Since 2003 has appeared Le Journal de la sirène, a current events sheet directed by Florence Gourier. Very naturally, la Sirène became interested in the fairy Mélusine, in the journal Mélusine and in my article on "The Surrealist Mélusine" (see on this same site) published in the collection Mélusine moderne et contemporaine directed by Arlette Bouloumié, published in the Bibliothèque Mélusine in 2001. The animator of this journal questioned the citation I gave from Littré. Here is my explanation, published under the title "Question Mark", when I had proposed a grammatical title.

Extract from the Littré notice concerning Mélusine: [… ]Of this [the house of Lusignan] the first origin Was a fairy named Mélusine… It has been told only that sometimes, During the night, Mélusine who weeps, In long serpent comes without noise and without voice To see again her ancient dwelling; But, when evils rise threatening Over her family or over her homeland, When a great man or one of her children Loses happiness or is about to lose life, Painting her trouble in horrible accents, From the top of the towers Mélusine cries out, Creuzé de Lesser, la Table ronde, ch. XI.

My intervention: On an intransitive version Dear Florence Gourier,

You question me in the latest issue of Le Journal de la sirène by taking up the citation I gave from the Littré notice devoted to Mélusine. It is true that the text it cites, ending with the pronominal verb s'écrier in intransitive construction can leave the reader perplexed. So I went to verify: the citation is exact, and reproduced integrally. Creuzé de Lesser is the author, among others, of Les Chevaliers de la Table ronde, "poem in twenty cantos, drawn from old romancers", published in Paris at Delaunay, bookseller at the Palais Royal in 1812. Here is what one finds there, in Canto XII, pp. 232-233: [It concerns Gauvain] He hoped in passing, to go quickly To Lancelot to make another visit; But, over France a sudden hurricane Towards Poitou made Gauvain drift. As he passed over the respectable towers, Of the great castle of some great lord, He heard frightful cries That one could not listen to without terror, He, without ardor he cannot hear them. Leaving his beauty in a neighboring castle, Without any delay, in that one Gauvain Goes to seek some service to render, He enters, he sees a young knight Somber and dreamy, but whose sadness Did not alter noble politeness. Of these clamors, of this singular noise. The Englishman then asks him the cause; And by these words, without being begged, Sighing the Poitevin exposes it:

"Of Lusignan this castle has the name. Like me, last of my house. Of this the first origin Was a fairy, named Mélusine. She was good; but an overwhelming fate Had struck her: once a week This beauty ended in serpent, And hid herself in the bosom of a fountain. Daring to deceive her mysterious cares, Enamored with love, her curious husband One day thus surprised her as a siren. She uttered for the first time These frightful cries that make the woods tremble. And, from that day forever disappeared, From her sons even she avoided the sight. It has been told only that sometimes In long serpent Mélusine who weeps, In the dark night, and without noise and without voice, Comes to visit her ancient dwelling. But when evils rise threatening Over her family or over her homeland, When a great man or one of her children Loses happiness, or is about to lose life, Painting her pain in horrible accents, From the top of the walls Mélusine cries out. At this moment, struck by her outbursts, You will hear her, and... do not hear me. Alas! lord, knowing my pain too well, To my sorrow she mingles her own.

That is all that is said of the fairy who so preoccupies you. Although briefly, all the elements of the legend attached to the castle of the Lusignans is said there. As for the intransitive pronominal construction, it is still used for an animal that utters its cry. The use is therefore justified, to the extent that the serpentiform Mélusine has the virtue of transforming into a bird. It was still used for individuals in classical French, as evidenced by Furetière's Dictionary: "One has stepped on his painful foot, he cried out immediately", or again this fragment of Corneille that I borrow from the Robert: (...) He cries out, and his suite, For fear of a similar fate, immediately takes flight. (Nicomède, V, 7)

For these two reasons it seems logical to me that the archaizing Creuzé de Lesser gives a romantic version of the Knights of the Round Table, where Mélusine cries out, no more.

Receive, Dear Florence Gourier...

Henri Béhar