Feminist Fairy Tales

by Barbara G. Walker

  Rosette hurried to the window and found a silken ladder firmly attached to the windowsill, reaching all the way to the ground. Being made of spider silk, it was light but very strong. She climbed down safely. When she reached the ground, Rambow clasped her in his arms. They mounted the horses he had brought and rode away.

  In the morning, when Baron Wrathchild was found dead in the tower, the baroness and her ladies-in-waiting held a little private celebration in her drawing room. They decorated Rosette’s two tapestries with garlands of flowers and drank a few toasts with the baron’s best wine. Afterward the baroness arranged marriages for most of her ladies-in-waiting, bidding farewell to those who wished to leave and assigning better quarters to those who wished to stay with her.

  Having inherited all her husband’s estates, the baroness proved to be a wise and kind administrator. She lowered the taxes, encouraged thrifty management of the farms, treated the peasants fairly, and earned the respect of all. Though she had many suitors, she declined to remarry, remarking that one visit to hell in a lifetime was more than sufficient. She lived long and died at a good old age, well mourned by the whole country.

  Rosette and Rambow settled in another country far to the east and made a good living for themselves by raising sheep, spinning, and weaving. Rosette’s mother went to live with them. In time their marriage was blessed with children, the eldest of whom was a girl with clear silver-gray eyes, named Arachne. It is usually agreed that they lived happily ever after. Some say Rosette never died but at the end of her life was transformed into a spider. To this day, every garden spider wears rosettes on its body.

  FOURTEEN

  Imperfect sightings of manatees or dolphins seem to have figured largely in the creation of mermaid legends, but there were also very ancient precedents for that perennial favorite, the story of a young man taken by a sea fairy or a sea witch. Since antiquity a recurrent fantasy of sailors has been the love affair with a sea nymph or with the piscine Goddess herself. She was classical Aphrodite with her fish tail and pearl necklace; Themis or Eurynome, the all-embracing ocean womb; the Sea Goddess of the Romans, Mater Cara (Mother Carey); or Tiamat of Babylon, representing the primal waters from which all life arose in the beginning. Drowning at sea was sometimes romanticized in sailors’ lore as a retreat into the eternally loving arms of an immortal sea fairy, an angel of the abyss. Men who spent much of their time at sea—an essentially hostile environment for humans—inevitably developed wonder tales to humanize and even sexualize the intimidating forces around them.

  A pair of dolphins frisked gaily around each other…

  Once upon a time there was a poor young man named Devi, who lived alone in a ramshackle cottage by the sea. Though a handsome enough fellow, he had a withered arm and a lame leg and couldn’t support himself at any local trade, which required heavy physical labor. He eked out a living by picking up seashells, which he polished and made into jewelry, or by solitary fishing, crabbing, and clamming to help supply the local innkeeper. He never knew who his parents were; he had been a foundling, given the generic name of Jones at the orphanage in which he grew up. When he felt lonely or downhearted in his isolated cottage, he would cheer himself up by limping into town and joining the company at the inn. The local fishermen accepted him, in a condescending sort of way, and let him sit at their table. They would tease him, pretending that the innkeeper’s pretty daughter Beersheba was flirting with him.

  In reality, Beersheba flirted with every man in the room except Devi. When a customer jocularly paired her with the cripple, she would wrinkle her nose and say, “Do you think I can’t do better than that poor excuse for a man? Such a wretched creature would be of no use to me!” She would toss her head and move on, never speaking so much as a word to Devi himself.

  Devi good-naturedly endured the teasing. He had grown up expecting it, all his life. None of the local girls would have anything to do with him. Sometimes he yearned for a straight, strong body that would attract the right kind of feminine attention. But he knew this was a hopeless dream. Crippled as he was, he looked forward to nothing but growing older and lonelier until he became a demented old hermit who talked to the wind and listened to the voices of the ocean.

  One day there was a fierce storm that whipped up the surf and made very high tides. Devi knew this weather would bring many shells onto the beach and went out to gather them. As he was limping along, dragging his sack, he saw a man-sized object thrashing about on the sand. He hurried up to it and found a dolphin that had been beached by the storm, struggling to get back to the water.

  Devi was fond of dolphins. He often admired their agility as he watched them playing beyond the breakers. They seemed to him the very spirits of the waves, full of the joy of living. To see this poor creature trapped, out of its element, touched his heart.

  He whistled softly to the dolphin, thinking that this might sound a little like its own language. It ceased thrashing. He reached out and gently stroked the dolphin’s head, and the frightened creature seemed to relax.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll help you,” Devi said. The dolphin lay still. Devi took the rope from his sack and passed it around the dolphin’s body, behind the flippers. Slowly, painfully, he dragged its dead weight over the sand toward the water. The dolphin made high-pitched noises, and Devi whistled to it in reply, hoping that it might find the sound reassuring.

  When he got the dolphin into two feet of water, he took off the rope and steered it with his hands. The dolphin began to swim on its own. Suddenly it leaped from the surf, circled around Devi’s body several times in what seemed an expression of gratitude, then took off out to sea. A little sadly, Devi watched it jumping the waves, leaving him behind. For a few moments he had felt that he had found a friend.

  The next evening, at dusk, he was walking the same beach when he saw a lone dolphin frolicking close inshore. “Could this be my dolphin, about to beach itself again?” he asked himself. He stopped to watch. It held its position until gathering darkness obscured his view. As Devi was turning away, he heard a whistle that sounded human. He looked back. There was a naked woman walking toward him out of the surf.

  She was beautiful, with a pale, sleek body and long bluish gray hair streaming down her back. As Devi stood rooted with astonishment, she walked straight up to him and took his hand. Her skin was warm and damp, like the skin of the dolphin.

  “I am a sea witch,” she said. “You may have heard of us. During certain seasons I can live as a sea creature by day and as a human by night. I’ve come to thank you for saving my life.”

  Devi was flustered. He could think of nothing to do but take off his shirt and put it around her to conceal her nakedness, which both attracted and embarrassed him. He told himself that she might be cold.

  She accepted this and took him firmly by the elbow. “Let us go,” she said.

  “Go where?”

  “To your home, of course.”

  Devi led her along the beach to his cottage, thinking that this must surely be a dream. Once indoors, the sea witch threw off the shirt and took him in her arms. She taught him to make love to her and stayed with him all night. Devi was so happy that the hours seemed to pass like minutes.

  At the first light of dawn, the sea witch kissed him and left, promising to return the next night. She walked out of the cottage, across the beach, and into the sea. Devi watched with his heart pounding. He saw her dive under a wave and disappear. A few moments later, he saw a dolphin leaping away beyond the breakers.

  Devi passed the day in a haze of delight, hardly able to wait for sunset. At nightfall, the sea witch came to him again, and they spent the night in lovemaking and intimate talk. Devi could hardly believe his good fortune. He was head over heels in love and thought himself the happiest man on earth.

  The sea witch told him that she would continue to visit him every night through one cycle of the moon. After that, she would have to return to the sea and eventually migrate with other dolphins to a distant ocean. By
the end of the lunar cycle, she had told him many things about life in the deep: the wonders of the submarine caves, the treasures of sunken ships, the social customs of the great whales and the dolphins. “Many dolphins believe that humans are degenerate dolphins,” she said. “They think the humans left the sea thousands of years ago and lost the use of their swimming muscles, so they can only stump along on land with two legs and swim even more awkwardly than a newborn calf. Some dolphins have seen humans do terrible things to one another. They think this comes of their having forgotten the rules of right behavior, which the sea mothers teach.”

  “It’s true that some humans do terrible things,” Devi admitted. “But not all do. Some have kind hearts.”

  “Yes, like you, my love,” she said. “I’ve noticed that you move even more awkwardly than most humans. Why is that?”

  “I’m crippled.”

  “Why? Were you shark-bitten?”

  “No. I was crippled from birth. I don’t know what it’s like to move easily. That’s one reason why I like to watch the dolphins. They are so graceful and seem to take such joy in moving.”

  “Would you like to be able to swim like a dolphin?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Since the time has come for us to part, I’ll tell you that there is a charm for that—but it’s a fearsome one.”

  “I’d do anything to live like a dolphin and stay with you.”

  The sea witch stroked his cheek sadly and took a deep breath. “First, you must eat nothing but fish for three weeks. Second, you must swim a mile every day. Third, you must give up the use of your hands. At the exact moment when the setting sun touches the horizon, you must have someone chop off both your arms at the elbows and throw you into the sea.”

  “Wouldn’t I bleed to death?”

  “Not if the charm has been properly prepared.”

  “Could I live like you? Would we be together?”

  “Forever, my love.”

  “I’ll do it,” Devi declared. “I don’t care how painful it is. Life without you would be even more painful. I can’t bear to think that I’ll never see you again.”

  “But you need an assistant—a strong person with an ax.”

  “I’ll find someone.”

  When the sea witch left him in the morning, she kissed him with special tenderness. “I, too, would like us to be together in the sea,” she said. “You have no idea how pleasant it is, making love in green depths while you are bathed and cushioned by the water. Good-bye for now. I hope we’ll meet again when the charm is completed.”

  Devi determined that he would endure the charm at all costs. He went to the inn, hoping to find someone to help him. The fishermen were surprised to see him.

  “Where have you been, Devi?” they asked. “We haven’t seen you around here for weeks. We thought maybe you and your shack washed away in the storm.”

  Devi told them the whole story of his affair with the sea witch, while they looked at one another in wonder. The eldest fisherman slowly shook his head and touched his temple, signifying that Devi’s lonely life had finally deranged him. When Devi described the charm and asked for someone to volunteer assistance, they were horrified.

  “In other words, you want one of us to murder you,” the eldest said. “That’s what it would be: murder. You’d bleed to death in the sea, or the sharks would finish you off even quicker. You’re totally mad, you know. Even if you want to die in some particularly awful way, Devi, you’ll get none of us to do it.”

  Then up spoke Beersheba, who had been listening to every word. “I think it’s rather sweet,” she said, “to die for love. I don’t know who his sea witch is, but when a man loves enough to throw his life away, he loves indeed.”

  “Silly girl, don’t you understand?” the eldest fisherman said. “She’s only his fantasy.”

  “She is not!” Devi cried hotly. “She’s as real as you are, and lovelier than any woman I ever saw. If I die of her charm, so be it. I’d rather die than live without her.”

  “See, he wants to die for love,” Beersheba said. “I think that’s beautiful. So romantic.” She gave a dreamy sigh.

  “Fool,” snapped the eldest fisherman. “He won’t find himself a man-killer here. We only kill fish.”

  “I’ll do it,” said Beersheba.

  Devi turned toward her, incredulous. “You aren’t strong enough,” he said.

  “I am so. All day I heave kegs of beer and chop the heads off fish. My hatchet is sharp as a razor and heavy enough to go through bone.”

  “Do you mean it?” Devi asked. “Can I trust you?”

  “Yes, I mean it.”

  The fishermen fidgeted uneasily at this sinister pact made before their eyes. They drank little, joked less, sang not at all, and went home early.

  During the next three weeks, while Devi was sticking to his fish diet and daily swims, each man in turn tried to talk Beersheba out of her promise. To each one she said, “No, I’ve given my word and I won’t break it. I think perhaps the cripple is more of a man than any of you, after all.”

  When the fatal day arrived, the fishermen gathered on a hillside overlooking the dock where Devi proposed to end his earthly life. They wanted to watch, and at the same time they didn’t want to watch; so they compromised by watching from a distance. They saw Devi and Beersheba walk out to the end of the dock, she carrying a bucket and her hatchet. Devi lay down on his back and stretched out his arms to either side.

  “It’s a gruesome business, this,” the eldest fisherman said. “We ought to be stopping it, instead of looking on.” But no one moved.

  “Look,” said another, pointing out to sea. “There’s a dolphin. Seems like it’s alone. That’s unusual.”

  There was indeed a lone dolphin swimming toward the shore. As it approached, the setting sun touched the horizon. Beersheba’s hatchet rose and fell. The fishermen heard a shriek. The boards of the dock blossomed with red. Seconds later it happened again. Then Beersheba pushed Devi off the end of the dock. His body splashed down only a short distance from the swimming dolphin.

  For a few moments, all was perfectly still. Then there were two more splashes. Beersheba drew up several bucketfuls of water to wash down the dock.

  The eldest fisherman shaded his eyes and looked farther out across the water. “Now there are two dolphins,” he said in a hushed tone.

  All the fishermen looked. Sure enough, a pair of dolphins frisked gaily around each other, where there had been only one before.

  None of them ever mentioned the incident again. Devi was gone. His cottage disintegrated in the winter storms. Local legend hinted that he had been taken away by the sea witch. Sometimes it was suggested that he may have lived happily ever after.

  In later years, whenever a boat sank and a man was drowned, the fishermen would say that he had gone to visit Devi Jones.

  FIFTEEN

  Some traditional fairy tales are morality dramas, designed to teach children that virtuous behavior earns rewards and vices will be punished. Such stories may depict naughtiness transformed into goodness by some physical trial, with a homily tagged on at the end to emphasize the point.

  Prince Gimme is the protagonist of this morality play, representing the unfortunate consequences of hubris, greed, and frivolity. He is cured by female magic, with the mystic symbol of the Cauldron standing for spiritual transformation, and the Goddess’s archetypal trinity shown in her ubiquitous white, red, and black. Hindus called these colors the sacred gunas of purity, passion, and darkness, sacred to the Goddess in her Virgin, Mother, and Crone forms as Maya, Durga, and Kali.* The feline familiars in this tale partake of the same color scheme. Fear of the familiars is part of the prince’s trial, indicating that threats may be necessary to bring about sincere reformation.

  “Surely you are the Fairy of the Forest,” he said.

  Once upon a time there was a little prince who was his parents’ only child, born after years of waiting. Nothing that he wanted was ever refused
him, and thus he grew up haughty and spoiled. He had only to say “Gimme,” and the object of his wish was instantly given by his indulgent parents, courtiers, or servants. Consequently he said “Gimme” so often that it became his nickname. His real name was Percival George Oliver Aloysius Ferdinand Alexander von Hardtstrucken-Wittenheim. Because Prince Gimme was so greedy and asked for so much, his life was a continual round of banquets, concerts, theatricals, carnivals, games, dances, royal hunts, ingenious toys, and other frivolous entertainments. He liked to play, but he showed little interest in affairs of state. His parents began to fear that his future reign would deplete the resources of the kingdom without strengthening the government.

  When Prince Gimme came of age, his elderly mother and father began to talk of arranging a marriage for him. Dozens of eligible princesses sent their portraits for his approval, but the prince only glanced at each one, declaring “She’s not beautiful enough.”

  The king and queen feared that their only son would never marry and their line of succession would end with their deaths. The king tried to reason with Gimme, pointing out that intelligence and kindness are more desirable qualities than beauty. The queen tried to appeal to the sense of filial duty, insisting that she could never die in peace unless she had grandchildren growing up around her. But Prince Gimme listened only to his courtiers, who all agreed that no human woman could ever equal the legendary beauty of the Fairy of the Forest. The prince declared that he would have her and no other as his bride.

  This was one request that his parents had no power to grant. They were in despair. The prince, denied something for the first time in his life, grew ever more obsessive in his determination to wed the Fairy of the Forest. He sent criers throughout the kingdom, promising great rewards to anyone who could show him the way to her abode. No one responded except a little-known witch woman who sent a message, saying that she would help the prince if he would come to her cottage on the border of the forest.