Angela Barrett: The Snow Queen

There are very few original fairy tales that have the power of Hans Christian Anderson’s The Snow Queen, so much so that people often forget it’s the work of a single mind and not part of our collective folklore. As C.S. Lewis put it so beautifully in regards to the archetype that Anderson codified in our minds: “we are born knowing the witch.”

But it’s not just the titular Snow Queen that makes this story so fascinating; it’s very much a story about women in all their guises. There’s Gerda the protagonist, the fierce Little Robber Girl and her mother, the Crow and the Princess, the Lappish Woman and the Finnish Woman, and the children’s Grandmother, whose presence frames the story in its entirety.

But of most interest to me is the Old Lady Who Knew Magic, an elderly woman that Gerda meets almost immediately after she sets out in search of Kay, and who very nearly ends the journey before it’s even properly begun...

I’ve said before that Angela Barrett’s ornate style is perfect for fairy tales, and perhaps the best example of this is her work on The Snow Queen. As it happens, her depiction of the scene between the Old Lady and Gerda isn’t a full-page spread (instead it only takes up half of a single page) yet it captures the complexity of the story and of this relationship in particular.  

It’s certainly accurate to Anderson's description: 

"At last [Gerda] came to a cherry orchard, in which stood a little house with curious red and blue windows and a thatched roof; standing outside were two wooden soldiers, presenting arms whenever anyone passed. Then from the cottage, came an old, old woman, leaning on a crutch-shaped stick. She wore a large sun-hat, painted all over with many kinds of lovely flowers. "You poor little child!" said the old woman. "How ever did you come to be on this river, so far out in the wide world?" And she stepped into the water, hooked the boat with her crooked stick, pulled it ashore and lifted little Gerda down."

This is the moment Barrett captures, and yet she does so in a way that signals the sinister elements of the situation, as well as the beauty and nurturing aspects of the Old Lady. If you know the story, you'll know that she isn't wholly malevolent – instead she's simply lonely, and selfishly wants to keep Gerda for herself. She achieves this by brushing the girl’s hair each night, and with it, brushing away her memories as well.

Soon Gerda has forgotten her quest for the kidnapped Kay, and as an added precaution, the Old Lady tells all the roses in her garden to disappear, lest Gerda see them and remember her true self.

But much like Rapunzel in the early years of her life with Mother Gothel, Gerda is happy with the Old Lady in her springtime garden, and the beauty of the place is depicted in the gentleness of the river, the rich green of the lawn, and the beauty of the white cherry blossoms. The Old Lady isn't the witch from Hansel and Gretel, she appears just as Anderson described her, holding up her dress and pulling Gerda's boat towards her with a kind look on her face.

And yet there are warning signs. The cherry trees stretch into the distance on all sides, rather ominous in their never-ending rows, blotting out the sky and the horizon. Likewise, the "red and blue" windows are depicted as high and small – too high and small for an easy escape. Then there are the soldiers either side of the door, which naturally suggest that the place is being guarded.

But it's the body language of Gerda and the Old Lady that's particularly wonderful: Gerda stands in the little boat, utterly defenceless, utterly still, the perfect picture of childlike innocence and vulnerability. And the Old Lady, who appears so benevolent, so kindly, has her walking stick hooked over the prow of the boat, inexorably drawing her in, with Gerda unable to do anything but stare.

It's fantastic composition: not full-on creepy (because Gerda’s life is never in danger) but deeply symbolic of their relationship and the paths before them. The Old Lady tries to trap Gerda in an Eden-like garden of never-ending youth, but as the very presence of an elderly woman demonstrates, no one can remain a child forever.