(no subject)
May. 24th, 2003 08:29 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
capri0mniWell, gentle readers, those of you who follow this journal regularly know that the deadline for the Art Garden has been fast approaching, and that I've been stumped for something to write.
Well, I finally got an idea on Tuesday... did some quick research ... and scrapped it by Wednesday for fear that a) I'd be infringing on copyright, and b) the story I was filching was so obscure that no one in the audience would get that it was a retelling.
So, quickly trading that idea for another one, I spent most of Thursday and even more of yesterday processing the story through the word-mill of my mind, and came up with this:
In olden times, when wishing made things so,
there lived a princess loved by rich and poor.
So fair was she, in face, and heart, and mind,
that all who knew her wished to bring her joy.
She never raised a hand, or spoke a word,
or took a step, except in sheer delight.
And so she grew within the palace grounds,
becoming even sweeter day by day,
for kindness was the only thing she knew.
But childhood and time will never stay,
and many nobles sought to call her "wife."
The king, dissatisfied, turned all away -
each seemed too harsh or proud for her kind heart.
And then, one day, a prince arrived at court
whose manner was so easy, warm and free
that all agreed he was her very match.
The wedding feast was held, and songs were sung,
and tears were shed, when loved ones said "Good-bye."
The princess, for her part, was unafraid.
The man beside her on the carriage seat
was kind as any she had ever known.
And though the land grew stranger with each mile,
She only saw new wonders to behold.
So when, at length, her husband took her hand,
and said: "I ask of thee a solemn vow,"
no apprehension rose within her heart.
"Of course," she said. "Whatever it may be."
(If his own courage wavered as he heard
the ease with which she spoke, I cannot tell).
"I promise thee," he said, "I shall be true,
and yet, a shadow lies across my fate.
From dawn to dusk, we'll share in every joy,
but when the darkness comes, then I must go.
Do not follow me, at any cost."
"I promise, Love," she said, "so do not fear.
Shadows come and go, and never stay."
And so it came to pass as he foretold:
each moment spent together was a joy,
From sunrise till its setting in the west,
they shared sweet songs, and sweeter loving words.
But when night's shadow spread across the sky,
he slipped into the hall without a sound
and seemed to vanish as though he were a ghost.
Then loneliness began to spread its ice
through that young heart, which once knew only joy.
The princess searched her mind to find a way
to ease the burden of her doubts and fears
and yet still keep the solemn vow she made.
"I will not follow him," she told herself,
"but just explore this palace as a game.
Then, if, by chance, I stumble on his room,
No one can ever say I was untrue."
And so, next morning, as they walked along,
she called a game of "Tag," and sped away.
Just managing to stay ten steps ahead,
she tried each door until she found the one --
the only one which bore a heavy lock.
She peered into the keyhole and she saw
a cobbler's bench with all the tools laid out,
and pieces cut and waiting to be sewn --
but not of leather, as one would expect --
No, every piece was iron, cold and hard,
and finished iron shoes upon the shelf.
She turned as quickly as she could and ran
back to her husband's arms as though in sport,
and, laughing, kissed his cheek and called him "Dear,"
as though no shadow spread across her heart.
But in the evening as she lay alone,
she thought of him at labor in the night -
his shoulders hunched and fingers blistered red,
and wept to think that Fate could be so cruel
to one so kind as her own prince had been.
And then one day, she sang to him a song.
She sang until he slumbered deep and sure,
and then went back to find that door again,
to see if she could break the spell by force.
But when she placed her hand upon the lock
a thunderclap twice sounded through the air,
and stone fell on stone and disappeared.
Fire blazed before before her eyes, and wind
churned the very earth beneath her feet.
And when, at last, the tumult died away,
no palace stood, and her true prince was gone --
and just the iron shoes he made remained.
A narrow path paved deep with iron thorns
stretched on ahead, hemmed in by thorny trees.
There was nothing she could do, she knew it then,
but journey on, and hope that at road's end
she'd find her love, and kiss him once again.
But her silk slippers wouldn't take her far.
So she put her feet into an iron pair,
and slung the bag of shoes across her back.
And strode forth, for the first time in her life,
spurred on by love's sweet pain, and by strong hope.
Blisters arose, and blood flowed from her feet,
and iron could not keep out winter's cold.
But her legs and back grew strong, in time
And as she wore the soles of each pair down,
she marveled at the distance she had come.
And as her final pair were wearing thin,
the thorny path, at last, came to an end.
A woman sitting there beside the road
looked up, and called the princess by her name.
"I know you by the shoes upon your feet.
I know you've come to save our noble king."
She handed her a tiny golden flute.
"Keep this safe and hidden well," she said,
"for it will help you in a time of need."
The princess thanked her and continued on.
One day, and then another two days passed.
And she walked on until she reached a gate
so wide and tall there was no way around.
A watchman called to her from high above:
"What business do you have beyond this gate?"
"I've come to see the cobbler -- is he here?"
"If that's your answer, you may never pass."
So she sat down and played upon the flute.
The next to call her was a lady fine
(though sharp of face, and sharper still in voice):
"Just ask thy price -- for I must have that flute!"
"It's not for sale -- not for the price you'll pay."
"Whoever told thee so was telling lies!"
the lady said. "Just name thy price. I'll pay!"
"Then let me spend one night within the room
where your own cobbler sleeps," was her reply.
And so the lady opened up the gate.
She led the princess in, and shut the door.
And there her husband lay, in deathlike sleep.
No matter how she called he would not wake.
And then, she saw the shoes still on his feet --
the laces were entwined with magic charms.
And so she went to work -- untied them all;
the rosy color of his cheeks returned,
he drew a breath, awoke, and called her name.
They spent the night recounting all their tales.
As dawn approached he said: "Now listen well --
the queen that holds me here would be my bride.
'twas she who lay that spell upon my fate.
But when that final pair of shoes wears out,
her power shall be broken -- we'll be free.
And so before the wedding vows tonight,
I'll call for celebration with a dance.
And because you walked the thorny way,
you shall outlast them all, of this, I'm sure."
And so, before the final toast was raised,
before the priest came in to hear the vows,
the prince called out: "This evening begs for sport!
Let's have a dance, to lighten hearts and heels!"
And as the music sounded through the hall,
they heard the ring of iron on the floor
that kept in perfect time with every tune.
Until, at last, the iron soles wore through.
The queen and all her courtiers turned to dust
The prince was now the true king, and was free.
And his bride -- the queen beloved by all --
took off her shoes, ran barefoot in the grass.
It's written almost entirely in Iambic pentameter (rhythm that goes "de-dum-de-dum-de-dum-de-dum-de-dum-de-dum") except in two places where the magic palace fall apart, I let the rhythm fall apart, and when she's just starting out in the iron shoes, I let the rhythm trip up a bit and get awkward, too :-).
No doubt it will go through more tweaking as I practice reading it aloud in preparation for the performance on the 7th, but, essentially, it's done.
Whew!
(and here, the author takes a bow, and sighs)
Well, I finally got an idea on Tuesday... did some quick research ... and scrapped it by Wednesday for fear that a) I'd be infringing on copyright, and b) the story I was filching was so obscure that no one in the audience would get that it was a retelling.
So, quickly trading that idea for another one, I spent most of Thursday and even more of yesterday processing the story through the word-mill of my mind, and came up with this:
In olden times, when wishing made things so,
there lived a princess loved by rich and poor.
So fair was she, in face, and heart, and mind,
that all who knew her wished to bring her joy.
She never raised a hand, or spoke a word,
or took a step, except in sheer delight.
And so she grew within the palace grounds,
becoming even sweeter day by day,
for kindness was the only thing she knew.
But childhood and time will never stay,
and many nobles sought to call her "wife."
The king, dissatisfied, turned all away -
each seemed too harsh or proud for her kind heart.
And then, one day, a prince arrived at court
whose manner was so easy, warm and free
that all agreed he was her very match.
The wedding feast was held, and songs were sung,
and tears were shed, when loved ones said "Good-bye."
The princess, for her part, was unafraid.
The man beside her on the carriage seat
was kind as any she had ever known.
And though the land grew stranger with each mile,
She only saw new wonders to behold.
So when, at length, her husband took her hand,
and said: "I ask of thee a solemn vow,"
no apprehension rose within her heart.
"Of course," she said. "Whatever it may be."
(If his own courage wavered as he heard
the ease with which she spoke, I cannot tell).
"I promise thee," he said, "I shall be true,
and yet, a shadow lies across my fate.
From dawn to dusk, we'll share in every joy,
but when the darkness comes, then I must go.
Do not follow me, at any cost."
"I promise, Love," she said, "so do not fear.
Shadows come and go, and never stay."
And so it came to pass as he foretold:
each moment spent together was a joy,
From sunrise till its setting in the west,
they shared sweet songs, and sweeter loving words.
But when night's shadow spread across the sky,
he slipped into the hall without a sound
and seemed to vanish as though he were a ghost.
Then loneliness began to spread its ice
through that young heart, which once knew only joy.
The princess searched her mind to find a way
to ease the burden of her doubts and fears
and yet still keep the solemn vow she made.
"I will not follow him," she told herself,
"but just explore this palace as a game.
Then, if, by chance, I stumble on his room,
No one can ever say I was untrue."
And so, next morning, as they walked along,
she called a game of "Tag," and sped away.
Just managing to stay ten steps ahead,
she tried each door until she found the one --
the only one which bore a heavy lock.
She peered into the keyhole and she saw
a cobbler's bench with all the tools laid out,
and pieces cut and waiting to be sewn --
but not of leather, as one would expect --
No, every piece was iron, cold and hard,
and finished iron shoes upon the shelf.
She turned as quickly as she could and ran
back to her husband's arms as though in sport,
and, laughing, kissed his cheek and called him "Dear,"
as though no shadow spread across her heart.
But in the evening as she lay alone,
she thought of him at labor in the night -
his shoulders hunched and fingers blistered red,
and wept to think that Fate could be so cruel
to one so kind as her own prince had been.
And then one day, she sang to him a song.
She sang until he slumbered deep and sure,
and then went back to find that door again,
to see if she could break the spell by force.
But when she placed her hand upon the lock
a thunderclap twice sounded through the air,
and stone fell on stone and disappeared.
Fire blazed before before her eyes, and wind
churned the very earth beneath her feet.
And when, at last, the tumult died away,
no palace stood, and her true prince was gone --
and just the iron shoes he made remained.
A narrow path paved deep with iron thorns
stretched on ahead, hemmed in by thorny trees.
There was nothing she could do, she knew it then,
but journey on, and hope that at road's end
she'd find her love, and kiss him once again.
But her silk slippers wouldn't take her far.
So she put her feet into an iron pair,
and slung the bag of shoes across her back.
And strode forth, for the first time in her life,
spurred on by love's sweet pain, and by strong hope.
Blisters arose, and blood flowed from her feet,
and iron could not keep out winter's cold.
But her legs and back grew strong, in time
And as she wore the soles of each pair down,
she marveled at the distance she had come.
And as her final pair were wearing thin,
the thorny path, at last, came to an end.
A woman sitting there beside the road
looked up, and called the princess by her name.
"I know you by the shoes upon your feet.
I know you've come to save our noble king."
She handed her a tiny golden flute.
"Keep this safe and hidden well," she said,
"for it will help you in a time of need."
The princess thanked her and continued on.
One day, and then another two days passed.
And she walked on until she reached a gate
so wide and tall there was no way around.
A watchman called to her from high above:
"What business do you have beyond this gate?"
"I've come to see the cobbler -- is he here?"
"If that's your answer, you may never pass."
So she sat down and played upon the flute.
The next to call her was a lady fine
(though sharp of face, and sharper still in voice):
"Just ask thy price -- for I must have that flute!"
"It's not for sale -- not for the price you'll pay."
"Whoever told thee so was telling lies!"
the lady said. "Just name thy price. I'll pay!"
"Then let me spend one night within the room
where your own cobbler sleeps," was her reply.
And so the lady opened up the gate.
She led the princess in, and shut the door.
And there her husband lay, in deathlike sleep.
No matter how she called he would not wake.
And then, she saw the shoes still on his feet --
the laces were entwined with magic charms.
And so she went to work -- untied them all;
the rosy color of his cheeks returned,
he drew a breath, awoke, and called her name.
They spent the night recounting all their tales.
As dawn approached he said: "Now listen well --
the queen that holds me here would be my bride.
'twas she who lay that spell upon my fate.
But when that final pair of shoes wears out,
her power shall be broken -- we'll be free.
And so before the wedding vows tonight,
I'll call for celebration with a dance.
And because you walked the thorny way,
you shall outlast them all, of this, I'm sure."
And so, before the final toast was raised,
before the priest came in to hear the vows,
the prince called out: "This evening begs for sport!
Let's have a dance, to lighten hearts and heels!"
And as the music sounded through the hall,
they heard the ring of iron on the floor
that kept in perfect time with every tune.
Until, at last, the iron soles wore through.
The queen and all her courtiers turned to dust
The prince was now the true king, and was free.
And his bride -- the queen beloved by all --
took off her shoes, ran barefoot in the grass.
It's written almost entirely in Iambic pentameter (rhythm that goes "de-dum-de-dum-de-dum-de-dum-de-dum-de-dum") except in two places where the magic palace fall apart, I let the rhythm fall apart, and when she's just starting out in the iron shoes, I let the rhythm trip up a bit and get awkward, too :-).
No doubt it will go through more tweaking as I practice reading it aloud in preparation for the performance on the 7th, but, essentially, it's done.
Whew!
(and here, the author takes a bow, and sighs)
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no subject
Date: 2003-05-24 07:55 am (UTC)I love the story!
I like "Barefoot Queen" for the title
no subject
Date: 2003-05-24 09:07 am (UTC)The title is really up to the person who organizes the evening, as she's the one who prints up the progams... and I won't know for sure what she decides until that evening...
no subject
Date: 2003-05-24 05:41 pm (UTC)Love it!
:::Bows:::
Date: 2003-05-24 09:37 pm (UTC)a couple of the tweaks I am slready considering:
First, expand the scene where the shoes break, and the queen turns to dust -- truth is, I was rushing to get it done, by that point -- as well as add a line or two about how being barefoot in the grass feels.
And second, reformat it as prose (keeping all the words themselves -- just get rid of the line breaks), to make sure I don't get too sing-songy when I read it...
no subject
Date: 2003-05-25 04:31 am (UTC)Thanks!
Date: 2003-05-25 04:44 am (UTC)Thank you. Now, the second half of that second accomplishment, will actually be learning it well enough so I can recite the whole thing through with only a few glances at the paper.