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The Sleeping Beauty. I
Printed in the United States of America
PREFACE
Once upon a time I found myself halting be¬
tween two projects, both magnificent. For the
first, indeed — which was to discover, digest and
edit all the fairy tales in the world — I was
equipped neither with learning, nor with com¬
mand of languages, nor with leisure, nor with
length of years. It is a task for many men, club¬
bing their lifetimes together. But the second
would have cost me quite a respectable amount
of toil ; for it was to translate and annotate the
whole collection of stories in the Cabinet des
Fees.
[vii]
Preface
Now the Cabinet des Fees, in the copy on my
shelves, extends to forty-one volumes, printed,
as their title-pages tell, at Geneva between the
years 1785 and 1789, and published in Paris by
M. Cuchet, Rue et Hotel Serpente. The dates
may set us moralising. While the Rue Serpente
unfold, as though
Tranquilla per alta,
its playful voluminous coils, the throne of
France with the Ancien Regime rocked closer
and closer to catastrophe. In 1789 (July), just
as M. Cuchet (good man and leisurable to the
end) wound up his series with a last volume of
the Suite des Mille et Un Nuits, they toppled
over with the fall of the Bastille.
Even so in England — we may remind our¬
selves — in 1653, when the gods made Oliver
Cromwell Protector, Izaak Walton chose to
publish a book about little fishes. But the re¬
minder is not quite apposite: for angling, the
contemplative man’s recreation, was no favour¬
ite or characteristic or symbolical pursuit of the
Order which Cromwell overthrew (and, besides,
[viii]
Preface
he did not overthrow it) ; whereas, M. Cuchet’s
forty-one volumes most pertinently as well as
amply illustrated some real qualities, and those
the most amiable of the Ancien Regime. When
we think of the French upper classes from the
days of Louis xiv. to the Revolution, we associate
them with a certain elegance, a taste fastidious
and polite, if artificial, in the arts of living and
the furniture of life; and in this we do them jus¬
tice. But, if I mistake not, we seldom credit
them with the quality which more than any other
struck the contemporary foreign observer who
visited France with a candid mind — I mean their
good temper. We allow the Bastille or the
guillotine to cast their shadows backward over
this period, or we see it distorted in the glare of
Burke’s rhetoric or Carlyle’s lurid and fuligi¬
nous history. But if we go to an eye-witness,
Arthur Young, who simply reported what he
saw, having no oratorical axe to grind or guillo¬
tine to sharpen, we get a totally different
impression. The last of Young’s Travels in
France (1787-1789) actually coincided with the
close of M. Cuchet’s pleasant enterprise in pub-
fix]
Preface
lishing; and I do not think it fanciful to suppose
that, had this very practical Englishman found
time to read at large in the Cabinet des Fees,
he would have discovered therein much to cor¬
roborate the evidence steadily and unconsciously
borne by his own journals — that the urbanity of
life among the French upper classes was genu¬
ine, reflecting a real and (for a whole society)
a remarkable sunniness of disposition. Uncon¬
scious of their doom, the little victims played.
But they did play; and they fell victims, not to
their own passions, but to a form of government
economically rotten.
Of all the volumes in the Cabinet, possibly the
most famous are the first and second, containing
the fairy tales of Charles Perrault and Madame
d’Aulnoy, and vols. 7-1 1, containing M. Gal-
land’s version (so much better than any transla¬
tion) of The Arabian Nights. I hope that one
of these days Mr. Dulac will lay the public
under debt by illustrating all these, and the
stories of Antony Hamilton to boot. Mean¬
while, here are three of the most famous tales
from Perrault’s wallet, and one, the evergreen
[x]
Preface
Beauty and the Beast, by an almost forgotten
authoress, Madame de Villeneuve.
The ghost of Charles Perrault, could it walk
to-day — perruque and all — might well sigh over
the vanity of human pretensions. For Monsieur
Perrault was a person of importance in his life¬
time (1628-1703), and a big-wig in every sense
of the term. Colbert made him Secretary of the
Academy of Inscriptions, and anon Controller
of Public Works — in which capacity he sug¬
gested to his architect-brother, Claude Perrault,
the fagade of the Louvre with its renowned
colonnade. He flattered his monarch with a
poem Le Steele de Louis le Grand. “Je ne sais,”
observes a circle, “si ce roi, malgre son amour
excessif pour la flatterie, fut content: les bornes
etaient outre-passees.” The poem, as a poem, had
little success; but by positing that the Age of
Louis was the greatest in history, and suggesting
that the moderns were as good as the ancients
or better, it started a famous controversy.
Boileau, Racine, La Bruyere, honoured him by
taking the other side, and forced him to develop
his paradox in a book of dialogues, Paralleles
[xi]
Preface
des Anciens et des Modernes. But his best an¬
swer was his urbane remark (for he kept his
temper admirably) that these gentlemen did ill
to dispute the superiority of the moderns while
their own works gave proof of it. He wrote
other poems, other tractates (including one on
the “Illustrious Men of his Age”), besides occa¬
sional tracts on matters of high politics : and his
memory is kept alive by one small packet of
fairy-tales — stories which he heard the nurse tell
his little boy, and set down upon paper for a
recreation ! That is the way with literary fame.
To take an English example: it is odds that
Southey, poet-laureate and politician of great
self-importance in his day, will come finally to
be remembered by his baby-story of The Three
Bears. It will certainly outlive T halaba the De¬
stroyer, and possibly even the Life of Nelson.
As for Gabrielle Susanne, wife of M. de Gal¬
lon, Siegneur de Villeneuve and lieutenant-
colonel of infantry (whom she outlived), she
wrote a number of romantic stories — Le Phenix
Conjugal, Le Juge Parvenu, Le Beau-Frere
Suppose, La Jardiniere de Vincennes, Le Prince
[xii]
Preface
Azerolles, etc. I am not — perhaps few are —
acquainted with these works. Madame de Ville-
neuve died in 1755 and lives only by grace of her
La Belle et la Bete; and that again lives in spite
of its literary defects. It has style ; but the style
inheres neither in its language, which is loose,
nor in its construction. The story, as she wrote
it, tails off woefully and drags to an end in mere
foolishness.
Since Perrault, who is usually accepted as the
fountainhead of these charming French fairy-
stories, belongs almost entirely to the seven¬
teenth century, it may be asked why Mr. Dulac
has chosen to depict his Princes and Princess in
costumes of the eighteenth? Well, for my part,
I hold that he has obeyed a just instinct in choos¬
ing the period when the literature he illustrates
was at the acme of its vogue. But his designs, in
every stroke of which the style of that period is
so unerringly felt, provide his best apology.
My own share in this volume is, perhaps, less
easily defended. I began by translating Per-
rault’s tales, very nearly word for word ; because
to me his style has always seemed nearly perfect
[xiii]
Preface
for its purpose; and the essence of “style” in
writing is propriety to its purpose. On the other
hand the late M. Ferdinand Brunetiere has said
that Perrault’s is “devoid of charm,” and on this
subject M. Brunetiere’s opinion must needs out¬
value mine ten times over. Certainly the trans¬
lations, when finished, did not satisfy me, and so
I turned back to the beginning and have re¬
written the stories in my own way, which (as
you may say with the Irish butler) “may not be
the best claret, but ’tis the best ye’ve got.”
I have made bold, too, to omit Perrault’s con¬
clusion of La Belle au Bois Dormant. To my
amazement the editor of the Cabinet des Fees
selects this lame sequel — it is no better than a
sequel — of a lovely tale, and assigns to it the
credit of having established “la veritable fortune
de ce genre.” Frankly, I cannot believe him.
Further, I have condensed Madame de Ville-
neuve’s narrative and obliterated its feeble end¬
ing. In taking each of these liberties I have the
warrant of tradition, which in the treatment of
fairy-tales speaks with a voice more authoritative
than the original author’s, for it speaks with the
[xiv]
Preface
united voices of many thousands of children, his
audience and best critics. As the children have
decreed that in Southey’s tale oiTheT hree Bears
the heroine shall be a little girl, and not, as
Southey invented her, a good-for-nothing old
woman, so they have decreed the story of The
Sleeping Beauty to end with the Prince’s kiss,
and that of Beauty and the Beast with the Beast’s
transformation. And as Beauty and the Beast is
really but a variant of the immortal tale of Cupid
and Psyche, I might — had I room to spare — at¬
tempt to prove to you that the children’s taste is
here, as usually, right and classical.
Arthur Quiller-Couch
[xv]
CONTENTS
THE SLEEPING BEAUTY . . . « 25
BLUE BEARD . >1 » » ..... 67
CINDERELLA ...... • • • I07
BEAUTY AND THE BEAST . .• . . . 153
I
[xvii]
ILLUSTRATIONS
THE SLEEPING BE A UTY
And there , on a bed the curtains of which were
drawn wide , he beheld the loveliest vision he
had ever seen .....
Frontispiece
PAGE
Her head nodded with spite and old age together ,
as she bent over the cradle and shook her
crutched staff above the head of the pretty
babe , who slept on sweetly . . . 33
“What are you doing , goody?” asked the Princess.
“I am spinning , pretty one” answered the
old woman , who did not know who she was 41
But news of it was brought to her by a little dwarf
who owned a pair of seven-league boots , 49
[Xixl
Illustrations
BLUE BEARD
BAGS
They were rowed to the sound of music on the
waters of their host's private canal . . 7 **
They overran the house without loss of time . 8 1
t(You shall go in , and take your place among the
ladies you saw there!" . . . . 91
The unhappy Fatima cried up to her , “Anne,
sister Anne , do you see any one coming ?” . 99
CINDERELLA
She used to creep away to the chimney-corner and
seat herself among the cinders . . . 1 1 1
And her godmother pointed to the finest of all with
her wand ...... 121
[xx]
Illustrations
9A0B
She was driven away , beside herself with joy . 13 1
The Prime Minister was kept very busy during
the next few weeks . . . . .145
BEAUTY AND THE BEAST
He had been fasting for more than twenty- four
hours , and lost no time in falling-to . . 161
Soon they caught sight of the castle in the distance 179
She found herself face to face with a stately and
beautiful lady . . . . . 19 1
These no sooner saw Beauty than they began to
scream and chatter . . . . 2 1 1
[xxi]
THE SLEEPING BEAUTY
THE SLEEPING BEAUTY
ONCE upon a time there lived a King
and a Queen, who lacked but one thing
on earth to make them entirely happy.
The King was young, handsome, and wealthy;
the Queen had a nature as good and gentle as
her face was beautiful ; and they adored one an¬
other, having married for love — which among
kings and queens is not always the rule. More¬
over, they reigned over a kingdom at peace, and
their people were devoted to them. What more,
then, could they possibly want?
Well, they wanted one thing very badly, and
the lack of it grieved them more than words can
[25]
The Sleeping Beauty
tell. They had no child. Vows, pilgrimages,
all ways were tried; yet for a long while nothing
came of it all, and the poor Queen especially
was in despair.
At last, however, to her own and her hus¬
band’s inexpressible joy, she give birth to a
daughter. As soon as the palace guns an¬
nounced this event, the whole nation went wild
with delight. Flags waved everywhere, bells
were set pealing until the steeples rocked,
crowds tossed up their hats and cheered, while
the soldiers presented arms, and even strangers
meeting in the street fell upon each other’s neck,
exclaiming: “Our Queen has a daughter! Yes,
yes — Our Queen has a daughter ! Long live the
little Princess!”
A name had now to be found for the royal
babe; and the King and Queen, after talking
over some scores of names, at length decided to
call her Aurora, which means T he Dawn. The
Dawn itself (thought they) was never more
beautiful than this darling of theirs. The next
business, of course, was to hold a christening.
They agreed that it must be a magnificent one;
[26]
The Sleeping Beauty
and as a first step they invited all the Fairies
they could find in the land to be godmothers to
the Princess Aurora; that each one of them
might bring her a gift, as was the custom with
Fairies in those days, and so she might have all
the perfections imaginable. After making long
inquiries — for I should tell you that all this hap¬
pened not so many hundred years ago, when
Fairies were already growing somewhat scarce
— they found seven. But this again pleased
them, because seven is a lucky number.
After the ceremonies of the christening, while
the trumpeters sounded their fanfares and the
guns boomed out again from the great tower,
all the company returned to the Royal Palace
to find a great feast arrayed. Seats of honour
had been set for the seven fairy godmothers, and
before each was laid a dish of honour, with a
dish-cover of solid gold, and beside the dish a
spoon, a knife, and a fork, all of pure gold and
all set with diamonds and rubies. But just as
they were seating themselves at the table, to the
dismay of every one there appeared in the door¬
way an old crone, dressed in black and leaning
[27]
The Sleeping Beauty
on a crutched stick. Her chin and her hooked
nose almost met together, like a pair of nut¬
crackers, for she had very few teeth remaining;
but between them she growled to the guests in
a terrible voice:
“I am the Fairy Uglyane! Pray where are
your King’s manners, that I have not been in¬
vited?”
She had in fact been overlooked ; and this was
not surprising, because she lived at the far end
of the country, in a lonely tower set around by
the forest. For fifty years she had never come
out of this tower and every one believed her to
be dead or enchanted. That, you must know, is
the commonest way the Fairies have of ending:
they lock themselves up in a tower or within a
hollow oak, and are never seen again.
The King, though she chose to accuse his
manners, was in fact the politest of men. He
hurried to express his regrets, led her to table
with his own hand, and ordered a dish to be set
for her; but with the best will in the world he
could not give her a dish-cover such as the others
had, because seven only had been made for the
[28]
The Sleeping Beauty
seven invited Fairies. The old crone received
his excuses very ungraciously, while accepting
a seat. It was plain that she had taken deep of¬
fence. One of the younger Fairies, Hippolyta
by name, who sat by, overheard her mumbling
threats between her teeth ; and fearing she might
bestow some unlucky gift upon the little Prin¬
cess, went as soon as she rose from table and hid
herself close by the cradle, behind the tapestry,
that she might have the last word and undo, so
far as she could, what evil the Fairy Uglyane
might have in her mind.
She had scarcely concealed herself before the
other Fairies began to advance, one by one, to
bestow their gifts on the Princess. The youngest
promised her that she should be the most beauti¬
ful creature in the world; the next, that she
should have the wit of an angel; the third, a
marvellous grace in all her ways; the fourth,
that she should dance to perfection; the fifth,
that she should sing like a nightingale; the sixth,
that she should play exquisitely on all instru¬
ments of music.
Now came the turn of the old Fairy Uglyane.
[29]
The Sleeping Beauty
Her head nodded with spite and old age to¬
gether, as she bent over the cradle and shook
her crutched staff above the head of the pretty
babe, who slept on sweetly, too young and too
innocent as yet to dream of any such thing as
mischief in this world.
“This is my gift to you, Princess Aurora,”
announced the hag, still in her creaking voice
that shook as spitefully as her body. “I promise
that one day you shall pierce your hand with a
spindle, and on that day you shall surely die!”
At these terrible words the poor Queen fell
back fainting into her husband’s arms. A
trembling seized the whole Court; the ladies
were in tears, and the younger lords and knights
were calling out to seize and burn the wicked
witch, when the young Fairy stepped forth from
behind the tapestry, and passing by Uglyane,
who stood scornful in the midst of this outcry,
she thus addressed their Majesties: —
“Take comfort, O King and Queen: your
daughter shall not die thus. It is true, I have
not the power wholly to undo what this elder
sister of mine has done. The Princess must in-
[30]
[31]
y,
ifaim h i inimmimm nrrrriiutinmiirjiiimnm
[32]
inti iiiuMiMiiijjjjLxujLLLLLi-uiniiiiTTifiiiTitiiiiMniiii 1 1 1 ii i ui jrmTrTTwra^cpmng^^iM f > 1 1 nun i
The Sleeping Beauty
deed pierce her hand with a spindle; but, in¬
stead of dying, she shall only fall into a deep
slumber that shall last for many, many years,
at the end of which a King’s son shall come and
awake her. Whenever this misfortune happens
to your little Aurora, do not doubt that I, the
Fairy Hippolyta, her godmother, shall get news
of it and come at once to render what help I
may.”
The King, while declaring himself infinitely
obliged to the good Fairy Hippolyta, could not
help feeling that hers was but cold comfort at
the best. He gave orders to close the christen¬
ing festivities at once, although the Fairy
Uglyane, their spoil-joy, had already taken her
departure; passing unharmed through the
crowd of folk, every one of whom wished her
ill, and riding away — it was generally agreed —
upon a broomstick.
To satisfy the King’s faithful subjects, how¬
ever, — who were unaware of any misadventure
— the palace fireworks were duly let off, with a
grand set-piece wishing Long Life to the Prin¬
cess Aurora! in all the colours of the rainbow.
[35]
The Sleeping Beauty
But His Majesty, after bowing from the balcony
amid the banging of rockets and hissing of Cath¬
erine wheels, retired to a private room with his
Chamberlain, and there, still amid the noise of
explosions and cheering, drew up the first harsh
proclamation of his reign. It forbade every
one, on pain of death, to use a spindle in spin¬
ning or even to have a spindle in his house.
Heralds took copies of this proclamation and
marched through the land reading it, to the
sound of trumpets from every market-place : and
it gravely puzzled and distressed all who lis¬
tened, for their women folk prided themselves
on their linen. Its fineness was a byword
throughout the neighbouring kingdoms, and
they knew themselves to be famous for it. “But
what sort of linen,” said they, “would His Maj¬
esty have us spin without spindles?”
They had a great affection, however (as we
have seen), for their monarch; and for fifteen or
sixteen years all the spinning-wheels were silent
throughout the land. The little Princess Aurora
grew up without ever having seen one. But one
day — the King and Queen being absent at one
[36]
The Sleeping Beauty
of their country houses — she gave her governess
the slip, and running at will through the palace
and upstairs from one chamber to another, she
came at length to a turret with a winding stair¬
case, from the top of which a strange whirring
sound attracted her and seemed to invite her to
climb. As she mounted after the sound, on a
sudden it ceased ; but still she followed the stairs
and came, at the very top, to an open door
through which she looked in upon a small gar¬
ret where sat an honest old woman alone, wind¬
ing her distaff. The good soul had never, in
sixteen years, heard of the King’s prohibition
against spindles ; and this is just the sort of thing
that happens in palaces.
“What are you doing, goody?” asked the
Princess.
“I am spinning, pretty one,” answered the old
woman, who did not know who she was.
“Spinning? What is that?”
“I wonder sometimes,” said the old woman,
“what the world is coming to, in these days!”
And that, of course^ was natural enough, and
might occur to anybody after living so long as
[37]
The Sleeping Beauty
she had lived in a garret on the top of a tower.
“Spinning,” she said wisely, “is spinning, or
was; and, gentle or simple, no one is fit to keep
house until she has learnt to spin.”
“But how pretty it is!” said the Princess.
“How do you do it? Give it to me and let me
see if I can do so well.”
She had no sooner grasped the spindle — she
was over-eager perhaps, or just a little bit
clumsy, or maybe the fairy decree had so or¬
dained it — than it pierced her hand and she
dropped down in a swoon.
The old trot in a flurry ran to the head of the
stairs and called for help. There was no bell
rope, and, her voice being weak with age and
her turret in the remotest corner of the palace,
it was long before any one heard her in the serv¬
ants’ hall. The servants, too — in the absence of
the King and Queen — were playing cards, and
could not be interrupted by anybody until their
game was finished. Then they sat down and dis¬
cussed whose business it was to attend on a call
from that particular turret ;and this againproved
to be a nice point, since nobody could remember
[38]
x
[39]
“ What are you doing , Goody?” asked the
Princess.
“I am spinning , pretty one” answered the
old woman , who did not know who she was .
laiiiiiMifliiiiiMtiitiifiviaiMifiaaiaiaiatttMiiimiiaiiiaaiiii
imm
rf m i utnranimiTiTTLm rmn mimn jiuiiuhid
[40]
4%
. ;■ n «T
-
The Sleeping Beauty
having been summoned thither, and all were
against setting up a precedent (as they called
it). In the end they decided to send up the
lowest of the junior page-boys. But he had a
weakness which he somehow forgot to mention
— that of fainting at the sight of blood. So when
he reached the garret and fainted, the old woman
had to begin screaming over again.
This time they sent up a scullery maid; who,
being good-natured and unused to the ways of
the palace, made the best haste she could to the
garret, whence presently she returned with the
terrible news. The servants, who had gone back
to their game, now dropped their cards and
came running. All the household, in fact, came
pouring up the turret stairs; the palace physi¬
cians themselves crowding in such numbers that
the poor Princess Aurora would have been hard
put to it for fresh air could fresh air have re¬
stored her. They dashed water on her face, un¬
laced her, slapped her hands, tickled the soles
of her feet, burned feathers under her nose,
rubbed her temples with Hungary-water. They
held consultations over her, by twos and threes,
[43]
The Sleeping Beauty
and again in Grand Committee. But nothing
would bring her to.
Meanwhile, a messenger had ridden off post¬
haste with the tidings, and while the doctors were
still consulting and shaking their heads the King
himself came galloping home to the palace. In
the midst of his grief he bethought him of what
the Fairies had foretold; and being persuaded
that, since they had said it, this was fated to hap¬
pen, he blamed no one but gave orders to carry
the Princess to the finest apartment in the palace,
and there lay her on a bed embroidered with
gold and silver.
At sight of her, she was so lovely, you might
well have supposed that some bright being of the
skies had floated down to earth and there
dropped asleep after her long journey. For her
swoon had not taken away the warm tints of her
complexion: her cheeks were like carnations,
her lips like coral: and though her eyes were
closed and the long lashes would not lift, her
soft breathing told that she was not dead. The
King commanded them all to leave her and let
[44]
The Sleeping Beauty
her sleep in peace until the hour of her awaken¬
ing should arrive.
Now when the accident befell our Princess
the good Fairy Hippolyta, who had saved her
life, happened to be in the Kingdom of Mata-
quin, twelve thousand leagues away ; but news of
it was brought to her in an incredibly short space
of time by a little dwarf who owned a pair of
seven-league boots. (These were boots in which
you could walk seven leagues at a single stride.)
She set off at once to the help of her beloved
goddaughter, and behold in an hour this good
Fairy arrived at the palace, in a fiery chariot
drawn by dragons.
Our King met her and handed her down from
the chariot. She approved of all that he had
done ; but, greatly foreseeing as she was, she be¬
thought her that, as all mortals perish within a
hundred years or so, when the time came for the
Princess to awake she would be distressed at
finding herself orphaned and alone in this old
castle.
So this is what she did. She touched with her
wand everything and everybody in the palace:
[45]
The Sleeping Beauty
the King, the Queen; the ministers and privy
councillors ; the archbishop (who was the Grand
Almoner), the bishops and the minor clergy;
the maids-of-honour, ladies of the bedchamber,
governesses, gentlemen-in-waiting, equerries,
heralds, physicians, officers, masters of the
household, cooks, scullions, lackeys, guards,
Switzers, pages, footmen. She touched the
Princess’s tutors and the Court professors in the
midst of their deep studies. She touched like¬
wise all the horses in the stables, with the
grooms; the huge mastiffs in the yard; even
Tiny, the Princess’s little pet dog, and Fluff, her
black-and-white cat, that lay coiled on a
cushion by her bedside.
The instant the Fairy Hippolyta touched them
they all fell asleep, not to awake until the same
moment as their mistress, that all might be ready
to wait on her when she needed them. The very
spits at the fire went to sleep, loaded as they were
with partridges and pheasants ; and the fire went
to sleep too. All this was done in a moment:
the Fairies were never long about their business
in those days.
[46]
[47]
But news of it was brought to her by a little
dwarf , who owned a fair of seven-league
boots .
xhmmnuiniuiiiirifiiiiiiiiiLnnftTrnmiiiirniiiiiiii^^S^n^^inrrnTrjrfniLiiiLiirnifri'irnii'i'iiiriTnrinim
[48]
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The Sleeping Beauty
But it so happened that one of the King’s
councillors, the Minister of Marine (his office
dated from a previous reign when the kingdom
had hoped to conquer and acquire a seaboard)
had overslept himself that morning and came
late to the palace without any knowledge of
what had befallen. He felt no great fear that
his unpunctuality would be remarked, the King
(as he supposed) being absent in the country;
nevertheless he took the precaution of letting
himself in by a small postern door and so missed
being observed by the Fairy and touched by her
wand. Entering his office, and perceiving that
his under-secretary (usually so brisk) and all
his clerks rested their heads on their desks in
attitudes of sleep, he drew the conclusion that
something had happened, for he was an excel¬
lent judge of natural slumber. The farther he
penetrated into the palace, the stronger his sus¬
picions became. He withdrew on tiptoe.
Though by nature and habit a lazy man, he was
capable of sudden decision, and returning to
his home he caused notices to be posted up, for¬
bidding any one to approach the castle, the in-
[5i]
The Sleeping Beauty
mates of which were suffering from an Eastern
but temporary affliction known as the Sleeping
Sickness.
These notices were unnecessary, for within
a few hours there grew up, all around the park,
such a number of trees of all sizes, and such a
tangle of briars and undergrowth, that neither
beast nor man could find a passage. They grew
until nothing but the tops of the castle towers
could be seen, and these only from a good way
off. There was no mistake about it: the Fairy
had done her work well, and the Princess might
sleep with no fear of visits from the inquisitive.
One day, many, many years afterwards, the
incomparable young Prince Florimond hap¬
pened to ride a-hunting on that side of the coun¬
try which lay next to the tangled forest, and
asked : “What were those towers he saw pushing
up above the midst of a great thick wood?”
/
They all answered him as they heard tell.
Some said it was an old castle haunted by ghosts.
Others, that all the wizards and witches of the
country met there to keep Sabbath.
The most general opinion was that an Ogre
[52]
The Sleeping Beauty
dwelt there, and that he carried off thither all
the children he could catch, to eat them at his
ease. No one could follow him, for he alone
knew how to find a passage through the briars
and brambles. The Prince could not tell which
to believe of all these informants, for all gave
their versions with equal confidence, as com¬
monly happens with those who talk on matters
of which they can know nothing for certain.
He was turning from one to another in per¬
plexity, when a peasant spoke up and said: —
“Your Highness, long ago I heard my father
tell that there was in yonder castle a Princess,
the most beautiful that ever man saw; that she
must lie asleep there for many, many years; and
that one day she will be awakened by a King’s
son, for whom she was destined.”
At these words Prince Florimond felt himself
a-fire. He believed, without weighing it, that
he could accomplish this fine adventure; and
spurred on by love and ambition, he resolved to
explore then and there and discover the truth for
himself.
Leaping down from his horse he started to
[53]
The Sleeping Beauty
run towards the wood, and had almost reached
the edge of it before the attendant courtiers
guessed his design. They called to him to come
back, but he ran on, and was about to fling him¬
self boldly into the undergrowth, when as by
magic all the great trees, the shrubs, the creepers,
the ivies, briars and brambles, unlaced them¬
selves of their own accord and drew aside to let
him pass. He found himself within a long glade
or avenue, at the end of which glimmered the
walls of an old castle ; and towards this he strode.
It surprised him somewhat that none of his at¬
tendants were following him; the reason being
that as soon as he had passed through it, the un¬
dergrowth drew close as ever again. He heard
their voices, fainter and fainter behind him, be¬
yond the barrier, calling, beseeching him, to de¬
sist. But he held on his way without one back¬
ward look. He was a Prince, and young, and
therefore valiant.
He came to the castle, and pushing aside the
ivies that hung like a curtain over the gateway,
entered a wide outer court and stood still for a
moment, holding his breath, while his eyes trav-
[54]
The Sleeping Beauty
elled over a scene that might well have frozen
them with terror. The court was silent, dread¬
fully silent ; yet it was by no means empty. On
all hands lay straight, stiff bodies of men and
beasts, seemingly all dead. Nevertheless, as he
continued to gaze, his courage returned; for the
pimpled noses and ruddy faces of the Switzers
told him that they were no worse than asleep;
and their cups, which yet held a few heeltaps of
wine, proved that they had fallen asleep over a
drinking-bout.
He stepped by them and passed across a sec¬
ond great court paved with marble; he mounted
a broad flight of marble steps leading to the main
doorway; he entered a guardroom, just within
the doorway, where the guards stood in rank
with shouldered muskets, every man of them
asleep and snoring his best. He made his way
through a number of rooms filled with ladies and
gentlemen, some standing, others sitting, but all
asleep. He drew aside a heavy purple curtain,
and once more held his breath ; for he was look¬
ing into the great Hall of State where, at a long
table, sat and slumbered the King with his Coun-
[55]
The Sleeping Beauty
cil. The Lord Chancellor slept in the act of dip¬
ping pen into inkpot; the Archbishop in the act
of taking snuff; and between the spectacles on
the Archbishop’s nose and the spectacles on the
Lord Chancellor’s a spider had spun a beautiful
web.
Prince Florimond tiptoed very carefully past
these august sleepers and, leaving the hall by an¬
other door, came to the foot of the grand stair¬
case. Up this, too, he went; wandered along a
corridor to his right, and, stopping by hazard
at one of the many doors, opened it and looked
into a bath-room lined with mirrors and having
in its midst, sunk in the floor, a huge round basin
of whitest porcelain wherein a spring of water
bubbled deliciously. Three steps led down to
the bath, and at the head of them stood a couch,
with towels, and court-suit laid ready, exquisitely
embroidered and complete to the daintiest of lace
ruffles and the most delicate of body linen.
Then the Prince bethought him that he had
ridden far before ever coming to the wood ; and
the mirrors told him that he was also somewhat
travel-stained from his passage through it. So,
[56]
The Sleeping Beauty
having by this time learnt to accept any new
wonder without question, he undressed himself
and took a bath, which he thoroughly enjoyed.
Nor was he altogether astonished, when he tried
on the clothes, to find that they fitted him per¬
fectly. Even the rosetted shoes of satin might
have been made to his measure.
Having arrayed himself thus hardily, he re¬
sumed his quest along the corridor. The very
next door he tried opened on a chamber all pan¬
elled with white and gold; and there, on a bed
the curtains of which were drawn wide, he be¬
held the loveliest vision he had ever seen: a
Princess, seemingly about seventeen or eighteen
years old, and of a beauty so brilliant that he
could not have believed this world held the like.
But she lay still, so still . . . Prince Flori-
mond drew near, trembling and wondering, and
sank on his knees beside her. Still she lay,
scarcely seeming to breathe, and he bent and
touched with his lips the little hand that rested,
light as a roseleaf, on the coverlet. . . .
With that, as the long spell of her enchant¬
ment came to an end, the Princess awaked ; and
[57]
The Sleeping Beauty
looking at him with eyes more tender than a first
sight of him might seem to excuse : —
“Is it you, my Prince f” she said. “You have
been a long while coming!”
The Prince, charmed by these words, and still
more by the manner in which they were spoken,
knew not how to find words for the bliss in his
heart. He assured her that he loved her better
than his own self. Their speech after this was
not very coherent; they gazed at one another for
longer stretches than they talked; but if elo¬
quence lacked, there was plenty of love. He,
to be sure, showed the more embarrassment ; and
no need to wonder at this — she had had time to
think over what to say to him ; for I hold it not
unlikely (though the story does not say anything
of this) that the good Fairy Hippolyta had taken
care to amuse her, during her long sleep, with
some pleasurable dreams. In short, the Prin¬
cess Aurora and the Prince Florimond con¬
versed for four hours, and still without saying
the half they had to say.
Meanwhile all the palace had awaked with
the Princess. In the Council Chamber the Kins
[58]
The Sleeping Beauty
opened his eyes and requested the Lord Chan¬
cellor to read that last sentence of his over again
a little more distinctly. The Lord Chancellor,
dipping his quill into the dry inkpot, asked the
Archbishop in a whisper how many t’s there
were in “regrettable.” The Archbishop, taking
a pinch of snuff that had long ago turned to dust,
answered with a terrific sneeze, which again
was drowned by the striking of all the clocks in
the palace, as they started frantically to make
up for lost time. Dogs barked, doors banged;
the Princess’s parrot screamed in his cage and
was answered by the peacocks squawking from
the terrace ; amid which hubbub the Minister for
Agriculture, forgetting his manners, made a
trumpet of his hands and bawled across the table,
begging His Majesty to adjourn for dinner. In
short, every one’s first thought was of his own
business ; and, as they were not all in love, they
were ready to die with hunger.
Even the Queen, who had dropped asleep
while discussing with her maids-of-honour the
shade of mourning which most properly ex¬
pressed regret for royal personages in a trance,
[59]
The Sleeping Beauty
lost her patience at length, and sent one of her
attendants with word that she, for her part, was
keen-set for something to eat, and that in her
young days it had been customary for young
ladies released from enchantment to accept the
congratulations of their parents without loss of
time. The Prince Florimond, by this message
recalled to his devoirs, helped the Princess to
rise. She was completely dressed, and very
magnificently too.
Taking his beloved Princess Aurora by the
hand, he led her to her parents, who embraced
her passionately and — their first transports over
— turned to welcome him as a son, being
charmed (quite apart from their gratitude) by
the modest gallantry of his address. They passed
into a great dining-room lined with mirrors,
where they supped and were served by the royal
attendants. Violins and hautboys discoursed
music that was ancient indeed, but excellent, and
the meal was scarcely concluded before the com¬
pany enjoyed a very pleasant surprise.
Prince Florimond, having no eyes but for his
love, might be excused if he forgot that his at-
’ [60]
The Sleeping Beauty
tendants must, long before now, have carried
home their report, and that his parents would be
in deep distress, wondering what had become of
him. But the King, the Princess’s father, had a
truly royal habit of remembering details, espe¬
cially when it concerned setting folks at their
ease. Before dinner he had dispatched a messen¬
ger to carry word to Prince Florimond’s father,
that his son was safe, and to acquaint him briefly
with what had befallen. The messenger, riding
through the undergrowth — which now oblig¬
ingly parted before him as it had, a while ago,
to admit the Prince — and arriving at the out¬
skirts of the wood, found there a search-party
vainly endeavouring to break through the bar¬
rier, with the Prince’s aged father standing by
and exhorting them in person, to whom he de¬
livered his message. Trembling with relief —
for he truly supposed his son to be lost beyond
recall — the old man entreated the messenger to
turn back and escort him. So he arrived, and
was ushered into the hall.
The situation, to be sure, was delicate. But
when these two kings, both so well meaning,
[61]
The Sleeping Beauty
had met and exchanged courtesies, and the one
had raised the other by the hand to a place on the
dais beside him, already and without speech they
had almost accorded.
“I am an old man,” said the Prince s father;
“I have reigned long enough for my satisfaction,
and now care for little in life but to see my son
happy.”
“I think I can promise you that,” said the
Princess’s father, smiling, with a glance at the
two lovers.
“I am old enough, at any rate, to have done
with ambitions,” said the one.
“And I,” said the other, “have dreamed long
enough, at any rate, to despise them. What mat¬
ters ruling to either of us two, while we see your
son and my daughter reigning together?”
So it was agreed, then and there; and after
supper, without loss of time, the Archbishop
married the Prince Florimond and the Princess
Aurora in the chapel of the Castle. The two
Kings and the Princess’s mother saw them to
their chamber, and the first maid-of-honour drew
the curtain. They slept little — the Princess had
[62]
The Sleeping Beauty
no occasion; but the Prince next morning led
his bride back to the city, where they were ac¬
claimed by the populace and lived happy ever
after, reigning in prosperity and honour.
MORAL
Ye Maids, to await some while a lover fond,
Rich, titled, debonair as Florimond ,
Is reason; and who learns on fate to attend
Goes seldom unrewarded in the end —
“What! No one kiss us for a hundred years!”
There, la-la-la! I understood, my dears .
ANOTHER
Further, the story would suggest a doubt
That marriage may be happiest when defer/d —
“Deferr’d?” you cry — “Deferr’d,” I see you pout,
— We’ll skip this moral, and attempt a third .
ANOTHER
Thirdly, our fable then appears to prove
Disparity of years no bar to love.
Crabb’d Age and Youth — But that’s an ancient quarrel,
And I’ll not interfere . There’s no third moral .
[63]
[64]
BLUE BEARD
BLUE BEARD
IN the East, in a city not far from Baghdad,
there lived a man who had many posses¬
sions and might have been envied by all
who knew him had these possessions been less by
one. He had fine houses in town and country,
retinues of servants, gold and silver plate in
abundance, coffers heaped with jewels, costly
carpets, embroidered furniture, cabinets full of
curiosities, gilded coaches, teams of Arab horses
of the purest breed. But unluckily he had also
a blue beard, which made him so frightfully
[67]
Blue Beard
ugly that every woman wanted to scream and
run away at sight of him.
Among his neighbours was a lady of quality,
who had two sons and two daughters. Upon
these two damsels Blue Beard cast his affections,
without knowing precisely which he preferred;
and asked the lady to bestow the hand of one of
her daughters upon him, adding, not too tact¬
fully, that he would leave the choice to her.
Neither Anne nor Fatima was eager for the
honour. They sent their suitor to and fro, and
back again from one to the other: they really
could not make up their minds to accept a hus¬
band with a blue beard. It increased their re¬
pugnance (for they were somewhat romantic
young ladies) to learn that he had already mar¬
ried several wives; and, moreover, nobody could
tell what had become of them, which again was
not reassuring.
Blue Beard, to make their better acquaintance,
invited them, with their mother and brothers and
a dozen or so of their youthful friends, to divert
themselves at one of his country houses, where
they spent a whole fortnight, and (as they con-
[68]
[69]
They were rowed to the sound of music on
the waters of their host's private canal .
■1 iirtiTTH I n n7Tin n 1 1 1 1 mn -i riTf i rLinTm.l3Iirn T 1 H 1 1 1 H 1 1 H
niiniTTTn.rfnri.iin linn miiiniiium'i7Tinnm
[70]
Blue Beard
fessed) in the most agreeable pastimes. Each
day brought some fresh entertainment: they
hunted, they hawked, they practised archery,
they angled for gold-fish, or were rowed to the
sound of music on the waters of their host’s pri¬
vate canal, they picnicked in the ruined castles,
of which he owned quite a number. Each day
concluded, too, with banqueting, dancing card-
parties, theatricals; or would have concluded,
had these young people felt any disposition to
go to bed. They preferred, however, to sit up
until morning, joking and teasing one another.
Blue Beard, who had arrived at middle age,
would have been grateful for a little more sleep
than they allowed him, but showed himself
highly complaisant and smiled at their pranks
even when — their awe of him having worn off —
they balanced a basin of water above his cham¬
ber door, to fall on his head and douch him, or
sewed up his night-garments, or stuffed his bol¬
ster with the prickly cactus (an Eastern vege¬
table, of which he possessed whole avenues) ;
nay, even when, for the same mischievous pur¬
pose, they despoiled his garden of an aloe which
[73]
Blue Beard
was due to blossom in a few days’ time, after hav¬
ing remained flowerless for a century, he be¬
trayed no chagrin but merely raised the wages of
his head-gardener, heart-broken over the loss of a
plant so economical in giving pleasure. In short
all went so smoothly that the younger daughter
began to find their host’s beard not so blue after
all.
She confided this to her mother. “Dear
mother,” she said, “it is doubtless nothing more
than my fancy, but his beard does seem to me to
have altered in colour during the last ten days —
a very little, of course.”
“Then you, too, have observed it!” the lady
interrupted delightedly. “My dearest child,
you cannot imagine how your words relieve me!
For a week past I have accused my eyesight of
failing me, and myself of growing old.”
“Then you really think there is a change?”
asked Fatima, at once doubtful and hoping.
“Indeed, yes. Ask yourself if it be reasonable
to suppose that our eyes are playing a trick on
both of us? Not,” her mother went on, “that I,
for my part, have any prejudice against blue.
[74]
Blue Beard
On the contrary, it is a beautiful colour, and con¬
sidered lucky. The poets — you will have re¬
marked — when they would figure to us the
highest attainable happiness, select a blue flower
or a blue bird for its emblem. Heaven itself is
blue; and, at the least, a blue beard must be al¬
lowed to confer distinction.”
“A greyish-blue,” hazarded Fatima.
“A bluish-grey, rather,” her mother corrected
her: “that is, if I must define the shade as it ap¬
pears to me.”
“And,” still hesitated Fatima, “since it has
begun to change, there seems no reason why it
should not continue to do so.”
“My darling” — her mother kissed her — “that
is precisely the point! Its colour is changing,
you say. But for what reason? Obviously be¬
cause he is in love; and what love has begun,
love can carry to a conclusion. Nay, but put it
on the ground of pity alone. Could a feeling
heart set itself any task more angelic than to res¬
cue so worthy a gentleman from so hideous an
affliction — if affliction it be, which I am far from
allowing?”
[75]
Blue Beard
Fatima reflected on her mother’s advice, but
thought it prudent to consult her sister Anne
and her step-brothers before coming to a deci¬
sion which, once taken, must be irrevocable.
They listened to her very good-naturedly;
though, to tell the truth, all three were somewhat
jaded, having sat up all night at the card-tables,
playing at ombre, quadrille, lasquenet, and
Heaven knows what other games.
“My dear Fatima,” said her sister Anne with
a little yawn, “I congratulate you with all my
heart on having made a discovery which, beyond
a doubt and but for your better diligence, I
should have had to make for myself before
long.”
As for her step-brothers, they were in the best
of humours at having won a considerable sum of
money from their host by superior play ; and they
answered her, quoting a proverb, that “at night
all cats are grey, and all beards too,” and seemed
to consider this very much to the point.
Fatima was greatly relieved by these assur¬
ances. On the evening before the company dis¬
persed Blue Beard again sought a private inter-
[76]
Blue Beard
view and pressed his suit. She accepted him
without further ado, and as soon as they returned
to town the marriage was concluded.
They had been married little more than a
month when Blue Beard came to his wife one
morning, and told her that letters of importance
had arrived for him: he must take a journey into
the country and be away six weeks at least on a
matter of business. He desired her to divert her¬
self in his absence by sending for her friends,
to carry them off to the country if she pleased,
and to make good cheer wherever she was.
“Here,” said he, “are the keys of the two great
store-chambers where I keep my spare furni¬
ture; these open the strong-rooms of my gold
and silver plate which is only used on state oc¬
casions ; these unlock my chests of money, both
gold and silver ; these, my jewel coffers ; and this
is the master-key to all my apartments. But this
little one, here, is the key of the closet at the end
of the great gallery on the ground floor. Open
all the others ; go where you will. But into that
little closet I forbid you to go ; and I forbid it so
[77]
Blue Beard
strongly that if you should disobey me and open
it, there is nothing you may not expect from my
displeasure.”
Fatima promised to obey all his orders ex¬
actly; whereupon he embraced her, got into his
coach, and was driven off.
Her good friends and neighbours scarcely
waited for the young bride’s invitation, so im¬
patient were they to view all the riches of her
grand house, having never dared to come while
her husband was at home, because of his terrify¬
ing blue beard. They overran the house without
loss of time, hunting their curiosity from room to
room, along the corridors and in and out of
closets and wardrobes, cabinets and presses;
opening cupboards, ferreting in drawers, and
still exclaiming over their contents as each new
discovery proved more wonderful than the last.
They roamed through the bedrooms and spent
a long while in the two great store-chambers,
where they could not sufficiently admire the
number and beauty of the tapestries, beds, sofas,
consoles, stands, tables, but particularly the
looking-glasses, in which you could see your-
[78]
[79]
They overran the house without loss of time ,
_ _ - - - - <
TmTTiii mu 1 1 1 1 1 m n 1 1 m n m i un nT7TTiiifrrr?f^^g^i.iiaii m mim mm n 1 1 luirin rmrn'n-mi ini n iihhitI
[80]
Blue Beard
self from head to foot, with their frames of glass
and silver and silver-gilt, the finest and costliest
ever seen. They ceased not to extol and to envy
their friend’s good fortune.
“If my husband could only give me such a
house as this,” said one to another, “for aught I
cared he might have a beard of all the colours
of the rainbow!”
Fatima, meanwhile, was not in the least
amused by the sight of all these riches, being
consumed by a curiosity even more ardent than
that of her friends. Indeed, she could scarcely
contain herself and listen to their chatter, so im¬
patient she felt to go and open the closet down¬
stairs. If only Blue Beard had not forbidden
this one little thing! Or if, having reasons of
his own to keep it secret, he had been content
to take the key away with him, saying nothing
about it ! At least, if he wished to prove whether
or not poor Fatima could rise above the common
frailty of her sex — and he was, as we shall see,
a somewhat exacting husband — he should have
warned her. As it was, her curiosity grew and
possessed her until at length, without even con-
[83]
Blue Beard
sidering how uncivil it was to leave her guests,
she escaped from them and ran down a little
back staircase, in such haste that twice or thrice
she tripped over her gown and came near break¬
ing her neck.
When she reached the door of the closet she
hesitated for a moment or so, thinking upon her
husband’s command, and considering what ill
might befall her if she disobeyed it. While he
uttered it his look had been extremely stern, and
a blue beard — for after a month of married life
she could no longer disguise from herself that
it was still blue, or at any rate changing colour
less rapidly than she or her mother had promised
themselves — might betoken a harsh temper. On
the other hand, and though she continued to find
it repulsive, he had hitherto proved himself a
kind, even an indulgent husband, and for the life
of her she could not imagine there was anything
unpardonable in opening so small a chamber.
The temptation, in short, was too strong for her
to overcome. She took the little key and, trem¬
bling, opened the door.
At first, shading her eyes and peering in, she
[84]
Blue Beard
could see nothing, because the window-shutters
were closed. But after some moments she be¬
gan to perceive that the light, falling through the
shutters, took a reddish tinge as it touched the
floor. So red it was — or rather, red-purple —
that for a moment or two she supposed the closet
to be paved with porphyry of that colour. Still,
as she stared and her eyes by degrees grew ac¬
customed to the gloom, she saw — and moment
by moment the truth crept upon her and froze
her — that the floor was all covered with clotted
blood. In the dull shine of it something hor¬
rible was reflected. . . . With an effort she
lifted her eyes to the wall facing her, and there,
in a row, on seven iron clamps, hung the bodies
of seven dead women with their feet dangling
a few inches above the horrible pool in which
their blood had mingled. . . . Little doubt but
these were the wives whom Blue Beard had mar¬
ried and whose throats he had cut, one after
another !
Poor Fatima thought to die of fear, and the
key, which she had pulled from the lock, fell
from her hand. When she had regained her
[85]
Blue Beard
senses a little, she picked it up and locked the
door again ; but her hand shook so that this was
no easy feat, and she tottered upstairs to recover
herself in her own room. But she found it filled
with her officious friends, who, being occupied
with envy of her riches and having no reason to
guess that, in a husband’s absence, anything
could afflict so fortunate a wife, either honestly
ignored her pallor or hoped (while promising
to come again) that they had not overtired her
by their visit.
They promised, too, to repeat their call very
soon, at the same time inquiring how long her
husband’s journey might be expected to last. It
was plain that they feared him, one and all.
Half an hour ago she might have wondered at
this.
They were gone at last. Fatima, drawing the
key from her pocket, now to her horror observed
a dull smear upon it, and remembered that it
had fallen at her feet on the edge of the pool of
blood in the closet. She wiped it ; she rubbed it
on the sleeve of her robe ; but the blood would
not come off. In a sudden terror she ran to her
[86]
Blue Beard
dressing-room, poured out water, and began to
soap the key. But in vain did she wash it, and
even scrape it with a knife and scrub it with
sand and pumice-stone. The blood still re¬
mained, for the key was a magic key, and there
was no means of making it quite clean ; as fast
as the blood was scoured off one side it came
again on the other.
She was still scouring and polishing, when a
horn sounded not very far away. In her flurry
she paid little heed to this, or to the rumble of
wheels she heard approaching. Frightened
though she was, she supposed that she had still
almost six weeks in which to restore by some
means the key to its brightness. But when the
wheels rolled up to the porchway and came to
a stop, and when the horn, sounding again, blew
her husband’s flourish, then indeed the poor
lady’s knees knocked together and almost sank
beneath her. Hiding the key in the bosom of
her bodice, she tottered forth to the head of the
stairs, to behold Blue Beard himself standing
beneath the lamp in the hall below.
He caught sight of her as she leaned over,
[87]
4
Blue Beard
clinging to the balustrade ; and called up cheer¬
fully that he had received letters on the road with
news that his journey was after all unnecessary
— the business he went about had been settled,
and to his advantage. Still shaking in every
limb, Fatima crept downstairs to give him greet¬
ing. She ordered supper to be prepared in
haste; and while he ate, forced herself to ask a
hundred questions concerning his adventures.
In short she did all she could to give him proof
that she was delighted at his speedy return.
Next morning, having summoned her to at¬
tend him on the terrace, he asked her to render
back the keys; which she gave him, but with
such a trembling hand that he easily guessed
what had happened.
“How is this?” said he. “Why is not the key
of my closet among the rest?”
“I must have left it upstairs on my table,”
said Fatima.
“Fetch it to me at once,” said Blue Beard.
“At once, and without fail.”
She went, and after a while returned, protest¬
ing that she could not find it.
[88]
[89]
uuumimumniLimmiitniinriiunimiiriiiiiiiTmnmiiiiiiiiii
“You shall go in , and take your place among
the ladies you saw there!”
mCX
liiniLmnninnrmiiniiiiiiii M^friTnirmTniiiimm
tiiirnim
iiniiiTimLiirfun'finiiijriirniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimn
[90]
Blue Beard
“Go back and seek again,” commanded Blue
Beard, dangerously calm.
After going backwards and forwards several
times, she could pretend no longer, but brought
him the key. Blue Beard examined it closely,
and demanded —
“How came this blood upon the key?”
“I do not know,” answered poor Fatima, paler
than death.
“You do not know!” cried Blue Beard in a
terrible voice. “But I know well enough. You
have chosen to enter that closet. Mighty well,
madam; since that poor room of mine so appeals
to your fancy, your whim shall not be denied.
You shall go in, and take your place among the
ladies you saw there !”
Fatima flung herself at her husband’s feet,
and wept and begged his pardon with every sign
of truly repenting her disobedience. She would
have melted a rock, so beautiful and sorrowful
she was; but Blue Beard had a heart harder than
any rock.
“You must die, madam,” said he, “and that
presently.”
[93]
Blue Beard
“Since I must die,” she answered, looking up
at him with eyes all bathed in tears, “grant me a
little time to say my prayers.”
“I grant you,” replied Blue Beard, “ten min¬
utes, and not a second more.”
As she went from him, and through the house
towards her own apartment, at the foot of the
great staircase she met with her sister Anne, who
(unaware of Blue Beard’s return) had just ar¬
rived to pay her a visit.
“Ah, dear sister!” cried Fatima, embracing
her. “But tell me, oh, and for Heaven’s sake,
quickly ! where are my brothers Selim and Has-
san, who promised to come with you?”
“They are at home,” said Anne. “They were
detained at parade, and I have come ahead of
them. I could wait for them no longer in my
impatience to see you ; but just as I was starting
they arrived back from the parade-ground, and
sent word that they will follow as soon as they
have groomed their horses, and spend a happy
day with you.”
“Alas!” sobbed Fatima, “they will never see
me alive in this world!”
[94]
Blue Beard
“But what has happened?” asked her sister,
amazed.
“He — Blue Beard — has returned. . . . Yes,
and in a few minutes he has promised to kill me.
But ah! ask me no questions — there is so little
time left. Dear sister, if you love me, run up¬
stairs and still up to the top of the tower, look
if my brothers are not coming, and if you see
them, give them a signal to make haste!”
Her sister Anne left her and ran up, up, to the
roof of the tower; and from time to time as the
minutes sped, the unhappy Fatima cried up to
her: —
“Anne, Sister Anne, do you see any one com-
• S)ff
ingf
And Sister Anne answered her: —
“I see nothing but the noon dust a-blowing,
and the green grass a-growing.”
By and by Blue Beard, who had pulled out
his huge sabre, and was trying its edge on the
short turf of the terrace, shouted to her : —
“Wife, your time is up. Come down, and at
once I”
Then, as she made no answer, he shouted
[95]
Blue Beard
again, and as loudly as he could bawl : “Come
down quickly, or I will come up to you !”
“A moment — give me a moment longer!” she
answered, and called softly to her sister: “Anne,
Sister Anne, do you see any one coming?”
And Sister Anne answered: “I see nothing
but the noon dust a-blowing, and the green grass
a-growing.
“Come down quickly,” shouted Blue Beard,
“or I will come up to you !”
“I am coming,” answered his wife; and again
she cried: “Anne, Sister Anne, do you see any
one coming?”
“I see,” answered Sister Anne, “yonder a great
cloud of dust coming.”
“Is it my brothers?”
“Alas ! no, sister. I see a flock of sheep.”
“Will you not come down?” bawled Blue
Beard.
“Just one moment longer!” entreated his wife,
and once more she called out: “Anne, Sister
Anne, do you see nobody coming?”
“I see,” she answered, “yonder two Knights
a-riding, but they are yet a great way off. . . .
[96]
• •
I
[97J
The unhappy Fatima cried up to her : —
<(Anne , Sister Anne , do you see any one coming ?
irnimiiw 1111 ui'innrn n iiriij 111111 minimn mnnn nc,
A
jianfHiniiinmmimiiiii'mmnii'iiiiiirnirnTTTnn
V
[98]
>
)
> )
)
> ) >
<
t f
Blue Beard
God be praised,” she cried a moment after,
“they are our brothers! I am waving my hand¬
kerchief to them to hasten.”
Then Blue Beard stamped his foot and roared
out so terribly that he made the whole house
tremble. The poor lady came down and, casting
herself, all in tears and dishevelled, at his feet,
clasped him by the ankles while she besought
him for mercy.
“This shall not help you,” said Blue Beard.
“You must die!” Then, taking hold of her hair
and twisting her head back, the better to expose
her beautiful throat, he exclaimed: “This be
the lesson I read against curiosity, the peculiar
vice of woman-kind, and which above all others
I find detestable. To that most fatal habit all
the best accredited religions, in whatever else
they may differ, unite in attributing the first
cause of all misfortunes to which the race is
subject. . . .” In this strain he continued for
fully three minutes, still grasping her hair with
one hand while with the other he flourished his
sabre.
As he ceased, poor Fatima looked up at him
[ioi]
V
Blue Beard
with dying eyes. “Ah, sir!” she besought him,
“if this curiosity be, as you remind me, my worst
sin, you will not be so cruel as to destroy me be¬
fore I have confessed and asked pardon for it.
Grant me, then, just one moment more to fix my
thoughts on devotion !”
“No, no,” was his answer; “recommend thy¬
self to Heaven,” and he swung up his sabre to
strike.
At that very instant there sounded so loud a
knocking at the gate that he came to a sudden
stop. His arm dropped as the gate flew open
and two cavaliers ran in with drawn swords and
rushed upon him. Loosing his hold upon Fa¬
tima, who sank fainting upon the grass, he ran
to save himself, but the two brothers were so hot
on his heels that, after pursuing him through
the vineries and the orange-house, they overtook
him just as he reached the steps of the main
porch. There they ran their swords through his
body, and, after making sure that he was dead,
returned to their sister, who opened her eyes, in¬
deed, as they bent over her, but had not strength
enough to rise and embrace them.
[102]
Blue Beard
Blue Beard had no heirs, and so his wife be^
came mistress of all his estates. She employed a
part of her wealth to marry her sister Anne to a
young gentleman who had loved her a long
while; another part to purchase captains’ com¬
missions for her two step-brothers; and the rest
to marry herself to a very worthy gentleman who
made her forget the short but unhappy time she
had passed with Blue Beard.
MORAL
(For Curious Wives)
Wives should have one lord only . Some have reckon’d
In Curiosity t’ enjoy a second .
But Scripture says we may not serve two masters,
And little keys have opened large disasters .
ANOTHER
(For Chastising or Correcting Husbands)
The very best sermon that ever was preach’d
Was a thought less effective the longer it reached.
[i04]
CINDERELLA
OR THE LITTLE GLASS SLIPPER
CINDERELLA
OR THE LITTLE GLASS SLIPPER
ONCE upon a time there lived a gentle¬
man who married twice. His second
wife was a widow with two grown-up
daughters, both somewhat past their prime, and
this woman would have been the proudest and
most overbearing in the world had not her
daughters exactly resembled her with their fine
airs and insolent tempers. The husband, too,
had by his first wife a child of his own, a young
daughter, and so good and so gentle that she
promised to grow up into the living image of
her dead mother, who had been the most lovable
of women.
[107]
Cinderella
The wedding festivities were no sooner over
than the stepmother began to show herself in
her true colours. She could not endure the girl’s
good qualities, which by contrast rendered her
own daughters the more odious. She put her
to drudge at the meanest household work, and
thus she and her precious darlings not only
wreaked their spite but saved money to buy
themselves dresses and finery. It was the child
who scoured the pots and pans, scrubbed the
floors, washed down the stairs, polished the
tables, ironed the linen, darned the stockings,
and made the beds. She herself slept at the top
of the house in a garret, upon a wretched straw
mattress, while her sisters had apartments of
their own with inlaid floors, beds carved and
gilded in the latest fashion, and mirrors in which
they could see themselves from head to foot.
Yet they were so helpless, or rather they
thought it so menial to do anything for them¬
selves, that had they but a ribbon to tie, or a
bow to adjust, or a bodice to be laced, the child
must be sent for. When she came it was odds
[i°8]
u
i
[109]
mmmimurrumuimurmmwmi^jEuinh^^
She used to creep away to the chimney-cor*
ner and seat herself among the cinders .
mi nfii i minm ii 11 1 1 r 1 1 1 1 n rm i li n i.mu l i r r n t ri u TfLiiTr^Jgii itmifnimi nm m i 1 1 1 n ni i i.i ittti n i liir r mi miniii
[no]
Cinderella
that they met her with a storm of abuse, in this
fashion : —
“What do you mean, pray, by answering the
bell in this state? Stand before the glass and
look at yourself! Look at your hands — faugh!
How can you suppose we should allow you to
touch a ribbon, or even come near us, with such
hands? Run downstairs, slut, and put yourself
under the kitchen pump” — and so on.
“How can I help it?” thought the poor little
drudge. “If I do not run at once when the bell
rings, they scold me for that. Yet they ring —
both of them together sometimes — a minute after
setting me to rake out a grate and sift the ashes.
As for looking at myself in the glass, gladly
would I do it if they allowed me one. But they
have told me that if I had a glass I should only
waste time in front of it.”
She kept these thoughts to herself, however,
and suffered her ill-usage patiently, not daring
to complain to her father, who would, more¬
over, have joined with the others in chiding her,
for he was wholly under his wife’s thumb ; and
she had enough of chiding already. When she
[H3]
Cinderella
had done her work she used to creep away to
the chimney-corner and seat herself among the
cinders, and from this the household name for
her came to be Cinder-slut; but the younger
sister, who was not so ill-tempered as the elder,
called her Cinderella. They were wise in their
way to deprive her of a looking-glass; for in
truth, and in spite of her sorry rags, Cinderella
was a hundred times more beautiful than they
with all their magnificent dresses.
It happened that the King’s son gave a ball,
and sent invitations through the kingdom to
every person of quality. Our two misses were
invited among the rest, for they cut a great figure
in that part of the country. Mightily pleased
they were to be sure with their cards of invita¬
tion, all printed in gold and stamped with the
broad red seal of the Heir Apparent; and
mightily busy they were, discussing what gowns
and head-dresses would best become them.
This meant more worry for Cinderella, for it
was she who ironed her sisters’ linen, goffered
their tucks and frills, pleated their wristbands,
[i 14]
Cinderella
pressed their trimmings of old lace and wrapped
them away in tissue paper. A score of times
all this lace, piece by piece, had to be un¬
wrapped, inspected, put away again; and after
a trying-on, all the linen had to be ironed, gof¬
fered, crimped, or pleated afresh for them. They
could talk of nothing but their ball dresses.
“For my part,” said the elder, “I shall wear a
velvet cramoisie trimmed a 1’ Anglais e” — for she
had a passion for cramoisie, and could not per¬
ceive how ill the colour went with her com¬
plexion. “I had thought of cloth-of-gold, but
there’s the cost of the underskirt to be consid¬
ered; and underskirts seem to grow dearer and
dearer in these days. What a relief,” she went
on, “it must be to have money and not be forced
to set one thing against another!”
“I,” said the younger, “must make shift with
my old underskirt; that is, unless I can wheedle
some money out of Papa” — for so, in their affec¬
tion, they called their stepfather. “Cinderella
can take out the worst stains to-morrow with a
little eau-de-Cologne. I believe that, if she tries,
she can make it look as good as new ; and, at all
[US]
Cinderella
events, it will give her something to do instead of
wasting an afternoon. I don’t pretend that I
like wearing an old underskirt, and I hope to
make dear Papa sensible of this; but against it
I shall have the gold-flowered robe, on which I
am determined, and my diamond stomacher,
which is somewhat better than the common.”
“And I, of course,” said the elder, “must wear
my diamond spray. If only it had a ruby in the
clasp instead of a sapphire ! Rubies go so much
better with cramoisie. ... I suppose there is no
time now to ask the jeweller to reset it with a
ruby.”
“But you don’t possess a ruby, dear,” mur¬
mured her sister, who did possess one, and had
no intention of lending it. “And, besides, sap¬
phires suit you so much better!”
They sent for the best milliner they could find,
to build their mob-caps in triple tiers; and for
the best hairdresser to arrange their hair; and
their patches were supplied by the shop to which
all the Quality went. From time to time they
called up Cinderella to ask her advice, for she
had excellent taste. Cinderella advised them
[n6]
Cinderella
perfectly, and even offered her services to dress
their hair for them on the night of the ball. They
accepted gladly enough.
Whilst she was dressing them one asked her :
“Cinderella, would you not like to be going to
the ball?”
“Alas! miss,” said Cinderella, “you are
making fun of me. It is not for the like of me
to be there.”
“You are right, girl. Folks would laugh in¬
deed to see Cinder-slut at a ball!”
Any one but Cinderella would have pinned on
their mob-caps awry; and if you or I had been
in her place, I won’t swear but that we might
have pushed in the pins just a trifle carelessly.
But she had no malice in her nature; she at¬
tired them to perfection, though they found
fault with her all the while it was doing, and
quite forgot to thank her when it was done.
Let it be related, in excuse for their tempers, that
they had passed almost two days without eating,
so eager were they and excited. The most of
this time they had spent in front of their mirrors,
where they had broken more than a dozen laces
[117]
Cinderella
in trying to squeeze their waists and make them
appear more slender. They were dressed a full
two hours before the time fixed for starting. But
at length the coach arrived at the door. They
were tucked into it with a hundred precautions,
and Cinderella followed it with her eyes as long
as she could; that is to say, until the tears rose
and blinded them.
She turned away weeping, back to the house,
and crept into her dear chimney-corner ; where,
being all alone in the kitchen, she could indulge
her misery.
A long while she sat there. Suddenly, be¬
tween two heavy sobs she looked up, her eyes
attracted by a strange blue glow on the far side
of the hearth : and there stood the queerest lady,
who must have entered somehow without knock¬
ing.
Her powdered hair was dressed all about her
head in the prettiest of short curls, amid which
the most exquisite jewels — diamonds, and rubies,
and emeralds — sparkled against the firelight.
Her dress had wide panniers bulging over a
skirt of lace flounces, billowy and delicate as
[n8]
Cinderella
sea-foam, and a stiff bodice, shaped to the nar¬
rowest waist imaginable. Jewels flashed all over
this dress — or at least Cinderella supposed them
to be jewels, though, on second thoughts, they
might be fireflies, butterflies, glowworms. They
seemed at any rate to be alive, and to dart from
one point to another of her attire. Lastly, this
strange lady held in her right hand a short wand,
on the end of which trembled a pale bluish-green
flame; and it was this which had first caught
Cinderella’ s eye and caused her to look up.
“Good evening, child,” said the visitor in a
sharp clear voice, at the same time nodding
kindly across the firelight. “You seem to be in
trouble. What is the matter?”
“I wish,” sobbed Cinderella. “I wish,” she
began again, and again she choked. This was
all she could say for weeping.
“You wish, dear, that you could go to the ball;
is it not so?”
“Ah, yes!” said Cinderella with a sigh.
“Well, then,” said the visitor, “be a good girl,
dry your tears, and I think it can be managed.
I am your godmother, you must know, and in
[123]
Cinderella
younger days your mother and I were very dear
friends.” She omitted, perhaps purposely, to
add that she was a Fairy; but Cinderella was
soon to discover this too. “Do you happen to
have any pumpkins in the garden?” her god¬
mother asked.
Cinderella thought this an odd question. She
could not imagine what pumpkins had to do
with going to a ball. But she answered that
there were plenty in the garden — a whole bed
of them in fact.
“Then let us go out and have a look at them.”
They went out into the dark garden to the
pumpkin patch, and her godmother pointed to
the finest of all with her wand.
“Pick that one,” she commanded.
Cinderella picked it, still wondering. Her
godmother opened a fruit knife that had a
handle of mother-of-pearl. With this she
scooped out the inside of the fruit till only the
rind was left ; then she tapped it with her wand,
and at once the pumpkin was changed into a
beautiful coach all covered with gold.
“Next we must have horses,” said her god-
[124]
Cinderella
mother. “The question is, Have you such a
thing as a mouse trap in the house?”
Cinderella ran to look into her mouse trap,
where she found six mice all alive. Her god¬
mother, following, told her to lift the door of
the trap a little way, and as the mice ran out one
by one she gave each a tap with her wand, and
each mouse turned at once into a beautiful horse
— which made a fine team of six horses, of a
lovely grey, dappled with mouse colour.
Now the trouble was to find a coachman.
“I will go and see,” said Cinderella, who had
dried her tears and was beginning to find this
great fun, “if there isn’t such a thing as a rat in
the rat trap. We can make a coachman of him.”
“You are right, dear,” said her godmother;
“run and look.”
Cinderella fetched her the rat trap. There
were three large rats in it. The Fairy chose one
of the three because of his enormous whiskers,
and at a touch he was changed into a fat coach¬
man.
Next she said: “Go to the end of the garden;
and there in the corner of the wall behind the
[125]
Cinderella
watering-pot, unless I am mistaken, you will find
six lizards. Bring them to me.”
Cinderella had no sooner brought them than
her godmother changed them into six footmen,
who climbed up at once behind the coach with
their bedizened liveries, and clung on as though
they had been doing nothing else all their lives.
The Fairy then said to Cinderella : “Hey now,
child ! This will do to go to the ball with, unless
you are hard to please.”
“Indeed, yes,” answered Cinderella. “But
how can I go, as I am, in these horrid clothes?”
“You might have given me credit for thinking
of that too !” Her godmother did but touch her
with her wand, and on the instant her rags were
transformed into cloth of gold and silver, all be¬
spangled with precious stones. She felt her
hair creeping up into curls, and tiring and ar¬
ranging itself in tiers, on the topmost of which a
double ostrich feather grew from a diamond
clasp that caught the rays of the old lady’s wand
and shot them about the garden, this way and
that, making the slugs and snails crawl to shelter.
“But the chief mark of a lady,” said her
[126]
Cinderella
godmother, eying her with approval, “is to be
well shod,” and so saying she pulled out a pair
of glass slippers, into which Cinderella poked
her toes doubtfully, for glass is not as a rule
an accommodating material for slippers. You
have to be measured very carefully for it.
But these fitted to perfection : and thus arrayed
from top to toe, Cinderella had nothing more to
do but kiss her godmother, thank her, and step
into the coach, the six horses of which were paw¬
ing the cabbage beds impatiently.
“Good-bye, child I” said her godmother. “But
of one thing I must warn you seriously. I have
power to send you thus to the ball, but my power
lasts only until midnight. Not an instant be¬
yond midnight must you stay there. If you over¬
stay the stroke of twelve, your coach will become
but a pumpkin again, your horses will change
back into mice, your footmen into lizards, and
your ball dress shrink to the same rags in which
I found you.”
Cinderella promised that she would not fail
to take her departure before midnight: and, with
[127]
Cinderella
that, the coachman cracked his whip and she
was driven away, beside herself with joy.
In the royal palace, and in the royal gardens,
over which shone the same stars which had
looked down upon Cinderella’s pumpkins, the
ball was at its height : with scores and scores of
couples dancing on the waxed floor to the music
of the violins; and under the trees, where the
music throbbed in faint echoes, other scores of
couples moving, passing and repassing, listen¬
ing to the plash of the fountains and inhaling
the sweet scent of the flowers.
Now, as the King’s son walked among his
guests, word was brought to him by his Cham¬
berlain that a grand Princess, whom nobody
knew, had just arrived and desired admission.
“She will not tell her name,” said the Cham¬
berlain; “but that she is a Princess and of very
high dignity cannot be doubted. Apart from
her beauty and the perfection of her address (of
which your Royal Highness, perhaps, will al¬
low me to be no mean judge), I may mention
[128]
[129]
liiiiiimiiinaftiiiiiHiitiiiaaiaiaiBiaiiaiiiaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiim'i
... n 'OfCW.
^N^HiimjTinniiiiuiLmi.tiiriirnirnririiinirrriimm in
[130]
Cinderella
that the very jewels in her hair are worth a whole
province.”
The King’s son hastened to the gate to re¬
ceive the fair stranger, handed her down from
the coach, and led her through the gardens,
where the guests drew apart and gazed in won¬
der at her loveliness. Still escorted by him she
entered the ballroom, where at once a great
silence fell, the dancing was broken off, the
violins ceased to play — so taken, so ravished was
everybody by the vision of this unknown one.
Everywhere ran the murmur, “Ah! how beauti¬
ful she is!” The King himself, old as he was,
could not take his eyes off her, and confided to
the Queen in a low voice that it was long since
he had seen so adorable a creature.
All the ladies were busily studying her head¬
dress and her ball-gown, that they might order
the like next day for themselves, if only (vain
hope !) they could find materials so exquisite and
dressmakers clever enough.
The King’s son took her to the place of
honour, and afterwards led her out to dance.
She danced so gracefully that all admired her
[133]
Cinderella
yet the more. A splendid supper was served,
but the young Prince ate nothing of it, so intent
was he on gazing upon her.
She went and sat by her sisters, who bridled
with pleasure at the honour. She did them a
thousand civilities, sharing with them the nec¬
tarines and citrons which the Prince brought
her; and still not recognising her, they mar¬
velled at this, being quite unused (as they
never deserved) to be selected for attentions
so flattering.
The King’s son now claimed her for another
dance. It had scarcely come to an end when
Cinderella heard the clock strike the quarter
to twelve; whereupon she instantly desired her
partner to lead her to the King and Queen. “For
I must be going,” she said.
“It is cruel of you to go so early,” he protested.
“But at least you will come again to-morrow and
grant me many dances?” i
“Is there to be another ball, then, to-morrow?”
she asked
“To-morrow, yes; and as many morrows as
you wish, if only you will come.”
[134]
Cinderella
“Ah, if I could!” sighed Cinderella to her¬
self: for she was young, and it seemed to her
that she could never have enough of such eve¬
nings as this, though they went on for ever and
ever.
The Prince led her to the dais where sat the
King and Queen. She made a deep reverence
before them, a slighter but no less gracious one to
the company, and withdrew. Although she had
given no orders, her coach stood waiting for her.
Slipping in, she was whisked home in the time it
would take you to wink an eye.
She had scarcely entered the house, however,
before she received a shock. For on the thresh¬
old of the kitchen, glancing down to make sure
that her ball gown was not disarranged by this
rapid journey, she perceived that it had vanished
— changed back to the rags of her daily wear.,
But there, in the light of the hearth, stood her
godmother, who smiled so pleasantly that Cin¬
derella choked down her little cry of disappoint¬
ment.
“Well, child? And how have you fared?”
“Godmama, I have never been so happy in
[135]
Cinderella
all my life! And it is all thanks to you !” But
after thanking her, Cinderella could not help
confessing how she longed to go to the ball next
evening. The King’s son had begged her to
come again, and oh! if she had been able to
promise !
“As to that, child,” said her godmother, “we
will see about it when the time comes. But it
has been lonely, keeping watch and sitting up
for you. Will you not reward me by telling all
about it?”
Cinderella needed no such invitation ; she was
dying to relate her adventures. She talked and
talked, her godmother still smiling and ques¬
tioning. For two hours, maybe, she talked and
was still recollecting a score of things to tell
when her sisters’ coach rumbled up to the gate,
and almost at once there came a loud ring at the
bell. She stared and rubbed her eyes, for at the
first sound of it her godmother had vanished!
Cinderella ran and opened the door to her
sisters. “What a long time you have stayed,”
said she, yawning, rubbing her eyes, and stretch¬
ing herself as though she had just waked out of
[136]
Cinderella
sleep. (She had felt, however, no inclination at
all to sleep since their departure!)
“If you had been at the ball,” said the elder sis¬
ter, “you would not have felt tired. One of the
guests was the loveliest Princess — oh, the love¬
liest you ever could see ! She showed us a thou¬
sand civilities. She gave us nectarines and
citrons.”
C inderella contained her joy. Upstairs, while
she unplaited her sisters’ hair and unlaced their
bodices, she asked the name of the Princess.
But they answered that no one knew her; that
the King’s son was wild about her, and would
give everything in the world to discover who she
was. Cinderella smiled. She no longer felt
any temptation at all to be clumsy with the hair-
pins.
“Why then,” she said, “she must be beautiful
indeed. And she went away, you say, without
telling her name? Is no one going to see her
again?”
“As for that she may come again to the ball
to-morrow. I am told that the Prince begged it,
[137]
Cinderella
almost with tears in his eyes. . . . For there is
to be another ball to-morrow, and we are going !”
“Ah, heavens!” sighed Cinderella, “how
lucky you are! Might I not see her? Please,
please, Sister Caroline, take me to-morrow — I
could manage quite well if only you lent me your
yellow gown which you wear every evening!”
“Hoity-toity !” snapped Miss Caroline. “You
cannot be awake. You must have been dream¬
ing to some purpose if you see me lending my
clothes to a nasty little Cinder-slut!”
Cinderella had quite well expected some such
rebuff, and was glad enough to get it, for it
would have been very awkward if her sister had
been willing to lend the gown.
The next evening the two sisters were at the
ball; and so was Cinderella, but in even finer at¬
tire than before. Her godmother had spared
no pains, and as for the expense, that hardly
needs to be considered when you can turn pump¬
kins into gilt coaches, cobwebs into Valen¬
ciennes lace, and beetles’ wings into rubies, with
the tap of a wand.
[138]
Cinderella
The King’s son in his impatience flew to her
coach door as soon as she arrived. Throughout
the evening he never left her side, nor ceased to
make pretty speeches ; and she, pretty maid, was
far from finding his behaviour tiresome — so far,
indeed, that she forgot her godmother’s warning.
The end was, that in the midst of a dance she
heard the stroke of a clock, looked up, was dis¬
mayed to find it the first stroke of twelve when
she believed it yet an hour short of midnight, and
made her escape as lightly as a deer. The Prince
followed, but could not catch her. Only she
dropped one of her glass slippers, which he
picked up and treasured.
With the last stroke of twelve, coach and foot¬
men had whisked away, and poor Cinderella,
barefoot now as well as in rags, panted home¬
ward over roads where the flints cut her until
she bled, and the owls and great moths blundered
out of the bushes against her face. To make
matters worse, a thunderstorm broke before she
had ran half the distance, and she arrived home
in a terrible plight, muddy, drenched to the skin,
and almost more dead than alive. In one thing
[139]
♦
Cinderella
only she was fortunate : she had outstripped her
sisters, whose coach on the way home lost a wheel
— and I have a suspicion that Cinderella s god¬
mother had something to do with this misad¬
venture too.
At all events when Cinderella opened the
kitchen door the little lady stood as she had stood
the night before, in the glow of the hearth, await¬
ing her.
“Well, child,” she said, frowning, yet the
frown was not altogether unkindly, “it is easily
seen that you have forgotten my warning and
have suffered for it. But what is that you are
clutching?”
Poor Cinderella drew from under her be¬
draggled bodice a crystal slipper, fellow to the
missing one. It was the one remnant of all her
finery, and somehow, scarcely knowing why,
she had hugged it to her while she ran and never
let it slip in all her stumblings.
Her godmother gazed at her with a queer
expression, that began by being a frown, yet in
the end had certainly changed into a shrewd
smile.
Cinderella
“You have been careless,” she said. “Yet I am
pleased to see that you have managed to keep,
at any rate, one-half of your godmother’s gift.”
I think she meant by this that whereas all the
rest of Cinderella s adornment had been con¬
trived out of something other than it was, the
two glass slippers had been really produced out
of the Fairy’s pocket. They alone had not van¬
ished at the stroke of midnight. “But what has
become of the other one?” her godmother asked.
Cinderella did not know for certain, but
fancied that she must have dropped it in her
hurry to escape from the palace.
“Yes, you are careless,” repeated the Fairy;
“but decidedly you are not unlucky.”
And with that she vanished, as the bell
sounded announcing the sisters’ return.
They were not in the best of humours, to be¬
gin with. Cinderella asked them if they had
again found the ball enjoyable, and if the beauti¬
ful lady had been there. They told her yes; but
that on the stroke of twelve she had taken flight,
and so hurriedly that she had let fall one of her
small glass slippers, the prettiest in the world,
[141]
Cinderella
which the King’s son had picked up. They
added, that this indeed was the first cause of their
delay; for, seeking their carriage, they had
found the entry blocked, and the Prince in the
wildest state of mind, demanding of the guards
if they had not seen a Princess pass out. The
guards answered that they had seen no one pass
out but a ragged girl, who looked more like a
country wench than a Princess. Amid this to-
do, the sisters had with difficulty found their
coach; and then, within two miles of home, a
wheel had come off and the coach had lurched
over, in a thunderstorm, too ; and they had been
forced to walk the rest of the way, the one with a
bruised shoulder, and the other (which was
worse) with a twisted ankle. But, after all, the
dance had been worth these mischances and suf¬
ferings ; and, said they, harking back, the Prince
was undoubtedly deep in love, for they had left
him gazing fondly at the slipper, and little doubt
— mysteriously as she chose to behave — he would
make every effort to find the beautiful creature
to whom it belonged.
[142]
9
[143]
The Prime Minister was kept very busy
during the next few weeks .
an iii.ni 1 n 1 iumn imim liiiiui ninmiiui o,i 5
•C M
uiuiijiy,
riiiiiiimmriiinimTnmnTiiiiniinirmnrTm
[i44]
Cinderella
They told the truth, too. For a few days after,
the King’s son had it proclaimed by sound of
trumpet that he would marry her whose foot the
slipper exactly fitted.
At first they tried it on the Princesses of the
Court:
Then on the Duchesses :
Then on the Marchionesses :
Then on the Countesses and Viscountesses :
Then on the Baronesses :
And so on, through all the ladies of the Court,
and a number of competitors, who, though they
did not belong to it, yet supposed that the small¬
ness of their feet was an argument that their
parents had very unjustly come down in the
world. The Prime Minister, who carried the
glass slipper on a velvet cushion, was kept very
busy during the next few weeks.
At length he called on Cinderella s two sisters,
who did all they could to squeeze a foot into the
slipper, but by no means could they succeed.
Cinderella, who was looking on and admiring
their efforts, said laughingly: —
“Let me see if it will fit me.”
[i47]
Cinderella
Her sisters began to laugh and mock at her,
but the Prime Minister, who had come to make
trial of the slipper, looked at Cinderella atten¬
tively, and seeing how good-looking she was,
said that it was but just — he had orders to try it
upon every one.
He asked Cinderella to sit down, and drawing
the slipper upon her little foot, he saw that it
went on easily, and fitted the foot like wax.
Great was the astonishment of the two sisters;
but it was greater when Cinderella pulled from
her pocket the other little slipper and put it
upon the other foot. On top of this came a rap
at the door, and in walked the Fairy Godmother,
who, by a touch of her wand upon Cinderella’s
clothes, made them still more magnificent than
they had been before.
And now her two sisters knew Cinderella to
be the same beautiful creature they had seen at
the ball. They threw themselves at her feet,
begging her pardon for all the ill-usage they had
made her suffer. Cinderella raised and kissed
them, saying that she forgave them with all her
[148]
Cinderella
heart, and entreated them to be loving to her
always.
They led her to the young Prince, arrayed as
she was. He thought her lovelier than ever, and,
a few days after, they were married. Cinderella,
who was as good as she was beautiful, lodged
her two sisters in the palace, and married them
that same day to two great Lords of the Court.
MORAL
Better than wealth or art,
Jewels or a painted face,
It is when a natural heart
Inhabits its natural place
And beats at a natural pace .
ANOTHER
Yet youth that is poor of purse,
No matter how witty or handsome,
Will find its talents no worse
For a godmamma to advance ’em.
[149]
[i5o]
BEAUTY AND THE BEAST
BEAUTY AND THE BEAST
ONCE upon a time, in a country a long
way from here, there stood a flourishing
city, full of commerce; and in that city
lived a merchant so lucky in all his ventures that
it seemed as if fortune waited on his wishes.
But while enormously rich, he had a very large
family of six sons and six daughters; and as yet
not one of them was settled in life. The boys
were too young to go out in the world; and the
girls, who had everything at home the heart
could desire, were in no hurry to risk a change
by choosing a husband, although many rich and
noble suitors paid court to them.
[153]
I
Beauty and the Beast
But one day an unexpected disaster brought
this pleasant state of things to an end. Their
house caught fire and was burnt to the ground;
and with it perished not only the magnificent
furniture, but the merchant’s account books,
bank notes, gold and silver, and the precious
wares on which his wealth depended. Scarcely
anything was saved.
This was but the beginning of their misfor¬
tunes. Their father, who up to now had pros¬
pered in everything he touched, lost in a very
short while every ship he had upon the sea.
Some were wrecked, others captured by pirates.
His agents failed; his clerks in foreign countries
proved unfaithful ; and, in short, from the height
of riches he suddenly fell into the direst poverty.
Nothing was left to him but one poor little
country cottage, at least a hundred leagues from
the city in which he had lived. In this he was
driven to find refuge, and to this he carried off
his family, who were in despair since the over¬
throw. The daughters especially could not en¬
dure the thought of dwelling in such a den (as
they called it). At first they had felt sure that
[154]
Beauty and the Beast
on hearing the news their suitors would be trip¬
ping one another up in haste to renew their of¬
fers of marriage. But in this they were soon
undeceived. Their downfall was no sooner
known than all these flattering wooers took to
their heels in a troop. They fared no better with
their intimate friends, who at once dropped their
acquaintance. Nay, those to whom our mer¬
chant had formerly shown the greatest kindness
were now the most eager to speak ill of him.
So nothing was left for this hapless family
but to take their departure from the city and
shut themselves up in the cottage, which stood
in the depth of a dismal and almost trackless
forest. No servants now to wait on them! The
sons tilled the ground and swept out the farm
sheds; and the daughters, dressed like country
girls in coarse linen frocks, were forced to turn
their delicate hands to the roughest employment
and live on hard fare of which there was little
enough.
Only the youngest daughter showed a brave
heart. She had been despondent as any of them
to begin with; but after weeping — as well she
[155]
Beauty and the Beast
might — for her father’s misfortunes, she recov¬
ered her natural gaiety, made the best of things,
tried to forget how ungrateful the world had
been, kept her father and her brothers amused
with her cheerful wit, and after she had done
her work, would sing and play. But her sisters
would not join with her in making the best of
things. “It is very easy for you to be happy,”
the eldest grumbled. “You have low tastes and
were born for this kind of life.” The fact is, they
were all jealous of her because of her sweet tem¬
per and good looks. So beautiful, indeed, was
this youngest sister that in the old days every
one had agreed to call her Beauty — by that and
by no other name she was known. Alone of
them she might easily, in the first days of their
ruin, have found a husband; but she could not
think of this while she could be of use to help
and console her family.
Two years passed, and there came news which
seemed to offer a hope to escape. One of their
father’s ships, long supposed to be lost, had ar¬
rived in port with a rich cargo. The message
further advised his return to the city with speed,
[156]
Beauty and the Beast
or his agents might sell the goods too cheaply
and he would lose his gains. So, whilst his
children danced with joy at the news, the mer¬
chant set about preparing for his long journey.
In their transport his daughters loaded him
with commissions for gowns and jewels it would
have taken a fortune to buy. Only Beauty
would not ask for anything. Her father, noting
her silence, interrupted the others who still kept
adding to their list of requirements.
“Well, Beauty,” he said, “and what shall I
bring home for you? Surely you, too, wish
for something?”
“Dear father,” she answered, “I wish for the
most precious thing in the world; and that is
to see you home again safe and sound.”
This answer covered the sisters with con¬
fusion, and vexed them so that one of them,
speaking up for the others, said tartly: “This
small miss is putting on airs. She thinks, no
doubt, she cuts a figure with her affected fine
sentiments!”
Her father, however, was touched by her good
feeling. Nevertheless he told her to choose some
[157]
Beauty and the Beast
thing — “For,” said he, “at your age it is only
natural to like dresses and pretty presents.”
“Well, dear father,” said she, “since you in¬
sist, I will beg you to bring me home a rose. I
have not seen one since we came to live here, and
I love roses.” In this way Beauty contrived to
obey her father and yet to put him to no expense.
The day came for the merchant to embrace
them all and bid them farewell. He made the
best of his way to the great city; and arrived
there to be met with a great disappointment. To
be sure his vessel had come safely to port; but
his partners, believing him dead, had taken pos¬
session of it and divided the cargo between them.
To make good his claim he was forced to bring
a number of tedious lawsuits. He won them
in the end ; but only to find, after six months of
trouble and expense, that he was almost as poor
as when he started.
To make his misery complete he was forced
to travel back in the winter, in the most inclem¬
ent weather; so that by the time he reached the
skirts of the forest he was ready to drop with
fatigue. But reminding himself that his home
[158]
i
[159]
He had been fasting for more than twenty
four hours , and lost no time in falling-to .
fi6ol
Beauty and the Beast
was now not many leagues away, he called up
what strength remained to him.
As he pushed on through the forest, night
overtook him; and in the piercing cold, half-
buried — his horse and he — in the deep snow that
hid every pathway, the poor merchant feared
that his last hour had come. Not so much as a
hut did he pass. The only shelter to be found
was the trunk of a hollow tree; and there he
cowered through the long night, kept awake by
his hunger and the howling of the wolves. Nor
did the day bring him much comfort: for thick
snow lay everywhere, and not a path was to be
seen. It was only after a weary search that he
managed to recover his horse, which had wan¬
dered away and partly sheltered itself in another
hollow tree. He mounted, and now in a little
while discovered a sort of track which presently
grew easier.
Following this, he found himself in an avenue
of trees, at the entrance of which he halted and
rubbed his eyes. For no snow had fallen in this
avenue, and the trees were tall orange-trees,
planted in four rows and covered with flowers
[163]
Beauty and the Beast
and fruit; and here and there among the
trees were statues, some of single figures, others
of groups representing scenes of war, but all
coloured like real life. At the end of the avenue,
straight in front of him, rose a magnificent castle
in many terraces. The merchant rode around
to the stable courtyard, which he found empty;
and there, with half-frozen hands, he unbridled
and stabled his horse. Within the doorway he
found a staircase of agate with balusters of
carved gold. He mounted it and passed through
room after room, each more splendidly fur¬
nished than the last. They were deliciously
warm, too, and he began to feel his limbs again.
But he was hungry; where could he find some
one to give him food? Everywhere was silence ;
and yet the place had no look of being aban¬
doned. Drawing-rooms, bedchambers, galleries
— all stood unlocked. ... At last, tired of
roaming, he came to a halt in an apartment
where some one had lit a bright fire. A sofa
drawn up cosily beside it, invited him to sit and
warm his limbs; and resting there, he closed his
eyes and fell into deep and grateful slumber.
[164]
Beauty and the Beast
As weariness had sent him to sleep, so hunger
awoke him. He opened his eyes and saw at his
elbow a table with meats and wine upon it. He
had been fasting for more than twenty-four
hours, and lost no time in falling-to. He hoped
that he might soon have sight of this most hos¬
pitable entertainer, whoever he might be, and an
opportunity of thanking him. Still no one ap¬
peared; and now this good food did for him what
fatigue had done before. He dropped off again
into an easy slumber which lasted for four hours
almost. Again awaking, he saw at his elbow an¬
other small table — of porphyry this time — upon
which the unknown hands had set out a dainty
meal of cakes, crystallised fruits and liqueurs.
To this, too, he did justice. But, as the time still
passed and no one appeared, he began to feel ter¬
rified, and resolved to search once more through
all the rooms. . . . But still he found no one.
He was standing lost in thought, when of a
sudden it came into his mind that some kindly
power had perhaps prepared this palace of won¬
der for him, that it with all its riches might in¬
deed be his. Possessed by this notion he once
[165]
Beauty and the Beast
again made a tour of the rooms and took stock
of their treasures, planning in his mind how
he would divide them amongst his children, as¬
signing this apartment to one and that to an¬
other, and whispering to himself what joy he
would carry home after all from his journey. •
Then he went down into the garden, where —
though it was the depth of winter — the birds
were singing and the air breathed the scent of a
thousand flowers.
“Surely,” he told himself, “my daughters
will be happy here and never desire any more to
go back to the city. Quick ! Let me saddle my
horse at once and ride home with the news!”
The way to the stable was an alley fenced on
either hand with palings, and over the pailings
hung great clusters of roses in bloom. They
reminded him of his promise to Beauty. He
plucked one, and was about to pluck a whole
nosegay, when he was startled by a horrible noise
behind him, and attempted to turn. But be¬
hind him stood a hideous Beast who was over¬
taking him and reaching out towards him.
“Who gave you leave to pluck my roses?”
[166]
Beauty and the Beast
roared this monster. “Was it not enough that
I made you welcome in my palace and treated
you kindly? And you show your gratitude by
stealing my flowers! But your insolence shall
not go unpunished!”
The good merchant, terrified no less by the
sight of this Beast than by his threats, let drop
the rose and flung himself on his knees.
“My Lord,” he cried, “have pity on me! I
am not ungrateful; but after all your kindness
I could not guess that so small a thing would
offend you.”
This speech did not at all abate the Beast’s
wrath. “Hold your tongue, sir,” he com¬
manded, “if you can offer me nothing but flat¬
teries and false titles. I am not ‘my lord.’ I am
the Beast; and your words will not save you from
the death you deserve.”
The merchant, although in fear of his life,
plucked up courage to tell the monster that the
rose which he had been bold to pluck was for
one of his daughters, by name Beauty. Then, in
hope either to delay the Beast’s vengeance or to
touch his compassion, he launched into the tale
[167]
Beauty and the Beast
of all his misfortunes, and of his reasons for the
journey, not forgetting to mention Beauty again
and her request.
The Beast considered for a moment before
answering him in a somewhat milder tone: “I
will forgive you ; but only on condition that you
give me one of your daughters. Some one must
make amends for this trespass.”
“Heaven forgive me,” the merchant entreated,
“but how can I promise such a thing! Even
were I cruel enough to purchase my life at the
cost of a child, on what excuse could I bring
her?”
“No excuse is necessary,” replied the Beast
shortly. “Whichever you bring must come here
of her own free will, or not at all. Go home and
try if there be one brave and loving enough to
sacrifice herself to save your life. You seem to
be an honest man. Give me your word to re¬
turn here at the end of a month and bring which¬
ever of your daughters you can persuade to come
with you. If you can persuade none of them,
you must come alone; and I warn you that, if
you fail of it, I shall come and fetch you.”
[168]
Beauty and the Beast
What was the poor man to do? He promised,
for he saw death staring him in the face; and
having given his promise he hoped to be al¬
lowed to depart. But the Beast informed him
that he could not go until next day.
“Then,” said he, “at daybreak you will find a
horse ready for you who will carry you home
in less than no time. Now go and eat your sup¬
per, and await my commands.”
The merchant, more dead than alive, crept
back to his rooms. There, before a blazing fire,
he found a delicious supper spread, inviting him
to eat. But so distraught was he that no food,
however delicious, could have tempted him had
he not been afraid that the Beast might be hid¬
ing somewhere to watch him. In fear of this he
forced himself to sit and taste of the dishes.
A loud noise in the next room warned him that
the Beast was coming. Since he could not es¬
cape, he mustered what courage he could to con¬
ceal his terror, and faced about to the doorway.
“Have you made a good supper?” was the
Beast’s first question.
The merchant in humblest voice answered
[169]
Beauty and the Beast
that, thanks to his host’s kind attention, he had
fared excellently well.
“I am paying you a visit,” said the Beast, “to
warn you again to be honest with your daughter.
Describe me to her just as I am. Let her be free
to choose whether she will come or no; but tell
her that, her course once chosen, there can be no
retreat, nor even reflection after you have
brought her to me. To break faith then will
avail nothing : she will but destroy you without
winning her own release.”
Again the spirit-broken merchant repeated his
promise.
The Beast appeared to be content at length.
“Retire to bed now,” he commanded, “and do
not get up to-morrow until you see the sun and
hear a golden bell rung. Then, before starting,
you will find breakfast laid for you here; your
horse will be standing ready saddled in the court¬
yard; and you may carry back the rose to your
daughter Beauty — as you call her. For the rest,
I count on seeing you back in a month’s time.
So, farewell.”
The merchant, who dared not disobey a single
[170]
Beauty and the Beast
one of these orders, retired to bed at once, though
without any temptation to sleep; and again,
though he passed a wretched night, he was
punctual to rise with the sun. A golden bell
rang ; and prompt on the sound he found break¬
fast laid, still by unseen hands. After break¬
fast he went down to the stables, and on his way
paused to pick up the rose, which lay in the alley
where it had dropped from his hand. It was
fresh as ever, and smelt as sweetly as though it
yet grew on the tree.
A few paces further on he found his horse
standing ready saddled, with a handsome cloak
of furs, far warmer than his own, lying across
the saddle. He put it on and mounted, and now
he had to wonder at yet another miracle. His
horse set off at incredible speed, so that before
he could even turn in the saddle the palace had
sunk out of sight.
Could the horse have felt the weight on the
good man’s mind, it had never made such a pace.
But it took its own way, insensible to rein or
bridle; nor halted until it reached the door of
the cottage.
[I7i]
Beauty and the Beast
The merchant’s sons and daughters had
rushed out at his approach; though it was not
until he drew quite close that they recognised
their father in this horseman superbly cloaked,
with a rose at his holster, and mounted on a horse
that travelled at such a speed. When they recog¬
nised him, they made sure that he brought the
best of news. But the tears that trickled down
his cheeks as he dismounted told them another
story.
His first motion then was to pluck the fatal
rose from the pommel and hand it to Beauty,
• •
saying: “Here is what you asked me to bring.
You little know what it will cost you all.”
This, and his sorrowful look, gave the eldest
daughter her cue. “I was certain of it!” she
said. “Did I not say, all along, that to force a
rose at this time of the year would cost you more
than would have bought presents for all the rest
of us? A rose, in mid-winter! and such a rose!
There — one has only to look at it to see that you
took good care Beauty should have her present,
no matter at what cost to us !”
“It is all too true,” answered their father sor-
[172]
Beauty and the Beast
rowfully, “that this rose has cost me dear — far
dearer than all the presents you others begged
of me. But the cost is not in money ; for would
to God I could have bought it with the last penny
in my purse!”
His speech, you may be sure, excited their
curiosity, and they gave him no rest until he
had told the whole of his story. It left their
hopes utterly dashed: and the daughters
lamented their lot, while their brothers hardily
declared that they would never allow their father
to return to this accursed castle — they would
march thither in a body and destroy the horrible
Beast who owned it. But their father assured
them that he had given his word and would
rather die than break it.
Thereat the sisters turned upon Beauty and
started to upbraid and rail against her.
“It is all your fault,” they declared; “and this
is what comes of your pretended modesty ! Why
could you not have asked for dresses and jewels
as we did? Even if you could not get them, at
least the demand would have cost nothing. But
you chose to be singular — you, with youi;
[173]
Beauty and the Beast
precious rose ! and now our father must die, and
we must all suffer through your affectation!”
Poor Beauty controlled her tears and an¬
swered them: “Yes, I am to blame for all this,
though, indeed, dear sisters, I did it innocently;
for how could I guess that to ask for a rose in
the middle of summer, as it was then, would
give rise to all this misery? But what does that
matter? Innocent or guilty, I cannot allow you
to suffer for what was my fault ; and so I will go
back with our father to save him from his prom¬
ise. That will be in a month’s time, and in this
little month, I beg of you, let us be happy to¬
gether without reproaches.”
At first her brothers would not hear of any
such sacrifice, and her father was equally set
against it, until the sisters again fired up in
their jealousy and accused him of being dis¬
tressed only because it happened to be Beauty;
if another of his daughters (they hinted) had
offered to pay this price for his life, he would
have accepted it cheerfully enough!
Beauty closed this talk by saying firmly that,
whether they wished it or not, she would go —
[i74]
Beauty and the Beast
“And who knows,” said she, forcing a brave
smile, “but this fate of mine, which seems so ter¬
rible, may cover some extraordinary and happy
fortune?” She said it merely to hearten them;
but her sisters, fancying her deluded by vanity
and self-conceit, smiled maliciously and ap¬
plauded. So their father gave way, and it was
agreed that Beauty must go. For her part she
desired only that the few days remaining to her
might be as happy as possible; and so, as they
passed she spoke little of what was before her,
and if at all, only to treat it lightly and as a piece
of good fortune. When the time drew near she
shared up all her trinkets and little possessions
with her sisters — for, badly as they had treated
her, they were the only friends she had. Yet
jealousy had made their hearts so wicked that
when the fatal day arrived they actually rejoiced
to hear the neighing of a horse which, punctu¬
ally sent by the Beast, arrived at the door of the
cottage.
The brothers would have rushed out and slain
the beautiful animal; but Beauty, mastering
their anger with a few tender words, bade her
[175]
Beauty and the Beast
father mount into the saddle; and so, after bid¬
ding her sisters farewell with a tenderness that
forced them to weep at the last, climbed to the
pillion behind him quite as if she were setting
out for a holiday. They were off! The horse
seemed to fly rather than to gallop ; so smoothly
that Beauty could scarcely feel the motion save
by the soft wind that beat on her cheek. Soon
they caught sight of the castle in the distance.
Her father, less happy than she, again and again
asked and begged her to alight and return — a
most idle offer, for he had no real control of
the reins. But Beauty did not listen, because her
mind was made up.
Nevertheless, she was awed, and all the more
when as the fleet horse galloped up to the court¬
yard, they were met by a great salvo of guns
and, as the echoes died away, by the sound of
soft music within the palace.
The horse had come to a stop, by a flight of
agate steps ; a light shone down these steps from
a porchway within which the violins kept their
throbbing. Beauty slipped down from the
saddle, and her father, alighting after her, took
[176]
[177]
inli'mi
iirniiriTirririrmiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiuiumin
[178]
Beauty and the Beast
her by the hand and led her to the chamber in
which he had first supped; where, sure enough,
they found a cheerful fire and a score of candles
lit and burning with an exquisite perfume, and
— best of all — a table laid with the daintiest of
suppers.
The merchant, accustomed to the ways of their
host, knew that the supper was meant for them,
and Beauty fell-to with a good appetite. Her
spirits indeed were rising. There had been no
sign of any Beast in all the many rooms through
which she had passed, and everything in them
had seemed to breathe of gaiety and good living.
But this happy frame of mind did not last
long. They had scarcely finished supper when
the Beast was heard coming through the distant
rooms. At the sound — the heavy padding of his
feet, the roar of his breath — Beauty clung to
her father in terror, and had almost fainted
against the arm which he flung around her. But
when the Beast stood before her in the doorway,
after a little shudder she walked towards him
with a firm step, and, halting at a little distance,
saluted him respectfully. This behaviour evi-
[181]
Beauty and the Beast
dently pleased the Beast. After letting his eyes
rest on her face for a while, he said, in a tone that
might well have struck terror into the boldest
heart (and yet it did not seem to be angry) : —
“Good evening, my good sir ! Good evening,
Beauty!”
The merchant was too far terrified to find his
voice; but Beauty controlled hers and answered
sweetly : —
“Good evening, Beast!”
“Have you come here of your own free will?”
asked the Beast. “And are you willing to let
your father return and leave you here?”
Beauty answered that she was quite willing.
“Indeed? And yet what do you suppose will
happen to you after he has gone?”
“Sir,” said Beauty, “that is as it pleases you,
and you only can tell.”
“Well answered,” replied the Beast; “and
since you have come of your own accord, you
shall stay. As for you, my good sir,” said he to
the merchant, “you will take your departure at
sunrise. The bell will give you warning; delay
not to rise, eat your breakfast, and depart as be-
[182]
Beauty and the Beast
fore. But remember that you are forbidden ever
to come within sight of my palace again.”
Then, turning to Beauty, he said: —
“Take your father into the next room, and
choose between you everything you think will
please your brothers and sisters. You will find
there two traveling trunks: fill them as full as
they will hold.”
Sorrowful as she was at the certainty of los¬
ing her father so soon and for ever, Beauty made
ready to obey the Beast’s orders, and he left them
as he had come, saying : —
“Good night, Beauty! Good night, good sir 1”
When they were alone, Beauty and her father
went into the next room, which proved to be a
store-chamber piled with treasures a king and
queen might have envied. After choosing and
setting apart in heaps, — one for each of her sis¬
ters, — the most magnificent dresses she could
find, Beauty opened a cupboard which had a
door of crystal framed in gold and stood for a
moment dazzled by the precious stones that lay
piled on every shelf. After choosing a vast num¬
ber and adding them to her heaps, she opened yet
[183]
Beauty and the Beast
another wardrobe and found it full of money in
gold pieces. This set her pondering.
“I think, father,” she said, “that we had bet¬
ter empty these trunks again, and fill them with
money. For money can always be turned to ac¬
count, whereas to sell these precious stones you
would have to go to some jeweller, who very
likely would cheat you, and perhaps be sus¬
picious of them. But with these pieces of gold
you can buy land, houses, furniture, jewels —
what you will — and no one will ask any ques¬
tions.”
Her father agreed. Yet he first of all tried
to make room for the money by emptying out
the few things he had packed for himself.
But this was no good: for it seemed that the
trunks were made in folds which opened the
wider the more he put in. Somehow the more
they packed, the more room there seemed to be,
and they ended by replacing all the dresses and
precious stones they had taken out. But now
the trunks were so heavy that an elephant would
have sunk under them.
“It is all a cheat!” cried the merchant. “The
[184]
Beauty and the Beast
Beast is mocking us, and only pretended to give
us these things, knowing that I could not carry
them away.”
“Wait a little,” advised Beauty. “That would
be a sorry jest, and I cannot help thinking that
the Beast is honest; and that since he offered
these gifts he will find you also the means to
carry them. The best thing we can do is to
strap up the trunks and leave them ready here.”
So they did this and went back to the little
room, where to their amazement they found a
breakfast laid on the table. For a moment they
could scarcely believe that the night had flown
by whilst they were occupied in ransacking the
treasure chamber and packing the trunks. But,
glancing at the windows, they saw that day was
indeed breaking; and presently a bell sounded,
warning the merchant to eat quickly and depart.
He finished his meal, and they went down to¬
gether to the courtyard, where two horses stood
ready — the one laden with the two trunks, the
other saddled for the merchant to ride. And
now Beauty and her father would fain have
spent a long time in bidding one another fare-
[185]
Beauty and the Beast
well, but the two horses neighed and pawed
the ground so impatiently that he was afraid to
linger. Tearing himself from his daughter’s
arms he mounted in haste, and could scarcely
turn to say good-bye before both horses sprang
away swift as the wind and he was lost to sight in
an instant.
Poor Beauty! She gazed and gazed through
her tears, and so mounted the stairs sorrowfully
back to her own chamber. On reaching it she
felt herself oppressed with sleepiness, for she had
passed the night without undressing, and, more¬
over, for a month past her sleep had been broken
and haunted with terrors. So, having nothing
better to do, she went to bed, and was nestling
down in the perfumed sheets when her eyes fell
on the little table by the bedside. Some one had
set a cup of hot chocolate there, and half asleep,
she reached out her hand for it and drank it;
whereupon her eyes closed and she fell into a de¬
licious slumber, such as she had not known since
the day when her father brought home the fatal
rose.
She dreamed that she was walking alongside
[186]
Beauty and the Beast
an endless canal, the banks of which were bor¬
dered with tall orange-trees and myrtles in
flower. There, as she wandered disconsolately
lamenting her fate, of a sudden a young Prince
stood before her. He was handsome as the God
of Love in picture-books, and when he spoke it
was with a voice that went straight to her heart.
“Dear Beauty,” he said, “you are not so unfortu¬
nate as you suppose. It is here you shall find
the reward of your goodness, denied to you else¬
where. Use your wits to find me out under the
disguise which hides me — that is, if as I stand
here now you find me not altogether con¬
temptible. For I love you tenderly — you alone
— and in making me happy you can attain to
your own happiness. Beloved, never distrust
your own true heart, and it shall lead you where
the heart has nothing left to desire !” So saying,
the charming apparition knelt at her feet, and
again besought her to accept his devotion and
become mistress over all his life.
“Ah! What can I do to make you happy?”
she asked earnestly.
“Only be grateful,” he answered, “and do not
[187]
Beauty and the Beast
believe all that your eyes would tell you. Above
all, do not abandon me until you have rescued
me from the cruel sufferings I endure.”
With that the dream melted away, but only to
be succeeded by another. She found herself
face to face with a stately and beautiful lady;
and the lady was speaking to her with dignity,
yet most kindly.
“Dear Beauty she said, “do not grieve for
what you have left behind ; a far higher destiny
lies before you. Only, if you would deserve it,
beware of being misled by appearances.”
Beauty found her dreams so agreeable that
she was in no hurry at all to awake, and even
when her eyes opened to the daylight she had
more than half a mind to close them again. But
a clock, chiming out her own name twelve times,
warned her that it was midday and time to get
up. She rose, therefore, and found her dress¬
ing-table set out with brushes and combs and
everything she could want; and having dressed
carefully, and with a lightness of heart for which
she found it hard to account, she passed into the
next room and found her dinner on the table.
[188]
V
[i89]
[190]
^ r
Beauty and the Beast
Dinner does not take very long when you are
all by yourself. Beauty, when she had eaten
enough, sat down on a sofa and began to think of
the handsome youth she had seen in her dream.
“He told me I could make him happy. Why,
then, it must be that the horrible Beast, who ap¬
pears to be master here, is keeping him a pris¬
oner. How can I set him free? . . . They both
warned me not to trust to appearances. It is all
very puzzling. . . . But one thing is clear at
any rate, that I am very silly to be vexing my
head over a dream. I will forget all about it,
%
and look for something to do to amuse myself.”
She sprang up, and started to make a tour of
discovery through the many rooms of the palace.
They were even grander than she had expected.
The first she entered was lined with mirrors from
floor to ceiling, where she saw herself reflected
on every side. The next thing to catch her eye
was a bracelet, hanging from one of the chan¬
deliers. Set in the bracelet was a gold locket,
and opening this she was startled indeed; for it
contained a portrait in miniature of the gallant
youth she had seen in her dream. She could
[193]
Beauty and the Beast
not be mistaken; so closely were his features en¬
graved on her memory — yes, and, it may be, on
her heart. She slipped the bracelet on her
wrist, without stopping to think that it did not
belong to her, and went on to explore further.
She passed into a long picture gallery, and
there again she met the Prince’s face. It smiled
down at her, this time from a life-sized portrait,
and it seemed to smile so wistfully that she
caught herself blushing.
From the gallery her steps had led her to a
chamber filled with instruments of music.
Beauty was an accomplished musician; so, sit¬
ting down, she amused herself by tuning and try¬
ing over one instrument after another; but she
liked the harp best because that went best with
her voice.
Leaving the music-room at length, she found
herself in a long chamber like the picture gal¬
lery, but lined with books. It held an immense
library; and Beauty, ever since she had lived in
the country, had been forced to do without read¬
ing, for her father had sold all his books to pay
his debts. Now, as her eyes travelled along the
[i94]
Beauty and the Beast
mr
shelves, she knew she need never have any fear
that time would pass heavily here. The dusk was
gathering before she had half-studied even the
titles of the thousands of volumes; and numbers
of candles, waxen and scented, in chandeliers
with lustres of diamonds and rubies, were begin¬
ning to light themselves in every room.
In due time Beauty found supper laid and
served for her, with the same good taste and or¬
derliness as before, and still she had seen no liv¬
ing face. What did this matter? Her father
had warned her that she would be solitary ; and
she was beginning to tell herself that she could
be solitary here without much discomfort, when
she heard the noise of the Beast approaching.
She could not help trembling a little: for she
had not yet found herself alone with him, and
knew not what would happen — he might even
be coming to devour her. But when he ap¬
peared he did not seem at all ferocious.
“Good evening, Beauty,” he said gruffly.
“Good evening, Beast,” she answered gently,
but shaking a little.
[195]
Beauty and the Beast
“Do you think you can be content here?” he
asked.
Beauty answered politely that it ought not to
be hard to live happily in such a beautiful
palace.
After this they talked for an hour, and in the
course of their talk Beauty began to excuse many
things in the Beast — his voice, for example.
With such a nose how could he help roaring
through it? Really he appeared to be wanting
in tact rather than purposely terrible; though,
to be sure, this want of tact terrified her cruelly,
when at length he blurted out: —
“Will you be my wife, Beauty ?”
“Ah! I am lost!” thought Beauty. The Beast
could not be so dull-witted after all, for, though
she kept the cry to herself, he answered quickly,
and just as if she had uttered it aloud : —
“Not at all. I wish you to answer just ‘yes’ or
‘no.’ ”
“Oh 1 no, Beast.”
“Very well, then,” said this tractable monster.
“Since you will not, I had best be going. Good
night, Beauty.”
[196]
Beauty and the Beast
“Good night, Beast,” answered Beauty, re¬
lieved of her fright. She felt sure now that he
did not mean to hurt her, and as soon as he had
taken his leave she went off to bed, and was
asleep in no time.
But almost as quickly she was dreaming, and
in her dream at once she saw her unknown lover
standing beside her, handsome as ever, but more
sorrowful than before.
“Dear Beauty,” he said, “why are you so cruel
to me? I love you the better for being so stub¬
born, and yet it lengthens out my misery.”
She could not understand this at all. Her
dream wavered and it seemed to her that he took
a hundred different shapes in it. Now he had
a crown between his hands and was offering it to
her; now he was kneeling at her feet; now he
smiled, radiant with joy; and again he buried
his head in despair and wept till the sound of his
sobbing pierced her heart. Thus, in one aspect
or another, he was with her the night through.
She awoke with him in her thoughts, and her
first act was to unclasp the locket on her wrist
and assure herself that the miniature was like
[i97]
Beauty and the Beast
him. It certainly was the same face, and his,
too, was the face that smiled down from the
larger portrait in the gallery. But the face in
the locket gave her a more secret joy and she
unclasped and gazed on it again and again.
This morning she went down into the gar¬
dens, where the sun shone inviting her to ramble.
They were beyond imagination lovely. Here
stood a statue showered over with roses; there
fountain on fountain played and threw a refresh¬
ing spray so high in the air that her eyes could
scarcely reach to its summit. But what most
surprised her was that every nook and corner
recalled those she had seen in her dreams with
the unknown Prince standing beside her. At
length she came to the long canal with the
oranges and myrtles in the shade of which she
had first seen him approach. It was the very
spot, and she could no longer disbelieve that her
dreams were real. She felt sure, now, that he
must somehow be imprisoned here, and resolved
to get at the truth that very evening, should the
Beast repeat his visit.
Tired at length of wandering, she returned to
[198]
Beauty and the Beast
the palace and discovered a new room full of
materials for work to engage the most idle —
tapebags, distaffs and shuttles, frames for
tapestry, ribbons to make into bows, silks for
embroidery, scissors, and thimbles. Beyond this
needlework room a door opened upon the most
wonderful sight of all — an aviary full of the
rarest birds, yet all so tame that they flew to
Beauty, and perched themselves on her shoul¬
ders.
“Dear birds,” she said, “I wish you were close
to my own room, that I might sit and hear you
singing.”
She had scarcely said it when, opening a door
beyond the aviary, she found herself in her own
chamber — yes, her very own! — which she had
thought to be quite on the other side of the build¬
ing. The door, when she came to examine it,
had a shutter which could be opened to hear, and
closed again when she grew tired of it. This
aviary opened on another inhabited by parrots,
parroquets, and cockatoos. These no sooner
saw Beauty than they began to scream and chat¬
ter; one wishing her “Good morning,” another
[199]
Beauty and the Beast
inviting her to luncheon, while a third yet more
gallant cried “Kiss me! Kiss me!” Others
again whistled airs from grand opera or de¬
claimed pieces of poetry by the best authors. It
was plain that in their several ways they all had
the same object — to amuse her.
Beyond the aviaries lay a monkey house.
Here were apes of all sorts — Barbary apes,
mandarin apes, apes with blue faces, baboons,
marmosets, chimpanzees — and all came frisking
about her, bowing and scraping, to show how
much they appreciated the honour of this visit.
To celebrate it they stretched a tight- rope and
danced, and threw somersaults with an agility
which Beauty found highly diverting; and yet
she could not help sighing that none of these ani¬
mals were able to tell her news of her unknown
Prince Charming. She patted and made much
of them, however, and asked if some of them
would be kind enough to come with her and
keep her company.
At once, and as if they had only been waiting
for this command, two large she-apes in sweep¬
ing court-dresses stepped to her side and became
[200]
Beauty and the Beast
her maids of honour; two brisk little marmosets
volunteered for pages and held up her train;
while an affable baboon, his face wreathed with
smiles, bowed, presented a gloved hand, and
begged leave to squire her. With this singular
escort Beauty marched back to luncheon, and
while she ate it the birds piped and fluted around
her for accompaniment to the parrots, who lifted
up their voices and chanted the latest and most
fashionable tunes. Nay more; the meal was no
sooner ended than the apes begged her to allow
them to entertain her with a light comedy; which
(leave being granted) they proceeded to act in
a highly creditable manner and with appropri¬
ate dumb-show, while the parrots spoke the
words from the wings very distinctly and in ac¬
cents that exactly conformed with the various
parts. At the close one of the actors ad¬
vanced, laid his hand on his heart and — still with
the parrot for interpreter — thanked Beauty for
the indulgence she had shown to their poor
efforts.
That night again, after supper, the Beast paid
her his accustomed visit. He put the same ques-
[201]
Beauty and the Beast
tions, and received her answers as before; and,
as before, the conversation ended by his taking
leave of her with a “Good night, Beauty.” The
two she-apes, as ladies-in-waiting, thereupon un¬
dressed their mistress and saw her to bed. Be¬
fore leaving they thoughtfully opened the win¬
dow shutter, that the soft night-warbling of the
birds might soothe her to sleep and dream of her
lover.
In this fashion day followed day, and still
Beauty found plenty to amuse her. At the end
of a week she made the most wonderful dis¬
covery of all. There was one large room which
she had entered but once, because it seemed to
her rather dull, and dark too. It was empty ; and
although it had four windows in each wall, but
two of them admitted any light. One day, as she
passed the door, the fancy took her to open one
of these windows. She stepped in and drew
the shutter, when to her astonishment it opened,
not upon daylight at all, but what seemed to be a
dim hall lit only by a glimmer, distant and faint,
behind the chinks of a thick curtain at the fur¬
ther end. She was wondering what this might
[202]
Beauty and the Beast
mean, when the curtain went up and in a sud¬
den flood of light she found herself gazing, as
from a box, into a theatre crowded from floor
to ceiling, and with an audience brilliant in
dresses and jewels.
An orchestra played the overture, and gave
place to the actors — real actors this time, not
apes and parrots. The play was charming, and
Beauty in ecstasy with every scene of it. When
the curtain fell she still lingered in her box,
hoping to see the fashionable crowd disperse;
but somewhat to her chagrin the lights went out
almost at once and the theatre was dark again.
Still it had been very pleasant, and she promised
herself to become a constant playgoer.
That evening when the Beast paid his visit, she
told him all about the comedy. “Eh? You like
that sort of thing, do you?” asked the monster.
“Well, you shall have as much of it as you like.
You are so pretty.” Beauty could not help smil¬
ing inwardly at his clumsy compliments. But
she smiled no longer when he put to her once
again his blunt question : —
“Beauty, will you be my wife?”
[203]
Beauty and the Beast
“No, Beast," she answered as before; but she
was really beginning to get frightened, he was
so gentle and so persistent. She sat up so long
thinking over this that it was almost daylight
before she closed her eyes in bed; and at once,
as if impatient at being kept waiting, the lover
of her dreams presented himself. Perhaps for
this reason he was not in the best of tempers ; at
any rate he taxed her with being moody and dis¬
contented.
“I should be happy enough,” she answered,
“if the Beast did not pester me so. I — I almost
think, by his foolish compliments, that he would
like me to marry him.” Beauty expected her
dream-lover to show some jealousy at this; see¬
ing that he merely stood glum, she went on,
“Would you really be content if I married him?
. . . but alas! no; were he as charming as he is
hideous, you know that I love you and can never
love any one else.” By all rights the Prince
should have been in raptures at this avowal; but
all his answer was: “Dearest, love him who best
loves you. Do not be led astray by appearances,
and so you will free me from captivity.” This
[204]
Beauty and the Beast
was not only puzzling; it seemed to Beauty to
be just a little selfish. “At least,” she said, “tell
me what to do ! Since liberty appears to be your
first wish, believe me, I would liberate you at any
sacrifice, if only I knew how.” But this was
what she could never discover; and because of
it her nights now, though she longed for them,
troubled her more than her days.
Her days passed pleasantly enough, and still
in fresh discoveries. One by one in their turn
she opened the windows of the great hall, and
they revealed: —
First, a grand performance of Opera; and she
listened not to the singers only, but to the mur¬
mur of the audience between the acts. To listen
to this and to gaze on human faces, gave her an
inexpressible pleasure.
Next, a great Fair in progress. When first
she looked the throng had not arrived and she
inspected the booths at leisure, with their vari¬
ous wares. As the spectators drifted in, the
drums began to beat, the hobby horses to revolve,
the showmen to shout, the marionettes to per¬
form in their little theatre. It was ravishing.
[205]
Beauty and the Beast
After this she beheld a fashionable prome¬
nade, with a richly dressed crowd passing, re¬
passing, exchanging good-days, remarking how
superb was the weather, and pausing to con and
criticise the shop windows to right and left.
The next spectacle was a gaming-room, with
the players seated at their cards or roulette, the
croupiers spinning the ball or raking the money.
Beauty, with nothing to stake, had leisure to ob¬
serve their faces, and how sadly some left the
tables who had come smiling with money in their
pockets. She saw, too, that some were being
cheated ; and it vexed her, because she could not
warn them.
Next, she was gazing at the Royal Palace,
where the King and Queen were holding a re¬
ception. She saw ambassadors with their wives,
lords and ladies and state counsellors; and
watched them as they passed by the throne mak¬
ing their lowest bows.
A water picnic followed this. The boats lay
moored alongside a bank where the merry¬
makers sat or lounged and talked to the sound
of lutes.
Beauty and the Beast
The picnic ended in a ball, with violins play¬
ing and couples advancing and retreating on the
waxed floor that shone in the light of a thousand
candles. Oh, how Beauty longed to be one of
the dancers !
But perhaps the last window gave her the most
pleasure. For through it she was able to see
the whole world at one gaze and all that was go¬
ing on in it. State embassies, royal weddings,
coronations, pageants, armies, revolutions,
sieges, pitched battles — she could sit at her ease
and watch them all, which was far more amus¬
ing than it is to read about them in a newspaper.
She ought, you will say, to have been happy as
the day was long. But no: a life becomes flat
and stale which is a perpetual round of pleasure
and leaves nothing to sigh or to hope for. Beauty
began to long for a sight of her father and her
brothers and sisters. She concealed this for a
while, however, and turned her thoughts to
what was more pressing; for she could not beg
leave to go home until something had been done
to rescue her dear Unknown and restore him to
liberty. The Beast alone (she reflected) could
[207]
Beauty and the Beast
tell her the secret; and she thought to herself
that, being himself so blunt of speech, he would
forgive some bluntness in her. So one evening
she asked him point-blank: “Beast, are we alone
in this palace, with nobody but ourselves?”
“Of course we are,” he answered gruffly; but
the question appeared in some way to sting him,
for almost at once he rose and bade her good
night.
Now Beauty, whatever else she thought of the
Beast, had by this time learnt to trust him for
honest. It was a dreadful disappointment, there-
fore, to be forced to believe on his word that her
Prince Charming had no existence outside of
her fancy. She slept ill that night. In her
dream she was wandering again and sorrowfully
alongside the canal when her lover appeared and
took her hands between his while he scanned
her face all bathed in tears.
“What has gone wrong, dear Beauty ?” he de¬
manded. “Why are you in this distress? . . .
Ah, it is the Beast who persecutes you! But,
never fear, you shall be delivered here and now
from his attention” — and with these words the
[208]
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[210]
Beauty and the Beast
Prince snatched out a dagger and rushed on the
monster, who now for the first time came into
the dream, advancing slowly down the bank of
the canal. Strange to say, he offered no re¬
sistance even when the dagger almost touched
his throat. But Beauty, whom an unseen power
held back as she would have run to prevent the
murder, on the instant found voice to cry, “Stay!
Stay, rash fool! or kill me before you kill him
who has been my best friend!” “Friend?” an¬
swered back the Prince, still with his dagger
lifted ; “and am I no more than that?” “You are
an unfaithful one, at any rate,” persisted Beauty;
“if, knowing well that I would lay down my life
for you, you would take the life of one who has
done me so much kindness.” But while she
pleaded the figures wavered in her dream, still
struggling together, and vanished, giving place
to the same stately lady she had seen in her
former vision. “Courage Beauty!” said this
fresh phantom; “your happiness is not far off, if
only you will go your own way and trust not to
appearances.”
This dream left Beauty so uneasy that next day
[213]
Beauty and the Beast
she opened one window after another to cure
her restlessness ; and, when this would not do, all
the windows together; but still in vain. That
night, when the Beast paid his usual visit, he
detected almost at once that she had been weep¬
ing, and demanded the reason.
“Ah, sir,” said Beauty, “if only I might go
home!”
“You wish to go home?” The Beast’s face
turned pale — which, for such a face, was no easy
matter. He staggered backwards with a deep
sigh, or rather, a roar of grief. “Ah, Beauty,
Beauty! Would you desert a poor Beast ? What
more can I do to make you happy? Or is it be¬
cause you hate me that you wish to be gone?”
“No, Beast,” answered Beauty gently; “I do
not hate you, and I should be very sorry never
to see you again. But I do long to see my own
people. Let me go home for two months only,
and I promise to come back and stay with you
for the rest of my life.”
The Beast had fallen flat and lay along the
carpet at her feet. His eyes were closed, and
for some while his heavy sighs alone told her
[214]
Beauty and the Beast
that he was neither dead nor in a swoon. By and
by he lifted his head: —
“I can deny you nothing,” he said sadly. “But
no matter, though it cost me my life. ... In
the room next to your bedroom you will find four
chests : fill them with everything you would like
to take with you. Be sure to keep your word;
for if you break it and come back to find your
poor Beast dead, you will be sorry when it is too
late. Come back at the end of two months and
you will find me alive; and to come back you
will not need chariot or horses. Only say good¬
bye, that night, to your father, and brothers, and
sisters; and, when you are in bed, turn this ring
round on your finger and say firmly: “I wish to
go back to my palace and see my Beast again.”
That is all. Good night, Beauty! Sleep soundly,
and in good time you shall see your father once
more.”
As soon as he was gone Beauty set to work to
fill the four boxes with all the riches and finery
that heart could desire. She filled them to the
brim ; and then, tired out, she went to bed. But
for a long while she could not close her eyes for
[215]
Beauty and the Beast
excitement. It was not until close upon sunrise
that sleep visited her and, with it, another dream.
In this dream she saw her beloved Unknown
stretched at full length on a bank of turf. His
face was hidden, and she could hear that he was
sobbing. But when, touched by the sight of his
grief, she drew near to console him, he lifted his
face to her and said: —
“Cruel Beauty, how can you ask what ails me
when you are leaving me, and your going is my
death warrant!”
“But, dearest Prince,” said Beauty, “I am only
going to tell my father and brothers and sisters
that I am well and happy. In a short while I
shall be back, never to leave you again. . . .
But, for that matter,” she went on as a new
thought struck her, “why should we be separated
at all? I will put off my going for another day,
and tomorrow I will beg the Beast to let you go
with me. I am sure he will not refuse.”
“I can only go with you if you promise me
never to come back,” replied the Prince. “And,
after all, when you have once delivered me, why
should we ever come back? The Beast will be
[216]
Beauty and the Beast
hurt in his feelings and very angry no doubt; but
by that time we shall be beyond his power.”
“You forget,” Beauty reminded him sharply,
“that I have promised him to return, and that,
moreover, he says he will die of grief if I break
my word.”
“And what if he does?” demanded her lover.
“Is not your happiness worth more than the life
of a monster? Of what use is he in the world
except to frighten folks out of their wits?”
“Ah, you do not understand!” cried Beauty.
“This monster — as you call him — is only a
monster in his face, and through no fault of his.
He has the kindest heart in the world, and how
could I be so ungrateful after all he has done for
me!”
“I believe,” said her lover bitterly, “that if you
saw us fighting, of the two you would rather let
me perish than this Beast of yours.”
Beauty told him that he was cruel and unjust,
and begged him to talk of something else. She
set the example, too. Seeing that he was
piqued and proud, she addressed a long speech
to him, full of endearments, to win him back to
[217]
Beauty and the Beast
a good humour, and was growing astonished at
her own eloquence when, in the middle of it, she
awoke.
Her last words seemed to mingle with the
sound of familiar voices. She sprang out of
bed and drew her curtain. ... It was very
strange! As the sunlight poured in she saw
that she was in a room much more poorly fur¬
nished than that in which she had fallen asleep.
She dressed in haste and opening the door, found
that the next room too was like no apartment in
the Beast’s palace. But at her feet -stood the four
chests she had packed overnight; and, while she
marvelled, again she heard a voice talking, and
ran towards it. For it was her father’s.
She rushed out and fell into his arms. He,
poor man, stared at her as though she had sprung
from another world, and the others were no less
astonished. Her brothers embraced her with
transports of joy, while her sisters — who, to tell
the truth, had not overcome their jealousy — pre¬
tended to be quite as glad. They plied her with
a thousand questions, which she answered very
good-naturedly, putting aside her own impa-
[218]
Beauty and the Beast
tience ; for she too had a number of questions to
ask. To begin with, this house of theirs was not
the cottage in which she had left them, but a fine
new one her father had been able to buy with
the Beast’s presents. If not wealthy, he was in
easy circumstances; with the bettering of their
fortunes her sisters had found other wooers and
were soon to be married ; and altogether Beauty
had the satisfaction of knowing that she had
at least brought prosperity back to her family.
“As for you, my dearest child,” said the mer¬
chant, “when your sisters are married, you shall
keep house for your brothers and me, and so
my old age will be happy.”
This was all very well, but Beauty had to tell
her father that she must leave him again in two
months’ time ; whereat he broke out into lamen¬
tations. “Dear father,” said the sensible girl,
“it is good of you to weep ; but it is useless, and
I would rather have your advice, which is sure
to be useful.” Thereupon she told him all the
story. Her father considered for a while, and
then said: —
“I can only give you the same counsel that,
[219]
Beauty and the Beast
by your own admission, you are always receiv¬
ing from these phantoms of your dreams. ‘Do
not trust to appearance,’ they say, and ‘Be guided
by your heart’s gratitude’; and they tell you this
over and over again. What can it mean, child,
but one thing? The Beast, you say, is frightful.
His appearance is certainly against him. Then
judge him rather by the gratitude which you cer¬
tainly owe him. It is plain that he has a good
heart — ‘handsome is as handsome does’ — it is
clear to me that these phantoms would have you
say ‘Yes’ to the Beast, and I too advise you to
consent.”
Beauty saw the wisdom of this and knew very
well that her father was counselling her for the
best. Nevertheless it needed something more
than this to reconcile her with marrying a
monster, and she felt relieved at the thought that
for two whole months she could put off deciding.
Strange to say, as the days went by and the time
of her departure drew nearer, she found herself
looking forward to it rather than repining. For
one thing distressed her and spoilt all her happi¬
ness — she never dreamed at all now.
[220]
Beauty and the Beast
The days went by, and as they drew to an end
her brothers and even her father (forgetting his
former good counsel) employed all persuasions
to hinder her departure. But her mind was
made up ; and when the two months were passed
she was resolute on everything but the hour of
her parting. Every morning, when she got up,
she meant to say good-bye, but somehow another
night came and the farewells were still un¬
spoken.
She reproached herself (as well she might),
and was still thus cruelly torn between two
minds, when one night a dream visited her — the
first for two months and more.
She dreamed that she was back at the Beast’s
palace, and wandering by a lonely path in the
gardens which ended in a tangle of brushwood
overhanging a cave. As she drew nearer she
heard a terrible groaning, and running in haste
she found the Beast stretched there on the point
of death. Still in her dream she was bending
over him when the stately lady stepped forth
from the bushes and addressed her in a tone of
grave reproach : —
C 221]
Beauty and the Beast
“I doubt, Beauty, if even now you have come
in time. Cruel, cruel of you to delay ! when your
delay has brought him so near to death!”
Terrified by this dream Beauty awoke in her
bed with a start. “I have done wickedly!” she
cried. “Am I too late? Oh, indeed I hope not !”
She turned the ring upon her finger and said
aloud in a firm voice : “I wish to go back to my
palace and see my Beast again!”
With that she at once fell asleep, and only
woke up to hear the clock chiming, “Beauty,
Beauty,” twelve times on the musical note she
so well remembered. She was back, then, at the
palace. Yes, and — oh, joy! — her faithful apes
and parrots were gathered around the bed, wish¬
ing her good morning!
But none of them could tell her any news of
the Beast. They were here to serve her, and all
their thoughts ended with their duty. Their
good master — the lord of this splendid palace —
what was he to them? At any rate nothing was
to be learnt from them, and Beauty was no
sooner dressed than she broke away impatiently,
wandering through the house and the gardens to
[222]
Beauty and the Beast
fill up the time until evening should bring his
accustomed visit. But it was hard work filling
up the time. She went into the great hall and
resolutely opened the windows one by one. The
shows were there as before; but opera and
comedy, fete and pageant, held no meaning for
her : the players were listless, the music was dull,
the processions passed before her eyes but had
lost their powers to amuse.
Supper-time came at length; but when after
supper the mintes passed and passed and still no
Beast appeared, then indeed Beauty was fright¬
ened. For a long while she waited, listened, told
herself this and that, and finally in a terror
rushed down into the gardens to seek for him.
The alleys were dark; the bushes daunted her
with their black shadows ; but still up and down
ran poor Beauty calling to the Beast, and calling
in vain.
She was drenched with the dew, utterly lost
and weary, when, after three hours, pausing for
a moment’s rest, she saw before her the same soli¬
tary path she had seen in her dream: and there
[223]
Beauty and the Beast
in the moonlight she almost stumbled over the
Beast.
He lay there, stretched at full length and
asleep — or so she thought. So glad was she to
have found him that she knelt and stroked his
head, calling him by name over and over. But
his flesh was cold beneath her hand, nor did he
move or open his eyes.
“Ah, he is dead !” she cried, aghast.
But she put a hand over his heart, and to her
inexpressible joy she felt that it was still beating.
Hastily she ran to a fountain near by, and dip¬
ping water into her palms from its basin she ran
and sprinkled it on his face, coaxing him with
tender words as his eyes opened, and slowly —
very slowly — he came to himself.
“Ah! what a fright you have given me!” she
murmured. “Dear Beast, I never knew how I
loved you until I feared that you were dead — yes,
dead, and through my fault! But I believe, if
you had died, I should have died too.”
“Beauty,” said the Beast faintly, “you are very
good if indeed you can love such an ugly brute
as I am. It is true that I was dying for you, and
[224]
Beauty and the Beast
should have died if you had not come. I thought
you had forsaken me. But are you sure?”
“Sure of what?” asked Beauty.
“That you love me?”
“Let us go back to supper,” said Beauty, rais¬
ing his head.
“Yes, let us go back to supper,” agreed the
Beast, lifting himself heavily on her arm. He
still leaned on her, as they walked back to the
palace together. But the supper — which they
found laid for two — seemed to revive him, and
in his old stupid way he asked her about the time
she had spent at home, and if her father and
brothers and sisters had been glad to see her.
Beauty, though weary enough after her
search through the park and gardens, brisked
herself up to tell of all that had happened to her
in her absence. The Beast sat nodding his head
and listening in his old dull way — which some¬
how seemed to her the most comfortable way in
the world. At length he rose to go. But at the
doorway he put the old blunt question,
“Beauty, will you marry me?”
“Yes, dear Beast,” said Beauty; and as she said
[225]
Beauty and the Beast
it a blaze of light filled the room. A salvo of ar¬
tillery sounded, a moment later, from the park.
Bang, bang! fireworks shot across the windows
of the palace; sky rockets and Roman candles
exploded and a magnificent set-piece wrote
across the darkness in letters of fire — “long live
BEAUTY AND THE BEAST!”
Beauty turned to ask what all these rejoicings
might mean ; and, with that, she gave a cry. The
Beast had vanished, and in his place stood the
beloved Prince of her dreams! He smiled and
stretched out his hands to her. Scarcely know¬
ing what she did, she was stretching hers, to take
them, when above the banging of fireworks in
the avenues there sounded a rolling of wheels.
It drew to the porch, and presently there entered
the stately lady she had seen in her dreams. It
was the very same ; and, all astounded as she was,
Beauty did reverence to her.
But the stately lady was as eager to do rever¬
ence to Beauty. “Best and dearest,” said she,
“my son is going to love you always; as how
should he not, seeing that by your courage you
have rescued him from the enchantment under
[226]
Beauty and the Beast
which he has lain so long, and have restored him
to his natural form? But suffer also his mother,
a Queen, to bless you !”
Beauty turned again to her lover and saw that
he, who had been a Beast, was indeed the Prince
of her dreams and handsomer than the day. So
they were married and lived happy ever after;
nay, so happy were they that all over the world
folks told one another and set down in writing
this wonderful history of Beauty and, the Beast.
MORAL
Maidens, from this tale of Beauty
Learn , and in your memory write —
Daily leads a Path of Duty
Through the Garden of Delight;
Where the loveliest roses wear
Daunting thorns, for you to dare .
ANOTHER
Many shy, unhappy creatures
From the covert watch your mirth:
“ Foul are we,” they mourn ; “ our features
Blot the sun, deform the earth.”
Pity, love them, speak them fair:
# •
Half their woe ye may repair .
[227]
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