“George!” Louisa called as she roamed the halls. “George!” She took quick little steps, hurrying past the massive interlocking stones of the walls and barely glancing at the beautiful tapestries that hung to warm the hearts of the people who lived in and visited the castle. Of course, the tapestries were practical in another way as well. They provided a little bit of insulation that kept the heat of winter fires inside the castle. They didn’t keep in much heat, but they did take some of the chill out of the corridor.
Louisa came to the end of the hallway and sighed. George hadn’t responded to her calls, and there didn’t seem to be anyone about to tell her where he was. Louisa looked for a moment at the steep staircase in front of her and then gradually began to ascend. “George!” She called repeatedly through each hallway on six levels of castle until, frustrated and tired, she decided she’d give up her search. She headed down to the kitchens for a late lunch.
An hour later, still needing to talk to her husband about plans for an upcoming holiday celebration and still unable to find him, Louisa started for the library. She decided that George must be out, though what he’d be doing out in the cold was a mystery. She had a book waiting for her, and she might as well read it until George returned. She pulled open the library door and there, sitting at his desk, was George.
Louisa’s anger flared quickly, but she managed to keep it out of her voice as she asked, “George! How long have you been here? Didn’t you hear me calling?”
Upon hearing his name, George looked up. He was a middle aged man, with dark hair just beginning to turn gray. It gave him a rather distinguished look, and he took care to keep his beard trimmed to enhance the effect. George was a man who was very concerned with appearances. He was garbed in sensible clothes of sober hue and fine quality, and over it all he wore a robe of red velvet trimmed in ermine. A golden circlet, set with a few modest jewels, encircled his head. His deep blue eyes gazed unwaveringly at his wife as she waited for his answer.
“I’ve been here for some time. I did hear you calling, but I thought that you must have been looking for someone else. A king can’t be summoned like a servant, you know.” In George’s defense, he wasn’t being the slightest bit sarcastic, nor was he really upset with his wife. They’d been married for some fifteen years, and he still hadn’t quite recognized that his wife would never defer to him the way the servants did. In Louisa’s defense, she’d been much more patient with George in the early years of their marriage than she was now. After fifteen years, she was a little frustrated that he still expected deference from her. She’d been a princess and he a prince when they’d married, and she’d never seen him as anything more or less that her equal.
“Oh, really?” she said, her voice taking on the temperature of the frost-covered sheet of ice that gleamed outside on the windowsill. George knew that tone, and he didn’t like it. When Louisa started talking like that, she was not usually simply angry. She was also usually right.
“You think you can let your queen wander the halls calling for you and not respond because you’re not a servant? Is that it? Tell me, oh wise and noble king,” George winced inwardly at that, “just what is a king anyway?”
This wasn’t the first time George had heard Louisa talk about a king being a servant of the people he governed, and if it weren’t for the fact that he was so worried about something else, he’d probably have apologized to his wife and let her have her way. He was worried, though, and he’d been hearing from and talking to his advisors about it for some time. The matter was more pressing this morning than usual, for some reason, and George’s temper was already frayed under his dignified exterior.
Without a word, the king stood up, regally crossed to the door, closed it, and bolted it. Then he turned and faced his wife, who was suddenly silent. It wasn’t the first time George had been angry with her, and it would very probably not be the last, but she hated seeing him angry.
“You dare to lecture me on my duties as a king?” he said in a soft, angry whisper. The worry he’d been carrying intermittently for months and even years suddenly turned to anger, and he released it now at Louisa. He really did love her a great deal, and not just because her dark brown eyes and flowing ash-blonde hair made her the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. He loved her largely because she loved him, tolerated his temper, and soothed his moods. He forgot all of that for a moment though, his anger seeping between his lips and then flooding the room until Louisa was almost drowned in the stifling mood.
“My duties?” he said again, crossing back to the desk and sitting. He closed his eyes to block out the picture of his wife’s face. He knew that what he was going to say next was going to cause her pain, though he wouldn’t admit even to himself that he knew that, and he didn’t want to see what he was about to do. “Every year, I get messages from neighboring kingdoms filled with joyous news at a new royal birth, and every year, I get so many messages that I can hardly answer them all, asking when there will be an heir to my throne. Kings are eyeing my kingdom, wondering if they’ll be able to take it without a fight once I’m gone. Many are trying to send their sons for extended visits, hoping I’ll grow fond enough of one to bequeath him my kingdom. Our own people write, wondering when their queen will give them comfort that their traditions will continue after the current king is gone.”
He opened his eyes now and looked down at the desk in front of him. Louisa, a shocked look on her face and tears shimmering in her eyes, noticed a recently opened letter there. George seemed to be looking through it, a look of concentration on his face.
“So, my dear Louisa,” he said, his tone suddenly losing its venom as he pleaded, “you, too, are a servant of this people. When will you perform your duty?”
Louisa, her heart full of pain, felt like she would crumple at any moment. She kept her shoulders back and her face neutral, holding back the tears. She trembled for a moment as she faced her king and then, iron in her limbs, she turned toward the bolted door. In a few moments, she was in her own chamber with the door locked behind her. She wept until she could weep no more, her own pain at her childlessness compounded by the pressure of the people and her own dear, sometimes silly, but oh! so good husband.
The Light Princess is a fairy tale, written by George MacDonald. The story is wonderful, but there are several things about it that are difficult for young and modern readers to understand. I've been meaning to write an adaptation of the story for some time - since I read it to my sixth graders and provided explanations along the way - and I've finally started.
Only one character in the original fairy tale has a name, and it's unpronounceable. I did some research on George MacDonald, and the characters are named after but do not represent people in his life.
This is my original work, if not my original idea, and for the few who read my blog, please treat this as copyrighted material. I'll register the copyright as soon as I can.
© Carolyn Hoefer, 2010
