Feminist Fairy Tales

by Barbara G. Walker

  Prince Gimme immediately ordered up a magnificent entourage of knights, horses, courtiers, and carriages, and set off for the witch’s house with much drum-beating and horn-blowing. Lest he should become bored on the long road, he arranged for tumblers, clowns, and horseback acrobats to perform outside his carriage windows; silk-clad ladies to stroke him and feed him grapes; and musicians and singers to fill his ears and drown out the rough noises of travel.

  When they arrived at the witch’s house, they set up colorful tents and spread out a lavish picnic of rich food and wines. A footman went up to the witch’s door and knocked, to invite her to join the prince at his feast.

  The company waited apprehensively for the witch to open her door, expecting a fearsome hag with the evil eye. They heaved a collective sigh of relief when the witch proved to be no such hideous ogress but a slender young woman who was even quite pretty. She was dressed as a peasant, and a little black cat leaned against her leg.

  “What is all this hubbub?” the witch demanded.

  Glittering in his cloth-of-gold uniform, Prince Gimme stepped forward and bowed graciously. “I am the prince, here in person to honor you with my presence and to find out the way to the Fairy of the Forest, my intended bride. I have brought chests of jewels for your payment. Mistress Witch, do sit down and have a glass of wine with me.”

  The young witch laughed. “I don’t want your chests of jewels or your wine,” she said. “And I don’t want all those fancy fritillaries cluttering up my yard and trampling my herb garden. Get rid of them at once, Prince, and then perhaps we’ll talk, just the two of us alone.”

  “Unthinkable!” cried the captain of the guard. “The prince can’t be left alone outside of the palace. Royal persons never go anywhere without attendants.”

  “Suit yourself,” said the witch. “If the prince won’t visit me alone, he won’t visit me at all.” She went back into her house and shut the door.

  Prince Gimme would not have his will thwarted by a matter of precedent. Shoving aside the captain of the guard, he ordered the whole entourage to pack everything up and go away, leaving nothing behind except the prince’s white charger for him to ride home on. The courtiers obeyed, though they feared the king’s wrath when they returned without Gimme.

  After they were gone, the prince went up to the witch’s door and knocked on it again with his own royal knuckles. The witch looked out and saw nothing but Gimme and a white horse with gilded hooves, wearing a golden saddle, a gem-studded bridle, and ropes of pearls in its mane and tail.

  “Put that creature in my stable, next to the mule,” she ordered. “Be sure to give him plenty of water, fresh hay, and a measure of oats. And take off that silly jewelry tack.”

  Never having been ordered around by anyone before, the prince found it momentarily amusing. He obediently led his horse to the stable. He took a long time to figure out how to remove the saddle and bridle, how to pitch the hay, and how to fill the water trough from the well, but eventually he did it.

  Upon his return, the witch removed his crown and sword, strapped a heavily packed knapsack to his back, and shouldered a traveling bag of her own. Then she walked into the forest, beckoning Gimme to follow her.

  “Where are we going?” Gimme asked.

  “To the Fairy’s sacred grove,” said the witch. “It’s a long way. Your shoes don’t look any too sturdy, but I suppose you can make it.”

  Prince Gimme soon discovered that his jeweled dancing slippers were not sturdy enough for tramping over rough ground. They soon began to rub and pinch, creating oozing blisters on his feet. Some of their jewels fell off in the mud. Gimme protested at the witch’s pace and demanded a rest, but she paid no attention. She slogged steadily onward, apparently tireless. He tried dropping behind to ease his sore feet for a few moments, but then he had to run to catch up with her before she passed out of his sight. After several hours of walking, he was hobbling painfully, and the pack straps seemed to be cutting his shoulders to pieces. Still, the witch tramped on. He followed, gritting his teeth.

  It was nearly dusk when they reached the sacred grove. There the witch told Prince Gimme to collect dry wood for a fire, while she spread out her paraphernalia and some food for a frugal supper. The grove was large, floored by soft grass and walled by tall whispering pines. In the center an ancient standing stone presided over a broad altar table and a stone-lined fire pit, where the witch soon had a merry fire going. The prince sank down exhausted and drank deeply from the flask that she handed him.

  After they had eaten, she made a dense, sweet smoke by casting some herbs on the fire. She went around the periphery of the grove, laying charms. She placed several mysterious objects on the altar table, speaking words in a language that Gimme had never heard before. She gave him something to drink in a curiously wrought copper goblet. Then she pricked his arm with what he thought was a very sharp thorn. His consciousness began to fade.

  Deep within his mind, he was seized by a sudden panic. He realized that he was being drugged and wondered if the whole elaborate charade was nothing more than a method of kidnap and murder. Suddenly he saw the foolishness of having isolated himself in the midst of the great forest with this strange woman.

  But it was too late. Already he was unable to move or speak. Gently, slowly, his mind spiraled down into utter darkness.

  He didn’t expect to awaken, but he did. When he opened his eyes, the grove was empty. The fire was out. The witch was nowhere to be seen. The first silver beams of dawn were sifting down through the trees. Prince Gimme arose stiffly and looked around.

  There was a path he hadn’t noticed before, prettily bordered with harebells, leading away to a clearer space among the trees. He followed the path and soon came to a beautiful chapel of snow-white marble roofed with silver, flashing in the early sunlight like a crystal.

  “The witch didn’t deceive me after all,” Gimme said to himself. “Surely this is the abode of the Fairy of the Forest.” He entered the chapel.

  Inside, everything was white, illuminated by the early sunlight slanting down from high windows of translucent mother-of-pearl. On a silver throne in the center of the hall sat an extraordinarily beautiful maiden in a white satin gown, wearing a diamond crown. Her hair was cream white, her eyes so pale a blue as to seem nearly white also. A white leopard, wearing a diamond collar, crouched beside her.

  Greedy and spoiled though he was, Prince Gimme knew his manners. He knelt graciously before the maiden and raised his clasped hands. “Surely you are the Fairy of the Forest,” he said. “I salute your loveliness and humbly beg leave to present myself as your suitor, though I may be unworthy to touch the hem of your garment.” He extended a hand. The leopard growled, and Gimme snatched his hand back rather hastily.

  “I don’t know whether you are unworthy or not,” said the maiden, “but you are mistaken. I am not the Fairy of the Forest. I am the princess of purity.”

  “Forgive me,” said Gimme. “I naturally thought no human lady could be as beautiful as yourself. Can you tell me where to find the Fairy of the Forest?”

  “You might find her if you follow the track of my beast. Are you brave enough for that?”

  “I will do anything you bid me to do, fair princess.”

  “Then follow,” she said. A silvery mist arose around her throne and concealed her. The leopard leaped up and set off through the pillars of the chapel, out to the woods, and along a smaller path leading deeper into the forest. Prince Gimme followed, hurrying on his sore feet to keep the animal in view. Despite his best efforts, the white leopard’s easy lope soon outdistanced him, but he kept to the path.

  About midday he came upon another clearing. In the center stood a castle of red sandstone, with blood-red banners floating from its battlements and a tall gate of carved copper studded with garnets. Gimme wearily approached the gate and rang its copper bell. The portals slowly and soundlessly opened before him.

  He saw no one in the courtyard, so he passed on to the
great hall before him. There he found a tall, majestic woman seated by the fire on a throne of bright red marble, wearing a red velvet robe and a crown of rubies. Her hair, too, was red—not carroty orange but a deep, rich mahogany red. Beside her lay an enormous red-maned lion.

  “Surely,” Gimme said to himself, “this is the Fairy of the Forest.” He bowed low before her, politely introduced himself, and explained his mission. “Great lady,” he said, “please be indulgent toward your most faithful and adoring suitor. My heart tells me that you must be the Fairy of the Forest.”

  The woman parted her red lips and smiled. “Your heart is mistaken,” she told him. “I am not the Fairy of the Forest. I am the mater gloriosa.”

  “Forgive me,” said Gimme. “I naturally thought no human lady could be as gloriously beautiful as yourself. Can you tell me where to find the Fairy of the Forest?”

  “You might find her if you will follow the track of my beast,” said the lady. “Are you brave enough to do that?”

  “I will do anything you bid me to do, glorious queen.”

  “Then follow,” she said. The fire suddenly roared up and spread a curtain of flame across the hall. Though Prince Gimme felt no heat, it seemed that the entire castle was enveloped by flames in a single moment. The whole illusion disappeared, leaving him in the clearing face-to-face with a huge, snarling lion. Gimme trembled but stood his ground, futilely wishing that he still had his sword.

  After lashing its tail and showing its teeth at him in a most intimidating manner, the lion turned haughtily away and stalked off, as if to say Prince Gimme was not worth any more of its time. It paced deliberately into a very small path leading deeper into the forest, sliding smoothly and stealthily through the undergrowth, occasionally looking back at him with a brief growl.

  Gimme followed, taking care to keep a respectful distance away from the creature. He was feeling much less sure of himself, lost and worried by forces beyond his control, such as threatening lions and spooky disappearing castles.

  This path was narrower and darker than the others. The tree canopy overhead was so dense as to shut out most of the daylight. The path was often choked by clawlike brambles studded with sharp thorns, or it fell into puddles of black, stagnant water. Gimme couldn’t keep up with the lion, which vanished among the trees. It was all he could do to follow the path through thickets and marshy places. Soon his fine clothes were tattered and muddy. His jeweled slippers hurt his feet so much that he threw them away and proceeded on dirty bare feet. He was ragged, smudged, and disheveled, a most unprepossessing sight.

  Toward evening he came to another clearing that contained a rude domelike hovel built of black stones, overgrown with creepers and weeds. It had a dark iron door, like a prison cell. As Gimme approached, the door opened with a rusty creak. A figure emerged from the dark, ill-smelling interior. It was a bent, withered old woman in fluttering black rags, her skin as dark and wrinkled as an ancient mummy’s, and seemingly smeared with soot. Instead of the white hair that might be expected on so old a person, her head was covered by frightful night-black coils that seemed to writhe with a life of their own, like snakes. Beside her, a black panther glowered at him with malevolent amber eyes.

  Suppressing a shudder, Prince Gimme drew himself up and saluted the crone respectfully. “Excuse me, madam,” he said, “I am searching for the dwelling of the Fairy of the Forest. Can you show me the way?”

  “It is here,” the old woman croaked.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “It is here,” she repeated. “I am the Fairy of the Forest.”

  The hag is wandering in her wits, Gimme thought. I must be diplomatic in extracting information from her. He forced a smile and said, “I have been told that the Fairy of the Forest is the most beautiful creature in all the country. In your wisdom perhaps you can explain this tale to me.”

  “You have eyes but do not see,” said the crone. “You foolishly enter the fairy land, which is a land of illusion, and you have no understanding of illusions. You are stupid.”

  Suddenly she thrust a filthy claw toward him. The black panther sprang upon him with a rattling snarl, knocked him down, and crouched on his body. He was pinned to the ground by its heavy talon-studded paws on his chest. Its vicious yellow fangs slavered, an inch from his throat.

  Prince Gimme lay perfectly still and stared into the feline face of death.

  “In order to understand illusions,” said the woman, “you must pass through the Cauldron and come forth reborn. “Are you willing to give up your pride of life to find the fairy you seek? Are you brave enough for that?”

  Gimme didn’t know what she meant, but he was unshakeably convinced of his own sincerity. He nodded.

  “Death is the final understanding,” said the crone. “No man knows his muse until he knows her as his destroyer. Come with me.”

  The panther released him and crouched growling beside him as he arose cautiously. The crone beckoned. He followed her into the black stone hut, the panther following closely. When his eyes adapted to the darkness, he saw in the center of the hut an immense black iron Cauldron sitting on a bed of charcoal. The vessel was as high as his waist and large enough to accommodate a whole side of beef.

  “Climb in,” the crone ordered him.

  “What, into the Cauldron?” Gimme cried. “You must be joking.”

  “Do you want to learn the illusions of the fairy realm, or do you want to die right here? The cat is ready and able to rip out your throat.”

  “Listen here, you,” cried Gimme, finally exasperated. “I’ve had it with all these illusions. I’ve been robbed of my servants, forced to do the work of stable hands and woodcutters, drugged and diddled and dagged and dragged through a damnable wilderness on sore feet, threatened by lions and panthers, and now I find the object of my gallant quest is not the beautiful fairy princess I expected but a dirty old woman who wants to boil me alive. Enough! I don’t care if I never marry anybody. I just want to go home, take a bath, have a decent dinner, and forget the whole thing. Call off your cat and let me out of here.”

  The crone laughed. “Well, you’re showing a little spirit at last,” she said. “But what you demand isn’t possible. Among all the other humbling lessons you have to learn is the lesson of responsibility. Once you’ve set events in motion, you must see them through and accept the consequences. Your greed brought you here. Now you must support your own decisions. That’s an essential quality of rulership. No prince worthy of the title backs away from what he has brought on himself. A prince must be brave.”

  “What, brave enough to commit suicide? That’s not brave. That’s stupid.”

  “Stupid is a man who would prefer being mauled by large feline claws to being bathed in magic and shown the true fairy vision. My pet thinks so too.”

  At this, the panther stretched a forepaw toward the prince and unsheathed its thick, shiny claws, which were several inches long, wickedly curved, and sharp as needles. The animal’s face seemed to wear a sweet anticipatory smile. Its pink tongue gently licked its fangs. “Hm, hm,” it said, purring.

  Prince Gimme’s heart sank into his feet.

  “All your life you’ve been selfish,” the woman said severely. “Before you can be a king, you have to learn to take responsibility for others and also to listen to others. Now, dear prince, listen to what I tell you. If you don’t get into that Cauldron right this minute, the cat is going to spring up at your face, bury its claws in both sides of your head, wrestle you down to the ground, and shred you from top to bottom in long, thin strips. Take your choice.”

  “Since you put it like that,” said Gimme, “I will do what you bid me to do.” He threw one leg over the side of the Cauldron. It was filled with a warm liquid that tingled his skin rather pleasantly. He climbed all the way in and immersed himself to the neck.

  Suddenly the liquid seemed to harden like glue and to suck him under like quicksand. At the same time, it grew unbearably hot. Prince Gimme tried to scr
eam, but his mouth was filled with choking fluid. He sank down into the Cauldron, thinking in despair that this was a lonely, pointless way for the great prince of Hardtstrucken-Wittenheim to die.

  His consciousness continued, however, into strange, terrifying dreams. First, he thought all the flesh was boiled off his bones, reducing him to a skeleton. He stood up in his naked bones and walked into a vast river of blood. He floated to the farther shore, which was lined with beehive-shaped tombs. Living corpses in various states of putrefaction walked, stood, or sat among the tombs. Drifting through the air like a wind-blown leaf, he was carried past them.

  He came to a broad meadow and fell on the ground. Soil began to cover his bare bones. It turned gradually into flesh, until he felt muscles once more able to move his limbs. He stood up and found himself a whole man again, though he was as naked as the day he was born.

  He was standing up in the black iron Cauldron in the dark hut. The crone and her black panther stood before him.

  “I’m not dead, then,” Gimme exclaimed in surprise.

  “Of course you’re not dead, you idiot,” said the crone. “You are no more dead than I am the ancient dark one, may her name be spoken with awe. But you are changed. You know a little more about the meanings of importance and unimportance, reality and illusion. To know the Fairy of the Forest as your destroyer is to know nature’s complete cycle. See here.”

  The crone removed her snaky-haired mask, threw off her black rags, and stood revealed as the young witch woman, accompanied by her little black cat. The Cauldron, the hut, and the weed-choked clearing disappeared. Gimme realized that he was standing at the altar table in the sacred grove. The sun was just rising over the treetops.

  “You!” he cried. “You are the Fairy of the Forest!”

  “I told you so,” she said.