but one willingly returns to the inspection of things which are rare,
singular, and costly. Beauty turned her steps towards a great saloon,
which she had only seen once before. This room had four windows in it
on each side. Two only were open, and admitted a glimmering light.
Beauty wished for more light, but in lieu of obtaining any by opening
another window, she found it only looked into some enclosed space,
which, although large, was obscure, and her eyes could distinguish
nothing but a distant gleam, which appeared to reach them through the
medium of a very thick crape. Whilst pondering for what purpose this
place could have been designed, she was suddenly dazzled by a brilliant
illumination. The curtain rose and discovered to Beauty a theatre,
exceedingly well lighted. On the benches and in the boxes she beheld
all that was most handsome and well made of either sex.[18] A sweet
symphony, which instantly commenced, terminated only to permit other
actors than monkey and parrot performers to represent a very fine
tragedy, which was followed by a little piece, quite equal in its own
style to that which had preceded it. Beauty was fond of plays. It was
the only pleasure she had regretted when she left the city. Desiring
to ascertain what sort of material the hangings of the box next to her
were made of, she found herself prevented doing so by a glass which
separated them, and thereby discovered that what she had seen were not
the actual objects, but a reflection of them by means of this crystal
mirror, which thus conveyed to her sight all that was passing on the
stage of the finest city in the world. It is a master-stroke in optics
to be able to reflect from such a distance. She remained in her box
some time after the play was over, in order to see the fine company go
out. The darkness that gradually ensued compelled her to think of other
matters. Satisfied with this discovery, of which she promised to avail
herself often, she descended into the gardens. Prodigies were becoming
familiar to her. She rejoiced to find they were all performed for her
advantage and amusement.
After supper, the Beast came, as usual, to ask her what she had been
doing during the day. Beauty gave him an exact account of all her
amusements, and told him she had been to the play. "Do you like it?"
inquired the dull creature. "Wish for whatever you please, you shall
have it. You are very handsome." Beauty smiled to herself at the coarse
manner in which he paid her compliments; but what she did not smile at
was the usual question, and the words, "Will you marry me?" put an end
to her good humour. She had only to answer "No;" but, nevertheless,
his docility during this last interview did not re-assure her. Beauty
was alarmed at it. "What is to be the end of all this?" she said to
herself. "The question he puts to me every time, 'Will I marry him?'
proves that he persists in loving me: his bounty to me confirms it.
But though he does not insist on my compliance, nor show any signs
of resentment at my refusal, who will be answerable to me that he
do not eventually lose his patience, and that my death will not be
the consequence?" These reflections rendered her so thoughtful that
it was almost daylight before she went to bed. The unknown, who but
awaited that moment to appear, reproached her tenderly for her delay.
He found her melancholy, lost in thought, and inquired what could have
displeased her in such a place. She answered that nothing displeased
her, except the Monster whom she saw every evening. She should have
become accustomed to him, but he was in love with her, and this love
made her apprehensive of some violence. "By the foolish compliments
he pays me," said Beauty to her lover, "I find he desires to marry
me. Would you advise me to consent? Alas! were he as charming as he
is frightful, you have rendered my heart inaccessible to him and to
all others; and I do not blush to own that I can love no one but you."
So sweet a confession could but flatter the unknown, yet he replied
to her only by saying, "Love him who loves you. Do not be misled by
appearances, and release me from prison." These words, continually
repeated without any explanation, caused Beauty infinite distress.
"What would you that I should do?" said she to him. "I would restore
you to liberty at any price; but my desire is vain while you abstain
from furnishing me with the means to put it in practice." The unknown
made her some answer, but of so confused a nature that she could not
comprehend it. A thousand extravagant fancies passed before her eyes.
She saw the Monster on a throne all blazing with jewels; he called to
her and invited her to sit beside him. A moment afterwards, the unknown
compelled him precipitately to descend, and seated himself in his
place. The Beast regaining the advantage, the unknown disappeared in
his turn. He spoke to her from behind a black veil, which changed his
voice, and rendered it horrible.
All her sleep passed in this manner, and yet, notwithstanding the
agitation it caused her, she felt it was too soon over, as her
awakening deprived her of the sight of the object of her affections.
After she had finished dressing, various sorts of work, books, and
animals occupied her attention until the hour when the play began. She
arrived just in time, but she was not at the same theatre. It was the
opera,[19] and the performance commenced as soon as she was seated.
The spectacle was magnificent, and the spectators were not less so.
The mirrors represented to her distinctly the most minute details of
the dresses even of the people in the pit. Delighted to behold human
forms and faces, many of which she recognised as those of persons she
knew, it would have been a still greater pleasure to her could she have
spoken to them, so that they could have heard her.
More gratified with this day's entertainment than with that of the
preceding, the rest of it passed in the same way that each had done
since she had been in that palace. The Beast came in the evening,
and after his visit she retired, as usual. The night resembled
former nights,--that is, it was passed in agreeable dreams. When
she awoke, she found the same number of domestics to wait upon her;
but after dinner her occupations were different. The day before, on
opening another of the windows, she had found herself at the opera.
To diversify her amusements, she now opened a third window, which
displayed to her all the pleasures of the Fair of St. Germain,[20] much
more brilliant then than it is at the present day. But as the hour had
not quite arrived when the best company resorted to it, she had leisure
to observe and examine everything. She saw the rarest curiosities, the
most extraordinary productions of nature and works of art. The minutest
trifles were visible to her. The puppet-show was not unworthy of her
attention,[21] whilst waiting for more refined entertainments. The
comic opera was in its splendour.[22] Beauty was very much delighted.
At the termination of the performances, she saw all the well-dressed
people visiting the tradesmen's shops. She recognised amongst the crowd
several professional gamesters, who flocked to this place as their
workshop.
She observed persons who, having lost their money by the cleverness
of those they played with, went out with less joyous countenances than
they exhibited as they entered. The prudent gamblers, who did not stake
their whole fortunes on the hazard of a card, and who played to profit
by their skill, could not conceal from Beauty their sleight of hand.
She longed to warn the victims of the tricks they were plundered by;
but at a distance from them of more than a thousand leagues it was not
in her power to do so. She heard and saw everything distinctly, without
its being possible for her to make herself heard or seen by others.
The reflections and echoes which conveyed to her all these sights
and sounds had no returning power. Placed above the air and wind,
everything came to her like a thought. The consideration of this fact
deterred her from making vain attempts.
It was past midnight before she thought it was time to retire. The
need of some refreshment might have hinted to her the lateness of the
hour; but she had found in her box liqueurs and baskets filled with
everything requisite for a collation. Her supper was light and of
short duration; she was in a hurry to go to bed. The Beast observed
her impatience, and came merely to say good-night, that she might have
more time to sleep and the Unknown liberty to reappear. The following
days resembled each other. She found in her windows an inexhaustible
source of fresh entertainments. The first of the other three afforded
her the pleasure of witnessing Italian comedy;[23] the second, a
sight of the Tuileries, the resort of all the most distinguished and
handsome of both sexes. The last window was very far from being the
least agreeable. It enabled her to see everything of consequence that
was going on in the world. The scene was amusing and interesting in all
sorts of ways. Sometimes it was the reception of a grand embassy, at
others the marriage of some illustrious personages, and occasionally
some exciting revolutions. She was at this window during the last
revolt of the Janizaries, and witnessed the whole of it to the very end.
At all times she was certain to find something here to entertain her.
The weariness she had felt at first in listening to the Beast had
entirely departed. Her eyes had become accustomed to his ugliness. She
was prepared for his foolish questions, and if their conversations had
lasted longer, perchance she would have not been displeased; but four
or five sentences, always the same, uttered in a coarse manner, and
productive only of a "Yes" or "No," were not much to her taste.
As the slightest desires of Beauty appeared to be anticipated, she
bestowed more care upon her toilet, although certain that no one could
see her. But she owed this attention to herself, and it was a pleasure
to her to dress herself in the habits of all the various nations on the
face of the earth. She could do this the more easily, as her wardrobe
furnished her with everything she chose, and presented her every day
with some novelty. Contemplating her mirror in these various dresses,
it revealed to her that she was to be admired in all lands; and her
attendant animals, each according to their talent, repeated to her
unceasingly the same fact--the monkeys by their actions, the parrots by
their language, and the other birds by their songs.
So delightful a life ought to have perfectly contented her, but we
weary of everything. The greatest happiness fades when it is continual,
derived always from the same source, and we find ourselves exempted
from fear and from hope. Beauty had experienced this. The remembrance
of her family arose to trouble her in the midst of her prosperity. Her
happiness could not be perfect as long as she was denied the pleasure
of informing her relations of it.
As she had become more familiar with the Beast, either from the
habit of seeing him or from the gentleness which she had discovered
in his nature, she thought she might venture to ask him a question.
She did not take this liberty, however, until she had obtained from
him a promise that he would not be angry. The question she put to
him was, "Were they the only two persons in that castle?" "Yes, I
protest to you," replied the Beast, in a rather excited tone; "and I
assure you that you and I, the monkeys, and the other animals, are the
only breathing creatures in this place." The Beast said no more, and
departed more abruptly than usual.
Beauty had asked this question only with a view of ascertaining whether
her lover was not confined in the palace. She would have wished to see
and speak with him. It was a happiness she would have purchased at the
price of her own liberty and of all the pleasures by which she was
surrounded. That charming youth existing only in her imagination, she
now looked upon this palace as a prison which would be one day her tomb.
These melancholy ideas crowded also upon her mind at night. She dreamed
she was on the banks of a great canal; she was weeping, when her dear
Unknown, alarmed at her sad state, said to her, pressing her hand
tenderly between his own, "What is the matter, my beloved Beauty?
Who can have offended you, and what can possibly have disturbed your
tranquillity? By the love I bear you, I conjure you to explain the
cause of your distress. Nothing shall be refused to you. You are sole
sovereign here--everything is at your command. Whence arises the sorrow
that overpowers you? Is it the sight of the Beast that afflicts you?
You must be relieved from it!" At these words Beauty imagined she saw
the Unknown draw a dagger, and prepare to plunge it in the throat
of the Monster, who made no attempt to defend himself, but, on the
contrary, offered his neck to the blow with a submission and a calmness
which caused the beautiful dreamer to fear the Unknown would accomplish
his purpose before she could endeavour to prevent him, notwithstanding
she had instantly risen to protect the Beast. The instant she saw
her efforts likely to be anticipated, she exclaimed, with all her
might, "Hold, barbarian! Harm not my benefactor, or else kill me!"
The Unknown, who continued striking at the Beast, notwithstanding the
shrieks of Beauty, said to her, angrily, "You love me, then, no longer,
since you take the part of this Monster, who is an obstacle to my
happiness!" "You are ungrateful," she replied, still struggling with
him; "I love you more than my life, and I would lose it sooner than
cease to love you. You are all the world to me, and I would not do you
the injustice to compare you with any other treasure it possesses. I
would, without a sigh, abandon all it could offer me, to follow you
into the wildest desert. But this tender affection does not stifle my
gratitude. I owe everything to the Beast. He anticipates all my wishes:
it is to him I am indebted for the joy of knowing you, and I would die
sooner than endure seeing you do him the slightest injury."
After several similar struggles the objects vanished, and Beauty
fancied she saw the lady who had appeared to her some nights before,
and who said to her, "Courage, Beauty; be a model of female generosity;
show thyself to be as wise as thou art charming; do not hesitate to
sacrifice thy inclination to thy duty. Thou takest the true path
to happiness. Thou wilt be blest, provided thou art not misled by
deceitful appearances."
When Beauty awoke she pondered on this mysterious vision, but it still
remained an enigma to her. Her desire to see her father superseded,
during the day, the anxiety caused by these dreams of the Monster and
the Unknown. Thus, neither tranquil at night nor contented by day,
although surrounded by the greatest luxuries, the only distraction she
could find was in the theatre. She went to the Italians, but after
the first scene she quitted that performance for the Opera, which she
left almost as quickly. Her melancholy followed her everywhere. She
frequently opened each of the six windows as many times without finding
one minute's respite from her cares. Days and nights of equal and
unceasing agitation began seriously to affect her appearance and her
health.
She took great pains to conceal from the Beast the sorrow which preyed
upon her; and the Monster, who had frequently surprised her with the
tears in her eyes, upon hearing her say that she was only suffering
from a headache, pressed his inquiries no further. One evening,
however, her sobs having betrayed her, and feeling it impossible longer
to dissimulate, she acknowledged to the Beast, who begged to know what
had caused her afflictions, that she was yearning to see her family.
At this declaration the Beast sank down without power to sustain
himself, and heaving a deep sigh, or rather uttering a howl that might
have frightened any one to death, he replied, "How, Beauty! would you,
then, abandon an unfortunate Beast? Could I have imagined you possessed
so little gratitude? What have I left undone to make you happy? Should
not the attentions I have paid you preserve me from your hatred? Unjust
as you are, you prefer the house of your father and the jealousy of
your sisters to my palace and my affections. You would rather tend the
flocks with them than enjoy with me all the pleasures of existence.
It is not love for your family, but antipathy to me, that makes you
anxious to depart."
"No, Beast," replied Beauty, timidly and soothingly; "I do not hate
you, and should regret to lose the hope of seeing you again; but I
cannot overcome the desire I feel to embrace my relations. Permit
me to go away for two months, and I promise you that I will return
with pleasure to pass the rest of my days with you, and never ask you
another favour."
While she spoke the Beast stretched on the ground, his head thrown
back, only evinced that he still breathed by his sorrowful sighs. He
answered her in these words: "I can refuse you nothing; but it will
perhaps cost me my life. No matter. In the cabinet nearest to your
apartment you will find four chests. Fill them with anything you like
for yourself or for your family. If you break your word you will repent
it, and regret the death of your poor Beast when it will be too late.
Return at the end of two months, and you will still see me alive. For
your journey back to me you will need no equipage. Merely take leave of
your family the previous night before you retire to rest, and when you
are in bed turn your ring, the stone inside your hand, and say, with
a firm voice, 'I desire to return to my palace, and behold my Beast
again.' Good-night; fear nothing; sleep in peace. You will see your
father early to-morrow morning. Adieu, Beauty."
As soon as she was alone she hastened to fill the chests with all
the treasures and beautiful things imaginable. They only appeared to
be full when she was tired of putting things into them. After these
preparations, she went to bed. The thoughts of seeing her family so
soon kept her awake great part of the night, and sleep only stole upon
her towards the hour when she should have been stirring. She saw in
her dreams her amiable Unknown, but not as formerly. Stretched upon a
bed of turf, he appeared a prey to the keenest sorrow. Beauty, touched
at seeing him in such a state, flattered herself she could alleviate
his profound affliction by requesting to know the cause of it; but her
lover, casting on her a look full of despair, said, "Can you ask me
such a question, inhuman girl? Are you not aware that your departure
dooms me to death?" "Abandon not yourself to sorrow, dear Unknown,"
replied she, "my absence will be brief. I wish but to undeceive my
family respecting the cruel fate they imagine has befallen me. I return
immediately afterwards to this palace. I shall leave you no more. Ah!
could I abandon a residence in which I so delight! Besides, I have
pledged my word to the Beast, that I will return. I cannot fail to keep
it; and why must this journey separate us? Be my escort. I will defer
my departure another day, in order to obtain the Beast's permission. I
am sure he will not refuse me. Agree to my proposal, and we shall not
part. We will return together; my family will be delighted to see you,
and I will answer for their showing you all the attention you deserve."
"I cannot accede to your wishes," replied the Unknown, "unless you
determine never to return hither. It is the only means of enabling me
to quit this spot. How will you decide? The inhabitants of this palace
have no power to compel you to return. Nothing can happen to you beyond
the knowledge that you have grieved the Beast." "You do not consider,"
rejoined Beauty, quickly, "that he assured me he should die if I broke
my word to him." "What matters it to you?" retorted the lover; "is it
to be counted a misfortune that your happiness should cost only the
life of a monster? Of what use is he to the world? Will any one be a
loser by the destruction of a being who appears upon earth only to be
the horror of all nature?" "Ha!" exclaimed Beauty, almost angrily,
"know that I would lay down my life to save his, and that this Monster,
who is only one in form, has a heart so humane, that he should not
be persecuted for a deformity which he refrains from rendering more
hideous by his actions. I will not repay his kindness with such black
ingratitude."
The Unknown, interrupting her, inquired what she would do if the
Monster endeavoured to kill him; and, if it were decreed that one of
them must slay the other, to which would she afford assistance? "I love
you only," she replied; "but extreme as is my affection for you, it
cannot weaken my gratitude to the Beast, and if I found myself placed
in so fatal a position, I would escape the misery which the result of
such a combat would inflict on me, by dying by my own hand. But why
indulge in such dreadful suppositions? However chimerical, the idea
freezes my blood. Let us change the conversation."
She set him the example, by saying all that an affectionate girl could
say, most flattering to her lover. She was not restrained by the rigid
customs of society, and slumber left her free to act naturally. She
acknowledged to him her love with a frankness which she would have
shrunk from when in full possession of her reason. Her sleep was of
long duration, and when she awoke she feared the Beast had failed in
his promise to her. She was in this uncertainty when she heard the
sound of a human voice which she recognised. Undrawing her curtains
precipitately, what was her surprise when she found herself in a
strange apartment, the furniture of which was not near so superb as
that in the Palace of the Beast. This prodigy induced her to rise
hastily, and open the door of her chamber. The next room was equally
strange to her; but what astonished her still more, was to find in it
the four chests she had filled the previous evening. The transport of
herself and her treasures was a proof of the power and bounty of the
Beast; but where was she? She could not imagine; when at length she
heard the voice of her father, and rushing out, she flung her arms
round his neck. Her appearance astounded her brothers and sisters.
They stared at her as at one come from the other world. All her family
embraced her with the greatest demonstrations of delight; but her
sisters, in their hearts, were vexed at beholding her. Their jealousy
was not extinguished. After many caresses on both sides, the good man
desired to speak with her privately, to learn from her own lips all the
circumstances of so extraordinary a journey, and to inform her of the
state of his own fortune, of which he had set apart a large share for
herself. He told her that on the evening of the same day that he had
left the Palace of the Beast, he had reached his own house without
the least fatigue. That on the road he had cogitated how he could
best manage to conceal his trunks from the sight of his children, and
wished that they could be carried without their knowledge into a little
cabinet adjoining his bed-chamber, of which he alone had the key: that
he had looked upon this as an impossibility; but that, on dismounting
at his door, he found the horse on which his trunks had been placed
had run away, and therefore saw himself suddenly spared the trouble
of hiding his treasures. "I assure thee," said the old man to his
daughter, "that the loss of these riches did not distress me. I had not
possessed them long enough to regret them greatly; but the adventure
appeared to me a gloomy prognostic of my fate. I did not hesitate to
believe that the perfidious Beast would act in the same manner by thee.
I feared that the favours he conferred upon thee would not be more
durable. This idea caused me great anxiety. To conceal it, I feigned to
be in need of rest,--it was only to abandon myself without restraint to
my grief. I looked upon thy destruction as certain, but my sorrow was
soon dissipated. The sight of the trunks I thought I had lost renewed
my hopes of thy happiness. I found them placed in my little cabinet,
precisely where I had wished them to be. The keys of them, which I
had forgotten and left behind me on the table in the saloon wherein
we had passed the night, were in the locks. This circumstance, which
afforded me a new proof of the kindness of the Beast, and his constant
attention, overwhelmed me with joy. It was then that, no longer
doubting the advantageous result of thy adventure, I reproached myself
for entertaining such unjust suspicions of the honour of that generous
Monster, and craved his pardon a hundred times for the abuse which, in
my distress, I had mentally lavished upon him.
"Without informing my children of the extent of my wealth, I contented
myself with distributing amongst them the presents thou hadst sent
them, and showing them some jewels of moderate value. I afterwards
pretended to have sold them, and have employed the money in various
ways for the improvement of our income. I have bought this house; I
have slaves, who relieve us from the labours to which necessity had
subjected us. My children lead an easy life,--that is all I care for.
Ostentation and luxury drew upon me, in other days, the hatred of the
envious; I should incur it again did I live in the style of a very
wealthy man. Many offers have been made to thy sisters, Beauty; I am
about to marry them off immediately, and thy fortunate arrival decides
me. Having given to them such portions of the wealth thou hast brought
to me, as thou shalt think fit, and relieved of all care for their
establishment, we will live, my daughter, with thy brothers, whom thy
presents were not able to console for thy loss; or, if thou prefer it,
we two will live together independently of them."
Beauty, affected by the kindness of her father, and the assurance he
gave her of the love of her brothers, thanked him tenderly for all his
offers, and thought it would be wrong to conceal from him the fact
that she had not come to stay with him. The good man, distressed to
learn that he should not have the support of his child in his declining
years, did not, however, attempt to dissuade her from the fulfilment of
a duty which he acknowledged indispensable.
Beauty, in her turn, related to him all that had happened to her since
they parted. She described to him the pleasant life she led. The good
man, enraptured at the charming account of his daughter's adventures,
heaped blessings on the head of the Beast. His delight was much greater
still when Beauty, opening the chests, displayed to him the immense
treasures they contained, and satisfied him that he was at liberty
to dispose of those which he had brought himself, in favour of his
daughters, as he would possess, in these last proofs of the Beast's
generosity, ample means to live merrily with his sons. Discovering in
this Monster too noble a mind to be lodged in so hideous a body, he
deemed it his duty to advise his daughter to marry him, notwithstanding
his ugliness. He employed even the strongest arguments to induce her to
take that step.
"Thou shouldst not take counsel from thine eyes alone," said he to
her. "Thou hast been unceasingly exhorted to let thyself be guided by
gratitude. By following her inspirations thou art assured thou wilt be
happy. It is true these warnings are only given thee in dreams; but
these dreams are too significant and too frequent to be attributed
to chance. They promise thee great advantages, enough to conquer thy
repugnance. Therefore, the next time that the Beast asks thee if thou
wilt marry him, I advise thee not to refuse him. Thou hast admitted to
me that he loves thee tenderly: take the proper means to make thy union
with him indissoluble. It is much better to have an amiable husband
than one whose only recommendation is a handsome person. How many girls
are compelled to marry rich brutes, much more brutish than the Beast,
who is only one in form, and not in his feelings or his actions."
Beauty admitted the reason of all these arguments; but to resolve to
marry a monster so horrible in person and who seemed as stupid as he
was gigantic, appeared to her an impossibility. "How can I determine,"
replied she to her father, "to take a husband with whom I can have no
sympathy, and whose hideousness is not compensated for by the charms
of his conversation? no other object to distract my attention, and
relieve that wearisome companionship; not to have the pleasure of being
sometimes absent from him; to hear nothing beyond five or six questions
respecting my health or my appetite, followed by a 'Good-night,
Beauty,' a chorus which my parrots know by heart, and repeat a hundred
times a day. It is not in my power to endure such a union, and I would
rather perish at once than be dying every day of fright, sorrow,
disgust, and weariness. There is nothing to plead in his favour, except
the consideration he evinces in paying me very short visits, and
presenting himself before me but once in four-and-twenty hours. Is that
enough to inspire one with affection?"
The father admitted that his daughter had reason on her side, but
observing so much civility in the Beast, he could not believe him to be
as stupid as she represented him. The order, the abundance, the good
taste that was discernible through his palace, were not, according to
his thinking, the work of a fool. In fact, he found him worthy of the
consideration of his daughter, and Beauty might have felt more inclined
to listen to the Monster, had not her nocturnal lover's appearance
thrown an obstacle in the way. The comparison she drew between these
two admirers could not be favourable to the Beast. The old man himself
was fully aware of the great distinction which must be made between
them. Notwithstanding, he tried by all manner of means to overcome her
repugnance. He recalled to her the advice of the lady who had warned
her not to be prejudiced by appearances, and whose language seemed to
imply that this youth would only make her miserable.
It is easier to reason with love than to conquer it. Beauty had not the
power to yield to the reiterated requests of her father. He left her
without having been able to persuade her. Night, already far advanced,
invited her to repose, and the daughter, although delighted to see her
father once more, was not sorry that he left her at liberty to retire
to rest. She was glad to be alone. Her heavy eyelids inspired her
with the hope that in slumber she would soon again behold her beloved
Unknown. She was eager to enjoy this innocent pleasure. A quickened
pulsation evinced the joy with which her gentle heart would greet that
pleasant vision; but her excited imagination, while representing to her
the scenes in which she had usually held sweet converse with that dear
Unknown, had not sufficient power to conjure up his form to her as she
so ardently desired.
She awoke several times, but on falling asleep again no cupids
fluttered round her couch. In a word, instead of a night full of sweet
thoughts and innocent pleasures, which she had counted on passing in
the arms of sleep, it was to her one of interminable length and endless
anxiety. She had never known any like it in the Palace of the Beast,
and the day, which she at last saw break with a mingled feeling of
satisfaction and impatience, came opportunely to relieve her from this
weariness.
Her father, enriched by the liberality of the Beast, had quitted his
country house, and in order to facilitate the establishment of his
daughters, resided in a very large city, where his new fortune obtained
for him new friends, or rather new acquaintances. Amidst the circle
who visited him the tidings soon spread that his youngest daughter
had returned. Everybody evinced an equal impatience to see her, and
were each as much charmed with her intellect as with her beauty.
The peaceful days she had passed in her desert palace, the innocent
pleasures which a gentle slumber had invariably procured her, the
thousand amusements which succeeded, so that dullness could never take
possession of her spirit,--in brief, all the attentions of the Monster
had combined to render her still more beautiful and more charming than
she was when her father first parted from her.
She was the admiration of all who saw her. The suitors to her sisters,
without condescending to excuse their infidelity by the slightest
pretext, fell in love with her, and attracted by the power of her
charms, deserted, without a blush, their former mistresses. Insensible
to the marked attentions of a crowd of adorers, she neglected nothing
that could discourage them and induce them to return to the previous
objects of their affection; but, notwithstanding all her care, she
could not escape the jealousy of her sisters.
The inconstant lovers, far from concealing their new passion, invented
every day some fresh entertainment, with the view of paying their
court to her. They entreated her even to bestow the prize in the games
which took place in her honour; but Beauty, who could not be blind to
the mortification she was causing her sisters, and yet was unwilling
to refuse utterly the favour they implored so ardently, and in so
flattering a manner, found means to satisfy them all, by declaring
that she would, alternately with her sisters, present the prize to
the victor. What she selected was a flower, or some equally simple
guerdon. She left to her elder sisters the honour of giving, in their
turn, jewels, crowns of diamonds, costly weapons, or superb bracelets,
presents which her liberal hand supplied them with, but for which she
would not take the slightest credit. The treasures lavished on her
by the Monster left her in want of nothing. She divided between her
sisters everything she had brought that was most rare and elegant.
Bestowing nothing but trifles herself, and leaving them the pleasure
of giving largely, she counted on securing for them the love as well
as the gratitude of the youthful combatants. But these lovers sought
only to gain her heart, and the simplest gift from her hand was more
precious to them than all the treasures that were prodigally heaped
upon them by the others.
The amusements she partook of amongst her family, though vastly
inferior to those she enjoyed in the Palace of the Beast, entertained
her sufficiently to prevent the time hanging heavily on her hands. At
the same time, neither the gratification of seeing her father, whom she
tenderly loved, nor the pleasure of being with her brothers, who in
a hundred ways studied to prove to her the extent of their affection,
nor the delight of conversing with her sisters, of whom she was very
fond, though they were not so of her, could prevent her regretting her
agreeable dreams. Her Unknown (greatly to her sorrow) came not, when
she slumbered under her father's roof, to address her in the tenderest
language; and the court paid to her by those who had been the admirers
of her sisters, did not compensate for the loss of that pleasing
illusion. Had she even been of a nature to feel flattered by such
conquests, she would still have distinguished an immense difference
between their attentions, or those of the Beast, and the devotion of
her charming Unknown.
Their assiduities were received by her with the greatest indifference;
but Beauty perceiving that, notwithstanding her coolness, they were
obstinately bent on rivalling each other in the task of proving to
her the intensity of their passion, thought it her duty to make
them clearly understand they were losing their time. The first she
endeavoured to undeceive was one who had courted her eldest sister. She
told him that she had only returned for the purpose of being present at
the marriage of her sisters, particularly that of her eldest sister,
and that she was about to press her father to settle it immediately.
Beauty found that she had to deal with a man who saw no longer any
charms in her sister. He sighed alone for her, and coldness, disdain,
the threat to depart before the expiration of the two months--nothing,
in short, could discourage him. Much vexed at having failed in her
object, she held a similar conversation with the others, whom she had
the mortification to find equally infatuated.
To complete her distress, her unjust sisters, who looked upon her as a
rival, conceived a hatred to her which they could not dissemble; and
whilst Beauty was deploring the too great power of her charms, she
had the misery of learning that her new adorers, believing each to be
the cause of the other's rejection, were bent, in the maddest way, on
fighting it out amongst themselves. All these annoyances induced her to
determine upon returning sooner than she had contemplated.
Her father and brothers did all they could to detain her; but the slave
of her word, and firm in resolution, neither the tears of the one nor
the prayers of the others could prevail upon her. All that they could
extort from her was, that she would defer her departure as long as
she could. The two months had nearly expired, and every morning she
determined to bid adieu to her family, without having the heart when
night arrived to say farewell. In the combat between her affection and
her gratitude, she could not lean to the one without doing injustice to
the other. In the midst of her embarrassment, it needed nothing less
than a dream to decide her. She fancied she was at the Palace of the
Beast, and walking in a retired avenue, terminated by a thicket full
of brambles, concealing the entrance to a cavern, out of which issued
horrible groans. She recognised the voice of the Beast, and ran to his
assistance. The Monster, who, in her dream, appeared stretched upon the
ground and dying, reproached her with being the cause of his death,
and having repaid his affection with the blackest ingratitude. She
then saw the lady who had before appeared to her in her sleep, and who
said to her in a severe tone, that it would be her destruction if she
hesitated any longer to fulfil her engagements; that she had given her
word to the Beast that she would return in two months; that the time
had expired; that the delay of another day would be fatal to the Beast;
that the trouble she was creating in her father's house, and the hatred
of her sisters, ought to increase her desire to return to the Palace of
the Beast, where everything combined to delight her. Beauty, terrified
by this dream, and fearing to be the cause of the death of the Beast,
awoke with a start, and went immediately to inform her family that she
could no longer delay her departure. This intelligence produced various
effects. Her father's tears spoke for him; her brothers protested that
they would not allow her to leave them; and her lovers, in despair,
swore they would not suffer the house to be robbed of its brightest
ornament. Her sisters alone, far from appearing distressed at her
departure, were loud in praise of her sense of honour; and affecting
to possess the same virtue themselves, had the audacity to assure her
that if they had pledged their words to the Beast as she had done,
they should not have suffered his ugliness to have interfered with
their feelings of duty, and that they should have long ere that time
been on their road back to the marvellous palace. It was thus they
endeavoured to disguise the cruel jealousy that rankled in their
hearts. Beauty, however, charmed by their apparent generosity, thought
only of convincing her brothers and her lovers of the obligation she
was under to leave them; but her brothers loved her too much to consent
to her going, and her lovers were too infatuated to listen to reason.
All of them being ignorant of the mode in which Beauty had arrived at
her father's house, and never doubting but that the horse which first
conveyed her to the Palace of the Beast would be sent to take her back
again, resolved amongst themselves to prevent it.
Her sisters, who only concealed their delight by the affectation of a
sentiment of horror, as they perceived the hour approach for Beauty's
departure, were frightened to death lest anything should occur to
delay her; but Beauty, firm in her resolution, knowing whither duty
called her, and having no more time to lose, if she would prolong the
existence of the Beast, her benefactor, at nightfall took leave of her
family, and of all those who were interested in her destiny.
She assured them that whatever steps they took to prevent her
departure, she should, nevertheless, be in the Palace of the Beast the
next morning before they were stirring; that all their schemes would
be fruitless; and that she had determined to return to the Enchanted
Palace. She did not forget, on going to bed, to turn her ring. She
slept very soundly, and did not awake until the clock in her chamber,
striking noon, chimed her name to music. By that sound she knew that
her wishes were accomplished. As soon as she evinced a disposition to
rise, her couch was surrounded by all the animals who had been so eager
to serve her, and who unanimously testified their gratification at her
return, and expressed the sorrow they had felt at her long absence.
The day seemed to her longer than any she had previously passed in that
Palace, not so much from regret for those she had quitted as from her
impatience again to behold the Beast, and to say everything she could
to him in the way of excuse for her conduct. She was also animated by
another desire,--that of again holding in slumber one of those sweet
conversations with her dear Unknown, a pleasure she had been deprived
of during the two months she had passed with her family, and which
she could not enjoy anywhere but in that Palace. The Beast and the
Unknown were, in short, alternately the subjects of her reflections.
One moment she reproached herself for not returning the affection of a
lover who, under the form of a monster, displayed so noble a mind; the
next she deplored having set her heart upon a visionary object, who had
no existence except in her dreams. She began to doubt whether she ought
to prefer the imaginary devotion of a phantom to the real affection
of the Beast. The very dream in which the Unknown appeared to her was
invariably accompanied by warnings not to trust to sight. She feared
it was but an idle illusion, born of the vapours of the brain, and
destroyed by light of day.
Thus undecided, loving the Unknown, yet not wishing to displease the
Beast, and seeking repose from her thoughts in some entertainment,
she went to the French Comedy[24], which she found exceedingly poor.
Shutting the window abruptly, she hoped to be better pleased at the
Opera. She thought the music miserable. The Italians were equally
unable to amuse her. Their comedy appeared to her to want smartness,
wit and action. Weariness and distaste accompanied her everywhere, and
prevented her taking pleasure in anything.
The gardens had no attractions for her. Her Court endeavoured to
entertain her, but the monkeys lost their labour in frisking, and the
parrots and other birds in chattering and singing. She was impatient
for the visit of the Beast, the noise of whose approach she expected
to hear every instant. But the hour so much desired came without the
appearance of the Monster. Alarmed, and almost angry at his delay, she
tried in vain to account for his absence. Divided through hope and
fear, her mind agitated, her heart a prey to melancholy, she descended
into the gardens, determined not to re-enter the Palace till she had
found the Beast. No trace of him could she discover anywhere. She
called him. Echo alone answered her. Having passed more than three
hours in this disagreeable exercise, overcome by fatigue, she sank upon
a garden seat. She imagined the Beast was either dead or had abandoned
the place.
[Illustration: Beauty and the Beast.--P. 273.]
She saw herself alone in that Palace, without the hope of ever leaving
it. She regretted her conversations with the Beast, unentertaining as
they had been to her, and what appeared to her extraordinary, even
to discover she had so much feeling for him. She blamed herself for
not having married him, and considering she had been the cause of his
death (for she feared her too long absence had occasioned it), heaped
upon herself the keenest and most bitter reproaches. In the midst of
her miserable reflections she perceived that she was seated in that
very avenue in which, during the last night she had passed under her
father's roof, she had dreamed she saw the Beast expiring in some
strange cavern. Convinced that chance had not conducted her to this
spot, she rose and hurried towards the thicket, which she found was not
impenetrable. She discovered another hollow, which appeared to be that
she had seen in her dream. As the moon gave but a feeble light, the
monkey pages immediately appeared with a sufficient number of torches
to illuminate the chasm, and to reveal to her the Beast stretched upon
the earth, as she thought, asleep. Far from being alarmed at his sight,
Beauty was delighted, and, approaching him boldly, placed her hand
upon his head, and called to him several times; but finding him cold
and motionless, she no longer doubted he was dead, and consequently
gave utterance to the most mournful shrieks and the most affecting
exclamations.
The assurance of his death, however, did not prevent her from making
every effort to recall him to life. On placing her hand on his heart
she felt, to her great joy, that it still beat. Without further
delay, Beauty ran out of the cave to the basin of a fountain, where,
taking up some water in her joined hands, she hastened back with it,
and sprinkled it upon him; but as she could bring very little at a
time, and spilt some of it before she could return to the Beast, her
assistance had been but meagre if the monkey courtiers had not flown
to the Palace, and returned with such speed that in a moment she was
furnished with a vase for water, as well as with proper restoratives.
She caused him to smell them and swallow them, and they produced so
excellent an effect that he soon began to move and show some kind of
consciousness. She cheered him with her voice and caressed him as he
recovered. "What anxiety have you caused me?" said she to him, kindly;
"I knew not how much I loved you. The fear of losing you has proved to
me that I was attached to you by stronger ties than those of gratitude.
I vow to you that I had determined to die if I had failed in restoring
you to life." At these tender words the Beast, feeling perfectly
revived, replied, in a voice which was still feeble, "It is very kind
of you, Beauty, to love so ugly a monster, but you do well. I love you
better than my life. I thought you would never return: it would have
killed me. Since you love me I will live. Retire to rest, and assure
yourself that you will be as happy as your good heart renders you
worthy to be."
Beauty had never before heard so long a speech from the Beast. It
was not very eloquent, but it pleased, from its gentleness and the
sincerity observable in it. She had expected to be scolded, or at
least to have been reproached. She had from this moment a better
opinion of his disposition. No longer thinking him so stupid, she even
considered his short answers a proof of his prudence, and, more and
more prepossessed in his favour, she retired to her apartment, her mind
occupied with the most flattering ideas. Extremely fatigued, she found
there all the refreshments she needed. Her heavy eyelids promised her
a sweet slumber. Asleep almost as soon as her head was on her pillow,
her dear Unknown failed not to present himself immediately. What
tender words did he not utter to express the pleasure he experienced
at seeing her again? He assured her that she would be happy; that it
only remained to her to follow the impulse of her good heart. Beauty
asked him if her happiness was to arise from her marriage with the
Beast. The Unknown replied that it was the only means of securing it.
She felt somewhat annoyed at this. She thought it even extraordinary
that her lover should advise her to make her rival happy. After this
first dream, she thought she saw the Beast dead at her feet. An instant
afterwards the Unknown re-appeared, and disappeared again as instantly,
to give place to the Beast. But what she observed most distinctly was
the Lady, who seemed to say to her, "I am pleased with thee. Continue
to follow the dictates of reason, and trouble thyself about naught.
I undertake the task of rendering thee happy." Beauty, although
asleep, appeared to acknowledge her partiality to the Unknown and her
repugnance to the Monster, whom she could not consider loveable. The
Lady smiled at her objections, and advised her not to make herself
uneasy about her affection for the Unknown, for that the emotions she
felt were not incompatible with the resolution she had formed to do her
duty; that she might follow her inclinations without resistance, and
that her happiness would be perfected by espousing the Beast.
This dream, which only ended with her sleep, furnished her with an
inexhaustible source of reflection. In this vision, as in those which
had preceded it, she found more coherence than is usually displayed
in dreams, and she therefore determined to consent to this strange
union. But the image of the Unknown rose unceasingly to trouble her.
It was the sole obstacle, but not a slight one. Still uncertain as
to the course she ought to take, she went to the Opera, but without
terminating her embarrassment. At the end of the performance she sat
down to supper. The arrival of the Beast was alone capable of deciding
her.
Far from reproaching her for her long absence, the Monster, as if
the pleasure of seeing her had made him forget his past distresses,
appeared, on entering Beauty's apartment, to have no other anxiety
but that of ascertaining if she had been much amused, if she had been
well received, and if her health had been good. She answered these
questions, and added politely that she had paid dearly for all the
pleasures his care had enabled her to enjoy, by the cruel pain she had
endured on finding him in so sad a state on her return.
The Beast briefly thanked her, and then being about to take his leave,
asked her, as usual, if she would marry him. Beauty was silent for a
short time, but at last making up her mind, she said to him, trembling,
"Yes, Beast, I am willing, if you will pledge me your faith, to give
you mine." "I do," replied the Beast, "and I promise you never to
have any wife but you." "Then," rejoined Beauty, "I accept you for my
husband, and swear to be a fond and faithful wife to you."
She had scarcely uttered these words when a discharge of artillery was
heard, and that she might not doubt it being a signal of rejoicing, she
saw from her windows the sky all in a blaze with the light of twenty
thousand fireworks, which continued rising for three hours. They formed
true-lovers' knots, while on elegant escutcheons appeared Beauty's
initials, and beneath them, in well-defined letters, "Long live Beauty
and her Husband." After this display had terminated, the Beast took his
departure, and Beauty retired to rest. No sooner was she asleep than
her dear Unknown paid her his usual visit. He was more richly attired
than she had ever seen him. "How deeply am I obliged to you, charming
Beauty," said he. "You have released me from the frightful prison in
which I have groaned for so long a time. Your marriage with the Beast
will restore a king to his subjects, a son to his mother, and life to a
whole kingdom. We shall all be happy."
Beauty, at these words, felt bitterly annoyed, perceiving that the
Unknown, far from evincing the despair such an engagement as she had
entered into should have caused him, gazed on her with eyes sparkling
with extreme delight. She was about to express her discontent to him,
when the Lady, in her turn, appeared in her dream.
"Behold thee victorious," said she. "We owe everything to thee, Beauty.
Thou hast suffered gratitude to triumph over every other feeling. None
but thou would have had the courage to keep their word at the expense
of their inclination, nor to have perilled their life to have saved
that of their father. In return for this, there are none who can ever
hope to enjoy such happiness as thy virtue has won for thee. Thou
knowest at present little, but the rising sun shall tell thee more."
When the Lady had disappeared, Beauty again saw the unknown youth, but
stretched on the earth as dead. All the night passed in such dreams;
but they had become familiar to her, and did not prevent her from
sleeping long and soundly. It was broad daylight when she awoke. The
sun streamed into her apartment with more brilliancy than usual: her
monkeys had not closed the shutters. Believing the sight that met her
eyes but a continuation of her dreams, and that she was sleeping still,
her joy and surprise were extreme at discovering that it was a reality,
and that on a couch beside her lay, in a profound slumber, her beloved
Unknown, looking a thousand times more handsome than he had done in
her vision. To assure herself of the fact, she arose hastily and took
from off her toilet-table the miniature she usually wore on her arm;
but she could not have been mistaken. She spoke to him, in the hope of
awaking him from the trance into which he seemed to have been thrown by
some wonderful power. Not stirring at her voice, she shook him by the
arm. This effort was equally ineffectual, and only served to convince
her that he was under the influence of enchantment, and that she must
await the end of the charm, which it was reasonable to suppose had an
appointed period.
How delighted was she to find herself betrothed to him who alone had
caused her to hesitate, and to find that she had done from duty that
which she would have done from inclination. She no longer doubted the
promise of happiness which had been made to her in her dreams. She
now knew that the Lady had truly assured her that her love for the
Unknown was not incompatible with the affection she entertained for the
Beast, seeing that they were one and the same person. In the meanwhile,
however, her husband never woke. After a slight meal she endeavoured to
pass away the time in her usual occupations, but they appeared to her
insipid. As she could not resolve to leave her apartments, nor bear to
sit idle, she took up some music, and began to sing. Her birds hearing
her, joined their voices to hers, and made a concert, the more charming
to her as she expected every moment it would be interrupted by the
awakening of her husband, for she flattered herself she could dissolve
the spell by the harmony of her voice. The spell was soon broken, but
not by the means she imagined. She heard the sound of a chariot rolling
beneath the windows of her apartment, and the voices of several persons
approaching. At the same moment the monkey Captain of the Guard, by the
beak of his parrot Interpreter, announced the visit of some ladies.
Beauty, from her windows, beheld the chariot that brought them. It was
of an entirely novel description, and of matchless beauty. Four white
stags, with horns and hoofs of gold, superbly caparisoned, drew this
equipage, the singularity of which increased Beauty's desire to know
who were the owners of it.
By the noise, which became louder, she was aware that the ladies had
nearly reached the ante-chamber. She considered it right to advance
and receive them. She recognised in one of them the Lady she had been
accustomed to behold in her dreams. The other was not less beautiful.
Her high and distinguished bearing sufficiently indicated that she was
an illustrious personage. She was no longer in the bloom of youth,
but her air was so majestic that Beauty was uncertain to which of the
two strangers she ought first to address herself. She was still under
this embarrassment, when the one with whose features she was already
familiar, and who appeared to exercise some sort of superiority over
the other, turning to her companion, said, "Well, Queen, what think you
of this beautiful girl? You owe to her the restoration of your son to
life, for you must admit that the miserable circumstances under which
he existed could not be called living. Without her, you would never
again have beheld this Prince. He must have remained in the horrible
shape to which he had been transformed, had he not found in the world
one only person who possessed virtue and courage equal to her beauty.
I think you will behold with pleasure the son she has restored to you
become her husband. They love each other, and nothing is wanting to
their perfect happiness but your consent. Will you refuse to bestow it
on them?" The Queen, at these words, embracing Beauty affectionately,
exclaimed, "Far from refusing my consent, their union will afford
me the greatest felicity! Charming and virtuous child, to whom I am
under so many obligations, tell me who you are, and the names of the
sovereigns who are so happy as to have given birth to so perfect a
Princess?"
"Madam," replied Beauty, modestly, "it is long since I had a mother; my
father is a merchant more distinguished in the world for his probity
and his misfortunes than for his birth." At this frank declaration, the
astonished Queen recoiled a pace or two, and said, "What! you are only
a merchant's daughter? Ah, great Fairy!" she added, casting a mortified
look on her companion, and then remained silent; but her manner
sufficiently expressed her thoughts, and her disappointment was legible
in her eyes.
"It appears to me," said the Fairy, haughtily, "that you are
discontented with my choice. You regard with contempt the condition of
this young person, and yet she was the only being in the world who was
capable of executing my project, and who could make your son happy."
"I am very grateful to her for what she has done," replied the Queen;
"but, powerful spirit," she continued, "I cannot refrain from pointing
out to you the incongruous mixture of that noblest blood in all the
world which runs in my son's veins with that of the obscure race from
which the person has sprung to whom you would unite him. I confess I am
little gratified by the supposed happiness of the Prince, if it must be
purchased by an alliance so degrading to us, and so unworthy of him.
Is it impossible to find in the world a maiden whose birth is equal
to her virtue? I know many excellent princesses by name; why am I not
permitted to hope that I may see him the possessor of one of those?"
At this moment the handsome Unknown appeared. The arrival of his mother
and the Fairy had aroused him, and the noise they had made was more
effective than all the efforts of Beauty; such being the nature of the
spell. The Queen held him a long time in her arms, without speaking a
word. She found again a son whose fine qualities rendered him worthy of
all her affection. What joy for the Prince to see himself released from
a horrible form, and a stupidity more painful to him because it was
affected and had not obscured his reason. He had recovered the liberty
to appear in his natural form by means of the object of his love, and
that reflection made it still more precious to him.
After the first transports which nature inspired him with at the sight
of his mother, the Prince hastened to pay those thanks to the Fairy
which duty and gratitude prompted. He did so in the most respectful
terms, but as briefly as possible, in order to be at liberty to turn
his attentions towards Beauty. He had already, by tender glances,
expressed to her his feelings, and was about to confirm with his lips,
in the most touching language, what his eyes had spoken, when the Fairy
stopped him, and bade him be the judge between her and his mother.
"Your mother," said she, "condemns the engagement you have entered into
with Beauty. She considers that her birth is too much beneath yours.
For my part, I think that her virtues make up for that inequality. It
is for you, Prince, to say with which of us your own feelings coincide;
and that you may be under no restraint in declaring to us your real
sentiments, I announce to you that you have full liberty of choice.
Although you have pledged your word to this amiable person, you are
free to withdraw it. I will answer for her, that Beauty will release
you from your promise without the least hesitation, although, through
her kindness, you have regained your natural form; and I assure you
also that her generosity will cause her to carry disinterestedness
to the extent of leaving you at liberty to dispose of your hand in
favour of any person on whom the Queen may advise you to bestow
it.--What say you, Beauty?" pursued the Fairy, turning towards her;
"have I been mistaken in thus interpreting your sentiments? Would you
desire a husband who would become so with regret?" "Assuredly not,
Madam," replied Beauty. "The Prince is free. I renounce the honour
of being his wife. When I accepted him, I believed I was taking pity
on something below humanity. I engaged myself to him only with the
object of conferring on him the most signal favour. Ambition had no
place in my thoughts. Therefore, great Fairy, I implore you to exact
no sacrifice from the Queen, whom I cannot blame for the scruples she
entertains under such circumstances." "Well, Queen, what say you to
that?" inquired the Fairy, in a disdainful and displeased tone. "Do
you consider that princesses, who are so by the caprice of fortune,
better deserve the high rank in which it has placed them than this
young maiden? For my part, I think she should not be prejudiced by
an origin from which she has elevated herself by her conduct." The
Queen replied with some embarrassment, "Beauty is incomparable! Her
merit is infinite; nothing can surpass it; but, madam, can we not find
some other mode of rewarding her? Is it not to be effected without
sacrificing to her the hand of my son?" Then turning to Beauty, she
continued, "Yes, I owe you more than I can pay. I put, therefore, no
limit to your desires. Ask boldly, I will grant you everything, with
that sole exception; but the difference will not be great to you.
Choose a husband from amongst the nobles of my Court. However high in
rank, he will have cause to bless his good fortune, and for your sake I
will place him so near the throne that your position will be scarcely
less enviable."
"I thank you, Madam," replied Beauty; "but I ask no reward from you. I
am more than repaid by the pleasure of having broken the spell which
had deprived a great prince of his mother and of his kingdom. My
happiness would have been perfect if I had rendered this service to my
own sovereign. All I desire is that the Fairy will deign to restore me
to my father."
The Prince, who, by order of the Fairy, had been silent throughout this
conversation, was no longer master of himself, and his respect for the
commands he had received, failed to restrain him. He flung himself at
the feet of the Fairy and of his mother, and implored them, in the
strongest terms, not to make him more miserable than he had been, by
sending away Beauty, and depriving him of the happiness of being her
husband. At these words, Beauty, gazing on him with an air full of
tenderness, but mingled with a noble pride, said, "Prince, I cannot
conceal from you my affection. Your disenchantment is a proof of it,
and I should in vain endeavour to disguise my feelings. I confess
without a blush, that I love you better than myself. Why should I
dissimulate? We may disavow evil impulses; but mine are perfectly
innocent, and are authorised by the generous Fairy to whom we are both
so much indebted. But if I could resolve to sacrifice my feelings when
I thought it my duty to do so for the Beast, you must feel assured that
I shall not falter on this occasion when it is no longer the interest
of the Monster that is at stake, but your own. It is enough for me to
know who you are, and that I am to renounce the glory of being your
wife. I will even venture to say, that if, yielding to your entreaties,
the Queen should grant the consent you ask, it would not alter the
case, for in my own reason, and even in my love, you would meet with
an insurmountable obstacle. I repeat that I ask no favour but that of
being allowed to return to the bosom of my family, where I shall for
ever cherish the remembrance of your bounty and your affection."
"Generous Fairy!" exclaimed the Prince, clasping her hands in
supplication, "for mercy's sake, do not allow Beauty to depart! Make
me, rather, again the Monster that I was, for then I shall be her
husband. She pledged her word to the Beast, and I prefer that happiness
to all those she has restored me to, if I must purchase them so dearly!"
The Fairy made no answer; she but looked steadily at the Queen, who was
moved by so much true affection, but whose pride remained unshaken. The
despair of her son affected her, yet she could not forget that Beauty
was the daughter of a merchant, and nothing more. She, notwithstanding,
feared the anger of the Fairy, whose manner and silence sufficiently
evinced her indignation. Her confusion was extreme. Not having power
to utter a word, she feared to see a fatal termination to a conference
which had offended the protecting spirit. No one spoke for some
minutes, but the Fairy at length broke the silence, and casting an
affectionate look upon the lovers, she said to them, "I find you
worthy of each other. It would be a crime to part two such excellent
persons. You shall not be separated, I promise you; and I have
sufficient power to fulfil my promise." The Queen shuddered at these
words, and would have made some remonstrance, but the Fairy anticipated
her by saying, "For you, Queen, the little value you set upon virtue,
unadorned by the vain titles which alone you respect, would justify me
in heaping on you the bitterest reproaches. But I excuse your fault,
arising from pride of birth, and I will take no other vengeance beyond
doing this little violence to your prejudices, and for which you will
not be long without thanking me." Beauty, at these words, embraced
the knees of the Fairy, and exclaimed, "Ah, do not expose me to the
misery of being told all my life that I am unworthy of the rank to
which your bounty would elevate me. Reflect that this Prince, who now
believes that his happiness consists in the possession of my hand may
very shortly perhaps be of the same opinion as the Queen." "No, no,
Beauty, fear nothing," rejoined the Fairy. "The evils you anticipate
cannot come to pass. I know a sure way of protecting you from them,
and should the Prince be capable of despising you after marriage, he
must seek some other reason than the inequality of your condition.
Your birth is not inferior to his own. Nay, the advantage is even
considerably on your side, for the truth is," said she, sternly, to the
Queen, "that you behold your niece; and what must render her still more
worthy of your respect is, that she is mine also, being the daughter of
my sister, who was not, like you, a slave to rank which is lustreless
without virtue.
"That Fairy, knowing how to estimate true worth, did your brother, the
King of the Happy Island, the honour to marry him. I preserved this
fair fruit of their union from the fury of a Fairy who desired to be
her step-mother. From the moment of her birth I destined her to be the
wife of your son. I desired, by concealing from you the result of my
good service, to give you an opportunity of showing your confidence in
me. I had some reason to believe that it was greater than it appears to
have been. You might have relied upon me for watching over the destiny
of the Prince. I had given you proofs enough of the interest I took
in it, and you needed not to have been under any apprehension that I
should expose him to anything that would be disgraceful to himself or
to you. I feel persuaded, Madam," continued she, with a smile which
had still something of bitterness in it, "that you will not object to
honour us with your alliance."
The Queen, astonished and embarrassed, knew not what to answer. The
only way to atone for her fault was to confess it frankly, and evince
a sincere repentance. "I am guilty, generous Fairy," said she. "Your
bounties should have satisfied me that you would not suffer my son to
have formed an alliance unworthy of him. But pardon, I beseech you, the
prejudices of my rank, which urged that royal blood could not marry
one of humbler birth without degradation. I acknowledge that I deserve
you should punish me by giving to Beauty a mother-in-law more worthy
of her; but you take too kind an interest in my son to render him the
victim of my error. As to you, dear Beauty," she continued, embracing
her tenderly, "you must not resent my resistance. It was caused by my
desire to marry my son to my niece, whom the Fairy had often assured me
was living, notwithstanding all appearances to the contrary. She had
drawn so charming a portrait of her, that without knowing you, I loved
you dearly enough to risk offending the Fairy, in order to preserve to
you the throne and the heart of my son." So saying, she recommenced her
caresses, which Beauty received with respect.
The Prince, on his part, enraptured at this agreeable intelligence,
expressed his delight in looks alone.
"Behold us all satisfied," said the Fairy; "and now, to terminate this
happy adventure, we only need the consent of the royal father of the
Princess; but we shall shortly see him here." Beauty requested her to
permit the person who had brought her up, and whom she had hitherto
looked upon as her father, to witness her felicity. "I admire such
consideration," said the Fairy; "it is worthy a noble mind, and as
you desire it, I undertake to inform him." Then taking the Queen by
the hand, she led her away, under the pretext of showing her over the
enchanted Palace. It was to give the newly-betrothed pair the liberty
of conversing with each other for the first time without restraint or
the aid of illusion. They would have followed, but she forbade them.
The happiness in store for them inspired each with equal delight. They
could not entertain the least doubt of their mutual affection.
Their conversation, confused and unconnected, their protestations a
hundred times repeated, were to them more convincing proofs of love
than the most eloquent language could have afforded. After having
exhausted all the expressions that passion suggests under such
circumstances to those that are truly in love, Beauty inquired of her
lover by what misfortune he had been so cruelly transformed into a
beast. She requested him also to relate to her all the events of his
life preceding that shocking metamorphosis.
The Prince, whose recovery of his natural form had not lessened his
anxiety to obey her, without more ado commenced his narrative in the
following words:--