The Ugly Merman

 *Update: After writing this and just before posting it, I found the story! It’s “The Impossible Enchantment” by Comte de Caylus, recorded by Andrew Lang in The Grey Fairy Book. I do think I got it a bit confused with “The Blue Bird” by d’Aulnoy, as well. More info in an upcoming post!*

So I’ve talked about this before, but I’ve read a lot of stories over the years—far more than I’ve been able to keep track of. And sometimes, I desperately want to read a story again, but I can’t remember enough key details to find it. This particular story is one I’ve been searching for for well over five years—this isn’t even the first blog post I’ve made about it.

And I’m not in the mood to read a fairy tale and provide snarky commentary, so I thought I’d use this post to tell the story as I remember it. And if it seems familiar to you, please, please let me know. I’m desperate, guys.

Once there was a lovely princess who had been imprisoned in an island palace. The prince she loved would visit her when he could, but he could not visit often, nor could he save her. For he had been turned into a bluebird, and it was a long flight for little wings.

The princess had one steady companion over the long months of her confinement; this was a mermaid who dwelt in the sea below the palace. They had become very dear friends, but the mermaid wished to be dearer still—she wanted the princess to be not just a friend, but a sister.

It happened that the mermaid had a brother, and she wished him to marry the princess. She did not care that the princess had already given her heart to another, for mermaids are selfish, soulless things.

Now, while all mermaids are beautiful creatures, all mermen are hideously ugly, and her brother was no exception. The princess consented to meet the merman, only to be polite, but he was so ugly that she could scarcely bear to look at him.

She explained to the mermaid, as politely as she could, that she could not possibly marry her brother.

The mermaid was enraged. She summoned all of her friends from the depths of the sea, and they set about flooding the palace, for she was determined to drown the princess.

And that is where my memory fails me. I’ve been through pages and pages of search results, using every search term I could possibly think of. So let me know if you’ve got any ideas.

Prince, Bear, Brother?

 So there’s a particular detail of “East of the Sun, West of the Moon” that’s always stood out to me, but I’ve never seen anyone address it before. This is the line in question, from right after our girl first sees the prince:

So the evil troll who enchanted him. Is also his evil stepmother? Which. Just. It raises so many questions. Especially as the next few lines go on to clarify that the princess in question is his stepmother’s daughter. Meaning she’s his stepsister.

(Also. Gotta love the fact that he takes the time in the middle of this little panic attack to mention just how long his bride-to-be's nose is. BTW, an ell seems to vary in length from 18 inches to 50+ inches depending on time and location. Anyway, three of them is longer than any nose should be.)

Why did this prince’s father marry a troll? And, if he married the troll, why would she need his son to marry her daughter? She’s already the queen, right?

I guess we can probably assume the prince’s father/the troll queen’s husband is dead by now. I mean, if he’s not, I have some serious doubts about his parenting. Good dads do not let their new wives turn their children into bears—that’s just irresponsible.

So we’ve got a dead king and an enchanted prince. Which would presumably leave the troll queen and her daughter in control of the kingdom. Except they don’t seem to be in that kingdom? They’re hanging out in the land east of the sun west of the moon, which seems to be a troll land, and therefore not the kingdom that the dead king and the enchanted prince are from.

Unless maybe they’re only the king (prince consort?) and prince by virtue of having married into a troll royal family?

But none of this really explains why the troll stepmother wants her stepson to marry her daughter.  It could be to maintain her hold on the kingdom he’d inherit, assuming he has a kingdom of his own. Except she’s not currently even living in that kingdom. And she already turned the dude into a bear, which you’d think would leave her in charge by default, as the regent or something? Unless he has a brother or uncle or someone who would be next in line.

I’m rambling. The point is, I don’t really understand why this troll lady turned her stepson into a bear, or why she wants him to marry his stepsister.

Which. That’s another thing. How old were these two when their parents got married? What kind of relationship do they have? Does this troll girl even want to marry her brother-ish person? Did these kids grow up together? Exactly how weird is this situation?

I have no conclusions today. I only have questions. I’m just kind of surprised that in all of the retellings, essays, blog posts, etc. I’ve read about this story over the past 20-ish years, no one has addressed this potential relationship. I guess I will someday—an “East of the Sun, West of the Moon” retelling is way, way down somewhere on my project list. (If you’re wondering how long it’s been on my to-do list for, it seemed reasonable to name my main character “Siri” when I started.) In the meantime, if you can think of anything that touches on this element, let me know.

Story and Memory

Let’s talk today about fairy tales and their softening over time. 

Now, I mean this, not in the sense that in the Grimm brothers and Perrault people are getting raped and having their limbs chopped off, and in Disney they’re not, but on a more personal level. Maybe a better way to put it is, let’s talk about story and memory.

Human memory is flawed. We frequently remember things as better, or worse, or simply different from how they really were. For fairy tales, I default to remembering them as better. I think it’s because, despite all the research I’ve done and everything I’ve learned about fairy tales over the last 15 years or so, some subconscious part of me still thinks fairy tale=good, sweet, happy.

So the other day I was reading King Thrushbeard. And, like, I’ve always known that King Thrushbeard was, let’s say...questionable. But I’ve also always been a sucker for anything involving secret identities - superheroes, Beasts, The Princess Bride, the Scarlet Pimpernel.

I’m not going to get into the details of King Thrushbeard here, because I just did that over here, which was my whole reason for reading it in the first place. Anyway, I knew it had some not great aspects, but on my reread, this little section here absolutely blew me away with how bad it was.

Kindly. He said it *kindly*. Like, F you, dude.

I’ve experienced this kind of in-memory softening of a fairy tale before, the first time I reread Perrault’s version of Riquet of the Tuft after many years. And again, you can read what I’ve said about this story here. But basically, I remembered it as this beautiful story about beauty being in the eye of the beholder, because I had very clearly remembered this line:

But what I hadn’t remembered was this line:

Where, for some context, the princess is saying “I agreed to marry you, an ugly man, when I was a total idiot. Surely, now that I am no longer a total idiot, you cannot expect me to keep such a promise.” ie, marrying an ugly man is something only a total idiot would do. She only agrees to marry him when he tells her that she has the power to make him hot. Which I feel just really undercuts the meaning of the line I remembered above; in context it seems as worthless as the morals Perrault likes to include at the ends of his stories, which often have nothing to do with the stories themselves. (Either that or they’re outright stupid - often both).

So. All this to say, I don’t think I’ll be reading my kids (if I ever have kids) a lot of fairy tales. I think I’ll be telling them, as I remember them, because I trust my own memory to produce a nicer story that Perrault or the Grimms can. Which, I suppose, is why oral tradition is so important. A fundamental part of folk tales is making them your own.

White Bears

So the other day I was flipping through my Kay Nielsen-illustrated “East of the Sun and West of the Moon” collection with my mom, because she’d never seen the illustrations before, and they’re some of my favorites. And we weren’t actually reading the stories this time; we were just there to look at pretty pictures. 

The book starts with the titular “East of the Sun, West of the Moon,” and therefore some illustrations of white bears. And then we keep going through a few more pages, and suddenly there’s another illustration of a white bear, and at this point I’m thinking “oh, right, ‘White Bear King Valemon.’ Huh. It’s kinda strange that there would be two Norwegian enchanted bridegroom stories where the bridegroom is specifically a white bear.”

And then I flip to the next page, and, granted, at this time I haven’t read “White Bear King Valemon” in a few years, but the next illustration was not at all consistent with what I remembered. So I went back a few pages to discover that this set of white bear illustrations was actually for “The Blue Belt,” and this collection didn’t even include “White Bear King Valemon.”

So let’s talk today about the enchanted bridegroom subset “white bears in Norway.”

Now, the reason I'd forgotten about the white bear bit of "The Blue Belt" is that it's largely inconsequential, just another crazy element in a story packed with crazy. The main character is never actually turned into a bear, but does convincingly disguise himself as one to meet the princess he loves in secret, allowing him to collect insider information to win her hand. The main thing about this story is that, as irrelevant as his white bear disguise is to the plot as a whole, it has resulted in a couple of fantastic illustrations that can easily be used for bear-based enchanted bridegroom stories. But primarily we're here to talk about "East of the Sun, West of the Moon" and "White Bear King Valemon," which are very similar but also completely distinct stories. You can read all about "East-West" here, and this post will be mainly running through how "King Valemon" is different and why we care.

So first off, this is another of those stories where youngest kid is best kid and therefore wins, and specifically the kind of story where it's not something you really want to win - in this case, the right to be kidnapped by a polar bear. All three sisters are princesses, and the bear deemed the older two unworthy to be kidnapped, possibly because they had brains in their heads, which our girl does not seem to.

Bear whisks girl away to palace, joins her in bed at night in human form. And, okay. Remember how in "East of the Sun, West of the Moon," the girl and the enchanted bear have to share a bed for a year, and we really don't know exactly what all they're doing in that bed?

In "White Bear King Valemon," we know exactly what they're doing, and it's exactly what you think. She lives with the bear for three years, and in that time she has three babies. All of whom the bear whisks away immediately. Which, dude, yikes.

I mean, ambiguous bed-sharing with a stranger for one year is already a little, um...well. But getting knocked up by a stranger? Three times? And having all the babies kidnapped by the same white bear who kidnapped you? Who you may or may not have gathered by now is also the stranger who knocked you up? (My money's on not gathering that, because our girl doesn't strike me as the brightest, so far.) Again, yikes. I'm just, like, I'm at a loss for words. "Yikes" is all I've got, guys.

Why does she keep having sex with this man? Does she have a choice? Is this consensual? Why isn't she questioning this man about what on earth is going on here? Why is she not having an enormous fight with the bear and demanding her children back? Why is she allowing herself to become pregnant again when she knows that the baby is going to be taken away by the bear? What does she even think the bear is doing with the babies? 

There comes a time when you just have to say, okay, either the sex stops or we explore period-appropriate alternatives to birth control, because I refuse to bring another child into this world to be eaten by a bear.

After three years and three stolen babies, the girl convinces the bear to let her visit home. Where her mom does the whole "You're doing what? With who? You haven't even seen his face?" bit, only she's even more justified in her concern than the East-West mom, because her daughter is reproducing​ with this man and then allowing her grandbabies to be taken away and possibly eaten by a talking bear​. Like, yes, mom, you tell her; she should absolutely be gathering more information about this situation. There is a time and a place to go with the flow, and that is not​ here and now, sweetheart.

So she goes back with the white bear and lights her little candle, and he wakes up when the tallow drips on him and acts like this is some great betrayal, and not the sensible thing she should have done two and a half years ago when she realized she was pregnant the first time.

He is, like in East-West, just one month from the curse being broken, and I would like to just take a moment to say that is not fair, the troll who cursed him is not playing by the rules, everyone knows the time frame in situations like this is a year and a day, what is this slightly over three years crap?

Bear switches from hot guy back to bear and runs off to where he's supposed to meet the troll or whatever, idk - the girl grabs his fur and tries to go with him, but falls off in the forest somewhere.

She does her best to catch up with him on foot, and on the way she meets three little girls, living with three old women, and each of these girls gives her a gift; these gifts are what she will trade to the troll for three nights with the white bear - well, with King Valemon, now that his bear-curse is over. He's drugged on the first two nights, and they can finally talk on the third, just like in East-West. But instead of Fun With Laundry, in this story they make a trap door for the troll to fall through when she's walking down the aisle. Which. Lame.

With the troll handled, King Valemon takes our girl home, but on the way we stop to collect the three little girls who helped her. Because those are their kids, who he, get this, "had taken so they could aid in her quest." The quest that didn't exist yet at the time, because he hadn't been taken by the troll yet, and had no reason yet to suspect that she would look at his face - I mean, the girl was having babies with him and not bothering about the face, so I would have considered it a safe bet that she would continue not bothering, and taking the babies was definitely overkill.

Also, like. She lived with him for three years and had three babies. After three years, she visits her parents, and then she looks at him with the candle; this all seems to happen pretty quickly. Which means the oldest girl might, maybe, possibly be as old as three, but probably she's younger. We should have an age range of infant to toddler here. And yet all three are described as little girls, not babies, and all three seem able to effectively communicate. So that's a bit of a plot hole. Gotta love timeline inconsistency. 

In conclusion: "East of the Sun, West of the Moon"? Beautiful, meaningful story, perfect, magnificent, 25 out of ten. "White Bear King Valemon?" Garbage story full of garbage characters who make garbage decisions, not worth the paper it's printed on, only redeeming feature is mom not putting up with her daughter's absolute idiocy.

Riquet with the Tuft, Catherine Bernard’s Version

So this story opens with a really pretty, really ugly princess being born, much like Perrault’s. Now I said in the last Riquet post that Perrault ripped off this version, but we’re not actually totally sure which story was first. Anyway. Our princess here is named Mama. She’s too stupid to even realize she’s stupid, until she meets a super ugly dude named Riquet, who informs her of the problem, and then says he can fix it if she agrees to marry him at the end of a year. (Too stupid to know she’s stupid, btw, makes her more stupid than the Perrault version, who was just smart enough to realize she was stupid.)

She agrees. A year passes, she becomes smarter and smarter, and she falls in love with another man, named Arada. And then the time comes for her to marry Riquet, who in this version is the king of the gnomes. 

Mama doesn’t want to marry him anymore, and he says that’s fine, she doesn’t have to, but she can’t keep on being smart unless she does. Mama figures she’ll lose her boyfriend Arada either way—obviously if she marries someone else, but he wouldn’t like her anymore if she was stupid again, so she still couldn’t be with him if she rejected Riquet.

She elects to lose her boyfriend and keep her mind by marrying Riquet. But he’s ugly, and all the other gnomes are ugly, and she hates everything about being with him.  She sends out a message to Arada, letting him know what’s happened, and he comes to join her in gnome land.

For a while Mama and Arada are happy sneaking around together, but eventually Riquet catches them. Now, he doesn’t want his wife cheating on him, but he also doesn’t want a stupid wife, so his main method of managing the situation is gone. He decides to take away her intelligence during the day, so she’s only smart when they’re together at night.

She retaliates by drugging him every night, and hanging with Arada while she’s smart and Riquet’s sleeping. But of course, they get caught again.

This time, Riquet puts a spell on Arada, so that he looks just like Riquet. Mama gets to keep her brains, but instead of a hot boyfriend and an ugly husband, she has two identically ugly husbands, and everyone is miserable forever.

Which is probably why I prefer Perrault—not a big fan of unhappy endings.

Riquet with the Tuft, Perrault's Version

 So first off, a quick overview of French fairy tales. There were a whole bunch of really cool ladies writing really cool stories. The Salon Writers. And one guy, who wrote a few cool stories but occasionally just straight up ripped off their stories. So, of course, a couple hundred years later everyone knows the dude, and all the ladies and all their cool stories have been pretty much forgotten. (Except Beauty and the Beast. Go Beauty and the Beast.)

The reason for that little overview is that today we're going to talk about one of those stories the dude ripped off. It's called Riquet with the Tuft, and there are two wildly different versions. The first is by the lady, Catherine Bernard, and the second is by the dude, Charles Perrault.

Honestly, I prefer Perrault's version. But, like, I sort of feel bad about it? They have the same title, but they're basically completely different stories. And I read his first. And it's not that I actually like it, really, so much as that I feel it has potential? Which honestly is the case with a lot of my favorite fairy tales.

Anyway. We're gonna start with Perrault's version. And depending on how long that takes we might have a part two for Bernard's.

A prince is born. His name is Riquet, and they call him Riquet with the Tuft because he has one little tuft of hair. He's super ugly, but his fairy godmother says that he's going to be super smart, and gives him the ability to grant an equal amount of smartness to one other person in his life.

A princess is born in another kingdom. She's super pretty, but her fairy godmother says she's going to be super dumb. She gets the ability to make one other person in her life as hot as she is. 

A second princess is born - the first princess' younger sister. And she also grows up smart and ugly, but not as smart or as ugly as Riquet. Don't know what the fairy godmother gave her. This story's not really about her.

Riquet does pretty well for himself, except for one thing. He's so ugly, no one wants to marry him.

Our first princess, on the other hand - she's struggling. She's so stupid that it doesn't even matter how pretty she is. Her younger sister is much better liked despite being really ugly, because at least she has a brain. Our princess is too stupid not to drop fine china on the floor. She's too stupid not to spill a glass of water all down her front. She's too stupid to remember her suitors' names. She's too stupid to maintain a simple conversation about the weather. It's...not great. She's just smart enough to be aware that she's astoundingly stupid.

Eventually she ands Riquet meet. Riquet has seen her portrait and fallen madly in love with her, which, like, shouldn't he maybe be smart enough not to randomly fall head over heels for total strangers just because they're hot?

Whatever. They meet. Princess is sad because no one likes her because she's stupid. Riquet offers her his fairy gift - offers to make her as smart as him. In exchange they'll get married, in one year.

So princess goes home, newly intelligent. Her poor little sister suffers for this; she isn't the hot one or the smart one now, and no one pays her any attention. Our girl's new smarts have changed her so much that she barely remembers her life before. She has dozens of suitors, one of whom she's particularly fond of, and seriously considering marrying. She's not totally sure, though, so she goes out into the woods to think about it. The same woods where she first met Riquet, a year ago now, which by this point she's almost totally forgotten about.

Riquet's excited that she's gotten there right on time for their wedding. At which point she has to tell him that she hasn't; she forgot all about that and it's just a coincidence that she's here today. And she's not sure about marrying him after all, because she was still stupid when she agreed to that - so stupid she didn't even realize how ugly he was. And surely he's smart enough to realize that he's far too ugly to marry, right?

(I'm totally not loving how her new brains for some reason made her shallow? Like, how is it smart to be judging people by their appearances? She and Riquet have both done it now.)

Riquet asks if she has any concerns other than his physical appearance, and she says no, she thinks he's a great guy overall. So he reminds her of her ability to share beauty, she makes him hot, and they live happily ever after.

The part of the story that's always really stood out to me, despite the fact that it doesn't really fit in with the overall tone, is the little section right after they get married, where Perrault basically says that maybe she didn't actually make him hot, maybe it was just her love for him that made him seem hot to her. Which is a really sweet thought. It just doesn't make a ton of sense with the general shallowness displayed earlier in the story.

Since this is Perrault, we end the story with a moral. Two morals, in this case. First: What we love is always fair. Second: Love comes from unseen things, not just brains and beauty. These are actually both better than his usual morals, but, like, I'm still annoyed by the existence of the morals at all. Just seems, I don't know, self righteous or something. And again, not really consistent with the bulk of the story.

This is pretty long, so I think we'll wait until next time to go over the second version; see you then!

The Frog Princess

 So today we're going to talk about "The Frog Princess." This is a completely different story from "The Frog Prince"; literally all they have in common is an enchanted frog. The Frog Princess is found in a lot of different cultures, but I first encountered it as a Russian fairy tale, so that's the version we're going with today. Also, like. I just finished my post about "King Thrushbeard", and I feel like I've learned my lesson about the disappointments of actually rereading fairy tales instead of just going off my memory.  Today we are going to tell fairy tales the way they were meant to be told, the way they were told in the days of oral tradition: however the teller happens to remember them. (So don't anybody be coming in here and telling me I'm wrong, don't tell me I botched the details, don't tell me I just left out the entire second half; dude, I know. That's the point.)

We open with a scene sort of like the end of Robin Hood, where he shoots an arrow from his deathbed and tells the Merry Men to bury him wherever it lands? The king has his three sons shoot arrows, and they're supposed to find their brides wherever the arrow lands.

Now, how could that possibly go wrong?

Miraculously, no one is killed in this fun little bride search, and two of the three arrows actually happen to land somewhere in the general vicinity of an unmarried young woman.

Unfortunately for our third prince, the only living thing anywhere near where his arrow lands is a frog. So he goes home and explains the situation to his dad, probably hoping for a reasonable response, like, "Oh, that sucks, try again," or maybe even, "You know what? Bridal acquisition via a literal shot in the dark was a stupid and dangerous idea. Forget it. Go meet a nice girl the normal way."

But our king is not a reasonable man, so what he tells the prince is "Well, I guess you're marrying a frog."

And then he says that whichever son has the most impressive wife gets to be the next king. Like, dude. Just come right out and say you hate prince number three.

First task to impress the king: make him a shirt.

The first two girls work hard to sew nice shirts. And prince number three, he goes home and tells the frog what's up, but he's not really expecting anything, because she's, you know, a frog. In the morning he has to go and not present his dad with a shirt, and before he leaves the frog gives him an acorn, and she's all like, "Look, I made you a shirt," and he just sort of says "Thanks, honey," and pats her slimy little head, because, I mean, what are you gonna do? She's a frog. They don't even wear shirts. Why should she know the difference between a shirt and an acorn?

"You have to open it," she says as he leaves.

"Sure, honey," he says, humoring her.

So he gets home. His dad looks over the other two shirts, makes his judgement, and then it's our dude's turn. He takes the little acorn cap off, and--there's fabric in there? Okay, weird. He pulls it out and it's a beautiful shirt made of the finest linen. Round one goes to our now very baffled third prince. Round two: bake some bread.

Now our prince isn't super quick on the uptake here. I'd think that the combination of talking frog and beautiful human-sized shirt folded into an acorn without even wrinkling would naturally lead to the conclusion that something magical is going on. But instead, he decides that the shirt must have been a fluke and, woe is him, there's no way his frog wife is ever gonna produce a loaf of bread. Frogs don't even eat bread. And how will she operate an oven?

The prince's new sisters-in-law are a little smarter, and have worked out the magic angle by now, so they go to spy on the frog. They watch her just sort of pour the dough into the oven through a hole on top, and go home to do the same thing. But, like, they don't have magic. So that backfires.

Frog presents prince with a second acorn. He pats her slimy little head and says "Thanks, honey," because he's sure she did her best. You can't fit a lot of bread in an acorn; bread isn't nearly as foldable as linen. But it's the thought that counts. And if he had to marry a frog, well, out of all the frogs in the world, he figures he's pretty lucky to have wound up with this one.

The first two princes show the king their very, very sad loaves of bread, and our prince is thinking, okay, maybe I have a shot. My loaf of bread might be incredibly tiny, but the shirt was good, and this other bread is pretty crappy. So he takes the cap off the acorn, and a beautiful, full-sized loaf of bread. They cut it up, and it tastes great. Round two goes to our prince. Third round: impress the king at a banquet.

Now our prince is thinking there's really no way his wife is going to perform well at a fancy party, because, again, she is literally a frog. She tells him to go ahead to the banquet, and she'll catch up later. He goes, thinking he's probably going to be stood up, because how is a frog going to get herself across town?

His brothers tease him about his frog wife and how she stood him up, and he just sits there and takes it because he knows his frog wife does her best, and at least she produced an edible loaf of bread. There's a commotion outside; a frog is riding up the driveway in a cardboard box pulled by mice. Which is, okay, all kinds of embarrassing. But the prince loves his frog wife, he's sure she's doing her best. And as she reaches the palace, she transforms into a beautiful woman. At which point the king declares our boy the winner of this bizarre little contest and the heir to the throne, and he and his frog wife, now de-frogged, live happily ever after.

-

Okay, fine, I can't just not read the original story. So just to let you know where I got it wrong: can't find evidence of that acorn detail, don't know where I got it. Possibly from a German variant called "Puddocky," in which the second task is to find a dog that can fit inside a walnut shell. And the entire last scene with the frog arriving is from the German version, not the Russian one, as well. Having jest reread them both, I can see the story that exists in my memory is a very jumbled combination of the two. 

Also, like, the frog doesn't do anything for herself in the Russian version? She has attendants the prince can't see who sew the shirt and bake the bread and everything, which is totally lame, and also cheating; the king said he'd leave the kingdom to the prince whose wife did the best job, not the one whose wife had the best servants. And there is a second half, in the Russian version, though the German version ends with the banquet. After that scene, in the Russian version, when the prince realizes his wife doesn't have to be a frog, he burns the skin, which in his defense, seems like the thing to do, based on folkloric precedence. But it doesn't pan out this time. Ends up being a more "East of the Sun West of the Moon" style screw-up, and he has to go on a quest to get her back. Which is actually kind of fun; you don't see a lot of gender reversal on the "I screwed up my SO's transformation spell and now I gotta fix it" quest. Anyway, he does that thing where he spares the lives of a bunch of animals and in return they help him out later. (I think the only time I've talked about that before is in "The Sea Hare".) Baba Yaga tells him our frog girl is now with Kaschey the Deathless, and how to kill him; it's one of those "you have to stab him in his heart, but instead of being in his body it's in an egg in a chest in a tower underwater or whatever" situations, like in "The Troll With No Heart In His Body". The animals help out with that, and then we live happily ever after, for real this time.