Showing posts with label rumpelstiltskin. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rumpelstiltskin. Show all posts

Imaginary outfit: straw into gold


It is easy to dislike the miller's daughter.

The pawn of a boastful, lying father and a greedy king, she can only cry when she faces her impossible fate: the spinning wheel and the straw. She's rescued by the miraculous appearance of a strange little man who truly can spin straw into gold. She pays him first with a necklace and then with a ring, and finally the terrible promise of her firstborn. I might feel pity for her there, on that third night stripped of anything tangible to barter, but her promise is cavalier. She trusts she'll be able to get out of it when she has to, and indeed she does. Later, married to the king, she has a baby, and when the little man comes to claim it, she cries again and he pities her, telling her that he will give her three days to discover his name and release herself from the promise. She sends out spies to find the little man's name while she waits in her palace. One of them stumbles across it and reports it to the queen. When she triumphantly tells the little man that his name is Rumpelstiltskin, he becomes so enraged he tears himself in two. The miller's daughter gets everything she wants in the end - the credit for the gold, marriage to the king, her baby - and pays only with tears.

It's a strange plot, even as fairy tales go. In a weird way it reminds me of blogging, only bloggers get to be Rumpelstiltskin and the miller's daughter simultaneously. Strange people taking the commonest matter and applying their own personal alchemy to it, turning it into something remarkable. Making it all look very easy, unpaid for.

The best blogs create windows into worlds - they let you feel close to the beautiful and strange, and they look effortless. They make you feel that the secret of making a particular beauty - of turning the straw into gold - is there, graspable. Of course, it isn't. The straw in hand remains straw.  You are on your own when it comes to making gold. 

straw-like


Fragments of gold thread, 300-250 B.C. From the collection of The Georgian National Museum

rumpelstilzchen






David Hockney, etchings from 1969:

Straw
Gold
Straw on the Left, Gold on the Right
Riding Around on a Cooking Spoon
He Tore Himself in Two


as ugly as a wart



Arthur Rackham: illustrations for Rumpelstiltskin, 1909.

These were the illustrations in the edition I had as a child. They terrified and mesmerized me.

Found here and here.

she had nothing to give him

There once was a miller
with a daughter as lovely as a grape.
He told the king that she could
spin gold out of common straw.
The king summoned the girl
and locked her in a room full of straw
and told her to spin it into gold
or she would die like a criminal.
Poor grape with no one to pick.
Luscious and round and sleek.
Poor thing.
To die and never see Brooklyn.

She wept,
of course, huge aquamarine tears.
The door opened and in popped a dwarf.
He was as ugly as a wart.
Little thing, what are you? she cried.
With his tiny no-sex voice he replied:
I am a dwarf.
I have been exhibited on Bond Street
and no child will ever call me Papa.
I have no private life.
If I'm in my cups the whole town knows by breakfast
and no child will ever call me Papa
I am eighteen inches high.
I am no bigger than a partridge.
I am your evil eye
and no child will ever call me Papa.
Stop this Papa foolishness,
she cried. Can you perhaps
spin straw into gold?
Yes indeed, he said,
that I can do.
He spun the straw into gold
and she gave him her necklace
as a small reward.
When the king saw what she had done
he put her in a bigger room of straw
and threatened death once more.
Again she cried.
Again the dwarf came.
Again he spun the straw into gold.
She gave him her ring
as a small reward.
The king put her in an even bigger room
but this time he promised
to marry her if she succeeded.
Again she cried.
Again the dwarf came.
But she had nothing to give him.
Without a reward the dwarf would not spin.
He was on the scent of something bigger.
He was a regular bird dog.
Give me your first-born
and I will spin.
She thought: Piffle!
He is a silly little man.
And so she agreed.
So he did the trick.
Gold as good as Fort Knox.

The king married her
and within a year
a son was born.
He was like most new babies,
as ugly as an artichoke
but the queen thought him in pearl.
She gave him her dumb lactation,
delicate, trembling, hidden,
warm, etc.
And then the dwarf appeared
to claim his prize.
Indeed! I have become a papa!
cried the little man.
She offered him all the kingdom
but he wanted only this -
a living thing
to call his own.
And being mortal
who can blame him?

The queen cried two pails of sea water.
From Anne Sexton's Rumpelstiltskin.