Ana Dilan 

ECL 305

Professor Pressman

13 April 2024 

A Tale of Tails: A Close Reading of Melusine and “Monstrosity”

Andre Lebey’s The Romance of the Faery Melusine reveals the role of a monster within literature and within society, which align with the seven theses of Jeffery Jerome Cohen’s Monster Theory. These seven theses stem from observations of modern Western culture and literature, a long ways away from the medieval origins of Melusine’s story, but still ultimately reflect the etymological role of the ‘monster’ as a “reminder,” an “instruction,” or a “warning.” Melusine’s external monstrosity acts as a mirror to Raymondin’s internal monstrosity, as his discovery of his wife’s true form as a half-woman, half-serpent is also a discovery of his true form as an insecure and doubting man. In this way, both Melusine and Raymondin become monsters, fulfilling their roles as reminders of their deepest desires and their greatest fears. The Romance of the Faery Melusine, in turn, challenges the dynamic between the hero and the monster and how blurred the lines between these roles are. 

The first thesis of monster theory that Cohen presents is that the monster’s body is a cultural body. The monster “incorporates [the] fear, desire, anxiety, and fantasy” of the culture that created it. (Cohen, 4) When we are introduced to Raymondin, the “hero” of the story, he is essentially a murderer awaiting trial, running through the woods riddled with guilt after inadvertently killing his uncle while out on a hunt. As he makes his way through the forest, he comes across an enchanting fountain and it is there where he first encounters Melusine. The form she takes on is that of a woman so beautiful, Raymondin questions if he’s in another world. (Lebey, 24) Not only is Melusine beautiful, but she also comes with the reassurance that she is as “faithful a Christian” as Raymondin is and that, as someone “next to God,” she can bring him great fortune. (Lebey, 25) This spells well for the young Raymondin, as her power to grant him greatness and the commonality of their Christian faith mean that she would make a wonderful wife to have at his side. Here, the monster not only shows friendship and camaraderie with the hero, but the hero expresses romantic desire for the monster. The hero has no need to antagonize the monster, nor does he wish to on the grounds that the monster shares the same Christian values as his. The monster, in turn, bears no ill will towards the hero because she finds him and his intentions pure, deciding to place her trust in him and his word in the same way that he trusts in her promise to clear his name and bring him greatness. For the medieval, predominantly-Christian audience hearing this story, they too would find no need to fear Melusine, despite her otherworldly nature and her uncanny abilities of reading mind and granting riches. Her magical abilities, though grounds to accuse her of sorcery and conspiracy with the Devil for the inquiry of those powers, are immediately nullified by her Christian faith. In fact, her faith and abilities combined would only make her more desirable and sympathetic, as her powers are aligned with God rather than the Devil. Melusine’s identity as a self-proclaimed Christian woman reflects the faith and its tenets that were valued at the time of the story’s telling; in identifying as such, Melusine garners the sympathy and trust of Raymondin and the medieval audience taking in this tale. 

The second thesis of Cohen’s Monster Theory is that “the monster always escapes.” (Cohen, 4) The monster’s “escape,” according to Cohen, is not an act of defeat, but rather an act of recuperation and restoration, as “each reappearance and its analysis [of the monster] is still bound in a double act of construction and restitution.” (Cohen, 5-6) The monster always escapes and leaves something of itself behind, but hidden in their act of absconding is the promise that they will return in another shape and form. The change in the monster’s form reflects the change in time within the culture of its creator, as Cohen posits that monster theory must follow the:

“…strings of cultural moments, connected by a logic that always threatens to shift; invigorated by […] the impossibility of achieving…the desired ‘fall or death, the stopping’ of its gigantic subject, monstrous interpretation is as much process as epiphany, a work that must content itself with fragments (footprints, bones, talismans, teeth, etc.)…” (Cohen, 6) 

In Melusine, after lamenting Raymondin’s broken promise and the cruelty of fate, Melusine transforms into a winged serpent, “about fifteen feet long,” and flies away from her family, her castle, and the riches she granted to her husband, leaving nothing of her but her footprint on the windowsill from where she took off. (Lebey, 144) Before she leaves, Melusine makes Raymondin promise that although she would never take the form of a woman again, she would still watch over their two younger children and make sure that they are raised well. (Lebey, 143) Like in Cohen’s thesis, Melusine leaves the life she built as a human woman and is now forced to live out her days as an immortal winged serpent, never to return to the form that Raymondin fell in love with and never to attain a human soul with which she can die and join God. This departure is not a result of Melusine’s fear at her true form being discovered, but rather Raymondin’s betrayal of her trust in him. Earlier in the story, Melusine asked Raymondin to “‘swear by all the sacraments [he] hold[s] holy as a Christian that on each Saturday, [he]…must never…try to see try to see [her] in any way whatever, nor seek to know where [she is].’” (Lebey, 27) By attaching the Christian virtue of honesty to this promise, as it is one of the Ten Commandments to never lie, Melusine not only shows her knowledge of the Christian church’s catechism but also understands just how serious violating this promise is for her. To break a promise made in the name of God, for a medieval audience, is a perverse sin–one that Raymondin has committed by doubting his wife and breaking the promise that marked their union in the first place. It is the sin of doubt and dishonesty that makes Raymondin the cause of Melusine’s departure. 

Monster Theory’s third thesis is that “the monster is the harbinger of category crisis.” (Cohen, 6) The reason for the monster always escaping, according to Cohen, is because “it refuses easy categorization.” (Cohen, 6) The existence of monsters as a sort of “third-kind,”  creature that is neither human nor animal, acts as a defiance of the perceived laws of nature or any preconceived notion of logic, blurring the lines between opposing binaries. Because they are not easily categorized, monsters inherently question how its cultural creator organizes knowledge and information of the world around them and opens up the discussion of what makes something good or bad, right or wrong, normal or abnormal. The opening of these discussions and the blurring of these lines erases the knowledge upon which the creator’s culture and society is built, inspiring fear of the crumbling norm for its participants and rage at the monster for even daring to exist as a question towards those norms. The reveal of Melusine’s true form as a woman with a serpent’s tail sends Raymondin into a category crisis: 

“He [sic] said nothing, but thought apart to himself: ‘And so she accepts, just like a woman, that which is but should never be! …Ah Siren!…or woman? What does it matter? Women do not know, know nothing of what we call Honour!’” (Lebey, 138) 

Here, Raymondin falls prey to the misogynistic thought of the Church, which posited women as liars, temptresses, and secondary beings in opposition to men. How could his wife not tell him the truth of her true form? Could it be that Melusine’s serpentine tail, an attribute of the creature that tempted Eve into bringing sin into the world, combined with the weak nature of women like her caused her to tell nothing but lies to her own husband? In retaliation, Raymondin becomes more monstrous than heroic, verbally abusing his wife by calling her a “false serpent” and cursing at even his own children, saying that “none of those who have come from [her] cursed womb know how to come to a good end, because of the sign of reprobation with which [she] [sic] marked them by her sins.” (Lebey, 139). He forgets that it was he who promised Melusine that he would never seek her out on Saturday nor to doubt her commitment to him. He allows the eyes of society to overtake his own and to see not his good and faithful wife who brought him and their family prosperity, but a monster who made its home in his and lied by omission of its monstrous nature. 

The fourth and fifth theses of Monster Theory respectively state that the monster “dwells at the gates of difference” (Cohen, 7) and “polices the borders of the possible.” (Cohen, 12) These two theses do not just dwell on the physical attributes of the monster that make it a monster, but also its position in a culture as a foreigner, the Other. More often than not, monsters in literature tend to have otherworldly origins. Whether their origins are from across the sea to the sea itself, from Mars to the next galaxy over, from the other side of the universe to a completely different, alternate universe, the literature that tells their tales make it abundantly clear that we must be wary of what did not come from our backyard. That these foreigners seek nothing but to disrupt the peace and order of our home for their own gain. That it is the foreigners’ presence that upsets the power structures and hierarchies erected for the care and safety of all that is good and familiar. That it is their foreignness that makes them monsters. There is, however, one caveat that makes the monster less monstrous: the fetishization and the exploitation of the Other. Melusine’s pretty and powerful presence in Raymondin’s life brings about nothing but prosperity, as they are able to “[form] relations and friendships all over the East,” (Cohen, 119) form an alliance with “the descendants of [sic] Obeid Allah, the Mahdi, who founded the Fatimid Dynasty,” (Cohen, 120) as well as establish enough trade with other countries to be able to decorate their castle with gold, mosaics, and Islamic writings. (Cohen, 120) It is because of Melusine’s otherworldly (and admittedly, foreign) influence that Raymondin is able to make these connections with foreign lands and help his town and family flourish into prosperity. The descriptions of their displays of wealth act as an advertisement, an invitation to its medieval audience to broaden business and cultural horizons outside of Europe. The foreigner and the unknown are terrifying, yes, until money is involved. The Other is only accepted as far as what it can offer, what it brings to the table. Though capitalism had yet to exist at the time of Melusine’s telling, the grounds for a person’s use, or their capital, was already taking root through what they traded along trade routes. The exchange of vows between Melusine and Raymondin can be seen as a marriage proposal, which in turn can also be seen as a business contract, as many marriages essentially were during that time period: Melusine’s privacy for Raymondin’s prosperous future. As long as each side keeps their promise, Melusine fulfills her role as his beautiful and powerful Christian wife and Raymondin fulfills his role as a knight presiding over a prosperous city. If that is the case, then Raymondin’s betrayal can then be seen as a breach of contract, ultimately severing the ties between the foreign and the familiar, the monster and the man. 

Monster Theory’s sixth thesis states: “Fear of the monster is really a kind of desire.” (Cohen, 16) Although the monster can be seen as revolting, there is an undeniable aspect to them that is also revolutionary. The monster’s fluid state of being between the familiar and unfamiliar attracts just as much as it reviles. Its fluidity and inability to be boxed into one category can be seen as a freedom from societal constraint, allowing the consumer the feeling of liberation through fascination of the monster: 

“This simultaneous repulsion and attraction at the core of the monster’s composition accounts greatly for its continued cultural popularity, for the fact that the monster seldom can be contained in a simple, binary dialectic (thesis, antithesis, …no synthesis). We distrust and loathe the monster at the same time we envy its freedom, perhaps its sublime despair.” (Cohen, 17)  

We see this paradox of attraction and repulsion best through the discovery scene, where Raymondin breaches the tower and room where Melusine spends her Saturdays. Raymondin seeks to know why Melusine asks to spend her Saturdays alone because of the seed of her infidelity planted in his head by his brother. When Raymondin catches a glimpse of Melusine’s true form, he goes through a dizzying train of thought, oscillating between the fear of discovery and death and the desire to take another look:

“The memory of his oath and of all his preceding life forgotten, he slid, fascinated, toward the unknown source of his misfortune and loss…But hardly had he seen than he closed his eyes again, retreating so as not to be seen himself, and in an impossible light, to dream of what he had never seen before, ever. A vision that he carried within him eternally until the end of his days…But before he died, he wanted to see it again.” (Lebey, 124)

Raymondin forgets that the reason he and Melusine are married is because of his promise to never seek her out and try to see her on Saturdays. (Lebey, 27) Melusine’s request for a single day of freedom is immediately held into suspicion by Raymondin because of her nonhuman nature. Monsters do not adhere to human norms, after all. According to him, what would a monster wife know about fidelity and faithfulness to her husband? What kind of spirits is she conspiring with alone without any supervision? It is strange to Raymondin that his wife would desire any amount of time to herself, rather than attending to her children or even to her husband. Even if Raymondin is warned twice about what he must do to keep Melusine as his wife till the end of his days, he ignores these warnings by looking twice at Melusine’s true form: just once to see the monster, then twice to confirm that the monster he is beholding is truly his wife. 

Finally, the seventh thesis of Monster Theory is that “the monster stands at the threshold…of becoming.” (Cohen, 20) The role of a monster is to “ask [sic] how we perceive the world, and how we have misrepresented what we have attempted to place. They ask us to reevaluate our cultural assumptions…our perceptions of difference, our tolerance toward its expression.” (Cohen, 20) Raymondin learns about the dangers of intolerance and mistrust towards the monster the hard way. When Melusine sees that Raymondin sees her in her true form, she does not even see the pure-hearted man she fell in love with at the fountain, “that he who had been Raymondin had ceased to exist,” “glaring at her with a look of hatred.” (Lebey, 138) The discovery scene also becomes a transformation scene not just for Melusine, but for Raymondin as well; he just “becomes” a “monster” of a different kind. His jealousy, mistrust, and insecurity cause him to intrude on his wife in a vulnerable state of nakedness and transition, perverting the image of him as a steadfast knight by turning him into something much more perverse. By becoming a monster, Raymondin becomes a cautionary tale himself. Whether it be for insecure men who would rather break promises at the suspicion of their significant others’ broken promises or as warning for those who fetishize and idealize their partners rather than appreciate them as a whole, the audience will undoubtedly find that the line between hero and villain is just as arbitrary as the line between monster and man. 

Works Cited 

Cohen, Jeffrey Jerome, and Jeffrey Jerome Cohen. “Monster Culture (Seven Theses).” University of Minnesota Press, 1996, pp. 3–25. Reading Culture, http://www.jstor.org.libproxy.sdsu.edu/stable/10.5749/j.ctttsq4d.4. Accessed 13 Apr. 2024. 

Lebey, André. The Romance of the Faery Melusine. Translated by Gareth Knight, Skylight, 2011.