There was once a man who had fine houses, both in town and country, a deal of silver and gold plate, embroidered furniture, and coaches gilded all over with gold. But this man was so unlucky as to have a blue beard, which made him so frightfully ugly that all the women and girls ran away from him.
One of his neighbors, a lady of quality, had two daughters who were perfect beauties. He desired of her one of them in marriage, leaving to her choice which of the two she would bestow on him. Neither of them would have him, and they sent him backwards and forwards from one to the other, not being able to bear the thoughts of marrying a man who had a blue beard. Adding to their disgust and aversion was the fact that he already had been married to several wives, and nobody knew what had become of them.
Bluebeard, to engage their affection, took them, with their mother and three or four ladies of their acquaintance, with other young people of the neighborhood, to one of his country houses, where they stayed a whole week.
The time was filled with parties, hunting, fishing, dancing, mirth, and feasting. Nobody went to bed, but all passed the night in rallying and joking with each other. In short, everything succeeded so well that the youngest daughter began to think that the man’s beard was not so very blue after all, and that he was a mighty civil gentleman.
As soon as they returned home, the marriage was concluded. About a month afterwards, Bluebeard told his wife that he was obliged to take a country journey for six weeks at least, about affairs of very great consequence. He desired her to divert herself in his absence, to send for her friends and acquaintances, to take them into the country, if she pleased, and to make good cheer wherever she was.
“Here,” said he,” are the keys to the two great wardrobes, wherein I have my best furniture. These are to my silver and gold plate, which is not everyday in use. These open my strongboxes, which hold my money, both gold and silver; these my caskets of jewels. And this is the master key to all my apartments. But as for this little one here, it is the key to the closet at the end of the great hall on the ground floor. Open them all; go into each and every one of them, except that little closet, which I forbid you, and forbid it in such a manner that, if you happen to open it, you may expect my just anger and resentment.”
“Honestly,” she said, “I’m more than happy to observe whatever boundaries you ask me to honor, but it feels a little harsh, to me, when you detail future punishments for hypothetical transgressions without giving me the opportunity to show up for you in our relationship.”
And Bluebeard said, Oh my God, I had no idea, but of course that’s how you experienced it. I can see that now. I was so afraid of being disappointed that I failed to give you the opportunity to meet my expectations.
“We have to take all possible futures into account,” the damsel told him. “I can acknowledge your wounds without taking responsibility for them.”
And Bluebeard said, Thank you for this dialogue. I feel truly known. We’ve really interrupted a cycle of negative self-talk I hadn’t even realized I was trapped in.
She promised to observe, very exactly, whatever he had ordered. Then he, after having embraced her, got into his coach and proceeded on his journey.
Her neighbors and good friends did not wait to be sent for by the newly married lady. They were impatient to see all the rich furniture of her house, and had not dared to come while her husband was there, because of his blue beard, which frightened them. They ran through all the rooms, closets, and wardrobes, which were all so fine and rich that they seemed to surpass one another.
After that, they went up into the two great rooms, which contained the best and richest furniture. They could not sufficiently admire the number and beauty of the tapestry, beds, couches, cabinets, stands, tables, and looking glasses, in which you might see yourself from head to foot; some of them were framed with glass, others with silver, plain and gilded, the finest and most magnificent that they had ever seen.
They ceased not to extol and envy the happiness of their friend, who in the meantime in no way diverted herself in looking upon all these rich things, because of the impatience she had to go and open the closet on the ground floor. She was so much pressed by her curiosity that, without considering that it was very uncivil for her to leave her company, she went down a little back staircase, and with such excessive haste that she nearly fell and broke her neck.
Having come to the closet door, she made a stop for some time, thinking about her husband’s orders, and considering what unhappiness might attend her if she was disobedient.
Is this really about the room? she asked herself. Or is this about me? Why do I feel like I have to go into spaces I haven’t been invited to? Is this a privilege thing? What am I acting out here? Am I trying to reenact a violation I’ve experienced elsewhere in an attempt to absolve myself of culpability, or cast myself in the familiar role of transgressor?
You need to apply your own oxygen mask first before you self-sabotage, she reminded herself, and went back downstairs. Just because everything’s going right doesn’t mean something’s wrong.
Bluebeard returned from his journey the same evening, saying that he had received letters upon the road, informing him that the affair he went about had concluded to his advantage.
“If I’m honest,” Bluebeard said, “I want to ask you for the keys back right away, and to ask about the locked room, because I’m so convinced you’re going to repeat the betrayal I’m most afraid of that I want to get it over with as quickly as possible.”
“But that’s not my best self,” he added. She smiled.
“You never need to use a lock to keep something private,” she told him. “All you have to do is ask. Respect is the only lock that we need.”
No one ever went into that room again, because you don’t have to justify your No to make it meaningful. No is enough by itself. They were very happy together. The kind of happy where they both knew the passwords to each other’s phones, but never used them. “Do you mind if I use your phone?” they’d always ask. Just because you can go somewhere doesn’t mean you have to.
Mallory is an Editor of The Toast.
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Es_Petal 120p · 473 weeks ago
djm527 147p · 473 weeks ago
ramina 119p · 473 weeks ago
Eris 121p · 473 weeks ago
ToastiewithCheese 120p · 473 weeks ago
ppyajunebug 137p · 473 weeks ago
Xolandra 116p · 473 weeks ago
l'inconnue · 473 weeks ago
houblonchouffe 123p · 473 weeks ago
RudyRed 124p · 473 weeks ago
kourei 130p · 473 weeks ago
zachariahary 147p · 473 weeks ago
She's just trying to comfort us, to make us feel warm and safe; slowly stitching back together the tatters of our mangled hearts so she can, with gleeful malice, rend them apart anew.
It's just like when my sister was teaching me to ride a bike. Each time down the hill she'd promise me, she'd promise, she wouldn't let go. And every time she would. And every time I'd whiz screaming, betrayed, into the wall of the shed.
LyetteM 134p · 473 weeks ago
disturbuniverse 107p · 473 weeks ago
SarahDances 143p · 473 weeks ago
Trust is important in a relationship and all, but when the secret is that your husband is an actual serial murderer, I dunno, I feel like snooping is maybe justified? What did his first wife see when she opened that closet anyway? Was it empty, or did he just plant it with magic blood from somewhere else, or...?
I know it's a fairytale and all, but... I still have many questions.
Kay · 473 weeks ago
Well done.
MunchletteBelle 113p · 473 weeks ago
frankie0darling 140p · 473 weeks ago
I mean like
metaphorical closets
closets in the metaphorical sense for sure
sausagedog 127p · 473 weeks ago
I dunno about y'all but my relationship requirements, in order of importance, go something like:
1) No murders
2) Mutual respect for boundaries
Not the other way around?
CleverManka 143p · 473 weeks ago
If you haven't already checked out SurLaLune's annotations on it (on everything, really), I recommend doing so.
Kim · 473 weeks ago
anthemyst 125p · 473 weeks ago
msmollyd 88p · 473 weeks ago
Be bold. Be bold, but not too bold, lest you destabilize the foundation of your marriage with your instinct that (much as you trust your husband) something is clearly Not Right here.
But it is not so, and it was not so, and God forbid it should be so.
Cricket · 473 weeks ago
AliceIsHopeless 116p · 473 weeks ago
longdistancepicnicclub 85p · 473 weeks ago
walteredwardgo 110p · 473 weeks ago
I think the best line is:
“When I say... Ok so I’m saying, ‘don’t open the trapdoor’, right? But my remark is imbued with subtext!”
Which is basically the case in all of these stories and makes it really unfair that all of the people in them get killed for having curiosity about the thing that someone has gone out of the way to make them curious about.
takingaselkie · 473 weeks ago
champagneghost 128p · 473 weeks ago
^ me finding myself feeling relieved after reading a children's story by mallory
Betty Coltrane · 473 weeks ago
queenofbithynia 137p · 473 weeks ago
the other lesson of Bluebeard is you should always listen to your boring parents who tell you not to dye your hair unusual colors or you won't get a good retail job this summer. they are wrong about the employment thing but you don't want to manic panic up your beard before you go imprisoning any wives because the legal system will be prejudiced against you and you will not get away with it.
ToastiewithCheese 120p · 473 weeks ago
longlostlullaby 122p · 473 weeks ago
Allen K. · 473 weeks ago
Rillquiet 118p · 473 weeks ago
damanoid 134p · 473 weeks ago
I think most historians are of the opinion that Gilles must have done something nefarious to merit his reputation, but I think the evidence points more toward the classic witch trial scenario, with the difference that the victim was not a poor nobody, and was also a colossal drama queen given a captive audience and wryly determined to dick with the proceedings as much as possible. "Oh yes, the witnesses don't know the half of it, I been murdering so many people for Satan all the time, you would not believe, it is exhausting. What happened to the victims? Oh, I ate some of them, had sex with the others. With their organs, anyway. The bodies? Er, they were burned, entirely, leaving no remains or evidence whatsoever. That happens, you know."
Going down in a blaze of glory...
Natushka · 473 weeks ago
Oh my god, Mallory, you sick genius. Now I'm going to have nightmares about healthy respectful relationship behaviours MAKING IT SO I DON'T DISCOVER THE BODIES.
alula_auburn 106p · 473 weeks ago
Also Edna St. Vincent Millay! http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/bluebeard/
Glen H · 473 weeks ago
maryoftheassumptions 99p · 473 weeks ago
Imagine what a relief Wife #7's respect for privacy was. Eventually, when they knew each other better and had built mutual trust, he told her what was in the closet. He did a whole fashion show for her, and together they went through and got rid of the ex-wifely clothes, which went off to be sold at distant boutiques. When she traveled with him, she would go to merchants and have dressed made to his measurements, claiming they were for her mother. Their house became a merry place, she in her pantaloons and he with his blue hair and corsetry, both in ridiculous jewels, and eccentrics and vagabonds came to visit them from far and wide.
Unreadaethel 127p · 473 weeks ago
asthecrowflies · 473 weeks ago
That was sweet <3
CanuteGoodman · 473 weeks ago
Matt · 468 weeks ago
mhuzzell 57p · 456 weeks ago
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