by M. M. Kaye
The King became flustered and peppery and the Queen became more and more anxious and distracted as time went on. The Prime Minister and the Lord High Chamberlain and all the Councillors of State went about with such long faces that the Ordinary Princess said it was a wonder they did not trip over their chins.
It was not that there was any lack of suitors. The fame of the princesses of Phantasmorania had gone abroad, and each year princes and peers had come from all over the wide world to make offers of marriage. There were quite as many as, if not more than, the numbers who had paid visits of ceremony at the palace of Phanff in the year before the wedding of the Princess Pearl. For was there not still one princess left? And didn’t everyone know that youngest princesses are always the most beautiful and charming of all?
The court of Phanff, you see, had always been discreetly silent on the subject of its seventh princess, and outside the kingdom it was naturally supposed that the Princess Amethyst was as beautiful, if not more beautiful, than any of her six lovely sisters. So of course the list of visiting suitors was as impressive as ever.
One after another, as the months rolled by, princes and Grand Dukes and Royal Highnesses and Serene Transparencies of every description, shape and size arrived at the palace of Phanff to pay a friendly visit, but in reality to meet Her Serene and Royal Highness the Princess Amethyst Alexandra Augusta Araminta Adelaide Aurelia Anne of Phantasmorania. But none of them ever stayed more than one day.
One after another, after their first shocked look at the Ordinary Princess, they hurriedly remembered previous engagements. They apologized for having to make such a brief stay and said that if they should ever happen to be passing that way again they would of course drop in. After which they would pack their luggage and hurry away the very next morning.
None of them ever stayed a second day, except His Serene Transparency the Archduke of Pantechniconia, who was in such a hurry to leave that he tripped on his ermine-trimmed cloak on the top step of the grand staircase and fell down the whole flight. After which, of course, he was so bruised that he had to be put to bed for a week before it was safe for him to travel.
So the year went round and the winter passed, and it was spring once more. And once again it seemed to the Ordinary Princess as though the sky had fallen into the Forest of Faraway, as she lay on her back in a sea of bluebells and watched a pair of orioles building their nest in the branches over her head.
As she lay there, she sang to herself a nursery rhyme that her ladies-in-waiting used to sing to her when she was a little girl. It is a very old song now, but then it was almost new ...“Lavender’s blue,” sang the Ordinary Princess,
“Rosemary’s green,
”When you are King
“I shall be Queen.”
No one listening to her would have realized, from her lighthearted singing, what a very great deal of trouble she was causing. For while the Ordinary Princess lay on her back and sang songs among the bluebells, her father the King was attending an Extra Specially Important Meeting of the Council of State, summoned to discuss the question of the marriage of his last and youngest unmarried daughter.
“Something must be done!” shouted the King. And he banged on the table so hard that he twisted his thumb and spilled the inkpot onto the Lord High Chamberlain’s velvet robe, which did not improve matters.
“It was all your fault in the first place,” said the King, getting crosser than ever and finding some difficulty in keeping his crown from sliding over one ear—a thing that always seemed to happen whenever he got in the least excited. “Years ago I sat in this very same room,” said the King, sucking his injured thumb, “and warned the lot of you. I warned you that you were being rash—and don’t interrupt me, Rodehesia,” he added fiercely, turning on the Queen, who had moaned at the sound of that by now all too familiar word.
But the Queen was far too upset to interrupt anyone. She asked for a glass of water and some smelling salts and fanned herself with her lace handkerchief.
“Well?” said the King. “Well? Well? Well? Hasn’t anyone got anything to say? Has no one any ideas?”
The Council maintained a gloomy silence, and the Queen took a sip of water and said in a faint voice, “We must do something. The disgrace of it! There has never been a spinster in all the Annals of the Phanffarias.”
The Prime Minister coughed apologetically.
“Well, Your Majesty,” said the Prime Minister, “there has never been a princess in the family quite ... er ... quite like ... er ...” He caught the King’s eye and subsided.
“I asked for ideas,” said the King tartly, “not criticism. What I want from all of you is less criticism and more ideas. Her Majesty is quite right. No princess of our house has ever before failed to make a brilliant marriage. And,” added the King, looking fiercer than ever, “we are not going to start now!” He raised his fist to thump on the table, thought better of it, and glowered at his councillors instead.
There was a lot more silence.
“Well?” demanded the King again. “Well? Well?”
“If I might make a suggestion, Your Majesty,” said the Lord High Chamberlain nervously, “could we not try the effect of a ... er ... dragon?”
“On whom?” inquired the King, puzzled.
“Er ... on the suitors, Your Majesty. It has sometimes proved very useful in the case of—er—er—not very attractive young damsels,” he finished hurriedly.
“Explain yourself,” ordered the King sternly.
“Well, Your Majesty knows what romantic minds these young princes have, so suppose we hired a dragon to—to lay waste the countryside—?” (Here the Minister of Public Safety looked alarmed and the Minister for Agriculture and Fishery was heard to protest.) “We might then imprison Her Royal Highness in a tower and send out a proclamation to say that any prince who slew the dragon should be rewarded by the princess’s hand in marriage. I venture to think, Your Majesty,” said the Lord High Chamberlain more nervously than ever, “that this might have the—er—desired effect. Provided, of course, that Her Highness was kept—er—out of sight as it were,” finished the Lord High Chamberlain rapidly.
“How can you say such a thing? Oh, my poor child!” wailed the Queen, taking a long sniff at her smelling salts. But the King suddenly sat up straight with a wild look in his eye.
“I believe there’s something in it,” said the King.
The Council brightened visibly, and the Lord High Chamberlain tried hard to look modest. “To think,” said the King, “that after all these years, one of my councillors should actually have had an idea. You,” said the King, pointing at the Prime Minister, “will see to it at once that a special committee is formed to carry out the project. We will require a Minister in Charge of Hiring a Suitable Dragon and a subcommittee for drawing up the draft of a suitably worded proclamation. And you, my dear,” said the King turning to his Queen, “will please see to it that Amy retires to a secluded tower and remains there, out of sight, until this affair reaches a happy conclusion.”
The King rubbed his hands together and beamed cheerily at the relieved Council. “A capital scheme!” he said. “I’ve yet to hear of a prince who could resist the chance of killing a dragon. Some silly young nitwit is sure to come charging up to slay the creature, and then,” said the King, “we’ll have him! He simply can’t turn the girl down after that. And anyway,” finished the King cheerfully, “he won’t see her until it’s too late!”
“But what about Rubarbary?” inquired the Queen at this point.
“Eh?” said the King.
“Her Majesty means His Royal Highness the Grand Duke Reginald of Rubarbary,” put in the Prime Minister helpfully. “Perhaps Your Majesty forgets that His Highness arrives this afternoon for the express purpose of seeing Her Highness the Princess with a view to matrimony?”
“Tcha!” said the King. “We all know perfectly well by this time what will happen as soon as he lays eyes on her.” He scratched his chin and looked thou
ghtful. “I suppose,” said the King hopefully, “we couldn’t say that she had a chill and see if he’d make an offer for her hand without seeing her?”
“I fear, Sire, that such a ruse would only cause His Highness to prolong his visit until he did see her,” said the Prime Minister.
“Perhaps you’re right,” said the King. “Well, as we can’t possibly produce any dragons by this afternoon, we’d better give Amy one more chance of getting off without one. And if the Grand Duke remembers a previous appointment after seeing her, then we’ll try this dragon scheme of yours. Come, my dear,” and straightening his crown, the King went merrily off to take a stroll in the kitchen gardens. He was a man of simple tastes, and his hobby was growing onions.
That evening, before the banquet for His Royal Highness the Grand Duke Reginald of Rubarbary, the Queen paid a visit to the apartments of her youngest daughter.
“Now please pay attention, Amy,” said the Queen, sitting down on the edge of the Ordinary Princess’s golden bed, “because this is very important. I particularly wish you to make a good impression on the Grand Duke, for if he should take a fancy to you, it will save your Papa and myself a great deal of trouble. And—er—expense,” added the Queen, thinking of the high cost of hiring dragons.
“Yes, Mama,” said the Ordinary Princess.
“So you will please put on your most becoming dress and your prettiest crown.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“And for goodness’ sake, child, don’t stand like that! Feet together, please. And remember to stand up straight and answer nicely when you are spoken to. And look as if you were enjoying yourself.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“Do please try and remember to keep your back to the light as much as possible. I have heard,” said the Queen hopefully, “that His Highness is a little shortsighted, and I can only trust that it is so. Always bear in mind that you are a princess of the royal house of Phanffaria, and even if you are not beautiful, try and look as though you were.”
With which puzzling remark Her Majesty departed.
But, alas, in spite of all her good advice, the evening was a failure from the start.
His Royal Highness the Grand Duke of Rubarbary was not only pudgy and pompous but full of pride, and the Ordinary Princess took an immediate dislike to him from the moment he entered the room. All her royal Mama’s eyebrow signals and all her royal Papa’s whispers of “Amy, behave!” could not make her be more than stiffly polite to him. While as for the Grand Duke, all the best dresses and becoming crowns and shortsightedness in the world could not disguise from him the excessive ordinariness of the Ordinary Princess.
“Good gracious!” said the Grand Duke in a very loud whisper to his guard, “I don’t believe the girl’s a princess at all. Who ever heard of a princess with hair that color? And her nose, Count Poffloff. Have you noticed her nose? Freckles—positively freckles! Shocking!”
So the banquet was not a success, even though the Grand Duke Reginald ate a great deal and seemed, by the noise he made, to enjoy his food. The Ordinary Princess sat at his right hand, but she did not talk to him at all; firstly because she did not want to, and secondly because his mouth was always full, so he did not look as though he could have answered her if she had.
After this, no one was in the least surprised to hear, when the banquet was over, the Grand Duke telling the King how sorry he was not to be able to stay a second day, but he had just remembered a promise he had made to visit the Baron Boris of Bigswigsburg and that he was afraid he would have to leave immediately after breakfast next morning.
“I knew this was going to happen,” said the Prime Minister glumly as he went off to look up the price of hiring dragons.
A week went past, and then one day, when the Ordinary Princess was playing by herself in the forest, she met a party of girls from the city of Phanff who had come to the forest to picnic and gather bluebells.
The Ordinary Princess had taken off her shoes and stockings and tucked up her gown above her knees to keep it out of the damp moss, and no one would ever have suspected her of being a Royal Highness! The picnic party certainly did not, and as she was a friendly sort of person, in a few minutes they were all talking and laughing together as though they had known each other for years.
They climbed trees and ran races and picked enough bluebells to fill every apron with flowers. But when the sun began to sink behind the distant horizon, they said they must go home.
“Oh dear,” said the nicest girl (her name was Clorinda and she was just as freckled and jolly as the Ordinary Princess), “it’s sad to think that this is probably the last time for months that we shall be able to come out here and pick flowers and enjoy ourselves.”
“Why do you say that?” asked the Ordinary Princess. She had hoped that they might come again soon, for they were nice, laughing, cheerful girls and not a bit like the fine ladies of the court.
“Haven’t you heard?” asked the one whose name was Phyllida. “The Council of State is getting in a dragon to lay waste the countryside, and once the creature arrives it won’t be safe to go outside the city walls.”
“Whatever do you mean, ‘getting in a dragon’?” demanded the Ordinary Princess. “Do you mean on purpose? But whatever for?”
“It’s on purpose all right,” nodded Clorinda. “You must come from some very out of the way village if you haven’t heard about it. It’s because of the princess, you know.”
“The princess!”
“Yes. You see, nobody wants to marry her because she’s not pretty as princesses go.”
“But the dragon?” insisted the Ordinary Princess. “Go on about the dragon. Whyever a dragon?”
“Well you see, it’s this way,” said Clorinda, plumping herself down on the moss and quite willing to explain. “The King and all the old councillors think that if they hire a dragon to lay waste the countryside, and keep the princess shut up in a tower where no one can see her, they can send out a proclamation to say that whoever kills the dragon can marry her. Well, you know what princes are,” said Clorinda wisely. “Just a lot of little boys when it comes to killing dragons. So of course some prince will get all heroic and kill the poor creature, and as soon as he does he’ll simply have to marry the princess. See?”
“I see,” said the Ordinary Princess.
“It may be all right for the King,” said Clorinda, “but I must say, I think it’s bad luck on his kingdom.” She got up off the moss and began filling her apron with the bluebells she had picked. “No more picnics,” she said sadly. “And the dragon is sure to kill some poor villager’s cows and sheep before it gets killed itself. I think it’s a shame.”
“Yes,” agreed the Ordinary Princess. “You’re right, Clorinda. It is a shame. And what’s more, it ought to be stopped. And I know how to stop it!”
“What’s that?” asked Clorinda, who had been busy with her flowers.
“Nothing,” said the Ordinary Princess. “I was only thinking aloud. I say, Clorinda ... would you do something for me?”
“Surely,” said Clorinda. “What is it?”
“You’re about my size,” said the Ordinary Princess, frowning thoughtfully. “Will you swap your dress for mine?”
Clorinda looked a bit doubtful.
“Come on,” urged the Ordinary Princess. “Just for fun.”
“Well—” said Clorinda, “I suppose it’s all right. But that’s an awfully pretty dress you’ve got on—much nicer than mine.”
“Then that’s settled,” said the Ordinary Princess. “Come on, behind that tree trunk.”
A few minutes later there came out from behind the tree a princess in a plain homespun dress and a print apron, and a girl in a trailing gown of amethyst-colored brocade.
“Here are my shoes and stockings,” said the Ordinary Princess, pulling them out of a hollow oak where she had hidden them. “I say, we do fit each other’s clothes well, don’t we?”
“It’s a simply lovely dress,” sighe
d Clorinda, stroking the brocaded folds. “I didn’t realize it was such a grand one, the way you had it all bunched up. I’ve always wanted one like this ... are you sure you don’t mind?”
“Of course not. I’ve always wanted one like this,” said the Ordinary Princess. “You’d better run, Clorinda—your friends have started.”
“Oh goodness,” cried Clorinda. “I must fly! Good-bye.”
“Good-bye,” called the Ordinary Princess.
She stood at the edge of the forest waving her hand until Clorinda was out of sight. Then she turned and looked up at the walls and towers of the palace.
“Dragons!” said the Ordinary Princess. “I’ll give them dragons. So they think they can push me off on to any silly prince who kills a dragon, do they!” And she stamped her foot and stuck out her tongue at the palace walls just to relieve her feelings. “Well, you just wait and see!” she said.
When she was safely back in her room, she took off Clorinda’s dress and apron and Clorinda’s buckled shoes and cotton stockings and hid them behind the amethyst-colored tapestries on the walls. Then she put on one of her own embroidered gowns and went demurely down to supper.
After supper she said she was tired and would go to bed early. But as soon as Nurse Marta and the ladies-in-waiting had gone, she got up again, lit one of the scented wax candles, and wrote a short letter.
She propped the letter up in a conspicuous place on the mantel and dressed herself in Clorinda’s clothes. And because it was rather cold, she took her plainest cloak as well. Then she climbed out of the window for the last time.
There was a full moon, and the forest looked all black and silver and mysterious in the moonlight. But it did not frighten the Ordinary Princess, because she knew it too well and was so fond of it.
She stopped where the trees began, to wave her hand at the turrets and towers and glistening walls of her home. Then, turning her back on it, she plunged into the forest and was gone.
