The Frog King or Iron Heinrich

Today's fairy tale is one that's been getting a bit of attention lately. The Grimm version can be read here (my translation did not change the names from German), and as a bonus includes the introduction after which I named this blog. As I have not yet seen the recent Disney adaptation, but hope to soon, this story may be revisited later. For now, I'd like to focus on a trait of the male protagonist that actually merits a comparison with my previous story, Cupid and Psyche. I noticed yesterday, but didn't choose to pursue at length, the fact that Cupid seems rather ashamed of his physical form. Perhaps shame isn't quite the right word, but he explicitly forbids Psyche from viewing him. Why, exactly? It's never really stated in the story. There's no magical reason, no spell that breaks or curse that activates upon her viewing him. It seems to be a matter of faith or trust. For all Psyche knows, her new husband could be the vile serpent she was told to expect, but Cupid's true form is of course quite beautiful and powerful. It would seem to behoove the god to reveal himself, but he never reals his true nature willingly.

This is also true of the Frog King, but the nature of his curse might reveal some clues as to the meaning of these silly men's behavior. Like Cupid, the frog king's true form is quite wonderful, but unlike Cupid the monarch's physical nature is quite dependent on the actions of his would-be bride. Without her touch, he is a hideous amphibian, but once she welcomes him (at her father's insistence!) into her bedroom, he becomes the charming man she must of course desire to wed. Both of these stories are most certainly about a maiden's acceptance of her betrothal to a strange man, but being myself a strange man, I am quite interested in what the narratives seem to be saying about men's bodies and our feelings towards them. The male protagonists could be seen as passive characters, meant merely to symbolize The Inevitable Husband or something like that, but maybe they're actually saying something to our about men, or boys who might want to become men someday. Both Cupid's and the Frog King's acceptance or realization of their own physical potential and beauty seems to be dependent on the actions of a woman. Neither is able to reveal his true nature until his beloved, willingly or otherwise, takes it upon herself to form a more intimate relationship between the two of them. Psyche, at her sisters' insistence, shines a light on her beloved, revealing his unexpected beauty, and the Youngest Princess, at her father's command, allows the frog up to her bedroom, transforming him from a wretched beast into a very eligible human bachelor. Perhaps these stories are about girls accepting their betrothal to strange men, but they also seem to suggest that their actions alone are capable of making their men a lot less strange. Take heart, young lads, there is a woman out there somewhere who can reign in that beastly form you find yourself inhabiting these days.

Cupid and Psyche

My first story is not one of the Grimms', but rather what is considered by many to be the first fairy tale ever written, the myth of Cupid and Psyche. A rather long but enjoyable version, which I chose to weather this morning, can be found here courtesy of Sur La Lune, though I am sure you can find more succinct tellings. Although I do not intend this to be a primarily analytic project, as I'm sure such work has been done far more competently before, I felt it would be appropriate to properly open my writing with a discussion of what I think makes fairy tales what they are, why they are so important, and how this first fairy tale exemplifies these ideas.

There are plenty of theories out there about what exactly defines a fairy tale (since it certainly has nothing to do with fairies), but to me all the stories that resonate the most deeply and feel most like true fairy tales are the ones that say something about becoming an adult. As children are usually considered their main audience, it should come as no surprise that fairy tales often contain numerous messages, often deeply encoded in symbolism and magic, about how one should act in the adult world. After all, this seems to be all anyone ever wants to communicate with children, for some reason or another. I have no doubt in my mind that this definition will fall apart after a while, but for now it holds up, and I think I can quite easily apply it to Cupid and Psyche. To begin with, we have a beautiful young girl, indeed the most beautiful in all the world, whose power over men's hearts begins to grow so potent as to outstrip that of the reigning symbol of femininity, Venus. Psyche's beauty (which is, unfortunately, her only apparent quality), soon draws attention even from Venus's son Cupid, so it is no wonder the goddess should feel threatened. After a time of living together in a somewhat dubious marriage, Cupid and Psyche's love is revealed, and Venus sees fit to challenge the girl to a host of domestic feats in order to prove her worth, or something along those lines.

It would seem that we have some messages for both girls and boys in this story. As is common for a story with a female protagonist, these messages are about falling in love. Boys: do be careful in chosing a mate, you're bound to stir up some envy in your mother. Girls: you had better be quite seriously devoted to your man, or you won't be able to take your place as the primary woman in his life. Here's the only problem: Psyche doesn't successfully perform any of Venus's challenges, but she still ends up marrying Cupid in heaven, becoming immortal, and dancing among the gods for eternity. What gives? I have seen some versions in which it is suggested that Cupid, and not just a random assortment of animals and inanimate objects, helps Psyche with her tasks, and this implies a sort of two-way devotion that cements their relationship. But I have never read a version in which Psyche actually proves herself capable or diligent enough to earn Venus's respect. I am conflicted. On one hand, the notion that a girl must perform a bunch of domestic chores in order to prove her utility is silly and outdated, but this story is thousands of years old so I'm willing to forgive it. What I can't forgive is the implication that she's allowed to just give up and wait for someone else to solve her problems. All she does in the version I read today was try to kill herself each time she found a new challenge, and eventually look inside Proserpine's box when told not to. Obviously she had to do the latter, because she is a Fairy Tale Heroine (perhaps more on the rules of this profession later), but she's definitely one of the most pathetic I've yet encountered. In any case, Cupid eventually rescues her from the underworld and begs his father Jupiter to accept their marriage, with Venus's jealousy all but evaporating. Perhaps the real lesson for girls in this story is just to find a man who is willing to go through hell and back (literally) to keep you around.