Do better, grow better, be better

The medieval entrance to Tretower Court and Castle, Crickhowell © C A Lovegrove.

The Princess and Curdie
by George MacDonald,
illustrated by Helen Stratton (1912).
Puffin Books, 1966 (1883).

‘There is only one way I care for. Do better, and grow better, and be better. And never kill anything without a good reason for it.’ — Irene’s great-great-grandmother to Curdie.

This sequel to George MacDonald’s The Princess and the Goblin (1872) retains some of the magic of its predecessor, yet for many modern readers it presents several obstacles which render it more problematic.

Aficionados of MacDonald, including those who admire his fantasies for inspiring the Narnia stories, delight in the Christian moralising of the Princess Irene and Curdie duology, yet for many fans of fantasy it’s precisely the overt moralising that mars the suspension of disbelief.

And there are other aspects which might cause the new reader to feel uncomfortable: the vindictive righteousness, for example, the bleakness or the dark ending – there is no truly happy-ever-after here – but nevertheless I think there is more to celebrate in The Princess and Curdie than to regret.

Photochrom print of an elderly woman at a spinning wheel, 1890-1900.

Extraordinarily, the opening chapter contains a lengthy paean to ancient telluric forces that created the caverns and the seams which young Curdie and his father Peter worked to extract silver for the monarch. It is two years since the events in The Princess and the Goblin: Princess Irene, who will now be ten or so, has moved with her father the king to the country’s capital Gwyntystorm, leaving the fortified mansion which had featured in earlier fantasy.

Curdie is now a strapping fourteen year old lad and thus subject to teenage moods: like the Ancient Mariner shooting the albatross with a crossbow, Curdie thoughtlessly shoots a white bird for sport, realising too late that it belongs to the Princess’s great-great-grandmother. He has to visit her in her high tower room at the mansion, where she appears in various guises including an old woman at a spinning wheel; to make up for his deed he is given a quest – to journey to help the stricken king. He is not defenceless, though: as well as his trusty miner’s pick he gains the ability to tell from a handshake a person’s true nature.

On his journey through heath and wasteland he encounters a fiersome hound-like creature called Lina who will stand him in good stead when he arrives at Gwyntystorm to be faced with the unfriendly, even antagonistic, citizens. When he finally gets to see his old friends Princess Irene and her bedridden father he realises why he’s been sent to the city – to try and get the king’s subjects to repent of their evils.

I can see why this fantasy arouses such contrary responses, though to me the main defects were to do with its unevenness, seesawing between enchantment and homily, between action and stasis. I also found the characterisation puzzling, especially with gauging the seeming maturity of Curdie and Irene. But there are passages of fine writing, such as this one with Lina slinking through the corridors:

Using every shadow and every shelter, Lina slid through the servants like a shapeless terror through a guilty mind . . .

MacDonald also evokes literary and biblical tropes, as when Curdie’s task takes on the appearance of a knight’s quest to find the Holy Grail or recalls Christ’s cleansing the Temple, when Curdie is described as “One who is come to set things right in the king’s house.” But mostly the author draws on fairytale and myth: in particular the great-great-grandmother appears in different guises, from an old peasant woman to enchantress, and female warrior to Queen Irene. In fact we begin to wonder if the personage in the title refers to her and not the young Princess Irene.

Illustration by Helen Stratton (1867–1961).

I should also mention the attractive illustrations from Helen Stratton included in this edition. They first appeared in a 1912 edition which included twelve colour plates as well as these twenty-nine black and white drawings; though just a few feel a little pedestrian the latter are generally well executed, several exhibiting definite art nouveau influences with their flowing lines and flourishes.

But I leave you with the leitmotif that I feel MacDonald is highlighting in this novel, a literary form of the separation of sheep and goats:

There is this difference between the growth of some human beings and that of others: in the one case it is a continuous dying, in the other a continuous resurrection.

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No 7 of my 20 Books of Summer and No 7 (the crown) in Mayri’s Picture Prompt Book Bingo 2024.

Bookforager’s Picture Prompt Book Bingo, 2024: https://wp.me/p7GrCV-1nN