A Princess Called Mud

Once upon a time, there lived a princess called Mud. Oh, she had a real name, given to her with much pomp and blowing of trumpets. Just as he did for her sisters, the  record-keeper wrote this name in the great leger-book of records, the book with its forbidding black binding and deeply embossed gold letters that proclaimed to all that the contents therein were OFFICIAL and EVERLASTING and UNCHANGING. Yes, this princess had a name in the great book just like all of her royal kin. But the thing of it was, this name didn’t matter. Nobody used it; most people didn’t even remember it. Mud was Mud, and that was that.  

You see, in this kingdom, the royalty made things where there once had been no things. Every time they clapped their hands, something appeared. Mud’s father, the bright and shining king Ajax, clapped and gold nuggets the size of small pebbles showered from his hands. Whenever a peasant couldn’t pay his taxes[1], he would come before the king and plead his case in the great hall. More often than not, the king would clap his hands, give the gold pebble to the peasant, and say, “Take that to the taxman, and when taxes are due again, pay more than your share. Though my gold may be unlimited, it is your gold that makes the kingdom great.” And because this gold king was so fair and trusting, the people loved him, and would always, if they were able, pay double their taxes the next year.

His wife, the sparkling queen Helena, clapped and diamonds rained to the floor. Every newly married couple in the kingdom, from poorest to richest, was given one of the queen’s diamonds as a wedding gift.

Mud’s three sisters, the radiant jewel princesses of the saturated eyes Clio, Diana, and Atlanta, clapped and rubies, sapphires, and emeralds tinkled down. These were embedded in the palace walls, melded into sword handles for the most elite soldiers, encrusted on the goblets that adorned the great feast tables, so all who came for the magnificent banquets – princes from far across the mountains, queens in sedan chairs, mysterious artists veiled in mists and silks and promises – all could marvel at the beauty and colorful, shining wealth of this kingdom.

The sisters were as beautiful as the gems that came from them – skin that was practically translucent, eyes the color of their jewels, bones fragile as a moth’s wing. The whole royal family was exceedingly breakable. Their bones creaked in the winter and they had to take care to stoke the fire lest their bones get so cold they shattered. Their skin would tear at the slightest abrasion. They couldn’t ride horses, or sword fight, or even dance at their own banquets. They were rare, beautiful, worthy of protection and veneration for their gifts and their frailties. They were special.

All except Mud. When Mud clapped, there were no sparkling diamonds or mysterious sapphires or radiant gold. When Mud clapped there was just…dirt. Clods of soil that thunked heavily on the ground and stained the rug. The same dirt that the horses plowed and the maid swept out of the kitchen. Mud made something, alright – she was a princess, after all. But Mud was not fragile and her making was not rare, not sparkling, not something to show off to foreign royalty in their spice-scented caravans.

Mud was not breakable like her sisters. She was as tough as the earth she made – hearty and firm. She was as the soil that held roots and kept the towering trees from falling in a storm, as the solid packed floor of the farmers’ homes. She was not shiny and translucent – hers was not the beauty of a grown-up world whose inhabitants care most for the rare and not for the practical. Mud’s eyes were not the glowing gems of her sisters’ or the pale fire of her mother’s. Mud’s were just plain, ordinary brown, like the dirt that tumbled from her hands. But they were welcoming eyes, understanding eyes, non-threatening eyes. Mud knew what it meant not to belong, to feel alien, not even fitting with one’s own family. Mud could empathize with all who felt different. Hers was not a gift that, like her family’s gifts, would finance ships or decorate a castle. She was not fragile, not clear – her making was dirt and she felt most at home outside, unlike her sisters who were all delicate skin and softly falling gems, who lived most happily and safely indoors.

But the difference is precisely what made the children love this woman called Mud. Mud was not breakable like her sisters. She did not have to sit inside by the fire on winter nights, but could run through the snow with the children, build snowmen and go ice-skating. She could play at the mock battles fought with wooden swords by the stable-boys. She could dance the jigs at the holiday bonfires.

And she did.

The children loved their playful Princess Mud, she with the golden hair like dandelions and warm brown eyes like a newly-turned garden. She who would clap at their shows among the haystacks, not caring that her applause dirtied her skirts. Princess Mud was not afraid of a little mess - she would set off with them into the woods looking for fairy rings, wade into the creek to play pirate ship, climb trees to build hideaways among the branches. What was a little debris to a woman whose hands made dirt? What was a tear in an already dirty dress?

The adults loved the gold king for his fairness, the diamond queen for her generosity, the jewel princesses for their fragile beauty. The adults loved the glittering royal family and the wealth and prosperity and prestige they brought to the kingdom. The adults loved the breakable, beautiful ones.

But the children? The children loved their sturdy Princess Mud, who played their games and understood their loneliness. And Mud loved them.

You’re arguing that the fragile, rare thing is beautiful simply because it is fragile and rare. But that’s a lie, and you know it. – The Fault in Our Stars

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xo, 

Devo

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[1] Yes, there were still taxes even though the king could finance any endeavor he wanted with a little applause. People needed to feel involved, to feel like they were part of something greater than themselves; by contributing taxes, they built roads and explored new lands and fed the needy.