Pulchritude

by Ana Mardoll

  The reader recognizes that this is not true. The Beast has failed to physically attack Beauty, but he has not prevented himself from controlling, isolating, threatening, and abusing her emotionally and psychologically. His brutishness is not a lust for violence, but it is one of disgusting selfishness, prizing his own needs and wants and feelings entirely over Beauty's. Since he is an enchanted prince, awaiting the resolution of the curse that plagues him, his selfishness is entirely understandable to the reader, but that does not make it commendable.

  It is little surprise, though, that the Merchant might not understand that. He is the human mirror of the Beast: not once did he seriously consider it immoral for him to use Beauty to better his own life. Since the Merchant sees no conflict between his abuse of his daughter and his professed love for her, naturally he sees no similar conflict between the Beast's abuse of his captive and his offers of marriage. The Merchant therefore urges Beauty as strongly as he can to submit to marriage with her captor, and without reservation.

  Beauty admitted the reason of all these arguments; but to resolve to marry a monster so horrible in person and who seemed as stupid as he was gigantic, appeared to her an impossibility. "How can I determine," replied she to her father, "to take a husband with whom I can have no sympathy, and whose hideousness is not compensated for by the charms of his conversation; no other object to distract my attention, and relieve that wearisome companionship; not to have the pleasure of being sometimes absent from him; to hear nothing beyond five or six questions respecting my health or my appetite, followed by a 'Good-night, Beauty,' a chorus which my parrots know by heart, and repeat a hundred times a day. It is not in my power to endure such a union, and I would rather perish at once than be dying every day of fright, sorrow, disgust, and weariness."

  Beauty enumerates her continued objections to marrying her captor. She neither loves nor likes him, and finds both his body and mind repugnant. She is provided with no mental distractions, no human companionship, and no means by which she may leave her home at will. Beauty is so unhappy with the situation that she would rather die now than continue living in the isolation being imposed on her against her will.

  Yet there is also a problematic aspect to this text. Beauty does accept the framing that the Beast's lack of overt physical abuse denotes great love and strength of character on his part. And I think it likely that de Villeneuve would like us to accept this framing as well, at least enough for us to cheer the mismatched couple onward to a 'happy' ending together.

  Does this framing stem from a gulf of culture between author and reader? After all, it seems reasonable for Beauty to accept her father's words when such "logic" has formed the entire basis of her relationship with her father. In the same way, perhaps we cannot criticize de Villeneuve for pushing inexorably towards a 'happy' ending if her society maintains that a bare minimum of physical safety and conversational civility is all that one is entitled to expect from a good husband.

  And yet, I wonder if what we really have is a gulf not of culture but rather between fantasy and reality. The Beast is manipulative, controlling, and callous but in carefully structured ways. As a lover in the real world, he would pose a serious emotional and psychological threat to Beauty. But as a fictional lover, he represents a very specific fantasy: a lover whose abuse is motivated entirely out of deep love and pained yearning, and whose abuse will be literally magically erased at the end of the story, when Beauty rises from her position of weakness and marginalization to stand beside her lover as a powerful equal.

  The difference between reality and fantasy is simple. Real abuse can linger in the victim's memories forever, and more often than not is afflicted by an abuser who will always be dangerous. Fantasy abuse, on the other hand, can roll off the victim without impact, and the abuser will be magically redeemed and totally reformed. But there is another fantasy here, often overlooked: by the end of the tale, Beauty will raised to a position of power equal to or greater than the position occupied by her lover.

  Return and Rescue

  Beauty stays with her family for the full two months alloted to her visit, but as the time comes closer to return to the Beast, she hesitates. She doesn't have the resources or privilege to visit her family again the next time she feels the need for their company, and so she knows every time she tries to say goodbye that this may be the last time she sees any of her family. She is drawn to fulfill her promise to the Beast out of 'gratitude' but though he has grudgingly given her leave to see her family, she has no promise from him that she will ever be allowed to do so again. Small wonder, then, that she hesitates to return.

  The two months had nearly expired, and every morning she determined to bid adieu to her family, without having the heart when night arrived to say farewell. In the combat between her affection and her gratitude, she could not lean to the one without doing injustice to the other. In the midst of her embarrassment, it needed nothing less than a dream to decide her.

  She fancied she was at the Palace of the Beast, and walking in a retired avenue, terminated by a thicket full of brambles, concealing the entrance to a cavern, out of which issued horrible groans. She recognised the voice of the Beast, and ran to his assistance. The Monster, who, in her dream, appeared stretched upon the ground and dying, reproached her with being the cause of his death, and having repaid his affection with the blackest ingratitude.

  In a dream, Beauty sees that the Beast is languishing near to death and blaming her for being the cause of his destruction. The reader who skips ahead will find that this is not quite the case. The Beast is not dying because of some quirk of magic that ties his life to hers and causes him to wither in her absence. Instead, he is dying because he refused to eat while she was gone. He is practicing grievous self-harm, ostensibly because he cannot bear to live without her, but his cause seems markedly less noble when he chooses to blame Beauty for his 'death' both prior to her leaving and now at the dangerous culmination of his hunger strike.

  Beauty does not have this advance knowledge, though, and she reproaches herself as the sole cause of the Beast's mortal suffering. She returns to his home immediately and takes up a prolonged search for him through the empty rooms of the castle.

  Divided through hope and fear, her mind agitated, her heart a prey to melancholy, she descended into the gardens, determined not to re-enter the Palace till she had found the Beast. No trace of him could she discover anywhere. She called him. Echo alone answered her. Having passed more than three hours in this disagreeable exercise, overcome by fatigue, she sank upon a garden seat. She imagined the Beast was either dead or had abandoned the place.

  She saw herself alone in that Palace, without the hope of ever leaving it. She regretted her conversations with the Beast, unentertaining as they had been to her, and what appeared to her extraordinary, even to discover she had so much feeling for him. She blamed herself for not having married him, and considering she had been the cause of his death (for she feared her too long absence had occasioned it), heaped upon herself the keenest and most bitter reproaches.

  It is a common trope in fairy tales for the seeker to lose hope before they find what they seek, and this moment of self-reflection allows Beauty to reflect on what she has lost and truly appreciate the Beast now that he seems irretrievably lost. It is interesting, though, that her reflection is tinted with the knowledge that she has hitherto been able to come and go from the castle entirely by the Beast's magic. If he is dead and gone, will she be trapped in the castle alone for the rest of her days? How long can she live here in this castle without starving to death or being driven to despair in her loneliness?

  We have seen that Beauty's earlier 'gratitude' to the Beast was shadowed by her natural rationalization as a victim to expect the worst from her captor and consider neutral or 'less abusive' actions to be kindness. Now we see that Beauty's revelatory 'appreciation' for the Beast is still tinged with a survival reflex: she appreciates the Beast at least in part because he keeps her alive when she f
ears and expects death.

  In the midst of her miserable reflections she perceived that she was seated in that very avenue in which, during the last night she had passed under her father's roof, she had dreamed she saw the Beast expiring in some strange cavern. Convinced that chance had not conducted her to this spot, she rose and hurried towards the thicket, which she found was not impenetrable. She discovered another hollow, which appeared to be that she had seen in her dream.

  As the moon gave but a feeble light, the monkey pages immediately appeared with a sufficient number of torches to illuminate the chasm, and to reveal to her the Beast stretched upon the earth, as she thought, asleep. Far from being alarmed at this sight, Beauty was delighted, and, approaching him boldly, placed her hand upon his head, and called to him several times; but finding him cold and motionless, she no longer doubted he was dead, and consequently gave utterance to the most mournful shrieks and the most affecting exclamations.

  The assurance of his death, however, did not prevent her from making every effort to recall him to life. On placing her hand on his heart she felt, to her great joy, that it still beat. [...] She cheered him with her voice and caressed him as he recovered. "What anxiety have you caused me?" said she to him, kindly; "I knew not how much I loved you. The fear of losing you has proved to me that I was attached to you by stronger ties than those of gratitude. I vow to you that I had determined to die if I had failed in restoring you to life."

  Is it a declaration of love or practicality that Beauty would seek to join the Beast in death? After all, Beauty is in an enchanted castle, the only exit from which is a magic ring granted by the Beast which may not function in his absence. She has already anticipated with dread the fate that awaits her should she find herself unable to leave this place and now with even less company than before. Even if she could escape, the reader can imagine that this strange interlude as the captive of a magical beast may mark her permanently, both emotionally and socially. Even if she were physically able to return to her father's home, would she be able to live any semblance of a normal life now that all this has happened to her?

  Still, the Beast's wishes have come true. He has come close enough to death to frighten Beauty into realizing that she would miss him if he were gone. For better or worse, she accepts this tenderness that she feels towards the Beast as love -- or as near as she is likely to experience, given the hand that has been dealt to her -- and when their daily routine resumes and the Beast picks up his usual nightly marriage proposal, Beauty answers in the affirmative.

  The Beast briefly thanked her, and then being about to take his leave, asked her, as usual, if she would marry him. Beauty was silent for a short time, but at last making up her mind, she said to him, trembling, "Yes, Beast, I am willing, if you will pledge me your faith, to give you mine."

  "I do," replied the Beast, "and I promise you never to have any wife but you."

  "Then," rejoined Beauty, " I accept you for my husband, and swear to be a fond and faithful wife to you."

  It is significant, I think, that Beauty's acquiescence to marriage does not occur in the same scene as her declaration of love. To the movie-maker, the delay and change in scene from "declaration of love over the Beast's dying form" to "later the next day, at dinner" lacks value and must be cut to save every precious second for the 'real' story. And yet, to the author, I think this delay was invaluable for carrying her message. Beauty declares her love for the Beast when she realizes how much she missed him, but this sudden rush of emotion is not what causes her to decide to wed him. Her love for him is just one piece of that decision.

  Throughout the novel, the theme has been reiterated that a husband who is outwardly a bad match but inwardly loving and gentle is far more worthwhile than a husband who is outwardly a good match but inwardly brutish and cruel. This, in itself, is not a revolutionary idea, but what de Villeneuve hoped to convey was the revolutionary idea that it is the woman who has to live with the decision who should be given the right to make the choice.

  Over their time together, Beauty has had the opportunity to observe the Beast minutely in his words and actions. Slowly, she has come to two separate and distinct decisions. First, that she loves him. This love is crucial, because it marks the place where Beauty is no longer disgusted by him and can then fairly evaluate the second, which is that, based on what she has observed thus far, he would make a good husband. The two decisions together propel her towards marriage with the Beast, and by placing them in different scenes, on entirely different days, I think the author is deliberately trying to keep the two concepts very separate.

  The second part of Beauty's decision -- the evaluation that the Beast would make a good husband -- is possibly the most controversial part of every "Beauty and the Beast" tale. Knowing what we do now about human psychology, we may question that Beauty is in a position to fairly evaluate a person who holds the power of life and death over her. Then, too, we may question Beauty's criteria for 'good husband' material. Yes, the Beast is kind and gentle and patient and giving in certain ways, but he is also undeniably cruel and harsh and childish and selfish in other ways. Since we know that hers is a choice made essentially under duress, should Beauty still be given this choice to make for herself?

  I think de Villeneuve would argue that she should. Is Beauty's situation a perfect one, free from problematic considerations? No. Beauty is the daughter of a man who was willing to give her life in order to save his, and who encourages her to wed a beast knowing nothing more about the creature than that he liberally showers wealth on his prospective father-in-law. She is a member of a society that prizes her for her beauty alone, and where her unattractive sisters are cruelly taunted and slandered by their former suitors for the 'crime' of being unable to invest the necessary money to maintain their social attractiveness. She is the captive of a creature who does not take her needs seriously and begrudges her requests to visit her family, yet who is comparatively a good and kind suitor in her society.

  If Beauty must marry in order to survive -- and in a society that prevents her from earning her own living or owning her own property, she does -- then regardless of her extenuating circumstances, de Villeneuve believed that Beauty should hold the final decision on who her husband will be. Not because she necessarily holds all the tools to make the best decision, but because she may be the only one in this world who holds her well-being in any kind of serious regard. Beauty should make the decision because it will be Beauty who will ultimately be affected by her choice.

  Social Security

  When Beauty agrees to marry the Beast, there is an instant magical reaction. The Beast does not change into his Prince form just yet, but there is a celebratory firing of artillery outside and the sky lights up with fireworks decorated with symbols of love and marriage.

  She had scarcely uttered these words when a discharge of artillery was heard, and that she might not doubt it being a signal of rejoicing, she saw from her windows the sky all in a blaze with the light of twenty thousand fireworks, which continued rising for three hours. They formed true-lovers' knots, while on elegant escutcheons appeared Beauty's initials, and beneath them, in well-defined letters, "Long live Beauty and her Husband."

  The enchanted castle is immediately decked out with escutcheons, or decorative shields which display a coat of arms. 14 It is an important point that the shields bear Beauty's initials alone, and not those of the Prince, and that the inscription names Beauty first, and the Prince second as a possessive article. The shields do not say "Long live Beauty and the Prince", but rather "Long live Beauty and her Husband". The Prince exists in relation to Beauty, as her husband and eclipsed by her station. The couple, if the escutcheons are to be believed, will not be styled "Mr. and Mrs. Prince", but rather "Ms. and Mr. Beauty".

  This is a crucial point in the narrative because, for de Villeneuve, the story is only half finished. Almost every later "Beauty and the Beast" retelling will reach its literary climax at this moment -- at the declaration o
f love and/or marriage and the restoration of the Beast into the Prince -- but for this original feminist version of the tale, there are still two very important points left to be settled. It is not enough for de Villeneuve that Beauty has been allowed to make her choice independently of her father. Now, the Prince must be allowed to make his choice, and to choose unencumbered by any curse laid upon him. And after the Prince has affirmed his choice, Beauty must be raised to a status such that no one -- not even her royal husband or his family -- can sever their union.

  After the celebratory magic has run its course, Beauty hears another sound from outside and looks out the window to see two distinguished ladies ride up to the castle in a chariot pulled by four white stags.

  By the noise, which became louder, she was aware that the ladies had nearly reached the ante-chamber. She considered it right to advance and receive them. She recognised in one of them the Lady she had been accustomed to behold in her dreams. The other was not less beautiful. Her high and distinguished bearing sufficiently indicated that she was an illustrious personage. She was no longer in the bloom of youth, but her air was so majestic that Beauty was uncertain to which of the two strangers she ought first to address herself.

  She was still under this embarrassment, when the one with whose features she was already familiar, and who appeared to exercise some sort of superiority over the other, turning to her companion, said, "Well, Queen, what think you of this beautiful girl? You owe to her the restoration of your son to life, for you must admit that the miserable circumstances under which he existed could not be called living. Without her, you would never again have beheld this Prince. He must have remained in the horrible shape to which he had been transformed, had he not found in the world one only person who possessed virtue and courage equal to her beauty. I think you will behold with pleasure the son she has restored to you become her husband. They love each other, and nothing is wanting to their perfect happiness but your consent. Will you refuse to bestow it on them?"