Here's no cause for sighs or fears.
Command as freely as you may,
For you command and I obey."
"Alas!" said she, sighing; "I wish I could only command a sight of my
poor father, and to know what he is doing at this moment." Just then,
by chance, she cast her eyes on a looking-glass that stood near her,
and in it she saw a picture of her old home, and her father riding
mournfully up to the door. Her sisters came out to meet him, and
although they tried to look sorry, it was easy to see that in their
hearts they were very glad. In a short time all this picture
disappeared, but it caused Beauty to think that the beast, besides
being very powerful, was also very kind. About the middle of the day
she found a table laid ready for her, and a sweet concert of music
played all the time she was dining, without her seeing anybody. But at
supper, when she was going to seat herself at table, she heard the
noise of the beast, and could not help trembling with fear.
"Beauty," said he, "will you give me leave to see you sup?"
"That is as you please," answered she, very much afraid.
"Not in the least," said the beast; "you alone command in this place.
If you should not like my company, you need only say so, and I will
leave you that moment. But tell me, Beauty, do you not think me very
ugly?"
"Why, yes," said she, "for I cannot tell a falsehood; but then I think
you are very good."
"Am I?" sadly replied the beast; "yet, besides being ugly, I am also
very stupid: I know well enough that I am but a beast."
"Very stupid people," said Beauty, "are never aware of it themselves."
At which kindly speech the beast looked pleased, and replied, not
without an awkward sort of politeness, "Pray do not let me detain you
from supper, and be sure that you are well served. All you see is your
own, and I should be deeply grieved if you wanted for any thing."
"You are very kind--so kind that I almost forgot you are so ugly,"
said Beauty, earnestly.
"Ah! yes," answered the beast, with a great sigh; "I hope I am
good-tempered, but still I am only a monster."
"There is many a monster who wears the form of a man; it is better of
the two to have the heart of a man and the form of a monster."
"I would thank you, Beauty, for this speech, but I am too senseless to
say anything that would please you," returned the beast in a
melancholy voice; and altogether he seemed so gentle and so unhappy,
that Beauty, who had the tenderest heart in the world, felt her fear
of him gradually vanish.
She ate her supper with a good appetite, and conversed in her own
sensible and charming way, till at last, when the beast rose to
depart, he terrified her more than ever by saying abruptly, in his
gruff voice, "Beauty, will you marry me!"
Now Beauty, frightened as she was, would speak only the exact truth;
besides, her father had told her that the beast liked only to have
the truth spoken to him. So she answered, in a very firm tone, "No,
beast."
He did not go into a passion, or do anything but sigh deeply, and
depart.
When Beauty found herself alone, she began to feel pity for the poor
beast. "Oh!" said she, "what a sad thing it is that he should be so
very frightful, since he is so good-tempered!"
Beauty lived three months in this palace very well pleased. The beast
came to see her every night, and talked with her while she supped; and
though what he said was not very clever, yet, as she saw in him every
day some new goodness, instead of dreading the time of his coming, she
soon began continually looking at her watch, to see if it were nine
o'clock; for that was the hour when he never failed to visit her. One
thing only vexed her, which was that every night before he went away,
he always made it a rule to ask her if she would be his wife, and
seemed very much grieved at her steadfastly replying "No." At last,
one night, she said to him, "You wound me greatly, beast, by forcing
me to refuse you so often; I wish I could take such a liking to you as
to agree to marry you: but I must tell you plainly, that I do not
think it will ever happen. I shall always be your friend; so try to
let that content you."
"I must," sighed the beast, "for I know well enough how frightful I
am; but I love you better than myself. Yet I think I am very lucky in
your being pleased to stay with me: now promise me, Beauty, that you
will never leave me."
Beauty would almost have agreed to this, so sorry was she for him, but
she had that day seen in her magic glass, which she looked at
constantly, that her father was dying of grief for her sake.
"Alas!" she said, "I long so much to see my father, that if you do not
give me leave to visit him, I shall break my heart."
"I would rather break mine, Beauty," answered the beast; "I will send
you to your father's cottage: you shall stay there, and your poor
beast shall die of sorrow."
"No," said Beauty, crying, "I love you too well to be the cause of
your death; I promise to return in a week. You have shown me that my
sisters are married, and my brothers are gone for soldiers, so that my
father is left all alone. Let me stay a week with him."
"You shall find yourself with him to-morrow morning," replied the
beast; "but mind, do not forget your promise. When you wish to return,
you have nothing to do but to put your ring on a table when you go to
bed. Good-bye, Beauty!" The beast sighed as he said these words, and
Beauty went to bed very sorry to see him so much grieved. When she
awoke in the morning, she found herself in her father's cottage. She
rang a bell that was at her bedside, and a servant entered; but as
soon as she saw Beauty, the woman gave a loud shriek; upon which the
merchant ran upstairs, and when he beheld his daughter he ran to her,
and kissed her a hundred times. At last Beauty began to remember that
she had brought no clothes with her to put on; but the servant told
her she had just found in the next room a large chest full of dresses,
trimmed all over with gold, and adorned with pearls and diamonds.
Beauty, in her own mind, thanked the beast for his kindness, and put
on the plainest gown she could find among them all. She then desired
the servant to lay the rest aside, for she intended to give them to
her sisters; but, as soon as she had spoken these words, the chest was
gone out of sight in a moment. Her father then suggested, perhaps the
beast chose for her to keep them all for herself: and as soon as he
had said this, they saw the chest standing again in the same place.
While Beauty was dressing herself, a servant brought word to her that
her sisters were come with their husbands to pay her a visit. They
both lived unhappily with the gentlemen they had married. The husband
of the eldest was very handsome, but was so proud of this, that he
thought of nothing else from morning till night, and did not care a
pin for the beauty of his wife. The second had married a man of great
learning; but he made no use of it, except to torment and affront all
his friends, and his wife more than any of them. The two sisters were
ready to burst with spite when they saw Beauty dressed like a
princess, and looking so very charming. All the kindness that she
showed them was of no use; for they were vexed more than ever when she
told them how happy she lived at the palace of the beast. The
spiteful creatures went by themselves into the garden, where they
cried to think of her good fortune.
"Why should the little wretch be better off than we?" said they. "We
are much handsomer than she is."
"Sister!" said the eldest, "a thought has just come into my head: let
us try to keep her here longer than the week for which the beast gave
her leave; and then he will be so angry, that perhaps when she goes
back to him he will eat her up in a moment."
"That is well thought of," answered the other, "but to do this, we
must pretend to be very kind."
They then went to join her in the cottage, where they showed her so
much false love, that Beauty could not help crying for joy.
When the week was ended, the two sisters began to pretend such grief
at the thought of her leaving them, that she agreed to stay a week
more: but all that time Beauty could not help fretting for the sorrow
that she knew her absence would give her poor beast; for she tenderly
loved him, and much wished for his company again. Among all the grand
and clever people she saw, she found nobody who was half so sensible,
so affectionate, so thoughtful, or so kind. The tenth night of her
being at the cottage, she dreamed she was in the garden of the palace,
that the beast lay dying on a grass-plot, and with his last breath put
her in mind of her promise, and laid his death to her forsaking him.
Beauty awoke in a great fright, and burst into tears. "Am not I
wicked," said she, "to behave so ill to a beast who has shown me so
much kindness? Why will not I marry him? I am sure I should be more
happy with him than my sisters are with their husbands. He shall not
be wretched any longer on my account; for I should do nothing but
blame myself all the rest of my life."
She then rose, put her ring on the table, got into bed again, and soon
fell asleep. In the morning she with joy found herself in the palace
of the beast. She dressed herself very carefully, that she might
please him the better, and thought she had never known a day pass away
so slowly. At last the clock struck nine, but the beast did not come.
Beauty, dreading lest she might truly have caused his death, ran from
room to room, calling out, "Beast, dear beast;" but there was no
answer. At last she remembered her dream, rushed to the grass-plot,
and there saw him lying apparently dead beside the fountain.
Forgetting all his ugliness, she threw herself upon his body, and,
finding his heart still beat, she fetched some water and sprinkled it
over him, weeping and sobbing the while.
The beast opened his eyes: "You forgot your promise, Beauty, and so I
determined to die; for I could not live without you. I have starved
myself to death, but I shall die content since I have seen your face
once more."
"No, dear beast," cried Beauty, passionately, "you shall not die; you
shall live to be my husband. I thought it was only friendship I felt
for you, but now I know it was love."
The moment Beauty had spoken these words, the palace was suddenly
lighted up, and all kinds of rejoicings were heard around them, none
which she noticed, but hung over her dear beast with the utmost
tenderness. At last, unable to restrain herself, she dropped her head
over her hands, covered her eyes, and cried for joy; and, when she
looked up again, the beast was gone. In his stead she saw at her feet
a handsome, graceful young prince, who thanked her with the tenderest
expressions for having freed him from enchantment.
"But where is my poor beast? I only want him and nobody else," sobbed
Beauty.
"I am he," replied the Prince. "A wicked fairy condemned me to this
form, and forbade me to show that I had any wit or sense, till a
beautiful lady should consent to marry me. You alone, dearest Beauty,
judged me neither by my looks nor by my talents, but by my heart
alone. Take it then, and all that I have besides, for all is yours."
Beauty, full of surprise, but very happy, suffered the prince to lead
her to his palace, where she found her father and sisters, who had
been brought there by the fairy-lady whom she had seen in a dream the
first night she came.
"Beauty," said the fairy, "you have chosen well, and you have your
reward, for a true heart is better than either good looks or clever
brains. As for you, ladies," and she turned to the two elder sisters,
"I know all your ill deeds, but I have no worse punishment for you
than to see your sister happy. You shall stand as statues at the door
of her palace, and when you repent of and have amended your faults,
you shall become women again. But, to tell you the truth, I very much
fear you will remain statues for ever."
LITTLE ONE EYE, LITTLE TWO EYES,
AND
Little Three Eyes.
There was a woman who had three daughters, the eldest of whom was
called Little One Eye, because she had only one eye in the middle of
her forehead; the second, Little Two Eyes, because she had two eyes
like other people; and the youngest, Little Three Eyes, because she
had three eyes, one of them being also in the middle of the forehead.
But because Little Two Eyes looked no different from other people, her
sisters and mother could not bear her. They said, "You with your two
eyes are no better than anybody else; you do not belong to us." They
knocked her about, and gave her shabby clothes, and food which was
left over from their own meals; in short, they vexed her whenever they
could.
It happened that Little Two Eyes had to go out into the fields to look
after the goat; but she was still quite hungry, because her sisters
had given her so little to eat. She sat down on a hillock and began to
cry, and cried so much that two little streams ran down out of each
eye. And as she looked up once in her sorrow, a woman stood near her,
who asked, "Little Two Eyes, why do you cry?"
Little Two Eyes answered, "Have I not need to cry? Because I have two
eyes, like other people, my sisters and my mother cannot bear me; they
push me out of one corner into the other, give me shabby clothes, and
nothing to eat but what they leave. To-day they have given me so
little that I am still quite hungry."
The wise woman said, "Little Two Eyes, dry your tears, and I will tell
you something which will keep you from ever being hungry more. Only
say to your goat, 'Little goat, bleat; little table, rise,' and a
neatly-laid table will stand before you with the most delicious food
on it, so that you can eat as much as you like. And when you are
satisfied and do not want the table any more, only say, 'Little goat,
bleat; little table, away,' and it will all disappear before your
eyes." Then the wise woman went out of sight.
Little Two Eyes thought, "I must try directly if it is true what she
has said, for I am much too hungry to wait." So she said, "Little
goat, bleat; little table, rise;" and scarcely had she uttered the
words, when there stood before her a little table, covered with a
white cloth, on which was laid a plate, knife and fork, and silver
spoon. The most delicious food was there also, and smoking hot, as if
just come from the kitchen. Then Little Two Eyes said the shortest
grace that she knew, "Lord God, be our guest at all times.--Amen,"
began to eat, and found it very good. And when she had had enough, she
said as the wise woman had taught her--"Little goat, bleat; little
table, away." In an instant the little table, and all that stood on
it, had disappeared again. "That is a beautiful, easy way of
housekeeping," thought Little Two Eyes, and was quite happy and merry.
In the evening, when she came home with her goat, she found a little
earthen dish with food, which her sisters had put aside for her, but
she did not touch anything--she had no need. On the next day she went
out again with her goat, and let the few crusts that were given her
remain uneaten. The first time and the second time the sisters took no
notice; but when the same thing happened every day, they remarked it,
and said, "All is not right with Little Two Eyes; she always leaves
her food, and she used formerly to eat up everything that was given
her; she must have found other ways of dining."
In order to discover the truth, they resolved that Little One Eye
should go with Little Two Eyes when she drove the goat into the
meadow, and see what she did there, and whether anybody brought her
anything to eat and drink. So when Little Two Eyes set out again,
Little One Eye came to her and said, "I will go with you into the
field, and see that the goat is taken proper care of, and driven to
good pasture."
But Little Two Eyes saw what Little One Eye had in her mind, and drove
the goat into long grass, saying, "Come, Little One Eye, we will sit
down; I will sing you something." Little One Eye sat down, being tired
from the unusual walk and from the heat of the sun, and Little Two
Eyes kept on singing, "Are you awake, Little One Eye? Are you asleep,
Little One Eye?" Then Little One Eye shut her one eye, and fell
asleep. And when Little Two Eyes saw that Little One Eye was fast
asleep, and could not betray anything, she said, "Little goat, bleat;
little table, rise," and sat herself at her table, and ate and drank
till she was satisfied; then she called out again, "Little goat,
bleat; little table, away," and instantly everything disappeared.
Little Two Eyes now woke Little One Eye, and said, "Little One Eye,
you pretend to watch, and fall asleep over it, and in the meantime the
goat could have run all over the world; come, we will go home." Then
they went home, and Little Two Eyes let her little dish again stand
untouched; and Little One Eye, who could not tell the mother why her
sister would not eat, said, as an excuse, "Oh, I fell asleep out
there."
The next day the mother said to Little Three Eyes, "This time you
shall go and see if Little Two Eyes eats out of doors, and if anyone
brings her food and drink, for she must eat and drink secretly."
Then Little Three Eyes went to Little Two Eyes, and said, "I will go
with you and see whether the goat is taken proper care of, and driven
to good pasture." But Little Two Eyes saw what Little Three Eyes had
in her mind, and drove the goat into long grass, and said as before,
"We will sit down here, Little Three Eyes; I will sing you
something." Little Three Eyes seated herself, being tired from the
walk and the heat of the sun, and Little Two Eyes began the same song
again, and sang, "Are you awake, Little Three Eyes?" But instead of
singing then as she should, "Are you asleep, Little _Three_ Eyes?" she
sang, through carelessness, "Are you asleep, Little _Two_ Eyes?" and
went on singing, "Are you awake, Little Three Eyes? Are you asleep,
Little _Two_ Eyes?" So the two eyes of Little Three Eyes fell asleep,
but the third did not go to sleep, because it was not spoken to by the
verse. Little Three Eyes, to be sure, shut it, and made believe to go
to sleep, but only through slyness; for she winked with it, and could
see everything quite well. And when Little Two Eyes thought that
Little Three Eyes was fast asleep, she said her little sentence,
"Little goat, bleat; little table, rise," ate and drank heartily, and
then told the little table to go away again, "Little goat, bleat;
little table away." But Little Three Eyes had seen everything. Then
Little Two Eyes came to her, woke her, and said, "Ah! Little Three
Eyes, have you been asleep? you keep watch well! come, we will go
home." And when they got home, Little Two Eyes again did not eat, and
Little Three Eyes said to the mother, "I know why the proud thing does
not eat: when she says to the goat out there, 'Little goat, bleat;
little table, rise,' there stands a table before her, which is covered
with the very best food, much better than we have here; and when she
is satisfied, she says, 'Little goat, bleat; little table away,' and
everything is gone again; I have seen it all exactly. She put two of
my eyes to sleep with her little verse, but the one on my forehead
luckily remained awake."
Then the envious mother cried out, "Shall she be better off than we
are?" fetched a butcher's knife and stuck it into the goat's heart, so
that it fell down dead.
When Little Two Eyes saw that, she went out full of grief, seated
herself on a hillock, and wept bitter tears. All at once the wise
woman stood near her again, and said, "Little Two Eyes, why do you
cry?"
"Shall I not cry?" answered she. "The goat who every day, when I said
your little verse, laid the table so beautifully, has been killed by
my mother; now I must suffer hunger and thirst again."
The wise woman said, "Little Two Eyes, I will give you some good
advice; beg your sisters to give you the heart of the murdered goat,
and bury it in the ground before the house-door, and it will turn out
lucky for you." Then she disappeared, and Little Two Eyes went home
and said to her sisters, "Dear sisters, give me some part of my goat;
I don't ask for anything good, only give me the heart."
Then they laughed and said, "You can have that, if you do not want
anything else." Little Two Eyes took the heart, and buried it quietly
in the evening before the house-door, after the advice of the wise
woman.
Next morning, when the sisters woke, and went to the house-door
together, there stood a most wonderful splendid tree, with leaves of
silver, and fruit of gold hanging between them. Nothing more beautiful
or charming could be seen in the wide world. But they did not know how
the tree had come there in the night. Little Two Eyes alone noticed
that it had grown out of the heart of the goat, for it stood just
where she had buried it in the ground.
Then the mother said to Little One Eye, "Climb up, my child, and
gather us some fruit from the tree."
Little One Eye climbed up, but when she wanted to seize a golden
apple, the branch sprang out of her hand; this happened every time, so
that she could not gather a single apple, though she tried as much as
she could.
Then the mother said, "Little Three Eyes, do you climb up; you can see
better about you with your three eyes than Little One Eye can."
Little One Eye scrambled down, and Little Three Eyes climbed up. But
Little Three Eyes was no cleverer, and might look about her as much as
she liked--the golden apples always sprang back from her grasp. At
last the mother became impatient, and climbed up herself, but could
touch the fruit just as little as Little One Eye or Little Three Eyes;
she always grasped the empty air.
Then Little Two Eyes said, "I will go up myself; perhaps I shall
prosper better."
"You!" cried the sisters. "With your two eyes, what can you do?"
But Little Two Eyes climbed up and the golden apples did not spring
away from her, but dropped of themselves into her hand, so that she
could gather one after the other, and brought down a whole apron full.
Her mother took them from her, and instead of her sisters, Little One
Eye and Little Three Eyes, behaving better to poor Little Two Eyes for
it, they were only envious because she alone could get the fruit, and
behaved still more cruelly to her.
It happened, as they stood together by the tree, one day, that a young
knight came by.
"Quick, Little Two Eyes," cried the two sisters, "creep under, so that
we may not be ashamed of you," and threw over poor Little Two Eyes, in
a great hurry, an empty cask that stood just by the tree, and pushed
also beside her the golden apples which she had broken off.
Now, as the knight came nearer, he proved to be a handsome prince, who
stood still, admired the beautiful tree of gold and silver, and said
to the two sisters--
"To whom does this beautiful tree belong? She who gives me a branch of
it shall have whatever she wishes."
Then Little One Eye and Little Three Eyes answered that the tree was
theirs, and they would break off a branch for him. They both of them
gave themselves a great deal of trouble, but it was no use, for the
branches and fruit sprang back from them every time. Then the knight
said--
"It is very wonderful that the tree belongs to you, and yet you have
not the power of gathering anything from it."
They insisted, however, that the tree was their own property. But as
they spoke, Little Two Eyes rolled a few golden apples from under the
cask, so that they ran to the feet of the knight; for Little Two Eyes
was angry that Little One Eye and Little Three Eyes did not tell the
truth.
When the knight saw the apples he was astonished, and asked where they
came from. Little One Eye and Little Three Eyes answered that they had
another sister, who might not, however, show herself, because she had
only two eyes, like other common people. But the knight desired to see
her, and called out, "Little Two Eyes, come out." Then Little Two Eyes
came out of the cask quite comforted, and the knight was astonished at
her great beauty, and said--
"You, Little Two Eyes, can certainly gather me a branch from the
tree?"
"Yes," answered Little Two Eyes, "I can do that, for the tree belongs
to me." And she climbed up and easily broke off a branch, with its
silver leaves and golden fruit, and handed it to the knight.
Then the knight said, "Little Two Eyes, what shall I give you for it?"
"Oh," answered Little Two Eyes, "I suffer hunger and thirst, sorrow
and want, from early morning till late evening; if you would take me
with you and free me, I should be happy."