When you delve into older children's literature, there are certain stories that you feel might not have been as well received today. On its face, the 1938 Caldecott Honoree Seven Simeons: A Russian Tale by Boris Artzybasheff is one of those tales, but there is more to the story than that. Much more.
The Story of the Seven Simeons
The storyline is as old-school fairy tale as you can get:
Douda, a wealthy king deeply in love with his good looks and power, hears tell of a Princess Helena whom he decides would be the perfect bride based solely on a description of her beauty. Realizing, however, that the 10-year journey to her kingdom would make it impossible for him to bring her back in all her youthful splendor, he decides to distract himself with hunts. On one of these outings, he is distracted by a gorgeously plowed wheat field (yes, you read that right) and meets the seven brothers, named Simeon, who plow it.
As luck would have it, each brother has a magical power. Douda is enthralled by the abilities of the first six, but he imprisons the last when he learns that the Simeon is able to steal any treasure. Despite the fact that their brother is unjustly imprisoned, the remaining brothers happily showcase their powers to the king. Their feats inspire Douda and his jester to free the remaining brother and send all seven Simeons to go kidnap the beautiful princess.
The brothers do as instructed. On the way back, Princess Helena uses some magic of her own to attempt three escapes, but she is overpowered each time by her captors. Happily, though, when they return to Douda's palace, she is enamored with the gorgeous king and sends word back to her father that she is in love, inviting him to the wedding. The missive arrives just in time to stop him from killing the guards who were supposed to protect his lovely daughter, but he decides that he is too busy to attend the affair. Still, he is happy for his daughter's happiness. The Simeons return with his regrets, and Douda offers them all permanent places in his court, which they refuse, preferring to return to their field. The king agrees, guaranteeing the freedom of the seventh Simeon, and has a fantabulous wedding.
Looking just at these events, I am not really sure where modern parents might cringe more. Would it be the exploitation of the poor brothers, whose honor and work ethic so exceed that of their tyrannical master? Or would it be the idea that a woman's worthiness is determined solely by her looks -- and the belief that this can only diminish with age, leaving her without any value? Would it be the notion that she is some sort of chattel, belonging either to her father or her husband? If none of these, surely most of us can't help but think "Stockholm Syndrome" or worse when Princess Helena falls for her king and captor.
Nevertheless, there is something about the way that Artzybasheff tells this tale that saves it from being completely dated. It all starts with the opening, which seems to poke fun at the monarch and his court:
King Douda was wise, King Douda was rich, and he was strong, for he had a strong army; so strong it was that nobody knew just how strong, not even his own generals.
Doesn't sound like anyone really knows what's what.
The description continues to list all of his possessions and assets, including "forty times forty" cities each with 10 palaces made of silver, crystal, and "the best gold too!" He also has "nine old men, all with long white beards and large wise heads" to advise him in "matters of state." The worst part of all this? Douda has no appreciation for any of it:
Would you not think that a king like Douda should have been happy? Not at all! There he was: rich, wise, powerful, and moreover, he was very good-looking! So good-looking was King Douda that his beauty could not be imagined, nor described with a pen, nor told about in a tale. Yet he was very unhappy. He was sad because he could not find a worthy maiden for a bride, a princess who would be as good looking as himself.
Once he sat on a golden chair in his garden upon the shore of the sea, thinking about his misfortune . . .
Of course, Artzybasheff is primarily an artist, so whatever his commentary, we really only to look at his pictures to see what he thinks. As it happens, he has a lot to say.
Artzybasheff Adds Art & Insight to the Tale of the Seven Simeons
Let's start with the opening image of King Douda. The image accompanying this introduction underscores Douda's ridiculousness, as he sits not on just a golden chair but a gigantic throne atop a carpeted section of his garden gazing at himself in a golden mirror. Is the dog sleeping contentedly or laughing? You decide:
For whatever reason, the words and pictures on the opening spread reminded me of Lord Farquaad from Shrek, and this connection only grew stronger as the story continued and Douda set others out to seek his bride: He wants her but lacks the courage to seek her. In fact, it is amazing what Artzybasheff, using only 4-colors and line drawings, is able to say about his subjects -- and I think there is a level of irony similar to the story of the ogre, only with a much different conclusion.
Looking again at the opening picture of King Douda, his pose seems stilted and unnatural. Contrast this with the depictions of the brothers, where the faces are more expressive and there is a sense of movement. Along with the lack of gold leaf ink, this quality makes the brothers seem more alive despite the stamp-like arrangement of the page; they seem more natural and interesting with minimal scenery that Douda does with all of the elaborate foliage and furniture:
Artzybasheff continues this motif throughout. The brothers may be surrounded by gold and embellishments when in the presence of royalty or their magical creations, but gold never touches them. The delineation can be no clearer than in our first view of them, pictured below on the left. Here, the gold is in the background under the feet of the royal guard. Again, notice how much more natural the brothers seem in their wooded surrounding than the king did in his; you almost want to join the simple picnic:
Another thing to notice on the left is the lack of detail used on the guards in the background. The drawings throughout the book show that Artzybasheff can drawing very intricately when he wants, so we have to assume that the lack of faces on the guards is intentional, particularly when a couple of pages later, they appear in all of their finery, as shown on the left where the guards are carrying the seventh brother away.
What was his purpose? I think you can look at it on several levels. First, in the picnic picture the lack of detail on the guards keeps the focus of the picture on the brothers, the real subject. Second, their facelessness may show the perspective of the brothers; at the picnic, they are too involved with themselves to notice or care about the guards, but they are very aware of them as their brother is being hauled off. Third, and much more thematic, I think that Artzybasheff may be saying something about their overall significance. The power that these men have only comes through their association with the king; the further they are from his presence, the less they possess. Hence, in the picnic scene, their power is simply a golden shadow, while in the second scene, they are enveloped in it. Add to this statement the transformation of their faces,which are little more than moustaches in the picnic scene, and perhaps the artist is saying something about their humanity as well.
The seven Simeons are immune from these facial transformations, suggesting that they are always themselves; their power and personality are solely their own. Why? They serve their king without desiring his riches or power: When it is offered to them, they refuse it. Their motives are pure. Thus, they may lack luxury, but they have much more.
Perhaps this interpretation is reading too much into things, but I don't think so. Everything that I have read about Artzybasheff suggests that he is a thoughtful artist -- one who came to the United States fleeing the Russian Revolution -- so I think he had very intentional messages. Moreover, the face motif appears earlier in the book as well, when Douda leads his men out on a hunt. The detail on the men's faces diminishes as their distance from Douda increases; even the dog veering off away from the king's horse loses its eyes.
The play on faces also appears later in the book, very dramatically at the palace of Helena's father as he prepares to execute the guards who failed to protect his daughter from the kidnappers:
Perhaps this is to show that they are "dead" to the king having failed to protect Helena, or perhaps it is more than that. Remember, the execution is halted when the king gets word from Helena about her happiness. Although at peace with the situation, the king still refuses to go to the wedding. Given the fact that the Simeons have a magic ship that can transport him to and from the wedding in a matter of days, the king's reason for not attending the royal wedding of his only daughter seem silly: "because of important matters of state which required his direct attention, such as training his army and seeming that his spare army was well groomed."
These reasons seem like pretty every-day stuff that one's generals could easily handle. Moreover, in the same spread, even the guards on horses are silhouettes; only the king and executioner have faces and details. Again, this could just reflect the perspective of the king at that moment. However, if we contrast this with the depictions of Douda's court, we see that there is a greater level of humanity in Douda's kingdom. Perhaps Helena's kidnappers were her rescuers.
Artzybasheff only raises this consideration artistically. The text focuses on Helena's feelings rather than the political climate in either kingdom -- and honestly, the more we get to know Princess Helena, the less we might care whether she was happy or not. Helena is as materialistic and shallow as her groom. She is easily lured from her father's side onto the ship by the promise of more treasure. Despite the facts that she is kidnapped, Artzybasheff makes it clear that it is her choice to stay:
Even the King himself ran out to welcome Helena to his kingdom. He took her by the hands and led her to his palace, saying, "Please, my beautiful Helena, make yourself at home. We have heard about your beauty but it truly is greater than we had hoped. But, if you say the word, I shall send you back to your dear father. I cannot be so cruel as to keep you here by force!"
Here the Princess looked upon King Douda and, as she looked at him, it seemed to her as if the sun itself danced in the sky, as if the sea played music and the mountains broke out in a song!
What more can one say? The princess saw how good-looking Douda was and she fell in love with him.
The order of events is important: She falls in love after she is given the option to leave. Much less "Stockholmy." In fact, she writes her father, "I have found the man worthy of my hand [emphasis added]" and waits for her father's blessing to marry. There are subtle differences in her facial expressions to underscore the change in her feelings:
Of course, she falls in love with looks alone, much like her husband. Thinking back to the beginning of the story -- when Douda decides that he cannot seek Helena because sending an envoy on a 10-year one-way journey would bring her back old, withered, and useless -- I can imagine him telling her the same story and her replying, "Of course, you're right, my love -- and think how crooked and gray you would be. You were wise not to try."
Our "closing shot" emphasizes this similarity; the two lovebirds have the same expression and are starting to look frighteningly alike.
Reflections on Seven Simeons
At the end of the day, though, it's not for me or anyone to judge Douda and Helen. Love happens for all sorts of reasons. Certainly theirs is not the first marriage based almost exclusively on mutual attraction, and it won't be the last. Besides, whatever we may think of the royal couple, they do seem right for each other. More important, they are happy, just as the seven Simeons are when they leave the court to return to the wheat field that they love so much. Happiness comes in all forms, but it is certainly more constant when it comes from within.
For me, then, the book is something of a "hit" despite some of its outdated mores. The more I read it, the more I see, and I love that in a work. On a personal note, having been to Russia, I am awed at how Artzybasheff is able to capture the ornate splendor of its palaces and churches using a deceptively simple technique like 4-color line drawing.
I guess the only question is whether what works for the individual reader. The only "criticism" I have -- to the extent that there needs to be one -- is that Seven Simeons is a children's book, and I am not sure how accessible the style or any possible commentary would be to children at a typical "fairy tale" age; nor I am sure that older readers would be drawn to the subject matter. Whether the same was true back in 1938 when there were fewer distractions available to kids, I can't say, but think it very possible that the book can find the right audience today even if it may be more limited. More important, it is more than it seems on its face, and in this way, I think it's a very "modern" book.
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