The Seven Wives of Bluebeard | Page 3

revealed themselves only through his eyes, which he rolled in a terrible
manner. This timidity exposed him to every kind of misfortune, and, above all, it
prevented his forming a becoming connection with modest and reserved women; and
betrayed him, defenceless, to the attempts of the most impudent and audacious. This was
his life's misfortune.
Left an orphan from his early youth, and having rejected, owing to this sort of
bashfulness and fear, which he was unable to overcome, the very advantageous and
honourable alliances which had presented themselves, he married a Mademoiselle Colette
Passage, who had recently settled down in that part of the country, after amassing a little
money by making a bear dance through the towns and villages of the kingdom. He loved
her with all his soul. And to do her justice, there was some thing pleasing about her,
though she was what she was: a fine woman with an ample bosom, and a complexion that
was still sufficiently fresh, although a little sunburnt by the open air. Great were her joy
and surprise on first becoming a lady of quality. Her heart, which was not bad, was
touched by the kindness of a husband in such a high position, and with such a stout,
powerful body, who was to her the most obedient of servants and devoted of lovers. But
after a few months she grew weary because she could no longer go to and fro on the face
of the earth. In the midst of wealth, over whelmed with love and care, she could find no
greater pleasure than that of going to see the companion of her wandering life, in the
cellar where he languished with a chain round his neck and a ring through his nose, and
kissing him on the eyes and weeping.
Seeing her full of care, Monsieur de Montragoux himself became careworn, and this only
added to his companion's melancholy. The consideration and forethought which he
lavished on her turned the poor woman's head. One morning, when he awoke, Monsieur
de Montragoux found Colette no longer at his side. In vain he searched for her throughout
the castle. The door of the Cabinet of the Unfortunate Princesses was open. It was
through this door that she had gone to reach the open country with her bear. The sorrow
of Bluebeard was painful to behold. In spite of the innumerable messengers sent forth in
search of her, no news was ever received of Colette Passage.
Monsieur de Montragoux was still mourning her when he happened to dance, at the fair
of Guillettes, with Jeanne de La Cloche, daughter of the Police Lieutenant of Compigne,
who inspired him with love. He asked her in marriage, and obtained her forthwith. She
loved wine, and drank it to excess. So much did this taste increase that after a few months
she looked like a leather bottle with a round red face atop of it. The worst of it was that
this leather bottle would run mad, incessantly rolling about the reception-rooms and the
stair cases, crying, swearing, and hiccoughing; vomiting wine and insults at everything
that got in her way. Monsieur de Montragoux was dazed with disgust and horror. But he
quite suddenly recovered his courage, and set himself, with as much firmness as patience,
to cure his wife of so disgusting a vice. Prayers, remonstrances, supplications, and threats:
he employed every possible means. All was useless. He forbade her wine from his cellar:
she got it from outside, and was more abominably drunk than ever.

To deprive her of her taste for a beverage that she loved too well, he put valerian in the
bottles. She thought he was trying to poison her, sprang upon him, and drove three inches
of kitchen knife into his belly. He expected to die of it, but he did not abandon his
habitual kindness.
"She is more to be pitied than blamed," he said.
One day, when he had forgotten to close the door of the Cabinet of the Unfortunate
Princesses, Jeanne de La Cloche entered by it, quite out of her mind, as usual, and seeing
the figures on the walls in postures of affliction, ready to give up the ghost, she mistook
them for living women, and fled terror-stricken into the country, screaming murder.
Hearing Bluebeard calling her and running after her, she threw herself, mad with terror,
into a pond, and was there drowned. It is difficult to believe, yet certain, that her husband,
so compassionate was his soul, was much afflicted by her death.
Six weeks after the accident he quietly married Gigonne, the daughter of his steward,
Traignel. She wore wooden shoes, and smelt of onions. She was a fine-looking girl
enough, except that she squinted with one eye, and limped with