Once upon a time, lived a beautiful princess, only she wouldn't be. Now, you ask, what wouldn't she be? Well, she wouldn't be a princess, because she did not believe that she truly was a princess.
Although the Princess Mary had a beautiful suite of rooms, with the finest of furnishings, the softest of beds and the warmest of fires waiting for her upstairs, every night she would sleep curled up on the hearth of the great kitchen fireplace with nothing but an old potato sack for a pillow.
The ladies in waiting of the castle spent hours upon hours using the finest of threads and the most colourful of cloth to make beautiful robes and gowns that would sit forlornly in the princess's wardrobe. Princess Mary refused to wear anything but a ragged, faded old dress that she had found in the rubbish heap. The dress had been gladly cast off by the lowest kitchen maid for now the maid proudly wore the uniform given when hired by the palace.
Every day, a royal feast would be set out in the royal dining hall, full of tasty treats that would delight the heart of any child, princess or not. Every night, Princess Mary would stay in the kitchen, refusing anything to eat but an onion and a piece of old bread crust. Instead of sipping on the rarest of elixirs and the daintiest of juices she would drink stale water.
The king, being a kindly father, with a heart of love, tried everything to convince his daughter that she indeed was his daughter, and truly a princess. He sent many of his most trusted servants to her in hopes that they could convince her of whom she really was. The royal mathematician, full of logic and clear sound deductive reasoning tried to convince Mary of her status, by pointing out the facts, figures and status of her situation. No amount of logic would budge Mary's opinion that she needed to keep in "her place" and that she shouldn't think about those things that she was not worthy to receive. Mary would yawn, stretch her aching back and start to scrub the pots once again.
The royal historian after hearing of the failure of the mathematician, thought that he had a chance. With charts and family tree and coats of armour in tow, he made his way through the maze of corridors, down to the kitchen. Mary would argue, "That is fine and dandy for all those lords and ladies to be entitled to all that, but they were they, and she was she and that was that!" Mary would wipe the sweat from her tired brow as she curtsied politely to the back of the defeated scholar as he climbed the stairs back to the royal chamber.
The king sent the Royal Jester, who was met with an "Oh don't be silly and please don't tease me sir. I know my place and right now that place is scrubbing the fire place." The Chief of the Guard told her of her authority to command his troops to war at her very word, and she sent him away with a cookie and a suggestion that he visit the royal doctor for his wild imaginative thoughts.
The king, after depleting all his resources, decided to take matters in his own hands, and sent for the royal crown, sceptre and robes. The royal sash and medals were placed across his chest and the royal ring graced his hands. Majestic and powerful, he led the parade of defeated advisors to the kitchen. Mary looked up from the sewing she was doing and was startled!
The King, seeing the look on his daughters face, thought "Aha! At last, I have gotten through to my daughter!" With a voice full of kingly authority, and a royal flourish, pointing to all the sheepish advisors, he asked his daughter, "Mary, you have not believed these men that I sent to you. Will you not believe me? Do you not know who I am?" The King stood tall and proud in full assurance of his kingship.
Mary looked perplexed and thought for a moment, then replied, "Of course I know you, my dear papa! You are my father!" Then taking her father aside, she whispered, worriedly in his ear, "But what are you doing wearing the King's clothes? You can get into trouble doing that, you know!"
Mary turned back to her sewing, shivering a bit in the winter chill, and the King went back to his royal chamber, scratching his royal head.
© 1997, 2005 Katherine Walden
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