Little Snow-White

One snowy winter’s day, a queen sat by her ebony window frame, embroidering a delicate pattern. As she worked, she pricked her finger, and three drops of blood fell upon the snow outside. The queen gazed at the striking contrast—blood-red against the pure white snow, framed by the black window—and made a wish.

“If only I had a child as white as snow, as red as blood, and as black as this ebony frame,” she sighed.

Her wish was granted, and before the year was out, she gave birth to a daughter with skin as white as snow, lips as red as blood, and hair as black as ebony. They named her Snow-White. Sadly, the queen died shortly after the birth, leaving the king bereft.

After a year of mourning, the king remarried. His new wife was beautiful but possessed a cold heart and an obsessive vanity. Her most prized possession was a magical mirror to which she would daily ask:

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest one of all?”

And always the mirror would answer truthfully: “You, my queen, are the fairest of all.”

Years passed, and Snow-White grew into a maiden of extraordinary beauty and gentle spirit. One day, when the queen posed her usual question, the mirror replied with words that turned her heart to ice:

“Queen, you are full fair, ’tis true, but Snow-White is fairer than you.”

Rage and jealousy consumed the queen. She summoned a huntsman and commanded: “Take Snow-White into the forest, kill her, and bring me her heart as proof of your deed.”

The huntsman led Snow-White deep into the woods, but when he raised his knife, the young princess fell to her knees.

“Please, good huntsman,” she pleaded, her eyes wide with fear, “spare my life! I will run into the wild forest and never return to the castle again.”

The huntsman, moved by her innocence, lowered his blade. “Run, child. The wild beasts will likely devour you, but I cannot bring myself to harm you.”

To deceive the queen, he killed a young boar and presented its heart to her. The wicked woman ordered the heart cooked and consumed it, believing she had devoured Snow-White’s life force.

Meanwhile, Snow-White ran through the forest, thorns tearing at her delicate skin, until darkness fell. Exhausted and frightened, she stumbled upon a curious little cottage nestled among ancient trees. Inside, everything was immaculately clean but unusually small—seven little plates on the table, seven little loaves of bread, seven little cups of wine, and seven little beds against the wall.

Famished from her ordeal, Snow-White ate a morsel of bread and vegetables from each plate and sipped a drop of wine from each cup, not wishing to take too much from any one setting. Then, overcome with weariness, she tried each tiny bed until she found one that suited her. She said her prayers and fell into a deep slumber.

When darkness fully descended, the owners of the cottage returned—seven dwarfs who spent their days mining for gold and precious gems in the mountains. They lit their seven candles and immediately noticed something amiss.

“Who has been sitting in my chair?” asked the first. “Who has been eating from my plate?” wondered the second. “Who has been nibbling my bread?” inquired the third. “Who has been tasting my vegetables?” demanded the fourth. “Who has been using my fork?” questioned the fifth. “Who has been cutting with my knife?” examined the sixth. “Who has been drinking from my cup?” observed the seventh.

Then the first dwarf, holding his lantern high, gasped: “Someone has been lying in my bed!”

One by one, they gathered around the seventh bed where Snow-White lay sleeping. The dwarfs were struck by her beauty and decided not to wake her. The seventh dwarf shared his bed with his fellows, each taking turns to sleep for one hour while the others kept watch over their unexpected guest.

When morning came, Snow-White awoke to find seven curious faces studying her. Initially frightened, she soon relaxed as they introduced themselves kindly. She explained her plight, and the dwarfs, moved by her story, offered sanctuary.

“Stay with us,” they proposed. “Keep house for us—cook, make the beds, wash, sew, and knit. If you maintain everything neat and clean, you shall want for nothing.”

Snow-White agreed gratefully. Each morning, she would prepare breakfast for the dwarfs and bid them farewell as they departed for the mines. They warned her sternly: “Beware your stepmother. She will soon discover you are here. Let no one enter while we are away.”

Back at the palace, the queen approached her mirror once more: “Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest one of all?”

To her horror, the mirror replied: “Queen, you are full fair, ’tis true, but Snow-White beyond the mountains, with the seven dwarfs, is fairer than you.”

The queen flew into a murderous rage upon realizing she had been deceived. She began plotting anew, disguising herself as an old peddler woman. With a basket of beautiful silk laces, she journeyed to the dwarfs’ cottage.

“Fine wares for sale! Fine wares!” she called sweetly.

Snow-White, peering from the window, was enticed by the colorful ribbons. “Good day, good woman,” she called. “What have you to sell?”

“Good laces, pretty child,” coaxed the disguised queen. “Let me lace your bodice properly—you’re all askew!”

Before Snow-White could object, the queen pulled the laces so tight that the princess fell to the floor, unable to breathe. Satisfied that her rival was dead, the queen departed.

Fortunately, the dwarfs returned earlier than usual that evening and discovered Snow-White’s predicament. They quickly cut the laces, and she drew breath once more, explaining what had transpired.

“That was no peddler,” the eldest dwarf warned gravely. “It was your wicked stepmother. Be more cautious!”

The queen, returning to her castle, eagerly consulted her mirror: “Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest one of all?”

Once again, the mirror shattered her expectations: “Queen, you are full fair, ’tis true, but Snow-White beyond the mountains, with the seven dwarfs, is fairer than you.”

Consumed by rage, the queen crafted a poisoned comb using dark arts. Disguised now as a different old woman, she returned to the cottage.

Despite the dwarfs’ warnings, Snow-White was again deceived by the queen’s disguise and allowed her to demonstrate the comb. The moment it touched her hair, the poison took effect, and Snow-White collapsed.

Once more, the dwarfs returned in time to save her, removing the poisoned comb from her tresses. Snow-White revived and recounted her experience.

“You must never open the door,” they admonished more firmly.

The queen, learning of her second failure, flew into such a fury that she could neither eat nor sleep. She created her most diabolical weapon yet—a poisoned apple, red and tempting on one side, perfectly harmless on the other.

Disguised as a simple peasant woman, she approached the cottage for the third time. Snow-White, remembering the dwarfs’ warnings, refused to open the door.

“I dare not let anyone in,” she called through the window. “The dwarfs have forbidden it.”

“No matter,” replied the disguised queen, slicing the apple in two. “See how beautiful this apple is? I shall eat half to show it is harmless.” She bit into the safe portion while displaying the poisoned half temptingly.

Snow-White, watching the old woman eat without ill effect, could no longer resist. She reached through the window for the remaining half.

The moment she bit into the poisoned apple, Snow-White fell to the floor, apparently lifeless. The queen, cackling with triumph, returned to her castle and demanded of her mirror: “Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest one of all?”

At last, the mirror gave her the answer she craved: “You, my queen, are the fairest of all.”

When the dwarfs returned that evening, they found Snow-White lying on the floor, cold and still. For three days, they searched for signs of poison but found nothing they could remove. Snow-White appeared so lifelike—her skin still snow-white, her lips still blood-red—that they could not bear to bury her.

Instead, they crafted a coffin of pure crystal and gold, inscribed her name upon it in golden letters, and placed it upon a mountain where they kept constant vigil, one dwarf always remaining with her.

Time passed, and Snow-White lay unchanged in her crystal coffin, looking as though she merely slept. One day, a prince from a neighboring kingdom, hunting in the forest, discovered the dwarfs’ mountain and the beautiful maiden in her glass casket.

Struck by her beauty, the prince begged the dwarfs: “Let me take this coffin to my castle. I will honor her and cherish her as my most treasured possession.”

Initially reluctant, the dwarfs ultimately agreed, touched by the depth of the prince’s admiration. As the prince’s servants carried the coffin down the mountain, they stumbled over a gnarled root. The jolt dislodged the piece of poisoned apple from Snow-White’s throat, and she opened her eyes, pushing open the coffin lid.

“Where am I?” she asked, bewildered.

The prince, overjoyed, explained all that had transpired. “Come with me to my father’s castle and become my bride,” he entreated.

Snow-White, looking into his kind eyes, agreed. The dwarfs celebrated her revival with a magnificent feast before bidding her a bittersweet farewell.

At the prince’s castle, preparations for a grand wedding commenced. Among those invited was Snow-White’s stepmother, who had no knowledge that the bride was her presumed-dead stepdaughter.

Before attending, the vain queen consulted her mirror one final time: “Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest one of all?”

The mirror’s response chilled her to the bone: “Queen, you are full fair, ’tis true, but the young queen is a thousand times fairer than you.”

Consumed by curiosity and dread, the queen attended the wedding. Upon recognizing Snow-White, alive and more beautiful than ever, she was struck with such terror and rage that she could neither move nor breathe. For her wicked deeds, iron slippers had been heated over coals. She was forced to step into these red-hot shoes and dance until she fell down dead.

Snow-White and her prince ruled their kingdom with wisdom and kindness. The seven dwarfs were honored guests at their castle, and the magic mirror was hung in the great hall, silent now except when asked to reflect the truth of one’s heart rather than the fairness of one’s face.

And so Snow-White, who had survived the perils of jealousy and vanity, learned that true beauty resides not in appearance but in the capacity for love, forgiveness, and compassion—a lesson she passed to her children and her children’s children for generations to come.