Snow-White and Rose-Red

A poor widow lived in a lonely cottage. In front grew a garden with two rose-trees—one white, one red. She had two children like those trees, named Snow-white and Rose-red. They were as good and happy, as busy and cheerful as any children, only Snow-white was quieter and gentler while Rose-red loved to run in meadows after flowers and butterflies. Snow-white stayed home helping her mother with housework or reading aloud when chores were done.

The sisters were so fond of each other that they always went hand in hand. When Snow-white said they would not leave each other, Rose-red answered that they never would so long as they lived, and their mother added that what one had she must share with the other.

They often wandered the forest alone gathering red berries. No beasts harmed them; creatures came near in trust—the hare took cabbage-leaf from their hands, the roe grazed beside them, the stag leapt past, birds sat and sang. If they stayed late and night fell, they slept on the moss until morning, and their mother did not worry.

Once after a night in the wood dawn woke them to a beautiful child in a shining white dress sitting nearby. He rose, looked kindly, said nothing, and went into the forest. Looking round, they found they had slept close to a precipice and would have fallen in the dark had they walked a few paces farther. Their mother said it must have been the angel who watches over good children.

They kept the cottage so neat it was a pleasure to look inside. In summer Rose-red tended the house and each morning laid a wreath by her mother’s bed with a rose from each tree. In winter Snow-white lit the fire and hung the polished brass kettle that shone like gold. When snowflakes fell of an evening the mother told Snow-white to bolt the door; then they sat by the hearth while she read from a large book and the girls spun. A lamb lay on the floor; a white dove perched with its head under its wing.

One such evening someone knocked. The mother told Rose-red to open—it must be a traveller seeking shelter. Rose-red drew the bolt expecting a poor man, but a bear thrust his broad black head in. She screamed and sprang back; the lamb bleated; the dove fluttered; Snow-white hid behind the bed.

“Do not be afraid,” said the bear. “I will do you no harm. I am half-frozen, and I only want to warm myself.”

“Poor bear,” said the mother. “Lie down by the fire, only take care not to burn your coat.”

She called the girls out; the bear meant well. Soon lamb and dove drew near without fear. The bear asked the children to knock the snow from his coat; they swept him with the broom, and he stretched by the fire growling contentedly. Before long they played tricks on their clumsy guest—tugging his hair, setting feet on his back, rolling him, beating him lightly with a hazel switch. When he growled they laughed. He took it in good part; only when they grew too rough he called out to leave him alive:

“Snow-white, Rose-red,
Will you beat your wooer dead?”

At bedtime the mother told the bear he might lie by the hearth safe from cold. At dawn the children let him out; he trotted across the snow into the forest. From then on he came every evening at the same hour, lay by the hearth, and let them amuse themselves until they grew so used to him that the door stayed unbolted until their black friend arrived.

When spring turned the world green the bear told Snow-white he must go and could not return all summer. Where? He must guard his treasures in the forest from wicked dwarfs. In winter, when the earth freezes hard, they stay below; but when the sun thaws the ground they break out to pry and steal, and what falls into their caves does not easily see daylight again. Snow-white was sorry. As she unbolted the door and he hurried out, he caught on the bolt; a scrap of his hairy coat tore off, and she thought she saw gold shining through, though she was not sure. He ran and was soon lost among the trees.

Soon afterward the mother sent the children for firewood. They found a felled tree, and beside the trunk something jumped in the grass. Closer, they saw a dwarf with a withered face and a snow-white beard a yard long. The beard’s end was caught in a crevice; he hopped like a dog on a rope and glared with fiery red eyes, demanding help. Rose-red asked what he was doing. He snapped that he had been splitting the tree for cooking wood—little people cannot burn heavy logs—when the smooth wedge sprang out and the tree closed on his fine beard. They tugged in vain; the beard was jammed. Rose-red would fetch someone; he snarled that two were already too many. Snow-white took scissors from her pocket and snipped the trapped end. Free, he grabbed a bag of gold among the roots, grumbled that uncouth people had cut his beard, wished them bad luck, swung the bag onto his back, and left without a glance.

Later the sisters went to catch fish. Near the brook something like a large grasshopper leaped toward the water. It was the dwarf. Rose-red asked if he meant to go in. He cried he was no fool—could they not see the cursed fish meant to pull him under? He had been fishing; wind had tangled his beard with the line; a big fish bit and was dragging his feeble body toward the water though he clutched reeds. The girls held him and tried to free the beard from the line; it would not come. Scissors again—and a little more beard was lost. He screamed that they had disfigured him; clipping the tip had not been enough, and now the best part was gone; he wished they had worn the soles off their shoes. He hauled a sack of pearls from the rushes and vanished behind a stone.

Not long after, the mother sent them to town for needles, thread, laces, and ribbons. The road crossed a heath strewn with rocks. A large bird circled slowly above, sank, and settled near a rock. A loud, piteous cry followed. They ran and saw with horror that an eagle had seized the dwarf and meant to carry him off. Full of pity they gripped the little man and pulled against the eagle until it let go. The moment he recovered from fright he shrilled that they might have been gentler—his brown coat was torn full of holes, clumsy creatures! He took up a sack of precious stones and slipped under the rock into his hole. Used by then to his ingratitude, the girls went on and did their shopping.

Crossing the heath homeward they surprised him again: he had emptied his bag of stones on a clean spot, never thinking anyone would come so late. Evening sun made the jewels glitter in every colour; the children stared. “Why are you standing there gaping?” he cried, his ashen face copper-red with rage. He was still cursing when a loud growl sounded and a black bear trotted from the forest. The dwarf sprang up but could not reach his cave—the bear was too close. In terror he begged dear Mr Bear to spare him, offered all his treasures, pointed to the jewels, and said a slender fellow like himself was no mouthful—take the two wicked girls instead, tender as young quails. The bear paid no heed; one blow of his paw, and the dwarf did not move.

The girls had fled, but the bear called them by name not to fear—wait, he would come with them. They knew his voice and waited. When he reached them his bearskin fell away; a handsome man stood clothed in gold. He was a king’s son, he said, bewitched by that wicked dwarf who had stolen his treasures; he had run the forest as a savage bear until the dwarf’s death freed him. The prince said that the dwarf’s death had ended the spell.

Snow-white married him, and Rose-red married his brother. They divided the great treasure from the dwarf’s cave. The old mother lived peacefully with her children for many years. She took the two rose-trees with her; they stood before her window and every year bore the most beautiful roses, white and red.

Where this story comes from

“Snow-White and Rose-Red” is a German fairy tale from the Brothers Grimm, not an Indian one. Margaret Hunt’s 1884 translation numbers it 161 and gives the German title Schneeweißchen und Rosenrot. This retelling follows the Project Gutenberg text based on the translations of Edgar Taylor and Marian Edwardes.

The Grimms identify a literary source for this telling. The Grimms’ note says it was based on Caroline Stahl’s story “The Ungrateful Dwarf” and retold “in my own fashion”. The bear’s rhyme, “Snowy-white, rosy-red, will ye strike your lover dead?”, comes from a popular song.

The dwarf’s death under the bear’s paw is kept, briefly, as in the source.

Read the original: Grimms’ Fairy Tales, tr. Edgar Taylor and Marian Edwardes (Project Gutenberg #2591, Snow-White and Rose-Red)

Best for ages 9–12 with discussion: three rescues, a threat to sacrifice the sisters and the dwarf’s death. The peaceful forest and tame bear belong to fantasy; safety is not a reward that only ‘good children’ deserve.

Reading the story closely

The bear’s welcome lasts a whole winter, while the dwarf receives three brief rescues. Both relationships reveal character through repeated encounters, but the outcomes differ: kindness creates friendship with the bear and never reforms the dwarf. His final offer to sacrifice his rescuers is a further betrayal, not simply another failure to say thank you. The sisters can help without being obliged to accept abuse indefinitely.

Track what the dwarf loses in each rescue and what he carries away: beard and gold, more beard and pearls, torn coat and jewels. His attention stays on possessions and appearance while the sisters attend to immediate danger. Then revisit the gold beneath the bearskin and the bear’s rhyme. They hint at the ending before the prince explains it, although neither proves his story by itself.

Talk about it

• How are Snow-White and Rose-Red different from each other, and how are they alike?
• The sisters keep helping the dwarf even though he is rude every time. Why do you think they do it?
• Look back at the moment the bear’s coat catches on the door. What clue does the story give you about who he really is?

Related stories

• Snowdrop — the Grimms’ other Snow-White, with a wicked queen and seven dwarfs
• The Six Swans — a Grimm tale of a sister whose patience breaks a terrible spell
• Sweetheart Roland — another Grimm tale of escape, transformations and a delayed reunion