The Dutchess of Bedlam

Julie gazed at the stars. Even at her young age, she recognized some of the constellations from her tutor’s description. That had to be the Big Dipper up there but where was the Little Dipper? A sudden wind came up and Julie realized that she was feeling chilled. She huddled her mother’s fur coat around her narrow shoulders and shivered. She brushed her cheeks and felt the cooling tears there. She sniffled and wiped her nose on the back of her hand. In spite of herself, she almost smiled. Her Governess, Miss Rupert, would glare at her for such unladylike behavior.
She tried to sing so she wouldn’t feel so lonely, but she choked on the words to the lullaby and it made her feel even worse. She continued to search the sky for the Little Dipper, but to no avail. She noticed that the North Star on the Big Dipper was shining especially brightly. Brighter and brighter, bigger and bigger until it’s light seemed to swallow up the roof top. Julie was frightened and scrunched her eyes tight.
Behind her closed lids, she could see the bright pink fade away and she chanced a little peek. In front of her was a tiny women dressed all in fluttering feathers or streamers or something.
“Who are you,” choked Julie. “What are you?”
“You may call me Solemnity, my dear,” said the woman, “but as to what I am that is a mystery, a riddle.”
“What is the riddle?”
“The riddle? It is this: what is bigger than the Universe, yet smaller than a pinhead? What is as far away as East is from the West but closer than your own heart?”
“I don’t know,” said Julie, her lip trembling.
“Ah, my little darling, you will know someday.”
“Why have you come to me?” asked Julie.
“I heard you crying. Why are you weeping, darling?”
“Because my mother just died…”
“Oh my dear one, your mother is not dead.”
“But they told me she died…she was closed up in her room for the longest time. They wouldn’t let me see her because they said she was contagious. This afternoon, they told me that she had finally died of it.”
“I’m sorry, dearest, but they are all lying to you,” said Solemnity primly.
“Then what is the truth?” said Julie, in a very small voice.
“Your mother is very sick, Julie. She is cloaked in a great sorrow that no one could lift, a blackness that would admit no light. Your father is powerless to break through her torment. Finally, his advisors told him that it was his duty to put her away and seek a new consort.”
“Where is my mother?”
“She is in Bethlem Hospital, the home of sorrows.”
“Is it a real place?”
“My darling girl, it is too real a place.”
“Then I must rescue her!”
“How will you do this, sweetheart?”
“I don’t know,” said Julie, twisting tendrils of hair in her index finger. “Will you help me?”
“I will,” said the woman, “but you must know that you will be the only one to see or hear me.”
“Why?”
“It’s the Rules, dear heart and we must obey them.”
“I don’t always obey Governess’ rules,” said Julie in a wheedling voice.
“Her rules are fussy and largely culturally determined, and yet, the habit of obedience is worth cultivating, you know, my child.”
“How shall we rescue Mother?” asked Julie.
“My dear girl, I don’t have all of the answers…first we must go to Bethlem and see what we shall see.”
Julie and the woman ran quickly through the back garden and dodged the sentries at the gate. They got to the High Road and started walking for London. A farmer with a wagonload of corn saw the little girl walking and offered her a lift into the city. The two hopped onto the load of corn and drifted through Bishopsgate into the heart of the city. She thanked the farmer profusely. He doffed his cap with a smile and drove off.
“Where is Bethlem?” Julie asked the old woman.
“Hmm,” said the woman, consulting a small book she pulled from her purse. “It should be here…dear me, dear me…” At that moment, an elderly female beggar came up to Julie and asked her for alms. Julie pulled a penny from her small bag and dropped it into the woman’s tin cup.
“Ah bless ye, darlin’. May God show ye favour for yer kindness,” cackled the old woman.
“What is your name, Ma’am?”
“Och, the darling girl calls me ‘Ma’am’, sure, ye can just call me old Sally!”
“Sally, then, can you tell me how to find Bethlem Hospital?”
Sally pointed to a tin badge on her sleeve. “I were a Bedlamite, ‘for they let out. Why does a charmer like ye want to know where such an awful place is?”
“Please Sally, you must tell me where it is!”
“They moved Bedlam to the Moorfields to Finsbury Circus. Why would quality like ye want to go there?” asked Sally insistently. “Ye don’t look like one of those society women who pays a penny just to gawk at the inmates or poke ‘em with poles to watch ‘em cry!”
“What a horrid idea!” cried Julie. “You can’t be serious!”
“It’s the God’s truth, milady. Ye pays a penny and they gives ye a peek, cept for the first Tuesday when it is free admission.”
“How can the tormented be treated so?” asked Julie.
“Well, they say as how the inmates brung it on themselves for wicked lives…”
“Such folly,” whispered Solemnity to Julie.
“But I were a good woman and still I was confined to Bedlam…” muttered Sally.
“Would you show me how to get to Moorfields?” asked Julie.
“Och no, ye cannot ask it of me…I don’t dare go back there!” and Sally erupted into loud tears. Julie was tongue-tied and tried to pat Sally on the back but the little woman shook her head and took Julie by the arm.
“We must go, dear one,” she said. “It will take us the better part of a day to walk to Finsbury Circus.”
_____________________
They call me the Duchess for that is what I am: the Duchess of Bedlam.
My butler, Bellamy, opened the shades and wished me a good morning. I may have to replace him; he is entirely too forward for one of his class. He is always telling me to prepare myself for society visits all the livelong day. Have I given so many invitations to tea? My memory is not what it once was. I suppose I must depend on Bellamy in spite of his lack of good manners.
I could not leave my bed. I was somehow restrained. I looked at my legs. Were they fixed to the bed frame? Was I once again in Purgatory? I could feel a shriek of torment building up in my chest and then out it came tumbling, tumbling, tumbling…
“Now, listen to me Duchess, you’ll do no good crying out like that. You must wait for the visitors to come. They’ll give you a reason to howl!” It was Beelzebub, himself, the dark lord of Purgatory! Sometimes it was Bellamy and sometimes Beelzebub. I get confused. I get confused. I get confused.
____________
“Is that it?” asked Julie. The old woman consulted her book and nodded.
“It looks like a prison,” said Julie fearfully.
“It does,” nodded the old woman. “Are you determined to go through with your plan?”
Julie just nodded, her lips pursed into a bloodless line. Together they passed down a tree-lined boulevard, past twin statues of madmen, naked and enchained, and approached the massive front door. A fat man guarded the door collect pennies in a polished wooden box. We joined the line of people waiting to gain admission. I shuddered to look at the faces of those in front of me, all dressed up for an outing. I could hear their refined voices discussing what they would likely see.
“They say the loonies are most base,” said a well dressed lady to her companion.
“They are under the judgment of God for their moral turpitude,” said her companion wisely, sniffing a pinch of snuff. “Really, milady, what can you expect?”
“Hope we see a good fight,” said a beetle-browed man, “I brought a stick to stir ‘em up!” He brandished a stout staff of ash.
“Disgusting,” said Solemnity to Julie who only squeezed her eyes shut.
Eventually, Julie dropped in her penny and passed with the woman into the building.
______________
Bellamy takes reasonably good care of me. He takes care to announce visitors in respectful tones, never forgetting their titles and addresses. He brought me two ladies just now, the Countess of Albany and the Marquise of Kent. It is curious that I have never met them before. They are full of questions about my summer home here and the delicious doings of the fashionable set back in London. They prattle on about balls and teas, receptions and garden parties. I cannot read their faces; they almost seem to be mocking me…no, that is foolish. They are becoming very quickly members of my inner circle, my confidants. It is to them that I share my dissatisfaction with the help here and how one can never seem to find a capable cook!
Their faces are beginning to leer, again…oh God, they are demons in disguise! Once again, the room is spinning and I see the world the way it really is: I am in the third circle of Hell, the smoke and sparks of Purgatory, and these are but demons with mocking faces and cutting words. I am damned, damned…I have committed the unforgivable sin, I know that I have! I struggle against my restraints, hoping to strike at the cruel demons. They are laughing now and feign fear. I will kill them! No, I will kill myself. No, I am already dead. My thoughts are so confused. So confused. So confused.
______________
Julie saw her mother lying in a bed with manacles securing her arms to the side of the bed. She was being observed by two well-dressed ladies.
“Courage, dear heart…” counseled Solenmity. “She may not know you.”
“She will!” said Julie, but in her heart she was not so sure.
She walked up to her mother, pushing past the tittering old harpies, and then stopped. Her mother looked at her but her eyes were vacant. Then at once, her eyes changed, becoming wild and fevered. She burst into a raving diatribe: “I know you! You are one of the imps, come to torment me! Begone, you evil creature! I’ll kill you!”
“Oh dear,” said one of the overstuffed harpies, “The Duchess of Bedlam is venomous today! Hark at her; she wants to kill everybody!”
Julie’s tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth and she slumped with weariness and shock. Solemnity came to her side, an invisible presence of peace. Julie took heart and swallowed raggedly.
“Mother! Don’t you know me?” she cried.
“Julie?” said the Duchess, her eyes momentarily focusing. “Julie, is that you? What are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to take you home, Mother.”
“How did you get to Purgatory?” said her mother, in a different voice: a grey, leaden voice.
“Mother, this is not Purgatory; you aren’t dead!” cried Julie.
“Not in Purgatory? Not dead?” asked the Duchess, her voice rising in a scream, “How do you explain those demons? The stench of brimstone and ashes? Who are you really?”
“Mother! It’s really me, Julie! You have to think clearly!” Solemnity gently pressed her shoulder and drew her away from the shrieking woman in the bed. Julie walked out of Bedlam silently weeping.
“Don’t despair, dear one,” counseled the old woman. “Your mother has fallen under a curse, but not an irreversible one.”
“What do you mean?”
“When I saw her upon her bed, I noticed that she had a mark on the side of her neck. It looked to me to be the tooth marks of a Raver.”
“A raver? What is that?”
“Ravers are the dark servants of powerful wizards. Someone has paid a wizard to put your mother under a curse!” said the old woman grimly.
“What can we do?” cried Julie.
“We must find out which wizard is behind this and see if we can persuade him to counteract the spell.”
“How can we find out?”
“We must put on our thinking caps, my little one. Think carefully, who would possibly want to harm your mother?”
“My mother is a wonderful woman,” wept Julie. “Nobody could possibly hate her!”
“Your father then? Does he have enemies?”
Julie sniffed and thought. Her father was a powerful man and powerful men tend to pick up enemies. “I think he does…” she said.
“Very good, my dear. If we find your father’s enemies, we find the wizard!” said the old woman grimly.
“But how can we do that?” asked Julie.
“We must find someone with loose lips back at your estate,” nodded the old woman.
“My father’s friend, Lord Ashleigh, has always been very fond of me,” said Julie, thinking cap firmly on her head.
“Let us go speak with him, then,” said the old woman.
______________
Lord Ashleigh lived quite near Julie’s home and he was delighted to see her.
“Ah Julie, m’dear girl, how goes it with your father?” Julie noticed that he didn’t inquire about her mother; he must know that she was in Bedlam.
“He’s well enough, sir,” she said politely. “But I think he’s worried…”
“Worried, eh? Well, no doubt he has much to think about.”
“Does my father have enemies, Lord Ashleigh?” asked Julie.
“Who does not have enemies, m’dear?” sighed Ashleigh.
“Who is his greatest enemy, would you say?”
“That would be the Baron D’Arcy, a vile man, for all his title!” grunted Ashleigh.
“Why does he hate my father?” asked Julie.
“They were both rivals for your mother’s affections long ago,” he said, with a smile of reminiscence on his ruddy face. “Those were younger days, m’dear girl…”
“Thank you, Lord Ashleigh…”
“Whatever for, dear thing?” But Julie just kissed him on his grizzled cheek and scampered out of the room.
_______________
“How do we find Baron D’Arcy?” asked Julie.
“Your father would know,” said the old woman.
“He’ll want to know why I want to know,” said Julie thoughtfully.
“Then you’ll have to be very subtle, won’t you,” said the old woman tartly.
In the end, Julie waited until her father was full of good wine at his lonely table and got him to speak of the old days, when he first met her mother. D’Arcy came up and Julie babbled on about how much better her Daddy was than the nasty Baron. After a very draining evening of her father’s stories, tears and recriminations, Julie had the information that she needed: D’Arcy was to be found on the fringes of the Dark Wood of Blethley, near the river Bibbo.
The next morning with her horse saddled and a believable lie in the ear of her father, Julie and the old woman rode for Blethley.
The Baron turned out to be tall, dark, handsome and utterly charming. Julie was astounded. She had expected someone much less attractive. The Baron was honest (or seemed so to Julie’s innocent ears.)
“Yes, I remember your mother, the lovely Helen. Gad, what a fine woman, what a fine figure of a woman…a veritable Aphrodite! Oh, but I am embarrassing you! Now, what can I do for you?”
“So you didn’t pay a wizard to attack her with a Raver?”
“What? No, good heavens no! How could you think such a thing true of a nobleman like I? Look carefully into my eyes,” he said holding her shoulders gently. His voice was like silk pulled over the strings of a violin. “I would never hurt your mother…I would never hurt your father. Could you really think that I would do such a thing?”
Julie saw that the Baron could never have…
“He’s lying,” whispered the old woman to Julie. Julie shook her head. How could he be lying? He was a noble, handsome man, with nothing but sincerity on his face. She shook her head again. Was he hypnotizing her?
“You’re…lying,” she managed to choke out. The baron’s eyes flashed. “Fine! I’m lying! So what? What can you do about it?” His face was hard and turning ugly.
“I came here to beg you to reverse the spell! Please Baron D’Arcy, I’ll do anything you like, just remove my mother’s madness!”
“Anything I like? Hmmm.” He looked at Julie in a very nasty way. “Will you stay with me and be my servant until I tire of you?”
“Y…yes…”she said with a shaky voice.
“Right!” said D’Arcy. He went into another room and when he came back he had a vial of black liquid. “Take this and give it to your mother. It will counteract the Raver’s bite. When you’ve finished, I will expect you back here. Do you understand?”
“Yes…”
“And don’t dawdle on the way, there are pots to scrub and cinders to sweep! If you’re not here within the fortnight, I’ll set a Raver on you!”
_____________
The imp is back to torture me! I struggle with my hellish chains but it is to no avail. She is holding a vile liquid to my lips and forcing me to drink. I choke on the tar and brimstone and spit it back in its face but the imp is tickling my throat so I cannot help but swallow. I am dying, not I am already dead, no…where, where am I?
“Where am I?” asked Helen, blinking her eyes. “Julie, is that you?”
“Oh mamma,” sobbed the little girl hugging her mother as best she could. “I’ve come to take you home!”
And she did. Julie rejoiced to see her father’s eyes light up when her mother entered her home again. That night, they celebrated with music, song and dancing and much feasting. Julie’s heart felt like a lump of lead. She knew that within the fortnight she must find her way back to the evil Baron.
Finally, the dreaded day arrived. Julie gathered together her most prized possessions and then slid out of the palace onto the High Road again. The old woman greeted her with a smile and together they walked to D’Arcy’s castle.
That night, after a joyless banquet, the Baron was deep in his cups.
“You know, girlie, I was not always the man you see now. Once I was good! I was a goodie-goodie without equal. Thas right!”
“You’re drunk,” said Julie, with accuracy and judgment intertwined in her pursed lips.
“I sure am!” agreed the Baron. “But tha’ doesn’t mean tha’I’m not tellin’ the trush!”
“What is the truth?” asked Julie.
“I’m unner a shpell too!” announced the Baron with a flourish.
“Hmmm,” said Julie.
“Ish true! I’m unner a curse. Joo think I wanted to put yer Musher under a ravening shpell? I loved her!”
“Nice way to show it,” whispered Julie.
“Y’see, when I was young, I used to hang ‘round wish this Wizard, ‘Tonius…and when I tried to make him stop, y’know, doin’ wicked shings, he got mad an’ put me unner a curse. Tha’s why I’m sho evil.”
“So you say you’re under a curse for being good?” asked Julie.
“I’m tellin’ you the truth, girlie-girl…”
The old woman leaned to speak in Julie’s ear, “He’s telling the truth, my dear…”
“Is there any way to break the spell?” asked Julie.
“Ish impossible. ‘tonius’ shpell ish a triple improbability shpell!”
“What is a triple improbability spell?”
“Y’can only break it by doing three impossible things.”
“Impossible or improbable?” asked Julie, who was really rather a brilliant girl. But the Baron had fallen into a boozy slumber.
The next morning at breakfast, Julie decided to help the evil Baron.
“Last night, you said…”
“Could you hold your chatter, little girl? I have a deuce of a headache today…” moaned the Baron.
“I’m going to help you break the curse,” said Julie. The Baron laughed mirthlessly and then massaged his sodden scalp.
“Impossible to break the spell. Antonius is too good a wizard for that…”
“What are the three improbable tasks?” asked Julie.
“All I have to do is fill the Bottomless Bucket, untangle the Tapestry of Insanity and reweave it as Clarity, and overcome the Completely Black Pit. A piece of cake really!” said the Baron with a flash of anger.
“Have you ever tried to do these three things?” asked Julie.
“No, because I really enjoy being evil,” said the Baron with understandable sarcasm. “Of course I tried, but I always failed. They are deeds that can’t be done.”
“Where is the Bottomless Bucket?” asked Julie.
“Antonius hung it in the center of my fields so I could look on it every day and despair!” said the Baron in a toneless voice.
Julie tiptoed out of the dining room to see what she could do.
“What do you think?” she asked the old woman. The bucket was hung on a gilded post in the very center of a grassy field.
“Hmm…” muttered the old woman. “How does one fill a bottomless container?”
“I don’t know,” shrugged Julie.
“I would suggest putting a bottom on,” said the old woman.
“Wouldn’t that be cheating?” asked Julie.
“I didn’t know that evil Wizards were governed by rules, per se,” said the old woman tartly.
They took the bucket to a blacksmith, where a new bottom was installed.
“There!” said the old woman. “That should hold water!”
“You’re sure this isn’t cheating?” asked Julie.
“Sometimes the great solutions are the simple ones,” said the old woman sagely, neatly sidestepping her objections.
The Baron was delighted. “You put on a bottom. Yes, of course, you did! Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Because, it’s cheating?” asked Julie, not willing to let go of her concerns.
“Cheating, schmeating,” snorted the Baron. “Well done, little girl. Now the Tapestry! Shall I show it to you?” And so saying, he drew her up to a high tower where on the wall was affixed the most dreadful, warped, tormented tapestry that Julie had ever seen.
“What do you think?” asked the Baron.
“Um…”
“How will you fix it?”
“Um,” said Julie again. “I’ll go and think about it…”
Outside, Julie had a conference with the old woman.
“Did you see it?” asked Julie. The old woman nodded.
“How will we fix it?”
“No idea,” said the old woman shrugging her shoulders. “I enjoy perfect clarity of thought; that tapestry is utterly beyond my ken…”
“My mother!” shouted Julie.
“Eh?”
“My mother would understand it; she knows what it is to be insane…but…”
“But?”
“Well, wouldn’t it be dreadful for her to have to see it, after all she’s been through?”
“It would,” said the old woman gravely.
“I can ask her,” said Julie.
_____________________
“This is exactly what madness is like,” said Helen, looking at the tapestry. “Look how the purples clash with the oranges here?” she said, pointing and shuddering.
“Can you fix it, Mum?” asked Julie.
“I can,” she said serenely.
Helen took apart almost every part of the tapestry but kept a corner that seemed to depict a few threads of sanity. It was on this corner that Helen built, extending the color scheme and adding subtle woven blends to indicate deliverance and sanity. The whole work was now shot through with compassion and healing, using even the pain from the previous tapestry to illustrate redemptive suffering.
“It is done,” said Helen triumphantly, her eyes bright with unshed tears.
“It’s beautiful,” said Julie, her eyes moist.
__________
“How did you do it?” asked D’Arcy.
“I had an understanding helper,” she said.
“The last task is the most difficult,” warned the Baron.
“Where is this Completely Black Pit?” asked Julie.
“It is in the depths of the Hopeless Despair Forest, up against the cliffs of Self-Loathing, one week’s walk to the west. It is a grim place!”
“Hmm,” said Julie on her way out. “Did you hear?” she asked the old woman.
“I did,” she said calmly.
“What do we do?”
“Let’s go and see what we may see,” she said.
They finally reached the forest late at night. It was bleak, just as advertised.
“Brrr,” said Julie. “Let’s sleep out here in the open!”
“I completely agree,” said the old woman.
Next morning, the sun shone with vigour and the birds sang with great joy. Easy for them, they didn’t have to go into the forest. In the light of day, it was still horrible to gaze on. The dark trees seemed to such the life out of Julie and all she could feel was despair and hopelessness.
“This is crazy,” she murmured. “We’ll never be able to deal with the Pit if we can’t even go into the forest!”
“Ask for help,” counseled the old woman.
“Ask who?” wondered Julie.
“Just ask!”
“Well, alright, ummm…help somebody, help us get into the forest and fix the pit!”
At that moment, the old woman began to glow along the folds of her garment. Her dull, grey hair began to shine and turn a fiery red colour. And then the hair flamed into fire. Her skin, once wrinkled and pale began to turn silvery and then golden as though all of the impurities in her were being caught up in a refining fire.
“Wow!” said Julie in a hushed voice.
The old woman stood before Julie as an angel of flame.
“Now let us go into the forest and find this pit,” laughed the angel. Together they walked along the forest and where ever the angel walked the dreariness and failure faded before her. Soon the very shadows were illuminated and the trees danced with light, like slaves suddenly released. The birds followed the two into the forest, reclaiming the trees and singing as though their tiny hearts would burst.
And there was the pit:a dark malevolent depression reeking of fear and doubt.
“What now?” asked Julie, her hope still fragile within her.
“You must throw me in!” said the angel.
“What? No, I can’t!”
“You must,” smiled the angel.
“I’m afraid…” said Julie.
“Perfect love knows no fear,” said the angel and walked to the edge of the pit.
“My love must not be very perfect,” said Julie in a tiny voice.
“Mine is,” said the angel. “This is my part.” Julie pushed her gently and down she fell. A shrieking came from the pit, but it wasn’t the angel because Julie could hear her laughing as she fell. An explosion of light came from the depth and living water rose to the surface. Julie blinked her eyes as the pit became a quiet pool full of peaceful waters.
“The spell is broken, now go and be full of joy,” said a voice on the breeze that blew through the transformed forest.
Julie went back to see D’Arcy before she went home. He was a man transformed: all of the cynicism and brutality was gone and his eyes were bright and lively.
“How can I repay you?” he asked.
“It’s not me you’d have to repay,” she said quietly.
_______________
They say that if you follow the river Bibbo, you will find the formerly dark forest and if you follow the forest path to the center of the wood that you can still see the pool. If you sit and look into the depths, perhaps you’ll see eyes looking back at you.

Goldie's Tale

Goldie’s Story

“That has got to be the most amoral story I have ever had the displeasure to hear!” frowned Death.
“At least it wasn’t boring!” said Hoss.
“But Hoss, where is the moral of the story?” asked Goldie.
“The what?”
“You know, the life lesson? What we are supposed to learn from the story?”
“Learn from a story? Are you kidding me? Stories are supposed to be entertaining. The minute you paste a moral on, the story withers up and dies.”
“Hmm,” said Death and Goldie together, with pursed lips.(Do horses have lips?)
“Look Goldie, if you want a story with a moral maybe you should tell one!” said Hoss.
“Oh my, I don’t know any stories…”
“Oh come on, Goldie,” said Death, “You know lots of stories!”
“Hmmm, how about ‘Winning True Love’?”
“That doesn’t sound very promising…” moaned Hoss, fearing a serious plot-line.

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess who spent every afternoon at the bullfights cheering on Rodrigo, the dashing matador, the most famous matador in all of the land.
The princess (whose name was Mitzi) had been in love with Rodrigo for as long as she could remember. Rodrigo, who was somewhat self-centered, didn’t even know she was alive. Well, of course, he knew that she was alive because she was a princess and all, but he certainly didn’t know that she was pining for him with every fiber of her being.
“I knew it!” whined Hoss, “This is a total mare’s tale and I don’t mean the weed!”
“Hush, Hoss, you might like it,” said Death.
Mitzi decided that she needed to attract the matador’s attention but she had no idea how to do it. She tried wearing the most gorgeous gowns to the bullfights, she tried showing off all of her most precious jewels, she stood on her chair and waved silken handkerchiefs at him (until her mother, the Queen, made her sit down). Nothing worked; the handsome Rodrigo was oblivious.
“Sound familiar Hoss?” asked Death.
“Now Death,” tutted Goldie, “You’re interrupting my flow.”
“Sorry…” said Death.
“You outta be!” said Hoss.
One day Mitzi had had enough. She decided to seek out the Witch of Nobbi and enlist the help of the Dark Realm in her quest for Rodrigo’s heart. She thought that the Witch could just cast a spell on the matador or give her a love potion and that would be that. She would get true love and nobody would be hurt. She was as naïve as she was beautiful.
Mitzi rapped at the door of the Witch’s cottage and waited. A crackly voice responded: “Yes, I’m coming, keep your shirt on!” The Witch opened the door and peered at the princess. “Well, come on, out with it! I’m not getting any younger you know.”
“Uh,” said Mitzi, her eyes goggling at the withered old woman, “I’d like to purchase a charm, or spell, or love potion…”
“Hmm,” muttered the Witch, “a charm, or a spell or a love potion. My deductive skills lead me to suspect that you are in love.”
“Oh yes, I am!” said the princess, expecting background music to swell up at the announcement. “His name is Rodrigo and he is the most famous matador in the land!”
“Does he love you?”
“No,” she said, her voice crestfallen, “I don’t think he knows that I exist!”
“Then, I would recommend Love Potion #7, with a splash of ginger to make it go down smoothly.”
“How does it work?”
“Simply put three drops of # 7 in his beverage and make sure that you are the first woman he sets eyes on and he will surely fall in love with you.”
“What happens if I’m not the first female he sees?”
“What do you think happens, you ninny? He falls in love with the first female he sees, so make sure that it is you!”
Princess Mitzi gathered in the potion and ran for home with the Witch’s cackles ringing in her ears. She immediately went to the royal wine cellar and found a bottle of extremely expensive wine that she was sure Rodrigo could not resist. She carefully pried out the cork and put three drops of the potion into the bottle. Then, she plunged the cork into the bottle again.
Next day, she was in her usual seat at the bullfight. Rodrigo was in his glory, dispatching a huge black bull with the kind of balletic moves that would have made a prima ballerina jealous. He walked languidly around the ring occasionally picking up a flower and smelling it.
“Well done, Rodrigo,” cried the princess as he drew near.
“Thank you,” he said bowing.
“I award you this bottle of fine wine from the royal cellars,” she said and a lackey picked it up and brought it to the smiling matador.
“My grateful thanks, your Majesty!” he said with another somewhat less deep bow.
Mitzi waited until Rodrigo was in his dressing room and waited another ten minutes to ensure that he would have opened the bottle and had a glass of wine. Then she rapped on his door.
“Just a minute,” called the matador, “I’m just dressing!” Mitzi tapped her foot impatiently.
Finally, Rodrigo opened the door to admit the princess. Mitzi waited for him to enfold her in his arms and declare his eternal love for her, but the matador just stood there smiling at her questioning.
“Uh…did you enjoy the wine?” she blinked.
“Oh, I gave your kind gift to my valet, Dulco, red wine gives me a headache!” At that moment, Dulco emerged from the kitchen with an empty glass in his hand. He took one look at the princess and it was as though Cupid shot him through the heart with about twenty arrows. His jaw dropped open revealing some pretty awful dental decay. He drooled stupidly at the princess whose eyes were wide with horror at the disastrous mistake.
“Well, I must be going!” she cried and ran back to the Witch’s cottage.
She rapped at the Witch’s door again.
“It better not be you again,” shouted the Witch from within.
“It is…” said the princess.
The Witch came to the door wiping the sleep from her eyes. “What happened?”
“He is allergic to red wine.”
“You didn’t already know that about him? You don’t really know him all that well do you?”
“But I love him!” she said passionately.
“Are you sure that you’re not in love with the idea of him?”
“What do you mean?”
“ You know, handsome, dashing matador falls for the beautiful princess blah, blah, blah…and now they are the ideal couple and live happily ever after?”
“What’s the matter with that?”
“Well, it’s not very realistic is it? It doesn’t take into account having children, changing dirty diapers, getting along with his relatives, making your royal parents happy that you are marrying a commoner and I could go on…”
“You are a horrible, horrible Witch and you know nothing about romance, nothing!”
The Witch sighed, “I suppose you want to take another stab at magic?”
“Yes please.”
“Take this herb. It is called ‘virgin’s cry’ or ‘heartache’. You must bake a pie with the fruit of a tree that has never had its fruit picked before and blend in this herb. The pie must then be cut with a knife that has never been used before. A piece of the pie measuring the same radius as your own heart must then be put on a plate that has never been used before and served to the matador. As with the potion, yours must be the first face he sees after eating the slice.”
“That’s pretty complicated…”
“Magic is not for dummies,” chided the Witch, who had never heard of the book: ‘Magic for Dummies.’
The Princess paid the Witch and got the necessary items. The blacksmith made her a brand new knife and the royal china-maker fired a brand new plate. She made a trip to the royal orchardist and he showed her a tree that, in its fifth year, was just bearing its first crop of Jonagolds. She picked a basketful and raced to the royal kitchens.
She blended the ingredients and added the herb. The smell of the pie backing filled her with longing for Rodrigo. They would be so happy together.
She cut a piece to the radius of her heart with the help of the royal tutor and made her way to the bullfights.
Rodrigo was on fire that day. His moves were so graceful and exact that all the bull could do was gaze at him dumbstruck, until Rodrigo dispatched it. The bull died with a grateful smile on its bovine lips.
The princess raced to his dressing room to present him with the pie.
“I hope you like pie?” she asked.
“Is it fruit pie?”
“Yes, apple.”
“I adore apple pie, but I’m trying to cut back on carbs.”
“Oh, but just smell it! Isn’t it wonderful?”
“Well,” said the matador, his nose wrinkling with desire, “maybe just a forkful?”
He lifted the piece to his lips and ate it greedily. “Amazing!” he cried full of bliss, “maybe just one more forkful?” Soon the piece was completely eaten. The princess waited with bated breath. The matador smiled at her. She smiled at him expectantly.
“Well,” said Rodrigo, “thanks again for the wonderful pie. See you soon?”
“Um, isn’t there something else you want to say to me?”
“I don’t think so…”
Mitzi stamped her foot and glared at the matador. He shrugged his shoulders, so she stomped out of his dressing room. What could have gone wrong? she wondered as she ran to the Witch’s cottage.
Once more, she rapped on the cottage door.
“Good heavens!” cried the Witch of Nobbi, “is that you again?”
“Yes, but this time I did everything you said and it still didn’t make Rodrigo love me!”
“You cut the piece precisely?”
“To the radius of my own heart!”
“You used the first fruit?”
“Yes and a never-before-used plate and knife!”
“And fork?”
“What? You never said anything special about the fork I used!”
“Didn’t I? Well, it stands to reason that if everything about the spell is virginal that the fork must also never have been used!”
“But you didn’t tell me that!”
The Witch sighed, “Amateurs! I have one last spell for you but this is the last time I’ll help you.”
“Oh please, good Witch!”
“Stop using such vile language! Here, take this egg.” She handed a curiously large blue egg to the princess. “It is the egg of the paradox bird. You must take this egg and keep it always with you next to your heart. Watch Rodrigo like a hawk. The second that he fails to do something to his satisfaction you must throw this egg at him. If you hit him squarely, he will fall in love with you and you will live happily ever after!”
The princess thanked the witch and ran back to the bullfights, hoping for the matador to fail just once.
She might as well have hoped for the moon to fall from the sky. Rodrigo was Rodrigo, perfection personified. Never did he make a false move, never did he fail to deliver the coup de grace at the most fitting moment. He was a wonder!
The princess realized that she would have to prime the pump of his failure. She negotiated for a new shipment of bulls to be sent to the kingdom from faraway Andalusia, home of the most vicious and creative bulls ever bred to dismay a matador. She chose the most wicked bull and had it trained by the most gifted animal trainer in the kingdom. She fed it a special diet ensured to make him even more vicious. After many weeks, she judged that her bull, the gifted Gratto, was ready for the ring.
She chose to release her bull to the bullring on the Feast of St. Valentine which made everything perfect! Rodrigo entered the ring to the delight of his fans and he was showered with roses even before he could snap out of his bow. And then the crowd hushed as the huge Gratto entered the ring.
Unlike the other bulls, Gratto did not paw at the ground, he simply looked at Rodrigo sizing him up. He noted the placement of the killing sword and determined that the matador was right-handed. He would start with a Filionacci Gambit, a long looping run, designed to draw out the matador and test his flexibility with the cape. Rodrigo countered with a Flying French Twist, which impressed the bull not a little.
Mitzi found herself cheering on her bull, “Come on, Gratto, take him down a peg!” It was, of course, true love speaking.
Gratto, out of respect for the matador’s obvious expertise decided to try a combination play, beginning with a Danish horn-rush and finishing with a Bruce Lee 360 roundhouse that he’d always wanted to try in the ring.
Rodrigo was expecting the horn rush and made his cape flutter like a wounded butterfly, but the 360 caught him completely by surprise. If it were not for his superb reflexes, he would have been stomped flatter than a pancake.
“Come on, Gratto. Let him have it!” wailed Mitzi.
Gratto could tell that the 360 was effective so he knew that the matador was definitely old school. He decided to try a Funky Slider with a half-twist on the bullfighter. He ran with a choppy, staccato beat, easing into the slider at the last moment. Rodrigo’s eyes widened with shock at the sight of the bull sweeping in like a runner trying to steal home, he swirled around just quickly enough to avoid the half twist. He jumped into the air only narrowly managing to avoid falling on his back.
Rodrigo got ready for the next rush, trembling just a little. It was time for him to go on the offensive. He readied his killing sword and advanced on the bull. Gratto smiled, he was definitely getting to the matador. Who ever heard of a matador charging a bull?
Rodrigo stopped himself. Calm down, he whispered to himself. You are the master, he is only a bull. He snapped his cape, once more ready to do battle.
Gratto saw that the matador was calm again. He decided that a Zen approach would be fun. So he composed himself and went into a state of deep rest. Rodrigo was appalled. What was the bull doing? It was surely time for it to charge him! What now?
Gratto rested until he could see that the matador was getting agitated. An agitated matador was clearly ripe for another charge. He went through his list of moves and decided to try the “Balkan Offensive” but with a bender thrown in to make it fresh. He surged toward the matador, all hooves and horns and snorting breath.
“It’s a Balkan!” thought Rodrigo, “Let’s see if you already know the ‘Velvet Fog’ counter.” He seemed to shimmer in the noonday sun, zigging and zagging at what looked like super slow motion. The bull flashed by without landing a horn on the matador. How the crowd cheered (except Mitzi)!
And that’s when Rodrigo made his first mistake of the evening. He bowed low to his adoring fans, without counting on the bull’s turn around speed. Gratto spun on a dime and sent a low bending horn toss right on the seat of Rodrigo’s satin pants.
Mitzi saw her chance and flung the egg directly at Rodrigo’s head. Splat! Gratto stopped running, the crowd stopped yelling and Rodrigo stood stock still covered with yolk. He looked up and caught sight of the princess as though for the first time. Like a man in a dream, he walked over to the royal stand and bowed to her.
“I love you,” he said passionately.
“Um…” she whispered.
“Do you think you could ever love me?”
“Er…” she muttered.
“Because, I truly love you!” he cried.
“Well…” For the truth of the matter was, seeing the matador humbled and covered with yolk had removed the scales from her eyes. She didn’t really love Rodrigo at all!
Mumbling excuses, she ran out of the bullring, leaving Rodrigo heart-broken.
She was a wiser Mitzi from that day on. So much so, that when she eventually ascended to the throne, all of the people called her “Mitzi the Mature.”
“That’s not a happy ending!” said Hoss. “What about true love winning in the end?”
“Yes, but that was not true love, only enchantment,” said Goldie calmly.
“What is true love then?” he whinnied angrily, his ears pressed flat to his head.
“True love is a choice made you make when you see someone as he is not as you wish he was. Mitzi did not truly love the matador, for as soon as she saw him flawed, she no longer loved him.”
“Aw, you mares don’t know how to tell a good story,” he complained, “I’m getting some shut-eye!” And with that he promptly fell asleep.
“He’s obnoxious, but the last thing he said makes sense,” said Death, lowering her head.
“Good night, my dears, pleasant dreams…” whispered Goldie as the stars twinkled golden, purple, green and red in the Polymorphan night.