Say Yes to the Dress: Fairy Tales and Fashion, By Kelly Jarvis

Editor’s note: What perfect weekend read! Fairy tales! Weddings! Fashion! Kelly informs and entertains in this deep dive into fairy tales and what we wear as a result of reading them. Follow the links, as they are really fun—Kelly really did her homework. (Kate)

It is hard to deny the transformative power of a beautiful dress. When I was a teenager, my grandmother, who was languishing in the final days of a long illness, mistook a pink crystal ring my boyfriend had given me for an engagement ring, and immediately began thinking about wedding gowns. “We will have to find you the most beautiful dress,” she whispered, running her wrinkled hands across the folds of the rough hospice blankets on her bed, as if she might magically turn them into sweeping mounds of bridal silk. From that moment on, the imagined sheen of “pretty new dresses” filled her waking hours, and a hope for the future danced in her dying eyes. My grandmother passed away long before I married the boy who had given me the pink crystal ring, but when he twirled me across the dance floor at our wedding reception, I prayed that she was looking down from heaven to see the beautiful sequined ball gown that billowed behind me. 

No piece of clothing marks the transition from one phase of life to another more than a wedding dress, and weddings are inextricably linked in our minds with fairy tales. Although fairy tale weddings leave much to be desired (Snow White’s mother dances to her death in red-hot iron shoes at her daughter’s wedding and Cinderella’s sisters have their eyes poked out at her nuptials), Disney films have made the idea of fairy tale weddings famous, often ending with opulent ceremonies. An internet search of the phrase “fairy tale wedding” yields thousands of links to gowns, cakes, and venues designed to provide every couple with their piece of happily ever after.  

Fairy tale fashion is not limited to weddings; characters like Little Red Riding Hood and Puss-in-Boots are named for the clothes they wear. In 2016, the Museum at the Fashion Institute of Technology in New York City presented an exhibition on Fairy Tale Fashion, and Yale University Press published a book of the same name featuring over 150 photographs and illustrations to complement its investigation of fairy tale couture.   

Cinderella is the fairy tale protagonist best known for transforming her life through fashion, trading her rags for a dress that makes her the object of the prince’s desire. Perrault provides the girl with a fairy godmother who has a solid fashion sense; she touches Cinderella with her wand giving her “garments of gold and silver cloth” before sending her off to the ball in style. The Grimm version of the tale describes a hazel tree which tosses down beautiful dresses over three separate nights and a Scottish variant features a dress-giving cow, but in each version of the story, it is the dress which signals Cinderella’s transformation from persecuted daughter to powerful maiden. When Disney produced its live action Cinderella movie in 2015, the company spent an incredible amount of time and money designing both the iconic blue ball gown and the wedding dress the heroine dons at the conclusion of the film.  

Cinderella, ATU 510A, is closely related to ATU 510B, stories of “unnatural love”. In tales like Perrault’s Donkeyskin and Grimm’s All-Kinds-of-Fur, the protagonist delays marrying her own father by requesting dresses that echo the beauty of the sun, moon, and stars. When royal seamstresses create the beautiful gowns, the girl packs them away and disguises herself in the skin of beasts, often serving in the kitchens of a prince who eventually becomes her husband. At every turn in these stories, the other-worldly dresses act as signals of the heroines’ constant transformations, both protecting her from harm and allowing her entry into the highest levels of society. In his book On the Nature of Fairy Tales, Max Luthi explores the celestial dresses described in these stories, noting that “one cannot express more beautifully how the world is woven into the clothing of man in the fairy tale.”

Another fairy tale known for its fashionableopulence is Beauty and the Beast, ATU 425C. This “tale as old as time” can be traced back to the story of Cupid and Psyche and often features an active heroine who must quest for her lost husband and return him to human form. The most popular literary version, published by Beaumont in 1756, features many elements found in Cinderella stories including plotting sisters and access to material beauty. When Disney filmed its live action version of Beauty and the Beast in 2017, the company devoted considerable attention to designing Belle’s iconic ball gown and using her costumes to reflect her position as Disney’s first feminist princess. While fashion and feminism may seem at odds, the two topics have a long history, with the evolution of popular dress styles reflecting the arc of female liberation and transformation over time. 

We never outgrow our love for the perfect dress, that sacred swath of fabric that lights us up from the inside and reveals who we are beneath the surface. When my grandmother died, we buried her in a “pretty new dress,” sewn of a cloth that matched the soft blue shade of her eyes. Though earthly concerns were beyond her, it seemed only fitting that she have a dress to signal her transformation from body to spirit, a dress to reflect the kindness of her soul. My grandmother has been gone for over twenty-five years, but on lonely days, I still feel the ache of her loss. Those are the days that I throw on the prettiest dress in my closet and go outside to search for her. I find her in the sequined sparkle of sunlight swirling through the trees. I find her in the silky sheen of sunset shadows. I find her in the twirls and folds of the brilliant blue sky. With every azure sweep of heaven’s billowing ball gown, my sorrow is supplanted by gratitude for my grandmother’s love and thankfulness for the transformative power that a beautiful fairy tale dress can have on the human heart.  

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Bio: Kelly Jarvis teaches classes in literature, writing, and fairy tale at Central Connecticut State University, The University of Connecticut, and Tunxis Community College. She lives, happily ever after, with her husband and three sons in a house filled with fairy tale books. She is also Enchanted Conversation’s special project’s writer.

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The photograph of the wedding dress used in Kenneth Branaugh’s 2015 Cinderella is by Jonathan Olley. The gown was designed by Sandy Powell.

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Throwback Thursday: The Princess of Evighet, by Larry Stanfel

"The Masque of the Four Seasons, by Walter Crane, artmagick.com

Editor's note: For Throwback Thursday, here's a winning story from 1-15-14. It has so many great fairy tale elements! Read on.
This story evokes classic fairy tales, even if the heroine is a bit more detailed and lovable than most of her older sisters in fairy tales. There are foolish, indulgent parents, a nasty witch, a benign fairy, and a seeming happily ever after. Yet, as with the classic tales, one is left wondering: Would our heroine have had an even happier ever after without her "reward"? That's what made this story so intriguing to me. It leaves room for interpretation. 

A rather long time ago there was a Kingdom called Evighet, far across the sea from us, which had a King named Kaldric and a Queen, Agnetha. Their rule was entirely benevolent and gentle, and their subjects were happier than those in any other Kingdom.

There were so many holidays that the only way any work was accomplished was because the people were so pleased about the vacations, they endeavored mightily, then, to do exemplary jobs when there was no holiday. In Evighet they celebrated the birthdays of the King and Queen, the planting of crops, their harvest, the beginnings of each of the seasons, Independence Day (no one could remember when Evighet had not been independent), Veterans’ Day (no one could remember a war, either), Thanksgiving Days (twice annually, for there was much for which to be thankful), Christmas, New Year’s Day, Farmers’ Day, Tradesmen’s Day, and Labor Day. Royal Holidays were proclaimed practically extemporaneously, and one of them honored Bodrum Sebastovich, though no one could recall just who Bodrom Sebastovich had been.

The primary reason for the general gaiety of the King and Queen was that they loved to dance – solos, pas de deux with one another, and in groups of their subjects. All their many holidays featured morning columns of children dancing to the music of marching bands, afternoon entertainment
given by the very best dancers of the kingdom, and evening ballroom dances where everyone was welcome. For those no one paid any attention whatsoever to attire, and even Cinderella after midnight would have raised no alarm.

There was one thing lacking, however, that gave the King and Queen great sadness, which they showed only when they were alone and out of the public view; they had no child and were approaching the ages when people, even Kings and Queens, no longer had them. Accordingly, they prayed assiduously that they might be blessed with a son or daughter to become the next monarch and lead Evighet through another reign of joy and good fortune.

When it became known that their prayers had been answered, the production of next year’s calendars was halted, so that the birthday of the new Prince or Princess could be marked as another holiday. Expectedly, there were frequent celebrations, always with dancing, to herald the coming event, and the subjects rejoiced over Kaldric and Agnetha’s – not to mention their own – good fortune.

Princess Argentia, the Queen-in-Waiting and Heir Certainly, was born on the 21st of March, the first day of Spring that year, and the entire kingdom saw this as an auspicious omen of a new Spring for their beloved country. King Kaldric was excited that the family would have a brilliant little dancer. He was eager to teach her, but Queen Agnetha reminded him gently that first the little girl must be able to walk, so Kaldric contented himself with cradling his baby in his arms and dancing her
around one or another of the Royal Ballrooms.

He was absolutely certain that a Royal Princess would be walking by five months, but Queen Agnetha assured him that was fantastically early, even for a Royal Princess. The King said that he imagined he could wait another month, but again the Queen deterred him, though she could not dissuade him from declaring little Argentia’s half-birthday another national holiday and thus causing the calendars to be reprinted again; that is, re-reprinted. She would not, however, agree to a three-quarter birthday holiday, which is what the King wanted to declare when his hopes for the Princess’ first
steps were again frustrated at nine months. Gentle, wise Queen Agnetha explained to him that children do things at different ages and that he must not worry. Their daughter, for example, was speaking much earlier than most children.

On her first birthday, to her parents’ considerable delight, little Argentia took one, two unsteady steps and then fell plump! on her bottom but gave her parents a toothy grin and a happy giggle when she said, “Argentia walk, see?”

“That’s it,” pronounced the King with Royal Authority, but even Kings can err, and that was not it. For the next two months the Princess’ walking got no father advanced than a step or two concluded by a precipitant fall on her backside. The ebullient child was never unhappy or discouraged, though her father agonized and even her mother lost her Queenly composure and was showing signs of worry.

At 15 months the King summoned the Royal Physicians, who examined the Princess in every way known to their art and science at the time and finally submitted their report fearfully; there was something wrong with little Argentia’s leg bones. They had not grown strong enough or straight
enough to support her weight. Without metal braces, crutches, or both they predicted she would never walk! They prescribed exercises and special foods to strengthen her legs, and though the King and Queen followed their instructions to the letter, nothing availed.

Kaldric and Agnetha were devastated, of course, to learn that their beautiful little daughter was crippled and refused to accept the opinions of the Royal Physicians. Frantically, the King summoned ordinary physicians from his Kingdom, as well as Royal Physicians and ordinary physicians from other Kingdoms. While he paid much money for their ideas and treatments, the Princess could not walk.

By the time she reached 15 years, happiness had deserted the King and Queen, and, because of that, their subjects also suffered. No one celebrated the holidays, and the entire Kingdom, following the pattern of the Royal Couple, had stopped dancing so as not to disappoint the young Princess, who could not hope to follow their capers on her crutches. The Royal Ballrooms grew dusty from disuse, and cobwebs filled the corners there and wreathed the once-blazing chandeliers.

Happiness was not all that had forsaken Kaldric and Agnetha, for the years of medical expenses had seriously depleted the Royal Treasury. In fact, it then contained just two bags of gold, the Royal Household had taken to wearing patched finery, and the Royal Jewels had long since been sold to
foreign rulers.

Princess Argentia, nevertheless, had grown, except for her crooked legs, into a beautiful girl, and what was remarkable was that she had not lost her good cheer, effervescent laugh, and desire to do good. It was not uncommon, in fact, to see her struggling about on her crutches to help a sick or injured person among her father and mother’s subjects. Sight of brave Argentia always brought smiles to the faces and hearts of the people, though these were supplanted by tears when they watched the girl stump away on the wooden supports.

*     *     *

On a dark, high mountain that no mortal in Evighet had ever scaled lived a malignant witch named Bromalda, and she calculated that her time finally had arrived. Disguising herself as a well-dressed, kindly woman she paid the King and Queen a visit one day.

“I understand the Princess has been crippled from birth,” she said with solicitous unction, “and is unable to walk.”

“Alas, this is true,” confirmed her Royal Parents sadly.

“Well, I am here to help,” said Bromalda confidently.

“Everyone has tried,” they said, “and no one can help.”

“I have just returned from the far distant lands across the great sea to the East,” the witch lied, “and I have brought this!” with which pronouncement she produced from the depths of her cloak a flask of bright green liquid.

“What is that?” they naturally asked.

“What is that? Hmmpf, Your Highnesses. That is the most potent medicine ever distilled in the lands across the sea to the East. I have seen this magical elixir cause the blind to see, the deaf to hear, and cure victims of leprosy -- and worse.”

“What is worse than leprosy?” inquired the interested King.

“Far away in the East,” said Bromalda quickly, “many diseases are worse than leprosy, which is why the magicians and scientists there have developed this potion. Why, when I was visiting there, I was buried beneath an avalanche. Three days I was buried, and when I was dug out, I was declared dead.”

“No!” they exclaimed in concert.

“Yes, indeed, but this potion restored me to life. I spent all that I had to purchase these precious drops, but I gladly offer it to Your Highnesses – for no more than the price I paid.”

“How much was that?” Agnetha asked.

“A bag of gold.”

“Thank goodness,” breathed the Queen. “We have only two bags of gold remaining in the Royal Treasury.”

“Did I say one bag?” asked the devious Bromalda. “I meant two; after I reached home I had to send another bag for the second payment.”

“Oh, dear!” lamented the King. “All our money. And what if this, like all the other medicines, doesn’t --”

“We must do it, My Lord,” said the anguished Queen. It is our only chance to make Argentia walk!”

“I guarantee it; one hundred percent - certified,” vowed Bromalda falsely.

“Walk, yes, and then dance,” added the King with the old dream gleaming in his eyes. "Of course, we must try it.”

Accordingly, they promised the last of the kingdom’s resources to the evil Bromalda, who, as a bad witch, had less use for gold than desire to foment hurt and suffering. She proceeded to instruct them in the use of the magic potion, which was no more than vinegar, gooseberry juice, and a green dye
she had compounded in her cauldron.

“On the first night, give her one of the flask and have her sleep facing the South. On the second night administer another third and have her sleep facing North. Finally,” she said with dramatic effect in the spellbinding way witches have, “on the third night have her drink the last of the potion and sleep facing East. When she awakes she will be able to run and frisk like a new lamb!”

“And dance,” said the King, excitedly.

“Yes, but take care to follow the directions exactly. Each night, precisely one third the potion, no more, no less, and be certain she sleeps in those directions in the order I specified.”

“South, North, and East,” repeated Queen Agnetha, who, to be certain there was no failure, wrote down the invented information – much to Bromalda’s amusement.

“And,” she added with a flourish, “the child must not know what you are doing. Part of the magic requires that the patient be unaware that this liquid will cure her every disorder.”

The Lord of the Exchequer wondered mightily at handing over the last of the Treasury to a woman he had never seen, but when one works for a King and a Queen, he follows orders.

Bromalda was so pleased with herself that when she had the gold and no one else was about, she did a wild, witch dance to celebrate her success.

*     *     *

Without revealing what was afoot the excited Kaldric and Agnetha followed despicable Bromalda’s factitious instructions precisely. Princess Argentia protested strongly over the noxious taste of the green stuff, which she believed to be a new vitamin, and was baffled that her Lady-in-Waiting
spun her bed around like a top from one night to the next. “It is merely to capture all the healthy breezes, Your Highness,” explained her maid, who simply relayed what the Queen had told her.

On the morning after the third night her exuberant parents burst into Argentia’s room like two children on Christmas morning. “Come, Argentia; come walk to us,” they invited, and when she reached for her crutches, they qualified, “Without those, darling. You won’t ever need them again.”
Obeying the Royal Request, the brave Princess stood hesitantly, but when she let go the bed post and sought to walk to her parents, crumpled, fell, and cut her pretty cheek. The scene became one of a chaos of tragedy, sorrow, and regret when the King and Queen realized they had been duped
and, much worse than that, that their daughter would never, ever walk unassisted, let alone whirl in a spirited dance.

Argentia consoled them. “But Mother and Father, see! I am no worse than before.” She could not appreciate the Royal Poverty into which she was about to be plunged, but even if she had, the stalwart girl would not have repined. Governments in that place and time had yet to conceive the
strategies of creating new money – for mortals impossible in the case of gold – and borrowing from other lands; they continued to believe in paying for what they would get. In the case of that Kingdom, we see, there was no longer any means of payment.

Now, it must not be believed that Evighet was subject only to dark, poisonous influences like Bromalda. As in every place, there is saving good if one knows how to find it, or if it knows how to find oneself.

In a cave in a far-off forest of Evighet, Jetour, the Queen of the Fairies, held her Court amidst her attendants. At about this point in our tale Jetour’s Fairy Scouts, who had observed all the woe befalling Kaldric, Agnetha, and Argentia returned to report their news. Neither should it be supposed that they had demurred in returning or, in any way, depreciated the severity of the Royal Circumstances and poor Princess Argentia’s plight. No, as we know, Fairies live forever, so that 15 years is not a blink of an enchanted eyelash, and, moreover, they had a very large territory to monitor.

Like bees informing the hive as to their discoveries of blossoms, the Fairies did an intricate dance to convey their findings, and Jetour was at once enraged and heartbroken. She replied with a splendid, sublime dance that expressed all her sentiments and then convened her Court to confide to them her extensive, whispered plans.

Soon after, as the Princess was hobbling about the once-colorful garden in her tattered dress, a stooped, elderly woman with a cane approached and asked if she might have a drink of water. As was her habit, the excellent Argentia bade her sit, drew a cup of water from the well, and ministered
to her as if the visitor, not she, were the Princess. Such was the grace and love with which she treated each and every one of God’s creatures.

“Whatever has happened to your legs, Girl?” inquired the weary stranger between draughts of water. Old and crippled as I am, I can walk better than you. Have you fallen off a horse or down a hill?”

“Oh, no, M’am,” answered the Princess politely. “I was born this way. I have never been able to walk.”

“I see,” said the old woman thoughtfully. “Then you must have grown very bitter about your handicap. Looking all around you, you can see people, every one of whom moves better than you. Limping around with this cane, I feel bitter myself at times – most times. Yes, I would guess you are very bitter, indeed.”

“Oh, no, M’am, not bitter,” answered Argentia with incredulity that anyone would think so. "I do get around, you see; on these two, wooden legs. I think perhaps that I have been very lucky. Yes, lucky,” she said contemplatively.

“Lucky?” said the old woman with a snort. “How can you say that when you can’t run and climb and skip like other children your age?”

“I am lucky, M’am, because it has made me a better person.”

“Why, how better, when you can’t climb a mountain path or swim in a warm lake?”

“Ma’m, it is because I can’t do those things that I give such thanks for what I can do.  If I were running up a trail or across the garden, I might miss the calls of the birds, which I prize and dearly love. If I swam in the lake, I would frighten away the poor fish, whereas now, I can sit and watch them swim and play. If I had better use of my legs, I might not take such happiness from the sight of a beautiful sunset or the sound of a wonderful melody. The smell of juniper berries is like medicine to me, and when my cat licks my fingers – my sense of touch has grown so much stronger. Yes, walking is only one capability in a world exploding with beautiful things. I believe I have been lucky.”

“I see.”

“And it is more than just compensation with one gift for the loss of another. Doing without something, something important to others, and suffering pain in my twisted legs has been good for me. Yes, good. It makes things like eating only bread and porridge for dinner and wearing worn-out, patched dresses a pleasure by comparison. If I could walk and run, those things would be difficult to bear. Yes, but as it is …”

“What?”

“I do have one regret.”

“Aha!” sprang the old woman on her admission. “I knew it.”

In this condition a hurt I cause two other people, and, indirectly, the whole Kingdom.”

“A whole Kingdom? Whatever can your legs have to do with an entire Kingdom? Surely you exaggerate, Girl” the old lady proclaimed skeptically.

“It is just that my father and mother so want me to dance. They adore dancing, and because I cannot even walk, they suffer terribly. They suffer so much they have bankrupted themselves so that I might walk and someday be able to dance with them. And here I sit or wobble on these sticks. It is not bad for me, only them.”

“You are exceedingly odd, young lady. How can it be that your inability to dance and your parents’ regrets ruin the whole Kingdom of Evighet? Surely you jest with me. What is your exalted station in life?”

“Not exalted, good Madame. I am simply a poor Princess in a poor kingdom. Because my parents are so aggrieved, the whole kingdom is melancholy and poor.”

“Kingdom? Princess? You are a Princess? Your parents are King Kaldric and Queen Agnetha?”

“Yes,” answered Argentia shyly.

As if to affirm her reply, just then the King and Queen entered the garden. “And who might you be?” the King inquired of the stranger.

“Just a poor traveler, My Liege,” said the old woman with bows to both of them.

“You have been talking to the Princess?” asked the Queen, always swift to protect her daughter.

“Indeed I have, Your Highness, and may I say that this young person is wise and kind beyond her years. She has suffered much, I know, and yet she thinks not of herself but only of others and considers her lot in life a lucky one. She will make a fine and noble Queen one day.”

“Yes, we are proud of her goodness and love her very much,” said Kaldric.

“Still,” reflected the old woman, “it is a bitter shame, I find,  that her legs do not allow her to walk and to run and to … dance … possibly?”

“Yes,” said the King somberly. “And we have given much to restore her to health.”

“We have given everything,” corrected Agnetha with sincerity.

“Then it is high time you were all rewarded for your patience and sacrifice,” said the old woman with regal judgment herself. Saying thusly, she drew herself up, threw off the black cloak and cap, dropped the cane, and revealed herself to be Jetour, the Fairy Queen, attired in a tutu of purest silver and wielding her wand!

“Oh, my!” exclaimed the Princess.

“By heaven!” proclaimed the King.

“The Fairy Queen!” breathlessly spoke Queen Agnetha, who would have recognized her immediately even without her resplendent wand and dancing costume.

“And now, we must see to those legs,” decided Jetour with authority.

“Perhaps they have only been resting to gain strength these many years.” With a flourish she tapped each of Argentia’s knees with her wand, and the girl immediately cast away her crutches and took one, two, three, four, five careful, strong steps to her parents, who were beside themselves with
joy and embraced her tearfully. With the merest wave of her wondrous wand in either direction, Jetour summoned her Fairy Escort. “Now, good Fairies, do you suppose you might assist Princess Argentia to show us what she has always known how to do but for which only recently got the opportunity?”

The company of Fairies immediately surrounded the Princess, so that she was quite invisible for a moment, and when they stepped back, Argentia stood the most lovely of all Princesses in a glistening, alabaster tutu.

“Now, Dear Princess, give us all a lesson in dance,” encourage Jetour, and Argentia, with her suddenly beautiful and powerful legs, proceeded to fill the space with the most remarkable turns and leaps and spins and balances anyone present had ever seen. Jetour and her Court joined in the dance,
which was most spectacular.

When Argentia paused, the King and Queen each took one of their daughter’s hands, and all three offered Jetour their most profound, eternal, not to mention weeping, gratitude.

“Wait!” spoke Jetour peremptorily, as befits a Queen. “There is a matter still undone,” and she pointed a commanding finger into the distance. Her companion Fairies immediately flew from sight and almost instantly reappeared with evil Bromalda and the two sacks of gold in tow. “So, Bromalda,” said Jetour menacingly, “up to your old tricks again?”

The witch fell at Jetour’s feet and pled, “Forgive me, Fairy Queen. It was only a little mistake.”

“Little! Look at the noble Queen and King – nearly in rags. Look at the poor dress the Princess was forced to wear, and worst of all, bad witch, was to elevate the hopes of loving parents only to dash them to wretched shards.”

“Oh, please! Mercy, Queen Jetour! Mercy!”

“Bromalda, I have been thinking that perhaps you would like to spend a thousand or so years as an octopus, far beneath the seas where you can do no harm. Yes, that sounds about right, doesn’t it?” to which question her Fairy Court gave nodding and enthusiastic assent.

“No, please, Queen Jetour!” begged Argentia, interposing herself between the vengeful Fairy and the wretched Bromalda. Be merciful to her! Not such a terrible punishment! Please!”

“So, you even have the love to beg for the one that hurt you so deeply. What remarkable virtue, my dearest child. Very well, Bromalda,” she said angrily with blazing eyes and threatening wand. “The one you cheated and mistreated so wantonly has saved you. Look around you! Your cruelty and
theft have helped macerate this poor garden into a desert. Your punishment shall be to work here from morning to night every day for a hundred years. If it does not become the loveliest garden in all the world, and if you are ever guilty of a second’s mischief, then you had best prepare for
eight wet arms and a very long vacation among the rocks at the bottom of the ocean. Is that understood?”

“Yes,” wept Bromalda pitifully.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, my Queen Fairy.”

“And do you imagine you should be thankful to the one that has saved you from my just punishment?”

Bromalda crawled to Argentia’s feet and kissed each of her dainty, satin dancing shoes. “Oh, thank you, Princess! Thank you!”

“Well, then,” resumed Jetour, “you had best go fetch the tools and the seeds and wheelbarrows and get to work, hadn’t you?”

“Yes, Fairy Queen.”

“Yes, indeed. You’ve had nearly a half-day off today. You might say your sentence has been commuted for the good behavior you will doubtless exhibit from this day forward.”

“Yes, my Fairy Queen.”

Jetour had only to point a finger imperiously, and Bromalda scrambled to her feet and ran to find the garden implements. “And, Bromalda?” added Jetour, whose words stopped the witch in her tracks.

“Yes, Fairy Queen?”

“I will be watching you,” after which ominous promise Bromalda scampered off to begin her century of work.

Then one Fairy danced up to whisper in Jetour’s left ear and another, into her right. Looking surprised, Queen Jetour said humbly, “Yes, I am growing forgetful. There are still matters unresolved. Am I becoming too old for my job?” The Fairies only shook their heads in answer, for when one works for a Queen, one learns how to respond.

“Yes, King Kaldric and Queen Agnetha, while we have salvaged most of the gold Bromalda extorted from you, you are still very, very, very far below the wealth Evighet once owned. Your whole kingdom is in dissolution because of the financial crisis over the Princess’ illness. Oh! How I wish
I had come sooner, and I promise to watch more carefully in future. Certainly,” she laughed heartily and aside, “I must keep tabs on the new Royal Gardener, mustn’t I? You have emptied the Royal Treasury in order to cure your beloved daughter, so I must see to it that a deposit is made to
your account.”

“No, Queen Jetour,” said the King and Queen in supplication. “You have done all for which we prayed. We shall build up our resources, and the kingdom will thrive again. Please! You are already too generous. What can compare in value to the health of our daughter? You have done too much
already.”

“Well,” said Jetour thoughtfully, “perhaps Fairies and mortals do reason differently.” Here Kaldric and Agnetha smiled briefly at winning their point. “But Fairies are never wrong,” decided the graceful Fairy Queen, and she spun round several times in a great blur before tapping her wand
on the two bags of gold, which suddenly burgeoned into a pile of bags. There was so much gold the Lord of the Exchequer would experience a sore back after transporting the load to the Royal Treasury. Whereas it is harmful for mortal governments to manufacture money they cannot back, a Fairy Queen can make gold and bestow it without ill consequences upon genuinely kind and charitable Kings and Queens.

“Also,” she said incisively, “My jewels are drops of dew, snowflakes, and the gleam of sunbeams and moonlight. Mortal Kings and Queens, too, must look the part. They must have their diamonds and emeralds and so forth, and you have sacrificed those, too, for your beautiful Princess. She is worth more than any treasure on earth, but,” and another tap of the wand replenished the lost gems three-fold in a glittering, disorderly heap upon the ground.

The Queen and King were yet marveling at their immeasurable blessings when Queen Jetour innocently asked him, “Your Highness, is there not something you still require?”

“Your Highness,” he correctly addressed her, “what else could I possibly require? I could not have dreamed of such splendid fortune and gifts. No, there is nothing else I need; I have my wife, my daughter, my kingdom, and I hope soon to win again the confidence of my subjects. What else do I
lack?”

“Isn’t there something you’ve longed to do for fifteen years?” Jetour asked with a sly cock of her head and perhaps even a wink.

As the glimmer of recollection flashed over the good King’s face, Queen Jetour took Princess Argentia’s hand, joined it to her father’s, and the entire assembly, Fairies and one mortal Queen, watched the King encircle her waist and waltz his radiant, beloved daughter all around the garden.
Desolate and overgrown as it was, it could not have appeared more gorgeous to the grateful King, and all the remainder of the assembly formed a circle and joined in the festivity.

*     *     *

True to her word, as Fairies always are, Queen Jetour was a frequent visitor to Evighet’s Royal Castle. She observed Princess Argentia become the great and munificent Queen Argentia everyone predicted and to care with exceptional kindness for her Royal Parents.

Eventually, though none of her subjects thought it possible, Queen Argentia found a King Consort almost as wise and loving as she was and nearly as capable a dancer. Their son, Prince Valorus, was born with strong bones throughout and, with the tutelage of his Royal Grandfather walked at five months. Naturally, following the beneficent paths of the Royal Grandparents, Queen Argentia declared her son’s birthday a Public Holiday, and there was great rejoicing throughout the Kingdom.

Queen Argentia encouraged and patronized every sort of decorous dance done to beautiful, mellifluous music, and the Royal Ballrooms never ceased glowing with light and polished floors and chandeliers.

It was also the case that visitors from as far away as the Eastern Lands across the sea marveled at the perfection of the impeccable, Royal Garden.

The Happy End

Bio: Presently living on a small ranch northeast of Roundup, Montana, Larry Stanfel has a Ph.D. from Northwestern University, belonged to several university faculties, and worked as a consultant to private business and government agencies. Twice the recipient of competitive, post-doctoral fellowships for research abroad, he was selected for Who’s Who in America and has given presentations and invited lectures in many
countries.

Royal Ball? Get Home Before Midnight or Magic Happens, By John Patrick Pazdziora

Editor's Note: John Patrick Pazdziora (PGDip, Belfast Bible College) is a freelance writer and a doctoral candidate at the University of St Andrews, studying children's literature and fairy tale. He occasionally lives online at The Paradoxes of Mr. Pond, but usually lives in Scotland, with his wife and daughter.

I like to think I enjoy these falderal and frippery affairs as much as the next chap, but I’m dashed if I ever throw a Royal Ball again! I mean to say, well, dash it, I say! Can’t a fellow keep his own head together, what?

Sorry to seem flustered, you know, but it was the most extraordinary thing. The king my father, and the queen my mother as well, they told me this was the sort of thing that might happen. I suppose I ought to have listened but they didn’t come right out and say it. I mean, they didn’t say, 'Percy, my royal boy, you’ll only get yourself in a dash of bother!'

What they did say wasn’t too helpful. I went to the king, you know, with this spiffy idea for a Royal Ball. ‘I say, old bean,’ I said. ‘Royal Ball, eh what?’

‘Royal Ball,’ said my father. ‘Like the time your mother and I roasted your dear grandmother alive, you mean?’

‘Not like that really,’ I said. ‘Nothing half so old-fashioned. I mean a gala to-do with lights and paper lanterns and punch and paper lanterns and lights, you know. And the band can play toodle oodle and rumpty pom, and I can jolly well dance all night and still dance some more, with half the gals of the kingdom. If music be the food of love, well, might as well have a jolly lot of the toodle oodles, what?”

My father was writing death warrants in the Green Room. He set down his black pen and stared at me in that way he has, over his glasses, like he’s measuring you for a coffin, trying to see if he can cram you all in at one go or needs to chop you up a bit.

‘More cold showers, that’s what the boy needs,’ he barked. ‘Percy! Three brisk runs round the castle! Lively now!’

After I ran round the castle I went to see the queen my mother. She was in the Mirror Room, eating chocolates and listening to the troubadour sing ‘The Ballad of Her Passionate Heart’, I think it was.

‘I say, mum,’ I said. ‘Music being the food of love, I think we should cry haldo and let slip the dogs of it, what? Toodle oodle and rompedy pum and all that, you know.’

The thing about the Mirror Room is that you’re always looking over your own shoulder. And what isn’t looking over your shoulder is either a violently fluffy cushion or a small, cruel dog inclined to bite. It’s hard to tell which is which, at first.

Mother popped a chocolate in her mouth and giggled. ‘Percy! You’re not in love, are you?’

‘Well,’ I said, ‘not yet. That’s why I thought we’d have some music to feed the jolly dogs of it, you know.’

‘Oh you silly boy, why don’t you go on a quest?’ said Mum, looking at herself looking at herself looking at me looking at her looking at her looking at me. ‘That’s what your father did, you know, and look what it got him.’

‘Yes, but it’s the wrong weather for quests.’

Mother sighed, and looked at her looking at her at me at her. ‘You really are very silly, Percy. You know what your father will say when he hears about this? More cold showers, my boy, harrumph! That’s what he’ll say. Three times round the castle!’

‘Well, yes,’ I said. ‘I know.’

‘You ought to go on a quest,’ said my mother, smiling from every corner of the room at once. ‘Magic’s more manageable on a quest. You try to bring it in here and heaven knows what will happen! Bell tolls one and poof! You turn into a pumpkin!’

Well. They said all that, and I may have had to run around the castle a few times more, but the thing is when you’re an only prince they can’t just go lopping off your head if they don’t like you. It’s a dynasty thing. So I said, why not have a ball, and I said it until they said, oh anything to make him shut up, and so that’s what happened.

It was a simply spiffy affair. We had the whole Great Hall decked out in paper lanterns. And crepe, or taupe, or that crinkly papery stuff, over the tapestries of Great Uncle Rupert dismembering those Scots wha hae wi’ Wallace died pretty awfully. We put the band up in the balcony, and they played rumpty pom and toodle oodle, and there really were a lot of paper lanterns.

I wore this gold thing, you know, with silk round the collars, since it matched my hair and looked smart. Had a time of it, too, walking around and looking at all the ladies looking at me. I danced with one girl for a toodle, and another for an oodle, and then sat out for the rompty poms since I was getting pretty bored by then.

That’s when she came in.

Enchanting creature in a blue gown that made me knock the Prosecco into the punch. Simply spiffy girl, walking in beauty like the night of cloudless climes and an awful lot of stars and sequins.

‘The Princess Nobody from Nowhere!’ shouted the herald.

‘Hello,’ she said.

‘Gosh awfully,’ I said. ‘I mean to say. Er.’ That didn’t sound quite right, hardly the stuff of thoughts supremely sweet expressing how topping their dwelling place was, especially by comparison. So I tried again. ‘I say, I mean. Aren’t you a super girl!’

‘I don’t know,’ said Princess Nobody. ‘I guess so.’

We danced. Did I mention she had marmalade coloured hair? Like some really amazing cat. And very green eyes. The band played toodle pom and romptey oodle, and I even got a chance to tell her that marvellous story about old Biffy and the man from Harrogate before she said she had to go.

‘Go?’ I said. ‘But you can’t go yet! It’s only half-eleven,! Hardly touched the punch, what?’

‘I’m so sorry,’ said Princess Nobody, ‘but I must go soon.’ She smiled, and she could have sent me running through seven miles of steel thistles with that smile. ‘I don’t want to turn into a pumpkin, you know?’

‘Hang on, that’s me,’ I said, following her out the hall and down the stairs. ‘I’m supposed to turn into a pumpkin if there’s some magic gone wrong, right? I say—I say, do you think we could meet up for tea? I mean, dash it I say!’

She got into the coach and swirled away, and there I was holding her programme and not knowing a thing about this marvellous girl.

I moped for a week before father gave in.

‘In my day we didn’t shilly-shally about,’ he barked. ‘Went out questin’. Found a fellbeast and gave it a good whack, took his dinner of maiden for ourselves. That’s the ticket, young pup me lad!’ He tucked his hands under his coattails the way he does, gave me that look and puffed through his whiskers. ‘You see this mysterious damozel at this hullaballoo tonight,’ he said, ‘you tell her to set you a quest. Tear some fool in half, or burn an old witch, or roll a judge down a hill covered in sharp stones in a barrel full of nails and poisonous snakes into a pool of boiling lead. Something sensible and princely like that.’

The band wasn’t quite as good that night. They oodled when they should have pommed and toodled when a rumptedy would have done, but I didn’t mind that a bit when that spiffy Princess Nobody breezed through the door. I’d been trying to think of a quest, and I’d thought up a pretty good one, but it went clean out of my head when she came in and smiled at me, her silver dress out-braving all the pride of the fields sort of thing.

‘Look here,’ I said, as we swirled round as best we could to the romptey oodle and the toodle pom. ‘How about a quest?’

‘Why, Percy,’ she said, ‘what are you suggesting?’

‘Well, dash it, you know,’ I said. ‘Quests. Dragons, giants, old men in barrels of snakes, what. Should we have one?’

The clock struck quarter to twelve and she disentangled herself with another smile. I would have run up a mountain of glass for that smile. ‘I must be away,’ she said, ‘or there’ll be one too many pumpkins in the world.’

‘I’ll find a pumpkin for you,’ I said. ‘We’ll hire pumpkin eaters to entertain you at court. I’ll got on a quest to find the biggest, orangiest, superest pumpkin you could—Princess Nobody! What’s your name where do you live can I call you sometime—?’

Away goes the carriage again. I sat on the steps and didn’t say another word for anybody.

Two weeks this time and mother finds me sulking in the Royal Botanical Gardens.

‘I’ve got it all figured out, Percy dah-ling,’ she says. ‘Oh, it’s just the sort of thing that happened in the “Lay of His Mysterious Madame”! She’s not really a princess at all! I’ll bet she’s just one of these horrid common girls with a fairy godmother! And if she stays till midnight her carriage turns back into a pumpkin and her dress turns into rags and tatters and the horrible truth comes out at last and she bursts into tears and swoons fainting onto your noble bosom and when she wakes up you—Percy? What are you doing?’

‘I’m sketching,’ I said.

‘Yes dear,’ said my mother. ‘So what you do is, keep her at the palace until the clock strikes twelve, and then what’s pumpkins is pumpkins, what’s rags is rags, and what’s a beautiful girl really will still be a beautiful girl then, and then you—what are you sketching, dear?’

‘A gladiola,’ I said. ‘There are forty-seven different varieties of gladioli in the habitable hemispheres, and I think I’ll start a collection.’

‘But Percy,’ said my mother, ‘whatever for?’

She had me there. I packed up my sketchbook and crept out of the Gardens. It wouldn’t have been much of a quest, anyway.

The next night we did away with paper lanterns and put up chandeliers. The band played tirra tirra tum de dum something dum da te deedle tum thingy—you know the one I mean. And in swept the Princess Nobody from Nowhere in a dress of pure spun gold, and a radiant smile, as if all the world and love were young and hadn’t a thing to bother about.

‘I say, see here,’ I said, as we whirled around to the tooraloo, ‘I’m not, you know, class conscious sort of thing. So it doesn’t really matter, you know. About us.’

‘About us?’ she said. ‘That I’m a princess and you’re a prince?’

‘Well, you know, dash it,’ I said. ‘If the shoe fits, you know, you jolly well ought to wear it!’

‘Really, I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said the Princess, smiling a smile that would have made me sing songs in hell for her, despite avalanche or roadblock. ‘Now I really must go or I shall turn into a pumpkin.’

‘Stop a bit!’ I said. ‘I mean, dash it. It’s a deuced thing, but I can’t remember your name. I mean—look here!’ I shoved my sketchbook at her. She hesitated, took it. ‘There are forty-seven kinds of gladioli, you know. We could collect them together, what?’

‘Well,’ she said, ‘I do like gardens, but really—’

‘I’m an only prince, you know,’ I said. ‘I can marry who I want, whether they’re a Princess or—or—or not. I mean to say, well, dash it, I say!’

‘Well,’ said the Princess, ‘It’s been lovely, but I—’

The clock struck twelve. The band blared toodely pow. I caught the princess in my arms and—

And I’m dashed if she didn’t turn into a pumpkin!

Image by Frank C. Cowper.