[Illustration: And there, on a bed the curtains of which were drawn
wide, he beheld the loveliest vision he had ever seen.]
The Sleeping Beauty and other fairy tales
FROM THE OLD FRENCH
retold by Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch
illustrated by Edmund Dulac
NEW YORK
HODDER and STOUGHTON
PREFACE
Once upon a time I found myself halting between two projects, both
magnificent. For the first, indeed--which was to discover, digest and
edit all the fairy tales in the world--I was equipped neither with
learning, nor with command of languages, nor with leisure, nor with
length of years. It is a task for many men, clubbing their lifetimes
together. But the second would have cost me quite a respectable amount
of toil; for it was to translate and annotate the whole collection of
stories in the _Cabinet des Fées._
Now the _Cabinet des Fées_, in the copy on my shelves, extends to
forty-one volumes, printed, as their title-pages tell, at Geneva
between the years 1785 and 1789, and published in Paris by M. Cuchet,
Rue et Hôtel Serpente. The dates may set us moralising. While the Rue
Serpente unfolded, as though
_Tranquilla per alta,_
its playful voluminous coils, the throne of France with the Ancien
Régime rocked closer and closer to catastrophe. In 1789 (July), just as
M. Cuchet (good man and leisurable to the end) wound up his series with
a last volume of the _Suite des Mille et Un Nuits_, they toppled over
with the fall of the Bastille.
Even so in England--we may remind ourselves--in 1653, when the gods
made Oliver Cromwell Protector, Izaak Walton chose to publish a
book about little fishes. But the reminder is not quite apposite:
for angling, the contemplative man's recreation, was no favourite
or characteristic or symbolical pursuit of the Order which Cromwell
overthrew (and, besides, he did not overthrow it); whereas, M. Cuchet's
forty-one volumes most pertinently as well as amply illustrated some
real qualities, and those the most amiable of the Ancien Régime. When
we think of the French upper classes from the days of Louis XIV. to
the Revolution, we associate them with a certain elegance, a taste
fastidious and polite, if artificial, in the arts of living and the
furniture of life; and in this we do them justice. But, if I mistake
not, we seldom credit them with the quality which more than any other
struck the contemporary foreign observer who visited France with a
candid mind--I mean their good temper. We allow the Bastille or the
guillotine to cast their shadows backward over this period, or we see
it distorted in the glare of Burke's rhetoric or of Carlyle's lurid
and fuliginous history. But if we go to an eyewitness, Arthur Young,
who simply reported what he saw, having no rhetorical axe to grind
or guillotine to sharpen, we get a totally different impression. The
last of Young's _Travels in France_ (1787-1789) actually coincided
with the close of M. Cuchet's pleasant enterprise in publishing; and
I do not think it fanciful to suppose that, had this very practical
Englishman found time to read at large in the _Cabinet des Fées_, he
would have discovered therein much to corroborate the evidence steadily
and unconsciously borne by his own journals--that the urbanity of life
among the French upper classes was genuine, reflecting a real and (for
a whole society) a remarkable sunniness of disposition. Unconscious
of their doom, the little victims played. But they did play; and they
fell victims, not to their own passions, but to a form of government
economically rotten.
Of all the volumes in the _Cabinet_, possibly the most famous are the
first and second, containing the fairy tales of Charles Perrault and
Madame d'Aulnoy, and vols. 7-11, containing M. Galland's version (so
much better than any translation) of _The Arabian Nights_. I hope
that one of those days Mr. Dulac will lay the public under debt by
illustrating all these, and the stories of Antony Hamilton to boot.
Meanwhile, here are three of the most famous tales from Perrault's
wallet, and one, the evergreen _Beauty and the Beast_, by an almost
forgotten authoress, Madame de Villeneuve.
The ghost of Charles Perrault, could it walk to-day--_perruque_ and
all--might well sigh over the vanity of human pretensions. For Monsieur
Perrault was a person of importance in his lifetime (1628-1703), and
a big-wig in every sense of the term. Colbert made him Secretary of
the Academy of Inscriptions, and anon Controller of Public Works--in
which capacity he suggested to his architect-brother, Claude Perrault,
the facade of the Louvre with its renowned colonnade. He flattered
his monarch with a poem _Le Siècle de Louis le Grand_. 'Je ne sais,'
observes a circle, 'si ce roi, malgré son amour excessif pour la
flatterie, fut content: les bornes étaient outre-passées.' The poem, as
a poem, had little success; but by positing that the Age of Louis was
the greatest in history, and suggesting that the moderns were as good
as the ancients or better, it started a famous controversy. Boileau,
Racine, La Bruyère, honoured him by taking the other side, and forced
him to develop his paradox in a book of dialogues, _Parallèles des
Anciens et des Modernes_. But his best answer was his urbane remark
(for he kept his temper admirably) that these gentlemen did ill to
dispute the superiority of the moderns while their own works gave proof
of it. He wrote other poems, other tractates (including one on the
'Illustrious Men of his Age'), besides occasional tracts on matters
of high politics: and his memory is kept alive by one small packet
of fairy-tales--stories which he heard the nurse telling his little
boy, and set down upon paper for a recreation! That is the way with
literary fame. To take an English example: it is odds that Southey,
poet-laureate and politician of great self-importance in his day, will
come finally to be remembered by his baby-story of _The Three Bears_.
It will certainly outlive _Thalaba the Destroyer_, and possibly even
the _Life of Nelson_.
As for Gabrielle Susanne, wife of M. de Gallon, Seigneur de Villeneuve
and lieutenant-colonel of infantry (whom she outlived), she wrote a
number of romantic stories--_Le Phénix Conjugal, Le Juge Parvenu, Le
Beau-Frère Supposé, La Jardinière de Vincennes, Le Prince Azerolles_,
etc. I am not--perhaps few are--acquainted with these works. Madame de
Villeneuve died in 1755 and lives only by grace of her _La Belle et La
Bête_; and that again lives in despite of its literary defects. It has
style; but the style inheres neither in its language, which is loose,
nor in its construction. The story, as she wrote it, tails off woefully
and drags to an end in mere foolishness.
Since Perrault, who is usually accepted as the fountainhead of
these charming French fairy-stories, belongs almost entirely to the
seventeenth century, it may be asked why Mr. Dulac has chosen to depict
his Princes and Princess in costumes of the eighteenth? Well, for my
part, I hold that he has obeyed a just instinct in choosing the period
when the literature he illustrates was at the acme of its vogue. But
his designs, in every stroke of which the style of that period is so
unerringly felt, provide his best apology.
My own share in this volume is, perhaps, less easily defended. I began
by translating Perrault's tales, very nearly word for word; because
to me his style has always seemed nearly perfect for its purpose; and
the essence of 'style' in writing is propriety to its purpose. On the
other hand the late M. Ferdinand Brunetière has said that Perrault's
is 'devoid of charm,' and on this subject M. Brunetière's opinion must
needs out-value mine ten times over. Certainly the translations, when
finished, did not satisfy me, and so I turned back to the beginning and
have rewritten the stories in my own way, which (as you may say with
the Irish butler) 'may not be the best claret, but 'tis the best ye've
got.'
I have made bold, too, to omit Perrault's conclusion of _La Belle au
Bois Dormant_. To my amazement the editor of the _Cabinet des Fées_
selects this lame sequel--it is no better than a sequel--of a lovely
tale, and assigns to it the credit of having established 'la véritable
fortune de ce genre.' Frankly, I cannot believe him. Further, I have
condensed Madame de Villeneuve's narrative and obliterated its feeble
ending. In taking each of these liberties I have the warrant of
tradition, which in the treatment of fairy-tales speaks with a voice
more authoritative than the original author's, for it speaks with the
united voices of many thousands of children, his audience and best
critics. As the children have decreed that in Southey's tale of _The
Three Bears_ the heroine shall be a little girl, and not, as Southey
invented her, a good-for-nothing old woman, so they have decreed the
story of _The Sleeping Beauty_ to end with the Prince's kiss, and that
of _Beauty and the Beast_ with the Beast's transformation. And as
_Beauty and the Beast_ is really but a variant of the immortal fable of
_Cupid and Psyche_, I might--had I room to spare--attempt to prove to
you that the children's taste is here, as usually, right and classical.
ARTHUR QUILLER-COUCH
ILLUSTRATIONS
THE SLEEPING BEAUTY
_And there, on a bed the curtains of which were drawn wide, he beheld
the loveliest vision he had ever seen_ (20)
_Her head nodded with spite and old age together, as she bent over the
cradle_ (5)
_They grew until nothing but the tops of the castle towers could be
seen_ (15)
BLUE BEARD
_They overran the house without loss of time_ (34)
_The unhappy_ Fatima _cried up to her_, 'Anne, sister Anne, do you see
any one coming? (42)
_Then_ Blue Beard _roared out so terribly that he made the whole house
tremble_ (44)
CINDERELLA
_She used to creep away to the chimney-corner and seat herself among
the cinders_ (49)
_Whereupon she instantly desired her partner to lead her to the_ King
_and_ Queen (61)
_The Prime Minister was kept very busy during the next few weeks_ (70)
BEAUTY AND THE BEAST
_He had been fasting for more than twenty four hours, and lost no time
in falling-to_ (80)
_Soon they caught sight of the castle in the distance_ (91)
_'Ah! what a fright you have given me!' she murmured_ (126)
THE SLEEPING BEAUTY
Once upon a time there lived a King and a Queen, who lacked but one
thing on earth to make them entirely happy. The _King_ was young,
handsome, and wealthy; the _Queen_ had a nature as good and gentle as
her face was beautiful; and they adored one another, having married for
love--which among kings and queens is not always the rule. Moreover,
they reigned over a kingdom at peace, and their people were devoted to
them. What more, then, could they possibly want?
Well, they wanted one thing very badly, and the lack of it grieved them
more than words can tell. They had no child. Vows, pilgrimages, all
ways were tried; yet for a long while nothing came of it all, and the
poor _Queen_ especially was in despair.
At last, however, to her own and her husband's inexpressible joy,
she gave birth to a daughter. As soon as the palace guns announced
this event, the whole nation went wild with delight. Flags waved
everywhere, bells were set pealing until the steeples rocked, crowds
tossed up their hats and cheered, while the soldiers presented arms,
and even strangers meeting in the street fell upon each other's neck,
exclaiming: 'Our _Queen_ has a daughter! Yes, yes--Our _Queen_ has a
daughter! Long live the little _Princess_!'
A name had now to be found for the royal babe; and the _King_ and
_Queen_, after talking over some scores of names, at length decided to
call her _Aurora_, which means _The Dawn_. The Dawn itself (thought
they) was never more beautiful than this darling of theirs. The next
business, of course, was to hold a christening. They agreed that it
must be a magnificent one; and as a first step they invited all the
Fairies they could find in the land to be godmothers to the _Princess
Aurora_, that each one of them might bring her a gift, as was the [Pg
3]custom with Fairies in those days, and so she might have all the
perfections imaginable. After making long inquiries--for I should tell
you that all this happened not so many hundred years ago, when Fairies
were already growing somewhat scarce--they found seven. But this again
pleased them, because seven is a lucky number.
After the ceremonies of the christening, while the trumpeters sounded
their fanfares and the guns boomed out again from the great tower, all
the company returned to the Royal Palace to find a great feast arrayed.
Seats of honour had been set for the seven fairy godmothers, and before
each was laid a dish of honour, with a dish-cover of solid gold, and
beside the dish a spoon, a knife, and a fork, all of pure gold and all
set with diamonds and rubies. But just as they were seating themselves
at table, to the dismay of every one there appeared in the doorway an
old crone, dressed in black and leaning on a crutched stick. Her chin
and her hooked nose almost met together, like a pair of nut-crackers,
for she had very few teeth remaining; but between them she growled to
the guests in a terrible voice:
'I am the Fairy _Uglyane_! Pray where are your King's manners, that I
have not been invited?'
She had in fact been overlooked; and this was not surprising, because
she lived at the far end of the country, in a lonely tower set around
by the forest. For fifty years she had never come out of this tower,
and every one believed her to be dead or enchanted. That, you must
know, is the commonest way the Fairies have of ending: they lock
themselves up in a tower or within a hollow oak, and are never seen
again.
The _King_, though she chose to accuse his manners, was in fact the
politest of men. He hurried to express his regrets, led her to table
with his own hand, and ordered a dish to be set for her; but with the
best will in the world he could not give her a dish-cover such as the
others had, because seven only had been made for the seven invited
Fairies. The old crone received his excuses very ungraciously, while
accepting a seat. It was plain that she had taken deep offence. One of
the younger Fairies, _Hippolyta_ by name, who sat by, overheard her
mumbling threats between her teeth; and fearing she might bestow some
unlucky gift upon the little _Princess_, went as soon as she rose from
table and hid herself close by the cradle, behind the tapestry, that
she might have the last word and undo, so far as she could, what evil
the Fairy _Uglyane_ might have in her mind.
She had scarcely concealed herself before the other Fairies began to
advance, one by one, to bestow their gifts on the _Princess_. The
youngest promised her that she should be the most beautiful creature
in the world; the next, that she should have the wit of an angel;
the third, a marvellous grace in all her ways; the fourth, that she
should dance to perfection; the fifth, that she should sing like
a nightingale; the sixth, that she should play exquisitely on all
instruments of music.
Now came the turn of the old Fairy _Uglyane_. Her head nodded with
spite and old age together, as she bent over the cradle and shook
her crutched staff above the head of the pretty babe, who slept on
sweetly, too young and too innocent as yet to dream of any such thing
as mischief in this world.
'This is my gift to you, _Princess Aurora_,' announced the hag, still
in her creaking voice that shook as spitefully as her body. 'I promise
that one day you shall pierce your hand with a spindle, and on that day
you shall surely die!'
At these terrible words the poor _Queen_ fell back fainting into her
husband's arms. A trembling seized the whole Court; the ladies were in
tears, and the younger lords and knights were calling out to seize and
burn the wicked witch, when the young Fairy stepped forth from behind
the tapestry, and passing by _Uglyane_, who stood scornful in the midst
of this outcry, she thus addressed their Majesties:
'Take comfort, O _King_ and _Queen_: your daughter shall not die thus.
It is true, I have not the power wholly to undo what this elder sister
of mine has done. The _Princess_ must indeed pierce her hand with a
spindle; but, instead of dying, she shall only fall into a deep slumber
that shall last for many, many years, at the end of which a King's
son shall come and awake her. Whenever this misfortune happens to
your little _Aurora_, do not doubt that I, the Fairy _Hippolyta_, her
godmother, shall get news of it and come at once to render what help I
may.'
[Illustration: _Her head nodded with spite and old age together, as she
bent over the cradle.]
The _King_, while declaring himself infinitely obliged to the
good Fairy _Hippolyta_, could not help feeling that hers was but
cold comfort at the best. He gave orders to close the christening
festivities at once, although the Fairy _Uglyane_, their spoil-joy,
had already taken her departure; passing unharmed through the crowd
of folk, every one of whom wished her ill, and riding away--it was
generally agreed-upon a broomstick.
To satisfy the _King's_ faithful subjects, however,--who were unaware
of any misadventure--the palace fireworks were duly let off, with a
grand set-piece wishing _Long Life to the Princess Aurora!_ in all the
colours of the rainbow. But His Majesty, after bowing from the balcony
amid the banging of rockets and hissing of Catherine wheels, retired to
a private room with his Chamberlain, and there, still amid the noise
of explosions and cheering, drew up the first harsh proclamation of
his reign. It forbade every one, on pain of death, to use a spindle in
spinning or even to have a spindle in his house. Heralds took copies
of this proclamation and marched through the land reading it, to the
sound of trumpets, from every market-place: and it gravely puzzled and
distressed all who listened, for their women folk prided themselves
on their linen. Its fineness was a byword throughout the neighbouring
kingdoms, and they knew themselves to be famous for it. 'But what sort
of linen,' said they, 'would His Majesty have us spin without spindles?'
They had a great affection, however (as we have seen), for their
monarch; and for fifteen or sixteen years all the spinning-wheels
were silent throughout the land. The little _Princess Aurora_ grew up
without ever having seen one. But one day--the _King_ and _Queen_ being
absent at one of their country houses--she gave her governess the slip,
and running at will through the palace and upstairs from one chamber
to another, she came at length to a turret with a winding staircase,
from the top of which a strange whirring sound attracted her and seemed
to invite her to climb. As she mounted after the sound, on a sudden it
ceased; but still she followed the stairs and came, at the very top,
to an open door through which she looked in upon a small garret where
sat an honest old woman alone, winding her distaff. The good soul had
never, in sixteen years, heard of the _King's_ prohibition against
spindles; and this is just the sort of thing that happens in palaces.
'What are you doing, goody?' asked the _Princess_.
'I am spinning, pretty one,' answered the old woman, who did not know
who she was.
'Spinning? What is that?'
'I wonder sometimes,' said the old woman, 'what the world is coming
to, in these days!' And that, of course, was natural enough, and might
occur to anybody after living so long as she had lived in a garret on
the top of a tower. 'Spinning,' she said wisely, 'is spinning, or was;
and, gentle or simple, no one is fit to keep house until she has learnt
to spin.'
'But how pretty it is!' said the _Princess_. 'How do you do it? Give it
to me and let me see if I can do so well.'
She had no sooner grasped the spindle--she was over-eager perhaps, or
just a little bit clumsy, or maybe the fairy decree had so ordained
it--than it pierced her hand and she dropped down in a swoon.
The old trot in a flurry ran to the head of the stairs and called for
help. There was no bell rope, and, her voice being weak with age and
her turret in the remotest corner of the palace, it was long before
any one heard her in the servants' hall. The servants, too--in the
absence of the _King_ and _Queen_--were playing cards, and could not
be interrupted by anybody until their game was finished. Then they
sat down and discussed whose business it was to attend on a call from
that particular turret; and this again proved to be a nice point,
since nobody could remember having been summoned thither, and all were
against setting up a precedent (as they called it). In the end they
decided to send up the lowest of the junior page-boys. But he had a
weakness which he somehow forgot to mention--that of fainting at the
sight of blood. So when he reached the garret and fainted, the old
woman had to begin screaming over again.
This time they sent up a scullery maid; who, being good-natured and
unused to the ways of the palace, made the best haste she could to
the garret, whence presently she returned with the terrible news. The
servants, who had gone back to their game, now dropped their cards and
came running. All the household, in fact, came pouring up the turret
stairs; the palace physicians themselves crowding in such numbers that
the poor _Princess Aurora_ would have been hard put to it for fresh
air could fresh air have restored her. They dashed water on her face,
unlaced her, slapped her hands, tickled the soles of her feet, burned
feathers under her nose, rubbed her temples with Hungary-water. They
held consultations over her, by twos and threes, and again in Grand
Committee. But nothing would bring her to.
Meanwhile, a messenger had ridden off posthaste with the tidings, and
while the doctors were still consulting and shaking their heads the
_King_ himself came galloping home to the palace. In the midst of his
grief he bethought him of what the Fairies had foretold; and being
persuaded that, since they had said it, this was fated to happen, he
blamed no one but gave orders to carry the _Princess_ to the finest
apartment in the palace, and there lay her on a bed embroidered with
gold and silver.
At sight of her, she was so lovely, you might well have supposed that
some bright being of the skies had floated down to earth and there
dropped asleep after her long journey. For her swoon had not taken away
the warm tints of her complexion: her cheeks were like carnations, her
lips like coral: and though her eyes were closed and the long lashes
would not lift, her soft breathing told that she was not dead. The
_King_ commanded them all to leave her and let her sleep in peace until
the hour of her awakening should arrive.
Now when the accident befell our _Princess_ the good Fairy _Hippolyta_,
who had saved her life, happened to be in the Kingdom of Mataquin,
twelve thousand leagues away; but news of it was brought to her in an
incredibly short space of time by a little dwarf who owned a pair of
seven-league boots. (These were boots in which you could walk seven
leagues at a single stride.) She set off at once to the help of her
beloved goddaughter, and behold in an hour this good Fairy arrived at
the palace, in a fiery chariot drawn by dragons.
Our _King_ met her and handed her down from the chariot. She approved
of all that he had done; but, greatly foreseeing as she was, she
bethought her that, as all mortals perish within a hundred years or so,
when the time came for the _Princess_ to awake she would be distressed
at finding herself orphaned and alone in this old castle.
So this is what she did. She touched with her wand everything and
everybody in the palace: the _King_, the _Queen_; the ministers and
privy councillors; the archbishop (who was the Grand Almoner), the
bishops and the minor clergy; the maids-of-honour, ladies of the
bedchamber, governesses, gentlemen-in-waiting, equerries, heralds,
physicians, officers, masters of the household, cooks, scullions,
lackeys, guards, Switzers, pages, footmen. She touched the _Princess's_
tutors and the Court professors in the midst of their deep studies. She
touched likewise all the horses in the stables, with the grooms; the
huge mastiffs in the yard; even _Tiny_, the _Princess's_ little pet
dog, and _Fluff_, her black-and-white cat, that lay coiled on a cushion
by her bedside.
The instant the Fairy _Hippolyta_ touched them they all fell asleep,
not to awake until the same moment as their mistress, that all might be
ready to wait on her when she needed them. The very spits at the fire
went to sleep, loaded as they were with partridges and pheasants; and
the fire went to sleep too. All this was done in a moment: the Fairies
were never long about their business in those days.
But it so happened that one of the _King's_ councillors, the Minister
of Marine (his office dated from a previous reign when the kingdom
had hoped to conquer and acquire a seaboard) had overslept himself
that morning and came late to the palace without any knowledge of what
had befallen. He felt no great fear that his unpunctuality would be
remarked, the _King_ (as he supposed) being absent in the country;
nevertheless he took the precaution of letting himself in by a small
postern door, and so missed being observed by the Fairy and touched by
her wand. Entering his office, and perceiving that his under-secretary
(usually so brisk) and all his clerks rested their heads on their
desks in attitudes of sleep, he drew the conclusion that something had
happened, for he was an excellent judge of natural slumber. The farther
he penetrated into the palace, the stronger his suspicions became.
He withdrew on tiptoe. Though by nature and habit a lazy man, he was
capable of sudden decision, and returning to his home he caused notices
to be posted up, forbidding any one to approach the castle, the inmates
of which were suffering from an Eastern but temporary affliction known
as the Sleeping Sickness.
These notices were unnecessary, for within a few hours there grew up,
all around the park, such a number of trees of all sizes, and such a
tangle of briars and undergrowth, that neither beast nor man could find
a passage. They grew until nothing but the tops of the castle towers
could be seen, and these only from a good way off. There was no mistake
about it: the Fairy had done her work well, and the _Princess_ might
sleep with no fear of visits from the inquisitive.
One day, many, many years afterwards, the incomparable young _Prince
Florimond_ happened to ride a-hunting on that side of the country which
lay next to the tangled forest, and asked: 'What were those towers he
saw pushing up above the midst of a great thick wood? '
They all answered him as they heard tell. Some said it was an old
castle haunted by ghosts.
Others, that all the wizards and witches of the country met there to
keep Sabbath.
The most general opinion was that an Ogre dwelt there, and that he
carried off thither all the children he could catch, to eat them at his
ease. No one could follow him, for he alone knew how to find a passage
through the briars and brambles. The _Prince_ could not tell which to
believe of all these informants, for all gave their versions with equal
confidence, as commonly happens with those who talk on matters of which
they can know nothing for certain. He was turning from one to another
in perplexity, when a peasant spoke up and said:--
'Your Highness, long ago I heard my father tell that there was in
yonder castle a Princess, the most beautiful that ever man saw; that
she must lie asleep there for many, many years; and that one day she
will be awakened by a King's son, for whom she was destined.'
At these words Prince _Florimond_ felt himself a-fire. He believed,
without weighing it, that he could accomplish this fine adventure; and,
spurred on by love and ambition, he resolved to explore then and there
and discover the truth for himself.
[Illustration: They grew until nothing but the tops of the castle
towers could be seen.]
Leaping down from his horse he started to run towards the wood, and had
almost reached the edge of it before the attendant courtiers guessed
his design. They called to him to come back, but he ran on, and was
about to fling himself boldly into the undergrowth, when as by magic
all the great trees, the shrubs, the creepers, the ivies, briars and
brambles, unlaced themselves of their own accord and drew aside to let
him pass. He found himself within a long glade or avenue, at the end of
which glimmered the walls of an old castle; and towards this he strode.
It surprised him somewhat that none of his attendants were following
him; the reason being that as soon as he had passed through it, the
undergrowth drew close as ever again. He heard their voices, fainter
and fainter behind him, beyond the barrier, calling, beseeching him
to desist. But he held on his way without one backward look. He was a
Prince, and young, and therefore valiant.
He came to the castle, and pushing aside the ivies that hung like a
curtain over the gateway, entered a wide outer court and stood still
for a moment, holding his breath, while his eyes travelled over a
scene that might well have frozen them with terror. The court was
silent, dreadfully silent; yet it was by no means empty. On all hands
lay straight, stiff bodies of men and beasts, seemingly all dead.
Nevertheless, as he continued to gaze, his courage returned; for the
pimpled noses and ruddy faces of the Switzers told him that they were
no worse than asleep; and their cups, which yet held a few heeltaps of
wine, proved that they had fallen asleep over a drinking-bout.
He stepped by them and passed across a second great court paved with
marble; he mounted a broad flight of marble steps leading to the main
doorway; he entered a guardroom, just within the doorway, where the
guards stood in rank with shouldered muskets, every man of them asleep
and snoring his best. He made his way through a number of rooms filled
with ladies and gentlemen, some standing, others sitting, but all
asleep. He drew aside a heavy purple curtain, and once more held his
breath; for he was looking into the great Hall of State where, at a
long table, sat and slumbered the _King_ with his Council. The Lord
Chancellor slept in the act of dipping pen into inkpot; the Archbishop
in the act of taking snuff; and between the spectacles on the
Archbishop's nose and the spectacles on the Lord Chancellor's a spider
had spun a beautiful web.
_Prince Florimond_ tiptoed very carefully past these august sleepers
and, leaving the hall by another door, came to the foot of the grand
staircase. Up this, too, he went; wandered along a corridor to his
right, and, stopping by hazard at one of the many doors, opened it and
looked into a bath-room lined with mirrors and having in its midst,
sunk in the floor, a huge round basin of whitest porcelain wherein a
spring of water bubbled deliciously. Three steps led down to the bath,
and at the head of them stood a couch, with towels, and court-suit laid
ready, exquisitely embroidered and complete to the daintiest of lace
ruffles and the most delicate of body linen.
Then the _Prince_ bethought him that he had ridden far before ever
coming to the wood; and the mirrors told him that he was also somewhat
travel-stained from his passage through it. So, having by this time
learnt to accept any new wonder without question, he undressed himself
and took a bath, which he thoroughly enjoyed. Nor was he altogether
astonished, when he tried on the clothes, to find that they fitted him
perfectly. Even the rosetted shoes of satin might have been made to his
measure.
Having arrayed himself thus hardily, he resumed his quest along the
corridor. The very next door he tried opened on a chamber all panelled
with white and gold; and there, on a bed the curtains of which were
drawn wide, he beheld the loveliest vision he had ever seen: a
Princess, seemingly about seventeen or eighteen years old, and of a
beauty so brilliant that he could not have believed this world held the
like.
But she lay still, so still!... _Prince Florimond_ drew near, trembling
and wondering, and sank on his knees beside her. Still she lay,
scarcely seeming to breathe, and he bent and touched with his lips the
little hand that rested, light as a rose-leaf, on the coverlet....
With that, as the long spell of her enchantment came to an end, the
_Princess_ awaked; and looking at him with eyes more tender than a
first sight of him might seem to excuse:--
'Is it you, my _Prince_?' she said. 'You have been a long while coming!'
The _Prince_, charmed by these words, and still more by the manner in
which they were spoken, knew not how to find words for the bliss in his
heart. He assured her that he loved her better than his own self. Their
speech after this was not very coherent; they gazed at one another for
longer stretches than they talked; but if eloquence lacked, there was
plenty of love. He, to be sure, showed the more embarrassment; and no
need to wonder at this--she had had time to think over what to say to
him; for I hold it not unlikely (though the story does not say anything
of this) that the good Fairy _Hippolyta_ had taken care to amuse her,
during her long sleep, with some pleasurable dreams. In short, the
_Princess Aurora_ and the _Prince Florimond_ conversed for four hours,
and still without saying the half they had to say.
Meanwhile all the palace had awaked with the _Princess_. In the Council
Chamber the _King_ opened his eyes and requested the Lord Chancellor
to read that last sentence of his over again a little more distinctly.
The Lord Chancellor, dipping his quill into the dry inkpot, asked the
Archbishop in a whisper how many t's there were in 'regrettable.'
The Archbishop, taking a pinch of snuff that had long ago turned to
dust, answered with a terrific sneeze, which again was drowned by the
striking of all the clocks in the palace, as they started frantically
to make up for lost time. Dogs barked, doors banged; the _Princess's_
parrot screamed in his cage and was answered by the peacocks squawking
from the terrace; amid which hubbub the Minister for Agriculture,
forgetting his manners, made a trumpet of his hands and bawled across
the table, begging His Majesty to adjourn for dinner. In short, every
one's first thought was of his own business; and, as they were not all
in love, they were ready to die with hunger.
Even the _Queen_, who had dropped asleep while discussing with her
maids-of-honour the shade of mourning which most properly expressed
regret for royal personages in a trance, lost her patience at length,
and sent one of her attendants with word that she, for her part, was
keen-set for something to eat, and that in her young days it had been
customary for young ladies released from enchantment to accept the
congratulations of their parents without loss of time. The _Prince
Florimond_, by this message recalled to his devoirs, helped the
_Princess_ to rise. She was completely dressed, and very magnificently
too.
Taking his beloved _Princess Aurora_ by the hand, he led her to her
parents, who embraced her passionately and--their first transports
over--turned to, welcome him as a son, being charmed (quite apart from
their gratitude) by the modest gallantry of his address. They passed
into a great dining-room lined with mirrors, where they supped and
were served by the royal attendants. Violins and hautboys discoursed
music that was ancient indeed, but excellent, and the meal was scarcely
concluded before the company enjoyed a very pleasant surprise.
_Prince Florimond_, having no eyes but for his love, might be excused
if he forgot that his attendants must, long before now, have carried
home their report, and that his parents would be in deep distress,
wondering what had become of him. But the _King_, the _Princess's_
father, had a truly royal habit of remembering details, especially
when it concerned setting folks at their ease. Before dinner he had
dispatched a messenger to carry word to _Prince Florimond's_ father,
that his son was safe, and to acquaint him briefly with what had
befallen. The messenger, riding through the undergrowth--which now
obligingly parted before him as it had, a while ago, to admit the
_Prince_--and arriving at the outskirts of the wood, found there a
search-party vainly endeavouring to break through the barrier, with
the _Prince's_ aged father standing by and exhorting them in person,
to whom he delivered his message. Trembling with relief--for he truly
supposed his son to be lost beyond recall--the old man entreated the
messenger to turn back and escort him. So he arrived, and was ushered
into the hall.
The situation, to be sure, was delicate. But when these two kings, both
so well meaning, had met and exchanged courtesies, and the one had
raised the other by the hand to a place on the daïs beside him, already
and without speech they had almost accorded.
'I am an old man,' said the _Prince's_ father; 'I have reigned long
enough for my satisfaction, and now care for little in life but to see
my son happy.'
'I think I can promise you that,' said the _Princess's_ father,
smiling, with a glance at the two lovers.
'I am old enough, at any rate, to have done with ambitions,' said the
one.
'And I,' said the other, 'have dreamed long enough, at any rate, to
despise them. What matters ruling to either of us two, while we see
your son and my daughter reigning together?'
So it was agreed, then and there; and after supper, without loss of
time, the Archbishop married the _Prince Florimond_ and the _Princess
Aurora_ in the chapel of the Castle. The two Kings and the _Princess's_
mother saw them to their chamber, and the first maid-of-honour drew
the curtain. They slept little--the _Princess_ had no occasion; but
the _Prince_ next morning led his bride back to the city, where they
were acclaimed by the populace and lived happy ever after, reigning in
prosperity and honour.
MORAL
_Ye Maids, to await some while a lover fond,_
_Rich titled, debonair as Florimond,_
_Is reason; and who learns on fate to attend_
_Goes seldom unrewarded in the end--_
_'What! No one kiss us for a hundred years!'_
_There, la-la-la! I understood, my dears._
ANOTHER
_Further, the story would suggest a doubt_
_That marriage_ may _be happiest when deferr'd--_
_'Deferr'd?' you cry--'Deferr'd,' I see you pout,_
_--We'll skip this morale and attempt a third._
ANOTHER
_Thirdly, our able then appears to prove_
_Disparity of years no bar to love._
_Crabb'd Age and Youth--But that's an ancient quarrel,_
_And I'll not interfere. There 's no third moral._
BLUE BEARD
In the East, in a city not far from Baghdad, there lived a man who had
many possessions and might have been envied by all who knew him had
these possessions been less by one. He had fine houses in town and
country, retinues of servants, gold and silver plate in abundance,
coffers heaped with jewels, costly carpets, embroidered furniture,
cabinets full of curiosities, gilded coaches, teams of Arab horses of
the purest breed. But unluckily he had also a blue beard, which made
him so frightfully ugly that every woman wanted to scream and run away
at sight of him.
Among his neighbours was a lady of quality, who had two sons and two
daughters. Upon these two damsels _Blue Beard_ cast his affections,
without knowing precisely which he preferred; and asked the lady to
bestow the hand of one of her daughters upon him, adding, not too
tactfully, that he would leave the choice to her. Neither _Anne_ nor
_Fatima_ was eager for the honour. They sent their suitor to and fro,
and back again from one to the other: they really could not make up
their minds to accept a husband with a blue beard. It increased their
repugnance (for they were somewhat romantic young ladies) to learn that
he had already married several wives; and, moreover, nobody could tell
what had become of them, which again was not reassuring.
_Blue Beard_, to make their better acquaintance, invited them, with
their mother and brothers and a dozen or so of their youthful friends,
to divert themselves at one of his country houses, where they spent
a whole fortnight, and (as they confessed) in the most agreeable
pastimes. Each day brought some fresh entertainment: they hunted,
they hawked, they practised archery, they angled for gold-fish,
or were rowed to the sound of music on the waters of their host's
private canal, they picnicked in the ruined castles, of which he owned
quite a number. Each day concluded, too, with banqueting, dancing,
card-parties, theatricals; or would have concluded, had these young
people felt any disposition to go to bed. They preferred, however, to
sit up until morning, joking and teasing one another. _Blue Beard_,
who had arrived at middle age, would have been grateful for a little
more sleep than they allowed him, but showed himself highly complaisant
and smiled at their pranks even when--their awe of him having worn
off--they balanced a basin of water above his chamber door, to fall
on his head and douch him, or sewed up his night-garments, or stuffed
his bolster with the prickly cactus (an Eastern vegetable, of which
he possessed whole avenues); nay, even when, for the same mischievous
purpose, they despoiled his garden of an aloe which was due to blossom
in a few days' time, after having remained flowerless for a century, he
betrayed no chagrin but merely raised the wages of his head-gardener,
heart-broken over the loss of a plant so economical in giving pleasure.
In short all went so smoothly that the younger daughter began to find
their host's beard not so blue after all.
She confided this to her mother. 'Dear mother,' she said, 'it is
doubtless nothing more than my fancy, but his beard _does_ seem to me
to have altered in colour during the last ten days--a very little, of
course.'
'Then you, too, have observed it!' the lady interrupted delightedly.
'My dearest child, you cannot imagine how your words relieve me! For
a week past I have accused my eyesight of failing me, and myself of
growing old.'
'Then you really think there _is_ a change?' asked _Fatima_, at once
doubtful and hoping.
'Indeed, yes. Ask yourself if it be reasonable to suppose that our eyes
are playing a trick on both of us? Not,' her mother went on, 'that
I, for my part, have any prejudice against blue. On the contrary,
it is a beautiful colour, and considered lucky. The poets--you will
have remarked--when they would figure to us the highest attainable
happiness, select a blue flower or a blue bird for its emblem. Heaven
itself is blue; and, at the least, a blue beard must be allowed to
confer distinction.'
'A greyish-blue,' hazarded _Fatima_.
'A bluish-grey, rather,' her mother corrected her: 'that is, if I must
define the shade as it appears to me.'
'And,' still hesitated _Fatima_, 'since it has begun to change, there
seems no reason why it should not continue to do so.'
'My darling'--her mother kissed her--'that is precisely the point! Its
colour is changing, you say. But for what reason? Obviously because he
is in love; and what love has begun, love can carry to a conclusion.
Nay, but put it on the ground of pity alone. Could a feeling heart set
itself any task more angelic than to rescue so worthy a gentleman from
so hideous an affliction--if affliction it be, which I am far from
allowing?'
_Fatima_ reflected on her mother's advice, but thought it prudent to
consult her sister _Anne_ and her step-brothers before coming to a
decision which, once taken, must be irrevocable.
They listened to her very good-naturedly; though, to tell the truth,
all three were somewhat jaded, having sat up all night at the
card-tables, playing at ombre, quadrille, lasquenet; and Heaven knows
what other games.
'My dear _Fatima_,' said her sister _Anne_ with a little yawn, 'I
congratulate you with all my heart on having made a discovery which,
beyond a doubt and but for your better diligence, I should have had to
make for myself before long.'
As for her step-brothers, they were in the best of humours at having
won a considerable sum of money from their host by superior play; and
they answered her, quoting a proverb, that 'at nights all cats are
grey, and all beards too,' and seemed to consider this very much to the
point.
_Fatima_ was greatly relieved by these assurances. On the evening
before the company dispersed _Blue Beard_ again sought a private
interview and pressed his suit. She accepted him without further ado,
and as soon as they returned to town the marriage was concluded.
They had been married little more than a month when _Blue Beard_ came
to his wife one morning, and told her that letters of importance had
arrived for him: he must take a journey into the country and be away
six weeks at least on a matter of business. He desired her to divert
herself in his absence by sending for her friends, to carry them off to
the country if she pleased, and to make good cheer wherever she was.
'Here,' said he, 'are the keys of the two great store-chambers where
I keep my spare furniture; these open the strong-rooms of my gold and
silver plate which is only used on state occasions; these unlock my
chests of money, both gold and silver; these, my jewel coffers; and
this is the master-key to all my apartments. But this little one, here,
is the key of the closet at the end of the great gallery on the ground
floor. Open all the others; go where you will. But into that little
closet I forbid you to go; and I forbid it so strongly that if you
_should_ disobey me and open it, there is nothing you may not expect
from my displeasure.'
_Fatima_ promised to obey all his orders exactly; whereupon he embraced
her, got into his coach, and was driven off.
Her good friends and neighbours scarcely waited for the young bride's
invitation, so impatient were they to view all the riches of her
grand house, having never dared to come while her husband was at
home, because of his terrifying blue beard. They overran the house
without loss of time, hunting their curiosity from room to room, along
the corridors and in and out of closets and wardrobes, cabinets and
presses; opening cupboards, ferreting in drawers, and still exclaiming
over their contents as each new discovery proved more wonderful than
the last. They roamed through the bedrooms and spent a long while in
the two great store-chambers, where they could not sufficiently admire
the number and beauty of the tapestries, beds, sofas, consoles, stands,
tables, but particularly the looking-glasses, in which you could see
yourself from head to foot, with their frames of glass and silver and
silver-gilt, the finest and costliest ever seen. They ceased not to
extol and to envy their friend's good fortune.
'If my husband could only give me such a house as this,' said one to
another, 'for aught I cared he might have a beard of all the colours of
the rainbow!'
[Illustration: They overran the house without loss of time.]
_Fatima_, meanwhile, was not in the least amused by the sight of all
these riches, being consumed by a curiosity even more ardent than
that of her friends. Indeed, she could scarcely contain herself and
listen to their chatter, so impatient she felt to go and open the
closet downstairs. If only _Blue Beard_ had not forbidden this one
little thing! Or if, having reasons of his own to keep it secret, he
had been content to take the key away with him, saying nothing about
it! At least, if he wished to prove whether or not poor _Fatima_ could
rise above the common frailty of her sex--and he was, as we shall see,
a somewhat exacting husband--he should have warned her. As it was,
her curiosity grew and possessed her until at length, without even
considering how uncivil it was to leave her guests, she escaped from
them and ran down a little back staircase, in such haste that twice or
thrice she tripped over her gown and came near breaking her neck.