THE FAIRY GODMOTHER-IN-LAW |
PREFACE It is not always well to place Unbounded Faith in Fairy Lore, Believing that in every case They all lived Happy evermore. Stranger than Fiction though we deem The Truth, it does not follow, too, That Fairy Tales, because they seem Still Stranger, must be still more True. Far be it from me to assail The Truthfulness of Fairy Writ, But let us take a Well-Known Tale And see what really came of it.
I
THE WEDDING When Cinderella wed the Prince She thought him all her Fancy Painted, And this was not surprising since They were not very Well Acquainted. While he, not dreaming where she got Glass slippers, counted on a Dot. The Prince was Brave, Industrious, Wise: Brave in bright Silks and Satins gay, Wise in the Lore of Ladies’ Eyes, And most Industrious—at Play; A Leader, too—in Fashion’s Set; And Deep—that is to say, in Debt.
Who was the Somebody of Note? (I never could remember names) Was it Mark Twain or Mr. Choate Or Mrs. Ward or Henry James That penn’d those words of Wise Import, “Who weds in haste repents—in court”? But let us not Anticipate. The Princess wore a Plain Gold Frock; No Fairy Dress to spoil the fÊte By vanishing at Twelve o’clock. This time no Spell her pleasure blighted— Her god-mamma was not invited. Not that she really meant to flout Her Benefactress; but you see She had not told the Prince about Her Fairy Godmother, lest he Might change his mind if he foresaw A Fairy God-mamma-in-law. A Fairy may be Good or Ill, A Godmother Morose or Gay; A Mother-in-law, say what you will, Is not immortal any way. But wouldn’t it a Bridegroom stun To think of all three rolled in one?
II
THE LETTER All day the envelope she scann’d. But though her royal name it bore, ’Twas in an Unfamiliar Hand. The Postmark puzzled her still more. The Princess could not understand Who’d write to her from—— NO-MANS LAND She turned it Left, she turned it Right, She pinched it, shook it to and fro, She held it up against the Light, And topsy-turvy wise—but no, It still continued to preserve Its air of Self-contained Reserve. One day the Princess in a Pet, It was her Last, her only hope, Summoned her Trusty Cabinet, To Sit upon the Envelope, And at no matter what expense, To end her Terrible Suspense. But all their LearnÉd Consultations Ended in Nought, for what avail Mere Man’s Unerring Calculations Where WOMAN’S Intuitions fail? Their Weighty Brains refused to cope With that Unyielding Envelope. She put the matter in the Hands Of the Police; she went to see Astrologers from Foreign Lands And experts in Chirography; And offered Large Rewards to all Who furnished Clues, however small. But no one came for the Reward, Nor would the Envelope betray The Secret in its bosom stored, When by the Merest Chance one day She overheard a Child, who cried, “If it were mine, I’d look inside.” Tossing the Tot a Thousand Pounds, The Princess to her Chamber sped; Her Joy and Rapture knew no bounds; She tore the Envelope and read A note from god-mamma, to say, She might expect her any day.
III
THE VISIT One day as Cinderella ate Her Simple Lunch of sixteen courses, A Golden Coach drove up in state, Drawn by a team of Mouse-Grey horses, And on the carriage door were scrolled The Letters F. G. M., in gold. The Princess dropped a Jelly Roll, Which tipped with Pink her Crystal Shoe, And cried, “O my prophetic soul! My God-mamma! What shall I do?” Then, Ladylike, she cut the knot By simply fainting on the spot.
Strong Fairy Salts soon brought her to. She looked up in a startled way. “Why, God-mamma—can that be you? How sweet! I hope you’ve come to stay. The Prince will simply be enchanted.” “Your Wish,” quoth God-mamma, “is granted.” True to her word, the Fairy soon Was quite at home. The royal Attic She turned into a Grand Saloon, Where with her cats she reigned ecstatic. “Henceforth,” said she, “I’ll live at leisure, And only work my Spells for pleasure.” She had a Sense of Humor dry, She loved her Little Joke—and tho’ None of her Tricks were prompted by A spiteful heart or love of show, To love one’s Joke does not, it’s true, Imply that Others love it too. She had a disconcerting way, When Argument became a bore, Of saying what she had to say And disappearing through the Floor, A joke that never failed to cause A weird, if not side-splitting, Pause. At meals, if there appeared a dish God-mamma did not find appealing, She’d wave her wand, and Fowl or Fish Would promptly vanish thro’ the ceiling, And in its place would be Fried Mole Or Crocodile en casserole.
One day some Ladies of the Court Performed a Play which bored her so, She up and cried, “That’s not my sort!” And changed it to a Ballet show. A Tactless Joke, which caused, of course, Much talk—and more than one Divorce. But nothing gave her such delight, Or keener Sense of Humor showed, Than when the Prince came home at night; She’d change his door-key to a Toad, And laugh to see it hop about, Or turn the Key-Hole inside out. Once, weary of her Pesterings, The Prince apostrophized a bird, Exclaiming, “Would I too had wings!” It chanced the Fairy overheard, And, with the very best intentions, Granted him wings of Large Dimensions. Now wings (as any Naturalist Will tell you) are but variations Of arms, and cannot co-exist With such-like Brachial Formations. Accordingly, he lost his arms, Which handicaps a Prince’s charms. To his embarrassment and woe, He had to be both dressed and fed And brushed and bathed and put—but no, That he was spared. His Wings when spread Were Forty Feet from side to side; Bed was a luxury denied.
He soon repented of his Whim. With wings like windmill sails, of course, No room was big enough for him. So all night long, in Chill Remorse, He perched upon the roof. At dawn The spell was happily withdrawn. About this time the Princess planned A grand Subscription Ball, to aid The Starving Shepherds of the land. The Prince, when told the shepherds’ trade Included Shepherdesses too, Subscribed a Thumping I. O. U. Upon the evening of the ball, It chanced that God-mamma-in-law, Flitting about the Palace Hall, Passed by the Prince’s Suite, and saw His gladsome Evening Robes outspread In neat array upon the bed. She eyed them sadly. Here in places The silken pile was wearing thin; And here were stains and here were traces Of where the Moth had broken in. “Aha! Aha! it’s plain to see This is a little job for me! “I’ll make him a new suit,” said she, “A brave new suit without a flaw. I’d like to know what Home would be Without a God-mamma-in-law.” And in its place upon the bed A Fairy Substitute she spread. All unobserved, she slipped away, Delighted with her Little Game, And, seeking some new trick to play, To Cinderella’s closet came. Where for her golden robe of state She left a Fairy Duplicate. Dressed for the ball, they drove in State, Looking superlatively swell; God-mamma pleaded mal de tÊte And from her window waved farewell. Her voice rose o’er the people’s cheers, “Be back at twelve o’clock my dears!”
IV
THE BALL Before the splendors of the Ball The Boldest Metaphor grows tame; Superlatives abjectly crawl Back to their lexicon in shame, And Synonyms in shrieking chorus Take refuge in the deep Thesaurus. But language has its Pioneers, Who seek Fresh Words and Postures new, Slang rushes in where Syntax fears To tread—so I for Ade halloo, And say (with George’s kind permission) It was “A Heated Proposition.” The Princess never dreamed her frock Of gold was wrought by fairy power. And set, like an alarming Clock, To go off at the midnight hour. Her childish laugh rang with delight: “Thank God-mamma’s not here to-night.” Prince Charming looked his very best To—I mean at—the Ladies Fair; No dread foreboding stirred his breast; No Writing on the Wall was there To Tell him of the Awful Shock Awaiting him at Twelve O’clock.
V
MIDNIGHT Again (see chapter on The Ball) The Boldest Metaphor grows tame; Superlatives abjectly crawl Back to their lexicon in shame, And Synonyms in shrieking chorus Take refuge in the deep Thesaurus. But every cloud that bars the sun They say with silverwear is lined; And tho’ they felt they were Undone, Their Highnesses were cheered to find At midnight when their Robes took wings, They kept their—well, their Other Things.
Perchance, Dear Reader, you have noted In that Department which to Trade is By Monthly Magazines devoted, Perchance, Dear Reader, you have noted In that Department which to Trade is By Monthly Magazines devoted, The Pleasant Gentlemen and Ladies Whose Union Suits our souls bewitch— The Simple Flannels of the Rich. The Pleasant Gentlemen and Ladies Whose Union Suits our souls bewitch— The Simple Flannels of the Rich.
Even arrayed as one of these, In Homespun stood the Royal Twain, While people cried, on bended knees, “Long live their Majesties! who deign Thus by example to Restore Our Woolen Industry of Yore!” Thro’ all the Land the Tidings sped From Door to Door, from Wife to Wife, Thro’ all the Land the Fashion spread For Woolen and the Simple Life. New looms sprang up on every hand And shepherds prospered in the land. Poor God-mamma, ’twas her last caper; One night to throw some Light about She changed herself into a Taper, And Cinderella blew her out. The Princess then divorced the Prince, And Both lived Happy Ever Since.
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