story, and who pretend that Little Thumbling never stole the ogre's
money, and that he really only took the seven-league boots, as he felt
no scruple in doing this, seeing that the ogre used them expressly for
running after little children. These people assert that they have heard
it from good authority, and that they have eaten and drunk in the
woodcutter's house. They assure us that when Little Thumbling had put on
the ogre's boots, he went to Court, where he knew they were in much
trouble about an army which was within two hundred leagues of them, and
were anxious to hear the result of a battle that had been fought. They
say he went to find the King, and told him that, if he wished it, he
would bring him back news of the army before the end of the day. The
King promised him a large sum of money if he did so.
Little Thumbling brought news that very evening, and this first journey
having made him well known, he got whatever he chose to ask, for the
King paid him most liberally for carrying his orders to the army; a
great number of ladies also gave him whatever he wished, in return for
news of their lovers, and this brought him in the greatest gain.
After he had been a courier for some time, and had saved a great deal of
money, he returned to his father, and it is impossible to imagine the
joy of his family at seeing him again. He made them all comfortable. He
bought newly-made offices for his father and brothers, and by these
means established them all, making his own way at Court at the same
time.
Often is the handsome boy
Made, alone, his father's joy;
While the tiny, timid child
Is neglected, or reviled,
Notwithstanding, sometimes he
Lives, of all, the prop to be.
BEAUTY AND THE BEAST
There was once a merchant, who was very, very rich. He had six children,
three boys and three girls, and as he was a man of good sense, he spared
no expense in order that they might be well educated, and gave them
masters of every kind. His daughters were all beautiful, but his
youngest one was especially admired, and from the time she was a small
child, had been only known and spoken of as "Beauty." The name remained
with her as she grew older, which gave rise to a great deal of jealousy
on the part of her sisters. The young girl was not only more beautiful
than they were, but also kinder and more amiable. The elder daughters
gave themselves great airs, for they were overweeningly proud of being
so rich, and would not condescend to receive visits from the daughters
of other merchants, as they only cared for the society of people in high
position. Not a day passed that they did not go to a ball, or a theatre,
or for a drive or walk in a fashionable part of the town, and they made
fun of their sister, who spent a great part of her time in study. The
girls received many offers of marriage from well-to-do merchants, as
they were known to be rich, but the two elder ones replied, that they
did not intend to marry anyone, unless a duke or an earl could be found
for a husband.
Beauty, the youngest, was more polite, and thanked those who asked for
her hand, but she was, as she told them, too young as yet, and wished to
remain for a few more years as a companion to her father.
Then, all at once, the merchant lost the whole of his fortune; nothing
was left to him but a little house, situated far away in the country. He
told his children, weeping, that they would be obliged to go and live
there, and that, even then, they would have to support themselves by the
work of their own hands. His two elder daughters refused to leave the
town; they had many admirers, they said, who would be only too glad to
marry them, although they were now without fortune. But these young
ladies found themselves greatly mistaken, for their admirers did not
even care to look at them, now that they were poor. They had made
themselves generally disliked, on account of their haughty behaviour.
"They do not deserve to be pitied," said everyone; "we are very glad
that their pride is humbled; let them go and play the fine lady, keeping
sheep." But people spoke differently of Beauty. "We are very sorry,"
they said, "that she is in trouble; she is such a good girl! she always
spoke so kindly to the poor! she was so gentle and courteous!" Several
of her suitors, also, still wished to marry her, although she had not a
penny, but she told them that she could not think of leaving her father
in his distress, and that she intended going with him into the country,
to comfort him, and help with the work. Beauty was very unhappy at
losing her fortune, but she said to herself, "It is no use crying, tears
will not give me back my riches; I must try and be happy without them."
As soon as they were settled in their country house, the merchant and
his sons began to till the ground. Beauty rose every morning at four
o'clock, and made haste to clean the house and prepare the dinner. She
found her duties very painful and fatiguing at first, for she had not
been accustomed to do the work of a servant; but in two months' time she
had grown stronger, and the activity of her life gave her fresh health
and colour. When her day's work was over, she amused herself with
reading, or music; sometimes she sat down to her wheel, and sang to her
spinning. Meanwhile her two sisters were wearied to death with the
dulness of their life; they stayed in bed till ten o'clock, did nothing
all day but saunter about, and for their only diversion talked with
regret of their former fine clothes and friends. "Look at our young
sister," they said to one another; "she is so low-minded and stupid,
that she is quite content with her miserable condition."
The good merchant thought differently: he knew that Beauty was better
fitted to shine in society than they were; he admired the good qualities
of his youngest child, especially her patience, for her sisters, not
content with allowing her to do all the work of the house, took every
opportunity of insulting her.
The family had lived in this solitude for a year, when a letter arrived
for the merchant, telling him that a vessel, on which there was
merchandise belonging to him, had arrived safely in port. The two elder
girls were nearly out of their minds with joy when they heard this good
news, for now they hoped that they should be able to leave the country.
They begged their father, ere he departed, to bring them back dresses
and capes, head-dresses, and all sorts of odds and ends of fancy attire.
Beauty asked for nothing; for, as she thought to herself, all the money
that the merchandise would bring in, would not be sufficient to pay for
everything that her sisters wished for. "Is there nothing you wish me to
buy for you?" her father said to her. "As you are so kind as to think of
me," she replied, "I pray you to bring me a rose, for we have not one
here." Now Beauty did not really care about the rose, but she had no
wish to seem, by her example, to reprove her sisters, who would have
said that she did not ask for anything, in order to make herself appear
more considerate than they were.
The father left them, but on arriving at his destination, he had to go
to law about his merchandise, and after a great deal of trouble, he
turned back home as poor as he came. He had not many more miles to go,
and was already enjoying, in anticipation, the pleasure of seeing his
children again, when, passing on his journey through a large wood, he
lost his way. It was snowing hard; the wind was so violent that he was
twice blown off his horse, and, as the night was closing in, he was
afraid that he would die of cold and hunger, or that he would be eaten
by the wolves, that he could hear howling around him. All at once,
however, he caught sight of a bright light, which appeared to be some
way off, at the further end of a long avenue of trees. He walked towards
it, and soon saw that it came from a splendid castle, which was
brilliantly illuminated. The merchant thanked God for the help that had
been sent him, and hastened towards the castle, but was greatly
surprised, on reaching it, to find no one in the courtyard, or about the
entrances. His horse, which was following him, seeing the door of a
large stable standing open, went in, and finding there some hay and
oats, the poor animal, half dead for want of food, began eating with
avidity.
The merchant fastened him up in the stable, and went towards the house,
but still no one was to be seen; he walked into a large dining-hall, and
there he found a good fire, and a table laid for one person, covered
with provisions. Being wet to the skin with the rain and snow, he drew
near the fire to dry himself, saying, as he did so, "The master of this
house, or his servants, will pardon me the liberty I am taking; no doubt
they will soon appear." He waited for a considerable time; but when
eleven o'clock had struck, and still he had seen no one, he could no
longer resist the feeling of hunger, and seizing a chicken, he ate it up
in two mouthfuls, trembling the while. Then he took a draught or two of
wine, and, his courage returning, he left the dining-hall and made his
way through several large rooms magnificently furnished. Finally he came
to a room where there was a comfortable bed, and as it was now past
midnight, and he was very tired, he made up his mind to shut the door
and lie down.
It was ten o'clock next morning before he awoke, when, to his great
surprise, he found new clothes put in place of his own, which had been
completely spoiled. "This palace must certainly belong to some good
fairy," he said to himself, "who, seeing my condition, has taken pity
upon me." He looked out of the window; the snow was gone, and he saw
instead, bowers of delicious flowers which were a delight to the eye.
He went again into the dining-hall where he had supped the night before,
and saw a little table with chocolate upon it. "I thank you, good madam
fairy," he said aloud, "for your kindness in thinking of my breakfast."
The merchant, having drunk his chocolate, went out to find his horse; as
he passed under a bower of roses, he remembered that Beauty had asked
him to bring her one, and he plucked a branch on which several were
growing. He had scarcely done so, when he heard a loud roar, and saw
coming towards him a Beast, of such a horrible aspect, that he nearly
fainted. "You are very ungrateful," said the Beast in a terrible voice;
"I received you into my castle, and saved your life, and now you steal
my roses, which I care for more than anything else in the world. Death
alone can make amends for what you have done; I give you a quarter of an
hour, no more, in which to ask forgiveness of God."
The merchant threw himself on his knees, and with clasped hands, said to
the Beast, "I pray you, my lord, to forgive me. I did not think to
offend you by picking a rose for one of my daughters, who asked me to
take it her." "I am not called my lord," responded the monster, "but
simply the Beast, I do not care for compliments; I like people to say
what they think; so do not think to mollify me with your flattery. But
you tell me you have some daughters; I will pardon you on condition that
one of your daughters will come of her own free will to die in your
place. Do not stop to argue with me; go! and if your daughter refuses to
die for you, swear that you will return yourself in three months' time."
The merchant had no intention of sacrificing one of his daughters to
this hideous monster, but he thought, "At least I shall have the
pleasure of embracing them once more." He swore therefore to return, and
the Beast told him that he might go when he liked; "but," added he, "I
do not wish you to go from me with empty hands. Go back to the room in
which you slept, there you will find a large empty trunk; you may fill
it with whatever you please, and I will have it conveyed to your house."
With these words the Beast withdrew, and the merchant said to himself,
"If I must die, I shall at least have the consolation of leaving my
children enough for their daily bread."
He returned to the room where he had passed the night, and finding there
a great quantity of gold pieces, he filled the trunk, of which the Beast
had spoken, with these, closed it, and remounting his horse, which he
found still in the stable, he rode out from the castle, his sadness now
as great as had been his joy on entering it. His horse carried him of
its own accord along one of the roads through the forest, and in a few
hours the merchant was again in his own little house.
His children gathered round him; but instead of finding pleasure in
their caresses, he began to weep as he looked upon them. He held in his
hand the branch of roses which he had brought for Beauty. "Take them,"
he said, as he gave them to her, "your unhappy father has paid dearly
for them." And then he told his family of the melancholy adventure that
had befallen him.
The two elder girls, when they had heard his tale, cried and screamed,
and began saying all sorts of cruel things to Beauty, who did not shed a
tear. "See what the pride of this wretched little creature has brought
us to!" said they. "Why couldn't she ask for wearing apparel as we did?
but no, she must needs show herself off as a superior person. It is she
who will be the cause of our father's death, and she does not even cry!"
"That would be of little use," replied Beauty. "Why should I cry about
my father's death? He is not going to die. Since the monster is willing
to accept one of his daughters, I will give myself up to him, that he
may vent his full anger upon me; and I am happy in so doing, for by my
death I shall have the joy of saving my father, and of proving my love
for him."
"No, my sister," said the three brothers, "you shall not die; we will go
and find out this monster, and we will either kill him or die beneath
his blows." "Do not hope to kill him," said their father to them; "for
the Beast is so powerful, that I fear there are no means by which he
could be destroyed. My Beauty's loving heart fills mine with gladness,
but she shall not be exposed to such a terrible death. I am old, I have
but a little while to live; I shall but lose a few years of life, which
I regret on your account, and on yours alone, my children."
"I am determined, my father," said Beauty, "that you shall not return to
that castle without me; you cannot prevent me following you. Although I
am young, life has no great attraction for me, and I would far rather be
devoured by the monster than die of the grief which your death would
cause me."
In vain the others tried to dissuade her, Beauty persisted in her
determination to go to the castle; and her sisters were not sorry about
it, for the virtues of their young sister had aroused in them a strong
feeling of jealousy.
The merchant was so taken up with grief at losing his daughter, that he
quite forgot about the trunk which he had filled with gold pieces, but,
to his astonishment, he had no sooner shut himself into his room for the
night, than he found it beside his bed. He resolved not to tell his
children of his newly-obtained riches, for he knew that his daughters
would then wish to return to the town, and he had made up his mind to
die where he was in the country. He confided his secret, however, to
Beauty, who told him that there had been visitors at the house during
his absence, among them two who were in love with her sisters. She
begged her father to marry them; for she was so good of heart, that she
loved them and freely forgave them all the unkindness they had shown
her.
The two hard-hearted girls rubbed their eyes with an onion that they
might shed tears on the departure of their father and Beauty; but the
brothers wept sincerely, as did also the merchant; Beauty alone would
not cry, fearing that it might increase their sorrow. The horse took the
road that led to the castle, and as evening fell, it came in view,
illuminated as before. Again the horse was the only one in the stable,
and once more the merchant entered the large dining-hall, this time with
his daughter, and there they found the table magnificently laid for two.
The merchant had not the heart to eat; but Beauty, doing her utmost to
appear cheerful, sat down to the table and served him to something. Then
she said to herself, "The Beast wants to fatten me before he eats me,
since he provides such good cheer."
They had finished their supper, when they heard a great noise, and the
merchant, weeping, said farewell to his poor daughter, for he knew it
was the Beast. Beauty could not help shuddering when she saw the
dreadful shape approaching; but she did her best not to give way to her
fear, and when the Beast asked her if it was of her own free will that
she had come, she told him, trembling, that it was so. "You are very
good, and I am much obliged to you," said the Beast. "Good man,
to-morrow morning you will leave, and do not venture ever to come here
again." "Good-bye, Beast," replied Beauty, and the Beast immediately
retired. "Alas! my daughter," said the merchant, clasping Beauty in his
arms, "I am half dead with fright. Listen to me, and leave me here."
"No, my father," said Beauty, without faltering. "You will depart
to-morrow morning, and you will leave me under Heaven's protection,
maybe I shall find pity and help."
[Illustration: '_Her father was just arriving._' _Beauty & the Beast_]
They retired to rest, thinking that they would have no sleep that night;
but no sooner were they in bed than their eyes closed. In her dreams
there appeared to Beauty a lady, who said to her, "I have pleasure in
the goodness of your heart, Beauty; your good action in giving your life
to save that of your father will not be without its reward." Beauty told
her father next morning of her dream, and although it afforded him some
consolation, it did not prevent his loud cries of grief when at last he
was forced to bid good-bye to his dear daughter.
After his departure, Beauty went back and sat down in the dining-hall,
and began weeping herself. She was, however, of a courageous
disposition, and so she commended herself to God, and resolved not to be
miserable during the short time still left her to live, for she quite
thought that the Beast would eat her that evening. In the meanwhile she
resolved to walk about and look over the fine castle she was in. She
found it impossible not to admire its beauty, but her surprise was great
when she came to a door over which was written: Beauty's Room. She
hastily opened the door, and was dazzled by the magnificence of the
whole apartment; what most attracted her admiration, however, was a
large bookcase, a piano, and several books of music.
"He does not wish me to feel dull," she said in a low voice. Then the
thought came to her, "If I was only going to live here a day, there
would not have been so much provided for my amusement." This thought
revived her courage.
She opened the bookcase and there saw a book on which was written in
letters of gold:--
"Wish what you like, Command what you will, You alone are Queen and
Mistress here."
"Alas!" she murmured, sighing, "I wish for nothing but to see my dear
father again, and to know what he is doing at this moment." She had only
said this to herself in a low voice, what was her surprise, therefore,
when, turning towards a large mirror, she saw her home, and her father,
just returned, wearing a sad countenance; her sisters went forward to
meet him, and in spite of the expression of sorrow which they tried to
assume, it was evident in their faces that they were delighted to have
lost their sister. In another minute, the picture had disappeared, and
Beauty could not help thinking that the Beast was very kind hearted, and
that she had not much to fear from him.
She found the table laid for her at noon, and during her dinner she was
entertained with a delightful concert, although no creature was visible.
In the evening, as she was just sitting down to her meal, she heard the
sound of the Beast's voice, and could not help shuddering. "Beauty,"
said the monster to her, "will you allow me to look on while you are
eating your supper?" "You are master here," replied Beauty, trembling.
"Not so," rejoined the Beast, "it is you who alone are mistress; if I
annoy you, you have only to tell me to go, and I will leave you at
once. But confess now, you think me very ugly, do you not?" "That is
true," said Beauty, "for I cannot tell a lie; but I think you are very
kind."
"You are right," said the monster; "but, besides being ugly, I am also
stupid; I know, well enough, that I am only a Beast."
"No one is stupid, who believes himself to be wanting in intelligence,
it is the fool who is not aware of being without it." "Eat, Beauty,"
said the monster to her, "and try to find pleasure in your own house;
for everything here belongs to you. I should be very sorry if you were
unhappy." "You are everything that is kind," said Beauty. "I assure you
that your goodness of heart makes me happy; when I think of that, you no
longer appear so ugly to me." "Ah, yes!" replied the Beast, "I have a
kind heart, but for all that I am a monster." "Many men are more
monsters than you," said Beauty; "and I care more for you with your
countenance, than for those who with their human face hide a false,
corrupt, and ungrateful heart." "If I had sufficient wit," responded the
Beast, "I would make you a pretty answer in return for your words; but I
am too stupid for that, and all I can say is, that I am very grateful to
you."
Beauty ate her supper with a good appetite. She had lost almost all her
fear of the monster, but she almost died of fright, when he said,
"Beauty, will you be my wife?"
She sat for a while without answering; she was alarmed at the thought of
arousing the monster's anger by refusing him. Nevertheless she finally
said, trembling, "No, Beast." At this the poor monster sighed, and the
hideous sound he made echoed throughout the castle, but Beauty was soon
reassured, for the Beast, after sadly bidding her adieu, left the room,
turning his head from time to time to look at her again.
A strong feeling of compassion for the Beast came over Beauty when she
was left alone. "Alas!" she said, "it is a pity he is so ugly, for he is
so good!"
Beauty spent three months in the castle, more or less happily. The Beast
paid her a visit every evening, and conversed with her as she ate her
supper, showing good sense in his talk, but not what the world deems
cleverness. Every day Beauty discovered some fresh good quality in the
monster; she grew accustomed to his ugliness, and far from fearing his
visit, she would often look at her watch to see if it was nearly nine
o'clock, for the Beast always arrived punctually at that hour. There was
only one thing which caused distress to Beauty, and that was, that every
evening before retiring, the monster asked her if she would be his wife,
and always appeared overcome with sorrow at her refusal. One day she
said to him, "You grieve me, Beast; I wish it were possible for me to
marry you, but I am too truthful to make you believe that such a thing
could ever happen; I shall always be your friend, try to be satisfied
with that." "I suppose I must," responded the Beast; "I know I am
horrible to look upon, but I love you very much. However, I am but too
happy that you consent to remain here; promise me that you will never
leave me." The colour came into Beauty's face; her mirror had shown her
that her father was ill with the grief of losing her, and she was hoping
to see him again. "I would promise without hesitation never to leave
you," said Beauty to him, "but I do so long to see my father again, that
I shall die of sorrow if you refuse me this pleasure." "I would rather
die myself," said the monster, "than give you pain; I will send you home
to your father, you will stay there, and your poor Beast will die of
grief at your absence." "No, no," said Beauty, crying; "I care for you
too much to wish to cause your death; I promise to return in a week's
time. You have let me see that my sisters are married, and that my
brothers have entered the army. My father is all alone, let me remain
with him a week." "You shall be with him to-morrow morning, but remember
your promise. When you wish to return, you have only to put your ring on
the table before going to bed. Farewell, Beauty." The Beast gave his
usual sigh as he said these words, and Beauty went to bed feeling
troubled at the thought of the sorrow she had caused him. When she awoke
the following morning, she found herself at home, and ringing a little
bell that stood beside her bed, the maid-servant came in, who gave a
loud cry of astonishment at seeing her there. Her father ran in on
hearing the cry, and almost died of joy when he found his dear daughter,
and they remained clasped in each other's arms for more than a quarter
of an hour.