Did Grandpa Know Snow White

Did Grandpa Know Snow White

By Joseph Parish

The vision rendered by the mellowed, elderly man walking before me, visibly exposed unfashionable facial features which surged every wrinkle brought about by the ages of passing time. As the distinguished gentleman unhurriedly advanced towards his well-used, overstuffed chair he exhibited a deliberate series of cautionary movements obviously intended to prevent faltering while on his feet. He could willingly be perceived as excessively bent over while leaning slightly forward displaying a hobbled appearance as he advanced towards his favorite seat. Upon his eventual arrival he proceeded to gradually lower his shaking body onto the soft cushions as if he were a hand being carefully slide into a warm winter glove. His hair was rough and scraggly, tinted slightly by several shades of gray and it was quite apparent that a brush or comb had not touched it in days.

“Come here Josie”, he whispered in a broken English accent. Josie was his pet name for me since he had difficulties calling me by my real name. His hands rapidly motioned towards me to join him at his chair, although there was nowhere for me to sit other than upon the cold wooden floor nearby.

“Remember the days when I would sit here and you would climb onto my lap and I would read you stories?” he uttered with a hidden smile on his face and with his Greek accent and poor sentence construction. I merely nodded in observation of his comment and secretly wished for this conversation to end as quickly as it had been initiated. I deemed myself to be much too old for sitting nonchalantly by and playing nursemaid to my grandpa’s infatuated tales from the old country. My imagination instead took flight and wandered to the upcoming dance taking place this evening at the YMCA or the adventures involving all the rock and roll music at the city park this very night. Saturday was by and far an incredibly busy social day for me. As I had fully anticipated my grandpa commencing another evening relating to his exceedingly wearisome tales, with this one sourced in the topic of Snow White.

Without assessing my comments beforehand, I abruptly blurted out, “really grandpa, Snow White? I am not a school child any longer.” To the rest of the world, I was a rambunctious thirteen-year-old boy in the prime of his life and seeking adventure. I had desires and plans which certainly did not involve listening to tall tales made up by a grandparent although I suppose I will always be little “Josie” to my grandfather. After a short period of time, I was feeling a bit embarrassed and remorseful at making my previous comments on his story so it was out of respect that I forged a desire of interested in the story he was about to impart to me. Naturally, he rapidly noticed my change in attitude and in a moment of excitement he continued on with his tale.

“Josie, when you “was” but a little child standing up to my knee height we read together the story of Snow White and the Severn Dwarfs.” He declared with his foreign accent and misplaced words. Perhaps it was my being born and raised in America that made me a little uneasy when my grandpa would place words in parts of a sentence incorrectly. Maybe it was nothing more than my obsession with perfect English that caused my ill content. Who knows where it originated at but it was there each and every time my grandfather spoke?

As I sat on the floor listening diligently to what my grandpa was telling me, I felt it was not only my obligation but my duty as well to encourage my elderly relative to continue with his tale. He was old, his life span had just about reached its end and he needed something that would bring a measure of enjoyment into his life. With each word he spoke you could see the joy; he was having imparting his older generation of knowledge to the newer and younger members of the family. Before I realized what, I was doing and unable to catch myself, I found I was inviting him to continue his tale and persisted upon hearing more.

“Josie, Snow White was actually based upon a real Bavarian, 16th-century countess named Margarete Von Waldeck. In 1540 at the age of 16, Margarete left her home in Bad Wildungen and relocated to Brussels because she could not get along with her stepmother Katharina. Doesn’t that sound a little like the Snow-White story?” He asked as he eyed me for a positive response and pointed to a painting in the far corner of his living room. I nodded in agreement and followed his glance towards the painting on the wall. There in full color I saw an oil portrait of a revealing beauty with dark flowing hair and a pretty face. She was wearing a gorgeous light-colored dress and the young woman looked very much like the princess she was.

“It did not take long before her beauty touched the eyes of the future King of Spain, Prince Philip II and shortly thereafter she became his lover.” Grandpa was now beginning to secure my attention and I actually sought to hear more about this real-life Snow-White lady.

“Continue please,” I begged of my grandfather.

“Very well” he replied with a huge grin on his face and then he continued with his dialect. “Her stepmother could not acknowledge the fact that perhaps Margarete would one day in the near future become a real princess to the future King of Spain. Agreeing with the stepmother’s dislike of the joining in marriage of these two young people was the potential groom’s father who was the current Spanish King. In such a marriage he could foresee no possible political gain of value in nourishing such a union between Margarete and his son. Together the pair devised an elaborate plot to end such a proposal by poisoning the young Margarete.

By now I was really caught up in my grandfather’s tale. Here we have a real James Bond type spy novel in the making. Assassination by poisoning, backroom plots against influential people and the thrill of intrigue and suspense permeated the very roots of this story. I was starting to view my grandfather in a new and enhanced light as he continued to relate this tale of the real Snow White to me.

Grandpa continued his story, “While residing in Brussels, Margarete became exceedingly ill and the popular opinion of the local people there was that this beautiful woman had been poisoned.” Grandpa went on to explain, “Unlike the fairy tale from old when we would sit and read it years ago, this tale fails to have a happy ending. At the young age of 21, beautiful Margaretha was now dead and no amount of fairy tale magic was going to bring her back to life.”

No one had ever been convicted or proven to have poisoned this young girl but if you ask my grandpa, he has his own opinions as to who the villains were. Grandpa further compared the fairy tale to the real-life situations. “To add to the suspense of this tale it was rumored that in Margarete’s hometown a man had been arrested for giving poisoned apples to the children he believed had stolen from him. It sounds more and more like Snow White doesn’t it?” he questioned me.

I agreed with him but then posed a question of my own to my grandfather concerning how the story of the dwarfs got involved in the tale.

“Simple, “he replied with his ever so smug grin. “During those days and in that area, mining was a profitable business. Margarete's father happened to have owned multiple copper mines where children were often employed. Many areas within the mines were unable to be passed through by adults so they employed these children to do some of the work. They were small enough to go where the adults could not possibly fit. Unfortunately, due to the poor working conditions within the mines many of these children died at a young age. Those who managed to survive had severely stunted growth as well as deformed limbs. Through malnutrition and hard physical labor these fateful children were frequently referred to as “poor dwarfs.” Thus, the small children were likely viewed as dwarfs within the tale. In cartoons of the Snow-White story we often see the Seven Dwarfs depicted with colorful hoods which are reminiscent of the clothing frequently worn by the miners in the olden days.” He turned to me and had another of those sneaky smiles across his face as if he had eaten a canary and was waiting to show off his conquest. I knew he was seeking my admission of defeat in this question but I was not going to give him that satisfaction. I did, however, manage to break a smile back to him which was apparently sufficient for his ego.

To this day I am still confused as to the picture hanging in my grandfather’s home. Surely since this plot with the lady took place in the 1500s my grandfather could not have possibly known Margartete personally. Either that picture was a distant relative of mine or on the wall for some mere decorative purpose. I suppose I shall never know the true answer to that puzzle.

As I think of this episode of my life and how serious my grandfather was as he related this story to me, I bring forth this proposition to my readers. Was Snow White a mere fairy tale or a smoothed over rendition of a real-life adventure? Were the Brothers Grimm actually historians who honeyed over the facts to make their tales more palatable for children as well as for the adults, after all, it has been said that every fairy story created has some truth in the past even those which rests upon the dark tales in history. They too can be an inspiration for ultimately beautiful stories.

Whether or not you believe this tale to be true is up to you. Only you can decide for yourself. At the end of my visit, I lovingly hugged my grandfather and cheerfully bid him goodnight. I was finally off to my evening dances but one thing is certain, I will never again forestall any invitations to my grandpa’s for tales from his youthful days.

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