madison mondeaux (she/her)

Madison graduated cum laude from Knox College with a BA in Creative Writing in 2015. She received additional college honors for adapting and directing a stage version of Samuel Richardson's "Pamela, or, Virtue Rewarded"--considered by many to be the first true novel in the English canon. Madison directed a staged reading of her play "The Lindworm" for Portland's Fertile Ground Festival in January 2019. "The Lindworm" was then produced in staged reading for Knox College's New Plays Festival in May of the same year. In addition to playwriting and directing, Madison dabbles in stage management--she stage managed Rutabaga Story Co.'s 2019 production of "Fire and Meat", written and directed by Eve Johnstone, for which she has been nominated for a Spotlight Award. As a queer woman, Madison is especially interested in seeking out and creating art that amplifies and uplifts her community. Madison currently lives in Lake Oswego, Oregon, with her family. She aspires to live in a swamp under a log, cackling and asking riddles of passers-by.

THE LINDWORM
A play
by Madison Mondeaux 
Excerpt for Theatre Viscera

[At lights up, we find SASHA, a young English professor, giving a lecture. He’s confident, collected. He commands the room. The only break in this confident presence is that his shoulder is bothering him; he keeps rolling it, pressing on the joint with the opposite hand. It grows more noticeable as the lecture goes on.]

SASHA
Of course, before they were written down, fairy and folk tales were an oral tradition, which is why we see so much variation between versions of the same story, and why certain plot elements — the wicked witch, the virtuous princess, the monster, true love’s kiss — recur again and again. This kind of storytelling incorporates a performance element, a bedtime melodrama children can easily follow and memorize and pass on to their children years later. Many argue that, since the fairytale is traditionally an oral medium, hearing one told aloud is a vastly different experience than reading it to yourself, and perhaps a more layered one. Listening to a storyteller allows you to experience the storyteller’s perspective on the tale as well as your own. Take last night’s reading, for example. You all read it, right? I hope so, it was only, like, twenty pages. Mostly pictures. If you didn’t read it, just do me a favor and smile and nod for the sake of my sanity, okay? Great, wonderful. So you’ve all engaged with the written text. Now, if you’ll indulge me, let me tell you the story, and see if you don’t glean something from it that you didn’t get the first time. 

[As he tells the story, the rest of the ensemble arrives onstage and plays out the scene in pantomime. Sasha functions as a narrator. The rest of the roles are as follows: Gwen – the queen, and later the prince The Witch – herself, and later the Lindworm Jian – the king, and later the maiden.]

SASHA
‘Prince Lindworm.’ 
Once upon a time, there was a queen who wanted desperately to have a son. She and her king had tried everything, from apothecaries to an entire army of royal doctors, but no potion or practice could bring them the baby they so desired. At last, the queen sought out a powerful witch, and beseeched her to help bring her baby boy into the world. 
“Catch two drops of blood in this cup, my dear,” the witch told the queen, “and turn it upside-down on the earth. In the morning, two roses will have grown beneath the cup, one white and the other red. Eat the white rose, and your son shall be gracious and kind, loved by all who meet him. Eat the red, and your son shall be powerful and wise, respected by all those he rules. Whatever you choose, do not eat both, or your son shall be a monster.” The queen returned with her prize and followed the witch’s instructions. Sure enough, in the morning, two rosebuds had grown beneath the cup, one white and the other red. “Oh, dear,” the queen cried, “they are both so beautiful, how shall I choose?” 

[The pantomime freezes as the queen reaches for the roses.]

[to the audience] Now humor me, here, I know you’ve all read the story, but can you guess which one the queen chose? 

[He prompts the audience to guess, egging them on until someone guesses she ate both.]

Very good. Extra credit for you. 
“Surely it would not harm me,” the queen thought, “if I were to eat both, and give my son all those qualities the witch described.” And she plucked both rosebuds from the earth and swallowed them, despite the witch’s warning. Some months later, the time came for the queen’s child to be born. The king arrived with his apothecary and his army of royal doctors, and soon the queen gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. 
Just kidding. It was a fucking dragon. 

[Screaming and pandemonium in the pantomime as the Lindworm appears.] 

A horrible creature even in its infancy, huge and terrifying— it was a Lindworm, a beast no man could slay, a monster whose armor shattered swords. It reared back, its silvery scales glinting in the moonlight, striking out at the royal doctors and even its own mother as it snarled and snapped its jaws. It took flight, escaping out the chamber window and into the wild. The tale of the queen’s monstrous child was kept a secret from the kingdom. No one spoke of the Lindworm, and it was not seen again for a long time. 
During that time, the queen at last gave birth to a beautiful baby boy, who grew into a handsome prince. The king and queen raised him as their firstborn son, and the heir to the throne. Soon, it was time for him to marry, and a fine match was made. But as the young prince traveled to meet his betrothed, his carriage was stopped in its path. The Lindworm had returned.
“A bride for me before a bride for you,” the Lindworm said. 
“What?” said the young prince. “You want to marry, Lindworm?” 
“I am the firstborn son,” the Lindworm said. “A bride for me before a bride for you.” 
The young prince returned home and told the king and queen what had happened. After what was certainly the most awkward family talk in folklore history, the king and queen agreed to find their monstrous son a bride. 
Three times, the king and queen sent a beautiful maiden to wed the Lindworm, and three times the creature devoured her on their wedding night. Fearing the creature would soon grow tired of the game and begin to terrorize the kingdom, the young prince hatched a plan to have the Lindworm slain. 
He searched far and wide, and at last selected a peasant girl, who was very poor but very clever. 
“If you can slay the Lindworm,” the young prince told the peasant girl, “I shall make you my queen.” 
The clever maiden agreed, even though she knew no weapon could pierce the Lindworm’s scales. She sought out a witch for help, the very same witch the queen sought out all those years ago. 
“All you must do to slay the Lindworm, my dear,” the witch told the maiden, “is trick him into shedding all those silver scales upon the floor.” 
On the day she was to wed the Lindworm, the clever maiden requested that ten identical shifts be waiting in her bedchamber for her wedding night, and before the Lindworm came to her, she put all of them on, one over top of the other. 
“Maiden,” said the Lindworm when he came to her, “shed your shift.” 
“Shed yours first,” the maiden said. 
The Lindworm shook himself, sending a rain of silvery scales to the floor. Only then did the maiden remove the first shift. 
“Shed your shift, maiden,” the Lindworm said, seeing the next shift underneath the first. 
“Shed yours,” the maiden said again. 
The Lindworm obliged, shedding more scales onto the chamber floor. They continued this way, back and forth until the maiden had reached her final shift, and the Lindworm had shed all his scales upon the floor. 
“Now you cannot eat me,” said the maiden, looking upon the Lindworm’s naked form, “for you have no armor left, and I can slay you.” 
But the maiden looked closer and saw that the Lindworm was frightened and vulnerable without its armor, and she found that she pitied the creature more than she was afraid of it. 
So instead of slaying the Lindworm, the maiden stepped forward and kissed it gently, and as she kissed it and the first rays of morning sunlight filtered through the chamber window, the Lindworm transformed into the prince he always had been underneath. 
Prince Lindworm and his clever peasant bride lived happily ever after. The end. 

[The pantomime ends. Jian and Gwen depart. THE WITCH steps to the side and watches Sasha from the periphery of the stage. She is dressed bizarrely. Dark colors. Weird jewelry, all made out of twine and wrapped wire and bones and teeth and rough gems. Her hair is wild. Her eyes are wild. She is barefoot. She is not of this world. Sasha doesn’t notice her. The shoulder really seems to be bugging him now.]

SASHA
Perfect timing. We’re about five minutes from the bell. Let’s call it right there, shall we? For homework, I’d like each of you to write a one-page reflection on reading a folk tale like this versus hearing it told, whether or not the story affected you differently, and perhaps take a stab at what it all means. Nothing polished, just give me a good brainstorm. This may turn out to be a starting point for the midterm essay for some of you, so, you know. Take it seriously. If you need help, you know where to find me. All right, I’ve talked at you enough. Have a good weekend! 

[Ambient noise of students packing up supplies and chattering as they leave the class. Sasha busies himself cleaning up the classroom. He’s still messing with his shoulder. The Witch watches him until all the student noise is gone. Sasha gathers his bag, takes a last look around his space, and catches sight of the Witch.]
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[End of Excerpt.]