In this one, Snow White’s stepmother arrives at the chapel knowing nothing, sees her stepdaughter as the bride and chokes to death on her own spittle. I thought that was cheating; I presumed that some tiresome grown-up had censored it so as not to scare children, and I was offended. But now I see merit in telling the story that way. The queen attempted first to dismember, then twice to strangle, and finally to poison an innocent child, all because of her envy. Envy was Lucifer’s sin. And what happens to her? She drinks her own venom like Lucifer, and she suffocates. Perfect.
And then there’s the gorgeous version I have in an illustrated book on my daughter’s picture book shelf right now. This version was re-told by Josephine Poole and lavishly illustrated by Angela Barrett. In this version, the queen knows full well that she’s going to Snow White’s wedding. She brings with her a red rose as a wedding gift. The thorns of the rose have been poisoned, and the queen hopes that Snow White will prick herself when accepting the present. Except that, when the queen sees Snow White’s beauty, she becomes so envious that she clutches her fist around the thorns, and dies instantly. Justice, brought about by beauty. A fine ending.
And then there’s the Disney version. This is the part where I’m supposed to say something snooty and highbrow about Disney, but I actually like the movie Snow White. Take a look at this article on the artistic merits of the film, if you’re not sold on it yourself. There’s a lot of merit there. True, the witch doesn’t crash the wedding or get tortured to death by red-hot shoes, but she does sacrifice her coveted beauty and end up falling off a cliff while a rock rolls on top of her. I think that’s perfectly fine.
So there you have four different little windows on the truth, from re-tellings of the same folktale. Four different demonstrations of how evil dies by its own hand, through the workings of grace. That’s what stories do. They open windows, each in a different way.
This is why I love myths, legends and folktales of all kinds. I love the ancient, wild and violent versions and also the versions sanded down smooth for contemporary children, as long as they’re told beautifully. I love the legends that crop up around Bible stories and hagiographies as well. I love to learn about the angel I identified as Holy Angel None-Of-Your-Business last weekend, whether or not he’s really my beloved patron Saint Michael. I love the version I heard today. I love to contemplate the nature of justice through four grisly fairy tale deaths. It’s fun.
Stories are part of what makes us human. You should always listen to the truths they tell.
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