The Light Princess
1864
The Light Princess
1864
There is a princess who cannot stay on the ground. A witch's curse has stolen her gravity, and she floats through life like a leaf in sunlight, unable to feel the weight of anything: not sorrow, not love, not even her own body. She is joyous, careless, unreachable. And then she meets a prince who loves her enough to do the unthinkable. George MacDonald's 1864 fairy tale is deceptively simple: a girl who floats, a boy who dives. But beneath its gentle humor lies one of the most profound allegories about love ever written. The princess's lightness is not a blessing but a kind of emptiness. She cannot grieve, cannot truly laugh, cannot anchor herself to anything or anyone. Only by learning to love sacrificially does she discover what it means to be heavy, to be human, to be whole. This is a story for anyone who has ever felt unmoored, or who longs to understand that love is not about lightness but about staying. MacDonald writes with a Scottish storyteller's warmth and a theologian's depth, crafting a tale that feels like a parable and reads like a dream. It influenced C.S. Lewis, who called MacDonald his "master," and it remains astonishingly fresh over a century later: a fairy tale that knows exactly what it means to find your footing in the world.
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“One day [the prince] lost sight of his retinue in a great forest. These forests are very useful in delivering princes from their courtiers, like a sieve that keeps back the bran. Then the princes get away to follow their fortunes. In this they have the advantage of the princesses, who are forced to marry before they have had a bit of fun. I wish our princesses got lost in a forest sometimes.””
— George MacDonald
“Perhaps the best thing for the princess would have been to fall in love. But how a princess who had no gravity could fall into anything is a difficulty–perhaps the difficulty.””
— George MacDonald
“He had fallen in love with her almost, already; for her anger made her more charming than any one else had ever beheld her; and, as far as he could see, which certainly was not far, she had not a single fault about her, except, of course, that she had not any gravity. No prince, however, would judge of a princess by weight.””
— George MacDonald
“Then we’re all happy.”“That we are indeed!” answered the princess, sobbing.””
— George MacDonald
“As a world that has no well,Darting bright in forest dell;As a world without the gleamOf the downward-going stream;As a world without the glanceOf the ocean's fair expanse;As a world where never rainGlittered on the sunny plain; -Such, my hear, thy world would be, If no love did flow in thee.As a world without the soundOf the rivulets underground;Or the bubbling of the springOut of darkness wandering;Or the mighty rush and flowingOf the river's downward going;Or the music-showers that dropOn the outspread beech's top;Or the ocean's mighty voice,When his lifted waves rejoice;-Such, my soul, thy world would be,If no love did sing in thee.Lady, keep they world's delight;Keep the waters in thy sight. Love hath made me strong to go,For thy sake, to realms below,Where the water's shine and humThrough the darkness never come:Let, I pray, one thought of meSpring, a little well, in thee;Lest thy loveless soul be foundLike a dry and thirsty ground.””
— George MacDonald
“Death alone from death can save.Love is death, and so is braveLove can fill the deepest grave.Love loves on beneath the wave.””
— George MacDonald
“Tis a good thing to be light-handed,” said the king. “‘Tis a bad thing to be light-fingered,” answered the queen. “‘Tis a good thing to be light-footed,” said the king. “‘Tis a bad thing–“ began the queen; but the king interrupted her.“In fact,” said he, with the tone of one who concludes an argument in which he has had only imaginary opponents, and in which, therefore, he has come off triumphant–“in fact, it is a good thing altogether to be light-bodied.” “But it is a bad thing altogether to be light-minded,” retorted the queen, who was beginning to lose her temper. This last answer quite discomfited his Majesty, who turned on his heel, and betook himself to his counting-house again. But he was not half-way towards it, when the voice of his queen overtook him. “And it’s a bad thing to be light-haired,” screamed she, determined to have more last words, now that her spirit was roused. The queen’s hair was black as night; and the king’s had been, and his daughter’s was, golden as morning. But it was not this reflection on his hair that arrested him; it was the double use of the word light. For the king hated all witticisms, and punning especially. And besides, he could not tell whether the queen meant light-haired or light-heired; for why might she not aspirate her vowels when she was ex-asperated herself?””
— George MacDonald
“But the princess had to learn to walk, before they could be married with any propriety. And this was not so easy at her time of life, for she could walk no more than a baby. She was always falling down and hurting herself. “Is this the gravity you used to make so much of?” said she one day to the prince, as he raised her from the floor. “For my part, I was a great deal more comfortable without it.” “No, no, that’s not it. This is it,” replied the prince, as he took her up, and carried her about like a baby, kissing her all the time. “This is gravity.” “That’s better,” said she. “I don’t mind that so much.””
— George MacDonald
“princess afforded delightful scope for the discussion””
— George MacDonald
