The Seven Wives of Bluebeard 1920 — Edition Insights

Satirical Reversal of the Fairy-Tale Villain

France's Bluebeard, Monsieur de Montragoux, is 'the happiest of men' after his marriage, adoring his wife and regarding her 'as an angel of purity.' The narrator undercuts this by noting she was 'something quite different.' The traditional test of the forbidden chamber is absent from the excerpts; instead, the tension comes from the wife's lover, the Chevalier de la Merlus, who 'kept as close to Madame de Montragoux as if he had been her shadow.' Bluebeard's jealousy is mild—he is 'a little annoyed' but accepts the lover as a foster-brother.

The practical jokes played on him—irritant powder in his bed, a jug of water over his door—are described with comic detail. Bluebeard 'bore them with his natural good humour.' This is a far cry from Perrault's murderous ogre. France's satire targets the credulity of readers who accept the fairy-tale version without question.

Historical Revisionism as Narrative Frame

The narrator presents himself as a biographer correcting errors. He cites Perrault's account as possibly prejudiced, comparing it to Tacitus's portrayal of Tiberius and Shakespeare's Macbeth—both 'painted much blacker than the reality.' This meta-fictional stance invites readers to question the source material. France even supplies a motive for Bluebeard's journey: not a trap, but a legitimate inheritance from a cousin killed 'gloriously by a cannon-ball at the battle of the Dunes, while casting dice upon a drum.'

The mock-scholarly apparatus includes footnotes and references to invented historians. The effect is a playful undermining of authority, suggesting that the 'true' story is more banal and comic than the legend. The catalog subject 'Husband and wife -- Fiction' is apt, but the excerpts show a focus on marital deception rather than domestic violence.

Wealth, Performance, and the Economics of Marriage

France dwells on the material trappings of the wedding: the bride's dress 'entirely point de France,' her sister in green velvet embroidered with gold, the mother in 'golden tissue, trimmed with black chenille.' Bluebeard wears 'all his great diamonds on a suit of black velvet.' Yet immediately after the ceremony, 'the Jews who had hired out ... all these fine clothes and rich jewels resumed possession of them and posted back to Paris.'

This detail punctures the grandeur. The wedding is a theatrical performance financed by credit. The anti-Semitic stereotype is jarring to modern readers but reflects the period's casual prejudice. The economic subtext—that Bluebeard's wealth may be borrowed, that the marriage is a transaction—adds a layer of satire to the romantic plot. The catalog subject 'French fiction -- Translations into English' is accurate, but the work's tone is closer to ironic fable than straightforward fantasy.

Readers expecting a horror story will find instead a comedy of manners. France's Bluebeard is a dupe, not a monster, and the wives are agents of their own schemes. The excerpts do not reveal whether the famous chamber or the bloody key appear; the narrative may subvert those expectations entirely. Approach this as a playful exercise in historical revisionism, where the fairy tale is turned inside out by a narrator who delights in debunking myths.

There’s something tender in how Anatole France lets Bluebeard keep his dignity, even as the old story slips away from him. It reminds me of reading about Joan of Arc—another figure rewritten by history’s hand, less myth than memory. I found myself thinking of The Executioner's Knife; Or, Joan of Arc — A Reader’s Guide afterward, the way it lingers on what gets lost in retelling.