In Sleeping Beauty's Bed

by Mitzi Szereto

  Rather than presenting his Princess with a tender kiss, however, the bridegroom, who had by now grown quite feverish with desire, plucked the glass slippers from Cinderella’s tiny feet, chafing the flesh of her heels in his impatience to remove them. Ripping the laces from the perilously straining front of his specially embroidered wedding breeches, the Prince plunged the bulky protuberance he had released into the right slipper, babbling incoherent words of love as he drove it back and forth across the foot-heated instep. Paying no mind to the damage inflicted upon his hands from the dagger-sharp heel, he performed the same ceremony with the left, his hips charging faster and faster, as did the purple-crowned object jutting out from his unfastened breeches. By the time he finished, frothing lakes of equal depth and stickiness filled the glass of each slipper.

  And the Prince and Princess lived happily ever after. Especially the Prince, who had at long last located the missing mate for the dainty little spike-heeled slipper that had fallen from a dainty little foot. For now that he was in possession of both, he vowed to fill them with his love each and every day.

  As for the Princess, she would seek her own marital bliss by paying frequent visits to the palace gardens in search of parsnips, as well as by visiting the home of her father and step-relatives, in whose kitchen she collected the crushed seeds of chili peppers to store inside her glass slippers expressly for her beloved husband, the handsome Prince.

  THE MAGIC MUNTR

  “The Magic Muntr” comes to us from The Three Princes of Serendip, or The Serendipity Tales—a collection of stories from the fifth century and earlier, considered to have their roots in Persia. Although originally the ancient name for Ceylon, the word Serendip evolved into serendipity, which in its more modern context would be used to mean the gift of making fortunate and unexpected discoveries by accident. It is a theme that can be found throughout “The Magic Muntr” and its accompanying tales.

  Contained in The Serendipity Tales are the seven stories heard in the seven palaces of the Emperor Beramo—stories told to him on the advice of three brothers, who suggest them as a means to cure the illness brought on by the emperor’s love of a slave girl he believes he has sent to her death. According to the frame story, in the Far Eastern country of Serendippo there lived a king and his three sons. So that the young princes could experience knowledge, their father sent them out into the world. During the course of their travels, they come upon the kingdom of Emperor Beramo. When the emperor falls ill, the brothers advise him to build seven palaces and place within each one seven virgins and seven of the kingdom’s best storytellers. Hence the tale telling begins.

  Translated from Persian into Italian, The Serendipity Tales originally underwent publication in Venice in 1557 as Peregrinaggio di Tre Giovani, Figliuoli del Re di Serendippo (Peregrination of the three sons of the king of Serendip). However, the stories were already known in Venice at least a century before their publication, being told in oral form and performed before an audience. And they might well have also been known elsewhere, for despite the ascription in the title to its translation, uncertainty exists as to whether the stories are, in fact, Persian. The Peregrinaggio contains tales that may have their origins in the Indian Panchatantra and the Jakata. A further connection to India can be seen by the character of the parrot, which appears quite prominently in Indian folk literature. So, too, does the theme of humans being transformed into animals (as is demonstrated by the characters in “The Magic Muntr”), the concept of one’s soul entering the corpse of an animal being a commonly held Indian belief.

  Although the arguments for India may be convincing, the evidence supporting Persia as the Peregrinaggio’s true place of origin still cannot be denied. The adventures of the three princes who supply the narrative framework for the seven stories appear in strikingly similar form in the Persian epic poem The Seven Beauties, attributed to Nizami. Like the Emperor Beramo, the ailing and lovesick Behram (who regrets his decision to expel from his empire his favorite slave/mistress) is told seven stories by seven princesses in seven different palaces in the hope that he will become well again.

  As the Italian Peregrinaggio came to be translated into other languages, much of its content would likewise undergo change—including content of a sexual nature, since many of the tales were considered quite ribald in character. Indeed, “The Magic Muntr” does not lack its share of sexually oriented material. The original story concerns an emperor with four wives and an insatiable interest in the wonders of nature—an interest that leads him into being deceived by his chief counselor, who fools the emperor into exchanging spirits. In his new form, the counselor decides to indulge in intimate relations with each of the emperor’s wives, finding the youngest so desirable that he returns to her a second time. Noticing that the caresses of her “husband” are not like those of the emperor, the young empress claims to have experienced a terrible vision and must henceforth remain chaste, therefore he cannot approach her bed again. Meanwhile, the real emperor—who has exchanged spirits with a parrot—experiences adventures of his own as he adjudicates an argument over the financial negotiations between a prostitute and the man to whom she wishes to ply her wares. Eventually the emperor-parrot returns home and plots with the young empress to trick the impostor by having her agree to sleep with him if he can change himself into an animal, thus offering proof of being the true emperor. Finally able to resume his original human form, the real emperor dismisses his other wives, keeping only the youngest.

  Such frank and, indeed, highly adult content as that seen in “The Magic Muntr” appears regularly in folktales from the Middle East and India, demonstrating that, despite their strong ties to religion, these cultures possessed far less sanctimonious-ness in sexual matters than their more modern Christian counterparts in post-seventeenth-century Europe. Therefore, it is with this very same sense of frankness that I have turned my literary attention toward “The Magic Muntr” and its serendipitous protagonist, whose gift of finding the valuable may well prove to be his undoing.

  IN A FARAWAY LAND RICH WITH THE SCENTS of tamarind and jasmine and shaded by the branches of the banyan tree, there lived an inquisitive young ruler named Vicram. Known to his people as the Maharajah, he felt undeserving of so grand a title. He also felt unworthy of so beautiful a Ranee. For Anarkali possessed the exquisite beauty of a flower—a beauty that frequently left her husband wondering whether she might have been dazzled into becoming his wife because of his place on the throne rather than by his average countenance.

  Indeed, Vicram’s curiosity about matters both great and small extended far beyond the domain of his household, as did his reputation. So powerful was his desire for knowledge that he undertook to erect a temple dedicated to Saraswathi, the goddess of learning. The eager ruler spent many an hour in the jungle, organizing every detail of its construction, convinced that the temple’s completion would augur well in his ceaseless pursuit of intellectual fulfillment.

  One day as the jasmine exploded into fragrant bloom, a pair of travelers claiming to be philosophers arrived at the gates of the Maharajah’s palace. Although one was in truth a very old and learned seer, the other was but a demon rakshas in disguise. Hearing that such men of erudition had condescended to grace his doorstep, Vicram ordered them to be made welcome. Each was given comfortable robes to wear, woven from golden thread, and a tasty meal to eat of curried rice with slivered almonds and sweet figs plucked from the trees growing in abundance on the palace grounds. After a good night’s rest in the finest guest quarters the household had to offer, the two were brought before the Maharajah, who had much of interest to discuss with his guests.

  Sensing opportunity in the air, the wicked rakshas wasted no time. Instead of involving himself in a lengthy and arduous discussion of philosophy and politics, he bowed his head low to the floor and tendered his services for the post of prime minister, which by some coincidence just so happened to be vacant. Of course Vicram felt extremely flattered; his government would be most fo
rtunate to secure such a learned individual within its humble ranks. After putting forth a series of difficult questions and receiving the answers he desired, the Maharajah appointed the rakshas to the office with the title of Prudhan. As for the new prime minister’s aged companion, he lowered his head in sincere homage, asking only to be granted the supreme privilege of sharing wisdom with the young Maharajah. Vicram could not have been more delighted, for he now had at his constant beck and call two men of great learning. Surely no other ruler could lay claim to such intellectual prosperity.

  As the rakshas used his newly acquired authority as Prudhan to plot mischief, the Maharajah and the old philosopher met together daily so that the younger could learn from the elder’s tremendous store of wisdom. This ancient savant had come to witness many remarkable events in his travels. Yet perhaps the most wondrous had taken place while he was out walking along a dusty road where he encountered a boy and his dog, the latter of which lay fast asleep in the cooling shade of a banyan tree. The youth had placed his hand over the animal’s heart and mumbled a strange and eerie muntr the likes of which had never before been heard by its venerable listener. And there before his rheumy eyes the young master’s spirit had slipped into the slumbering form of the hound, whereupon the animal had hopped up onto its four paws and proceeded to sing and dance as its human companion fell lifeless to the ground, his once-robust body an empty husk.

  Such a tale sounded amazing, if not impossible, to the Maharajah, yet many more amazing things were to come. After some hours had passed, the dog returned to its master and, placing its front paw over his heart, let loose with a series of barks and whines strikingly similar to the muntr recited earlier. The boy’s spirit instantly returned to his body and all became exactly as before, with the hound sleeping peacefully beneath the banyan tree and the master resuming his activities of collecting twigs for the night’s bedding.

  At this point the philosopher grew uncharacteristically reticent, for he thought it unwise to elaborate further on what had transpired that day. When prodded by the Maharajah—whose curiosity to learn more of these astounding goings-on had lodged itself like a dagger in his chest—the aged seer finally admitted that he had pursued the youth and begged from him the secret of the muntr. “I journeyed with him for many moons so that I might prove myself worthy of owning so dangerous a piece of magic,” he explained. “I can now make my spirit pass into that of another living creature at will.”

  “Oh, Great Sahib, I beseech you to teach me the secret words!” cried the Maharajah, certain he could not live another moment without possession of this valuable knowledge. “For, with all due respect, I must see for myself that this is true.”

  Although he held grave doubts as to the wisdom of sharing such witchery with the earnest young ruler, the philosopher felt it was not his place to refuse. During their exchange, a sparrow had alighted upon the windowsill and he caught it gently in his hand. With a finger placed over the creature’s tiny heart and the utterance of a few mystical words, the savant’s ancient body crumpled into itself, dropping to the silken carpet in a withered heap. Shaking off the cage of fingers imprisoning it, the little bird flew up onto Vicram’s shoulder and began to sing in the croaking voice of the old man. Yet before its final note had even been released from its warbling throat, it flew back down to settle upon the seer’s unmoving chest, with each spirit once more residing within its proper home.

  In this way the Maharajah came to learn the secret of the magic muntr. Being of an inquiring nature, he could not wait to try it for himself. That evening as dusk blurred the viridescent landscape, he sallied forth into the jungle, vowing to experiment by changing places with the first creature he encountered—an owl that had made the mistake of perching upon too low a branch. Vicram flew far and wide over bucolic farmland and village rooftop, stopping frequently to rest and to listen to the conversations of his people. As he grew more daring, he ventured into the cities, his feathered ears aprickle for the words that might help him to better understand those over whom he ruled. And indeed, the more he learned, the more he desired to learn. Hence the Maharajah would often be gone from the court for long periods of time, leaving government matters in the wicked hands of his new prime minister, who could not have been more pleased about this recent and unexpected turn of events. For perhaps, he thought, the vacancy in the lovely Ranee’s bed might be in need of filling as well.

  Wishing to ascertain the cause of these mysterious and frequent absences, the Prudhan decided to follow Vicram into the jungle, where he witnessed an amazing sight—that of the Maharajah exchanging spirits with a bright-green parrot. Now here was a piece of magic of which the demon rakshas could make use! He immediately committed the strange words of the muntr to memory, since one never knew when the opportunity to apply them might present itself. For no sooner did the parrot spread its multicolored wings and fly out of sight than the scheming Prudhan would be kneeling over Vicram’s inanimate body, repeating what he had heard and placing his hand over the heart as he had seen demonstrated.

  Wearing his new armor of youth and power and with a sprightly spring in his step, the evil rakshas left behind the tired husk he had formerly occupied, returning to the palace to serve in the Maharajah’s stead. However, he would not do so without first issuing a fateful curse: that Vicram’s inquisitiveness should never be satisfied and that his most primal urges would henceforth be his guiding spirit.

  Unaware of the mischief that had just transpired in the jungle, the curious young ruler soared far and wide in his flamboyant form, savoring the sensation of the cool wind against his opened wings. Indeed, the body of a parrot proved far superior to that of a stodgy old owl, and Vicram found himself riding the currents with mellifluous ease, allowing them to take him to places exotic and unknown. He even joined up with a flock of geese heading south, delighted to discover that he could understand their unique language. From them the Maharajah learned many new things and would, in fact, have learned still more had not the sight of an uncurtained window and the shadowy form beyond beckoned him toward it.

  Drawn by a force beyond his control, the Vicram-parrot landed atop the sun-warmed sill, his talons softly raking the stone surface. He cocked his tufted head sidewise so that he could peer inside the room, which revealed itself to be a private place for bathing. Almost every piece of furniture, including even the walls themselves, had been covered in silk damask. Had the Maharajah been his normal human self, he might have wished to study the weave of the cloth to better understand the intricacies of its warp and weft. But a curse of great evil had been laid upon him, so instead he found his curiosity ensnared by the stone bathing vessel occupying the center of the room and, in particular, by the provocatively posed figure balancing in a half-crouch within its flinty contours.

  A young woman of exceptional beauty appeared to be in the process of washing herself. Hair as black as the blackest of raven’s wings draped itself in long, spirally ringlets over a pearly back and shoulders as she stood aggressively lathering a thatch of equally black ringlets growing like a jungle from between her parted thighs. Vicram observed with his left eye (for he could not see in the same direction with both) while this enchanting maiden heightened her cleansing ministrations, her head lolling about to the soapy music being played by her nimble fingers as they blissfully lost themselves within these sudsy nether-curls, their movements accelerating to an impassioned crescendo. By the time they finished their work, she was bucking and grinding against her palm and crying out in the voice of a sick lamb, her dark-fringed eyes raised toward the heavens.

  Curious to learn whether others utilized the same bathing technique, the bewinged Maharajah flew from window ledge to window ledge, hoping that he might further his education through a course of stealthy observation. As luck would have it, he located many a shapely female engaged in this fascinating ritual, albeit with slight variations. Some preferred to concentrate their efforts upon the deep crevice located below the graceful arches of the
ir backs, their industrious fingers digging deeply and with unabashed joy into the apparent treasures to be found there until it looked as if their entire arm had vanished in their enthusiasm. Vicram could only marvel at the infinite variety of washing methods employed and the frequency with which they were applied, since many bathers deemed it necessary to repeat their ablutions twice, if not thrice, before finally sinking into the watery depths of their bathing vessels with a ragged sigh, their foam-flecked hands dangling limply over the sides.

  Although each individual approach proved highly entertaining as well as educational, the Maharajah’s favorite were those seekers of abstersion who, in their feminine cleverness, succeeded in simultaneously cleansing themselves both fore and aft. Indeed, it would be they who bucked and grinded the most, bleating like hysterical ewes as their knees went every which way, their bellies billowing with all the sinuosity of a kohl-eyed desert temptress. Whenever this occurred, Vicram—momentarily forgetting that he had donned the guise of a parrot—hitched up his feathered shoulders and strutted about with masculine pride back and forth along the windowsill, his talons clicking and clacking as he endeavored to gain these lovely young maidens’ attentions. Yet rather than having the effect he had hoped for, all it did was result in his being repeatedly shooed away from the window by these bathing beauties, who considered the bird’s brightly feathered presence a minor annoyance in the performance of their daily lavations. For their eyes saw not the great Maharajah who ruled over their vast land, but instead a silly green parrot waddling to and fro on its spindly little feet and flapping its red- and yellow-tipped wings. During his travels, poor Vicram felt the threatening breath of many a broom, narrowly escaping with the loss of a feather or two.