PFSCL L, 98 DOI 10. / PFSCL-2023-0008 Dismantling Idyllic Love: Reading Madame de Murat’s “Anguillette” as a Counternarrative of Disenchantment N ANCY A RENBERG U NIVERSITY OF A RKANSAS In the closing period of the Classical Age, a group of women writers contributed greatly to the flurry of literary productions, as they were experiencing considerable success in publishing their own fairy tales. These authors, known as the conteuses, were writing mainly for an adult audience, thus deviating from the more classical fairy tales rooted in an oral, folkloric tradition in which an elderly woman is often portrayed telling a story to children. In sharp contrast to these infantilized tales, identified with Charles Perrault, these women authors composed sophisticated, intricate narratives that sparked lively conversation among their aristocratic peers, revolving around moral and socio-political messages that were deftly interpolated into the fabric of their works. It is worth noting that the conteuses composed twothirds of the fairy tales published between 1697-1710, a period when the genre was quite fashionable. The leader of this elite group, Madame d’Aulnoy, published her first fairy tale in 1690 entitled “L’Ile de la félicité,” a text that was incorporated into her novel L’Histoire d’Hypolite. As a friend of Madame d’Aulnoy, the Countess, Henriette-Julie de Murat, contributed greatly as an active writer of this circle, which included Catherine Bernard, Catherine Bédacier, Louise d’Auneuil, Marie-Jeanne Lhéritier de Villandon, and Charlotte-Rose Caumont de La Force. Interestingly, these women often collaborated on their tales and dedicated their work to one another, while inserting intertextual references to the fairy tales of their peers within their narratives. Like her fellow writers, Madame de Murat published most of her fairy tales between 1697 and 1699, but her literary creations were not limited to this genre. A look at her textual productions shows that she composed memoirs (Mémoires de Madame la Comtesse de M*** 1697), and an intriguing collection of ghost stories (Voyage de campagne, 1699). In Nancy Arenberg PFSCL L, 98 DOI 10. / PFSCL-2023-0008 128 addition, she wrote two collections of fairy tales entitled Contes de fées (1698) and Les Nouveaux contes des fées (1698). As an introduction to this study, it is useful to delve into the structure of women’s fairy tales, as the conteuses tended to follow a tightly organized narrative constructed with numerous common elements. Raymonde Robert provides a summary of the general structural framework found in most fairy tales. As she explains, the heroic couple’s encounter with a misfortunate or a misdeed is eventually resolved, with the help of a fairy, so that the couple can overcome significant obstacles to fulfill their destiny of being eternally united in marital bliss. Like Raymonde Robert’s, Vladimir Propp’s morphological analysis of the seminal components found in Russian folk and fairy tales underlines the triumph of the good, for the bad characters, or villains, are punished to ensure the happy outcome of the heroic couple. 1 For Propp, the marriage closure constitutes a reward for having conquered numerous obstacles along the way. In general, the majority of the conteuses’ tales followed this narrative pattern; however, there was a small percentage of texts that deviated from this model. As Bronwyn Reddan notes, there were about 20% of tales that differed from Propp’s model of the happy ending. On the contrary, the destiny of the heroic couple inevitably lead to suffering, and, in some instances, death, thus questioning the conventional norms and moral codes of the times (131). In Madame de Murat’s narratives, there are several fairy tales that reveal a pessimistic view of love, thus dismantling the traditional ending of bliss for the heroic couple. Reddan interprets these unhappy endings as “examples of a pessimism that questioned the gender politics of courtship and marriage in seventeenth-century salon literature” (329). It is important to note that women’s fairy tales came out of the salons, a feminocentric space in which these writers propagated earlier precious views on marriage, which echo Mlle de Scudéry’s call for reforms for the institution of marriage. In particular, Scudéry concentrated on problems such as feminine confinement to the domestic sphere and the enslavement of motherhood. Sophie Raynard adds dimension to the marriage question, for she posits that the conteuses choose the fairy-tale genre to voice their positions on love: “Il s’agit pour elles du mariage d’inclination qu’elles veulent substituer au mariage forcé” (260). To apply these notions to Madame de Murat’s narratives, this critical view of love and marriage constitutes a core problem in some of Murat’s more noteworthy tales: “L’Aigle au beau bec,” “Peine Perdue,” and “Anguillete.” Although several scholars have studied the un- 1 Dismantling Idyllic Love PFSCL L, 98 DOI 10. / PFSCL-2023-0008 129 happy endings of these texts, this essay will not concentrate solely on the outcome of the tale but offer an in-depth analysis of Murat’s “Anguillette.” 2 The focus of this discussion will be placed on how the author dismantles the standard fairy tale of idyllic love to create a story of disenchantment, which can be read as a counternarrative, thereby revealing underlying resistance to mainstream views of love and marriage that shaped women’s lives during the seventeenth century. This study will also consider specific narrative elements within the counternarrative that facilitate the creation of an original space for the author to incorporate a series of lessons to educate women on matters of the heart. Robert’s illuminating work on the fairy-tale genre in seventeenthcentury France sheds light specifically on some of the stylistic characteristics found in Madame de Murat’s narratives. In referencing the tales of Mlle Bernard and Madame de Murat, Robert explains that the misdeed is, in some cases, not necessarily reconciled. As she notes, “il s’agit d’une sorte de retournement de la structure par lequel les conteuses expriment leur pessimisme profond devant le mariage et la passion; donc ce qu’il faut appeler un effet stylistique” (34). To delve into the intricate structure of “Anguillette,” it is possible to identify a subtle inner fold within the fabric of the tale, unveiling some key oppositions in the narrative, all of which break with conventional representations of everlasting love. To look at this through a critical lens, this inner fold resembles, to some extent, Jacque Derrida’s notion of invagination as the edges of the text, the inside and outside borders are reversed, thus creating an internal sense of destabilization. In Living On: Border Lines, Derrida explains that invagination is an “inward refolding […], the inverted reapplication of the outer edge.” (97). To apply this idea to the text, the author dismantles the traditional elements of fairy-tale writing by crafting a series of inversions within the fabric of the narrative, hence revealing the construction of an original counternarrative. As will be discussed, these inversions consist of mythological elements, geographical spaces, and some salient symbols that are repeatedly referenced in the text. Through her innovative use of creating a series of reversals within the body of the main plot, Madame de Murat deviates from the dominant narrative of enchantment by revising this conventional magical ambiance with disenchantment and misfortune. This idea is exemplified in the opening pages of 2 For an analysis of other fairy tales that have an unhappy ending, see Bronwyn Reddan’s article, “Losing Love, Losing Hope: Unhappy Endings in Seventeenth- Century Fairy Tales,” Papers on French Seventeenth-Century Literature 42.83 (2015) 327-337. For further discussion, see Charlotte Trinquet’s article, “Happily Ever After? Not so Easily! Seventeenth-Century Fairy Tales and their Unconventional Endings,” Papers on French Seventeenth-Century Literature 37.72 (2010) 48-51. Nancy Arenberg PFSCL L, 98 DOI 10. / PFSCL-2023-0008 130 “Anguillette,” as Madame de Murat opens the tale by composing a bleak maxim: “Quelque grandeur où le destin élève ceux qu’il favorise, il n’est point de félicité exempte de véritables chagrins” (85). With her emphasis on destin and chagrin in the passage, the author not only sets the tone for the tale but creates a frame for her text, establishing feminine suffering as a central theme for her unfolding story of unrequited love. In the first few pages of the narrative, the author introduces the initial encounter between the princess Plousine and the fairy, Anguillette, who has transformed herself into an eel but has been captured by a fisherman. She, in turn, was moved to a pond on the king’s property and was inevitably destined to be one of the main dishes at a royal dinner that evening. However, Plousine noticed her shiny, beautiful form in the pond and saved her from the dreaded fisherman’s net. In exchange for being spared this violent fate, Anguillette promises Plousine that she will grant her three wishes, one of which includes providing her with great wealth. Faithful to her word, Anguillete’s first wish is to bestow intelligence on the young princess. Here, Madame de Murat subtly interweaves a message directed to women, highlighting the importance of cultivating a sharp mind, a quality shared by her fellow conteuses. In the tale, this notion is articulated through the voice of Murat’s good fairy: “Je vous sais si bon gré, continua la gracieuse Anguillette, du choix que vous avez fait préférablement à la beauté qui flatte tant une personne de votre âge, que pour vous en récompenser je vous donnerai la beauté que vous avez aujourd’hui si sagement négligée” (87). 3 At this juncture, the author subtly intervenes in the text to add: “le choix de l’esprit était un effet de sa raison” (87). The reference to the word raison reinforces Murat’s philosophical aspect of the story, which is shown by creating the concise statement above, resembling a maxim. With these illuminating words, the author underscores the importance of women making rational choices in their lives. The second wish that Plousine asks for is the gift of beauty, which Anguillette had generously agreed to grant her because she initially did not choose beauty over intellect. Here, Anguillette’s decision also points to the concealed authorial presence of Madame de Murat who demonstrates a prowoman stance by advocating for an active, intelligent mind. In any case, the fairy gives Plousine the choice to determine what kind of beauty she wishes to receive as a gift. To select her ideal representation of beauty, Plousine studies a series of classical portraits in the king’s palace and decides to reinvent herself in the image of the Greek goddess, Hébé. By modeling her 3 Henriette-Julie de Castelnau, Comtesse de Murat, Contes. (Paris: Honoré Champion, 2006). All subsequent notes are incorporated into the text. Dismantling Idyllic Love PFSCL L, 98 DOI 10. / PFSCL-2023-0008 131 ideal of beauty after one of these classical figures in the portraits, Plousine seems to represent a simulacrum of one of these mythological images, shown by altering her original identity. To add dimension to this idea, it is worth delving into the classical representation of Hébé, as Plousine chooses to take the name of the daughter of Zeus and his wife Hera. According to Greek mythology, Hébé was a beautiful woman whose role was to serve nectar and ambrosia to the Olympians. She was believed to possess the ability to restore youth and thus was recognized as the Goddess of eternal youth. It is important to point out that ambrosia was an elixir that was considered a life force, a powerful substance that could even confer immortality. With this choice, the young princess seals her wish, which comes to fruition with the aid of Anguillette’s magical powers. But much to her surprise, the princess’s new identity as Hébé causes jealousy and hatred among her sisters. The third wish can be interpreted as the most salient one because it introduces the main obstacle for the princess to find happiness. Although Hébé has dazzled most of the family with her remarkable beauty, she is still not content and thus returns to the pond to seek out Anguillette’s advice and assistance. As the princess confesses, “Je ne sais ce que je désire, répondit la charmante Hébé; je sens pourtant, continua-t-elle en baissant ses beaux yeux, qu’il me manque quelque chose, et que ce qui me manque est absolument nécessaire à mon bonheur” (91). The emphasis on the verb manquer, which is repeated twice, points to a key element in the construction of the tale’s narrative framework. According to Propp, a lack is a significant element in tale writing, especially if the story does not contain a villain. From his structural perspective, the lack serves as a counterpart, a replacement for the absence of a villain in the narrative, while signifying a situation (76). Propp’s notion is exemplified by Hébé’s internal lack of dissatisfaction, which constitutes the main problematic situation in the text. Propp also notes that a lack can be fulfilled through the intervention of an intermediary character. In this tale, it is Anguillette who plays this role, as she quickly gleans that the princess is lacking love (243). As Anguillette explains to the young princess, “c’est de l’amour que vous désirez, cette passion peut seule faire penser aussi bizarrement que vous faites. Dangereuse disposition! ” (91). Although the fairy recognizes that love is natural, her tone changes by interjecting these words: “mais je vous avertis que vous m’invoquerez en vain pour faire cesser cette passion fatale que vous croyez un bonheur si doux, mon pouvoir ne s’étend pas jusque-là” (91-2). From his morphological perspective, Propp reads a warning in a tale as an integral component of the interdiction that is interwoven into the fabric of the text. According to him, an interdiction can be defined as a piece of advice, a Nancy Arenberg PFSCL L, 98 DOI 10. / PFSCL-2023-0008 132 suggestion, or even a request (26-7). Above all, Propp explains that an interdiction is interpreted as a violation, a key notion that will resurface in the narrative. In Murat’s tale, Anguillette seems to impart not only an admonition but offers her advice to the young and inexperienced princess. In “Anguillette,” Propp’s notion of the interdiction, representing a piece of advice, is illustrated by the reference to the phrase dangereuse inclination (noted above). Above all, Anguillette acts as a spokeswoman for the author’s philosophical position on the destabilizing power of love. In any case, it is the verb avertir that signals a shift to an ominous tone, for love is not only dangerous but, from Murat’s perspective, it is infused with fatality. In the passage above, the author incorporates an important textual opposition between the bliss of love and the fatality of passion, thus underscoring a key inversion in the overarching framework of the narrative. With this warning in mind, Murat introduces the main situation in the narrative by introducing the love object to the princess, an unknown prince from a neighboring kingdom. However, the prince, whose name is Atimir, is initially smitten by Hébé’s sister, the alluring Ilérie, which, creates a love triangle, amplifying the more somber elements of the ensuing drama among the three characters. In any event, when Atimir sees Hébé for the first time, he is enchanted by her stunning beauty; thus his feelings for Ilérie soon begin to wane, producing great suffering for Ilérie. With this character, the author inserts another key reversal in the narrative, as the prince in most tales is often portrayed as an honorable, trustworthy suitor. In sharp contrast, Atimir’s immediate admiration of Hébé’s beauty emphasizes the inconstant aspect of his character, as he wastes no time in shifting his interest away from her sister. Mirroring La Rochefoucauld’s pessimistic view of love, rescripted here in the feminine, the author seems to issue a subtle warning to women—to be aware of charming men who demonstrate disingenuous courtly behavior. In the text, Hébé’s reaction to Atimir’s attentiveness recalls Anguillette’s wise warning about love: “son destin la forçait d’aimer, et la fée l’abandonnait au penchant de son coeur” (94). The word destin suggests that the force of this love hinders the princess’s ability to be guided by reason to resist these emotions. As Murat describes it, “son coeur acheva de prendre ce poison si doux et si dangereux dont lui avait parlé la fée” (94). In the passage, the passion that fills her heart is described as a sweet poison, a comparison that not only highlights Anguillette’s warning but reveals a revision of Hébé’s mythological namesake. As noted above, the Greek goddess was entrusted with the task of offering a cup of ambrosia and nectar to the gods. These sweet elixirs were viewed in a positive way, signifying a life force. However, the liquid imagery, identified with Hébé’s role in Greek mythology, is modified in the text, for it does not symbolize a Dismantling Idyllic Love PFSCL L, 98 DOI 10. / PFSCL-2023-0008 133 source of life but rather a sweet and dangerous poison, as noted in the passage above. With the revision of this fluid image, the author intensifies the gloomy atmosphere, as it permeates the unfolding interaction between the two sisters and the prince. Madame de Murat heightens the tension between the two sisters and the prince when the king gives his consent for Atimir to marry Hébé, which points to a political advantage—peace in their two respective kingdoms. However, Atimir’s impending marriage only creates more suffering and unrequited love for Ilérie. While on a walk, Atimir overhears Ilérie talking to her ladies, lamenting her destiny to lose her prince to her sister. On the ground, Atimir inadvertently discovers a small book, belonging to Ilérie, which contains her personal reflections. As he reads her private thoughts, he is captivated by a drawing of Cupid ingraved upon the pages. According to classical mythology, Cupid represents the God of Love, but he also had a darker side, identified with suffering. In Murat’s tale, Atimir stumbles upon this more somber image of Cupid: “il vit un chiffre formé de double A, couronné de myrte, et soutenu par deux petits Amours, dont l’un paraissait essuyer ses larmes avec son bandeau, et l’autre brisait ses flèches” (96). It is important to point out that Lewis Seifert’s and Domna Stanton’s English version of this tale translates Amours as Cupid and captures the bleaker side of Cupid in a strikingly powerful way: Fearsome Cupid made me see your charms They’ve troubled the peace of my quiet heart. Ah! What injustice is yours? Cruel one, you test on me the arrows You would use to wound another. (248-9) These intriguing textual descriptions point to Murat’s inversion of some key mythological elements, as she highlights the image of Cupid’s broken arrows, thereby deviating from the more familiar representation of him shooting arrows to magically bring couples together. In later versions of the Greek myth, Cupid, also known as Eros, had two types of arrows—those that struck lovers with passion and those with lead tips that could inflict suffering and even feelings of repulsion for the desired object. 4 Most importantly, the author develops the counternarrative here, as she enhances the image of the broken arrows to emphasize suffering, which is shown by the verb wound and the noun injustice. It is with this innovative reversal of a key mythological element that the author succeeds in dismantling the more common tale of idyllic bliss, shifting it, in Ilérie’s predicament, to un- 4 For more information on Cupid, see https: / / greekgodsandgoddesses.net/ gods/ cupid. Nancy Arenberg PFSCL L, 98 DOI 10. / PFSCL-2023-0008 134 requited love and profound misfortune. As he reads Ilérie’s words imprinted upon the pages, Atimir also confronts his own true feelings: “ces vers le firent souvenir qu’avant l’arrivée d’Hébé à la cour, il avait trouvé Ilérie aimable; il commença à se regarder comme infidèle à cette princesse […] mais son coeur était accoutumé à être volage, et rarement peut-on se corriger d’une si dangereuse habitude” (97). Here, the author, once again, seems to intervene in the narrative to convey a message to women, predicated on inherent gender differences, exemplified by the prince’s predisposition towards infidelity. It is interesting that the author interweaves her warning to women into the tale from the perspective of her male character who recognizes his inherent fickle nature. In the passage above, it is as if the author were concealed behind Atimir to launch her criticism of his disloyal nature by appropriating his masculine position. Patricia Hannon adds perspective on this question of authorial presence. As she observes, women’s tales “may be conceived of as a theater for staging authorial identity” (18). Throughout the unfolding tale, there are numerous textual instances in which Murat’s veiled authorial presence subtly permeates her text, an innovative technique in which she creates a space to articulate her message to her female audience. To return to the text, this pivotal moment, described in the passage above, causes Atimir to reconsider and go back to Ilérie, as the two secretly flee the kingdom. In the wake of the couple’s disappearance, the misfortune is redirected to Hébé who was supposed to marry the prince. The disheartened princess returns to the river to search for Anguillette to alleviate her suffering, but, to her great disappointment, she does not make herself visible in the water. This abandonment signifies an important moment in the narrative and, above all, is related to Propp’s theory of the interdiction, a key structural element in the construction of the tale. According to him, the interdiction becomes increasingly important if it is violated, which is textually exemplified by Hébé’s inability to heed Anguillette’s warning that love can be fatal. It is only when the king advises his heartbroken daughter to choose another husband that the fairy reappears, as she encourages the princess to leave her father’s kingdom to travel to an exotic destination to forget her unfortunate amorous experience. Once again, Anguillette issues another admonition to the suffering Hébé: “songez, ajouta Anguillette en haussant la voix, quand votre coeur sera redevenu tranquille, à ne chercher jamais la présence fatale d’Atimir, il vous en coûterait la vie” (100). Here, the fairy’s words are infused with an ominous tone, as she predicts the fatal outcome in the event the young princess is tempted to reunite with Atimir. At this pivotal juncture of the tale, the princess sets sail on a ship called Liberté to travel to L’Ile Paisible, a remote island, situated within the space of Dismantling Idyllic Love PFSCL L, 98 DOI 10. / PFSCL-2023-0008 135 the marvelous, a place where Anguillette practices the magical gift of healing broken hearts. As seen in Madame d’Aulnoy’s innovative utopia, L’Ile de la félicité, Murat, too, incorporates an alternate space, an idealized territory, into her tale. In referencing Madame d’Aulnoy’s island utopia, Anne Duggan observes that Aulnoy’s utopias “may be characterized as matriarchal” (200). Duggan’s notion is germane to the configuration of the island, as Anguillette is the only one who wields power on Peaceful Island, underscoring the author’s creation of a gynecea. There is also an interesting gender implication here, one that is linked to another key inversion embedded within the fabric of the counternarrative. On a structural level, the tale’s edges seem to fold back to erase the patriarchal presence of the overbearing father in favor of matriarchal power. This idea is exemplified by Anguillette who switches roles with Hébé’s father, as she is cast in the masculine role of taking on the responsibility for the princess’s well-being and protection. Most importantly, Duggan also points out that Aulnoy’s utopias are places in which relations between men and women are predicated on harmony, equality, and reciprocity (200). In her version of utopia, Murat enhances the story by introducing a new character, the Prince of Peaceful Island, into this harmonious space; he is also a relative of Anguillette’s. Interestingly, the author pens a revision of a famous scene from Perrault’s “La Belle au bois dormant.” On a leisurely walk in the woods, the prince stumbles upon the sleeping Hébé and awakens her from her serene slumber. When she opens her eyes, Hébé is astonished by the prince’s striking physical beauty and the elegance of his sartorial finery. It is as if she were gazing into a mirror reflection of her own stunning beauty: “Il était de même âge qu’Hébé, il avait alors dix-neuf ans; sa beauté était parfaite” (102). To create the setting for their introduction to one another, Murat incorporates a pastoral backdrop that harks back to a much earlier time in the century, evoking a nostalgic longing for escape to a beautiful, peaceful environment. 5 As Ian MacLean observes, the natural, idyllic landscapes found in pastoral narratives lent itself to freeing men and women “from traditional beliefs and conventions” (157). Indeed, the author scripts her version of an ideal geographical space, a place of serenity, in which the prince is adorned in pale feathers and sumptuous jewels. There are numerous descriptions of flowing, tranquil waters and many types of exotic birds that enrich the peaceful atmosphere of this island refuge. Above all, it is the preponderance of feathers interwoven into the attire of the guards 5 Lewis C. Seifert, Fairy Tales, Sexuality, and Gender in France, 1690-1715. (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1996). Nancy Arenberg PFSCL L, 98 DOI 10. / PFSCL-2023-0008 136 and servants that is emblematic of this utopic space, representing freedom and everlasting bliss. Empowered by her confidence that the young princess’s heart is mended by her magic in concert with the curative powers of this island refuge, it is no surprise that Anguillette wastes no time in making plans for the princess to wed the prince. Although Hébé is fond of the kind, handsome prince and is not opposed to this union, the passionate spark is missing, which recalls Propp’s morphological concept of the lack in fairy tales. As the author describes, “Elle n’avait pas pour lui ce penchant involontaire qu’elle avait senti pour Atimir” (108). Even though Hébé does not love the attentive prince, she recognizes that he has many attributes, hence is worthy as an appropriate partner. Within this ideal space, the text reveals another key gender reversal, as Anguillette not only appropriates the paternal role in arranging this perfect marriage but informs the princess that she has already received the consent of the king. But before she weds the prince, Anguillette asks the princess to promise that she will never try to see Atimir again: “Souvenez-vous au moins de vos promesses, reprit Anguillette d’un air qui imprimait du respect; vous périrez avec Atimir, si vous cherchez jamais à le revoir” (105). Here, it is important to note the emphasis on the verb périr because the interdiction predicts the outcome if the princess ever attempts to physically encounter Atimir. In any event, Hébé promises to abide by Anguillette’s wish: “Que ne promit point à la fée la jeune princesse! Que de serments contre l’amour et contre son amant infidèle” (105). To read these passages on a more theoretical level, through the lens of Derrida’s notion of invagination, the pages of the tale seem to fold back, enabling the author to carve out an original space in which she can freely articulate her position on the dangers of passionate love, and, in so doing, she disseminates a subtle message to her feminine audience to be cognizant of the grave consequences of masculine fickleness. It is this more pessimistic view of love that highlights the counternarrative within the architectonics of the tale, exemplified by the young princess’s experience of profound disenchantment. Most importantly, the author places her emphasis on the irrational power of the passions to dominate the mind, a force which threatens to hinder a woman’s ability to be guided by reason. To offset this foreboding atmosphere, the author inserts a more uplifting tone to celebrate the marriage between Hébé and the Prince of Peaceful Island. With this ceremony, the text reveals yet another interesting inversion, enabling the author to interpolate another pro-woman stance on love and marriage, a topic that was widely discussed in the salons and among the conteuses. Within this idealized space, Murat interpolates a radical perspective about conjugal relationships in which she offers her own unique Dismantling Idyllic Love PFSCL L, 98 DOI 10. / PFSCL-2023-0008 137 formula for a happy marriage. In the text, Anguillette, again, serves as a spokeswoman for the author’s philosophical position: “Anguillette, qui avait bâti ce temple, voulut que tout y fût simple, pour marquer que l’amour seul pourrait rendre l’hymen heureux” (108). It is the emphasis on love as the essential ingredient for ensuring a happy marriage that points to a salient deviation from the cultural norm, revolving around the concept that marriage and love were not considered as mutually compatible in marriages of the day. In referencing the latter part of the century, DeJean provides insight on the emergence of a new conception of the institution in which a modern marriage is predicated on a union founded on “equality and sentiment” (114). In a similar way, Murat seems to point to the shift to a “modern” conception of marriage, as she proposes a new perspective. Above all, she revises the traditional view of the institution by highlighting the idea, as noted in the passage above, that love constitutes the essential element to guarantee eternal happiness for couples. In harmony with the philosophy of the précieuses in the first part of the Classical Age, the author subscribes to the idea that women could choose mariages d’inclination. As another radical revision, Murat uses the utopic space of the island to empower Anguillette to articulate her vision of a more ideal state of matrimony. She bestows Anguillette with the power to modify the negative image of the male gender’s inconstant nature, which is shown by another inversion. As she writes, “et contre la coutume des autres royaumes, on y pouvait être époux, amoureux et constant” (108). With these words, Murat revises the gendered defect in men, represented by the idea that a good husband who is truly in love will be faithful to his wife. Here again, Murat constructs an innovative space, within the utopic parameters of her invented Peaceful Island, to reconfigure gender roles. From the author’s perspective, this revision of the loyal husband represents the hope of reducing feminine suffering caused by masculine fickleness. This lengthy interlude on Peaceful Island creates a respite from the tension from the princess’s unresolved feelings for Atimir. However, the rhythm of the text picks up with significant development in the intrigue. The bliss of the couple’s joyful marital ceremony soon wanes after the princess learns her sister has wed Atimir and has received the approval of the king and queen. Hébé longs to return home after she learns Atimir and her sister are visiting her father’s kingdom. This event signifies a pivotal moment in the tale, as Hébé’s heart, ostensibly healed by Anguillette’s magical powers, is now at risk of renewed suffering. With this unsettling conflict, the tranquil, luminous island atmosphere fades to somber tones, as the princess views the island as a prison in which she is held captive from traveling to her native kingdom. This image of confinement reveals another Nancy Arenberg PFSCL L, 98 DOI 10. / PFSCL-2023-0008 138 manifestation of the counternarrative in which the author reverses the utopic configuration of the island, as she alters it to represent a space of exile and isolation. In any event, Hébé conveys her desire to her husband to travel to her father’s kingdom, but the prince abides by Anguillete’s rules not to leave this place of refuge: “Anguillette lui avait défendu de laisser sortir Hébé de son royaume” (109). At long last, Hébé finally persuades her husband to leave Peaceful Island, triggering Anguillette’s anger, which, in turn, points to another salient infraction of Propp’s idea of the interdiction within the tale. As Murat writes, “La sage Anguillette, indignée du peu de respect qu’Hébé et le prince de l’île Paisible avaient pour ses ordres, les abandonna à leur destinée, et ne parut point leur donner de ses sages conseils, dont ils avaient si peu profité” (109). It is important to note that Anguillette refuses to intervene because they have violated her rules, thus leaving the couple to their own devices to grapple with their destinée. The repeated references to either destin or destinée reinforce the princess’s disregard for Anguillette’s rules, all of which foreshadow dire consequences, highlighting the overarching thematic of disenchantment. In the passage above, the sudden shift in tone creates an opening in the text in which Murat incorporates a veiled philosophical message into the tale. Here, she suggests that women must listen to wise advice and be mindful of passion, for it threatens to not only usurp their reason but to lead to profound unhappiness and suffering. In the latter part of the tale, Hébé and her husband return to her native kingdom and inevitably encounter Ilérie and Atimir. However, the return to Hébé’s home is not described as a joyous reunion, as it is fraught with tension. Murat creates a textual recapitulation of several salient elements, linked to the counternarrative, to reverse the more common narrative in which heroic princes and princesses are ultimately reunited after conquering significant obstacles. On the contrary, the author rejects this popular formula through the creation of a conflict in which she reprises a key mythological element, the image of Cupid. In this instance, she revises the God of Love, again in a dark way, revealing a variation from the earlier reference to Cupid in the tale. The allusion to Cupid appears in the tournament episode in the latter part of the narrative. In this scene, the Prince of Peaceful Island and Atimir compete in a jousting competition to win an ornately jeweled sword and a diamond bracelet to be awarded by Hébé and her sister. As the two men prepare for the competition, the author draws the reader’s attention to the image of Cupid engraved upon the Prince of Peaceful Island’s shield. Mirroring the Duke of Nemours in the tournament scene in La Princesse de Clèves, he is elegantly attired and wearing the color rose, which is emblematic of his beloved Hébé: “un coeur Dismantling Idyllic Love PFSCL L, 98 DOI 10. / PFSCL-2023-0008 139 percé d’une flèche; un petit Amour en lançait un grand nombre, pour essayer d’y faire de nouvelles blessures” (111). 6 As noted in a previous passage, Murat deviates from the more common image of Amour (Cupid) to accentuate the sinister side, represented by the image of the arrows that are intended to inflict wounds (blessures). Curiously, the description of Atimir resembles the Prince of Peaceful Island, for he, too, is wearing rose feathers, signifying his illicit love for Hébé. He also carries a shield: “Sur son écu, qu’il portait lui-même, paraissait un Amour qui foulait des chaînes sous ses pieds, et qui s’en attachait d’autres fort pesantes” (112). This image of Cupid trampling the chains under his feet, while attaching additional heavier ones, highlights the phallic competition between the two princes. Atimir wishes to emerge victorious from the tournament, hence trampling upon his opponent’s hold on Hébé as her husband. In addition, Atimir hopes to symbolically attach stronger chains that will capture her heart. However, the Prince of Peaceful Island engages in a legitimate battle to demonstrate his devotion to his beloved wife, whereas Atimir fights for an illegitimate love, since he is already married and had previously proved himself to be an unfaithful suitor. Although Atimir ultimately wins multiple rounds of the tournament, the Prince of Peaceful Island’s anger is triggered, motivating him to challenge his rival to another encounter, a duel. In recognition of his formidable jousting skills, Atimir receives the jeweled sword, which is awarded to him by Hébé. In this episode, the sword represents another key object in the counternarrative, as it does not signify the idea of saving the princess by eliminating evil characters, as seen in most “happy” fairy tales. In sharp contrast, it is a foreboding indicator of the possibility that the Prince of Peaceful Island may lose his legal claim to her as her husband in the forthcoming duel. After the jousting scene, Murat directs the reader’s focus to Hébé who is quite cognizant of the battle for her heart that the two men fought in the presence of the king and queen. She does encounter Atimir but only to tell him never to see her again. With these words, she seems to articulate Anguillette’s order on the island, but it is too late; the duel has already been arranged between the two princes. Most importantly, the tense competition scene rekindles Hébé’s conflicted emotions, thereby undoing Anguillette’s attempt at healing her suffering heart on the island. In her desperation, the princess invokes Anguillette: “Impitoyable fée, s’écria-t-elle, tu m’avais prédit que la mort, si je revoyais ce malheureux prince; et les maux que je sens sont bien plus cruels que la perte de la vie” (115). The passage underlines the omnipresence of fatality, as shown by the symmetry between 6 Seifert 132. Nancy Arenberg PFSCL L, 98 DOI 10. / PFSCL-2023-0008 140 the words la mort and la perte de la vie. Here, the main source of the princess’ s pain is closely linked to the fairy’s numerous warnings to her about the fatality of love, which, in preceding scenes, was amplified by the repeated references to destin and destinée. These ominous words come to fruition when Atimir is killed and the Prince of Peaceful Island is gravely wounded in the duel but not killed (unbeknownst to Hébé). Murat intensifies the somber atmosphere of this scene through an effective use of symbolism. Here, the sword, the mortal signifier, is associated with feminine suffering, as Hébé, who thinks both of her suitors are dead, throws herself upon the ill-fated sword: “Précieuses vies qui venez d’être sacrifiées pour moi, s’écria douloureusement Hébé, je vais vous venger par la perte de la mienne! ” (116). As she plunges the sword into her breast, Murat, once again, heightens the counternarrative by radically revising the “happy ending” to accentuate her pessimistic view of love. In fact, she mirrors a Racinian tragedy in a scene that is loosely reminiscent of Hermione’s suicide in Andromaque. This intertextual connection is buttressed by the image of Hermione and Hébé who seek vengeance for the death of their respective objects of desire. But driven by passion, which usurps their reason, the two women ultimately turn the sword upon themselves. In the passage above, Hébé cries out for vengeance by sacrificing herself, as the author places the textual emphasis on the idea of loss. Once again, the idea of perte points to the function of the lack in the tale’s construction, as noted earlier in Propp’s morphological theory. For the princess, the lack is identified with her unrequited love for Atimir, the seminal element within the counternarrative which deconstructs idyllic bliss, to rescript it with acute suffering and everlasting disenchantment. Murat creates a stylistic accumulation in the closure of the tale by recapitulating the notions of destiny and fatality that inevitably lead to the princess’s tragic demise. At the close of the tale, Anguillette resurfaces to turn the ill-fated lovers, Hébé and Atimir, into two majestic trees that she names Charmes. This metamorphosis can be interpreted as either a way of paying homage to the couple’s doomed love, which will live on, or as a funereal shrine, an important element of the counternarrative. 7 Once again, there is a subtle inversion in the fabric of the narrative, revealing the bleaker aspect of the tale. The image of the trees, embodying the two lovers, can be read as a monument that does not immortalize their tale of unrequited love but rather shrouds their misfortune in the shadows of tragedy. Exploring this 7 There is a similar metamorphosis in Madame d’Aulnoy’s “Le Nain jaune.” See p. 509 in the original fairy tale. Also see Seifert’s analysis of “Le Nain jaune” on pp. 130-1 of Fairy Tales, Sexuality, and Gender in France, 1690-1715. Dismantling Idyllic Love PFSCL L, 98 DOI 10. / PFSCL-2023-0008 141 notion on a stylistic level, Murat seems to carve out an innovative space in which she can articulate her pessimistic view of love, while conveying a moral message to her feminine audience, emphasizing the repercussions of falling victim to a fickle, disingenuous man. As Geneviève Patard observes, Murat is identified with a more modern viewpoint, as she encourages women to “prendre leur place dans le processus de progression d’une culture moderne” (278). In any case, the author interweaves a warning into the tale, one that underscores the fatal power of love, a force that can ultimately destroy a woman’s ability to reason. At the same time, Murat exposes the problem of unhappiness that couples experience in marital relationships. In Hébé’s case, her disenchantment is defined by feelings of unfulfillment with the Prince of Peaceful Island. With this critical view of marriage, the author appears to advocate for marital reforms, shown by inserting a subtle tone of resistance in her message to her readers. Most importantly, she seems to disseminate her position as a “Modern” to other women by calling for a Cartesian approach to moderating the passions. As Erica Harth notes, “The Cartesian woman, from the early seventeenth century through the eighteenth, spoke as both a rational “Modern” and a woman.” (6). As shown in this study, Madame de Murat’s “Anguillette” is an intriguing tale, a somber narrative that differs radically from the norm found in most fairy tales of the period. At the nexus of Murat’s tale is an intricately crafted narrative in which the inversions within the counternarrative dismantle the more common elements that culminate in the triumphant reunion of the prince and princess. On the contrary, the author deviates from this formula to replace the couple’s idyllic bliss, typically exemplified by the marriage outcome, with suffering and profound disenchantment. From a cultural perspective, the bleakness of her views on love and marriage mirrors the pessimistic atmosphere of the waning years at the close of the century, as aristocrats struggled to maintain their mondain values and principles of sociability. 8 As a “Modern” conteuse, Murat’s textual productions point to the shift in epistemology at the dawn of the Enlightenment by insisting on a more rational approach to love and matrimony. In this way, she paves the way for women philosophers like Madame de Graffigny who would liberate women from the shackles of marriage by envisioning a true utopia for women—a space offering them choices and, at long last, the promise of independence. 8 Patricia Hannon, Fabulous Identities: Women’s Fairy Tales in Seventeenth-Century France. (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 1998) 211. 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