a chance to keep the boy? “Woe is me! Oh, woe is me!”
My temper flares, but soon it diminishes and I begin to laugh. “My name. She thinks she can guess my name.” I laugh harder.
My confidence returns, and the next night I pay a visit to the princess.
She waits for me by the fire in the great hall, the babe asleep in his crib. Her husband is in their bedchamber high above us fast asleep. She doesn’t even give me time to sit, but takes up the scroll in her lap and launches into a list of names. “Claude? Frank? Robert? Pierre?”
I shake my head and smile as inch by inch the scroll is read. I’m beginning to enjoy this new torture, for with every name said, time runs thin and soon the boy will be mine.
I know she has asked the servants for names, for the next night, she delves into the unusual. She combines the bizarre. “Balthassar? Ignatius? Wybert? Yuri-Tasim? Cham-Deror?”
“No. No. No, no, no!” I giggle and dance and spin with delight.
“You’ll never find my name in a book,
Nor hidden in a secret nook.
It cannot be learned from dashes and blips,
Nor found upon a lover’s lips.”
The disgust she feels rides her face. This is an unexpected bit of fun.
“Leave me,” she says before the night is through. “Go back to the hole in the ground from whence you sprang.”
I pause in my celebration. “Have you run out of names so soon?” Her beautiful countenance is wreathed in mental pain. “I see you have. Please note my disappointment.” She has quit before we’ve even begun.
“One more day is all you hold.
To find my name, you must act bold.
Seek high, seek low, seek friend and foe,
Yet all you will find is hatred and woe.”
My rhymes annoy her. She takes a broom and sweeps me toward the door like unwanted refuse.
“Tomorrow I leave for good,” I say, “whether or not you stay is up to you.”
“You are a vile creature. Be gone, I say.” I leave her broken and distraught. As I return home, I see the castle servants rushing out the gate, flinging themselves far and wide in an attempt to please their lady with a name like no other. I do not fear discovery. My home is steeped in legend. No one enters the forest but the foolhardy.
A celebration is in order. I enter my forest and build a bonfire. I dance and giggle, but I keep my voice low and secretive. The princess will never guess my name. A saucy ditty leaps to my lips, and I breathe softly,
“She searches high,
She searches low,
My name the maid will never know.
It’s steeped in hate,
It’s made by sin,
I’ll always be Rumpelstiltskin.”
I fall to the ground and roll back and forth. Soon all I have worked for will be mine. As the embers die, I whistle my tune and plan what new game I will play. I don’t see the shadows move or the betrayal that is about to fall.
The next night, I confidently stroll into the great hall. As with the last few nights, we are alone. The cold stone underfoot amplifies my footsteps. I am the true master of this place. I have all the power. To prove it, I walk right up to the lad and give his chin a light tickle. The princess scoops up her babe, and I allow it. This is, after all, her last night with the child. Once we are in my forest, she will never see him again. I ignore the fear circling her eyes, and I cross my arms across my chest. “You may begin.”
“If I guess your name, you promise you will leave and never return?”
“I promise…and my promises I keep.”
“And you’ll not take my son? Or me?”
I am feeling magnanimous tonight, so I nod. “If you guess my name correctly, which you won’t, I will leave you and your family alone. Forever.”
She sits, a graceful movement of limb and linen. Though distressed, she keeps her beauty, and I admire such poise. I barely recognize the scared peasant maiden I first met so many years ago now clothed in royal garb.
She slants a questioning eye toward me. “Is your name Percy?”
“Common.” She’s become desperate,
My temper flares, but soon it diminishes and I begin to laugh. “My name. She thinks she can guess my name.” I laugh harder.
My confidence returns, and the next night I pay a visit to the princess.
She waits for me by the fire in the great hall, the babe asleep in his crib. Her husband is in their bedchamber high above us fast asleep. She doesn’t even give me time to sit, but takes up the scroll in her lap and launches into a list of names. “Claude? Frank? Robert? Pierre?”
I shake my head and smile as inch by inch the scroll is read. I’m beginning to enjoy this new torture, for with every name said, time runs thin and soon the boy will be mine.
I know she has asked the servants for names, for the next night, she delves into the unusual. She combines the bizarre. “Balthassar? Ignatius? Wybert? Yuri-Tasim? Cham-Deror?”
“No. No. No, no, no!” I giggle and dance and spin with delight.
“You’ll never find my name in a book,
Nor hidden in a secret nook.
It cannot be learned from dashes and blips,
Nor found upon a lover’s lips.”
The disgust she feels rides her face. This is an unexpected bit of fun.
“Leave me,” she says before the night is through. “Go back to the hole in the ground from whence you sprang.”
I pause in my celebration. “Have you run out of names so soon?” Her beautiful countenance is wreathed in mental pain. “I see you have. Please note my disappointment.” She has quit before we’ve even begun.
“One more day is all you hold.
To find my name, you must act bold.
Seek high, seek low, seek friend and foe,
Yet all you will find is hatred and woe.”
My rhymes annoy her. She takes a broom and sweeps me toward the door like unwanted refuse.
“Tomorrow I leave for good,” I say, “whether or not you stay is up to you.”
“You are a vile creature. Be gone, I say.” I leave her broken and distraught. As I return home, I see the castle servants rushing out the gate, flinging themselves far and wide in an attempt to please their lady with a name like no other. I do not fear discovery. My home is steeped in legend. No one enters the forest but the foolhardy.
A celebration is in order. I enter my forest and build a bonfire. I dance and giggle, but I keep my voice low and secretive. The princess will never guess my name. A saucy ditty leaps to my lips, and I breathe softly,
“She searches high,
She searches low,
My name the maid will never know.
It’s steeped in hate,
It’s made by sin,
I’ll always be Rumpelstiltskin.”
I fall to the ground and roll back and forth. Soon all I have worked for will be mine. As the embers die, I whistle my tune and plan what new game I will play. I don’t see the shadows move or the betrayal that is about to fall.
The next night, I confidently stroll into the great hall. As with the last few nights, we are alone. The cold stone underfoot amplifies my footsteps. I am the true master of this place. I have all the power. To prove it, I walk right up to the lad and give his chin a light tickle. The princess scoops up her babe, and I allow it. This is, after all, her last night with the child. Once we are in my forest, she will never see him again. I ignore the fear circling her eyes, and I cross my arms across my chest. “You may begin.”
“If I guess your name, you promise you will leave and never return?”
“I promise…and my promises I keep.”
“And you’ll not take my son? Or me?”
I am feeling magnanimous tonight, so I nod. “If you guess my name correctly, which you won’t, I will leave you and your family alone. Forever.”
She sits, a graceful movement of limb and linen. Though distressed, she keeps her beauty, and I admire such poise. I barely recognize the scared peasant maiden I first met so many years ago now clothed in royal garb.
She slants a questioning eye toward me. “Is your name Percy?”
“Common.” She’s become desperate,
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