attention to their little sister that Beauty wept for joy. When the
eight days had passed the two sisters tore their hair, and showed such
grief over her departure that she promised to remain another eight days.
Beauty reproached herself, nevertheless, with the grief she was causing
to the poor Beast; moreover, she greatly missed not seeing him. On the
tenth night of her stay in her father's house she dreamed that she was
in the palace garden, where she saw the Beast lying on the grass nearly
dead, and that he upbraided her for her ingratitude. Beauty woke up with
a start, and burst into tears.
'I am indeed very wicked,' she said, 'to cause so much grief to a Beast
who has shown me nothing but kindness. Is it his fault that he is so
ugly, and has so few wits? He is good, and that makes up for all the
rest. Why did I not wish to marry him? I should have been a good deal
happier with him than my sisters are with their husbands. It is neither
good looks nor brains in a husband that make a woman happy; it is beauty
of character, virtue, kindness. All these qualities the Beast has. I
admit I have no love for him, but he has my esteem, friendship, and
gratitude. At all events I must not make him miserable, or I shall
reproach myself all my life.'
With these words Beauty rose and placed her ring on the table.
Hardly had she returned to her bed than she was asleep, and when she
woke the next morning she saw with joy that she was in the Beast's
palace. She dressed in her very best on purpose to please him, and
nearly died of impatience all day, waiting for nine o'clock in the
evening. But the clock struck in vain: no Beast appeared. Beauty now
thought she must have caused his death, and rushed about the palace with
loud despairing cries. She looked everywhere, and at last, recalling her
dream, dashed into the garden by the canal, where she had seen him in
her sleep. There she found the poor Beast lying unconscious, and thought
he must be dead. She threw herself on his body, all her horror of his
looks forgotten, and, feeling his heart still beat, fetched water from
the canal and threw it on his face.
The Beast opened his eyes and said to Beauty:
'You forgot your promise. The grief I felt at having lost you made me
resolve to die of hunger; but I die content since I have the pleasure of
seeing you once more.'
'Dear Beast, you shall not die,' said Beauty; 'you shall live and become
my husband. Here and now I offer you my hand, and swear that I will
marry none but you. Alas, I fancied I felt only friendship for you, but
the sorrow I have experienced clearly proves to me that I cannot live
without you.'
Beauty had scarce uttered these words when the castle became ablaze with
lights before her eyes: fireworks, music--all proclaimed a feast. But
these splendours were lost on her: she turned to her dear Beast, still
trembling for his danger.
Judge of her surprise now! At her feet she saw no longer the Beast, who
had disappeared, but a prince, more beautiful than Love himself, who
thanked her for having put an end to his enchantment. With good reason
were her eyes riveted upon the prince, but she asked him nevertheless
where the Beast had gone.
'You see him at your feet,' answered the prince. 'A wicked fairy
condemned me to retain that form until some beautiful girl should
consent to marry me, and she forbade me to betray any sign of
intelligence. You alone in all the world could show yourself susceptible
to the kindness of my character, and in offering you my crown I do but
discharge the obligation that I owe you.'
In agreeable surprise Beauty offered her hand to the handsome prince,
and assisted him to rise. Together they repaired to the castle, and
Beauty was overcome with joy to find, assembled in the hall, her father
and her entire family. The lady who had appeared to her in her dream had
had them transported to the castle.
[Illustration: '"_Your doom is to become statues_"']
'Beauty,' said this lady (who was a celebrated fairy), 'come and receive
the reward of your noble choice. You preferred merit to either beauty or
wit, and you certainly deserve to find these qualities combined in one
person. It is your destiny to become a great queen, but I hope that the
pomp of royalty will not destroy your virtues. As for you, ladies,' she
continued, turning to Beauty's two sisters, 'I know your hearts and the
malice they harbour. Your doom is to become statues, and under the stone
that wraps you round to retain all your feelings. You will stand at the
door of your sister's palace, and I can visit no greater punishment upon
you than that you shall be witnesses of her happiness. Only when you
recognise your faults can you return to your present shape, and I am
very much afraid that you will be statues for ever. Pride, ill-temper,
greed, and laziness can all be corrected, but nothing short of a
miracle will turn a wicked and envious heart.'
In a trice, with a tap of her hand, the fairy transported them all to
the prince's realm, where his subjects were delighted to see him again.
He married Beauty, and they lived together for a long time in happiness
the more perfect because it was founded on virtue.
THE FRIENDLY FROG
Once upon a time there was a king who had been at war for a long time
with his neighbours. After many battles had been fought his capital was
besieged by the enemy. Fearing for the safety of the queen, the king
implored her to take refuge in a stronghold to which he himself had
never been but once. The queen besought him with tears to let her remain
at his side, and share his fate, and lamented loudly when the king
placed her in the carriage which was to take her away under escort.
The king promised to slip away whenever possible and pay her a visit,
seeking thus to comfort her, although he knew that there was small
chance of the hope being fulfilled. For the castle was a long way off,
in the midst of a dense forest, and only those with a thorough knowledge
of the roads could possibly reach it.
The queen was broken-hearted at having to leave her husband exposed to
the perils of war, and though she made her journey by easy stages, lest
the fatigue of so much travelling should make her ill, she was downcast
and miserable when at length she reached the castle. She made excursions
into the country round about, when sufficiently recovered, but found
nothing to amuse or distract her. On all sides wide barren spaces met
her eye, melancholy rather than pleasant to look upon.
'How different from my old home!' she exclaimed, as she gloomily
surveyed the scene; 'if I stay here long I shall die. To whom can I talk
in this solitude? To whom can I unburden my grief? What have I done that
the king should exile me? He must wish me, I suppose, to feel the
bitterness of separation to the utmost, since he banishes me to this
hateful castle.'
She grieved long and deeply, and though the king wrote every day to her
with good news of the way the siege was going, she became more and more
unhappy. At last she determined that she would go back to him, but
knowing that her attendants had been forbidden to let her return, except
under special orders from the king, she kept her intention to herself.
On the pretext of wishing sometimes to join the hunt, she ordered a
small chariot, capable of accommodating one person only, to be built for
her. This she drove herself, and used to keep up with the hounds so
closely that she would leave the rest of the hunt behind. The chariot
being in her sole control, this gave her the opportunity to escape
whenever she liked, and the only obstacle was her lack of familiarity
with the roads through the forest. She trusted, however, to the favour
of Providence to bring her safely through it.
She now gave orders for a great hunt to be held, and intimated her wish
that every one should attend. She herself was to be present in her
chariot, and she proposed that every follower of the chase should choose
a different line, and so close every avenue of escape to the quarry. The
arrangements were carried out according to the queen's plan. Confident
that she would soon see her husband again, she donned her most becoming
attire. Her hat was trimmed with feathers of different colours, the
front of her dress with a number of precious stones. Thus adorned, she
looked in her beauty (which was of no ordinary stamp) like a second
Diana.
When the excitement of the chase was at its height she gave rein to her
horses, urging them on with voice and whip, until their pace quickened
to a gallop. But then, getting their bits between their teeth, the team
sped onwards so fast that presently the chariot seemed to be borne upon
the wind, and to be travelling faster than the eye could follow. Too
late the poor queen repented of her rashness. 'What possessed me,' she
cried, 'to think that I could manage such wild and fiery steeds? Alack!
What will become of me! What would the king do if he knew of my great
peril? He only sent me away because he loves me dearly, and wished me to
be in greater safety--and this is the way I repay his tender care!'
Her piteous cries rang out upon the air, but though she called on Heaven
and invoked the fairies to her aid, it seemed that all the unseen powers
had forsaken her.
Over went the chariot. She lacked the strength to jump clear quickly
enough, and her foot was caught between the wheel and the axle-tree. It
was only by a miracle that she was not killed, and she lay stretched on
the ground at the foot of a tree, with her heart scarcely beating and
her face covered with blood, unable to speak.
For a long time she lay thus. At last she opened her eyes and saw,
standing beside her, a woman of gigantic stature. The latter wore nought
but a lion's skin; her arms and legs were bare, and her hair was tied up
with a dried snake's skin, the head of which dangled over her shoulder.
In her hand she carried, for walking-stick, a stone club, and a quiver
full of arrows hung at her side.
This extraordinary apparition convinced the queen that she was dead, and
indeed it seemed impossible that she could have survived so terrible a
disaster. 'No wonder death needs resolution,' she murmured, 'since
sights so terrible await one in the other world.'
The giantess overheard these words, and laughed to find the queen
thought herself dead.
'Courage,' she said; 'you are still in the land of the living, though
your lot is not improved. I am the Lion-Witch. My dwelling is near by;
you must come and live with me.'
'If you will have the kindness, good Lion-Witch, to take me back to my
castle, the king, who loves me dearly, will not refuse you any ransom
you demand, though it were the half of his kingdom.'
'I will not do that,' replied the giantess, 'for I have wealth enough
already. Moreover, I am tired of living alone, and as you have your wits
about you it is possible you may be able to amuse me.'
With these words she assumed the shape of a lioness, and taking the
queen on her back, bore her off into the depths of a cavern. There she
anointed the queen's wounds with an essence which quickly healed them.
But imagine the wonder and despair of the queen to find herself in this
dismal lair! The approach to it was by ten thousand steps, which led
downward to the centre of the earth, and the only light was that which
came from a number of lofty lamps, reflected in a lake of quicksilver.
This lake teemed with monsters, each of which was hideous enough to
have terrified one far less timid than the queen. Ravens, screech-owls,
and many another bird of evil omen filled the air with harsh cries. Far
off could be espied a mountain, from the slopes of which there flowed
the tears of all hapless lovers. Its sluggish stream was fed by every
ill-starred love. The trees had neither leaves nor fruit, and the ground
was cumbered with briars, nettles, and rank weeds. The food, too, was
such as might be expected in such a horrid clime. A few dried roots,
horse-chestnuts, and thorn-apples--this was all the fare with which the
Lion-Witch appeased the hunger of those who fell into her clutches.
When the queen was well enough to be set to work, the Witch told her she
might build herself a hut, since she was fated to remain in her company
for the rest of her life. On hearing this the queen burst into tears.
'Alas!' she cried, 'what have I done that you should keep me here? If my
death, which I feel to be nigh, will cause you any pleasure, then I
implore you to kill me: I dare not hope for any other kindness from you.
But do not condemn me to the sadness of a life-long separation from my
husband.'
But the Lion-Witch merely laughed at her, bidding her dry her tears, if
she would be wise, and do her part to please her. Otherwise, she
declared, her lot would be the most miserable in the world.
'And what must I do to soften your heart?' replied the queen.
'I have a liking for fly-pasties,' said the Lion-Witch; 'and you must
contrive to catch flies enough to make me a large and tasty one.'
[Illustration: '_The approach to it was by ten thousand steps_']
'But there are no flies here,' rejoined the queen; 'and even if there
were there is not enough light to catch them by. Moreover, supposing I
caught some, I have never in my life made pastry. You are therefore
giving me orders which I cannot possibly carry out.'
'No matter,' said the pitiless Lion-Witch; 'what I want I will have!'
The queen made no reply, but reflected that, no matter how cruel the
Witch might be, she had only one life to lose, and in her present plight
what terror could death hold for her? She did not attempt to look for
flies, therefore, but sat down beneath a yew tree, and gave way to tears
and lamentations. 'Alas, dear husband,' she cried, 'how grieved you will
be when you go to fetch me from the castle, and find me gone! You will
suppose me to be dead or faithless; how I hope that you will mourn the
loss of my life, not the loss of my love! Perhaps the remains of my
chariot will be found in the wood, with all the ornaments I had put on
to please you: at sight of these you will not doubt any more that I am
dead. But then, how do I know that you will not bestow on some one else
the heartfelt love which once belonged to me? At all events I shall be
spared the sorrow of that knowledge, since I am never to return to the
world.'
These thoughts would have filled her mind for a long time, but she was
interrupted by the dismal croaking of a raven overhead. Lifting her
eyes, she saw in the dim light a large raven on the point of swallowing
a frog which it held in its beak. 'Though I have no hope of help for
myself,' she said, 'I will not let this unfortunate frog die, if I can
save it; though our lots are so different, its sufferings are quite as
great as mine.' She picked up the first stick which came to hand, and
made the raven let go its prey. The frog fell to the ground and lay for
a time half stunned; but as soon as it could think, in its froggish way,
it began to speak. 'Beautiful queen,' it said, 'you are the first
friendly soul that I have seen since my curiosity brought me here.'
[Illustration: _The Friendly Frog_]
'By what magic are you endowed with speech, little Frog?' replied the
queen; 'and what people are they whom you see here? I have seen none at
all as yet.'
'All the monsters with which the lake is teeming,' replied the little
Frog, 'were once upon a time in the world. Some sat on thrones, some
held high positions at Court; there are even some royal ladies here who
were the cause of strife and bloodshed. It is these latter whom you see
in the shape of leeches, and they are condemned to remain here for a
certain time. But of those who come here none ever returns to the world
better or wiser.'
'I can quite understand,' said the queen, 'that wicked people are not
improved by merely being thrown together. But how is it that you are
here, my friendly little Frog?'
'I came here out of curiosity,' she replied. 'I am part fairy, and
though, in certain directions, my powers are limited, in others they are
far-reaching. The Lion-Witch would kill me if she knew that I was in her
domain.'
'Whatever your fairy powers,' said the queen, 'I cannot understand how
you could have fallen into the raven's clutches and come so near to
being devoured.'
'That is easily explained,' said the Frog. 'I have nought to fear when
my little cap of roses is on my head, for that is the source of my
power. Unluckily I had left it in the marsh when that ugly raven pounced
upon me, and but for you, Madam, I should not now be here. Since you
have saved my life, you have only to command me and I will do everything
in my power to lessen the misfortunes of your lot.'
'Alas, dear Frog,' said the queen, 'the wicked fairy who holds me
captive desires that I should make her a fly-pasty. But there are no
flies here, and if there were I could not see to catch them in the dim
light. I am like, therefore, to get a beating which will kill me.'
'Leave that to me,' said the Frog, 'I will quickly get you some.'
Thereupon the Frog smeared sugar all over herself, and the same was done
by more than six thousand of her froggy friends. They then made for a
place where the fairy had a large store of flies, which she used to
torment some of her luckless victims. No sooner did the flies smell the
sugar than they flew to it, and found themselves sticking to the frogs.
Away, then, went the latter at a gallop, to bring their friendly aid to
the queen. Never was there such a catching of flies before, nor a better
pasty than the one the queen made for the fairy. The surprise of the
Witch was great when the queen handed it to her, for she was baffled to
think how the flies could have been so cleverly caught.
The queen suffered so much from want of protection against the poisonous
air that she cut down some cypress branches and began to build herself a
hut. The Frog kindly offered her services. She summoned round her all
those who had helped in the fly hunt, and they assisted the queen to
build as pretty a little place to live in as you could find anywhere in
the world.
But no sooner had she lain down to rest than the monsters of the lake,
envious of her repose, gathered round the hut. They set up the most
hideous noise that had ever been heard, and drove her so nearly mad that
she got up and fled in fear and trembling from the house. This was just
what the monsters were after, and a dragon, who had once upon a time
ruled tyrannously over one of the greatest countries of the world,
immediately took possession of it.
The poor queen tried to protest against this ill-treatment. But no one
would listen to her: the monsters laughed and jeered at her, and the
Lion-Witch said that if she came and dinned lamentations into her ears
again she would give her a sound thrashing.
The queen was therefore obliged to hold her tongue. She sought out the
Frog, who was the most sympathetic creature in the world, and they wept
together; for the moment she put on her cap of roses the Frog became
able to laugh or weep like anybody else.
'I am so fond of you,' said the Frog to the queen, 'that I will build
your house again, though every monster in the lake should be filled with
envy.'
Forthwith she cut some wood, and a little country mansion for the queen
sprang up so quickly that she was able to sleep in it that very night.
Nothing that could make for the queen's comfort was forgotten by the
Frog, and there was even a bed of wild thyme.
When the wicked fairy learnt that the queen was not sleeping on the
ground, she sent for her and asked:
'What power is it, human or divine, that protects you? This land drinks
only a rain of burning sulphur, and has never produced so much as a
sage-leaf: yet they tell me fragrant herbs spring up beneath your feet.'
'I cannot explain it, madam,' said the queen, 'unless it is due to the
child I am expecting. Perhaps for her a less unhappy fate than mine is
in store.'
'I have a craving just now,' said the Witch, 'for a posy of rare
flowers. See if this happiness which you expect will enable you to get
them. If you do not succeed, such a thrashing as I know well how to give
is surely in store for you.'
The queen began to weep, for threats like these distressed her, and she
despaired as she thought of the impossibility of finding flowers. But
when she returned to her little house, the friendly Frog met her.
'How unhappy you look!' she said.
'Alas, dear friend,' said the queen, 'who would not be so? The Witch has
demanded a posy of the most beautiful flowers. Where am I to find them?
You see what sort of flowers grow here! Yet my life is forfeit if I do
not procure them.'
'Dear queen,' said the Frog tenderly, 'we must do our best to extricate
you from this dilemma. Hereabouts there lives a bat of my
acquaintance--a kindly soul. She moves about more quickly than I do, so
I will give her my cap of roses, and with the aid of this she will be
able to find you flowers.'
The queen curtseyed low, it being quite impossible to embrace the Frog,
and the latter went off at once to speak to the bat. In a few hours the
bat came back with some exquisite flowers tucked under her wings. Off
went the queen with them to the Witch, who was more astonished than
ever, being quite unable to understand in what marvellous way the queen
had been assisted.
The queen never ceased to plot some means of escape, and told the Frog
of her longings. 'Madam,' said the latter, 'allow me first to take
counsel with my little cap, and we will make plans according to what it
advises.' Having placed her cap upon some straw, she burnt in front of
it a few juniper twigs, some capers, and a couple of green peas. She
then croaked five times. This completed the rites, and having donned her
cap again, she began to speak like an oracle.
'Fate, the all-powerful, decrees that you must not leave this place.
You will have a little princess more beautiful than Venus herself. Let
nothing fret you; time alone can heal.'
The queen bowed her head and shed tears, but she determined to have
faith in the friend she had found. 'Whatever happens,' she said, 'do not
leave me here alone, and befriend me when my little one is born.' The
Frog promised to remain with her, and did her best to comfort her.
It is now time to return to the king. So long as the enemy kept him
confined within his capital he could not regularly send messengers to
the queen. But at length, after many sorties, he forced the enemy to
raise the siege. This success gave him pleasure not so much on his own
account, as for the sake of the queen, who could now be brought home in
safety. He knew nothing of the disaster which had befallen her, for none
of his retinue had dared to tell him of it. They had found in the forest
the remains of the chariot, the runaway horses, and the apparel in which
she had driven forth to find her husband, and being convinced that she
was killed or devoured by wild beasts, their one idea was to make the
king believe that she had died suddenly.
It seemed as if the king could not survive this mournful news. He tore
his hair, wept bitterly, and lamented his loss with all manner of
sorrowful cries and sobs and sighs. For several days he would see
nobody, and hid himself from view. Later, he returned to his capital and
entered upon a long period of mourning, to the sincerity of which his
heartfelt sorrow bore even plainer testimony than his sombre garb of
woe. His royal neighbours all sent ambassadors with messages of
condolence, and when the ceremonies proper to these occasions were at
length over, he proclaimed a period of peace. He released his subjects
from military service, and devoted himself to giving them every
assistance in the development of commerce.
Of all this the queen knew nothing. A little princess had been born to
her in the meantime, and her beauty did not belie the Frog's prediction.
They gave her the name of Moufette, but the queen had great difficulty
in persuading the Witch to let her bring up the child, for her ferocity
was such that she would have liked to eat it.
At the age of six months Moufette was a marvel of beauty, and often, as
she gazed upon her with mingled tenderness and pity, the queen would
say:
'Could your father but see you, my poor child, how delighted he would
be, and how dear you would be to him! But perhaps even now he has begun
to forget me: doubtless he believes that death has robbed him of us, and
it may be that another now fills the place I had in his affections.'