tenderly, throwing himself at her feet and kissing her hands, and told her how uneasy he had been in her absence, and how impatient for her return, with an eloquence which charmed her.

  Is anyone else wondering how he’s doing all this caressing? I mean, the hooves … You know, let’s not speculate too closely.

  After some time came the news that the King’s second daughter was going to be married. When Miranda heard it she begged the King of the Sheep to allow her to go and see the wedding as before. This request made him feel very sad, as if some misfortune must surely come of it, but his love for the Princess being stronger than anything else he did not like to refuse her.

  “You wish to leave me, Princess,” said he; “it is my unhappy fate — you are not to blame. I consent to your going, but, believe me, I can give you no stronger proof of my love than by so doing.”

  The Princess assured him that she would only stay a very short time, as she had done before, and begged him not to be uneasy, as she would be quite as much grieved if anything detained her as he could possibly be.

  So, with the same escort, she set out, and reached the palace as the marriage ceremony began. Everybody was delighted to see her; she was so pretty that they thought she must be some fairy princess, and the Princes who were there could not take their eyes off her.

  The King was more glad than anyone else that she had
come again, and gave orders that the doors should all be shut and bolted that very minute. When the wedding was all but over the Princess got up quickly, hoping to slip away unnoticed among the crowd, but, to her great dismay, she found every door fastened.

  She felt more at ease when the King came up to her, and with the greatest respect begged her not to run away so soon, but at least to honor him by staying for the splendid feast which was prepared for the Princes and Princesses. He led her into a magnificent hall, where all the Court was assembled, and himself taking up the golden bowl full of water, he offered it to her that she might dip her pretty fingers into it.

  At this the Princess could no longer contain herself; throwing herself at the King’s feet, she cried out: “My dream has come true after all — you have offered me water to wash my hands on my sister’s wedding day, and it has not vexed you to do it.”

  Also, I have a death-wish!

  The King recognized her at once — indeed, he had already thought several times how much like his poor little Miranda she was.

  “Oh! my dear daughter,” he cried, kissing her, “can you ever forget my cruelty? I ordered you to be put to death because I thought your dream portended the loss of my crown. And so it did,” he added, “for now your sisters are both married and have kingdoms of their own — and mine shall be for you.” So saying he put his crown on the Princess’s head and cried:

  “Long live Queen Miranda!”

  Personally, my first order would be to send him into immediate exile. You’re obviously dealing with an unstable personality here, and tomorrow you just know he’s going to wake up and start the civil war.

  All the Court cried: “Long live Queen Miranda!” after him, and the young Queen’s two sisters came running up, and threw their arms round her neck, and kissed her a thousand times, and then there was such a laughing and crying, talking and kissing, all at once, and Miranda thanked her father, and began to ask after everyone — particularly the Captain of the Guard, to whom she owed so much; but, to her great sorrow, she heard that he was dead.

  Gee, if you’d thought of it, you could have trapped him in a horrible undeath too!

  Presently they sat down to the banquet, and the King asked Miranda to tell them all that had happened to her since the terrible morning when he had sent the Captain of the Guard to fetch her. This she did with so much spirit that all the guests listened with breathless interest. But while she was thus enjoying herself with the King and her sisters, the King of the Sheep was waiting impatiently for the time of her return, and when it came and went, and no Princess appeared, his anxiety became so great that he could bear it no longer.

  “She is not coming back any more,” he cried. “My miserable sheep’s face displeases her, and without Miranda what is left to me, wretched creature that I am! Oh! cruel Ragotte my punishment is complete.”

  Y’know, I might — just might — have gone “Oh, crap! Her father, who already tried to kill her once, figured out what was up and decided to finish the job! Maybe I should lay siege to the palace with my awesome SHEEP ARMY and figure out what’s going on before I automatically assume that she hates me because I’m a sheep!”

  I have different self-esteem issues than an enchanted sheep, though. I guess that’s a good thing.

  For a long time he bewailed his sad fate like this, and then, seeing that it was growing dark, and that still there was no sign of the Princess, he set out as fast as he could in the direction of the town. When he reached the palace he asked for Miranda, but by this time everyone had heard the story of her adventures, and did not want her to go back again to the King of the Sheep, so they refused sternly to let him see her.

  People are dicks. On the other hands, the sheep’s sort of a bastard, so maybe they’ve got the right idea.

  In vain he begged and prayed them to let him in; though his entreaties might have melted hearts of stone they did not move the guards of the palace, and at last, quite broken-hearted, he fell dead at their feet.

  Unexpected. Presumably he’ll be raised from the dead, right?

  In the meantime the King, who had not the least idea of the sad thing that was happening outside the gate of his palace, proposed to Miranda that she should be driven in her chariot all round the town, which was to be illuminated with thousands and thousands of torches, placed in windows and balconies, and in all the grand squares.

  No fire hazard is too great for my little princess!

  But what a sight met her eyes at the very entrance of the palace! There lay her dear, kind sheep, silent and motionless, upon the pavement!

  She threw herself out of the chariot and ran to him, crying bitterly, for she realized that her broken promise had cost him his life, and for a long, long time she was so unhappy that they thought she would have died too.

  … wait a minute, he’s actually dead-dead?

  So you see that even a princess is not always happy — especially if she forgets to keep her word; and the greatest misfortunes often happen to people just as they think they have obtained their heart’s desires!

  Dude.

  Dude.

  That’s a rather astonishing fuck-you to the audience at the end of the story, isn’t it? I mean, on the one hand, you figure with all those Beauty-and-the-Beast-esque endings where Beauty ALMOST doesn’t return in time, there’d have to be a case where she never did return at all, but still! Dude!

  My only theory is that the author didn’t much like Miranda either by the end, and decided to crush her.

  And I still want to know about Goblin Land, which you note never comes up again, and why the monkey was looking to make a name for herself. It’s such a weird aside that doesn’t go anywhere.

  Rains of lobster-patties. What a world.

  The Wonderful Birch

  Here we go, yet another one! I admit, however, that this is not so deeply bizarre as “The Wonderful Sheep,” but it still is … err … wonderful! And has sheep!

  This is a Russian version of the Cinderella story, and naturally has some bits that would never make the Disney cut, but also a few lines that I find surprisingly charming, and a weirdly sympathetic character who isn’t the heroine (to no one’s great surprise).

  This is from Andrew Lang’s Red Fairy Book (London: Longmans, Green, and Co., 1890).

  ONCE upon a time there were a man and a woman, who had an only daughter. Now it happened that one of their sheep went astray, and they set out to look for it, and searched and searched, each in a different part of the wood. Then the good wife met a witch, who said to her, “If you spit, you miserable creature, if you spit into the sheath of my knife, or if you run between my legs, I shall change you into a black sheep.”

  See, this is how you know it’s a fairy tale. Real fairy tales, as various people have pointed out, often have completely nonsensical elements. How many of us are really worried about random strangers spitting into the sheath of our knife, or running between our legs? I mean, sure, it would be unpleasant, but the issue just does not arise. It’s such a weird thing to warn somebody against.

  The woman neither spat, nor did she run between her legs, but yet the witch changed her into a sheep.

  The witch is totally not playing fair here. I’m all for people suffering horrible fates if they break the rules in a fairy tale, but when you don’t break the rules and they get you anyway, it’s dirty pool.

  Then she made herself look exactly like the woman, and called out to the good man, “Ho, old man, halloa! I have found the sheep already!”

  The man thought the witch was really his wife, and he did not know that his wife was the sheep; so he went home with her, glad at heart because his sheep was found. When they were safe at home the witch said to the man, “Look here, old man, we must really kill that sheep lest it run away to the wood again.”

  That’ll teach it!

  The man, who was a peaceable quiet sort of fellow, made no objections, but simply said, “Good, let us do so.”

  The daughter, however, had
overheard their talk, and she ran to the flock and lamented aloud, “Oh, dear little mother, they are going to slaughter you!”

  “Well, then, if they do slaughter me,” was the black sheep’s answer, “eat you neither the meat nor the broth that is made of me, but gather all my bones, and bury them by the edge of the field.”

  Okay, okay, hold on. First off, how did the daughter know? Was she watching the sheep get changed? Did the witch not notice her? This is a really big oversight! If I am going around turning people into sheep, I want the witnesses to be transheepified as well!

  Second, the sheep talks.

  Now, if I am this hypothetical daughter, I might think “There is no way that Dad will believe Mom is really a sheep and this is an imposter, and if I bring it up, the witch may kill me.” This would be quite understandable. But damnit, I have a talking sheep. This is proof! I just have to wait until the witch pops out to the corner store for a six-pack, get Dad out to the flock, and have the talking sheep say her piece!

  Furthermore, the witch’s work is REALLY shoddy if she leaves her victims the power of speech. That’s just crap witchery right there.

  The only thing that settles this for me is that perhaps there is something very gratifying about being a sheep, and Mom much prefers standing in a field with her brethren all day. Her speech is certainly philosophical. She has attained the Zen of sheepdom. Why fret? Today’s lambs are tomorrow’s mutton. The wool groweth and the wool is shearedeth away. Life, death, it’s all one in the great wheel of sheep.

  Shortly after this they took the black sheep from the flock and slaughtered it. The witch made pease-soup of it, and set it before the daughter. But the girl remembered her mother’s warning.

  Joseph Campbell said once that there was only one consistent rule in fairy tales —“Anyone that animals like, or whom they assist in any way, wins.” (Exceptions are made for a few classes of animals, I believe — wolves can go either way, and there’s a lot of freaky domestic animals belonging to giants and whatnot.) And this is mostly true. You can’t even go with “Be kind” or “Be polite” because now and again that bites you in the ass (and I’ll post one about that sometime here soon.)