by Maria Tatar
“CINDERELLA”
The first Cinderella story was recorded around A.D. 850 by Tuan Ch’eng-shih and featured a girl named Yeh-hsien, who dons a dress made of kingfisher feathers and tiny golden shoes. Like Western Cinderellas, Yeh-hsien is a humble creature who discharges household chores and is subjected to humiliations imposed on her by her stepmother and stepsister. Her salvation appears in the form of a ten-foot-long fish that provides her with gold, pearls, a dress, and food. The magical fish also helps her defeat her stepmother and stepsister, who are killed by flying stones. The Western Cinderellas who follow in Yeh-hsien’s footsteps all find their salvation through magical donors. In the Grimms’ “Aschenputtel,” a tree showers the girl with gifts. In Charles Perrault’s “Cendrillon,” a fairy godmother conjures a coach, footmen, and beautiful garments. In the Scottish “Rashin Coatie,” a little red calf produces a fabulous dress.
Few fairy tales have enjoyed the rich literary, cinematic, and musical afterlife of “Cinderella.” If Cinderella appears in nearly every known culture, it is in large part because we treasure the story of the underdog and the rags-to-riches success story. At the movies today, we can see any number of Cinderella tales: Working Girl with Melanie Griffith, Pretty Woman with Julia Roberts, Ever After with Drew Barrymore, and the Princess Diaries with Anne Hathaway. These films, along with the instant name recognition of the character, offer striking evidence that “Cinderella” continues to function as our most prominent cultural story for managing anxieties and desires about courtship and marriage.
“Cinderella” charts the heroine’s rapid rise from the hearth to a throne. But more is at stake in this tale than the heroine’s rags-to-riches trajectory and her romance with a prince. By engaging with family conflicts ranging from sibling rivalry to sexual jealousy, “Cinderella” resonates powerfully with the affective universe of the child, connecting deeply with the sense of emotional and material impoverishment felt at some point by every child.
As in many of the tales in the Grimms’ collection, the father plays only a minor role, while the stepmother and stepsisters loom large as wicked and cruel persecutors. Cinderella’s biological mother may be dead, but her spirit reappears in the tree that furnishes the gifts the heroine needs to make a splendid appearance at the ball. With the good mother dead, the evil mother takes over—alive and active—undermining her stepdaughter in every possible way, yet unable to hinder her ultimate triumph. In this splitting of the mother into two polar opposites, psychologists see a mechanism for helping a child work through conflicts created with the onset of maturity and the social pressure for separation. The image of the good mother is preserved in all her nurturing glory, even as feelings of helplessness and resentment are given justified expression through the figure of the wicked stepmother.
Fairy tales place a premium on surfaces, and Cinderella’s beauty, along with her magnificent attire, singles her out as the fairest in the land. Through labor and good looks, she works her way up the ladder of success. If the story in its older versions does not capture the dynamics of courtship and romance in today’s world, it remains a source of fascination in its documentation of fantasies about love and marriage in another time and place. Perrault’s version of 1697 from Tales of Mother Goose is among the first full literary elaborations of the story. It was followed by the more violent version published in 1812 by the Brothers Grimm. The Grimms’ Aschenputtel is, however, less violent than some of her counterparts in other cultures. A Japanese Cinderella, for example, throws her stepsister into a ditch, where she is left to die, and an Indonesian Cinderella cuts her stepsister into pieces and sends her as “salt meat” to the girl’s mother. Perrault’s “Cinderella,” with its heroine who forgives her stepsisters, seems more congenial to a culture that values compassion and reconciliation.
THE FROG KING, OR
THE IRON HEINRICH
nce upon a time, when wishes still came true, there lived a king who had beautiful daughters. The youngest was so lovely that even the sun, which had seen so many things, was filled with wonder when it shone upon her face.
There was a deep, dark forest near the king’s castle, and in that forest, beneath an old linden tree, was a spring. Whenever the weather turned really hot, the king’s daughter would go out into the woods and sit down at the edge of the cool spring. And if she was bored, she would take out her golden ball, throw it up in the air, and catch it. That was her favorite plaything.
One day it so happened that the golden ball didn’t end up in the princess’s hands when she reached up to catch it, but fell down on the ground and rolled right into the water. The princess followed the ball with her eyes, but it disappeared, and the spring was so deep that you couldn’t even begin to see the bottom. The princess burst out crying, and she wept louder and louder, unable to stop herself. Suddenly a voice could be heard over her wailing: “What’s going on, princess? Stones would be moved to tears if they could hear you.”
The princess turned around to try to figure out where the voice was coming from and caught sight of a frog, which had stuck its big old ugly head out of the water.
“Oh, it’s you, you old splish-splasher,” she said. “I’m crying because my golden ball has fallen into the spring.”
“Be quiet, and just stop that sniveling,” said the frog. “I think I can help you, but what will you give me if I fetch your little plaything?”
“Whatever you want, dear frog,” she said. “My dresses, my pearls and my jewels, even the golden crown I’m wearing.”
The frog said: “I haven’t the least interest in your dresses, your pearls and jewels, or your golden crown. But if you promise to love me and let me be your companion and playmate, let me sit beside you at the table and eat from your little golden plate, let me drink from your little cup, and let me sleep in your little bed, if you promise me all that, I will dive right down into the spring and bring back your golden ball.”
“Oh, thank you,” she said. “I’ll give you anything you want as long as you get that ball back for me.” But all the while she was thinking: “What nonsense that stupid frog is talking! He’s down there in the water croaking away with all the other frogs. How could anyone want to have him as a companion?”
Once the frog had her word, he put his head back in the water and dove down into the spring. After a while he came paddling back with the ball in his mouth, and he tossed it on the grass. When the princess saw her beautiful plaything in front of her, she was overjoyed. She picked it up and ran off with it.
“Wait for me,” the frog cried out. “Take me with you. I can’t run the way you can.”
He croaked as loudly as he could, but it did him no good at all. The princess had lost interest in him, hurried home as fast as her legs would carry her, and quickly forgot about the poor frog, who had to crawl back down into the spring.
The next day the princess sat down to dinner with the king and with some courtiers and was eating dinner from her little golden plate when something came crawling up the marble staircase, splish, splash, splish, splash. When it reached the top of the stairs, it knocked at the door and called out: “Princess, youngest princess, let me in!”
The princess ran to the door to see who was there. When she opened it, she saw the frog standing in front of her. Terrified, she slammed the door as hard as she could and returned to the table. The king could see that her heart was pounding like mad, and he said: “My child, what are you afraid of? Is there some kind of giant at the door coming after you?”
“Oh, no,” she replied. “It wasn’t a giant—it was just a disgusting frog.”
“What in the world would a frog want from you?”
“Oh, Father dear, yesterday when I was playing by the spring, my little golden ball fell into the water. And because I was crying so hard, the frog got it for me, and because he insisted, I promised that he could become my companion. I never thought that he would b
e able to leave the water. Now he’s outside, and he’s demanding to come in to see me.”
Just then there was another knock at the door, and a voice cried out:
“Princess, little princess,
Let me in.
Think back now
To yesterday’s oath
Down by the cold, blue water.
Princess, little princess,
Let me in.”
The king declared: “Once you make a promise to someone, you have to keep it. Just go and let him in.”
The princess went over and opened the door. The frog hopped right into the room and followed close on her heels until she reached her chair. Then he sat down and cried out: “Lift me up and put me next to you.”
The princess hesitated, but the king ordered her to obey. Once the frog was up on the chair, he wanted to get on the table, and once he was there, he said: “Push your little golden plate closer to me so that we can eat together.”
The princess did as he said, but it was plain to see that she was not happy about it. The frog had enjoyed his meal, but every bite she had stuck in her throat. Finally he said: “I’ve had enough to eat, and I’m really tired. Take me up to your room and turn down the silken covers on your little bed.”
The princess began to weep, for she was terrified of the clammy frog. She didn’t dare touch him, and now he was going to sleep in her beautiful, clean bed. The king grew angry and said: “You shouldn’t scorn someone who helped you when you were in trouble.”
The princess picked up the frog with two fingers, carried him up to her room, and put him in a corner. While she was lying in bed, he came crawling over and said: “I’m tired and want to sleep as much as you do. Lift me up into your bed or I’ll tell your father.”
The princess became really annoyed, picked up the frog, and threw him with all her might against the wall. “Now you’ll get your rest, you disgusting frog!”
When the frog fell to the ground, he was no longer a frog but a prince with beautiful, bright eyes. At her father’s bidding, he became her dear companion and husband. He told her that a wicked witch had cast a spell on him and that only a princess could release him. The next day they planned to set out together for his kingdom.
The two fell asleep, and in the morning, after the sun had woken them, a coach drove up. It was drawn by eight white horses in golden harnesses, with white ostrich feathers on their heads. At the back of the coach stood Faithful Heinrich, the servant of the young king. Faithful Heinrich had been so saddened by the transformation of his master into a frog that three hoops had been placed around his chest to keep his heart from bursting with pain and sorrow. Now the coach had arrived to take the young king back to his kingdom, and Faithful Heinrich lifted the two of them into the carriage and took his place in the rear. He was elated by his master’s transformation. When they had covered a good distance, the prince heard a cracking noise behind him, as if something had broken. He turned around and cried out:
“Heinrich, the coach is in danger!”
“No, my lord, it’s not the coach,
But a hoop from round my heart,
Which was in deep pain,
While you were down in the spring,
Living as a frog.”
Two more times the prince heard the cracking noise, and he was sure that the coach was falling apart. But it was only the sound of the hoops breaking from around Faithful Heinrich’s chest, for his master had been set free and was happy at last.
THE POOR MILLER’S BOY
AND THE CAT
here was once a miller who had neither wife nor children. He lived in his mill with three hired hands, who had been with him for a long time. One day, he said to them: “I’m getting old, and it won’t be long before I’m ready to retire and just sit by the fire. I want the three of you to go out into the world and see who can bring back the finest horse. The victor will get my mill, as long as he agrees to take care of me until my death.”
The youngest of the hired hands was an apprentice, and the two others thought that he was really stupid and didn’t deserve to have a chance at getting the mill. It turned out that he didn’t even want it. But all three started out together, and when they arrived at the first village, the two of them said to stupid Hans: “Why don’t you stay here? You’re never going to find a horse.” But Hans decided to go with them, and when night fell they found a cave where they could all sleep. The two clever ones waited until Hans had fallen asleep. Then they got up and ran off, leaving him all alone. They thought that they had made a pretty smart move, but—just you wait—better not start gloating yet!
When the sun rose and Hans awoke, he was lying in a deep cave. He looked around and cried out: “Dear God, where in the world am I?” He got up, scrambled his way out of the cave, and went into the woods. “Here I am, all alone and on my own,” he thought. “How will I ever find that horse?”
As he was walking along, deep in thought, he met a little tabby cat, who turned to him and asked in a friendly manner: “Hans, where are you going?”
“Oh, never mind, there’s no way you can help me.”
“I happen to know just what you’re looking for,” the little cat said. “You’re trying to find a really fine-looking horse. If you come with me and serve me faithfully for seven years, I will give you one that is more beautiful than anything you have ever seen.”
“Now there’s an unusual cat,” Hans thought. “But I’d like to see if what she says is true.”
The cat took him to her enchanted castle, where there were all kinds of other cats who were her servants. They leaped and bounded up and down the stairs and were always cheerful and high-spirited. In the evening, when Hans and the cat sat down to have dinner, three of the kittens gave a concert. One played the double bass; another played the fiddle; and a third put a trumpet to her lips, puffed up her cheeks, and blew as hard as she could. After they finished dining, the table was cleared and the cat said: “Hans, how about dancing with me?”
“No,” he replied, “I don’t dance with kitty cats. I never have, and I never will.”
“Take him up to his bedroom,” the cat said to her servants. One of them lit the way to his bedroom; another took off his shoes; a third removed his stockings; and a fourth blew out the light.
The next morning the servants returned and helped him get out of bed. One put on his stockings; a second fetched his shoes; a third washed his face; and a fourth used her tail to dry his face. “That feels nice and soft,” Hans said.
Hans was also given some work to do, and every day he went to chop some firewood with an ax made of silver, a saw, wedges made of silver, and a mallet of copper. He stayed close to home, and he just chopped wood day in and day out. There was plenty of good food and drink, but he never saw anyone but the tabby cat and her servants.
One day the tabby cat said to him: “Go over and mow my meadow, and then get the hay ready,” and she gave him a scythe made of silver and a whetstone made of gold and told him to return them in good condition when he was finished. Hans did exactly as he was told. When he finished the work, he brought the scythe, the whetstone, and the hay back home and asked the tabby whether she was ready to give him his reward.
“No, not yet,” said the cat. “You still have one more task before you. Over there you’ll find some building materials made of silver, an ax, a square, and a lot of other things you’ll need, all made of silver. I want you to build me a cottage.” Hans went ahead and built the little house, and he told her he was finished, but he still didn’t get his horse. The seven years had passed so quickly that it was like just half a year. Finally, the cat asked if he wanted to see her horses.
“Oh, yes,” said Hans. And the cat opened the door to the little house, and lo and behold, there were twelve horses, and what proud horses they were! His heart leaped for joy when he saw ho
w sleek and shiny their coats were. The cat offered him food and drink and then said: “Go home now. I’m not going to give you your horse yet, but I will bring it to you in three days.”
The cat showed Hans how to get back to the mill, and he set out on the road. Since the cat had not given him anything new to wear, he had to wear the tattered clothing in which he had arrived, and everything had become way too small for him in the seven years he had spent there. When he arrived home, the two other hired hands were there. Each of them had come back with a horse, but one was blind and the other was lame. They asked him: “Hans, where is your horse?”
“It will be here in three days,” he replied.
They started laughing and said: “Oh, yes, where are you going to be getting that horse? He’ll turn out to be some fine animal!”
Hans went into the miller’s house, but the miller said that he was too scruffy and unkempt to sit at the table. If someone walked in and saw him, it would be humiliating for him. They gave him something to eat outside, and when they went to sleep at night, the two others refused to give him a bed. He had to crawl into the place where the geese were kept and lie down on some hard straw.
When he woke up the next morning, the three days were already up, and a carriage drew up with six horses that were as sleek as they were beautiful. A servant brought a seventh horse which was the gift for the poor miller’s apprentice. A dazzlingly beautiful princess stepped out of the carriage and went into the mill. The princess was none other than the little tabby cat whom poor Hans had served for seven years.