“Do you know what your daughter says?” asked the queen of the old woman, as soon as ever she came into the room.
No, the beggar woman knew nothing about it.
The kid’s nuts, Your Majesty. She keeps trying to tell me that it’s fairies leaving dirty socks on the windowsill.
“Well, she says you can get me children if you will,” answered the queen.
“Queens shouldn’t listen to beggar girls’ silly stories,” said the old woman, and walked out of the room.
This right here is proof that the old woman has magical powers. She just told off the queen and walked out. You don’t do that unless you’re pretty confident that you can turn everybody into toads if the issue comes up.
Or you’re fireproof. Fireproof is also good.
Then the queen got angry, and wanted again to drive out the little girl; but she declared it was true every word that she had said.
“Let the queen only give my mother something to drink,” said the girl, “when she gets tipsy she’ll soon find out a way to help you.”
Possibly this is a seriously clever two-woman con designed to get Mom’s drink on.
The queen was ready to try this; so the beggar woman was fetched up again, and treated with as much wine and mead as she wanted; and so it was not long before her tongue began to wag. Then the queen came out again with the same question she had asked before.
“Kids? Whadya want kids for? It’s all dirty socks and dragging me in to talk to queens. Seriously, get a goat. Goats are useful. And they don’t wear socks.”
“Perhaps I know one way to help you,” said the beggar woman. “Your majesty must make them bring in two pails of water some evening before you go to bed. Wash yourself in each of them, and afterwards throw the water under your bed. When you look under your bed the next morning, two flowers will have sprung up, a beautiful one and an ugly one. Eat the beautiful one but leave the ugly alone. Be careful not to forget this last bit of advice.” That was what the beggar woman said.
All those who think the queen is going to listen, raise your hand. No, keep ’em up so I can count them.
Right. You have failed Fairy Tales 101. Report to the old well to be assigned whatever horrible thing will fall out of your mouth whenever you talk from now on. Ask for earthworms, they’re easier to hide than toads. And good in the garden.
Incidentally, that’s a lot of water to dump under the bed. If I did that, I’d expect a leak in the living room.
Yes, the queen did what the beggar woman advised her to do; she had the water brought up in two pails, washed herself in them, and emptied them under the bed; and when she looked under the bed the next morning, there stood two flowers; one was ugly and foul, and had black leaves; but the other was so bright, and fair, and lovely, she had never seen anything like it, so she ate it up at once. But the pretty flower tasted so sweet, that she couldn’t help herself. She ate the other one too, for, she thought, “I’m sure that it can’t hurt or help me much either way.”
Remarkably, the queen will not learn from this mistake.
Well, sure enough, after a while the queen was brought to bed. First of all, she had a girl who had a wooden spoon in her hand, and rode upon a goat.
There is almost no way to interpret this that does not involve the queen giving birth to a riding goat. I am guessing there was a lot of screaming and a lot of head-scratching on the part of the midwives — and how do you even explain that to the king? “Say, Your Majesty, you aren’t aware of any … err … odd shoots on the family tree, are you? You know … extra limbs … maybe with hooves …?”
It’s even more disturbing if you take the literal interpretation that she rode out on the goat, under her own power. I am not entirely sure that dilation in centimeters is what’s called for here. Presumably the queen had like three epidurals and maybe some laudanum.
She was disgusting and ugly, and the very moment she came into the world she bawled out “Mamma.”
“If I’m your mamma,” said the queen, “God give me grace to mend my ways.”
Last time I take advice from drunk beggar women. Let me talk to the goat. Technically the goat’s mine, too.
“Oh, don’t be sorry,” said the girl on the goat, “for one will soon come after me who is better looking.”
I dunno, that’s a fine figure of a goat. Come to Mamma, goatikins! Lookit those liddle hoofie-woofies! Wooo, this is good laudanum!
After a while, the queen had another girl, who was so beautiful and sweet that no one had ever set eyes on such a lovely child. You may be sure that the queen was very well pleased.
This is even better than a goat!
The elder twin they called “Tatterhood,” because she was always so ugly and ragged, and because she had a hood which hung about her ears in tatters.
Incidentally, she’s the only character in the entire story who gets a name.
The queen could hardly bear to look at her.
Because she’s ugly or because they had to invent a new scale for vaginal tearing after that whole riding-goat incident?
The nurses tried to shut her up in a room by herself, but it did no good. She always had to be where the younger twin was, and no one could ever keep them apart.
One Christmas eve, when they were half grown up, there arose a frightful noise and clatter in the hallway outside the queen’s apartment. Tatterhood asked what it was that was making such a noise outside.
“Oh,” said the queen, “it isn’t worth asking about.”
But Tatterhood wouldn’t give in until she
