Although I’ve been a
fan of Anne Thackeray Ritchie’s (1837-1919) work
for some time, I recently renewed this appreciation due to an unexpected
question. Matthew
Roy, a fellow George MacDonald fan, emailed me to ask if I knew of any
fairy tales which address experiences of pregnancy; as he commented, ‘There is an
infertility convention in a lot of fairy tales (‘Snow White’, ‘Thumbelina’, ‘Little
Tom Thumb’, ‘The Light Princess’, etc.), but the problem is usually overcome in
a matter of sentences, perhaps after having talked with some sort of magical
character (a frog, a witch). In the end the woman becomes pregnant, and then
"gives birth to a baby girl with hair as black as coal, skin as white as
snow..." But nothing about actually being pregnant or actually giving birth.’
This is unfortunately very often true, probably
because people who wrote and collected them were generally men, in times when
men didn't tend to engage as actively with pregnancy experiences as they do now.
However, the French
female fairy tale salon writers of the seventeenth-early eighteenth centuries
offer a slightly different perspective. One of the most famous of these
writers, Madame d'Aulnoy (1650-1705), herself had six children, and there is a
consciousness to be seen of the pregnancy and birth experience in some of her
tales (‘Princess Mayblossom’, ‘The Benevolent Frog’, and ‘The Good Little Mouse’ in particular),
which trace the pregnancy experience of various beleaguered queens over some
paragraphs as they flee danger and encounter helpful fairies, frogs and
more. In her book Pregnant
Fictions: Childbirth and the Fairy Tale in Early-modern France, Holly
Tucker argues that the often magical dangers that these women face dramatize
the more general concerns often felt by pregnant women -- particularly in times
when medical knowledge and assistance could be unpredictable, to say the least
– and that some of the fairies/magical creatures who help these queens
represent midwives. In this way (as well as in others, but that’s another day),
D’Aulnoy’s work evokes experiences of female community which transcend time and
genre.
Some of the work of Madame d’Aulnoy, unlike
others of her salon colleagues, can be found quite readily online; thanks to
the lovely people at SurLaLuneFairytales, but also to a
Victorian team of female translators and editors – one of which is Anne
Isabella Thackeray Ritchie (Miss Annie
Macdonell and Miss Lee were the translators). In addition to her prolific literary
output in a variety of disciplines, Thackeray Ritchie produced a) witty and
insightful fairy tale adaptations and b) a collection of Madame d’Aulnoy’s work,
(1892). In reading the introduction to this collection the other day, I was
struck by the trouble Thackeray Ritchie takes to explore d’Aulnoy’s female
community in personable detail.
She notes that d’Aulnoy’s
circle included Jeanne-Marie Leprince de Beaumont, the author of ‘La Belle et la
Bête’ [‘Beauty and the Beast’], and that: ‘Any of us in the nineteenth century,
who have thrilled to the stirring and beautiful song of "Che Faro,"
as uttered by the sweet voice of Julia Ravogli in "Orfeo," have
witnessed a scene reproduced out of one of Madame d'Aulnoy's histories, in
which Love, crowned with roses, is sent to assist the wandering prince in his
search through Hades for her whom he adores.’
Through these references, she locates d’Aulnoy in a female artistic
context, both literary and musical, which is only enhanced by her statement
that ‘The prettiest of Madame d'Aulnoy's stories are also the best known, such
as L'oiseau Bleu, The White Cat, Le Prince Lutin, and a good many others. Le
Nain Jaune, Fortunéc, La Biche au Bois, are also very charmingly told’.
Moreover, Thackeray
Ritchie also celebrates d’Aulnoy and her female community in biographical detail.
She observes complexities around cultural perceptions of beauty, but emphasises
her intelligence:’ "She was always ready in
conversation," says one of her admirers. "No one knew better how to
introduce an anecdote, and her stories were the delight of all."’ Thackeray Ritchie observes d’Aulnoy’s
strained family life, both before (upon the birth of a younger brother, d’Aulnoy
was promptly dispatched to a nunnery, against her will, where she took refuge
in ‘read[ing] a great many novels about romantic heroes and "heroesses,"
as she is made to call them, and [trying] to pose as a heroess herself a great
deal more than the abbeys approved’) and after marriage (‘Madame d'Aulnoy
speaks with cordial dislike of her husband, with whom she seems to have lived
very unhappily from the first, and from whom, whenever anything went wrong, she
seems to have run away in disguise’). M. d’Aulnoy suffered imprisonment and near execution
due to false accusations of treason by a group of conspirators. Thackeray Ritchie describes, in detail, d’Aulnoy’s
personal connection to a friend, ‘"the famous and beautiful Madame
Angélique Tiquet "’. Having
suffered even more than d’Aulnoy from an unhappy and abusive marriage, Madame
Tiquet tried to kill her husband; for this she is tried and eventually
executed. D’Aulnoy, notes Thackeray
Ritchie, proved a loyal friend, trying to help Madame Tiquet escape and
speaking at her trial (which meant that d’Aulnoy was ‘somewhat compromised’).
Thackeray Ritchie goes on to explore d’Aulnoy’s
life and other works, including her creative approach to citations,
observations and referencing in her memoirs (‘Madame
d'Aulnoy, although she had excellent opportunities of observing facts, and was
in the main accurate, had the singular habit of transcribing entire paragraphs
out of the books of other people without any acknowledgment whatever, and also
of sometimes adding imaginary adventures when her own struck her as somewhat
dull’). I do not have the scope
to explore these here, but would encourage you to take a look.
But then, it’s not surprising that
Thackeray Ritchie should have been interested in d’Aulnoy’s female community.
She herself wrote two texts explicitly extolling female literary tradition: Book of Sibyls (1883)
and A Discourse on Modern
Sibyls
(1913), in which she explores a number of eighteenth – and nineteenth-century
female authors (Maria Edgeworth, Jane Austen, Charlotte Bronte, and George
Eliot form a few examples). Through these, Thackeray
Ritchie celebrates contemporary nineteenth-century female intelligence,
storytelling and wisdom with mythological connotations (the Sibyls were ancient
prophetesses and sources of wisdom -- not to mention plot foreshadowing
--- in classical mythology). Her version of Cinderella (in Five Old Friends and a Young Prince,
1868) paints ‘Ella Ashford’’s godmother as an eccentric, rich Victorian society
hostess, Lady Jane Peppercorne, who would fit quite nicely in a silver-fork
novel or in the memoirs of Lady Dorothy Nevill (gardener, noted
conversationalist, and society hostess). Ritchie’s use of female storytelling
(of whatever sort) traditions creates figures which transcend barriers of genre.
Anne Thackeray Ritchie |
Examining Thackeray Ritchie’s
work emphasises the importance of supportive female communities: as an image
(sibyls), in practice, and as a point of intersection between biography,
creative writing and literary criticism (something beyond the scope of this
post is the influence Ritchie had on her niece, Virginia Woolf). I am, I
realize, more than verging on the borders of sentimentality here, but this
issue has a strong personal resonance for me at the moment. Over the past
year, I’ve been undergoing some really quite serious and frustrating health
problems, which (hopefully!) should be somewhat ameliorated soon, but at the
moment, leave me feeling rather isolated at times. One thing that has
been a significant encouragement for me throughout this experience is
co-organizing a research initiative, Reading
the Fantastic, which started last year with two other female
colleagues (Ikhlas and Sarah), and now includes two more co-organizers (Huwaida
and Rose). It’s very energizing to be working with people who share my
passion for fantasy – and interest in seeing how this genre serves as a point
of interconnection: for example, in our reading group sessions, we each suggest
texts from our various points of expertise, which means that my Victorian
fantasy perspective can meet East Asian, Malaysian, Kenyan and Syrian fantasy
traditions. I’m also extremely excited to be expanding this interest in
different outputs: in addition to the reading group series, we’re now running a
seminar series and a conference plus workshop. But I could never
have done all this by myself, and particularly not while my health is being so
unhelpfully uncertain. I’m really lucky, not just to have these colleagues, but
also that they are patient and supportive and understanding.in times when my
health just doesn’t want to play ball.