In a country very far from this is to be seen a great city wherein
trade flourishes abundantly. It numbered amongst its citizens a
merchant, who succeeded in all his speculations, and upon whom Fortune,
responding to his wishes, had always showered her fairest favours. But
if he had immense wealth, he had also a great many children, his family
consisting of six boys and six girls. None of them were settled in
life: the boys were too young to think of it; the girls, too proud of
their fortunes, upon which they had every reason to count, could not
easily determine upon the choice they should make. Their vanity was
flattered by the attentions of the handsomest young gentlemen. But a
reverse of fortune which they did not at all expect, came to trouble
their felicity. Their house took fire; the splendid furniture with
which it was filled, the account books, the notes, gold, silver, and
all the valuable stores which formed the merchant's principal wealth,
were enveloped in this fatal conflagration, which was so violent
that very few of the things could be saved. This first misfortune
was but the forerunner of others. The father, with whom hitherto
everything had prospered, lost at the same time, either by shipwreck
or by pirates, all the ships he had at sea; his correspondents made
him a bankrupt, his foreign agents were treacherous; in short, from
the greatest opulence, he suddenly fell into the most abject poverty.
He had nothing left but a small country house, situated in a lonely
place, more than a hundred leagues from the city in which he usually
resided. Impelled to seek a place of refuge from noise and tumult, he
took his family to this retired spot, who were in despair at such a
revolution. The daughters of this unfortunate merchant were especially
horrified at the prospect of the life they should have to lead in this
dull solitude. For some time they flattered themselves that, when
their father's intention became known, their lovers, who had hitherto
sued in vain, would be only too happy to find they were inclined to
listen to them. They imagined that the many admirers of each would be
all striving to obtain the preference. They thought if they wished
only for a husband they would obtain one; but they did not remain
very long in such a delightful illusion. They had lost their greatest
attractions when, like a flash of lightning, their father's splendid
fortune had disappeared, and their time for choosing had departed with
it. Their crowd of admirers vanished at the moment of their downfall;
their beauty was not sufficiently powerful to retain one of them.
Their friends were not more generous than their lovers. From the hour
they became poor, every one, without exception, ceased to know them.
Some were even cruel enough to impute their misfortunes to their own
acts. Those whom the father had most obliged were his most vehement
calumniators: they reported that all his calamities were brought on by
his own bad conduct, his prodigality, and the foolish extravagance of
himself and his children.
This wretched family, therefore, could not do better than depart
from a city wherein everybody took a pleasure in insulting them in
their misfortunes. Having no resource whatever, they shut themselves
up in their country house, situated in the middle of an almost
impenetrable forest, and which might well be considered the saddest
abode in the world. What misery they had to endure in this frightful
solitude! They were forced to do the hardest work. Not being able
to have any one to wait upon them, this unfortunate merchant's sons
were compelled to divide the servant's duties amongst them, as well
as to exert themselves in every way that people must do who have to
earn their livelihood in the country. The daughters, on their part,
had sufficient employment. Like the poor peasant girls, they found
themselves obliged to employ their delicate hands in all the labours
of a rural life. Wearing nothing but woollen dresses, having nothing
to gratify their vanity, existing upon what the land could give them,
limited to common necessaries, but still retaining a refined and dainty
taste, these girls incessantly regretted the city and its attractions.
The recollection even of their younger days passed so rapidly in a
round of mirth and pleasure was their greatest torment. The youngest
girl, however, displayed greater perseverance and firmness in their
common misfortune. She bore her lot cheerfully, and with a strength
of mind much beyond her years: not but what, at first, she was truly
melancholy. Alas! who would not have felt such misfortunes. But, after
deploring her father's ruin, could she do better than resume her former
gaiety, make up her mind to the position she was placed in, and forget
a world which she and her family had found so ungrateful, and the
friendship of which she was so fully persuaded was not to be relied
upon in the time of adversity?
Anxious to console herself and her brothers, by her amiable disposition
and sprightliness, there was nothing she did not do to amuse them.
The merchant had spared no cost in her education, nor in that of her
sisters. At this sad period she derived all the advantage from it she
desired. As she could play exceedingly well upon various instruments,
and sing to them charmingly, she asked her sisters to follow her
example, but her cheerfulness and patience only made them more
miserable. These girls, who were so inconsolable in their ill fortune,
thought their youngest sister showed a poor and mean spirit, and even
silliness, to be so merry in the state it had pleased Providence to
reduce them to. "How happy she is," said the eldest; "she was intended
for such coarse occupations. With such low notions, what would she
have done in the world?" Such remarks were unjust. This young person
was much more fitted to shine in society than either of them. She was
a perfectly beautiful young creature, her good temper rendered her
adorable. A generous and tender heart was visible in all her words and
actions. Quite as much alive to the reverses that had just overwhelmed
her family as either of her sisters, by a strength of mind which is not
common in her sex, she concealed her sorrow, and rose superior to her
misfortunes. So much firmness was considered to be insensibility. But
one can easily appeal from a judgment pronounced by jealousy.
Every intelligent person, who saw her in her true light, was eager to
give her the preference over her sisters. In the midst of her greatest
splendour, although distinguished by her merit, she was so handsome
that she was called "The Beauty." Known by this name only, what more
was required to increase the jealousy and hatred of her sisters? Her
charms, and the general esteem in which she was held, might have
induced her to hope for a much more advantageous establishment than
her sisters; but feeling only for her father's misfortunes, far from
retarding his departure from a city in which she had enjoyed so much
pleasure, she did all she could to expedite it. This young girl was as
contented in their solitude as she had been in the midst of the world.
To amuse herself in her hours of relaxation, she would dress her hair
with flowers, and, like the shepherdesses of former times, forgetting
in a rural life all that had most gratified her in the height of
opulence, every day brought to her some new innocent pleasure.
Two years had already passed, and the family began to be accustomed
to a country life, when a hope of returning prosperity arrived to
discompose their tranquillity. The father received news that one of
his vessels, that he thought was lost, had safely arrived in port,
richly laden. His informants added, they feared the factors would
take advantage of his absence, and sell the cargo at a low price, and
by this fraud make a great profit at his expense. He imparted these
tidings to his children, who did not doubt for an instant but that
they should soon be enabled to return from exile. The girls, much
more impatient than the boys, thinking it was unnecessary to wait
for more certain proof, were anxious to set out instantly, and to
leave everything behind them. But the father, who was more prudent,
begged them to moderate their delight. However important he was to
his family at a time when the labours of the field could not be
interrupted without great loss, he determined to leave his sons to get
in the harvest, and that he would set out upon this long journey. His
daughters, with the exception of the youngest, expected they would
soon be restored to their former opulence. They fancied that, even if
their father's property would not be considerable enough to settle them
in the great metropolis, their native place, he would at least have
sufficient for them to live in a less expensive city. They trusted
they should find good society there, attract admirers, and profit
by the first offer that might be made to them. Scarcely remembering
the troubles they had undergone for the last two years, believing
themselves to be already, as by a miracle, removed from poverty into
the lap of plenty, they ventured (for retirement had not cured them
of the taste for luxury and display) to overwhelm their father with
foolish commissions. They requested him to make purchases of jewelry,
attire, and head-dresses. Each endeavoured to outvie the other in her
demands, so that the sum total of their father's supposed fortune would
not have been sufficient to satisfy them.
Beauty, who was not the slave of ambition, and who always acted with
prudence, saw directly that if he executed her sisters' commissions,
it would be useless for her to ask for anything. But the father,
astonished at her silence, said, interrupting his insatiable daughters,
"Well, Beauty, dost thou not desire anything? What shall I bring thee?
what dost thou wish for? Speak freely." "My dear papa," replied the
amiable girl, embracing him affectionately, "I wish for one thing more
precious than all the ornaments my sisters have asked you for; I have
limited my desires to it, and shall be only too happy if they can be
fulfilled. It is the gratification of seeing you return in perfect
health." This answer was so unmistakeably disinterested, that it
covered the others with shame and confusion. They were so angry, that
one of them, answering for the rest, said with bitterness, "This child
gives herself great airs, and fancies that she will distinguish herself
by these affected heroics. Surely nothing can be more ridiculous."
But the father, touched by her expressions, could not help showing
his delight at them; appreciating, too, the feeling which induced her
to ask nothing for herself, he begged she would choose something; and
to allay the ill-will that his other daughters had towards her, he
observed to her that such indifference to dress was not natural at her
age--that there was a time for everything. "Very well, my dear father,"
said she, "since you desire me to make some request, I beg you will
bring me a rose; I love that flower passionately, and since I have
lived in this desert I have not had the pleasure of seeing one." This
was to obey her father, and at the same time to avoid putting him to
any expense for her.
At length the day arrived, that this good old man was compelled to
leave his family. He travelled as fast as he could to the great city to
which the prospect of a new fortune recalled him. But he did not meet
with the benefits he had hoped for. His vessel had certainly arrived;
but his partners, believing him to be dead, had taken possession of
it, and all the cargo had been disposed of. Thus, instead of entering
into the full and peaceable possession of that which belonged to him,
he was compelled to encounter all sorts of chicanery in the pursuit of
his rights. He overcame them, but after more than six months of trouble
and expense, he was not any richer than he was before. His debtors
had become insolvent, and he could hardly defray his own costs. Thus
terminated this dream of riches.
To add to his disagreeables, he was obliged, on the score of economy,
to start on his homeward journey at the most inconvenient time, and in
the most frightful weather. Exposed on the road to the piercing blasts,
he thought he should die with fatigue; but when he found himself within
a few miles of his house (which he did not reckon upon leaving for such
false hopes, and which Beauty had shown her sense in mistrusting) his
strength returned to him. It would be some hours before he could cross
the forest; it was late, but he wished to continue his journey. He
was benighted, suffering from intense cold, buried, one might say, in
the snow, with his horse; not knowing which way to bend his steps, he
thought his last hour had come: no hut in his road, although the forest
was filled with them. A tree, hollowed by age, was the best shelter he
could find, and only too happy was he to hide himself in it. This tree
protecting him from the cold, was the means of saving his life; and the
horse, a little distance from his master, perceiving another hollow
tree, was led by instinct to take shelter in that.
The night, in such a situation, appeared to him to be never-ending;
furthermore, he was famished, frightened at the roaring of the wild
beasts, that were constantly passing by him. Could he be at peace for
an instant? His trouble and anxiety did not end with the night. He
had no sooner the pleasure of seeing daylight than his distress was
greater. The ground appeared so extraordinarily covered with snow, no
road could he find--no track was to be seen. It was only after great
fatigue and frequent falls, that he succeeded in discovering something
like a path upon which he could keep his footing.
Proceeding without knowing in which direction, chance led him into
the avenue of a beautiful castle, which the snow seemed to have
respected. It consisted of four rows of orange-trees, laden with
flowers and fruit. Statues were seen here and there, regardless of
order or symmetry--some were in the middle of the road, others among
the trees--all after the strangest fashion; they were of the size of
life, and had the colour of human beings, in different attitudes, and
in various dresses, the greatest number representing warriors. Arriving
at the first court-yard, he perceived a great many more statues. He was
suffering so much from cold that he could not stop to examine them. An
agate staircase, with balusters of chased gold, first presented itself
to his sight: he passed through several magnificently furnished rooms;
a gentle warmth which he breathed in them renovated him. He needed
food; but to whom could he apply? This large and magnificent edifice
appeared to be inhabited only by statues. A profound silence reigned
throughout it; nevertheless it had not the air of an old palace that
had been deserted. The halls, the rooms, the galleries were all open;
no living thing appeared to be in this charming place.
Weary of wandering over this vast dwelling, he stopped in a saloon,
wherein was a large fire. Presuming that it was prepared for some one,
who would not be long in appearing, he drew near the fireplace to warm
himself; but no one came. Seated on a sofa near the fire, a sweet sleep
closed his eyelids, and left him no longer in a condition to observe
the entrance of any one. Fatigue induced him to sleep; hunger awoke
him; he had been suffering from it for the last twenty-four hours.
The exercise that he had taken ever since he had been in this palace
increased his appetite. When he awoke and opened his eyes, he was
astonished to see a table elegantly laid. A light repast would not have
satisfied him; but the viands, magnificently dressed, invited him to
eat of everything.
His first care was to utter in a loud voice his thanks to those from
whom he had received so much kindness, and he then resolved to wait
quietly till it pleased his host to make himself known to him. As
fatigue caused him to sleep before his repast, so did the food produce
the same effect, and his repose was longer and more powerful; in fact,
this second time he slept for at least four hours. Upon awaking, in
the place of the first table he saw another of porphyry, upon which
some kind hand had set out a collation consisting of cakes, preserved
fruits, and liqueurs. This was likewise for his use. Profiting,
therefore, by the kindness shown him, he partook of everything that
suited his appetite, his taste, and his fancy.
Finding at length no one to speak to, or to inform him whether
this palace was inhabited by a man or by a God, fear began to take
possession of him, for he was naturally timid. He resolved, therefore,
to repass through all the apartments, and overwhelm with thanks the
Genius to whom he was indebted for so much kindness, and in the most
respectful manner solicit him to appear. All his attentions were
useless: no appearance of servants, no result by which he could
ascertain that the palace was inhabited. Thinking seriously of what he
should do, he began to fancy, for what reason he could not imagine,
that some good spirit had made this mansion a present to him, with
all the riches that it contained. This idea seemed like inspiration,
and without further delay, making a new inspection of it, he took
possession of all the treasures he could find. More than this, he
settled in his own mind what share of it he should allow to each of his
children, and selected the apartments which would particularly suit
them, enjoying the delight beforehand which his journey would afford
them. He entered the garden, where, in spite of the severity of the
winter, the rarest flowers were exhaling the most delicious perfume in
the mildest and purest air. Birds of all kinds blending their songs
with the confused noise of the waters, made an agreeable harmony.
The old man, in ecstasies at such wonders, said to himself, "My
daughters will not, I think, find it very difficult to accustom
themselves to this delicious abode. I cannot believe that they will
regret, or that they will prefer the city to this mansion. Let me set
out directly," cried he, in a transport of joy rather uncommon for
him; "I shall increase my happiness in witnessing theirs: I will take
possession at once."
Upon entering this charming castle he had taken care, notwithstanding
he was nearly perished, to unbridle his horse and let him wend his
way to a stable which he had observed in the fore-court. An alley,
ornamented by palisades, formed by rose-bushes in full bloom, led to
it. He had never seen such lovely roses. Their perfume reminded him
that he had promised to give Beauty a rose. He picked one, and was
about to gather enough to make half-a-dozen bouquets, when a most
frightful noise made him turn round. He was terribly alarmed upon
perceiving at his side a horrible beast, which, with an air of fury,
laid upon his neck a kind of trunk, resembling an elephant's, and said,
with a terrific voice, "Who gave thee permission to gather my roses?
Is it not enough that I kindly allowed thee to remain in my palace.
Instead of feeling grateful, rash man, I find thee stealing my flowers!
Thy insolence shall not remain unpunished." The good man, already too
much overpowered by the unexpected appearance of this monster, thought
he should die of fright at these words, and quickly throwing away
the fatal rose. "Ah! my Lord," said he, prostrating himself before
him, "have mercy on me! I am not ungrateful! Penetrated by all your
kindness, I did not imagine that so slight a liberty could possibly
have offended you." The monster very angrily replied, "Hold thy tongue,
thou foolish talker. I care not for thy flattery, nor for the titles
thou bestowest on me. I am not 'my Lord;' I am The Beast; and thou
shalt not escape the death thou deservest."
The merchant, dismayed at so cruel a sentence, and thinking that
submission was the only means to preserve his life, said, in a truly
affecting manner, that the rose he had dared to take was for one of his
daughters, called Beauty. Then, whether he hoped to escape from death,
or to induce his enemy to feel for him, he related to him all his
misfortunes; he told him the object of his journey, and did not omit to
dwell on the little present he was bound to give Beauty; adding, that
was the only thing she had asked for, while the riches of a king would
hardly have sufficed to satisfy the wishes of his other daughters; and
so came to the opportunity which had offered itself to satisfy the
modest desire of Beauty, and his belief that he could have done so
without any unpleasant consequences; asking pardon, moreover, for his
involuntary fault. The Beast considered for a moment, then, speaking
in a milder tone, he said to him, "I will pardon thee, but upon
condition that thou wilt give me one of thy daughters--I require some
one to repair this fault." "Just Heaven!" replied the merchant; "how
can I keep my word? Could I be so inhuman as to save my own life at the
expense of one of my children's; under what pretext could I bring her
here?" "There must be no pretext," interrupted the Beast. "I expect
that whichever daughter you bring here she will come willingly, or I
will not have either of them. Go; see if there be not one amongst them
sufficiently courageous, and loving thee enough, to sacrifice herself
to save thy life. Thou appearest to be an honest man. Give me thy word
of honour to return in a month. If thou canst decide to bring one of
them back with thee, she will remain here and thou wilt return home. If
thou canst not do so, promise me to return hither alone, after bidding
them farewell for ever, for thou wilt belong to me. Do not fancy,"
continued the Monster, grinding his teeth, "that by merely agreeing
to my proposition thou wilt be saved. I warn thee, if thou thinkest
so to escape me, I will seek for thee, and destroy thee and thy race,
although a hundred thousand men appear to defend thee."
The good man, although quite convinced that he should not vainly put to
the proof the devotion of his daughters, accepted, nevertheless, the
Monster's proposition. He promised to return to him at the time named,
and give himself up to his sad fate, without rendering it necessary
for the Beast to seek for him. After this assurance he thought himself
at liberty to retire and take leave of the Beast, whose presence was
most distressing to him. The respite was but brief, yet he feared he
might revoke it. He expressed his anxiety to depart; but the Beast told
him he should not do so till the following day. "Thou wilt find," said
he, "a horse ready at break of day. He will carry thee home quickly.
Adieu--go to supper, and await my orders."
The poor man, more dead than alive, returned to the saloon in which
he had feasted so heartily. Before a large fire his supper, already
laid, invited him to sit and enjoy it. The delicacy and richness of
the dishes had no longer, however, any temptation for him. Overwhelmed
by his grief, he would not have seated himself at the table, but that
he feared that the Beast was concealed somewhere, and observing him,
and that he would excite his anger by any slight of his bounty. To
avoid further disaster, he made a momentary truce with his grief, and,
as well as his afflicted heart would permit, he tasted, in turn, the
various dishes. At the end of the repast a great noise was heard in the
adjoining apartment, and he did not doubt that it was his formidable
host. As he could not manage to avoid his presence, he tried to recover
from the alarm which this sudden noise had caused him. At the same
moment, the Beast, who appeared, asked him abruptly if he had made a
good supper. The good man replied, in a modest and timid tone, that he
had, thanks to his attention, eaten heartily. "Promise me," replied
the Monster, "to remember your word to me, and to keep it as a man of
honour, in bringing me one of your daughters."
The old man, who was not much entertained with this conversation, swore
to him that he would fulfil what he had promised, and return in a month
alone or with one of his daughters, if he should find one who loved
him sufficiently to follow him on the conditions he must propose to
her. "I warn thee again," said the Beast, "to take care not to deceive
her as to the sacrifice which thou must exact from her, or the danger
she will incur. Paint to her my face such as it is. Let her know what
she is about to do: above all, let her be firm in her resolution.
There will be no time for reflection when thou shalt have brought her
hither. There must be no drawing back: thou wilt be equally lost,
without obtaining for her the liberty to return." The merchant, who was
overcome at this discourse, reiterated his promise to conform to all
that was prescribed to him. The Monster, satisfied with his answer,
ordered him to retire to rest, and not to rise till he should see the
sun, and hear a golden bell.
"Thou wilt breakfast before setting out," said he again; "and thou
mayest take a rose with thee for Beauty. The horse which shall bear
thee will be ready in the court-yard. I reckon on seeing thee again
in a month, if thou art an honest man. If thou failest in thy word,
I shall pay thee a visit." The good man, for fear of prolonging a
conversation already too painful to him, made a profound reverence to
the Beast, who told him again not to be anxious respecting the road by
which he should return; as at the time appointed the same horse which
he would mount the next morning would be found at his gate, and would
suffice for his daughter and himself.
However little disposition the old man felt for sleep, he dared not
disobey the orders he had received. Obliged to lie down, he did not
rise till the sun began to illumine the chamber. His breakfast was
soon despatched, and he then descended into the garden to gather the
rose which the Beast had ordered him to take to Beauty. How many tears
this flower caused him to shed. But the fear of drawing on himself new
disasters made him constrain his feelings, and he went, without further
delay, in search of the horse which had been promised him. He found on
the saddle a light but warm cloak. As soon as the horse felt him on his
back, he set off with incredible speed. The merchant, who in a moment
lost sight of this fatal palace, experienced as great a sensation of
joy as he had on the previous evening felt in perceiving it, with this
difference, that the delight of leaving it was embittered by the cruel
necessity of returning to it.
"To what have I pledged myself?" said he, whilst his courser carried
him with a velocity and a lightness which is only known in fairy land.
"Would it not be better that I should become at once the victim of this
monster who thirsts for the blood of my family? By a promise I have
made, as unnatural as it is indiscreet, I have prolonged my life. Is
it possible that I could think of extending my days at the expense of
those of my daughters? Can I have the barbarity to lead one to him,
to see him, no doubt, devour her before my eyes?" But all at once,
interrupting himself, he cried, "Miserable wretch that I am, what
have I to fear? If I could find it in my heart to silence the voice
of nature, would it depend on me to commit this cowardly act? She
must know her fate and consent to it. I see no chance that she will
be inclined to sacrifice herself for an inhuman father, and I ought
not to make such a proposition to her. It is unjust. But even if the
affection which they all entertain for me should induce one to devote
herself, would not a single glance at the Beast destroy her constancy,
and I could not complain. Ah! too imperious Beast," exclaimed he, "thou
hast done this expressly! By putting an impossible condition to the
means thou offerest me to escape thy fury, and obtain the pardon of
a trifling fault, thou hast added insult to injury! But," continued
he, "I cannot bear to think of it. I hesitate no longer; and I would
rather expose myself without turning away from thy rage, than attempt a
useless mode of escape, which my paternal love trembles to employ. Let
me retrace," said he, "the road to this frightful palace, and without
deigning to purchase so dearly the remnant of a life which can never be
but miserable--without waiting for the month which is accorded me to
expire,--return and terminate this day my miserable existence!"
[Illustration: Beauty and the Beast.--P. 236.]
At these words he endeavoured to retrace his steps, but he found
it impossible to turn the bridle of his horse. Allowing himself,
therefore, against his will, to be carried forward, he resolved at
least to propose nothing to his daughters. Already he saw his house
in the distance, and strengthening himself more and more in his
resolution, "I will not speak to them," he said, "of the danger which
threatens me: I shall have the pleasure of embracing them once more; I
shall give them my last advice; I will beg them to live on good terms
with their brothers, whom I shall also implore not to abandon them."
In the midst of this reverie, he reached his door. His own horse, which
had found its way home the previous evening, had alarmed his family.
His sons, dispersed in the forest, had sought him in every direction;
and his daughters, in their impatience to hear some tidings of him,
were at the door, in order to obtain the earliest intelligence. As he
was mounted on a magnificent steed, and wrapt in a rich cloak, they
could not recognise him, but took him at first for a messenger sent by
him, and the rose which they perceived attached to the pummel of the
saddle made them perfectly easy on his account.
When this afflicted father, however, approached nearer, they recognised
him, and thought only of evincing their satisfaction at seeing him
return in good health. But the sadness depicted in his face, and his
eyes filled with tears, which he vainly endeavoured to restrain,
changed their joy into anxiety. All hastened to inquire the cause of
his trouble. He made no reply but by saying to Beauty, as he presented
her with the rose, "There is what thou hast demanded of me, but thou
wilt pay dearly for it, as well as the others." "I was certain,"
exclaimed the eldest, "and I was saying, this very moment, that she
would be the only one whose commission you would execute. At this time
of the year, a rose must have cost more than you would have had to
pay for us all five together; and, judging from appearances, the rose
will be faded before the day is ended: never mind, however, you were
determined to gratify the fortunate Beauty at any price." "It is true,"
replied the father, mournfully, "that this rose has cost me dear, and
more dear than all the ornaments which you wished for would have done.
It is not in money, however; and would to Heaven that I might have
purchased it with all I am yet worth in the world."
These words excited the curiosity of his children, and dispelled the
resolution which he had taken not to reveal his adventure. He informed
them of the ill-success of his journey, the trouble which he had
undergone in running after a chimerical fortune, and all that had taken
place in the palace of the Monster. After this explanation, despair
took the place of hope and of joy.
The daughters seeing all their projects annihilated by this
thunderbolt, uttered fearful cries; the brothers, more courageous, said
resolutely that they would not suffer their father to return to this
frightful castle; that they were bold enough to deliver the earth from
this horrible Beast, even supposing he should have the temerity to come
in search of him. The good man, although moved at their affliction,
forbad them to commit violence, telling them, that as he had given his
word, he would kill himself rather than fail to keep it.
Notwithstanding this, they sought for expedients to save his life; the
young men, full of courage and filial affection, proposed that one
of them should go and offer himself as a victim to the wrath of the
Beast; but the monster had said positively and explicitly that he would
have one of the daughters, and not one of the sons. The brave brothers
grieved that their good intentions could not be acted upon, then did
what they could to inspire their sisters with the same sentiments. But
their jealousy of Beauty was sufficient to raise an invincible obstacle
to such heroic action.
"It is not just," said they, "that we should perish in so frightful a
manner for a fault of which we are not guilty. It would be to render
us victims to Beauty, to whom they would be very glad to sacrifice
us; but duty does not require such a sacrifice. Here is the fruit of
the moderation and perpetual preaching of this unhappy girl! Why did
she not ask, like us, for a good stock of clothes and jewels. If we
have not had them, it has at all events cost nothing for asking, and
we have no cause to reproach ourselves for having exposed the life of
our father by indiscreet demands. If, by an affected disinterestedness,
she had not sought to distinguish herself, as she is in all things
more favoured than we, he would have, no doubt, found enough money to
content her. But she must needs, by her singular caprice, bring on us
all this misfortune. It is she who has caused it, and they wish us
to pay the penalty. We will not be her dupe. She has brought it on
herself, and she must find the remedy."
Beauty, whose grief had almost deprived her of consciousness,
suppressing her sobs and sighs, said to her sisters, "I am the cause
of this misfortune; it is I alone who must repair it. I confess it
would be unjust to allow you to suffer for my fault. Alas! it was,
notwithstanding, an innocent wish. Could I foresee that the desire to
have a rose when we were in the middle of summer would be punished so
cruelly? The fault is committed, however; whether I am innocent or
guilty, it is just that I should expiate it. It cannot be imputed to
any one else. I will risk my life," pursued she, in a firm tone, "to
release my father from his fatal engagement. I will go to find the
Beast; too happy in being able to die in order to preserve the life of
him from whom I received mine, and to silence your murmurs. Do not fear
that anything can turn me from my purpose; but I pray you during this
month to do me the favour to spare me your reproaches."
So much firmness in a girl of her age surprised them all much; and
the brothers, who loved her tenderly, were moved at her resolution.
They paid her infinite attention, and felt the loss they were about to
sustain. But it was requisite to save the life of a father; this pious
motive closed their mouths; and well persuaded that it was a thing
decided on, far from thinking of combating so generous a purpose, they
contented themselves by shedding tears, and giving their sister all
the praise which her noble resolution merited, all the more from her
being only sixteen years of age, and having the right to regret a life
which she was about to sacrifice in so cruel a manner. The father
alone would not consent to the design of his youngest daughter; but the
others reproached him insolently with the charge that Beauty alone was
cared for by him, in spite of the misfortune which she had caused, and
that he was sorry that it was not one of the elders who should pay for
her imprudence.
This unjust language forced him to desist; besides, Beauty assured him
that if he would not accept the exchange, she would make it in spite of
him, for she would go alone to seek the Beast, and so perish without
saving him. "How do we know," said she, forcing herself to assume more
tranquillity than she really felt; "perhaps the dreadful fate which
appears to await me conceals another as happy as this seems terrible?"
Her sisters, hearing her speak thus, smiled maliciously at the wild
idea; they were enchanted at the delusion in which they believed her
to be indulging. But the old man, conquered by all her reasons, and
remembering an ancient prediction, by which he had learnt that this
daughter should save his life, and that she should be a source of
happiness to all her family, ceased to oppose the will of Beauty.
Insensibly they began to speak of their departure as a thing almost
indifferent. It was she who gave the tone to the conversation, and in
their presence she appeared to consider it as a happy event; it was
only, however, to console her father and brothers, and not to alarm
them more than necessary. Although discontented with the conduct of her
sisters towards her, who appeared even impatient to see her depart,
and thought the month passed too slowly, she had the generosity to
divide all her little property and the jewels which she had at her own
disposal amongst them.
They received with pleasure this new proof of her generosity, but
without abating their hatred of her. An extreme joy took possession of
their hearts when they heard the horse neigh which was sent to carry
away a sister whose amiability their jealous natures would not allow
them to perceive. The father and the sons alone were so afflicted
that they could not contain themselves at this fatal moment. They
proposed to strangle the horse. Beauty, however, preserving all her
tranquillity, showed them again on this occasion the absurdity of such
a design, and the impossibility of executing it. After having taken
leave of her brothers, she embraced her hard-hearted sisters, taking
such a tender farewell of them that she drew from them some tears, and
they believed, for the space of a few minutes, that they were almost as
much afflicted as their brothers.
During these brief, yet lingering leave-takings, the good man, hurried
by his daughter, had mounted his horse. She placed herself behind him
with as much alacrity as though she were going to make an agreeable
journey. The animal rather flew than walked. But this extreme speed did
not inconvenience her in the least; the paces of this singular horse
were so gentle that Beauty felt no more shaken by him than she would
have been by the breath of a zephyr.
In vain, during the journey, did her father offer a hundred times to
allow her to dismount, and to go himself alone to find the Beast.
"Consider, my dear child," said he; "there is still time. This Monster
is more terrible than thou canst imagine. However firm thy resolution
may be, I cannot but fear it will fail on beholding him; then it will
be too late; thou wilt be lost, and we shall both perish together."
"If I went," replied Beauty, "to seek this terrible Beast with the hope
of being happy, it is not impossible that that hope would fail me at
the sight of him; but as I reckon on a speedy death, and believe it to
be unavoidable, what does it signify whether he who shall destroy me be
agreeable or hideous."
Conversing thus, night closed around them, but the horse went quite
as fast in the darkness. It was, however, suddenly dissipated by a
most unexpected spectacle. This was caused by the discharge of all
kinds of beautiful fireworks--flowerpots, catherine-wheels, suns,
bouquets,--which dazzled the eyes of our travellers. This agreeable and
unlooked-for illumination lighted up the entire forest, and diffused a
gentle heat through the air, which was become desirable, for the cold
in this country was more keenly felt in the night than by day.
By this charming light the father and daughter found themselves in
an avenue of orange-trees. At the moment that they entered it the
fireworks ceased. The illumination was, however, continued by all the
statues having in their hands lighted torches. Besides these, lamps
without number covered the front of the palace, symmetrically arranged
in forms of true-lover's knots and crowned cyphers, consisting of
double LL's and double BB's.[16] On entering the court they were
received by a salute of artillery, which, added to the sound of a
thousand instruments of various kinds, some soft, some warlike, had a
fine effect.
"The Beast must be very hungry indeed," said Beauty, half-jestingly,
"to make such grand rejoicings at the arrival of his prey." However,
in spite of her agitation at the approach of an event which, according
to all appearance, was about to be fatal to her, she could not avoid
paying attention to the magnificent objects which succeeded each other,
and presented to her view the most beautiful spectacle she had ever
seen, nor help saying to her father that the preparations for her death
were more brilliant than the bridal pomp of the greatest king in the
world.
The horse stopped at the foot of the flight of steps. She alighted
quickly, and her father, as soon as he had put foot to the ground,
conducted her by a vestibule to the saloon in which he had been so
well entertained. They found there a large fire, lighted candles which
emitted an exquisite perfume, and, above all, a table splendidly
served. The good man, accustomed to the manner in which the Beast
regaled his guests, told his daughter that this repast was intended
for them, and that they were at liberty to avail themselves of it.
Beauty made no difficulty, well-persuaded that it would not hasten
her death. On the contrary, she imagined that it would make known
to the Beast the little repugnance she had felt in coming to see
him. She hoped that her frankness might be capable of softening him,
and even that her adventure might be less sad than she had at first
apprehended. The formidable Monster with which she had been menaced did
not show himself, and the whole palace spoke of joy and magnificence.
It appeared that her arrival had caused these demonstrations, and it
did not seem probable that they could have been designed for a funeral
ceremony.
Her hope did not last long, however. The Monster made himself heard.
A frightful noise, caused by the enormous weight of his body, by the
terrible clank of his scales, and an awful roaring, announced his
arrival. Terror took possession of Beauty. The old man, embracing his
daughter, uttered piercing cries. But recovering herself in a moment,
she suppressed her agitation. Seeing the Beast approach, whom she
could not behold without a shudder, she advanced with a firm step,
and with a modest air saluted him very respectfully. This behaviour
pleased the Monster. After having contemplated her, he said to the old
man, in a tone which, without being one of anger, might, however, fill
with terror the boldest heart, "Good evening, my good friend;" and
turning to Beauty, he said also to her, "Good evening, Beauty." The old
man, fearing every instant that something awful would happen to his
daughter, had not the strength to reply. But Beauty, without agitation
and in a sweet and firm voice, said, "Good evening, Beast." "Do you
come here voluntarily?" inquired the Beast; "and will you consent to
let your father depart without following him?" Beauty replied that she
had no other intention. "Ah! and what do you think will become of you
after his departure?" "What it may please you," said she; "my life is
at your disposal, and I submit blindly to the fate which you may doom
me to."
"I am satisfied with your submission," replied the Beast; "and as it
appears that they have not brought you here by force, you shall remain
with me. As for thee, good man," said he to the merchant, "thou shalt
depart to-morrow, at daybreak; the bell will warn you; delay not after
thy breakfast; the same horse will reconduct thee. But," added he,
"when thou shalt be in the midst of thy family, dream not of revisiting
my palace, and remember it is forbidden thee for ever. You, Beauty,"
continued the Monster, addressing her, "conduct your father into
the adjoining wardrobe, and choose anything which both of you think
will give pleasure to your brothers and sisters. You will find two
trunks; fill them. It is right that you should send them something of
sufficient value to oblige them to remember you."
In spite of the liberality of the Monster, the approaching departure
of her father sensibly affected Beauty, and caused her extreme
grief; however, she determined to obey the Beast, who quitted them,
after having said, as he had done on entering, "Good-night, Beauty;
good-night, good man." When they were alone, the good man, embracing
his daughter, wept without ceasing. The idea of leaving her with the
Monster was a most cruel trial to him. He repented having brought her
into that place. The gates were open; he wished to lead her away again,
but Beauty impressed upon him the danger and consequences of such a
proceeding.
They entered the wardrobe which had been indicated to them; they were
surprised at the treasures it contained. It was filled with apparel so
superb that a Queen could not wish for anything more beautiful, or in
better taste. Never was a warehouse better filled.
When Beauty had chosen the dresses she thought the most suitable, not
to the present situation of the family, but proportioned to the riches
and liberality of the Beast, who was the donor, she opened a press,
the door of which was of rock crystal, mounted in gold. Although such
a magnificent exterior prepared her to find it contain some rare and
precious treasures, she saw such a mass of jewels of all kinds, that
her eyes could hardly support the brilliancy of them. Beauty, from a
feeling of obedience, took without hesitation, a prodigious quantity,
which she divided as well as she could amongst the lots she had already
made.
On opening the last cabinet, which was no less than a cabinet filled
with pieces of gold, she changed her mind. "I think," said she to
her father, "that it will be better to empty these trunks, and to
fill them with coin, which you can give to your children according to
your pleasure. By this means you will not be obliged to confide your
secret to any one, and your riches will be possessed by you without
danger. The advantage that you would derive from the possession of
these jewels, although their value might be more considerable, would
be attended by inconvenience. In order to profit by them you would be
forced to sell them, and to trust them to persons who would only look
on you with envious eyes. Your confidence in them might even prove
fatal to you, whilst gold pieces of current coin will place you,"
continued she, "beyond the reach of any misfortune, by giving you the
means of acquiring land and houses, and purchasing rich furniture,
ornaments, and precious stones."
The father approved her forethought. But wishing to take for his
daughters some dresses and ornaments, in order to make room for them
as well as the gold, he took out of the trunks what he had selected
for his own use. The great quantity of coin which he put in did not
fill them, however. They were composed of folds which stretched at
pleasure. He found room for the jewels which he had displaced, and,
in fact, these trunks contained more than he could even wish for. "So
much money," said he to his daughter, "will place me in a position to
sell my jewels at my own convenience. Following thy counsel, I will
hide my wealth from the world, and even from my children. If they knew
me to be as rich as I shall be, they would torment me to abandon my
country life, which, however, is the sole one wherein I have found
happiness, and not experienced the perfidy of false friends, with whom
the world is filled." But the trunks were so immensely heavy, that an
elephant would have sunk under their weight, and the hope which he had
begun to cherish appeared to him a dream, and nothing more. "The Beast
mocks us," said he, "and feigns to give me wealth, which he makes it
impossible for me to carry away."
"Suspend your judgment," replied Beauty; "you have not provoked his
liberality by any indiscreet request nor by any greedy or interested
looks. Raillery would be without point. I think, as the Monster has
bestowed it on you, that he will certainly find the means of allowing
you to enjoy it. We have only to close the trunks, and leave them here.
No doubt he knows by what coach to send them."
Nothing could be more prudent than this advice. The good man,
conformably to it, re-entered the saloon with his daughter. Seated
together on the sofa, they saw the breakfast instantly served. The
father ate with more appetite than he had done the preceding night.
That which had come to pass had diminished his despair and revived his
confidence. He would have departed without concern if the Beast had
not had the cruelty to make him understand that he must not dream of
seeing his palace again, and that he must wish his daughter an eternal
farewell. There is no evil but death without remedy. The good man was
not completely stunned by this order. He flattered himself that it
would not be irrevocable, and this hope prepared him to quit his host
with tolerable satisfaction. Beauty was not so well satisfied. Little
persuaded that a happy future was prepared for her, she feared that the
rich presents with which the Monster loaded her family was but the
price of her life, and that he would devour her immediately that he
should be alone with her, or at least that a perpetual prison would be
her fate, and that her only companion would be this frightful Monster.
This reflection plunged her into a profound reverie, but a second
stroke of the bell warned them that it was time to separate. They
descended into the court, where the father found two horses, the one
loaded with the two trunks, and the other destined for himself. The
latter, covered with a good cloak, and the saddle having two bags
attached to it full of refreshments, was the same which he had ridden
before. So much attention on the part of the Beast again supplied them
with subject of conversation; but the horses, neighing and stamping
with their hoofs, made known to them that it was time to part.
The merchant, afraid of irritating the Beast by his delay, bade his
daughter an eternal farewell. The two horses set off faster than the
wind, and Beauty instantly lost sight of them. She mounted in tears to
the chamber which was appropriated to her, where for some time she was
lost in sad reflections.
At length, being overcome with sleep, she felt a wish to seek repose,
which, during a month past, she had not enjoyed. Having nothing better
to do, she was about to go to bed, when she perceived on the table a
service of chocolate prepared. She took it, half asleep, and her eyes
almost immediately closed. She fell into a quiet slumber, which since
the moment she had received the fatal rose had been unknown to her.
During her sleep, she dreamt that she was on the bank of a canal, a
long way off, the two sides of which were ornamented with two rows of
orange trees and flowering myrtles of immense size, where, engrossed
with her sad situation, she lamented the misfortune which condemned her
to pass her days in this place without hope of ever leaving it.
A young man, beautiful as Cupid is painted, in a voice which touched
her heart, then said--"Do not, Beauty, believe thou wilt be as unhappy
as it now appears to thee. It is in this place that thou wilt receive
the recompence which they have elsewhere unjustly denied thee. Let thy
penetration assist thee to extricate me from the appearance which
disguises me. Judge in seeing me if my company is contemptible, and
ought not to be preferred to a family unworthy of thee. Wish, and all
thy desires shall be fulfilled. I love thee tenderly; thou alone canst
bestow happiness on me by being happy thyself. Never deny me this.
Excelling all other women as far in the qualities of thy mind as thou
excellest them in beauty, we shall be perfectly happy together."
This charming apparition then kneeling at her feet, made her the most
flattering promises in the most tender language. He pressed her in the
warmest terms to consent to his happiness, and assured her that she
should be entirely her own mistress.
"What can I do?" said she to him with eagerness.
"Follow the first impulse of gratitude," said he. "Judge not by thine
eyes, and, above all, abandon me not, but release me from the terrible
torment which I endure."
After this first dream, she fancied she was in a magnificent cabinet
with a lady, whose majestic mien and surprising beauty created in
her heart a feeling of profound respect. This lady said to her in an
affectionate tone--"Charming Beauty, regret not that thou hast left;
a more illustrious fate awaits thee; but if thou wouldst deserve it,
beware of allowing thyself to be prejudiced by appearances." Her sleep
lasted more than five hours, during which time she saw the young man in
a hundred different places, and under a hundred different circumstances.
Sometimes he offered her a fine entertainment; sometimes he made the
most tender protestations to her. How pleasant her sleep was! She would
have wished to prolong it, but her eyes, open to the light, could not
be induced to close again, and Beauty believed she had only had an
agreeable dream.
A clock struck twelve, repeating twelve times her own name, which
obliged her to rise. She then saw a toilet-table covered with
everything necessary for a lady. After having dressed herself with a
feeling of pleasure of which she did not imagine the cause, she passed
into the saloon, where her dinner was served.
When one eats alone, a repast is very soon over. On returning to her
chamber, she threw herself on the sofa; the young man of whom she
had dreamt again presented himself to her thoughts. "'I can make thy
happiness,' were his words. Probably this horrible Beast, who appears
to command all here, keeps him in prison. How can he be extricated?
They repeated to me that I was not to be deceived by appearances. I
understand nothing; but how foolish I am! I amuse myself by seeking for
reasons to explain an illusion formed by sleep, and which my waking
has destroyed. I ought not to pay attention to it. I must only occupy
myself with my present fate, and seek such amusements as will prevent
my being overcome by melancholy."
Shortly afterwards she began to wander through the numerous apartments
of the palace. She was enchanted with them, having never seen
anything so beautiful. The first that she entered was a large cabinet
of mirrors. She saw herself reflected on all sides. At length a
bracelet, suspended to a girandole, caught her sight. She found on it
the portrait of the handsome Cavalier, just as she had seen him in
her sleep. How was it she recognised him immediately? His features
were already too deeply impressed on her mind, and, perhaps, in her
heart. With joyful haste she placed the bracelet on her arm, without
reflecting whether this action was correct. From this cabinet, having
passed into a gallery full of pictures, she there found the same
portrait the size of life, which appeared to regard her with such
tender attention, that she coloured, as if this picture had been the
person himself; or that she had had witnesses of her thoughts.
Continuing her walk, she found herself in a saloon filled with
different kinds of instruments. Knowing how to play on almost all, she
tried several, preferring the harpsichord to the others, because it was
a better accompaniment for the voice. From this saloon, she entered
another gallery, corresponding to that in which were the paintings.
It contained an immense library. She liked reading, and since her
sojourn in the country she had been deprived of this pleasure. Her
father, by the confusion of his affairs, had found himself obliged to
sell his books. Her great taste for study could easily be satisfied
in this place, and would guarantee her against the dulness consequent
on solitude. The day passed before she could see everything. At the
approach of night, all the apartments were illuminated by perfumed
wax-lights, placed in lustres either transparent or of different
colours, and not of crystal, but made of diamonds and rubies.
At the usual hour, Beauty found her supper served, with the same
delicacy and neatness as before. No human figure presented itself to
her view; her father had told her she would be alone. This solitude
began no longer to trouble her, when the Beast made himself heard.
Never having yet found herself alone with him, ignorant how this
interview would pass off, fearing even that he only came to devour her,
is it any wonder that she trembled? But on the arrival of the Beast,
whose approach was by no means furious, her fears were dissipated.
This monstrous giant said, roughly, "Good evening, Beauty." She
returned his salutation in the same terms, with a calm air, but a
little tremulously. Amongst the different questions which the monster
put to her, he asked how she amused herself? Beauty replied, "I have
passed the day in inspecting your palace, but it is so vast that I
have not had time to see all the apartments, and the beauties which it
contains." The Beast asked her, "Do you think you can get accustomed to
living here?" The girl replied, politely, that she could live without
trouble in so beautiful an abode. After an hour's conversation, Beauty
discovered that the terrible tone of his voice was attributable only
to the nature of the organ; and that the Beast was more inclined to
stupidity than to ferocity. At length he asked her bluntly if she would
marry him. At this unexpected demand, her fears were renewed, and
uttering a terrible shriek, she could not help exclaiming, "O! Heavens,
I am lost!"
"Not at all," replied the Beast, quietly; "but without frightening
yourself, reply properly. Say precisely 'yes' or 'no.'" Beauty replied,
trembling, "No, Beast." "Well, as you object, I will leave you,"
replied the docile Monster. "Good evening, Beauty." "Good evening,
Beast," said the frightened girl, with much satisfaction. Extremely
relieved by finding that she had no violence to fear, she lay quietly
down and went to sleep. Immediately her dear unknown returned to her
mind. He appeared to say to her, tenderly, "How overjoyed I am to see
you once more, dear Beauty, but what pain has your severity caused
me? I know that I must expect to be unhappy for a long time." Her
ideas again changed, the young man appeared to offer her a crown, and
sleep presented him to her in a hundred different manners. Sometimes
he seemed to be at her feet, sometimes abandoning himself to the
most excessive delight, at others shedding a torrent of tears, which
touched the depths of her soul. This mixture of joy and sadness lasted
all the night. On waking, having her imagination full of this dear
object, she sought for his portrait, to compare it once more with her
recollections, and to see if she were not deceived. She ran to the
picture gallery, where she recognised him still more perfectly. How
long she was admiring him! but feeling ashamed of her weakness, she
contented herself at length by looking at the miniature on her arm.
At length, to put an end to these tender reflections, she descended
into the garden, the fine weather seeming to invite her to a stroll.
Her eyes were enchanted; they had never seen anything in nature so
beautiful. The groves were ornamented with admirable statues and
numberless fountains, which cooled the air, and shot up to such a
height that the eye could scarcely follow them.
What surprised her most was, that she recognised the places wherein she
had dreamt she had seen the unknown. Especially at the sight of the
grand canal, bordered with orange and myrtle trees, she could not but
think of her vision, which appeared no longer a fiction. She thought to
explain the mystery by imagining that the Beast kept some one shut up
in his palace. She resolved to be enlightened on the subject that same
evening, and to question the Monster, from whom she expected a visit
at the usual hour. She walked for the rest of the day, as long as her
strength permitted, without being able to see all.
The apartments which she had not been able to inspect the evening
before, were no less worthy of her admiration than the others. Besides
the instruments and curiosities with which she was surrounded, she
found in another cabinet plenty to occupy her. It was filled with
purses, and shuttles for knotting, scissors for cutting out, and fitted
up for all sorts of ladies' work; in fact, everything was to be found
there.
In this gallery care had been taken to place a cage filled with rare
birds, all of which, on the arrival of Beauty, formed an admirable
concert. They came also and perched on her shoulders, and these loving
little creatures vied with each other as to which should nestle closest
to her. "Amiable prisoners," said she, "I think you charming, and I am
vexed that you should be so far from my apartment, I should often like
the pleasure of hearing you sing."
What was her surprise, when as she said these words, she opened a door
and found herself in her own chamber, which she believed was very
distant from this gallery, having only arrived in it after turning
and threading a labyrinth of apartments which composed this pavilion.
A panel which had concealed from her the neighbourhood of the birds,
opened into the gallery, and was very convenient, as it completely shut
out the noise of them when quiet was desirable.
Beauty, continuing her route, perceived another feathered group; these
were parrots of all kinds and of all colours. All at her approach began
to chatter. One said, "Good day" to her; the other asked her for some
breakfast; one more gallant begged a kiss; several sang opera airs,
others declaimed verses composed by the best authors; and all exerted
themselves to entertain her. They were as gentle and as affectionate
as the inhabitants of the aviary. Their presence was a real pleasure
to her. She was delighted to find something she could talk with, for
silence was not agreeable to her. She put several questions to some of
them, who answered her like very intelligent creatures. She selected
one from amongst them as the most amusing. The others, jealous of this
preference, complained sadly. She consoled them by some caresses, and
the permission to pay her a visit whenever they pleased. Not far from
this spot she saw a numerous troop of monkeys of all sizes, great and
small, sapajous,[17] some with human faces, others with beards, blue,
green, black, and crimson. They advanced to meet her at the door of
their apartment, which she had by chance arrived at. They made her low
bows, accompanied by countless capers, and testified, by action, how
highly sensible they were of the honour she had done them.
To celebrate her visit, they danced upon the tight-rope, and bounded
about with a skill and an agility beyond example. Beauty was much
pleased with the monkeys, but she was disappointed at not finding
anything which could enlighten her respecting the handsome unknown.
Losing all hope of doing so, and looking upon her dream as altogether
an illusion, she did her best to drive the recollection of it from
her mind; but her efforts were vain. She praised the monkeys, and,
caressing them, said she should like some of them to follow her and
keep her company. Instantly two tall young apes, in court dresses, who
appeared to have been only waiting for her orders, advanced and placed
themselves with great gravity beside her. Two sprightly little monkeys
took up her train as her pages. A facetious baboon, dressed as a
Spanish gentleman of the chamber, presented his paw to her, very neatly
gloved, and accompanied by this singular cortège, Beauty proceeded
to the supper table. During her meal the smaller birds whistled, in
perfect tune, an accompaniment to the voices of the parrots, who sang
the finest and most fashionable airs.
During the concert, the monkeys, who had taken upon themselves the
right of attending upon Beauty, having in an instant settled their
several ranks and duties, commenced their service, and waited on her in
full state, with all the attention and respect that officers of a royal
household are accustomed to pay to queens.
On rising from table, another troop proceeded to entertain her with a
novel spectacle. They were a sort of company of actors, who played a
tragedy in the most extraordinary fashion. These Signor Monkeys and
Signora Apes, in stage dresses covered with embroidery, pearls, and
diamonds, executed all the actions suitable to the words of their
parts, which were spoken with great distinctness and proper emphasis
by the parrots; so cleverly, indeed, that it was necessary to be
assured that these birds were concealed in the wig of one actor or
under the mantle of another, not to believe that these new-fashioned
tragedians were speaking themselves. The drama appeared to have been
written expressly for the actors, and Beauty was enchanted. At the end
of the tragedy, one of the performers advanced and paid Beauty a very
well-turned compliment, and thanked her for the indulgence with which
she had listened to them. All then departed, except the monkeys of her
household, and those selected to keep her company.
After supper, the Beast paid her his usual visit, and after the same
questions and the same answers, the conversation ended with a "Good
night, Beauty." The Lady-Apes of the bed-chamber undressed their
mistress, put her to bed, and took care to open the window of the
aviary, that the birds, by a warbling much softer than their songs
by day, might induce slumber, and afford her the pleasure of again
beholding her lover. Several days passed without her experiencing any
feeling of dulness. Every moment brought with it fresh pleasures. The
monkeys, in three or four lessons, succeeded each one in teaching a
parrot, who, acting as an interpreter, replied to Beauty's questions
with as much promptitude and accuracy as the monkeys themselves had
done by gestures. In fine, Beauty found nothing to complain of but the
obligation of enduring every evening the presence of the Beast; but his
visits were short, and it was undoubtedly to him that she was indebted
for the enjoyment of all imaginable amusements.
The gentleness of the monster occasionally inspired Beauty with the
idea of asking some explanation respecting the person she saw in
her dreams; but sufficiently aware that he was in love with her,
and fearing by such questioning to awaken his jealousy, she had the
prudence to remain silent, and did not venture to satisfy her curiosity.