not enough that I made you welcome in my palace and treated you kindly?
And you show your gratitude by stealing my flowers! But your insolence
shall not go unpunished!'
The good merchant, terrified no less by the sight of this _Beast_ than
by his threats, let drop the rose and flung himself on his knees.
'My Lord,' he cried, 'have pity on me! I am not ungrateful; but after
all your kindness I could not guess that so small a thing would offend
you.'
This speech did not at all abate the _Beast's_ wrath. 'Hold your
tongue, sir,' he commanded, 'if you can offer me nothing but flatteries
and false titles. I am not "my lord." I am the _Beast_; and your words
will not save you from the death you deserve.'
The merchant, although in fear of his life, plucked up courage to tell
the monster that the rose which he had been bold to pluck was for one
of his daughters, by name _Beauty_. Then, in hope either to delay the
_Beast's_ vengeance or to touch his compassion, he launched into the
tale of all his misfortunes, and of his reasons for the journey, not
forgetting to mention _Beauty_ again and her request.
The _Beast_ considered for a moment before answering him in a somewhat
milder tone: 'I will forgive you; but only on condition that you
give me one of your daughters. _Some one_ must make amends for this
trespass.'
'Heaven forgive me,' the merchant entreated, 'but how can I promise
such a thing! Even were I cruel enough to purchase my life at the cost
of a child, on what excuse could I bring her?'
'No excuse is necessary,' replied the _Beast_ shortly. 'Whichever you
bring must come here of her own free will, or not at all. Go home and
try if there be one brave and loving enough to sacrifice herself to
save your life. You seem to be an honest man. Give me your word to
return here at the end of a month and bring whichever of your daughters
you can persuade to come with you. If you can persuade none of them,
you must come alone; and I warn you that, if you fail of it, I shall
come and fetch you.'
What was the poor man to do? He promised, for he saw death staring him
in the face; and having given his promise he hoped to be allowed to
depart. But the _Beast_ informed him that he could not go until next
day.
'Then,' said he, 'at daybreak you will find a horse ready for you who
will carry you home in less than no time. Now go and eat your supper,
and await my commands.'
The merchant, more dead than alive, crept back to his rooms. There,
before a blazing fire, he found a delicious supper spread, inviting
him to eat. But so distraught was he, that no food, however delicious,
could have tempted him had he not been afraid that the _Beast_ might be
hiding somewhere to watch him. In fear of this he forced himself to sit
and taste of the dishes.
A loud noise in the next room warned him that the _Beast_ was coming.
Since he could not escape, he mustered what courage he could to conceal
his terror, and faced about to the doorway.
'Have you made a good supper?' was the _Beast's_ first question.
The merchant in humblest voice answered that, thanks to his host's kind
attention, he had fared excellently well.
'I am paying you a visit,' said the _Beast_, 'to warn you again to be
honest with your daughter. Describe me to her just as I am. Let her
be free to choose whether she will come or no; but tell her that, her
course once chosen, there can be no retreat, nor even reflection after
you have brought her to me. To break faith then will avail nothing: she
will but destroy you without winning her own release.'
Again the spirit-broken merchant repeated his promise.
The _Beast_ appeared to be content at length. 'Retire to bed now,'
he commanded, 'and do not get up to-morrow until you see the sun
and hear a golden bell rung. Then, before starting, you will find
breakfast laid for you here; your horse will be standing ready saddled
in the courtyard; and you may carry back the rose to your daughter
_Beauty_--as you call her. For the rest, I count on seeing you back in
a month's time. So, farewell.'
The merchant, who dared not disobey a single one of these orders,
retired to bed at once, though without any temptation to sleep; and
again, though he passed a wretched night, he was punctual to rise
with the sun. A golden bell rang; and prompt on the sound he found
breakfast laid, still by unseen hands. After breakfast he went down to
the stables, and on his way paused to pick up the rose, which lay in
the alley where it had dropped from his hand. It was fresh as ever, and
smelt as sweetly as though it yet grew on the tree.
A few paces further on he found his horse standing ready saddled,
with a handsome cloak of furs, far warmer than his own, lying across
the saddle. He put it on and mounted, and now he had to wonder at yet
another miracle. His horse set off at an incredible speed, so that
before he could even turn in the saddle the palace had sunk out of
sight.
Could the horse have felt the weight on the good man's mind, it had
never made such a pace. But it took its own way, insensible to rein or
bridle; nor halted until it reached the door of the cottage.
The merchant's sons and daughters had rushed out at his approach;
though it was not until he drew quite close that they recognised their
father in this horseman superbly cloaked, with a rose at his holster,
and mounted on a horse that travelled at such a speed. When they
recognised him, they made sure that he brought the best of news. But
the tears that trickled down his cheeks as he dismounted told them
another story.
His first motion then was to pluck the fatal rose from the pommel and
hand it to _Beauty_, saying: 'Here is what you asked me to bring. You
little know what it will cost you all.'
This, and his sorrowful look, gave the eldest daughter her cue. 'I was
certain of it!' she said. 'Did I not say, all along, that to force
a rose at this time of the year would cost you more than would have
bought presents for all the rest of us? A rose, in mid-winter! and such
a rose! There--one has only to look at it to see that you took good
care _Beauty_ should have her present, no matter at what cost to us!'
'It is all too true,' answered their father sorrowfully, 'that this
rose has cost me dear--far dearer than all the presents you others
begged of me. But the cost is not in money; for would to God I could
have bought it with the last penny in my purse!'
His speech, you may be sure, excited their curiosity, and they gave
him no rest until he had told the whole of his story. It left their
hopes utterly dashed: and the daughters lamented their lot, while their
brothers hardily declared that they would never allow their father to
return to this accursed castle--they would march thither in a body and
destroy the horrible _Beast_ who owned it. But their father assured
them that he had given his word and would rather die than break it.
Thereat the sisters turned upon _Beauty_ and started to upbraid and
rail against her.
'It is all your fault,' they declared; 'and this is what comes of
your pretended modesty! Why could you not have asked for dresses and
jewels as we did? Even if you could not get them, at least the demand
would have cost nothing. But you chose to be singular--you, with your
precious rose! and now our father must die, and we must all suffer
through your affectation!'
Poor _Beauty_ controlled her tears and answered them: 'Yes, I am to
blame for all this, though, indeed, dear sisters, I did it innocently;
for how could I guess that to ask for a rose in the middle of summer,
as it was then, would give rise to all this misery? But what does that
matter? Innocent or guilty, I cannot allow you to suffer for what was
my fault; and so I will go back with our father to save him from his
promise. That will be in a month's time, and in this little month, I
beg of you, let us be happy together without reproaches.'
At first her brothers would not hear of any such sacrifice, and her
father was equally set against it, until the sisters again fired up
in their jealousy and accused him of being distressed only because it
happened to be _Beauty_; if another of his daughters (they hinted)
had offered to pay this price for his life, he would have accepted it
cheerfully enough!
_Beauty_ closed this talk by saying firmly that, whether they wished
it or not, she would go--'And who knows,' said she, forcing a brave
smile, 'but this fate of mine, which seems so terrible, may cover some
extraordinary and happy fortune?' She said it merely to hearten them;
but her sisters, fancying her deluded by vanity and self-conceit,
smiled maliciously and applauded. So their father gave way, and it was
agreed that _Beauty_ must go. For her part she desired only that the
few days remaining to her might be as happy as possible; and so, as
they passed she spoke little of what was before her, and, if at all,
only to treat it lightly and as a piece of good fortune. When the time
drew near she shared up all her trinkets and little possessions with
her sisters--for, badly as they had treated her, they were the only
friends she had. Yet jealousy had made their hearts so wicked that when
the fatal day arrived they actually rejoiced to hear the neighing of a
horse which, punctually sent by the _Beast_, arrived at the door of the
cottage.
[Illustration: Soon they caught sight of the castle in the distance.]
The brothers would have rushed out and slain the beautiful animal;
but _Beauty_, mastering their anger with a few tender words, bade
her father mount into the saddle; and so, after bidding her sisters
farewell with a tenderness that forced them to weep at the last,
climbed to the pillion behind him quite as if she were setting out
for a holiday. They were off! The horse seemed to fly rather than to
gallop; so smoothly that _Beauty_ could scarcely feel the motion save
by the soft wind that beat on her cheek. Soon they caught sight of the
castle in the distance. Her father, less happy than she, again and
again asked and begged her to alight and return--a most idle offer,
for he had no real control of the reins. But _Beauty_ did not listen,
because her mind was made up.
Nevertheless, she was awed, and all the more when, as the fleet horse
galloped up to the courtyard, they were met by a great salvo of guns
and, as the echoes died away, by the sound of soft music within the
palace.
The horse had come to a stop, by a flight of agate steps; a light shone
down these steps from a porchway within which the violins kept their
throbbing. _Beauty_ slipped down from the saddle, and her father,
alighting after her, took her by the hand and led her to the chamber in
which he had first supped; where, sure enough, they found a cheerful
fire and a score of candles lit and burning with an exquisite perfume,
and--best of all--a table laid with the daintiest of suppers.
The merchant, accustomed to the ways of their host, knew that the
supper was meant for them, and _Beauty_ fell-to with a good appetite.
Her spirits indeed were rising. There had been no sign of any _Beast_
in all the many rooms through which she had passed, and everything in
them had seemed to breathe of gaiety and good living.
But this happy frame of mind did not last long. They had scarcely
finished supper when the _Beast_ was heard coming through the distant
rooms. At the sound--the heavy padding of his feet, the roar of his
breath--_Beauty_ clung to her father in terror, and had almost fainted
against the arm which he flung around her. But when the _Beast_ stood
before her in the doorway, after a little shudder she walked towards
him with a firm step, and, halting at a little distance, saluted him
respectfully. This behaviour evidently pleased the _Beast_. After
letting his eyes rest on her face for a while, he said, in a tone that
might well have struck terror into the boldest heart (and yet it did
not seem to be angry):--
'Good evening, my good sir! Good evening, _Beauty_!'
The merchant was too far terrified to find his voice; but _Beauty_
controlled hers and answered sweetly:--
'Good evening, _Beast_!'
'Have you come here of your own free will?' asked the _Beast_. 'And are
you willing to let your father return and leave you here?'
_Beauty_ answered that she was quite willing.
'Indeed? And yet what do you suppose will happen to you after he has
gone?'
'Sir,' said _Beauty_, 'that is as it pleases you, and you only can
tell.'
'Well answered,' replied the _Beast_; 'and since you have come of
your own accord, you shall stay. As for you, my good sir,' said he to
the merchant, 'you will take your departure at sunrise. The bell will
give you warning; delay not to rise, eat your breakfast, and depart as
before. But remember that you are forbidden ever to come within sight
of my palace again.'
Then, turning to _Beauty_, he said:--
'Take your father into the next room, and choose between you everything
you think will please your brothers and sisters. You will find there
two travelling trunks: fill them as full as they will hold.'
Sorrowful as she was at the certainty of losing her father so soon and
for ever, _Beauty_ made ready to obey the _Beast's_ orders, and he left
them as he had come, saying:--
'Good night, _Beauty_! Good night, good sir!'
When they were alone, _Beauty_ and her father went into the next
room, which proved to be a store-chamber piled with treasures a king
and queen might have envied. After choosing and setting apart in
heaps,--one for each of her sisters,--the most magnificent dresses she
could find, _Beauty_ opened a cupboard which had a door of crystal
framed in gold, and stood for a moment dazzled by the precious stones
that lay piled on every shelf. After choosing a vast number and adding
them to her heaps, she opened yet another wardrobe and found it full of
money in gold pieces. This set her pondering.
'I think, father,' she said, 'that we had better empty these trunks
again, and fill them with money. For money can always be turned to
account, whereas to sell these precious stones you would have to go
to some jeweller, who very likely would cheat you, and perhaps be
suspicious of them. But with these pieces of gold you can buy land,
houses, furniture, jewels--what you will--and no one will ask any
questions.'
Her father agreed. Yet he first of all tried to make room for the money
by emptying out the few things he had packed for himself. But this was
no good: for it seemed that the trunks were made in folds which opened
the wider the more he put in. Somehow the more they packed, the more
room there seemed to be, and they ended by replacing all the dresses
and precious stones they had taken out. But now the trunks were so
heavy that an elephant would have sunk under them.
'It is all a cheat!' cried the merchant. The _Beast_ is mocking us, and
only pretended to give us these things, knowing that I could not carry
them away.'
'Wait a little,' advised _Beauty_. 'That would be a sorry jest, and
I cannot help thinking that the _Beast_ is honest; and that since he
offered these gifts he will find you also the means to carry them. The
best thing we can do is to strap up the trunks and leave them ready
here.'
So they did this and went back to the little room, where to their
amazement they found a breakfast laid on the table. For a moment they
could scarcely believe that the night had flown by whilst they were
occupied in ransacking the treasure chamber and packing the trunks.
But, glancing at the windows, they saw that day was indeed breaking;
and presently a bell sounded, warning the merchant to eat quickly and
depart.
He finished his meal, and they went down together to the courtyard,
where two horses stood ready--the one laden with the two trunks, the
other saddled for the merchant to ride. And now _Beauty_ and her father
would fain have spent a long time in bidding one another farewell. But
the two horses neighed and pawed the ground so impatiently that he was
afraid to linger. Tearing himself from his daughter's arms he mounted
in haste, and could scarcely turn to say good-bye before both horses
sprang away swift as the wind and he was lost to sight in an instant.
Poor _Beauty_! She gazed and gazed through her tears, and so mounted
the stairs sorrowfully back to her own chamber. On reaching it she
felt herself oppressed with sleepiness, for she had passed the night
without undressing, and, moreover, for a month past her sleep had been
broken and haunted with terrors. So, having nothing better to do, she
went to bed, and was nestling down in the perfumed sheets when her eyes
fell on the little table by the bedside. Some one had set a cup of hot
chocolate there, and, half asleep, she reached out her hand for it
and drank it; whereupon her eyes closed and she fell into a delicious
slumber, such as she had not known since the day when her father
brought home the fatal rose.
She dreamed that she was walking alongside an endless canal, the banks
of which were bordered with tall orange-trees and myrtles in flower.
There, as she wandered disconsolately lamenting her fate, of a sudden a
young _Prince_ stood before her. He was handsome as the God of Love in
picture-books, and when he spoke it was with a voice that went straight
to her heart. 'Dear _Beauty_,' he said, 'you are not so unfortunate as
you suppose. It is here you shall find the reward of your goodness,
denied to you elsewhere. Use your wits to find me out under the
disguise which hides me--that is, if as I stand here now you find me
not altogether contemptible. For I love you tenderly--you alone--and in
making me happy you can attain to your own happiness. Beloved, never
distrust your own true heart, and it shall lead you where the heart
has nothing left to desire!' So saying, the charming apparition knelt
at her feet, and again besought her to accept his devotion and become
mistress over all his life.
'Ah! What can I do to make you happy?' she asked earnestly.
'Only be grateful,' he answered, 'and do not believe all that your eyes
would tell you. Above all, do not abandon me until you have rescued me
from the cruel sufferings I endure.'
With that the dream melted away, but only to be succeeded by another.
She found herself face to face with a stately and beautiful lady; and
the lady was speaking to her with dignity, yet most kindly.
'Dear _Beauty_,' she said, 'do not grieve for what you have left
behind; a far higher destiny lies before you. Only, if you would
deserve it, beware of being misled by appearances.'
_Beauty_ found her dreams so agreeable that she was in no hurry at all
to awake, and even when her eyes opened to the daylight she had more
than half a mind to close them again. But a clock, chiming out her own
name twelve times, warned her that it was midday and time to get up.
She rose, therefore, and found her dressing-table set out with brushes
and combs and everything she could want; and having dressed carefully,
and with a lightness of heart for which she found it hard to account,
she passed into the next room and found her dinner on the table.
Dinner does not take very long when you are all by yourself. _Beauty_,
when she had eaten enough, sat down on a sofa and began to think of the
handsome youth she had seen in her dream. 'He told me I could make him
happy. Why, then, it must be that the horrible _Beast_, who appears to
be master here, is keeping him a prisoner. How can I set him free?...
They both warned me not to trust to appearances. It is all very
puzzling.... But one thing is clear at any rate, that I am very silly
to be vexing my head over a dream. I will forget all about it, and look
for something to do to amuse myself.'
She sprang up, and started to make a tour of discovery through the many
rooms of the palace. They were even grander than she had expected. The
first she entered was lined with mirrors from floor to ceiling, where
she saw herself reflected on every side. The next thing to catch her
eye was a bracelet, hanging from one of the chandeliers. Set in the
bracelet was a gold locket, and opening this she was startled indeed;
for it contained a portrait in miniature of the gallant youth she had
seen in her dream. She could not be mistaken; so closely were his
features engraved on her memory--yes, and, it may be, on her heart. She
slipped the bracelet on her wrist, without stopping to think that it
did not belong to her, and went on to explore further. She passed into
a long picture gallery, and there again she met the _Prince's_ face. It
smiled down at her, this time from a life-sized portrait, and it seemed
to smile so wistfully that she caught herself blushing.
From the gallery her steps had led her to a chamber filled with
instruments of music. _Beauty_ was an accomplished musician; so,
sitting down, she amused herself by tuning and trying over one
instrument after another; but she liked the harp best because that went
best with her voice.
Leaving the music-room at length, she found herself in a long chamber
like the picture gallery, but lined with books. It held an immense
library; and _Beauty_, ever since she had lived in the country, had
been forced to do without reading, for her father had sold all his
books to pay his debts. Now, as her eyes travelled along the shelves,
she knew she need never have any fear that time would pass heavily
here. The dusk was gathering before she had half-studied even the
titles of the thousands of volumes; and numbers of candles, waxen and
scented, in chandeliers with lustres of diamonds and rubies, were
beginning to light themselves in every room.
In due time _Beauty_ found supper laid and served for her, with the
same good taste and orderliness as before, and still she had seen no
living face. What did this matter? Her father had warned her that she
would be solitary; and she was beginning to tell herself that she could
be solitary here without much discomfort, when she heard the noise of
the _Beast_ approaching. She could not help trembling a little; for
she had not yet found herself alone with him, and knew not what would
happen--he might even be coming to devour her. But when he appeared he
did not seem at all ferocious.
'Good evening, _Beauty_,' he said gruffly.
'Good evening, _Beast_,' she answered gently, but shaking a little.
'Do you think you can be content here?' he asked.
_Beauty_ answered politely that it ought not to be hard to live happily
in such a beautiful palace.
After this they talked for an hour, and in the course of their talk
_Beauty_ began to excuse many things in the _Beast_--his voice, for
example. With such a nose how could he help roaring through it? Really,
he appeared to be wanting in tact rather than purposely terrible;
though, to be sure, this want of tact terrified her cruelly, when at
length he blurted out:--
'Will you be my wife, _Beauty_?'
'Ah! I am lost!' thought _Beauty_. The _Beast_ could not be so
dull-witted after all, for, though she kept the cry to herself, he
answered quickly, and just as if she had uttered it aloud:--
'Not at all. I wish you to answer just "yes" or "no."'
'Oh! no, _Beast_.'
'Very well, then,' said this tractable monster. 'Since you will not, I
had best be going. Good night, _Beauty_.'
'Good night, _Beast_,' answered _Beauty_, relieved of her fright. She
felt sure now that he did not mean to hurt her, and as soon as he had
taken his leave she went off to bed, and was asleep in no time.
But almost as quickly she was dreaming, and in her dream at once she
saw her unknown lover standing beside her, handsome as ever, but more
sorrowful than before.
'Dear _Beauty_,' he said, 'why are you so cruel to me? I love you the
better for being so stubborn, and yet it lengthens out my misery.'
She could not understand this at all. Her dream wavered and it seemed
to her that he took a hundred different shapes in it. Now he had a
crown between his hands and was offering it to her; now he was kneeling
at her feet; now he smiled, radiant with joy; and again he buried
his head in despair and wept till the sound of his sobbing pierced
her heart. Thus, in one aspect or another, he was with her the night
through. She awoke with him in her thoughts, and her first act was to
unclasp the locket on her wrist and assure herself that the miniature
was like him. It certainly was the same face, and his, too, was the
face that smiled down from the larger portrait in the gallery. But the
face in the locket gave her a more secret joy and she unclasped and
gazed on it again and again.