I try not to be too hard on my servants. I know I could. I’ve seen others do it – in some cases mercilessly. Victoria of the Blackwood, now there’s a piece of work. She drives her servants relentlessly – demanding and loud. I see her people moping around, hunched and soulless. That’s no life. I wouldn’t be surprised if they pee in her bath milk and do unspeakable things to her food to get their own back. If the castle walls were breeched, well, I doubt one of them would have her back.
But it’s not the blue blood that drives people like Victoria, it can’t be. It’s the same blood that flows through my veins. It’s something else and I find it hard to understand. Some time ago I raised my observations with my auntie; she told me royal etiquette takes time. She told me I have an old soul – and with that honour comes calm and compassion. She called it a gift.
Don’t get me wrong, I still have barriers up with my servants. It is the done thing. I have respect for my title and their station and the difference between the two. I know that I am not like them, that I am special. But if I can use just an ounce of what makes me higher born, and bestow a little kindness, I don’t know… I feel I’ve helped them in some small way. One’s acts of kindness will return in kind. We are all human, after all.
I know I’m not perfect, no one in my position is. In my world it’s rare you meet someone on the same level as you and the problems of a princess aren’t the concerns of a commoner. It can get lonely sometimes.
Maybe, just maybe, I’ve developed a few eccentricities. I’ll admit to that much. I won’t walk across the drawbridge; those floors have been dirtied by animals of the realm – I choose to be carried. In fact, these days I choose to be carried almost everywhere – my precious legs deserve the rest, I tell myself. As far as eating goes, it’s much the same. I choose to let the servants cut my food, place it on the fork and bring it to my mouth.
It all may appear lazy or strange to the untrained eye, but it’s completely normal to me and my servants. If anything it develops a sense of closeness – an intimacy, if you will – with strongly defined royal boundaries.
There was a great gathering recently – a rare festive get-together of many of the young blueblood women of the realm. Part of me loves the pageantry of such festive occasions, the other part can’t stand the rigmarole and one upmanship.
Who has the prettiest outfit? Who has the prettiest face? Who has the largest entourage? Who has the largest castle or carriage? Who cares?
They show off their knowledge of places and events far afield, and recall tales of braves knights and heroes. They tell these stories not out of entertainment, but as a way to be the founder of knowledge, to somehow position themselves as noble enough to be suitable matches for great heroes and leaders. I care for none of it.
That is why I choose to look at these potential future rulers of the realm and see how they treat their servants. It can tell a great deal about a person’s soul and it can shed even more insight on what life’s like behind their castle walls.
I don’t pass judgement on Victoria of the Blackwood, or Elizabeth of the Valley, or any other princess or noble girl for their methods. We all do what we do to get us through when we live in the highest towers in the castle. Maybe they are younger souls, experimenting with the power they yield. Maybe, like fine food, they will mature. Royal etiquette takes time.
Maybe their personality was something bestowed upon them at conception, by the Gods. Maybe it is the way they are now and will always be. Far be it for me to question why the Gods do the things they do. Maybe it’s not fair and that’s just life.
Fair. That’s a strange and cruel word, is it not? It implies there is such a thing. It implies we get what we deserve. It implies good behaviour is rewarded with goodwill. It implies all lives will be visited with a balanced weighting of ups and downs.
I have learned enough about the world in my short time to know these things aren’t true. That the Gods can endow some with endless good fortune of title and generosity while others seem to be dealt misery after misery – regardless of whether they pray for those same Gods or not.
There are only really two things in life – what happens to you and what you do about it. These are the things that make you.
That is why I choose to treat my servants with a gentle hand and a warmer heart. Through status alone they have been dealt a harsher lot than I, and they will in turn be visited by fate’s angry hand many times before they die. I choose not to add to that. I choose not to meddle further in fate’s lot.
Because, the reality is we are connected. Their contentment makes my life more palatable, however minor. A smile is far nicer to receive than a scowl – especially when it is done with the eyes and the mouth. It’s a little celebration, a little moment, a little victory for fair against life and fate.
But maybe that’s my old soul thinking for me.
Well, that’s my story, thanks for reading. If you take one message away from it, I hope it’s to share a little kindness, no matter who it is to. Just a little smile can be a big deal.
Before you go though, I have a confession to make, in the interests of fairness.
My story, although somewhat true, is not entirely accurate. Don’t judge me, but I am not a princess, nor do I live in the highest tower of a large castle. I don’t even live in the middle ages. I am a girl though; that much is true.
I live in a medium sized house in Adelaide. It’s nothing special, but I am.
I have a condition called Rett Syndrome. Never heard of it? You’re not the only one. Rett affects mostly girls – 1 in 10,000 – 15,000. Symptoms vary but I cannot walk and I cannot talk. My hands cannot perform meaningful tasks. I have seizures and I find eating a challenge. This is my real world.
My body might not work as well as yours, but my mind does. It is as free to think as yours – to create and to imagine. And imagine it does.
Therefore I declare I am a princess. My carriage is a wheelchair, my drawbridge the driveway, my servants are my parents, my grandparents, my sister and brother and many other kindly souls. They feed me, they dress me, they bathe me and entertain me. I am their princess.
I am kind.
I am an old soul.
That’s me, every day and every night. Don’t feel bad or disappointed or sad, just feel. You know my story now so I am happier for telling it. We are more connected and the world is a slightly better place.
And whatever you think, don’t worry, because I don’t judge. I know Royal Etiquette Takes Time (RETT). It may take others a while to learn, but it came naturally to me. I was born with it.
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Dedicated to my daughter, Abby Pike, who is a Rett princess
