"A Witch By Any Other Name"

Once upon a time,there lived a ravishing maid named Clarice. Clarice fancied herself a real aristocrat, having been favoured with milky skin, shimmering black hair and lips the colour of rubies. It is possible that she may have been somewhat proud and disinclined toward a life of labour that her circumstanced demanded.
Clarice might have had all of the accouterments of aristocracy but the painful truth was that she was born the third daughter of a poor cobbler.
Now it would be nice to say that for all her poverty, the radiant beauty that Clarice had was matched by humility and inner loveliness but sadly that was not quite true, for Clarice was filled with self-importance, willfulness and self-centeredness just like a real aristocrat!
One day, when she should have been gathering wood for the fire like her hard-working sisters, Clarice was lollygagging by the stream and day-dreaming of a better life. Perhaps a prince would come by, fall deeply in love with her and take her to his castle to be his queen. Ah yes, a life of luxury and ease. Days filled with wine and roses, to say nothing of chocolate covered caviar!
While she was fantasizing, along came the Magician, Tim fabled in story and song. Tim was just starting out in the magician’s game, having apprenticed until recently with the powerful and deadly Monsieur Nightshade the Malevolent.
Tim was whistling a carefree tune and wondering how he would choose a place to set up his practice.
“Ahoy lackey!” cried out Clarice. “You wouldn’t happen to be a prince would you?”
Tim shrugged and decided to go along with her as a gag. “You may be very sure that I am,” he said, giving her a sweeping bow. “And you, my pretty biscuit, would you happen to be a princess?”
“Oh well, I suppose if you married me I would be,” she riposted cleverly.
“Why should I marry you?” asked Tim, curious to see what the maiden would say.
“You ask me why? Obviously, because I would make an extraordinary queen someday. Did you notice my flawless complexion, my raven tresses and full lips?”
“Oh, but my dear queen-in-waiting. What about a sovereign’s other attributes? Do you have a quick spirit, ready intelligence, compassion and perception?”
“What are those compared to radiant beauty and glowing skin?” asked Clarice haughtily.
“You make a strong case,” said Tim. “I will marry you, but first you must prove yourself to be worthy of my throne.”
“What must I do?” she asked. “Do you not see that I am worthy of your throne? Need I point out my flawless carriage, my alluring dimples and my sparkling teeth?”
“These are very appealing attributes,” said Tim. “But a queen must do more than look queenly, she must also act the part! Thus, you must prove yourself.”
“Oh very well,” sighed Clarice. “What must I do?”
Tim thought for a moment and then something delightful occurred to him: the girl needed a lesson and he needed a job!
“You must prove your intelligence and your creativity!” he announced. “You must dress yourself as an ugly, old woman and your disguise must be so convincing that not even your own mother would recognize you!”
“That doesn’t sound very queenly to me,” complained the maiden.
“Oh, I’m not finished yet,” said the magician. “You must convince the villagers that you are a witch!”
“A witch? But…”
“Don’t interrupt, you must convince the village that you intend to destroy them all.”
“But…”
“You do want to marry me, don’t you?”
“Yes, yes, of course I do!”
“Then snap to it!”
Clarice snapped to it. She stole rags from the scarecrow in the cornfield, made her nose long and sharp with candlewax and and darkened her teeth with soot from an oil lantern. She ground her fingernails to a ragged edge and pushed her hair under a ragged scarf. When she was done, she had transformed herself into a filthy, horrid-looking hag.
“You must do something about your posture,” complained Tim. “You need to practice walking all stooped over!”
Finally, Tim gave her his seal of approval. “That will do very well. Now take this gnarled stick and go to the village. Tell them that you are Gruzella the Witch and that you have decided to put them all under a spell of suffering and anguish. Then cackle a bit and walk into the forest. If you can fool the village, I will know that I have found my bride.”
Gruzella, the pseudo-witch did as she had been instructed and the village was in a complete state of uproar when Tim strolled onto the scene.
“Good villagers, what troubles you?” he cried.
The village elders surrounded Tim and all began talking at the same time. They explained that a witch had taken it upon herself to curse them and what would they do now?
“You problem is really very easy to solve,” he said grandly. “You need a magician. It so happens that I am rather skilled in the dark arts and for a small consideration, I will submit my not trifling skills on your behalf against this foul witch!”
“You want gold?” asked one of the sharper elders.
“Not at all!” he responded. “I want the witch as a wife!”
“You must be mad!” said the elder. “Why would you want to marry a witch?”
“I am a magician. I need a wife who understands the stresses of supernatural living.”
“But why do you need our permission?” asked the stupefied elder.
“Do we have a deal?” said Tim, ignoring the inconvenient question.
“Yes! Yes!” cried all of the other villagers.
“Right then, I will need some certain magical substances to defuse this crisis,” he announced.
“You shall have whatever you need!” cried the villagers. This thought was most appealing to Tim and he rather let himself go a bit.
“First, I must have roast fowl, served with dumplings and bit of cheese, well aged but not too well aged! (It had been some time since his last good meal.) Also a bottle of red wine, but it doesn’t have to be a Grand Cru.”
“But that’s not magical!” protested the villagers.
“Who’s the magician here?” thundered Tim and all of them raced off to prepare his meal.
Meanwhile, the lovely Clarice was hiding in the forest until she had more instructions from Tim. Being a girl of spirit, she soon chafed at being left alone. She was used to the mooning stares of the village men and the jealous sniffs of their wives. She was not accustomed to being ignored.
“Where is he?” she wondered. “What’s taking him so long?” She was half tempted (perhaps even three-quarters) to just go back to the village without her disguise to see what was up. Once the thought occurred to her, it was well nigh impossible to ignore. Finally, after three minutes of inner debate, she rose, scrubbed off her disguise and stalked to the village. She would give the magician a generous serving of her mind!
When Clarice reached the village, she met her own sister Gertruda racing to fetch some cheese and breadsticks for Tim’s feast.
“What’s going on?” asked Clarice.
“Can’t stop to chat,” puffed then full-figured Gertruda, “Magical business!”
“What magical business?” shouted Clarice, but Gertruda was gone.
She stormed into the town centre to see Tim seated at a table, working his way through a roast duck.
“What’s going on?” she hissed.
“Patience, patience, my little princess,” mumbled Tim, wiping the grease from his moustache.
“I was patient half a day ago, now I’m ticked off,” she growled.
“Have some duck,” he said, noting how she looked pointedly at the carcass.
Just then the village cobbler, Clarice’s father, appeared on the scene.
“Clarice! What are you doing with our magician?”
“Nothing Father,” she said curtseying.
“Well, you best be off to help your mother with the dumplings!” he said. “You should not be disturbing our village’s savior,” and at this he tugged a soiled forelock and dragged her home.
Clarice wanted to shriek at her father and beat him with her fists, but the cobbler had a grip like iron and a short temper besides. Tim just smiled and went back to his duck.
The village gathered together watching Tim as he picked his teeth and belched.
“Don’t you need anything more magical than food?” asked the elder.
“A meal like that was magical!” said Tim grandly. “But yes, I need some specific things: a spool, a thimble, and some scarlet silk thread. Also, I will need a colander, an egg whisk and a white rabbit. It would be very helpful if you had two goose eggs and a cup of dandelion tisane.”
The villagers put their heads together and divided up the list among themselves while Tim sipped a glass of wine. If he played his cards right, it might take the villagers the rest of the day to gather his wish list!
Just then, Clarice hissed at him from a nearby bush. “I want to know your plan!”
“What are you doing in that bush?” asked Tim.
“Hiding, you fool! What do you think I’m doing?”
“Why are you hiding?” wondered Tim.
“Because my father will beat me if he catches me talking to you!”
“Well, never mind all that, you need to get your costume on in case I need to throw another scare into the village.”
“Now, wait a minute!” snarled Clarice. “I think I have fulfilled my half of the bargain. I have proven to you that I am resourceful and intelligent!”
“That you have, my dear,” said Tim in a placating tone. “But another appearance of Witch Gruzella will seal the deal! Off you go!”
Grumbling, she went back to the woods to resume her disguise. (And who could blame her? This was vexatious behavior indeed!) No sooner had she gotten all of her hideous make-up on then Clarice heard a savage voice.
“Ha!” said the savage voice, “Competition!” It was a terrifically unpleasant-looking old woman. Clarice was not the sharpest knife in the kitchen drawer, but even she could tell that this old hag was a real witch.
“I am not your competition,” cried Clarice, falling on her knees before the real witch and hoping that she would not be turned into a newt.
“What do ye mean?” growled the real witch. “You’re a witch, ain’t ye?”
“Not at all!” said Clarice, averting her eyes. “I’m just dressed like one!”
“Why does a pretty gel like you want to dress like a Witch. Tis not Carnival, and sure, tis not Venice!” The Witch barked with dry laughter and hawked up a mass of rheumy phlegm.
“I’d better tell you the whole story,” said Clarice.
“Ye’d be wise to,” nodded the Witch.
When Clarice had finished her tale the Witch nodded and chuckled in a mean sort of way. “Yer not terrifically bright, er ye? Well, no mind, my child, I have a plan to will take your friend the prince down a few notches.” The Witch rubbed her knotty hands together cracking her knuckles and cackling, “Ha! That gives me a nasty ideer!”
And so say, the hideous hag transformed herself into the most beautiful maiden that the world would ever see. Her nose would have put Cleopatra’s to shame and as for her comely shape, the Greeks would have ignored Helen of Troy if she was around!
“Why you’re beautiful!” gasped Clarice.
“Ah ‘tis but surface, no?” said the Witch.
“But what are you going to do?” she asked.
“Come and watch!” suggested the Witch.
Clarice hid herself in the bushes and watched the Witch enter the village square. (It would not do for her father to find her out of the house being a busybody.)
Tim rose to his feet with a gasp of amazement. “My lady, you are very welcome here! But, if I may ask, why are you so far from the glorious courts of the Capital, for there in no doubt that you are a princess of a most profound noble house.
But the princess merely smiled. “Are you a worthy man?” she asked the magician.
“Well, I hate to brag, but I am fairly worthy. I am a powerful magician!”
“How thrilling for you!” said the princess in a delightful silvery voice. Tim blushed with pleasure and he had a strong inclination to impress her with his artistry.
“Look to that bird flying over the village green,” said Tim. He raised his left hand and spoke a loud spell. Suddenly the unlucky bird found itself vanish in a puff of smoke.
“Very impressive,” smiled the princess. “But destructive spells are so very simple and not very interesting.”
“Oh, I can construct as well, your majesty,” bowed Tim, a bit perturbed that his exploding bird bit went over so poorly. Tim picked up a smooth white pebble and rubbed it on his forehead while chanting a spell. He set down the rock and it quickly grew to the size of a small cottage.
The princess clapped her hands together and cried for delight. “What a wonderful spell. I do believe that I have found my soulmate!”
“You have?” grinned Tim, not believing his ears. “You want to marry me?”
“If you’ll have me,” simpered the princess.
“I will! Shall we travel to the Court and tell your father now?” asked Tim.
“I cannot wait!” declared the princess. “Let us summon the village priest and commit ourselves this very day!”
In the bushes, Clarice began (very slowly) to realize that her prince was nothing more than a shady magician. Well, he would get his comeuppance, marrying a hideous witch! Serve him right. But meanwhile, what about her? Would she ever find true happiness?
The princess and her magician quickly found the priest who agreed to pronounce the banns that very day.
It was a shocking honeymoon for poor Tim. But in time he learned to appreciate the witch’s magical skills and they became an excellent team. And every so often, for special dates, the Witch would again transform herself into the princess that so captured her husband’s dark heart.