Whenever someone asks me why I am passionate about collecting picture books, I always reply that I once encountered a simple yet beautiful love story within their pages. At first glance, it might seem like just another fairy tale. But over time, the narrative resurfaces, prompting me to ponder: isn’t this the essence of love?
One such book is Marlaguette, which tells the story of a girl and, inevitably, the Big Bad Wolf.
Like many classic fairy tales, the story begins one afternoon as Marie ventures into the woods to gather mushrooms. Along the way, she encounters a gray wolf with pointed ears. The wolf, intent on dragging her back to its den for a meal, bites at her clothing. Despite her attempts to fend it off with a branch, she struggles. In the chaos, the wolf crashes into the entrance of its den and collapses, unconscious.
At this point, my curiosity was piqued. What kind of story was unfolding?
Marie doesn’t flee. Instead, she notices the wolf’s bleeding wounds and thinks, “If I leave now, it will die.” For reasons she can’t fully articulate, she bandages the wolf’s injuries with her handkerchief and gathers leaves to create a soft bed for it to rest. While the wolf sleeps, she returns home to brew herbal tea, which she brings back to the forest for the wolf to drink.
The tea tastes terrible, but the wolf reluctantly finishes it. The wolf even allows Marie to clean and re-bandage its wounds each day. As the author notes, “Being cared for is a new experience for the wolf.”
Is this a Little Prince-like tale? Does the girl’s love tame the wolf? The answer is both yes and no. Under her care, the wolf quickly recovers, but complications arise. The wolf becomes ravenous. A bird tries to warn Marie but nearly becomes prey to the wolf.
Seeing the wolf’s sudden ferocity, Marie grows furious and refuses to speak to it. The wolf, feeling dejected, decides not to hunt other animals. Marie forgives it. If the story ended here, it would fit the mold of a typical fairy tale. However, Marlaguette ventures deeper.
The wolf grows thinner. Each time it walks through the forest, it focuses solely on Marie, ignoring the other animals to avoid giving in to hunger. A passing woodcutter tells Marie, “The bread and fruit you give the wolf mean nothing. Wolves are hunters; they can only digest meat.”
“Your wolf is going to die,” the woodcutter warns.
That night, Marie hides away and cries. The next day, she resolves to tell the wolf her decision and returns to her village. The wolf, back to his hunting ways, quickly regains his health and beauty. Soon, a poignant scene unfolds—a wolf on the mountain gazes longingly at Marie in the village, separated by a vast forest. This sight brings both joy and sorrow to the wolf as it reconnects with its wild nature.
As for Marie, in quiet moments of reflection, she might sit and remember the wolf that would have starved for her. Lost in thought, a smile often crosses her face.
The beauty of Marlaguette lies in its refusal to indulge naive fantasies. It sidesteps clichés to arrive at a profoundly realistic conclusion. If anything, this story defies the conventional fairy-tale ending of “And they lived happily ever after.” Yet who can say this isn’t another form of “happily ever after”?
Originally published in 1952, this French picture book became a classic in French elementary education. Why do I cherish collecting picture books? Sometimes I ponder this question, only to recall what Czech illustrator Peter Sís once said, “Picture books are like a gap in the heart, allowing the wind to pass through.”
