You’re sufficiently crazy-pants to kill me if I say no, I expect. Or send me to water the basil. (Maybe this has been a euphemism all along, and “water the basil” is the medieval Italian equivalent of “away in the cornfield.”)
They arranged the wedding, and in a few days were man and wife.
Not to be, um, excessively graphic here, but am I the only person wondering if the king was going to ask her to lay really, really still when ... ugh. Now I’ve squicked myself out. Where’s that wine, again?
The Wonderful Sheep
Okay, gang, even by my standards this one is seriously out there. It starts at “King Lear” and goes straight to bugfuck crazytown. Along the way we encounter ghosts, talking sheep, and an honest-to-god rain of lobster patties. It’s … something.
This particular … thingy … was written by Madame d’Aulnoy of France and published in 1697. (d’Aulnoy also gave us rather more well-known stories, including “The White Cat” which shares some of the same window dressings, although not the rain-of-lobster bits.) This translation is found in Andrew Lang’s Blue Fairy Book, nearly two hundred years later.
Racism in fairy tales is hardly uncommon, but most of it is a sort of in passing commentary (leaving aside things like Orientalism in the Arabian Nights, which is a whole ’nother can of wet herring.) This fairy tale is somewhat unusual in that it has a black character who gets an actual speaking part, which is something I very rarely run across in European fairy tales and might almost be quite progressive … except that she’s relegated to the same role as the talking animal companions, and it gets worse from there. I honestly don’t know enough about the literature of the era to know how exactly to parse this in the context of the day, but it’s sure cringe-worthy now. (If there are any experts on late 17th-century French literature who’d like to weigh in on whether this is the equivalent of the crows in Dumbo or was a legitimate attempt at multiculturalism that comes out agonizing three-hundred-odd years out, the comments are open!)
Seriously, though, the whole story is just messed up. So of course I had to talk about it. Without further ado, then … and I may need alcohol to get through this one … I give you:
ONCE upon a time — in the days when the fairies lived — there was a king who had three daughters, who were all young, and clever, and beautiful; but the youngest of the three, who was called Miranda, was the prettiest and the most beloved.
The King, her father, gave her more dresses and jewels in a month than he gave the others in a year; but she was so generous that she shared everything with her sisters, and they were all as happy and as fond of one another as they could be.
I told you, it’s starting at King Lear. This is totally how Regan and Goneril got started.
Now, the King had some quarrelsome neighbors, who, tired of leaving him in peace, began to make war upon him so fiercely that he feared he would be altogether beaten if he did not make an effort to defend himself. So he collected a great army and set off to fight them, leaving the Princesses with their governess in a castle where news of the war was brought every day — sometimes that the King had taken a town, or won a battle, and, at last, that he had altogether overcome his enemies and chased them out of his kingdom, and was coming back to the castle as quickly as possible, to see his dear little Miranda whom he loved so much.
It occurs to me that there must be quite an astonishing mail system in this kingdom if they’re getting daily news from the front.
The three Princesses put on dresses of satin, which they had had made on purpose for this great occasion, one green, one blue, and the third white; their jewels were the same colors. The eldest wore emeralds, the second turquoises, and the youngest diamonds, and thus adorned they went to meet the King, singing verses which they had composed about his victories.
When he saw them all so beautiful and so gay he embraced them tenderly, but gave Miranda more kisses than either of the others.
Presently a splendid banquet was served, and the King and his daughters sat down to it, and as he always thought that there was some special meaning in everything, he said to the eldest: “Tell me why you have chosen a green dress.”
“Sire,” she answered, “having heard of your victories I thought that green would signify my joy and the hope of your speedy return.”
I have no idea how green is supposed to signify this, but I suspect if you’re living with that sort of person, you learn to make stuff up on the spot.
“That is a very good answer,” said the King, “and you, my daughter,” he continued, “why did you take a blue dress?”
“Sire,” said the Princess, “to show that we constantly hoped for your success, and that the sight of you is as welcome to me as the sky with its most beautiful stars.”
Better answer.
“Why,” said the King, “your wise answers astonish me, and you, Miranda. What made you dress yourself all in white?”
“Because, sire,” she answered, “white suits me better than anything else.”
Not a good answer.
“What!” said the King angrily, “was that all you thought of, vain child?”
“I thought you would be pleased with me,” said the Princess, “that was all.”
The King, who loved her, was satisfied with this, and even pretended to be pleased that she had not told him all her reasons at first.
I am getting bad vibes about the king. He plays favorites and seems to have some weird paranoia going on.
“And now,” said he, “as I have supped well, and it is not time yet to go
