In Sleeping Beauty's Bed

by Mitzi Szereto

  Like a worshipper in prayer, the Prince bowed his head in readiness to flick away with his tongue the beads of dew that had collected upon the fluttering instruments his thumbs held exposed. Although it might have been more efficient, he dared not risk using the sleeve of his doublet for fear of causing damage. Applying the benevolent tip of his tongue with caution, he dabbed it along the surface of each dew-speckled wing, accelerating his efforts by allowing it to slither up and down and from side to side, even attending to the sinewy niche whence the two gleaming appendages branched away from one another. Confident that they had been sufficiently dried, the Prince lifted his face from the divided pods, their downy fuzz tickling the moistened tip of his nose. To his astonishment, still more droplets had managed to form. Despite his lack of success, he did not feel at all presumed upon at having to expend additional effort. Granted, the Prince might have spent more time on his labors than necessary—a fact that would be made apparent once the butterfly began to struggle in earnest beneath his fiercely licking tongue.

  The sleeping female figure lying upon the pallet trembled and twitched, her eyes swimming frantically from right to left beneath their sealed lids, the muscles of her throat constricting in silent entreaty. Slender fingers reached blindly out to claw the mattress, tearing out clusters of ancient straw. With a rapturous cry, the daughter of the King and Queen awakened. Her belly hurled itself upward, her hands coming down to grasp the back of the Prince’s head and pressing his dew-bespattered face against the source of the heavenly sensation taking place in her loins. The Prince shouted out a warning, which became hopelessly muffled by the pods. When the Princess finally loosed her grip, he permitted himself to open his eyes, fully expecting to be met with Death. Instead, the tenuous wings beneath him stretched themselves wide, showing their relieved observer all the vibrancy of their true nature. Only this time there were more drops of dew upon them than ever before!

  The Princess smiled drowsily up at her visitor, and their lips came together in a tender kiss, his own tasting of a sweetness she could not identify, but very much desired to savor. “Have you come here to spin flax?” she asked dreamily, for she could see that the Prince’s spindle was already standing straight up from his lap and had been spewing out threads by the bushel-full.

  In the grand hall of the castle, the King and Queen arose from their lengthy slumber, as did the rest of the court, who glanced at each other in hazy confusion, as did the hounds, who wagged their tails and leapt about like fools. In the kitchen the flies resumed their hungry buzzing, for the wood in the hearth had once again sparked into flame and the pheasant upon the spit began to turn. The cook gaped in bewilderment at the fine green dust he had been chopping. Regaining his wits, he set about the business of locating some fresh sprigs of parsley and happily resumed his ravishment of the scullery maid, who lethargically plucked the last of the feathers from the withered remains of a guinea fowl.

  Naturally, a good deal had changed in one hundred years, since not all who had risked the deadly hedge of thorns in hopes of awakening the sleeping Princess were entirely unsuccessful in their endeavors. Over time the household had gained many new occupants—men of every age, shape, and temperament. Some walked more slowly than others and were even quite stooped as they hobbled along upon walking sticks, leaving behind them a potent trail of flatus that set the royal hounds to howling. The King and Queen discovered that they had amassed a sizable collection of prospective sons-in-law over the years, many of whom were considerably older than themselves.

  With her father’s reluctant blessing, the Princess came to be joined together in marriage to the Prince, who by virtue of youth had been deemed the most suitable of the candidates. Indeed, from the moment he had placed his spindle in his lap and commenced to spin flax, the Princess’s interest would be irrevocably piqued, for his was the most impressive of all the spindles she had seen. With a fine spindle such as this, perhaps she might finally master the art of spinning. Therefore she insisted upon taking over the task from her new husband, only to fall right back into yet another deep sleep, the duration of which no one could predict.

  For rather than pricking her finger on a spindle and dying as originally foretold, the Princess would continue to fall asleep by touching a prick.

  THE TWELVE MONTHS

  The theme of reward and punishment can be seen in the folktales of many lands. One particular offshoot of this theme that has been put into standard usage is that of the kind girl and the unkind girl. As patriarchal beliefs and attitudes found a stronghold in Europe, it was only a natural progression for such beliefs and attitudes to find a stronghold in European folk literature as well. As a result, the kind and respectful girl and her rude and ungracious counterpart soon became prevalent in tales like “The Twelve Months.”

  It appears that the story of the twelve months and the two female characters who encounter them most likely originated in Mediterranean Europe. It is here that the tale appears to be the most typical and, as such, shares the same essential elements. However, many of these elements may have entered the tale from the savage cultures of prehistoric times. The twelve month-men and their miraculous ability to control the weather bears an obvious correlation to the legendary magicians and holy men of the past who were believed to possess the ability to suspend the laws of nature—a tradition that goes back to the shamans and professional magicians of primitive tribes in Europe and Asia. The element of the club employed by the twelve brothers in “The Twelve Months” may also be related to this function via its application as a charm to bring on a change in weather. Talismanic charms were often used by primitive cultures and would continue to be used by peasant and aboriginal communities up until modern times.

  As one of the earliest recognizable versions of “The Twelve Months,” Giambattista Basile’s tale “The Months” tells a rich man/poor man story of two brothers, Gianni and Lisi. Lisi (the poor brother) finds himself aided by the twelve months, whom he encounters in a tavern. Hence the adversarial relationship between the two protagonists was one based on economics rather than temperament or, indeed, sexual rivalry. Nevertheless, sex roles and attitudes would undergo great change since Basile’s collection Il Pentamerone, so it should not be at all surprising that the two male siblings in his tale evolved into two siblings of the female variety—and, in the process, developed the exaggerated characteristics that the patriarchal society of nineteenth-century Europe imposed on them.

  Perhaps no better example of this can be seen than in the version of “The Twelve Months” collected by the Brothers Grimm. In “The Three Little Men in the Wood” (also known as “Saint Joseph in the Wood”), a girl sent by her stepmother and stepsister into the forest on a series of impossible errands receives assistance from three men, whom she repays by performing chores and sharing with them her meager meal of bread. Seeing that the girl has accomplished the tasks allocated her, the stepsister insists on paying a visit to the three men—although, unlike her kinder sibling, she treats them with callous disregard, refusing to perform any of the chores requested of her. The stepmother next sends the girl to rinse yarn in a frozen river, where a king happens by and marries her. Hearing of the girl’s incredible good fortune, both stepmother and stepsister ingratiate themselves at the king’s palace, disposing of the new queen so that the stepsister can take her place. But the deed is soon discovered, whereupon mother and daughter are disposed of, with the queen returning to her rightful place. No doubt the Grimms found the punishment of the unkind sister to have particular appeal—just as the reward granted to the kind (and therefore obedient sister) would likewise have appeal. For, by their actions, the sisters served as stellar examples of what was and was not considered appropriate behavior for females.

  Known as “the Slovak Grimm,” nineteenth-century writer Pavol Dobsinsky composed his own equally patriarchal version of “The Twelve Months,” a version conspicuously lacking the royal marriage and its subsequent production of an heir that his German contempor
aries, the Grimms, included in their tale. It is the story of his Maruska from which I received my inspiration. For it only goes to prove that kindness (be it from man or woman) most definitely has its rewards.

  IN A RUSTING OLD TRAILER SET ALONG THE edge of a snowy moorland, there lived a woman and her two daughters. As the eldest and (in accordance with tradition) the first in line for a husband, Holena was the fruit of her mother’s womb and, indeed, was very much like her in appearance and temperament. As for the junior of the siblings, Maruska was merely a stepdaughter and thus of little consequence. In fact, the mother could hardly bear to cast her eyes upon the latter, whose prettiness so outrivaled her own flesh and blood that even the sound of the girl’s voice brought her pain. Had it not been for the conditions of her late husband’s will, the woman would have sent her to a workhouse a long time ago.

  Because of the absence of mirrors in the household, Maruska did not realize she was pretty—and it did not behoove the members of her family to tell her so. In her mind, she and her sister were the same, which only made all the more baffling the cross expression that fixed itself upon her stepmother’s face each time the woman looked at her, or the bitter venom spat from her stepmother’s tongue with her every word. Therefore Maruska did everything she could to please her displeased parent. She did the cooking and cleaning and washing and ironing; she mended and sewed and raked and hoed; she even looked after the scrawny goat that provided milk and cream for the tiny household and, if it ever gained some fat around its middle, might have provided the meat for a few stews. (Suspecting this, the goat rarely ate a morsel.) Meanwhile, Holena whiled away the hours dressing up in garments she never had occasion to wear and gossiping with anyone who had been unfortunate enough to have come to the trailer’s front door.

  As Maruska grew more pleasing with the passing of years, her stepsister grew less so, thereby necessitating much fawning over by the occupants of the little trailer. Concerned for her blood-child’s well-being and marital prospects, the mother decided that it might be wise to get her nubile stepdaughter out of the house and, hence, away from the line of sight of any young man who might come courting, fearing it would be the lovely and sweet-natured Maruska with whom they would fall in love, not her precious Holena. So mother and daughter began to plot out a course of strategy on how best to rid themselves of this female thorn in their sides. Permanently.

  One day, in the bleakness of a harsh January winter, Holena suddenly experienced the unprecedented urge to smell violets. “Sister, dear,” she trilled with false affection, “go and fetch me some violets.”

  “Violets?” cried Maruska in disbelief. “Wherever shall I find violets growing in the snow?”

  “You worthless good-for-nothing! How dare you speak to me in that manner!” screeched Holena, her unprepossessing face purpling with rage. “If you do not bring me what I ask for, I shall beat you till you are black and blue—and then I shall beat you some more!” To reinforce her daughter’s words, the mother thrust the girl out into the bitter winter’s morning, slamming the trailer’s rickety screen door against her.

  Shivering with the cold, Maruska stumbled through the unwelcoming moorland, knowing she dare not return until she had performed the impossible task demanded of her. The entire world had turned to white. All she could see for miles around was snow, with the leaden gray sky above threatening to spill still more of the icy stuff onto her uncloaked head. She had barely managed to trudge a short distance before her footsteps got covered over with an all-new layer of snow, obscuring the trail she had left and making her fear she had lost her way.

  Just when she thought she would have to turn back to face her stepsister’s wrath, Maruska glimpsed a reddish-yellow light in the endless landscape of white. Its friendly flickerings drew her toward it, leading her to the crest of a craggy hill—where she discovered a blazing campfire. A dozen rocks of varying heights had been positioned around it, and upon each one sat the stoic figure of a man. Three of them, all in a row, looked very old, possessing long white beards that reached nearly to their toes. The next three beside them looked slightly younger, and the next younger still, until Maruska’s gaze finally came to rest upon the remaining three, who were by far the youngest and most agreeable to the eye, their smooth, handsome faces untenanted by whisker or wrinkle.

  Unbeknownst to Maruska, the occupants of this cozy circle were the twelve months. With the arrival of each new month in the year’s cycle, the men changed places, each moving over one space to an adjacent rock—and so on and so on as the months followed the course of a year. This being winter, January held court upon the tallest of the rocks, his hair and beard as fluffy and white as the snow covering the ground, making it difficult to determine where the fleece on his face ended and the earth itself began. In one gnarled hand he held a club, which rested at his side.

  The sight of the twelve months gave Maruska a start. She was not accustomed to the company of gentlemen, especially so many at one time. The family’s trailer rarely received guests of either gender, and on those infrequent occasions when a man did come to call with some lard or a slab of bacon to sell, she found herself locked inside her room for the duration of the visit. Even a toothless peddler might be considered marriageable material, and her stepmother did not wish to forfeit any opportunity to make a match for Holena. As the winter wind bit cruelly through the inadequate protection of Maruska’s nightdress—for she had not been given time to don her coat and wore only the thin gown in which she had slept—the fire offered so much heat that she forgot her apprehension. “Please, kind sirs,” she stammered, “may I be allowed to warm myself by your fire?”

  Taking note of her pitiful state, January indicated for this waif-like figure to move toward the flames. “And what might a little thing like yourself be doing wandering about the moor in this foul weather?” he inquired. Indeed, a considerable amount of time had passed since he had enjoyed the company of anyone other than his eleven brothers.

  “I am searching for violets,” answered Maruska, only to realize how completely ridiculous such a prospect must have sounded.

  “Violets? Surely you must have noticed that we are waist deep in winter snow.”

  “Yes, but if I dare to return home without them, my stepsister says she will beat me till I am black and blue!”

  “I see…” mused January, his knotty fingers combing thoughtfully through the long white tendrils of his beard.

  “Beat you?” cried another brother from several rocks down, his youthfully unlined eyes suddenly bright and feverish.

  “There may be something I can do to assist you,” offered January, directing an impatient glare toward the month who had interrupted. “Yet before I do, perhaps you will be so good as to prune this for me?” With a telltale dip of his fluffy-haired chin, he indicated his lap out from which the gnarled branch of a tree grew lopsidedly upward. “For my old joints pain me too greatly to perform the task myself.”

  “I would be pleased to assist you. But as you can see,” Maruska held out her palms in dismay, “I have no implements with which to do so.” Now for certain she would be made to return to the trailer and receive the terrible beating Holena had promised.

  “Perhaps you might consider using your teeth,” came the elderly brother’s helpful suggestion.

  With the details settled, Maruska knelt between this most senior of the twelve brothers’ knees and set to work, only to find that it demanded far more effort than she had anticipated. The dense nest of white in January’s lap offered her the most difficulty, although the pruning of the branch itself would not be too arduous a process—especially after she had mastered the technique of absorbing it into her mouth. Unfortunately, old January had much to complain about with regard to the sharpness of her teeth.

  Nevertheless, such complaints did not deter the others. For the instant Maruska stood up to brush away the debris January had left upon her nightdress, yet another brother felt compelled to call upon her. “Prune me!” demanded
February, pointing frantically toward his lap whence a similar limb surged resolutely forth, speckled and distorted with age and the ice of too many winters.

  “I am in need of a pruning as well!” piped March with even more boisterousness.

  “A pruning would be most beneficial,” concurred April with a mischievous grin.

  And on it went around the circle, with each of the months clamoring for Maruska’s horticultural services. Twelve specimens of varying shapes and textures came to be offered to the violet-seeking girl, whose teeth would be rattling in her gums by the time she finished. The older months in particular seemed in need of the most care and attention, whereas their younger siblings sloughed off their deciduous residue quickly and with little necessity for additional attention. A gasping and wheezing December had not even gotten halfway through his own turn when January arose from his rock. “Brother March, come and take my place,” he instructed, passing over his club.

  Settling himself upon the tall rock vacated by his elder brother, March waved the conferred club over the fire. The flames rose higher and higher, growing so hot that the surrounding snow melted almost completely away. The exposed earth had sprouted tiny buds, forming a patchwork of green. Winter had turned to early spring and violets pushed upward from the craggy ground. “Make haste!” cried March, his voice unnaturally high with the strain of his deed.