“I want my mother,” said Princess Corey.
When mother and daughter were reunited, there was dancing and feasting throughout the fairy realm. The fairies rejoiced, and the world rejoiced with them. Green buds sprang from apparently dead trees. The clouds dispersed; the sun shone. The air grew warmer. Once again breezes could blow, stars could glow, streams could flow, and the earth could grow good things. Flowers bloomed. Fruits ripened. Mass starvation was averted.
Queen Dea Mater gave Zooz his promised reward, dominion over the heavens. But before setting out to his castle in the sky, he warned her that Corey was still bonded to the underworld on account of having eaten its magic fruit. “There is no antidote to that charm,” he said. “She will have to dwell in Pluton’s kingdom for half of each year. But you may look forward to her return every spring.”
Dea Mater didn’t like this, but she agreed that not even powerful fairies could resist the charm. She took another way around the difficulty. She began to train Princess Corey to accept her fate with equanimity and to turn it to her advantage. Instead of spending her time underground helpless with despair, Corey was to exert herself to gain power over Pluton and make herself the undisputed queen of the kingdom of the dead.
Dea Mater trained her well. When Princess Corey was forced to return to the underworld at the end of half a year, she no longer sighed or pined. She greeted the dark lord with grace and confidence. She joined him at the state banquet and ate heartily. She admired and appreciated his jewels. She asked questions about the operations of his government and about the trolls’ mining activities. Gratified by her attention and delighted to see that her half year aboveground had restored her beauty, Pluton fell in love with her. Soon she had him so totally besotted that he could deny her nothing.
Following her mother’s good advice, Princess Corey became the true queen of the dead, whom she treated with kindness. She took the name of Queen Crone and the title of Lady Death. When earth people felt death coming on, they appealed to her because she seemed both more powerful and more merciful than the king of the trolls. Little by little, year by year, she moved herself onto Pluton’s throne and became the most feared and adored of underworld spirits.
During her annual absence, Dea Mater grieved and the earth languished. Winter returned. But each year Princess Corey came back to visit her mother, and the fairies’ festivities brought life back to the world. So the years were divided into winters and summers, with transitional seasons of anticipation in spring and melancholy in the fall.
Since the fairies kept their hold on the earth for half the year at least, King Pluton considered that Zooz had not fully kept his part of their bargain and refused to give back his eye. He sent a message to the new lord of the heavens, saying, “I have only half the dominion of the earth and must give up my queen for half the year. Therefore you deserve only half the faculty of vision.”
Zooz was furious. He ranted about the perfidy of underground folk, calling Pluton names like Father of Lies, Great Deceiver, Adversary, and Evil One. He taught the humans to fear and hate the underworld and its denizens, even the ghosts who were their own ancestors. He turned against the fairies because of their half-and-half pact with Pluton, and he even dared to describe Dea Mater as a mother of devils.
Zooz envied the awe that humans accorded the powers of the nether regions. He tried to turn it onto himself by claiming sole responsibility for earthly deaths, rebirths, punishments, rewards, rules, and regulations. He became increasingly conceited and autocratic. He abused his human slaves by visiting arbitrary punishments on them, forcing them to make war on one another over trifling differences of opinion about his worship. He commanded them to despise some of the few things that made their lives worth living, such as love and physical pleasures. In the end he became quite irrational, but he gained enough power to force the fairies underground along with their Queen Crone and to have them identified in many human minds with powers of darkness.
Ironically, Zooz’s manipulations actually did expand the lands of the dead exponentially, as the humans died in inconceivably large numbers and joined the ghost population. Death began to be so commonplace in the human world that the people even got used to Zooz’s seemingly insane directive to inflict it on fellow members of their own species. Some of the most violent among them were those most devoted to the lord of heaven.
Still, some of the humans remembered that it was Dea Mater and not Zooz who brought the earth its annual flowering, who caused the breeze to blow, the stars to glow, the streams to flow, and the earth to grow good things. Some remembered the fairies as beneficent spirits and sought contact with them. Some worshiped King Pluton and Queen Crone, on the ground that death was inevitably stronger than life, and deities of the dark, solid earth were closer to human affairs than those of the thin airs of heaven. Moreover, they never ceased to yearn for the trolls’ treasures or to dig into the rocks in search of unfading jewels and mineral wealth.
As rulers of the ever-growing realm of ghosts, King Pluton and Queen Crone became famous and powerful. The king even learned to feel gratification when his resourceful queen returned to her maiden form each year, transformed herself into Princess Corey, and made the earth smile again. To some extent he became reconciled with her mother, Dea Mater, who learned to respect his true and deep love of nature’s hidden but enduring aspects, the dark rocks and soil containing the minerals of which all life is formed. They realized that cooperation was better than alienation and made alliance in order to live happily ever after.
But Zooz would have no part of their detente. He remained eaten up by rage and jealousy. He never got his eye back. It stayed in the underworld and ignited undying fires there. Some of the earth people remembered him as the one-eyed god and made up absurd stories to account for his loss and his eternal anger.
TWENTY-FOUR
In Andersen’s tale of the emperor’s new clothes, every character is male, ignoring centuries of female intimacy with all matters of dress and fabric arts. This version makes all the important characters female, with a resulting surprise ending that allows the two protagonists to stay alive and even to prosper. The empress is credited with more common sense than that emperor, and she shows a better grasp of how to earn the loyalty of her subjects.
“But she’s naked! Mommy, the empress is naked!”
Once upon a time, during the reign of the last empress of Cathay, two clever sisters who were dressmakers devised a plan to make themselves rich. They pretended to have the world’s most exquisite and expensive silk, to which they attributed the magical power of distinguishing between virtuous and sinful people. They said the magic silk couldn’t be seen or felt by people whose consciences bore any burden of guilt or immorality, whereas innocent folk could perceive it clearly. They sold, for enormous sums, many empty bolts to foolish customers who dared not admit that they could see nothing on them. Word of the magic silk eventually came to the ears of the empress herself, just as she was planning a great procession in honor of her own birthday. She insisted that she must have new clothes made for the occasion out of this wonderful material. Not the least of its advantages, thought the empress, was its capacity to sort out the blameless from the dishonest among her own courtiers. She sent for the two dressmakers, promising them a reward of riches beyond their wildest dreams.
The younger sister was frightened by the summons to the imperial court. “We’ll be discovered, arrested, and executed,” she said. “This is the end of the game, and the end of us. Oh, why did I let you talk me into this scam in the first place?”
“Stop whining,” the older sister snapped. “We’ll get away with it, I tell you, if we don’t lose our nerve. Our fortune is made forever if we succeed in dressing the empress in her birthday suit—ha ha. Just be bold, and remember, they’re not going to be able to admit that they can’t see it.”
“But the court is full of the empire’s best and wisest,” wailed the younger sister. “Nobles, scientists, seers, legislato
rs, educated people. Surely we can’t pull the wool—or silk—over their eyes.”
The elder sister snickered. “Trust me, they’re the worst hypocrites of all,” she said. “Relax, sister. We’ll get away with it. After we’ve made our fortune, we’ll leave the country and live in luxury as far away from here as we can get.”
They traveled to the imperial court. The elder sister tried to keep up her younger sister’s spirits by reminding her of the good life that would be theirs—the fine clothes, the servants, the parties, the best food and wine, the eager suitors.
On their arrival, they were ushered immediately into the presence of the empress, who demanded to see the magic silk at once. The sisters showed several empty bolts and made a great pantomime of unrolling yards of material at the empress’s feet.
“Look at the golden shimmer of that one, Your Imperial Majesty,” said the elder sister. “Light as a cloud it is, too. You can hardly feel it on your skin. And this one—Did you ever see such a rich violet shade in all your life? And such exquisite patterns. Like spider silk woven by fairies.”
All the courtiers proceeded to ooh and aah, pretending to see and feel the delicate silk. Each one was secretly appalled to find it indistinguishable from empty air and began to think back over his or her past crimes with unaccustomed shame and fear of discovery.
The empress herself was much chagrined at her own inability to see the magic silk. She smiled and said nothing, inwardly recalling various immoralities of her past and some of the ruthless measures she had been forced to take to secure her position on the throne. She looked around the audience chamber and saw all her attendants and counselors loudly exclaiming over the beauty of the magic silk. “Am I the only evildoer here?” she thought nervously. “They must never know!”
In subsequent weeks the two dressmakers were installed in a gorgeous suite with a fully appointed workroom and were given everything they requested. They pretended to be sewing industriously, day after day. They gave the empress several fittings. In pantomime, the sisters dressed her in undergarments that they praised as the world’s most beautiful, then in a golden gown that they said shone as brightly as the sun, then in a cloak that they claimed was fit for a goddess. All the while, the empress stood naked while her courtiers looked on and murmured flatteringly about the dazzling loveliness of her clothes.
Seeing how easily they had bamboozled the courtiers and even the empress herself, the younger sister began to feel that their deception might succeed after all. Yet she was apprehensive. When the great day of the procession dawned clear and fine, she suffered a sudden failure of nerve. She clutched her sister’s arm.
“We can’t do it,” she cried. “We’ve got to run away, right now.”
“What do you mean, we can’t do it?” said the elder. “Don’t quit on me now, little one. We’re almost home free. Don’t you want to live in luxury for the rest of your life?”
“Yes, but I especially want there to be a rest of my life, even if it’s not luxurious,” said the younger sister. “Listen, she’s going to go out there in broad daylight, in front of thousands of people, and parade around without a stitch on. Nothing that humiliating has ever happened to an empress. Don’t you understand? Somebody in the crowd is sure to see the truth, and we’ll be drawn and quartered before tomorrow’s sunrise.”
“We’ve gotten away with it so far, haven’t we?” said her sister. “Hang on, everything will be all right. Guilt is universal. There’s not a person in the whole empire who doesn’t have a secret shame.”
“Yes, I know. I have one myself,” said the younger sister gloomily. But she swallowed her fears and went with her sister to the empress’s apartments to dress her for the great occasion.
While pretending to put on the clothes, the elder sister pantomimed a thousand careful adjustments. “Your Imperial Majesty should remember to hold her head high, so as not to crumple this dainty stand-up collar,” she said. “And the train must be swept to one side when Your Imperial Majesty makes a turn.”
“Like this?” said the empress, turning.
“That’s exactly right, Your Magnificence,” cried the dressmaker. “You honor us by wearing our clothes with such grace.”
“We are told that grace is Our birthright,” said the empress. “But then, imperial persons are always told such things.”
The procession started out with much rolling of drums and blaring of trumpets. Preceded by heralds, knights, and courtiers in their most splendid costumes, the empress walked forth into the sunlight, clothed with nothing but her dignity. Her assembled subjects raised a great cry of admiration and homage, its volume only increased by their anxiety to conceal their surprise.
The procession had passed nearly all of its appointed route when a small child peeped out from behind her mother’s skirt to see the empress pass by. During a pause in the imperial music, the child’s voice rose loud and shrill into the clear morning air: “But she’s naked! Mommy, the empress is naked!”
The empress turned her head abruptly toward the sound and made a small gesture. The procession halted immediately. Guardsmen seized both the child and the mother and brought them before the empress.
“What did you say, little girl?” the empress asked.
“You’re naked,” the child replied, while her mother wrung her hands and writhed with fear.
“Please forgive her, Your Imperial Majesty,” the mother cried. “She’s only a baby. She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”
“On the contrary,” said the empress, “We think she knows very well what she’s saying. She is too young to have crimes to repent. Guard, let them go, and give Us your cloak.”
Weeping with relief, the mother fell on her knees to thank the empress for her mercy, but the empress paid little attention to her. Swathed in a guardsman’s cloak, she finished the processional route and returned to her palace.
The dressmakers were arrested at once and dragged in chains to the throne room.
“You two have diddled Us in grand style,” said the empress to the trembling sisters. “You’ve proved beyond a doubt that everybody in Our court and even in Our imperial city is basically dishonest, except for one small child. Should you be rewarded for heroism or executed for treason?”
“Neither, please, Your Mercifulness,” begged the elder sister. “Only let us go in peace, in your infinite compassion, and we will never trouble anyone again. We are most heartily sorry for our crime and can only plead for Your Imperial Majesty’s indulgence.”
“What have you to say for yourself?” asked the empress, turning to the younger sister.
“Dear Majesty, I can only say that I didn’t expect to get away with our scheme, and now my worst fears have been realized. We have done you wrong, and if you think we deserve death, that’s your decision to make.”
“Well spoken,” said the empress. “You may deserve death indeed; but you have outwitted Our best counselors and even Our imperial self, and thus proved yourselves too clever to be discarded. Never let it be said that We have not sufficient sense of humor to appreciate the joke of a lifetime on Ourselves. We forgive you. We have decided to reward you instead of condemning you. You shall be appointed official dressmakers to the empress and privy counselors on matters of morality and ethics. Guard, remove their chains.”
The two dressmakers became the empress’s personal attendants, fashion stylists, and intimate advisors. The empress learned to trust both their tailoring skills and their needle-sharp perceptions. For the following year’s birthday procession, they created a costume of real silk that was widely admired as the most beautiful ever seen. Enjoying the empress’s confidence and a permanent sinecure, they lived happily ever after.
TWENTY-FIVE
The story of the three little pigs is a frivolous fairy tale, and this one follows suit. Bottom-of-the-garden fairies constitute a reference to the famous hoax perpetrated on Sir Arthur Conan Doyle by means of fairy pictures cut out of a book, propped up on a bush at the bot
tom of his garden, and photographed. He wrote excitedly about his conviction that they were genuine nature spirits.
No one seems to know when pink was declared the official feminine color. It may have had something to do with the combination of Virgin and Mother, symbolized by white and red respectively. But it is a curious fact that only very recently have a few men become bold enough to wear pink.
He puffed up his chest and blew.
Once upon a time there were three fairy sisters, of the type known as Little People, whose job it was to paint flowers pink. As you may know, most fairies look just like human beings, but the flower-painting or bottom-of-the-garden fairies are very tiny and have transparent wings. They don’t look like full-sized human beings at all. Perhaps you have seen some of them fluttering by and mistaken them for moths or butterflies. These three flower-painting sisters, Pearl, Shell, and Candy, had pink hair and were known as the three little pinks. They worked in the queen’s gardens. Pearl was in charge of painting the most delicate tints, verging on white. Shell applied rosier pinks, coral, tea-rose, and flesh colors. Candy painted intense hot pinks and deep raspberry shades. They all believed that some kind of pink is the best possible color for any flower.
Unfortunately, their opinion was not shared by the queen’s head gardener, Florian Wolf, who detested pink as a “female color.” Florian Wolf didn’t like anything female, except the queen, who paid his salary. He put up with the fairies who painted flowers red, yellow, blue, and purple because the queen liked to see a lot of color in her garden. But Florian didn’t want any pink fairies at all.
Feminist Fairy Tales Page 20