{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_51275/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_51275","id":"gutenberg_51275","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/51275","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: French Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Fairy tales","Fairy tales -- France","Folklore -- France"],"text":"[Illustration: And there, on a bed the curtains of which were drawn\nwide, he beheld the loveliest vision he had ever seen.]\n\n\nThe Sleeping Beauty and other fairy tales\n\nFROM THE OLD FRENCH\n\nretold by Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch\n\n\nillustrated by Edmund Dulac\n\n\nNEW YORK\n\nHODDER and STOUGHTON\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nOnce upon a time I found myself halting between two projects, both\nmagnificent. For the first, indeed--which was to discover, digest and\nedit all the fairy tales in the world--I was equipped neither with\nlearning, nor with command of languages, nor with leisure, nor with\nlength of years. It is a task for many men, clubbing their lifetimes\ntogether. But the second would have cost me quite a respectable amount\nof toil; for it was to translate and annotate the whole collection of\nstories in the _Cabinet des F\u00e9es._\n\nNow the _Cabinet des F\u00e9es_, in the copy on my shelves, extends to\nforty-one volumes, printed, as their title-pages tell, at Geneva\nbetween the years 1785 and 1789, and published in Paris by M. Cuchet,\nRue et H\u00f4tel Serpente. The dates may set us moralising. While the Rue\nSerpente unfolded, as though\n\n     _Tranquilla per alta,_\n\nits playful voluminous coils, the throne of France with the Ancien\nR\u00e9gime rocked closer and closer to catastrophe. In 1789 (July), just as\nM. Cuchet (good man and leisurable to the end) wound up his series with\na last volume of the _Suite des Mille et Un Nuits_, they toppled over\nwith the fall of the Bastille.\n\nEven so in England--we may remind ourselves--in 1653, when the gods\nmade Oliver Cromwell Protector, Izaak Walton chose to publish a\nbook about little fishes. But the reminder is not quite apposite:\nfor angling, the contemplative man's recreation, was no favourite\nor characteristic or symbolical pursuit of the Order which Cromwell\noverthrew (and, besides, he did not overthrow it); whereas, M. Cuchet's\nforty-one volumes most pertinently as well as amply illustrated some\nreal qualities, and those the most amiable of the Ancien R\u00e9gime. When\nwe think of the French upper classes from the days of Louis XIV. to\nthe Revolution, we associate them with a certain elegance, a taste\nfastidious and polite, if artificial, in the arts of living and the\nfurniture of life; and in this we do them justice. But, if I mistake\nnot, we seldom credit them with the quality which more than any other\nstruck the contemporary foreign observer who visited France with a\ncandid mind--I mean their good temper. We allow the Bastille or the\nguillotine to cast their shadows backward over this period, or we see\nit distorted in the glare of Burke's rhetoric or of Carlyle's lurid\nand fuliginous history. But if we go to an eyewitness, Arthur Young,\nwho simply reported what he saw, having no rhetorical axe to grind\nor guillotine to sharpen, we get a totally different impression. The\nlast of Young's _Travels in France_ (1787-1789) actually coincided\nwith the close of M. Cuchet's pleasant enterprise in publishing; and\nI do not think it fanciful to suppose that, had this very practical\nEnglishman found time to read at large in the _Cabinet des F\u00e9es_, he\nwould have discovered therein much to corroborate the evidence steadily\nand unconsciously borne by his own journals--that the urbanity of life\namong the French upper classes was genuine, reflecting a real and (for\na whole society) a remarkable sunniness of disposition. Unconscious\nof their doom, the little victims played. But they did play; and they\nfell victims, not to their own passions, but to a form of government\neconomically rotten.\n\nOf all the volumes in the _Cabinet_, possibly the most famous are the\nfirst and second, containing the fairy tales of Charles Perrault and\nMadame d'Aulnoy, and vols. 7-11, containing M. Galland's version (so\nmuch better than any translation) of _The Arabian Nights_. I hope\nthat one of those days Mr. Dulac will lay the public under debt by\nillustrating all these, and the stories of Antony Hamilton to boot.\nMeanwhile, here are three of the most famous tales from Perrault's\nwallet, and one, the evergreen _Beauty and the Beast_, by an almost\nforgotten authoress, Madame de Villeneuve.\n\nThe ghost of Charles Perrault, could it walk to-day--_perruque_ and\nall--might well sigh over the vanity of human pretensions. For Monsieur\nPerrault was a person of importance in his lifetime (1628-1703), and\na big-wig in every sense of the term. Colbert made him Secretary of\nthe Academy of Inscriptions, and anon Controller of Public Works--in\nwhich capacity he suggested to his architect-brother, Claude Perrault,\nthe facade of the Louvre with its renowned colonnade. He flattered\nhis monarch with a poem _Le Si\u00e8cle de Louis le Grand_. 'Je ne sais,'\nobserves a circle, 'si ce roi, malgr\u00e9 son amour excessif pour la\nflatterie, fut content: les bornes \u00e9taient outre-pass\u00e9es.' The poem, as\na poem, had little success; but by positing that the Age of Louis was\nthe greatest in history, and suggesting that the moderns were as good\nas the ancients or better, it started a famous controversy. Boileau,\nRacine, La Bruy\u00e8re, honoured him by taking the other side, and forced\nhim to develop his paradox in a book of dialogues, _Parall\u00e8les des\nAnciens et des Modernes_. But his best answer was his urbane remark\n(for he kept his temper admirably) that these gentlemen did ill to\ndispute the superiority of the moderns while their own works gave proof\nof it. He wrote other poems, other tractates (including one on the\n'Illustrious Men of his Age'), besides occasional tracts on matters\nof high politics: and his memory is kept alive by one small packet\nof fairy-tales--stories which he heard the nurse telling his little\nboy, and set down upon paper for a recreation! That is the way with\nliterary fame. To take an English example: it is odds that Southey,\npoet-laureate and politician of great self-importance in his day, will\ncome finally to be remembered by his baby-story of _The Three Bears_.\nIt will certainly outlive _Thalaba the Destroyer_, and possibly even\nthe _Life of Nelson_.\n\nAs for Gabrielle Susanne, wife of M. de Gallon, Seigneur de Villeneuve\nand lieutenant-colonel of infantry (whom she outlived), she wrote a\nnumber of romantic stories--_Le Ph\u00e9nix Conjugal, Le Juge Parvenu, Le\nBeau-Fr\u00e8re Suppos\u00e9, La Jardini\u00e8re de Vincennes, Le Prince Azerolles_,\netc. I am not--perhaps few are--acquainted with these works. Madame de\nVilleneuve died in 1755 and lives only by grace of her _La Belle et La\nB\u00eate_; and that again lives in despite of its literary defects. It has\nstyle; but the style inheres neither in its language, which is loose,\nnor in its construction. The story, as she wrote it, tails off woefully\nand drags to an end in mere foolishness.\n\nSince Perrault, who is usually accepted as the fountainhead of\nthese charming French fairy-stories, belongs almost entirely to the\nseventeenth century, it may be asked why Mr. Dulac has chosen to depict\nhis Princes and Princess in costumes of the eighteenth? Well, for my\npart, I hold that he has obeyed a just instinct in choosing the period\nwhen the literature he illustrates was at the acme of its vogue. But\nhis designs, in every stroke of which the style of that period is so\nunerringly felt, provide his best apology.\n\nMy own share in this volume is, perhaps, less easily defended. I began\nby translating Perrault's tales, very nearly word for word; because\nto me his style has always seemed nearly perfect for its purpose; and\nthe essence of 'style' in writing is propriety to its purpose. On the\nother hand the late M. Ferdinand Bruneti\u00e8re has said that Perrault's\nis 'devoid of charm,' and on this subject M. Bruneti\u00e8re's opinion must\nneeds out-value mine ten times over. Certainly the translations, when\nfinished, did not satisfy me, and so I turned back to the beginning and\nhave rewritten the stories in my own way, which (as you may say with\nthe Irish butler) 'may not be the best claret, but 'tis the best ye've\ngot.'\n\nI have made bold, too, to omit Perrault's conclusion of _La Belle au\nBois Dormant_. To my amazement the editor of the _Cabinet des F\u00e9es_\nselects this lame sequel--it is no better than a sequel--of a lovely\ntale, and assigns to it the credit of having established 'la v\u00e9ritable\nfortune de ce genre.' Frankly, I cannot believe him. Further, I have\ncondensed Madame de Villeneuve's narrative and obliterated its feeble\nending. In taking each of these liberties I have the warrant of\ntradition, which in the treatment of fairy-tales speaks with a voice\nmore authoritative than the original author's, for it speaks with the\nunited voices of many thousands of children, his audience and best\ncritics. As the children have decreed that in Southey's tale of _The\nThree Bears_ the heroine shall be a little girl, and not, as Southey\ninvented her, a good-for-nothing old woman, so they have decreed the\nstory of _The Sleeping Beauty_ to end with the Prince's kiss, and that\nof _Beauty and the Beast_ with the Beast's transformation. And as\n_Beauty and the Beast_ is really but a variant of the immortal fable of\n_Cupid and Psyche_, I might--had I room to spare--attempt to prove to\nyou that the children's taste is here, as usually, right and classical.\n\nARTHUR QUILLER-COUCH\n\n\n\nILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\nTHE SLEEPING BEAUTY\n\n_And there, on a bed the curtains of which were drawn wide, he beheld\nthe loveliest vision he had ever seen_ (20)\n\n_Her head nodded with spite and old age together, as she bent over the\ncradle_ (5)\n\n_They grew until nothing but the tops of the castle towers could be\nseen_ (15)\n\n\nBLUE BEARD\n\n_They overran the house without loss of time_ (34)\n\n_The unhappy_ Fatima _cried up to her_, 'Anne, sister Anne, do you see\nany one coming? (42)\n\n_Then_ Blue Beard _roared out so terribly that he made the whole house\ntremble_ (44)\n\n\nCINDERELLA\n\n_She used to creep away to the chimney-corner and seat herself among\nthe cinders_ (49)\n\n_Whereupon she instantly desired her partner to lead her to the_ King\n_and_ Queen (61)\n\n_The Prime Minister was kept very busy during the next few weeks_ (70)\n\n\nBEAUTY AND THE BEAST\n\n_He had been fasting for more than twenty four hours, and lost no time\nin falling-to_ (80)\n\n_Soon they caught sight of the castle in the distance_ (91)\n\n_'Ah! what a fright you have given me!' she murmured_ (126)\n\n\n\nTHE SLEEPING BEAUTY\n\n\nOnce upon a time there lived a King and a Queen, who lacked but one\nthing on earth to make them entirely happy. The _King_ was young,\nhandsome, and wealthy; the _Queen_ had a nature as good and gentle as\nher face was beautiful; and they adored one another, having married for\nlove--which among kings and queens is not always the rule. Moreover,\nthey reigned over a kingdom at peace, and their people were devoted to\nthem. What more, then, could they possibly want?\n\nWell, they wanted one thing very badly, and the lack of it grieved them\nmore than words can tell. They had no child. Vows, pilgrimages, all\nways were tried; yet for a long while nothing came of it all, and the\npoor _Queen_ especially was in despair.\n\nAt last, however, to her own and her husband's inexpressible joy,\nshe gave birth to a daughter. As soon as the palace guns announced\nthis event, the whole nation went wild with delight. Flags waved\neverywhere, bells were set pealing until the steeples rocked, crowds\ntossed up their hats and cheered, while the soldiers presented arms,\nand even strangers meeting in the street fell upon each other's neck,\nexclaiming: 'Our _Queen_ has a daughter! Yes, yes--Our _Queen_ has a\ndaughter! Long live the little _Princess_!'\n\nA name had now to be found for the royal babe; and the _King_ and\n_Queen_, after talking over some scores of names, at length decided to\ncall her _Aurora_, which means _The Dawn_. The Dawn itself (thought\nthey) was never more beautiful than this darling of theirs. The next\nbusiness, of course, was to hold a christening. They agreed that it\nmust be a magnificent one; and as a first step they invited all the\nFairies they could find in the land to be godmothers to the _Princess\nAurora_, that each one of them might bring her a gift, as was the [Pg\n3]custom with Fairies in those days, and so she might have all the\nperfections imaginable. After making long inquiries--for I should tell\nyou that all this happened not so many hundred years ago, when Fairies\nwere already growing somewhat scarce--they found seven. But this again\npleased them, because seven is a lucky number.\n\nAfter the ceremonies of the christening, while the trumpeters sounded\ntheir fanfares and the guns boomed out again from the great tower, all\nthe company returned to the Royal Palace to find a great feast arrayed.\nSeats of honour had been set for the seven fairy godmothers, and before\neach was laid a dish of honour, with a dish-cover of solid gold, and\nbeside the dish a spoon, a knife, and a fork, all of pure gold and all\nset with diamonds and rubies. But just as they were seating themselves\nat table, to the dismay of every one there appeared in the doorway an\nold crone, dressed in black and leaning on a crutched stick. Her chin\nand her hooked nose almost met together, like a pair of nut-crackers,\nfor she had very few teeth remaining; but between them she growled to\nthe guests in a terrible voice:\n\n'I am the Fairy _Uglyane_! Pray where are your King's manners, that I\nhave not been invited?'\n\nShe had in fact been overlooked; and this was not surprising, because\nshe lived at the far end of the country, in a lonely tower set around\nby the forest. For fifty years she had never come out of this tower,\nand every one believed her to be dead or enchanted. That, you must\nknow, is the commonest way the Fairies have of ending: they lock\nthemselves up in a tower or within a hollow oak, and are never seen\nagain.\n\nThe _King_, though she chose to accuse his manners, was in fact the\npolitest of men. He hurried to express his regrets, led her to table\nwith his own hand, and ordered a dish to be set for her; but with the\nbest will in the world he could not give her a dish-cover such as the\nothers had, because seven only had been made for the seven invited\nFairies. The old crone received his excuses very ungraciously, while\naccepting a seat. It was plain that she had taken deep offence. One of\nthe younger Fairies, _Hippolyta_ by name, who sat by, overheard her\nmumbling threats between her teeth; and fearing she might bestow some\nunlucky gift upon the little _Princess_, went as soon as she rose from\ntable and hid herself close by the cradle, behind the tapestry, that\nshe might have the last word and undo, so far as she could, what evil\nthe Fairy _Uglyane_ might have in her mind.\n\nShe had scarcely concealed herself before the other Fairies began to\nadvance, one by one, to bestow their gifts on the _Princess_. The\nyoungest promised her that she should be the most beautiful creature\nin the world; the next, that she should have the wit of an angel;\nthe third, a marvellous grace in all her ways; the fourth, that she\nshould dance to perfection; the fifth, that she should sing like\na nightingale; the sixth, that she should play exquisitely on all\ninstruments of music.\n\nNow came the turn of the old Fairy _Uglyane_. Her head nodded with\nspite and old age together, as she bent over the cradle and shook\nher crutched staff above the head of the pretty babe, who slept on\nsweetly, too young and too innocent as yet to dream of any such thing\nas mischief in this world.\n\n'This is my gift to you, _Princess Aurora_,' announced the hag, still\nin her creaking voice that shook as spitefully as her body. 'I promise\nthat one day you shall pierce your hand with a spindle, and on that day\nyou shall surely die!'\n\nAt these terrible words the poor _Queen_ fell back fainting into her\nhusband's arms. A trembling seized the whole Court; the ladies were in\ntears, and the younger lords and knights were calling out to seize and\nburn the wicked witch, when the young Fairy stepped forth from behind\nthe tapestry, and passing by _Uglyane_, who stood scornful in the midst\nof this outcry, she thus addressed their Majesties:\n\n'Take comfort, O _King_ and _Queen_: your daughter shall not die thus.\nIt is true, I have not the power wholly to undo what this elder sister\nof mine has done. The _Princess_ must indeed pierce her hand with a\nspindle; but, instead of dying, she shall only fall into a deep slumber\nthat shall last for many, many years, at the end of which a King's\nson shall come and awake her. Whenever this misfortune happens to\nyour little _Aurora_, do not doubt that I, the Fairy _Hippolyta_, her\ngodmother, shall get news of it and come at once to render what help I\nmay.'\n\n[Illustration: _Her head nodded with spite and old age together, as she\nbent over the cradle.]\n\nThe _King_, while declaring himself infinitely obliged to the\ngood Fairy _Hippolyta_, could not help feeling that hers was but\ncold comfort at the best. He gave orders to close the christening\nfestivities at once, although the Fairy _Uglyane_, their spoil-joy,\nhad already taken her departure; passing unharmed through the crowd\nof folk, every one of whom wished her ill, and riding away--it was\ngenerally agreed-upon a broomstick.\n\nTo satisfy the _King's_ faithful subjects, however,--who were unaware\nof any misadventure--the palace fireworks were duly let off, with a\ngrand set-piece wishing _Long Life to the Princess Aurora!_ in all the\ncolours of the rainbow. But His Majesty, after bowing from the balcony\namid the banging of rockets and hissing of Catherine wheels, retired to\na private room with his Chamberlain, and there, still amid the noise\nof explosions and cheering, drew up the first harsh proclamation of\nhis reign. It forbade every one, on pain of death, to use a spindle in\nspinning or even to have a spindle in his house. Heralds took copies\nof this proclamation and marched through the land reading it, to the\nsound of trumpets, from every market-place: and it gravely puzzled and\ndistressed all who listened, for their women folk prided themselves\non their linen. Its fineness was a byword throughout the neighbouring\nkingdoms, and they knew themselves to be famous for it. 'But what sort\nof linen,' said they, 'would His Majesty have us spin without spindles?'\n\nThey had a great affection, however (as we have seen), for their\nmonarch; and for fifteen or sixteen years all the spinning-wheels\nwere silent throughout the land. The little _Princess Aurora_ grew up\nwithout ever having seen one. But one day--the _King_ and _Queen_ being\nabsent at one of their country houses--she gave her governess the slip,\nand running at will through the palace and upstairs from one chamber\nto another, she came at length to a turret with a winding staircase,\nfrom the top of which a strange whirring sound attracted her and seemed\nto invite her to climb. As she mounted after the sound, on a sudden it\nceased; but still she followed the stairs and came, at the very top,\nto an open door through which she looked in upon a small garret where\nsat an honest old woman alone, winding her distaff. The good soul had\nnever, in sixteen years, heard of the _King's_ prohibition against\nspindles; and this is just the sort of thing that happens in palaces.\n\n'What are you doing, goody?' asked the _Princess_.\n\n'I am spinning, pretty one,' answered the old woman, who did not know\nwho she was.\n\n'Spinning? What is that?'\n\n'I wonder sometimes,' said the old woman, 'what the world is coming\nto, in these days!' And that, of course, was natural enough, and might\noccur to anybody after living so long as she had lived in a garret on\nthe top of a tower. 'Spinning,' she said wisely, 'is spinning, or was;\nand, gentle or simple, no one is fit to keep house until she has learnt\nto spin.'\n\n'But how pretty it is!' said the _Princess_. 'How do you do it? Give it\nto me and let me see if I can do so well.'\n\nShe had no sooner grasped the spindle--she was over-eager perhaps, or\njust a little bit clumsy, or maybe the fairy decree had so ordained\nit--than it pierced her hand and she dropped down in a swoon.\n\nThe old trot in a flurry ran to the head of the stairs and called for\nhelp. There was no bell rope, and, her voice being weak with age and\nher turret in the remotest corner of the palace, it was long before\nany one heard her in the servants' hall. The servants, too--in the\nabsence of the _King_ and _Queen_--were playing cards, and could not\nbe interrupted by anybody until their game was finished. Then they\nsat down and discussed whose business it was to attend on a call from\nthat particular turret; and this again proved to be a nice point,\nsince nobody could remember having been summoned thither, and all were\nagainst setting up a precedent (as they called it). In the end they\ndecided to send up the lowest of the junior page-boys. But he had a\nweakness which he somehow forgot to mention--that of fainting at the\nsight of blood. So when he reached the garret and fainted, the old\nwoman had to begin screaming over again.\n\nThis time they sent up a scullery maid; who, being good-natured and\nunused to the ways of the palace, made the best haste she could to\nthe garret, whence presently she returned with the terrible news. The\nservants, who had gone back to their game, now dropped their cards and\ncame running. All the household, in fact, came pouring up the turret\nstairs; the palace physicians themselves crowding in such numbers that\nthe poor _Princess Aurora_ would have been hard put to it for fresh\nair could fresh air have restored her. They dashed water on her face,\nunlaced her, slapped her hands, tickled the soles of her feet, burned\nfeathers under her nose, rubbed her temples with Hungary-water. They\nheld consultations over her, by twos and threes, and again in Grand\nCommittee. But nothing would bring her to.\n\nMeanwhile, a messenger had ridden off posthaste with the tidings, and\nwhile the doctors were still consulting and shaking their heads the\n_King_ himself came galloping home to the palace. In the midst of his\ngrief he bethought him of what the Fairies had foretold; and being\npersuaded that, since they had said it, this was fated to happen, he\nblamed no one but gave orders to carry the _Princess_ to the finest\napartment in the palace, and there lay her on a bed embroidered with\ngold and silver.\n\nAt sight of her, she was so lovely, you might well have supposed that\nsome bright being of the skies had floated down to earth and there\ndropped asleep after her long journey. For her swoon had not taken away\nthe warm tints of her complexion: her cheeks were like carnations, her\nlips like coral: and though her eyes were closed and the long lashes\nwould not lift, her soft breathing told that she was not dead. The\n_King_ commanded them all to leave her and let her sleep in peace until\nthe hour of her awakening should arrive.\n\nNow when the accident befell our _Princess_ the good Fairy _Hippolyta_,\nwho had saved her life, happened to be in the Kingdom of Mataquin,\ntwelve thousand leagues away; but news of it was brought to her in an\nincredibly short space of time by a little dwarf who owned a pair of\nseven-league boots. (These were boots in which you could walk seven\nleagues at a single stride.) She set off at once to the help of her\nbeloved goddaughter, and behold in an hour this good Fairy arrived at\nthe palace, in a fiery chariot drawn by dragons.\n\nOur _King_ met her and handed her down from the chariot. She approved\nof all that he had done; but, greatly foreseeing as she was, she\nbethought her that, as all mortals perish within a hundred years or so,\nwhen the time came for the _Princess_ to awake she would be distressed\nat finding herself orphaned and alone in this old castle.\n\nSo this is what she did. She touched with her wand everything and\neverybody in the palace: the _King_, the _Queen_; the ministers and\nprivy councillors; the archbishop (who was the Grand Almoner), the\nbishops and the minor clergy; the maids-of-honour, ladies of the\nbedchamber, governesses, gentlemen-in-waiting, equerries, heralds,\nphysicians, officers, masters of the household, cooks, scullions,\nlackeys, guards, Switzers, pages, footmen. She touched the _Princess's_\ntutors and the Court professors in the midst of their deep studies. She\ntouched likewise all the horses in the stables, with the grooms; the\nhuge mastiffs in the yard; even _Tiny_, the _Princess's_ little pet\ndog, and _Fluff_, her black-and-white cat, that lay coiled on a cushion\nby her bedside.\n\nThe instant the Fairy _Hippolyta_ touched them they all fell asleep,\nnot to awake until the same moment as their mistress, that all might be\nready to wait on her when she needed them. The very spits at the fire\nwent to sleep, loaded as they were with partridges and pheasants; and\nthe fire went to sleep too. All this was done in a moment: the Fairies\nwere never long about their business in those days.\n\nBut it so happened that one of the _King's_ councillors, the Minister\nof Marine (his office dated from a previous reign when the kingdom\nhad hoped to conquer and acquire a seaboard) had overslept himself\nthat morning and came late to the palace without any knowledge of what\nhad befallen. He felt no great fear that his unpunctuality would be\nremarked, the _King_ (as he supposed) being absent in the country;\nnevertheless he took the precaution of letting himself in by a small\npostern door, and so missed being observed by the Fairy and touched by\nher wand. Entering his office, and perceiving that his under-secretary\n(usually so brisk) and all his clerks rested their heads on their\ndesks in attitudes of sleep, he drew the conclusion that something had\nhappened, for he was an excellent judge of natural slumber. The farther\nhe penetrated into the palace, the stronger his suspicions became.\nHe withdrew on tiptoe. Though by nature and habit a lazy man, he was\ncapable of sudden decision, and returning to his home he caused notices\nto be posted up, forbidding any one to approach the castle, the inmates\nof which were suffering from an Eastern but temporary affliction known\nas the Sleeping Sickness.\n\nThese notices were unnecessary, for within a few hours there grew up,\nall around the park, such a number of trees of all sizes, and such a\ntangle of briars and undergrowth, that neither beast nor man could find\na passage. They grew until nothing but the tops of the castle towers\ncould be seen, and these only from a good way off. There was no mistake\nabout it: the Fairy had done her work well, and the _Princess_ might\nsleep with no fear of visits from the inquisitive.\n\nOne day, many, many years afterwards, the incomparable young _Prince\nFlorimond_ happened to ride a-hunting on that side of the country which\nlay next to the tangled forest, and asked: 'What were those towers he\nsaw pushing up above the midst of a great thick wood? '\n\nThey all answered him as they heard tell. Some said it was an old\ncastle haunted by ghosts.\n\nOthers, that all the wizards and witches of the country met there to\nkeep Sabbath.\n\nThe most general opinion was that an Ogre dwelt there, and that he\ncarried off thither all the children he could catch, to eat them at his\nease. No one could follow him, for he alone knew how to find a passage\nthrough the briars and brambles. The _Prince_ could not tell which to\nbelieve of all these informants, for all gave their versions with equal\nconfidence, as commonly happens with those who talk on matters of which\nthey can know nothing for certain. He was turning from one to another\nin perplexity, when a peasant spoke up and said:--\n\n'Your Highness, long ago I heard my father tell that there was in\nyonder castle a Princess, the most beautiful that ever man saw; that\nshe must lie asleep there for many, many years; and that one day she\nwill be awakened by a King's son, for whom she was destined.'\n\nAt these words Prince _Florimond_ felt himself a-fire. He believed,\nwithout weighing it, that he could accomplish this fine adventure; and,\nspurred on by love and ambition, he resolved to explore then and there\nand discover the truth for himself.\n\n[Illustration: They grew until nothing but the tops of the castle\ntowers could be seen.]\n\nLeaping down from his horse he started to run towards the wood, and had\nalmost reached the edge of it before the attendant courtiers guessed\nhis design. They called to him to come back, but he ran on, and was\nabout to fling himself boldly into the undergrowth, when as by magic\nall the great trees, the shrubs, the creepers, the ivies, briars and\nbrambles, unlaced themselves of their own accord and drew aside to let\nhim pass. He found himself within a long glade or avenue, at the end of\nwhich glimmered the walls of an old castle; and towards this he strode.\nIt surprised him somewhat that none of his attendants were following\nhim; the reason being that as soon as he had passed through it, the\nundergrowth drew close as ever again. He heard their voices, fainter\nand fainter behind him, beyond the barrier, calling, beseeching him\nto desist. But he held on his way without one backward look. He was a\nPrince, and young, and therefore valiant.\n\nHe came to the castle, and pushing aside the ivies that hung like a\ncurtain over the gateway, entered a wide outer court and stood still\nfor a moment, holding his breath, while his eyes travelled over a\nscene that might well have frozen them with terror. The court was\nsilent, dreadfully silent; yet it was by no means empty. On all hands\nlay straight, stiff bodies of men and beasts, seemingly all dead.\nNevertheless, as he continued to gaze, his courage returned; for the\npimpled noses and ruddy faces of the Switzers told him that they were\nno worse than asleep; and their cups, which yet held a few heeltaps of\nwine, proved that they had fallen asleep over a drinking-bout.\n\nHe stepped by them and passed across a second great court paved with\nmarble; he mounted a broad flight of marble steps leading to the main\ndoorway; he entered a guardroom, just within the doorway, where the\nguards stood in rank with shouldered muskets, every man of them asleep\nand snoring his best. He made his way through a number of rooms filled\nwith ladies and gentlemen, some standing, others sitting, but all\nasleep. He drew aside a heavy purple curtain, and once more held his\nbreath; for he was looking into the great Hall of State where, at a\nlong table, sat and slumbered the _King_ with his Council. The Lord\nChancellor slept in the act of dipping pen into inkpot; the Archbishop\nin the act of taking snuff; and between the spectacles on the\nArchbishop's nose and the spectacles on the Lord Chancellor's a spider\nhad spun a beautiful web.\n\n_Prince Florimond_ tiptoed very carefully past these august sleepers\nand, leaving the hall by another door, came to the foot of the grand\nstaircase. Up this, too, he went; wandered along a corridor to his\nright, and, stopping by hazard at one of the many doors, opened it and\nlooked into a bath-room lined with mirrors and having in its midst,\nsunk in the floor, a huge round basin of whitest porcelain wherein a\nspring of water bubbled deliciously. Three steps led down to the bath,\nand at the head of them stood a couch, with towels, and court-suit laid\nready, exquisitely embroidered and complete to the daintiest of lace\nruffles and the most delicate of body linen.\n\nThen the _Prince_ bethought him that he had ridden far before ever\ncoming to the wood; and the mirrors told him that he was also somewhat\ntravel-stained from his passage through it. So, having by this time\nlearnt to accept any new wonder without question, he undressed himself\nand took a bath, which he thoroughly enjoyed. Nor was he altogether\nastonished, when he tried on the clothes, to find that they fitted him\nperfectly. Even the rosetted shoes of satin might have been made to his\nmeasure.\n\nHaving arrayed himself thus hardily, he resumed his quest along the\ncorridor. The very next door he tried opened on a chamber all panelled\nwith white and gold; and there, on a bed the curtains of which were\ndrawn wide, he beheld the loveliest vision he had ever seen: a\nPrincess, seemingly about seventeen or eighteen years old, and of a\nbeauty so brilliant that he could not have believed this world held the\nlike.\n\nBut she lay still, so still!... _Prince Florimond_ drew near, trembling\nand wondering, and sank on his knees beside her. Still she lay,\nscarcely seeming to breathe, and he bent and touched with his lips the\nlittle hand that rested, light as a rose-leaf, on the coverlet....\n\nWith that, as the long spell of her enchantment came to an end, the\n_Princess_ awaked; and looking at him with eyes more tender than a\nfirst sight of him might seem to excuse:--\n\n'Is it you, my _Prince_?' she said. 'You have been a long while coming!'\n\nThe _Prince_, charmed by these words, and still more by the manner in\nwhich they were spoken, knew not how to find words for the bliss in his\nheart. He assured her that he loved her better than his own self. Their\nspeech after this was not very coherent; they gazed at one another for\nlonger stretches than they talked; but if eloquence lacked, there was\nplenty of love. He, to be sure, showed the more embarrassment; and no\nneed to wonder at this--she had had time to think over what to say to\nhim; for I hold it not unlikely (though the story does not say anything\nof this) that the good Fairy _Hippolyta_ had taken care to amuse her,\nduring her long sleep, with some pleasurable dreams. In short, the\n_Princess Aurora_ and the _Prince Florimond_ conversed for four hours,\nand still without saying the half they had to say.\n\nMeanwhile all the palace had awaked with the _Princess_. In the Council\nChamber the _King_ opened his eyes and requested the Lord Chancellor\nto read that last sentence of his over again a little more distinctly.\nThe Lord Chancellor, dipping his quill into the dry inkpot, asked the\nArchbishop in a whisper how many t's there were in 'regrettable.'\nThe Archbishop, taking a pinch of snuff that had long ago turned to\ndust, answered with a terrific sneeze, which again was drowned by the\nstriking of all the clocks in the palace, as they started frantically\nto make up for lost time. Dogs barked, doors banged; the _Princess's_\nparrot screamed in his cage and was answered by the peacocks squawking\nfrom the terrace; amid which hubbub the Minister for Agriculture,\nforgetting his manners, made a trumpet of his hands and bawled across\nthe table, begging His Majesty to adjourn for dinner. In short, every\none's first thought was of his own business; and, as they were not all\nin love, they were ready to die with hunger.\n\nEven the _Queen_, who had dropped asleep while discussing with her\nmaids-of-honour the shade of mourning which most properly expressed\nregret for royal personages in a trance, lost her patience at length,\nand sent one of her attendants with word that she, for her part, was\nkeen-set for something to eat, and that in her young days it had been\ncustomary for young ladies released from enchantment to accept the\ncongratulations of their parents without loss of time. The _Prince\nFlorimond_, by this message recalled to his devoirs, helped the\n_Princess_ to rise. She was completely dressed, and very magnificently\ntoo.\n\nTaking his beloved _Princess Aurora_ by the hand, he led her to her\nparents, who embraced her passionately and--their first transports\nover--turned to, welcome him as a son, being charmed (quite apart from\ntheir gratitude) by the modest gallantry of his address. They passed\ninto a great dining-room lined with mirrors, where they supped and\nwere served by the royal attendants. Violins and hautboys discoursed\nmusic that was ancient indeed, but excellent, and the meal was scarcely\nconcluded before the company enjoyed a very pleasant surprise.\n\n_Prince Florimond_, having no eyes but for his love, might be excused\nif he forgot that his attendants must, long before now, have carried\nhome their report, and that his parents would be in deep distress,\nwondering what had become of him. But the _King_, the _Princess's_\nfather, had a truly royal habit of remembering details, especially\nwhen it concerned setting folks at their ease. Before dinner he had\ndispatched a messenger to carry word to _Prince Florimond's_ father,\nthat his son was safe, and to acquaint him briefly with what had\nbefallen. The messenger, riding through the undergrowth--which now\nobligingly parted before him as it had, a while ago, to admit the\n_Prince_--and arriving at the outskirts of the wood, found there a\nsearch-party vainly endeavouring to break through the barrier, with\nthe _Prince's_ aged father standing by and exhorting them in person,\nto whom he delivered his message. Trembling with relief--for he truly\nsupposed his son to be lost beyond recall--the old man entreated the\nmessenger to turn back and escort him. So he arrived, and was ushered\ninto the hall.\n\nThe situation, to be sure, was delicate. But when these two kings, both\nso well meaning, had met and exchanged courtesies, and the one had\nraised the other by the hand to a place on the da\u00efs beside him, already\nand without speech they had almost accorded.\n\n'I am an old man,' said the _Prince's_ father; 'I have reigned long\nenough for my satisfaction, and now care for little in life but to see\nmy son happy.'\n\n'I think I can promise you that,' said the _Princess's_ father,\nsmiling, with a glance at the two lovers.\n\n'I am old enough, at any rate, to have done with ambitions,' said the\none.\n\n'And I,' said the other, 'have dreamed long enough, at any rate, to\ndespise them. What matters ruling to either of us two, while we see\nyour son and my daughter reigning together?'\n\nSo it was agreed, then and there; and after supper, without loss of\ntime, the Archbishop married the _Prince Florimond_ and the _Princess\nAurora_ in the chapel of the Castle. The two Kings and the _Princess's_\nmother saw them to their chamber, and the first maid-of-honour drew\nthe curtain. They slept little--the _Princess_ had no occasion; but\nthe _Prince_ next morning led his bride back to the city, where they\nwere acclaimed by the populace and lived happy ever after, reigning in\nprosperity and honour.\n\n\n                        MORAL\n\n     _Ye Maids, to await some while a lover fond,_\n     _Rich titled, debonair as Florimond,_\n     _Is reason; and who learns on fate to attend_\n     _Goes seldom unrewarded in the end--_\n     _'What! No one kiss us for a hundred years!'_\n     _There, la-la-la! I understood, my dears._\n\n                       ANOTHER\n\n     _Further, the story would suggest a doubt_\n     _That marriage_ may _be happiest when deferr'd--_\n     _'Deferr'd?' you cry--'Deferr'd,' I see you pout,_\n     _--We'll skip this morale and attempt a third._\n\n                       ANOTHER\n\n     _Thirdly, our able then appears to prove_\n     _Disparity of years no bar to love._\n     _Crabb'd Age and Youth--But that's an ancient quarrel,_\n     _And I'll not interfere. There 's no third moral._\n\n\n\nBLUE BEARD\n\n\nIn the East, in a city not far from Baghdad, there lived a man who had\nmany possessions and might have been envied by all who knew him had\nthese possessions been less by one. He had fine houses in town and\ncountry, retinues of servants, gold and silver plate in abundance,\ncoffers heaped with jewels, costly carpets, embroidered furniture,\ncabinets full of curiosities, gilded coaches, teams of Arab horses of\nthe purest breed. But unluckily he had also a blue beard, which made\nhim so frightfully ugly that every woman wanted to scream and run away\nat sight of him.\n\nAmong his neighbours was a lady of quality, who had two sons and two\ndaughters. Upon these two damsels _Blue Beard_ cast his affections,\nwithout knowing precisely which he preferred; and asked the lady to\nbestow the hand of one of her daughters upon him, adding, not too\ntactfully, that he would leave the choice to her. Neither _Anne_ nor\n_Fatima_ was eager for the honour. They sent their suitor to and fro,\nand back again from one to the other: they really could not make up\ntheir minds to accept a husband with a blue beard. It increased their\nrepugnance (for they were somewhat romantic young ladies) to learn that\nhe had already married several wives; and, moreover, nobody could tell\nwhat had become of them, which again was not reassuring.\n\n_Blue Beard_, to make their better acquaintance, invited them, with\ntheir mother and brothers and a dozen or so of their youthful friends,\nto divert themselves at one of his country houses, where they spent\na whole fortnight, and (as they confessed) in the most agreeable\npastimes. Each day brought some fresh entertainment: they hunted,\nthey hawked, they practised archery, they angled for gold-fish,\nor were rowed to the sound of music on the waters of their host's\nprivate canal, they picnicked in the ruined castles, of which he owned\nquite a number. Each day concluded, too, with banqueting, dancing,\ncard-parties, theatricals; or would have concluded, had these young\npeople felt any disposition to go to bed. They preferred, however, to\nsit up until morning, joking and teasing one another. _Blue Beard_,\nwho had arrived at middle age, would have been grateful for a little\nmore sleep than they allowed him, but showed himself highly complaisant\nand smiled at their pranks even when--their awe of him having worn\noff--they balanced a basin of water above his chamber door, to fall\non his head and douch him, or sewed up his night-garments, or stuffed\nhis bolster with the prickly cactus (an Eastern vegetable, of which\nhe possessed whole avenues); nay, even when, for the same mischievous\npurpose, they despoiled his garden of an aloe which was due to blossom\nin a few days' time, after having remained flowerless for a century, he\nbetrayed no chagrin but merely raised the wages of his head-gardener,\nheart-broken over the loss of a plant so economical in giving pleasure.\nIn short all went so smoothly that the younger daughter began to find\ntheir host's beard not so blue after all.\n\nShe confided this to her mother. 'Dear mother,' she said, 'it is\ndoubtless nothing more than my fancy, but his beard _does_ seem to me\nto have altered in colour during the last ten days--a very little, of\ncourse.'\n\n'Then you, too, have observed it!' the lady interrupted delightedly.\n'My dearest child, you cannot imagine how your words relieve me! For\na week past I have accused my eyesight of failing me, and myself of\ngrowing old.'\n\n'Then you really think there _is_ a change?' asked _Fatima_, at once\ndoubtful and hoping.\n\n'Indeed, yes. Ask yourself if it be reasonable to suppose that our eyes\nare playing a trick on both of us? Not,' her mother went on, 'that\nI, for my part, have any prejudice against blue. On the contrary,\nit is a beautiful colour, and considered lucky. The poets--you will\nhave remarked--when they would figure to us the highest attainable\nhappiness, select a blue flower or a blue bird for its emblem. Heaven\nitself is blue; and, at the least, a blue beard must be allowed to\nconfer distinction.'\n\n'A greyish-blue,' hazarded _Fatima_.\n\n'A bluish-grey, rather,' her mother corrected her: 'that is, if I must\ndefine the shade as it appears to me.'\n\n'And,' still hesitated _Fatima_, 'since it has begun to change, there\nseems no reason why it should not continue to do so.'\n\n'My darling'--her mother kissed her--'that is precisely the point! Its\ncolour is changing, you say. But for what reason? Obviously because he\nis in love; and what love has begun, love can carry to a conclusion.\nNay, but put it on the ground of pity alone. Could a feeling heart set\nitself any task more angelic than to rescue so worthy a gentleman from\nso hideous an affliction--if affliction it be, which I am far from\nallowing?'\n\n_Fatima_ reflected on her mother's advice, but thought it prudent to\nconsult her sister _Anne_ and her step-brothers before coming to a\ndecision which, once taken, must be irrevocable.\n\nThey listened to her very good-naturedly; though, to tell the truth,\nall three were somewhat jaded, having sat up all night at the\ncard-tables, playing at ombre, quadrille, lasquenet; and Heaven knows\nwhat other games.\n\n'My dear _Fatima_,' said her sister _Anne_ with a little yawn, 'I\ncongratulate you with all my heart on having made a discovery which,\nbeyond a doubt and but for your better diligence, I should have had to\nmake for myself before long.'\n\nAs for her step-brothers, they were in the best of humours at having\nwon a considerable sum of money from their host by superior play; and\nthey answered her, quoting a proverb, that 'at nights all cats are\ngrey, and all beards too,' and seemed to consider this very much to the\npoint.\n\n_Fatima_ was greatly relieved by these assurances. On the evening\nbefore the company dispersed _Blue Beard_ again sought a private\ninterview and pressed his suit. She accepted him without further ado,\nand as soon as they returned to town the marriage was concluded.\n\n\nThey had been married little more than a month when _Blue Beard_ came\nto his wife one morning, and told her that letters of importance had\narrived for him: he must take a journey into the country and be away\nsix weeks at least on a matter of business. He desired her to divert\nherself in his absence by sending for her friends, to carry them off to\nthe country if she pleased, and to make good cheer wherever she was.\n\n'Here,' said he, 'are the keys of the two great store-chambers where\nI keep my spare furniture; these open the strong-rooms of my gold and\nsilver plate which is only used on state occasions; these unlock my\nchests of money, both gold and silver; these, my jewel coffers; and\nthis is the master-key to all my apartments. But this little one, here,\nis the key of the closet at the end of the great gallery on the ground\nfloor. Open all the others; go where you will. But into that little\ncloset I forbid you to go; and I forbid it so strongly that if you\n_should_ disobey me and open it, there is nothing you may not expect\nfrom my displeasure.'\n\n_Fatima_ promised to obey all his orders exactly; whereupon he embraced\nher, got into his coach, and was driven off.\n\nHer good friends and neighbours scarcely waited for the young bride's\ninvitation, so impatient were they to view all the riches of her\ngrand house, having never dared to come while her husband was at\nhome, because of his terrifying blue beard. They overran the house\nwithout loss of time, hunting their curiosity from room to room, along\nthe corridors and in and out of closets and wardrobes, cabinets and\npresses; opening cupboards, ferreting in drawers, and still exclaiming\nover their contents as each new discovery proved more wonderful than\nthe last. They roamed through the bedrooms and spent a long while in\nthe two great store-chambers, where they could not sufficiently admire\nthe number and beauty of the tapestries, beds, sofas, consoles, stands,\ntables, but particularly the looking-glasses, in which you could see\nyourself from head to foot, with their frames of glass and silver and\nsilver-gilt, the finest and costliest ever seen. They ceased not to\nextol and to envy their friend's good fortune.\n\n'If my husband could only give me such a house as this,' said one to\nanother, 'for aught I cared he might have a beard of all the colours of\nthe rainbow!'\n\n[Illustration: They overran the house without loss of time.]\n\n_Fatima_, meanwhile, was not in the least amused by the sight of all\nthese riches, being consumed by a curiosity even more ardent than\nthat of her friends. Indeed, she could scarcely contain herself and\nlisten to their chatter, so impatient she felt to go and open the\ncloset downstairs. If only _Blue Beard_ had not forbidden this one\nlittle thing! Or if, having reasons of his own to keep it secret, he\nhad been content to take the key away with him, saying nothing about\nit! At least, if he wished to prove whether or not poor _Fatima_ could\nrise above the common frailty of her sex--and he was, as we shall see,\na somewhat exacting husband--he should have warned her. As it was,\nher curiosity grew and possessed her until at length, without even\nconsidering how uncivil it was to leave her guests, she escaped from\nthem and ran down a little back staircase, in such haste that twice or\nthrice she tripped over her gown and came near breaking her neck.\n\nWhen she reached the door of the closet she hesitated for a moment or\nso, thinking upon her husband's command, and considering what ill might\nbefall her if she disobeyed it. While he uttered it his look had been\nextremely stern, and a blue beard--for after a month of married life\nshe could no longer disguise from herself that it was still blue, or\nat any rate changing colour less rapidly than she or her mother had\npromised themselves--might betoken a harsh temper. On the other hand,\nand though she continued to find it repulsive, he had hitherto proved\nhimself a kind, even an indulgent husband, and for the life of her she\ncould not imagine there was anything unpardonable in opening so small a\nchamber. The temptation, in short, was too strong for her to overcome.\nShe took the little key and, trembling, opened the door.\n\nAt first, shading her eyes and peering in, she could see nothing,\nbecause the window-shutters were closed. But after some moments she\nbegan to perceive that the light, falling through the shutters, took\na reddish tinge as it touched the floor. So red it was--or rather,\nred-purple--that for a moment or two she supposed the closet to be\npaved with porphyry of that colour. Still, as she stared, and her\neyes by degrees grew accustomed to the gloom, she saw--and moment by\nmoment the truth crept upon her and froze her--that the floor was all\ncovered with clotted blood. In the dull shine of it something horrible\nwas reflected.... With an effort she lifted her eyes to the wall\nfacing her, and there, in a row, on seven iron clamps, hung the bodies\nof seven dead women with their feet dangling a few inches above the\nhorrible pool in which their blood had mingled.... Little doubt but\nthese were the wives whom _Blue Beard_ had married and whose throats he\nhad cut, one after another!\n\nPoor _Fatima_ thought to die of fear, and the key, which she had pulled\nfrom the lock, fell from her hand. When she had regained her senses a\nlittle, she picked it up and locked the door again; but her hand shook\nso that this was no easy feat, and she tottered upstairs to recover\nherself in her own room. But she found it filled with her officious\nfriends, who, being occupied with envy of her riches and having no\nreason to guess that, in a husband's absence, anything could afflict so\nfortunate a wife, either honestly ignored her pallor or hoped (while\npromising to come again) that they had not overtired her by their visit.\n\nThey promised, too, to repeat their call very soon, at the same time\ninquiring how long her husband's journey might be expected to last. It\nwas plain that they feared him, one and all. Half an hour ago she might\nhave wondered at this.\n\nThey were gone at last. _Fatima_, drawing the key from her pocket, now\nto her horror observed a dull smear upon it, and remembered that it had\nfallen at her feet on the edge of the pool of blood in the closet. She\nwiped it; she rubbed it on the sleeve of her robe; but the blood would\nnot come off. In a sudden terror she ran to her dressing-room, poured\nout water, and began to soap the key. But in vain did she wash it, and\neven scrape it with a knife and scrub it with sand and pumice-stone.\nThe blood still remained, for the key was a magic key, and there was no\nmeans of making it quite clean; as fast as the blood was scoured off\none side it came again on the other.\n\nShe was still scouring and polishing, when a horn sounded not very far\naway. In her flurry she paid little heed to this, or to the rumble of\nwheels she heard approaching. Frightened though she was, she supposed\nthat she had still almost six weeks in which to restore by some means\nthe key to its brightness. But when the wheels rolled up to the\nporchway and came to a stop, and when the horn, sounding again, blew\nher husband's flourish, then indeed the poor lady's knees knocked\ntogether and almost sank beneath her. Hiding the key in the bosom of\nher bodice, she tottered forth to the head of the stairs, to behold\n_Blue Beard_ himself standing beneath the lamp in the hall below.\n\nHe caught sight of her as she leaned over, clinging to the balustrade;\nand called up cheerfully that he had received letters on the road with\nnews that his journey was after all unnecessary--the business he went\nabout had been settled, and to his advantage. Still shaking in every\nlimb, _Fatima_ crept downstairs to give him greeting. She ordered\nsupper to be prepared in haste; and while he ate, forced herself to ask\na hundred questions concerning his adventures. In short she did all she\ncould to give him proof that she was delighted at his speedy return.\n\nNext morning, having summoned her to attend him on the terrace, he\nasked her to render back the keys; which she gave him, but with such a\ntrembling hand that he easily guessed what had happened.\n\n'How is this? 'said he. 'Why is not the key of my closet among the\nrest?'\n\n'I must have left it upstairs on my table,' said _Fatima_.\n\n'Fetch it to me at once,' said _Blue Beard_. 'At once, and without\nfail.'\n\nShe went, and after a while returned, protesting that she could not\nfind it.\n\n'Go back and seek again,' commanded _Blue Beard_, dangerously calm.\n\nAfter going backwards and forwards several times, she could pretend no\nlonger, but brought him the key. _Blue Beard_ examined it closely, and\ndemanded--\n\n'How came this blood upon the key?'\n\n'I do not know,' answered poor _Fatima_, paler than death.\n\n'You do not know!' cried _Blue Beard_ in a terrible voice. 'But I know\nwell enough. You have chosen to enter that closet. Mighty well, madam;\nsince that poor room of mine so appeals to your fancy, your whim shall\nnot be denied. You _shall_ go in, and take your place among the ladies\nyou saw there!'\n\n_Fatima_ flung herself at her husband's feet, and wept and begged his\npardon with every sign of truly repenting her disobedience. She would\nhave melted a rock, so beautiful and sorrowful she was; but _Blue\nBeard_ had a heart harder than any rock.\n\n[Illustration: The unhappy FATIMA cried up to her:--\n\n'Anne, Sister Anne, do you see any one coming?']\n\n'You must die, madam,' said he, 'and that presently.'\n\n'Since I must die,' she answered, looking up at him with eyes all\nbathed in tears, 'grant me a little time to say my prayers.'\n\n'I grant you,' replied _Blue Beard_, 'ten minutes, and not a second\nmore.'\n\nAs she went from him, and through the house towards her own apartment,\nat the foot of the great staircase she met with her sister _Anne_, who\n(unaware of _Blue Beard's_ return) had just arrived to pay her a visit.\n\n'Ah, dear sister!' cried _Fatima_, embracing her. 'But tell me, oh, and\nfor Heaven's sake, quickly! where are my brothers _Selim_ and _Hassan_,\nwho promised to come with you?'\n\n'They are at home,' said _Anne_. 'They were detained at parade, and\nI have come ahead of them. I could wait for them no longer in my\nimpatience to see you; but just as I was starting they arrived back\nfrom the parade-ground, and sent word that they will follow as soon as\nthey have groomed their horses, and spend a happy day with you.'\n\n'Alas!' sobbed _Fatima_, 'they will never see me alive in this world!'\n\n'But what has happened? 'asked her sister, amazed.\n\n'He--_Blue Beard_--has returned.... Yes, and in a few minutes he has\npromised to kill me. But ah! ask me no questions--there is so little\ntime left. Dear sister, if you love me, run upstairs and still up to\nthe top of the tower, look if my brothers are not coming, and if you\nsee them, give them a signal to make haste!'\n\nHer sister _Anne_ left her and ran up, up, to the roof of the tower;\nand from time to time as the minutes sped, the unhappy _Fatima_ cried\nup to her:--\n\n'_Anne, Sister Anne, do you see any one coming?_'\n\nAnd _Sister Anne_ answered her:--\n\n'_I see nothing but the noon dust a-blowing, and the green grass\na-growing._'\n\nBy and by _Blue Beard_, who had pulled out his huge sabre, and was\ntrying its edge on the short turf of the terrace, shouted to her:--\n\n'Wife, your time is up. Come down, and at once!'\n\nThen, as she made no answer, he shouted again, and as loudly as he\ncould bawl: 'Come down quickly, or I will come up to you!'\n\n'A moment--give me a moment longer!' she answered, and called softly to\nher sister: '_Anne, Sister Anne, do you see any one coming?_'\n\nAnd _Sister Anne_ answered: '_I see nothing but the noon dust\na-blowing, and the green grass a-growing._'\n\n'Come down quickly,' shouted _Blue Beard_, 'or I will come up to you!'\n\n'I am coming,' answered his wife; and again she cried: '_Anne, Sister\nAnne, do you see any one coming?_'\n\n'I see,' answered _Sister Anne_, 'yonder a great cloud of dust coming.'\n\n'Is it my brothers?'\n\n'Alas! no, sister. I see a flock of sheep.'\n\n'Will you not come down?' bawled _Blue Beard_.\n\n'Just one moment longer!' entreated his wife, and once more she called\nout: '_Anne, Sister Anne, do you see nobody coming?_'\n\n'I see,' she answered, 'yonder two Knights a-riding, but they are yet a\ngreat way off.... God be praised,' she cried a moment after, 'they are\nour brothers! I am waving my handkerchief to them to hasten.'\n\nThen _Blue Beard_ stamped his foot and roared out so terribly that he\nmade the whole house tremble. The poor lady came down and, casting\nherself, all in tears and dishevelled, at his feet, clasped him by the\nankles while she besought him for mercy.\n\n'This shall not help you,' said _Blue Beard_, 'You must die!' Then,\ntaking hold of her hair and twisting her head back, the better to\nexpose her beautiful throat, he exclaimed: 'This be the lesson I read\nagainst curiosity, the peculiar vice of womankind, and which above\nall others I find detestable. To that most fatal habit all the best\naccredited religions, in whatever else they may differ, unite in\nattributing the first cause of all misfortunes to which the race is\nsubject.... In this strain he continued for fully three minutes, still\ngrasping her hair with one hand while with the other he flourished his\nsabre.\n\nAs he ceased, poor _Fatima_ looked up at him with dying eyes. 'Ah,\nsir!' she besought him, (if this curiosity be, as you remind me, my\nworst sin, you will not be so cruel as to destroy me before I have\nconfessed and asked pardon for it. Grant me, then, just one moment more\nto fix my thoughts on devotion!'\n\n[Illustration: Then BLUE BEARD roared out so terribly that he made the\nwhole house tremble.]\n\n'No, no,' was his answer; 'recommend thyself to Heaven'; and he swung\nup his sabre to strike.\n\nAt that very instant there sounded so loud a knocking at the gate that\nhe came to a sudden stop. His arm dropped as the gate flew open and\ntwo cavaliers ran in with drawn swords and rushed upon him. Loosing\nhis hold upon _Fatima_, who sank fainting upon the grass, he ran to\nsave himself, but the two brothers were so hot on his heels that, after\npursuing him through the vineries and the orange-house, they overtook\nhim just as he reached the steps of the main porch. There they ran\ntheir swords through his body, and, after making sure that he was dead,\nreturned to their sister, who opened her eyes, indeed, as they bent\nover her, but had not strength enough to rise and embrace them.\n\n\n_Blue Beard_ had no heirs, and so his wife became mistress of all his\nestates. She employed a part of her wealth to marry her sister _Anne_\nto a young gentleman who had loved her a long while; another part to\npurchase captains' commissions for her two step-brothers; and the rest\nto marry herself to a very worthy gentleman who made her forget the\nshort but unhappy time she had passed with _Blue Beard_.\n\n\n                      MORAL\n               (For Curious Wives)\n     _Wives should have one lord only. Some have reckon'd_\n     _In Curiosity t' enjoy a second._\n     _But Scripture says we may not serve two masters,_\n     _And little keys have opened large disasters._\n\n                     ANOTHER\n\n      (For Chastising or Correcting Husbands)\n\n     _The very best sermon that ever was preach'd_\n     _Was a thought less effective the longer it reached._\n\n\n\nCINDERELLA OR THE LITTLE GLASS SLIPPER\n\n\nOnce upon a time there lived a gentleman who married twice. His second\nwife was a widow with two grown-up daughters, both somewhat past their\nprime, and this woman would have been the proudest and most overbearing\nin the world had not her daughters exactly resembled her with their\nfine airs and insolent tempers. The husband, too, had by his first wife\na child of his own, a young daughter, and so good and so gentle that\nshe promised to grow up into the living image of her dead mother, who\nhad been the most lovable of women.\n\nThe wedding festivities were no sooner over than the stepmother began\nto show herself in her true colours. She could not endure the girl's\ngood qualities, which by contrast rendered her own daughters the more\nodious. She put her to drudge at the meanest household work, and thus\nshe and her precious darlings not only wreaked their spite but saved\nmoney to buy themselves dresses and finery. It was the child who\nscoured the pots and pans, scrubbed the floors, washed down the stairs,\npolished the tables, ironed the linen, darned the stockings, and made\nthe beds. She herself slept at the top of the house in a garret, upon a\nwretched straw mattress, while her sisters had apartments of their own\nwith inlaid floors, beds carved and gilded in the latest fashion, and\nmirrors in which they could see themselves from head to foot.\n\nYet they were so helpless, or rather they thought it so menial to do\nanything for themselves, that had they but a ribbon to tie, or a bow\nto adjust, or a bodice to be laced, the child must be sent for. When\nshe came it was odds that they met her with a storm of abuse, in this\nfashion:--\n\n'What do you mean, pray, by answering the bell in this state? Stand\nbefore the glass and look at yourself! Look at your hands--faugh! How\ncan you suppose we should allow you to touch a ribbon, or even come\nnear us, with such hands? Run downstairs, slut, and put yourself under\nthe kitchen pump'--and so on.\n\n'How can I help it?' thought the poor little drudge. 'If I do not\nrun at once when the bell rings, they scold me for that. Yet they\nring--both of them together sometimes--a minute after setting me to\nrake out a grate and sift the ashes. As for looking at myself in the\nglass, gladly would I do it if they allowed me one. But they have told\nme that if I had a glass I should only waste time in front of it.'\n\nShe kept these thoughts to herself, however, and suffered her ill-usage\npatiently, not daring to complain to her father, who would, moreover,\nhave joined with the others in chiding her, for he was wholly under his\nwife's thumb; and she had enough of chiding already. When she had done\nher work she used to creep away to the chimney-corner and seat herself\namong the cinders, and from this the household name for her came to\nbe _Cinder-slut_; but the younger sister, who was not so ill-tempered\nas the elder, called her _Cinderella_. They were wise in their way to\ndeprive her of a looking-glass; for in truth, and in spite of her sorry\nrags, _Cinderella_ was a hundred times more beautiful than they with\nall their magnificent dresses.\n\n\nIt happened that the King's son gave a ball, and sent invitations\nthrough the kingdom to every person of quality. Our two misses were\ninvited among the rest, for they cut a great figure in that part of\nthe country. Mightily pleased they were to be sure with their cards of\ninvitation, all printed in gold and stamped with the broad red seal of\nthe Heir Apparent; and mightily busy they were, discussing what gowns\nand head-dresses would best become them. This meant more worry for\n_Cinderella_, for it was she who ironed her sisters' linen, goffered\ntheir tucks and frills, pleated their wristbands, pressed their\ntrimmings of old lace and wrapped them away in tissue paper. A score of\ntimes all this lace, piece by piece, had to be unwrapped, inspected,\nput away again; and after a trying-on, all the linen had to be ironed,\ngoffered, crimped, or pleated afresh for them. They could talk of\nnothing but their ball dresses.\n\n[Illustration: She used to creep away to the chimney-corner and seat\nherself among the cinders.]\n\n'For my part,' said the elder, 'I shall wear a velvet cramoisie trimmed\n_\u00e0 l'Anglaise_'--for she had a passion for cramoisie, and could not\nperceive how ill the colour went with her complexion. 'I had thought of\ncloth-of-gold, but there's the cost of the underskirt to be considered;\nand underskirts seem to grow dearer and dearer in these days. What a\nrelief,' she went on, 'it must be to have money and not be forced to\nset one thing against another!'\n\n'I,' said the younger, 'must make shift with my old underskirt; that\nis, unless I can wheedle some money out of Papa'--for so, in their\naffection, they called their stepfather. '_Cinderella_ can take out the\nworst stains to-morrow with a little eau-de-Cologne. I believe that,\nif she tries, she can make it look as good as new; and, at all events,\nit will give her something to do instead of wasting an afternoon. I\ndon't pretend that I _like_ wearing an old underskirt, and I hope\nto make dear Papa sensible of this; but against it I shall have the\ngold-flowered robe, on which I am determined, and my diamond stomacher,\nwhich is somewhat better than the common.'\n\n'And I, of course,' said the elder, 'must wear my diamond spray. If\nonly it had a ruby in the clasp instead of a sapphire! Rubies go so\nmuch better with cramoisie.... I suppose there is no time now to ask\nthe jeweller to re-set it with a ruby.'\n\n'But you don't possess a ruby, dear,' murmured her sister, who did\npossess one, and had no intention of lending it. 'And, besides,\nsapphires suit you so much better!'\n\nThey sent for the best milliner they could find, to build their\nmob-caps in triple tiers; and for the best hairdresser to arrange\ntheir hair; and their patches were supplied by the shop to which all\nthe Quality went. From time to time they called up _Cinderella_ to ask\nher advice, for she had excellent taste. _Cinderella_ advised them\nperfectly, and even offered her services to dress their hair for them\non the night of the ball. They accepted gladly enough.\n\nWhilst she was dressing them one asked her: '_Cinderella_, would you\nnot like to be going to the ball?'\n\n'Alas! miss,' said _Cinderella_, 'you are making fun of me. It is not\nfor the like of me to be there.'\n\n'You are right, girl. Folks would laugh indeed to see _Cinder-slut_ at\na ball!'\n\nAny one but _Cinderella_ would have pinned on their mob-caps awry; and\nif you or I had been in her place, I won't swear but that we might have\npushed in the pins just a trifle carelessly. But she had no malice in\nher nature; she attired them to perfection, though they found fault\nwith her all the while it was doing, and quite forgot to thank her\nwhen it was done. Let it be related, in excuse for their tempers, that\nthey had passed almost two days without eating, so eager were they\nand excited. The most of this time they had spent in front of their\nmirrors, where they had broken more than a dozen laces in trying to\nsqueeze their waists and make them appear more slender. They were\ndressed a full two hours before the time fixed for starting. But at\nlength the coach arrived at the door. They were tucked into it with a\nhundred precautions, and _Cinderella_ followed it with her eyes as long\nas she could; that is to say, until the tears rose and blinded them.\n\nShe turned away weeping, back to the house, and crept into her dear\nchimney-corner; where, being all alone in the kitchen, she could\nindulge her misery.\n\nA long while she sat there. Suddenly, between two heavy sobs she looked\nup, her eyes attracted by a strange blue glow on the far side of the\nhearth: and there stood the queerest lady, who must have entered\nsomehow without knocking.\n\nHer powdered hair was dressed all about her head in the prettiest\nof short curls, amid which the most exquisite jewels--diamonds, and\nrubies, and emeralds--sparkled against the firelight. Her dress had\nwide panniers bulging over a skirt of lace flounces, billowy and\ndelicate as sea-foam, and a stiff bodice, shaped to the narrowest\nwaist imaginable. Jewels flashed all over this dress--or at least\n_Cinderella_ supposed them to be jewels, though, on second thoughts,\nthey might be fireflies, butterflies, glowworms. They seemed at any\nrate to be alive, and to dart from one point to another of her attire.\nLastly, this strange lady held in her right hand a short wand, on the\nend of which trembled a pale bluish-green flame; and it was this which\nhad first caught _Cinderella's_ eye and caused her to look up.\n\n'Good evening, child,' said the visitor in a sharp clear voice, at\nthe same time nodding kindly across the firelight. 'You seem to be in\ntrouble. What is the matter?'\n\n'I wish,' sobbed _Cinderella_. 'I wish,' she began again, and again she\nchoked. This was all she could say for weeping.\n\n'You wish, dear, that you could go to the ball; is it not so?'\n\n'Ah, yes!' said _Cinderella_ with a sigh.\n\n'Well, then,' said the visitor, 'be a good girl, dry your tears, and\nI think it can be managed. I am your godmother, you must know, and in\nyounger days your mother and I were very dear friends.' She omitted,\nperhaps purposely, to add that she was a Fairy; but _Cinderella_ was\nsoon to discover this too. 'Do you happen to have any pumpkins in the\ngarden?' her godmother asked.\n\n_Cinderella_ thought this an odd question. She could not imagine what\npumpkins had to do with going to a ball. But she answered that there\nwere plenty in the garden--a whole bed of them in fact.\n\n'Then let us go out and have a look at them.'\n\nThey went out into the dark garden to the pumpkin patch, and her\ngodmother pointed to the finest of all with her wand.\n\n'Pick that one,' she commanded.\n\n_Cinderella_ picked it, still wondering. Her godmother opened a fruit\nknife that had a handle of mother-of-pearl. With this she scooped out\nthe inside of the fruit till only the rind was left; then she tapped\nit with her wand, and at once the pumpkin was changed into a beautiful\ncoach all covered with gold.\n\n'Next we must have horses,' said her godmother. 'The question is, Have\nyou such a thing as a mouse trap in the house?'\n\n_Cinderella_ ran to look into her mouse trap, where she found six mice\nall alive. Her godmother, following, told her to lift the door of the\ntrap a little way, and as the mice ran out one by one she gave each\na tap with her wand, and each mouse turned at once into a beautiful\nhorse--which made a fine team of six horses, of a lovely grey, dappled\nwith mouse colour.\n\nNow the trouble was to find a coachman.\n\n'I will go and see,' said _Cinderella_, who had dried her tears and was\nbeginning to find this great fun, 'if there isn't such a thing as a rat\nin the rat trap. We can make a coachman of him.'\n\n'You are right, dear,' said her godmother; 'run and look.'\n\n_Cinderella_ fetched her the rat trap. There were three large rats in\nit. The Fairy chose one of the three because of his enormous whiskers,\nand at a touch he was changed into a fat coachman.\n\nNext she said: 'Go to the end of the garden; and there in the corner of\nthe wall behind the watering-pot, unless I am mistaken, you will find\nsix lizards. Bring them to me.'\n\n_Cinderella_ had no sooner brought them than her godmother changed them\ninto six footmen, who climbed up at once behind the coach with their\nbedizened liveries, and clung on as though they had been doing nothing\nelse all their lives.\n\nThe Fairy then said to _Cinderella_: 'Hey now, child! This will do to\ngo to the ball with, unless you are hard to please.'\n\n'Indeed, yes,' answered _Cinderella_. 'But how can I go, as I am, in\nthese horrid clothes?'\n\n'You might have given me credit for thinking of that too!' Her\ngodmother did but touch her with her wand, and on the instant her rags\nwere transformed into cloth of gold and silver, all bespangled with\nprecious stones. She felt her hair creeping up into curls, and tiring\nand arranging itself in tiers, on the topmost of which a double ostrich\nfeather grew from a diamond clasp that caught the rays of the old\nlady's wand and shot them about the garden, this way and that, making\nthe slugs and snails crawl to shelter.\n\n'But the chief mark of a lady,' said her godmother, eyeing her with\napproval, 'is to be well shod,' and so saying she pulled out a pair of\nglass slippers, into which _Cinderella_ poked her toes doubtfully, for\nglass is not as a rule an accommodating material for slippers. You have\nto be measured very carefully for it.\n\nBut these fitted to perfection: and thus arrayed from top to toe,\n_Cinderella_ had nothing more to do but kiss her godmother, thank\nher, and step into the coach, the six horses of which were pawing the\ncabbage beds impatiently.\n\n'Good-bye, child! 'said her godmother. 'But of one thing I must warn\nyou seriously. I have power to send you thus to the ball, but my power\nlasts only until midnight. Not an instant beyond midnight must you stay\nthere. If you over-stay the stroke of twelve, your coach will become\nbut a pumpkin again, your horses will change back into mice, your\nfootmen into lizards, and your ball dress shrink to the same rags in\nwhich I found you.'\n\n_Cinderella_ promised that she would not fail to take her departure\nbefore midnight: and, with that, the coachman cracked his whip and she\nwas driven away, beside herself with joy.\n\n\nIn the royal palace, and in the royal gardens, over which shone the\nsame stars which had looked down upon _Cinderella's_ pumpkins, the ball\nwas at its height: with scores and scores of couples dancing on the\nwaxed floor to the music of the violins; and under the trees, where the\nmusic throbbed in faint echoes, other scores of couples moving, passing\nand repassing, listening to the plash of the fountains and inhaling the\nsweet scent of the flowers.\n\nNow, as the King's son walked among his guests, word was brought to him\nby his Chamberlain that a grand Princess, whom nobody knew, had just\narrived and desired admission.\n\n'She will not tell her name,' said the Chamberlain; 'but that she is\na Princess and of very high dignity cannot be doubted. Apart from her\nbeauty and the perfection of her address (of which your Royal Highness,\nperhaps, will allow me to be no mean judge), I may mention that the\nvery jewels in her hair are worth a whole province.'\n\nThe King's son hastened to the gate to receive the fair stranger,\nhanded her down from the coach, and led her through the gardens,\nwhere the guests drew apart and gazed in wonder at her loveliness.\nStill escorted by him she entered the ball-room, where at once a\ngreat silence fell, the dancing was broken off, the violins ceased to\nplay--so taken, so ravished was everybody by the vision of this unknown\none. Everywhere ran the murmur, 'Ah! how beautiful she is!' The _King_\nhimself, old as he was, could not take his eyes off her, and confided\nto the _Queen_ in a low voice that it was long since he had seen so\nadorable a creature.\n\nAll the ladies were busily studying her head-dress and her ball gown,\nthat they might order the like next day for themselves, if only (vain\nhope!) they could find materials so exquisite and dressmakers clever\nenough.\n\nThe King's son took her to the place of honour, and afterwards led her\nout to dance. She danced so gracefully that all admired her yet the\nmore. A splendid supper was served, but the young _Prince_ ate nothing\nof it, so intent was he on gazing upon her.\n\nShe went and sat by her sisters, who bridled with pleasure at the\nhonour. She did them a thousand civilities, sharing with them the\nnectarines and citrons which the _Prince_ brought her; and still not\nrecognising her, they marvelled at this, being quite unused (as they\nnever deserved) to be selected for attentions so flattering.\n\nThe King's son now claimed her for another dance. It had scarcely come\nto an end when _Cinderella_ heard the clock strike the quarter to\ntwelve; whereupon she instantly desired her partner to lead her to the\n_King_ and _Queen_. 'For I must be going,' she said.\n\n'It is cruel of you to go so early,' he protested. 'But at least you\nwill come again to-morrow and grant me many dances?'\n\n'Is there to be another ball, then, to-morrow?' she asked.\n\n'To-morrow, yes; and as many morrows as you wish, if only you will\ncome.'\n\n'Ah, if I could! 'sighed _Cinderella_ to herself: for she was young,\nand it seemed to her that she could never have enough of such evenings\nas this, though they went on for ever and ever.\n\nThe _Prince_ led her to the da\u00efs where sat the _King_ and _Queen_. She\nmade a deep reverence before them, a slighter but no less gracious one\nto the company, and withdrew. Although she had given no orders, her\ncoach stood waiting for her. Slipping in, she was whisked home in the\ntime it would take you to wink an eye.\n\nShe had scarcely entered the house, however, before she received a\nshock. For on the threshold of the kitchen, glancing down to make sure\nthat her ball gown was not disarranged by this rapid journey, she\nperceived that it had vanished--changed back to the rags of her daily\nwear. But there, in the light of the hearth, stood her godmother, who\nsmiled so pleasantly that _Cinderella_ choked down her little cry of\ndisappointment.\n\n[Illustration: Whereupon she instantly desired her partner to lead her\nto the KING and QUEEN.]\n\n'Well, child? And how have you fared?'\n\n'Godmama, I have never been so happy in all my life! And it is all\nthanks to you!' But after thanking her, _Cinderella_ could not help\nconfessing how she longed to go to the ball next evening. The King's\nson had begged her to come again, and oh! if she had been able to\npromise!\n\n'As to that, child,' said her godmother, 'we will see about it when the\ntime comes. But it has been lonely, keeping watch and sitting up for\nyou. Will you not reward me by telling all about it?'\n\n_Cinderella_ needed no such invitation; she was dying to relate\nher adventures. She talked and talked, her godmother still smiling\nand questioning. For two hours, may be, she talked and was still\nrecollecting a score of things to tell when her sisters' coach rumbled\nup to the gate, and almost at once there came a loud ring at the bell.\nShe stared and rubbed her eyes, for at the first sound of it her\ngodmother had vanished!\n\n_Cinderella_ ran and opened the door to her sisters. 'What a long time\nyou have stayed,' said she, yawning, rubbing her eyes, and stretching\nherself as though she had just waked out of sleep. (She had felt,\nhowever, no inclination at all to sleep since their departure!)\n\n'If you had been at the ball,' said the elder sister, 'you would not\nhave felt tired. One of the guests was the loveliest Princess--oh, the\nloveliest you ever could see! She showed us a thousand civilities. She\ngave us nectarines and citrons.'\n\n_Cinderella_ contained her joy. Upstairs, while she unplaited her\nsisters' hair and unlaced their bodices, she asked the name of the\nPrincess. But they answered that no one knew her; that the King's son\nwas wild about her, and would give everything in the world to discover\nwho she was. _Cinderella_ smiled. She no longer felt any temptation at\nall to be clumsy with the hairpins.\n\n'Why then,' she said, 'she must be beautiful indeed. And she went away,\nyou say, without telling her name? Is no one going to see her again?'\n\n'As for that, she may come again to the ball to-morrow. I am told that\nthe _Prince_ begged it, almost with tears in his eyes.... For there is\nto be another ball to-morrow, and we are going!'\n\n'Ah, heavens!' sighed _Cinderella_, how lucky you are! Might I not just\nsee her? Please, please, Sister Caroline, take me to-morrow--I could\nmanage quite well if only you lent me your yellow gown which you wear\nevery evening!'\n\n'Hoity-toity! 'snapped _Miss Caroline_. 'You cannot be awake. You must\nhave been dreaming to some purpose if you see me lending my clothes to\na nasty little Cinder-slut!'\n\n_Cinderella_ had quite well expected some such rebuff, and was glad\nenough to get it, for it would have been very awkward if her sister had\nbeen willing to lend the gown.\n\n\nThe next evening the two sisters were at the ball; and so was\n_Cinderella_, but in even finer attire than before. Her godmother\nhad spared no pains, and as for the expense, that hardly needs to be\nconsidered when you can turn pumpkins into gilt coaches, cobwebs into\nValenciennes lace, and beetles' wings into rubies, with the tap of a\nwand.\n\nThe King's son in his impatience flew to her coach door as soon as she\narrived. Throughout the evening he never left her side, nor ceased to\nmake pretty speeches; and she, pretty maid, was far from finding his\nbehaviour tiresome--so far, indeed, that she forgot her godmother's\nwarning. The end was, that in the midst of a dance she heard the stroke\nof a clock, looked up, was dismayed to find it the first stroke of\ntwelve when she believed it yet an hour short of midnight, and made her\nescape as lightly as a deer. The _Prince_ followed, but could not catch\nher. Only she dropped one of her glass slippers, which he picked up and\ntreasured.\n\nWith the last stroke of twelve, coach and footmen had whisked away,\nand poor _Cinderella_, barefoot now as well as in rags, panted\nhomeward over roads where the flints cut her until she bled, and the\nowls and great moths blundered out of the bushes against her face. To\nmake matters worse, a thunderstorm broke before she had ran half the\ndistance, and she arrived home in a terrible plight, muddy, drenched to\nthe skin, and almost more dead than alive. In one thing only she was\nfortunate: she had outstripped her sisters, whose coach on the way home\nlost a wheel--and I have a suspicion that _Cinderella's_ godmother had\nsomething to do with this misadventure too.\n\nAt all events when _Cinderella_ opened the kitchen door the little lady\nstood as she had stood the night before, in the glow of the hearth,\nawaiting her.\n\n'Well, child,' she said, frowning, yet the frown was not altogether\nunkindly, 'it is easily seen that you have forgotten my warning and\nhave suffered for it. But what is _that_ you are clutching?'\n\nPoor _Cinderella_ drew from under her bedraggled bodice a crystal\nslipper, fellow to the missing one. It was the one remnant of all her\nfinery, and somehow, scarcely knowing why, she had hugged it to her\nwhile she ran and never let it slip in all her stumblings.\n\nHer godmother gazed at her with a queer expression, that began by being\na frown, yet in the end had certainly changed into a shrewd smile.\n\n'You have been careless,' she said. 'Yet I am pleased to see that you\nhave managed to keep, at any rate, one-half of your godmother's gift.\n'I think she meant by this that whereas all the rest of _Cinderella's_\nadornment had been contrived out of something other than it was, the\ntwo glass slippers had been really produced out of the Fairy's pocket.\nThey alone had not vanished at the stroke of midnight. 'But what has\nbecome of the other one?' her godmother asked.\n\n_Cinderella_ did not know for certain, but fancied that she must have\ndropped it in her hurry to escape from the palace.\n\n'Yes, you are careless,' repeated the Fairy; 'but decidedly you are not\nunlucky.'\n\nAnd with that she vanished, as the bell sounded announcing the\nsisters'return.\n\nThey were not in the best of humours, to begin with. _Cinderella_ asked\nthem if they had again found the ball enjoyable, and if the beautiful\nlady had been there. They told her yes; but that on the stroke of\ntwelve she had taken flight, and so hurriedly that she had let fall\none of her small glass slippers, the prettiest in the world, which the\nKing's son had picked up. They added, that this indeed was the first\ncause of their delay; for, seeking their carriage, they had found the\nentry blocked, and the _Prince_ in the wildest state of mind, demanding\nof the guards if they had not seen a Princess pass out. The guards\nanswered that they had seen no one pass out but a ragged girl, who\nlooked more like a country wench than a Princess. Amid this to-do, the\nsisters had with difficulty found their coach; and then, within two\nmiles of home, a wheel had come off and the coach had lurched over, in\na thunderstorm, too; and they had been forced to walk the rest of the\nway, the one with a bruised shoulder, and the other (which was worse)\nwith a twisted ankle. But, after all, the dance had been worth these\nmischances and sufferings; and, said they, harking back, the _Prince_\nwas undoubtedly deep in love, for they had left him gazing fondly at\nthe slipper, and little doubt--mysteriously as she chose to behave--he\nwould make every effort to find the beautiful creature to whom it\nbelonged.\n\n\nThey told the truth, too. For a few days after, the King's son had it\nproclaimed by sound of trumpet that he would marry her whose foot the\nslipper exactly fitted.\n\nAt first they tried it on the Princesses of the Court:\n\nThen on the Duchesses:\n\nThen on the Marchionesses:\n\nThen on the Countesses and Viscountesses:\n\nThen on the Baronesses:\n\nAnd so on, through all the ladies of the Court, and a number of\ncompetitors, who, though they did not belong to it, yet supposed that\nthe smallness of their feet was an argument that their parents had very\nunjustly come down in the world. The Prime Minister, who carried the\nglass slipper on a velvet cushion, was kept very busy during the next\nfew weeks.\n\nAt length he called on _Cinderella's_ two sisters, who did all they\ncould to squeeze a foot into the slipper, but by no means could they\nsucceed.\n\n_Cinderella_, who was looking on and admiring their efforts, said\nlaughingly:--\n\n'Let me see if it will fit me.'\n\nHer sisters began to laugh and mock at her, but the Prime Minister,\nwho had come to make trial of the slipper, looked at _Cinderella_\nattentively, and seeing how good-looking she was, said that it was but\njust--he had orders to try it upon every one.\n\n[Illustration: The Prime Minister was kept very busy during the next\nfew weeks.]\n\nHe asked _Cinderella_ to sit down, and drawing the slipper upon her\nlittle foot, he saw that it went on easily, and fitted the foot like\nwax. Great was the astonishment of the two sisters; but it was greater\nwhen _Cinderella_ pulled from her pocket the other little slipper and\nput it upon the other foot. On top of this came a rap at the door,\nand in walked the Fairy Godmother, who, by a touch of her wand upon\n_Cinderella's_ clothes, made them still more magnificent than they had\nbeen before.\n\nAnd now her two sisters knew _Cinderella_ to be the same beautiful\ncreature they had seen at the ball. They threw themselves at her feet,\nbegging her pardon for all the ill-usage they had made her suffer.\n_Cinderella_ raised and kissed them, saying that she forgave them with\nall her heart, and entreated them to be loving to her always.\n\nThey led her to the young _Prince_, arrayed as she was. He thought\nher lovelier than ever, and, a few days after, they were married.\n_Cinderella_, who was as good as she was beautiful, lodged her two\nsisters in the palace, and married them that same day to two great\nLords of the Court.\n\n\n                MORAL\n\n     _Better than wealth or art,_\n        _Jewels or a painted face,_\n     _It is when a natural heart_\n        _Inhabits its natural place_\n        _And beats at a natural pace._\n\n               ANOTHER\n\n     _Yet youth that is poor of purse,_\n        _No matter how witty or handsome,_\n     _Will find its talents no worse_\n        _For a godmamma to advance 'em._\n\n\n\nBEAUTY AND THE BEAST\n\n\nOnce upon a time, in a country a long way from here, there stood a\nflourishing city, full of commerce; and in that city lived a merchant\nso lucky in all his ventures that it seemed as if fortune waited on his\nwishes. But while enormously rich, he had a very long family of six\nsons and six daughters; and as yet not one of them was settled in life.\nThe boys were too young to go out in the world; and the girls, who had\neverything at home the heart could desire, were in no hurry to risk a\nchange by choosing a husband, although many rich and noble suitors paid\ncourt to them.\n\nBut one day an unexpected disaster brought this pleasant state of\nthings to an end. Their house caught fire and was burnt to the ground;\nand with it perished not only the magnificent furniture, but the\nmerchant's account books, bank notes, gold and silver, and the precious\nwares on which his wealth depended. Scarcely anything was saved.\n\nThis was but the beginning of their misfortunes. Their father, who\nup to now had prospered in everything he touched, lost in a very\nshort while every ship he had upon the sea. Some were wrecked, others\ncaptured by pirates. His agents failed; his clerks in foreign countries\nproved unfaithful; and, in short, from the height of riches he suddenly\nfell into the direst poverty.\n\nNothing was left to him but one poor little country cottage, at least\na hundred leagues from the city in which he had lived. In this he was\ndriven to find refuge, and to this he carried off his family, who were\nin despair since the overthrow. The daughters especially could not\nendure the thought of dwelling in such a den (as they called it). At\nfirst they had felt sure that on hearing the news their suitors would\nbe tripping one another up in haste to renew their offers of marriage.\nBut in this they were soon undeceived. Their downfall was no sooner\nknown than all these flattering wooers took to their heels in a troop.\nThey fared no better with their intimate friends, who at once dropped\ntheir acquaintance. Nay, those to whom our merchant had formerly shown\nthe greatest kindness were now the most eager to speak ill of him.\n\nSo nothing was left for this hapless family but to take their departure\nfrom the city and shut themselves up in the cottage, which stood in the\ndepth of a dismal and almost trackless forest. No servants now to wait\non them! The sons tilled the ground and swept out the farm sheds; and\nthe daughters, dressed like country girls in coarse linen frocks, were\nforced to turn their delicate hands to the roughest employment and live\non hard fare of which there was little enough.\n\nOnly the youngest daughter showed a brave heart. She had been\ndespondent as any of them to begin with; but after weeping--as well she\nmight--for her father's misfortunes, she recovered her natural gaiety,\nmade the best of things, tried to forget how ungrateful the world had\nbeen, kept her father and her brothers amused with her cheerful wit,\nand after she had done her work, would sing and play. But her sisters\nwould not join with her in making the best of things. 'It is very easy\nfor you to be happy,' the eldest grumbled. 'You have low tastes and\nwere born for this kind of life.' The fact is, they were all jealous of\nher because of her sweet temper and good looks. So beautiful, indeed,\nwas this youngest sister that in the old days every one had agreed to\ncall her _Beauty_--by that and by no other name she was known. Alone of\nthem she might easily, in the first days of their ruin, have found a\nhusband; but she could not think of this while she could be of use to\nhelp and console her family.\n\nTwo years passed, and there came news which seemed to offer a hope to\nescape. One of their father's ships, long supposed to be lost, had\narrived in port with a rich cargo. The message further advised his\nreturn to the city with speed, or his, agents might sell the goods too\ncheaply and he would lose his gains. So, whilst his children danced\nwith joy at the news, the merchant set about preparing for his long\njourney.\n\nIn their transport his daughters loaded him with commissions for gowns\nand jewels it would have taken a fortune to buy. Only _Beauty_ would\nnot ask for anything. Her father, noting her silence, interrupted the\nothers who still kept adding to their list of requirements.\n\n'Well, _Beauty_,' he said, 'and what shall I bring home for you? Surely\nyou, too, wish for something?'\n\n'Dear father,' she answered, 'I wish for the most precious thing in the\nworld; and that is to see you home again safe and sound.'\n\nThis answer covered the sisters with confusion, and vexed them so that\none of them, speaking up for the others, said tartly: 'This small miss\nis putting on airs. She thinks, no doubt, she cuts a figure with her\naffected fine sentiments!'\n\nHer father, however, was touched by her good feeling. Nevertheless he\ntold her to choose something--'For,' said he, 'at your age it is only\nnatural to like dresses and pretty presents.'\n\n'Well, dear father,' said she, 'since you insist, I will beg you to\nbring me home a rose. I have not seen one since we came to live here,\nand I love roses.' In this way _Beauty_ contrived to obey her father\nand yet to put him to no expense.\n\nThe day came for the merchant to embrace them all and bid them\nfarewell. He made the best of his way to the great city; and arrived\nthere to be met with a great disappointment. To be sure his vessel had\ncome safely to port; but his partners, believing him dead, had taken\npossession of it and divided the cargo between them. To make good his\nclaim he was forced to bring a number of tedious law-suits. He won them\nin the end; but only to find, after six months of trouble and expense,\nthat he was almost as poor as when he started.\n\nTo make his misery complete he was forced to travel back in the winter,\nin the most inclement weather; so that by the time he reached the\nskirts of the forest he was ready to drop with fatigue. But reminding\nhimself that his home was now not many leagues away, he called up what\nstrength, remained to him.\n\nAs he pushed on through the forest, night overtook him; and in the\npiercing cold, half buried--his horse and he--in the deep snow that hid\nevery pathway, the poor merchant feared that his last hour had come.\nNot so much as a hut did he pass. The only shelter to be found was the\ntrunk of a hollow tree; and there he cowered through the long night,\nkept awake by his hunger and the howling of the wolves. Nor did the\nday bring him much comfort: for thick snow lay everywhere, and not a\npath was to be seen. It was only after a weary search that he managed\nto recover his horse, which had wandered away and partly sheltered\nitself in another hollow tree. He mounted, and now in a little while\ndiscovered a sort of track which presently grew easier.\n\nFollowing this, he found himself in an avenue of trees, at the entrance\nof which he halted and rubbed his eyes. For no snow had fallen in this\navenue, and the trees were tall orange-trees, planted in four rows and\ncovered with flowers and fruit; and here and there among the trees\nwere statues, some of single figures, others of groups representing\nscenes of war, but all coloured like real life. At the end of the\navenue, straight in front of him, rose a magnificent castle in many\nterraces. The merchant rode around to the stable courtyard, which\nhe found empty; and there, with half-frozen hands, he unbridled and\nstabled his horse. Within the doorway he found a staircase of agate\nwith balusters of carved gold. He mounted it and passed through room\nafter room, each more splendidly furnished than the last. They were\ndeliciously warm, too, and he began to feel his limbs again. But he\nwas hungry; where could he find some one to give him food? Everywhere\nwas silence; and yet the place had no look of being abandoned.\nDrawingrooms, bedchambers, galleries--all stood unlocked.... At last,\ntired of roaming, he came to a halt in an apartment where some one had\nlit a bright fire. A sofa drawn up cosily beside it, invited him to sit\nand warm his limbs; and resting there, he closed his eyes and fell into\ndeep and grateful slumber.\n\nAs weariness had sent him to sleep, so hunger awoke him. He opened\nhis eyes and saw at his elbow a table with meats and wine upon it. He\nhad been fasting for more than twenty-four hours, and lost no time\nin falling-to. He hoped that he might soon have sight of this most\nhospitable entertainer, whoever he might be, and an opportunity of\nthanking him. Still no one appeared; and now this good food did for him\nwhat fatigue had done before. He dropped off again into an easy slumber\nwhich lasted for four hours almost. Again awaking, he saw at his elbow\nanother small table--of porphyry this time--upon which the unknown\nhands had set out a dainty meal of cakes, crystallised fruits and\nliqueurs. To this, too, he did justice. But, as the time still passed\nand no one appeared, he began to feel terrified, and resolved to search\nonce more through all the rooms.... But still he found no one.\n\n[Illustration: He had been fasting, for more than twenty-four hours,\nand lost no time in falling to.]\n\nHe was standing lost in thought, when of a sudden it came into his\nmind that some kindly power had perhaps prepared this palace of wonder\nfor him, that it with all its riches might indeed be his. Possessed by\nthis notion he once again made a tour of the rooms and took stock of\ntheir treasures, planning in his mind how he would divide them amongst\nhis children, assigning this apartment to one and that to another, and\nwhispering to himself what joy he would carry home after all from his\njourney. Then he went down into the garden, where--though it was the\ndepth of winter--the birds were singing and the air breathed the scent\nof a thousand flowers.\n\n'Surely,' he told himself, 'my daughters will be happy here and never\ndesire any more to go back to the city. Quick! Let me saddle my horse\nat once and ride home with the news!'\n\nThe way to the stable was an alley fenced on either hand with palings,\nand over the palings hung great clusters of roses in bloom. They\nreminded him of his promise to _Beauty_. He plucked one, and was about\nto pluck a whole nosegay, when he was startled by a horrible noise\nbehind him, and attempted to turn. But behind him stood a hideous\n_Beast_ who was overtaking him and reaching out towards him.\n\n'Who gave you leave to pluck my roses?' roared this monster. 'Was it\nnot enough that I made you welcome in my palace and treated you kindly?\nAnd you show your gratitude by stealing my flowers! But your insolence\nshall not go unpunished!'\n\nThe good merchant, terrified no less by the sight of this _Beast_ than\nby his threats, let drop the rose and flung himself on his knees.\n\n'My Lord,' he cried, 'have pity on me! I am not ungrateful; but after\nall your kindness I could not guess that so small a thing would offend\nyou.'\n\nThis speech did not at all abate the _Beast's_ wrath. 'Hold your\ntongue, sir,' he commanded, 'if you can offer me nothing but flatteries\nand false titles. I am not \"my lord.\" I am the _Beast_; and your words\nwill not save you from the death you deserve.'\n\nThe merchant, although in fear of his life, plucked up courage to tell\nthe monster that the rose which he had been bold to pluck was for one\nof his daughters, by name _Beauty_. Then, in hope either to delay the\n_Beast's_ vengeance or to touch his compassion, he launched into the\ntale of all his misfortunes, and of his reasons for the journey, not\nforgetting to mention _Beauty_ again and her request.\n\nThe _Beast_ considered for a moment before answering him in a somewhat\nmilder tone: 'I will forgive you; but only on condition that you\ngive me one of your daughters. _Some one_ must make amends for this\ntrespass.'\n\n'Heaven forgive me,' the merchant entreated, 'but how can I promise\nsuch a thing! Even were I cruel enough to purchase my life at the cost\nof a child, on what excuse could I bring her?'\n\n'No excuse is necessary,' replied the _Beast_ shortly. 'Whichever you\nbring must come here of her own free will, or not at all. Go home and\ntry if there be one brave and loving enough to sacrifice herself to\nsave your life. You seem to be an honest man. Give me your word to\nreturn here at the end of a month and bring whichever of your daughters\nyou can persuade to come with you. If you can persuade none of them,\nyou must come alone; and I warn you that, if you fail of it, I shall\ncome and fetch you.'\n\nWhat was the poor man to do? He promised, for he saw death staring him\nin the face; and having given his promise he hoped to be allowed to\ndepart. But the _Beast_ informed him that he could not go until next\nday.\n\n'Then,' said he, 'at daybreak you will find a horse ready for you who\nwill carry you home in less than no time. Now go and eat your supper,\nand await my commands.'\n\nThe merchant, more dead than alive, crept back to his rooms. There,\nbefore a blazing fire, he found a delicious supper spread, inviting\nhim to eat. But so distraught was he, that no food, however delicious,\ncould have tempted him had he not been afraid that the _Beast_ might be\nhiding somewhere to watch him. In fear of this he forced himself to sit\nand taste of the dishes.\n\nA loud noise in the next room warned him that the _Beast_ was coming.\nSince he could not escape, he mustered what courage he could to conceal\nhis terror, and faced about to the doorway.\n\n'Have you made a good supper?' was the _Beast's_ first question.\n\nThe merchant in humblest voice answered that, thanks to his host's kind\nattention, he had fared excellently well.\n\n'I am paying you a visit,' said the _Beast_, 'to warn you again to be\nhonest with your daughter. Describe me to her just as I am. Let her\nbe free to choose whether she will come or no; but tell her that, her\ncourse once chosen, there can be no retreat, nor even reflection after\nyou have brought her to me. To break faith then will avail nothing: she\nwill but destroy you without winning her own release.'\n\nAgain the spirit-broken merchant repeated his promise.\n\nThe _Beast_ appeared to be content at length. 'Retire to bed now,'\nhe commanded, 'and do not get up to-morrow until you see the sun\nand hear a golden bell rung. Then, before starting, you will find\nbreakfast laid for you here; your horse will be standing ready saddled\nin the courtyard; and you may carry back the rose to your daughter\n_Beauty_--as you call her. For the rest, I count on seeing you back in\na month's time. So, farewell.'\n\nThe merchant, who dared not disobey a single one of these orders,\nretired to bed at once, though without any temptation to sleep; and\nagain, though he passed a wretched night, he was punctual to rise\nwith the sun. A golden bell rang; and prompt on the sound he found\nbreakfast laid, still by unseen hands. After breakfast he went down to\nthe stables, and on his way paused to pick up the rose, which lay in\nthe alley where it had dropped from his hand. It was fresh as ever, and\nsmelt as sweetly as though it yet grew on the tree.\n\nA few paces further on he found his horse standing ready saddled,\nwith a handsome cloak of furs, far warmer than his own, lying across\nthe saddle. He put it on and mounted, and now he had to wonder at yet\nanother miracle. His horse set off at an incredible speed, so that\nbefore he could even turn in the saddle the palace had sunk out of\nsight.\n\nCould the horse have felt the weight on the good man's mind, it had\nnever made such a pace. But it took its own way, insensible to rein or\nbridle; nor halted until it reached the door of the cottage.\n\nThe merchant's sons and daughters had rushed out at his approach;\nthough it was not until he drew quite close that they recognised their\nfather in this horseman superbly cloaked, with a rose at his holster,\nand mounted on a horse that travelled at such a speed. When they\nrecognised him, they made sure that he brought the best of news. But\nthe tears that trickled down his cheeks as he dismounted told them\nanother story.\n\nHis first motion then was to pluck the fatal rose from the pommel and\nhand it to _Beauty_, saying: 'Here is what you asked me to bring. You\nlittle know what it will cost you all.'\n\nThis, and his sorrowful look, gave the eldest daughter her cue. 'I was\ncertain of it!' she said. 'Did I not say, all along, that to force\na rose at this time of the year would cost you more than would have\nbought presents for all the rest of us? A rose, in mid-winter! and such\na rose! There--one has only to look at it to see that you took good\ncare _Beauty_ should have her present, no matter at what cost to us!'\n\n'It is all too true,' answered their father sorrowfully, 'that this\nrose has cost me dear--far dearer than all the presents you others\nbegged of me. But the cost is not in money; for would to God I could\nhave bought it with the last penny in my purse!'\n\nHis speech, you may be sure, excited their curiosity, and they gave\nhim no rest until he had told the whole of his story. It left their\nhopes utterly dashed: and the daughters lamented their lot, while their\nbrothers hardily declared that they would never allow their father to\nreturn to this accursed castle--they would march thither in a body and\ndestroy the horrible _Beast_ who owned it. But their father assured\nthem that he had given his word and would rather die than break it.\n\nThereat the sisters turned upon _Beauty_ and started to upbraid and\nrail against her.\n\n'It is all your fault,' they declared; 'and this is what comes of\nyour pretended modesty! Why could you not have asked for dresses and\njewels as we did? Even if you could not get them, at least the demand\nwould have cost nothing. But you chose to be singular--you, with your\nprecious rose! and now our father must die, and we must all suffer\nthrough your affectation!'\n\nPoor _Beauty_ controlled her tears and answered them: 'Yes, I am to\nblame for all this, though, indeed, dear sisters, I did it innocently;\nfor how could I guess that to ask for a rose in the middle of summer,\nas it was then, would give rise to all this misery? But what does that\nmatter? Innocent or guilty, I cannot allow you to suffer for what was\nmy fault; and so I will go back with our father to save him from his\npromise. That will be in a month's time, and in this little month, I\nbeg of you, let us be happy together without reproaches.'\n\nAt first her brothers would not hear of any such sacrifice, and her\nfather was equally set against it, until the sisters again fired up\nin their jealousy and accused him of being distressed only because it\nhappened to be _Beauty_; if another of his daughters (they hinted)\nhad offered to pay this price for his life, he would have accepted it\ncheerfully enough!\n\n_Beauty_ closed this talk by saying firmly that, whether they wished\nit or not, she would go--'And who knows,' said she, forcing a brave\nsmile, 'but this fate of mine, which seems so terrible, may cover some\nextraordinary and happy fortune?' She said it merely to hearten them;\nbut her sisters, fancying her deluded by vanity and self-conceit,\nsmiled maliciously and applauded. So their father gave way, and it was\nagreed that _Beauty_ must go. For her part she desired only that the\nfew days remaining to her might be as happy as possible; and so, as\nthey passed she spoke little of what was before her, and, if at all,\nonly to treat it lightly and as a piece of good fortune. When the time\ndrew near she shared up all her trinkets and little possessions with\nher sisters--for, badly as they had treated her, they were the only\nfriends she had. Yet jealousy had made their hearts so wicked that when\nthe fatal day arrived they actually rejoiced to hear the neighing of a\nhorse which, punctually sent by the _Beast_, arrived at the door of the\ncottage.\n\n[Illustration: Soon they caught sight of the castle in the distance.]\n\nThe brothers would have rushed out and slain the beautiful animal;\nbut _Beauty_, mastering their anger with a few tender words, bade\nher father mount into the saddle; and so, after bidding her sisters\nfarewell with a tenderness that forced them to weep at the last,\nclimbed to the pillion behind him quite as if she were setting out\nfor a holiday. They were off! The horse seemed to fly rather than to\ngallop; so smoothly that _Beauty_ could scarcely feel the motion save\nby the soft wind that beat on her cheek. Soon they caught sight of the\ncastle in the distance. Her father, less happy than she, again and\nagain asked and begged her to alight and return--a most idle offer,\nfor he had no real control of the reins. But _Beauty_ did not listen,\nbecause her mind was made up.\n\nNevertheless, she was awed, and all the more when, as the fleet horse\ngalloped up to the courtyard, they were met by a great salvo of guns\nand, as the echoes died away, by the sound of soft music within the\npalace.\n\nThe horse had come to a stop, by a flight of agate steps; a light shone\ndown these steps from a porchway within which the violins kept their\nthrobbing. _Beauty_ slipped down from the saddle, and her father,\nalighting after her, took her by the hand and led her to the chamber in\nwhich he had first supped; where, sure enough, they found a cheerful\nfire and a score of candles lit and burning with an exquisite perfume,\nand--best of all--a table laid with the daintiest of suppers.\n\nThe merchant, accustomed to the ways of their host, knew that the\nsupper was meant for them, and _Beauty_ fell-to with a good appetite.\nHer spirits indeed were rising. There had been no sign of any _Beast_\nin all the many rooms through which she had passed, and everything in\nthem had seemed to breathe of gaiety and good living.\n\nBut this happy frame of mind did not last long. They had scarcely\nfinished supper when the _Beast_ was heard coming through the distant\nrooms. At the sound--the heavy padding of his feet, the roar of his\nbreath--_Beauty_ clung to her father in terror, and had almost fainted\nagainst the arm which he flung around her. But when the _Beast_ stood\nbefore her in the doorway, after a little shudder she walked towards\nhim with a firm step, and, halting at a little distance, saluted him\nrespectfully. This behaviour evidently pleased the _Beast_. After\nletting his eyes rest on her face for a while, he said, in a tone that\nmight well have struck terror into the boldest heart (and yet it did\nnot seem to be angry):--\n\n'Good evening, my good sir! Good evening, _Beauty_!'\n\nThe merchant was too far terrified to find his voice; but _Beauty_\ncontrolled hers and answered sweetly:--\n\n'Good evening, _Beast_!'\n\n'Have you come here of your own free will?' asked the _Beast_. 'And are\nyou willing to let your father return and leave you here?'\n\n_Beauty_ answered that she was quite willing.\n\n'Indeed? And yet what do you suppose will happen to you after he has\ngone?'\n\n'Sir,' said _Beauty_, 'that is as it pleases you, and you only can\ntell.'\n\n'Well answered,' replied the _Beast_; 'and since you have come of\nyour own accord, you shall stay. As for you, my good sir,' said he to\nthe merchant, 'you will take your departure at sunrise. The bell will\ngive you warning; delay not to rise, eat your breakfast, and depart as\nbefore. But remember that you are forbidden ever to come within sight\nof my palace again.'\n\nThen, turning to _Beauty_, he said:--\n\n'Take your father into the next room, and choose between you everything\nyou think will please your brothers and sisters. You will find there\ntwo travelling trunks: fill them as full as they will hold.'\n\nSorrowful as she was at the certainty of losing her father so soon and\nfor ever, _Beauty_ made ready to obey the _Beast's_ orders, and he left\nthem as he had come, saying:--\n\n'Good night, _Beauty_! Good night, good sir!'\n\nWhen they were alone, _Beauty_ and her father went into the next\nroom, which proved to be a store-chamber piled with treasures a king\nand queen might have envied. After choosing and setting apart in\nheaps,--one for each of her sisters,--the most magnificent dresses she\ncould find, _Beauty_ opened a cupboard which had a door of crystal\nframed in gold, and stood for a moment dazzled by the precious stones\nthat lay piled on every shelf. After choosing a vast number and adding\nthem to her heaps, she opened yet another wardrobe and found it full of\nmoney in gold pieces. This set her pondering.\n\n'I think, father,' she said, 'that we had better empty these trunks\nagain, and fill them with money. For money can always be turned to\naccount, whereas to sell these precious stones you would have to go\nto some jeweller, who very likely would cheat you, and perhaps be\nsuspicious of them. But with these pieces of gold you can buy land,\nhouses, furniture, jewels--what you will--and no one will ask any\nquestions.'\n\nHer father agreed. Yet he first of all tried to make room for the money\nby emptying out the few things he had packed for himself. But this was\nno good: for it seemed that the trunks were made in folds which opened\nthe wider the more he put in. Somehow the more they packed, the more\nroom there seemed to be, and they ended by replacing all the dresses\nand precious stones they had taken out. But now the trunks were so\nheavy that an elephant would have sunk under them.\n\n'It is all a cheat!' cried the merchant. The _Beast_ is mocking us, and\nonly pretended to give us these things, knowing that I could not carry\nthem away.'\n\n'Wait a little,' advised _Beauty_. 'That would be a sorry jest, and\nI cannot help thinking that the _Beast_ is honest; and that since he\noffered these gifts he will find you also the means to carry them. The\nbest thing we can do is to strap up the trunks and leave them ready\nhere.'\n\nSo they did this and went back to the little room, where to their\namazement they found a breakfast laid on the table. For a moment they\ncould scarcely believe that the night had flown by whilst they were\noccupied in ransacking the treasure chamber and packing the trunks.\nBut, glancing at the windows, they saw that day was indeed breaking;\nand presently a bell sounded, warning the merchant to eat quickly and\ndepart.\n\nHe finished his meal, and they went down together to the courtyard,\nwhere two horses stood ready--the one laden with the two trunks, the\nother saddled for the merchant to ride. And now _Beauty_ and her father\nwould fain have spent a long time in bidding one another farewell. But\nthe two horses neighed and pawed the ground so impatiently that he was\nafraid to linger. Tearing himself from his daughter's arms he mounted\nin haste, and could scarcely turn to say good-bye before both horses\nsprang away swift as the wind and he was lost to sight in an instant.\n\nPoor _Beauty_! She gazed and gazed through her tears, and so mounted\nthe stairs sorrowfully back to her own chamber. On reaching it she\nfelt herself oppressed with sleepiness, for she had passed the night\nwithout undressing, and, moreover, for a month past her sleep had been\nbroken and haunted with terrors. So, having nothing better to do, she\nwent to bed, and was nestling down in the perfumed sheets when her eyes\nfell on the little table by the bedside. Some one had set a cup of hot\nchocolate there, and, half asleep, she reached out her hand for it\nand drank it; whereupon her eyes closed and she fell into a delicious\nslumber, such as she had not known since the day when her father\nbrought home the fatal rose.\n\nShe dreamed that she was walking alongside an endless canal, the banks\nof which were bordered with tall orange-trees and myrtles in flower.\nThere, as she wandered disconsolately lamenting her fate, of a sudden a\nyoung _Prince_ stood before her. He was handsome as the God of Love in\npicture-books, and when he spoke it was with a voice that went straight\nto her heart. 'Dear _Beauty_,' he said, 'you are not so unfortunate as\nyou suppose. It is here you shall find the reward of your goodness,\ndenied to you elsewhere. Use your wits to find me out under the\ndisguise which hides me--that is, if as I stand here now you find me\nnot altogether contemptible. For I love you tenderly--you alone--and in\nmaking me happy you can attain to your own happiness. Beloved, never\ndistrust your own true heart, and it shall lead you where the heart\nhas nothing left to desire!' So saying, the charming apparition knelt\nat her feet, and again besought her to accept his devotion and become\nmistress over all his life.\n\n'Ah! What can I do to make you happy?' she asked earnestly.\n\n'Only be grateful,' he answered, 'and do not believe all that your eyes\nwould tell you. Above all, do not abandon me until you have rescued me\nfrom the cruel sufferings I endure.'\n\nWith that the dream melted away, but only to be succeeded by another.\nShe found herself face to face with a stately and beautiful lady; and\nthe lady was speaking to her with dignity, yet most kindly.\n\n'Dear _Beauty_,' she said, 'do not grieve for what you have left\nbehind; a far higher destiny lies before you. Only, if you would\ndeserve it, beware of being misled by appearances.'\n\n_Beauty_ found her dreams so agreeable that she was in no hurry at all\nto awake, and even when her eyes opened to the daylight she had more\nthan half a mind to close them again. But a clock, chiming out her own\nname twelve times, warned her that it was midday and time to get up.\nShe rose, therefore, and found her dressing-table set out with brushes\nand combs and everything she could want; and having dressed carefully,\nand with a lightness of heart for which she found it hard to account,\nshe passed into the next room and found her dinner on the table.\n\nDinner does not take very long when you are all by yourself. _Beauty_,\nwhen she had eaten enough, sat down on a sofa and began to think of the\nhandsome youth she had seen in her dream. 'He told me I could make him\nhappy. Why, then, it must be that the horrible _Beast_, who appears to\nbe master here, is keeping him a prisoner. How can I set him free?...\nThey both warned me not to trust to appearances. It is all very\npuzzling.... But one thing is clear at any rate, that I am very silly\nto be vexing my head over a dream. I will forget all about it, and look\nfor something to do to amuse myself.'\n\nShe sprang up, and started to make a tour of discovery through the many\nrooms of the palace. They were even grander than she had expected. The\nfirst she entered was lined with mirrors from floor to ceiling, where\nshe saw herself reflected on every side. The next thing to catch her\neye was a bracelet, hanging from one of the chandeliers. Set in the\nbracelet was a gold locket, and opening this she was startled indeed;\nfor it contained a portrait in miniature of the gallant youth she had\nseen in her dream. She could not be mistaken; so closely were his\nfeatures engraved on her memory--yes, and, it may be, on her heart. She\nslipped the bracelet on her wrist, without stopping to think that it\ndid not belong to her, and went on to explore further. She passed into\na long picture gallery, and there again she met the _Prince's_ face. It\nsmiled down at her, this time from a life-sized portrait, and it seemed\nto smile so wistfully that she caught herself blushing.\n\nFrom the gallery her steps had led her to a chamber filled with\ninstruments of music. _Beauty_ was an accomplished musician; so,\nsitting down, she amused herself by tuning and trying over one\ninstrument after another; but she liked the harp best because that went\nbest with her voice.\n\nLeaving the music-room at length, she found herself in a long chamber\nlike the picture gallery, but lined with books. It held an immense\nlibrary; and _Beauty_, ever since she had lived in the country, had\nbeen forced to do without reading, for her father had sold all his\nbooks to pay his debts. Now, as her eyes travelled along the shelves,\nshe knew she need never have any fear that time would pass heavily\nhere. The dusk was gathering before she had half-studied even the\ntitles of the thousands of volumes; and numbers of candles, waxen and\nscented, in chandeliers with lustres of diamonds and rubies, were\nbeginning to light themselves in every room.\n\nIn due time _Beauty_ found supper laid and served for her, with the\nsame good taste and orderliness as before, and still she had seen no\nliving face. What did this matter? Her father had warned her that she\nwould be solitary; and she was beginning to tell herself that she could\nbe solitary here without much discomfort, when she heard the noise of\nthe _Beast_ approaching. She could not help trembling a little; for\nshe had not yet found herself alone with him, and knew not what would\nhappen--he might even be coming to devour her. But when he appeared he\ndid not seem at all ferocious.\n\n'Good evening, _Beauty_,' he said gruffly.\n\n'Good evening, _Beast_,' she answered gently, but shaking a little.\n\n'Do you think you can be content here?' he asked.\n\n_Beauty_ answered politely that it ought not to be hard to live happily\nin such a beautiful palace.\n\nAfter this they talked for an hour, and in the course of their talk\n_Beauty_ began to excuse many things in the _Beast_--his voice, for\nexample. With such a nose how could he help roaring through it? Really,\nhe appeared to be wanting in tact rather than purposely terrible;\nthough, to be sure, this want of tact terrified her cruelly, when at\nlength he blurted out:--\n\n'Will you be my wife, _Beauty_?'\n\n'Ah! I am lost!' thought _Beauty_. The _Beast_ could not be so\ndull-witted after all, for, though she kept the cry to herself, he\nanswered quickly, and just as if she had uttered it aloud:--\n\n'Not at all. I wish you to answer just \"yes\" or \"no.\"'\n\n'Oh! no, _Beast_.'\n\n'Very well, then,' said this tractable monster. 'Since you will not, I\nhad best be going. Good night, _Beauty_.'\n\n'Good night, _Beast_,' answered _Beauty_, relieved of her fright. She\nfelt sure now that he did not mean to hurt her, and as soon as he had\ntaken his leave she went off to bed, and was asleep in no time.\n\nBut almost as quickly she was dreaming, and in her dream at once she\nsaw her unknown lover standing beside her, handsome as ever, but more\nsorrowful than before.\n\n'Dear _Beauty_,' he said, 'why are you so cruel to me? I love you the\nbetter for being so stubborn, and yet it lengthens out my misery.'\n\nShe could not understand this at all. Her dream wavered and it seemed\nto her that he took a hundred different shapes in it. Now he had a\ncrown between his hands and was offering it to her; now he was kneeling\nat her feet; now he smiled, radiant with joy; and again he buried\nhis head in despair and wept till the sound of his sobbing pierced\nher heart. Thus, in one aspect or another, he was with her the night\nthrough. She awoke with him in her thoughts, and her first act was to\nunclasp the locket on her wrist and assure herself that the miniature\nwas like him. It certainly was the same face, and his, too, was the\nface that smiled down from the larger portrait in the gallery. But the\nface in the locket gave her a more secret joy and she unclasped and\ngazed on it again and again.\n\nThis morning she went down into the gardens, where the sun shone\ninviting her to ramble. They were beyond imagination lovely. Here stood\na statue showered over with roses; there fountain on fountain played\nand threw a refreshing spray so high in the air that her eyes could\nscarcely reach to its summit. But what most surprised her was that\nevery nook and corner recalled those she had seen in her dreams with\nthe unknown _Prince_ standing beside her. At length she came to the\nlong canal with the oranges and myrtles in the shade of which she had\nfirst seen him approach. It was the very spot, and she could no longer\ndisbelieve that her dreams were real. She felt sure, now, that he must\nsomehow be imprisoned here, and resolved to get at the truth that very\nevening, should the _Beast_ repeat his visit.\n\nTired at length of wandering, she returned to the palace and\ndiscovered a new room full of materials for work to engage the most\nidle--tape-bags, distaffs and shuttles, frames for tapestry, ribbons to\nmake into bows, silks for embroidery, scissors, and thimbles. Beyond\nthis needlework room a door opened upon the most wonderful sight of\nall--an aviary full of the rarest birds, yet all so tame that they flew\nto _Beauty_, and perched themselves on her shoulders.\n\n'Dear birds,' she said, 'I wish you were closer to my own room, that I\nmight sit and hear you singing.'\n\nShe had scarcely said it when, opening a door beyond the aviary, she\nfound herself in her own chamber--yes, her very own!--which she had\nthought to be quite on the other side of the building. The door,\nwhen she came to examine it, had a shutter which could be opened to\nhear, and closed again when she grew tired of it. This aviary opened\non another inhabited by parrots, parroquets, and cockatoos. These no\nsooner saw _Beauty_ than they began to scream and chatter; one wishing\nher 'Good morning,' another inviting her to luncheon, while a third yet\nmore gallant cried 'Kiss me! Kiss me!' Others again whistled airs from\ngrand opera or declaimed pieces of poetry by the best authors. It was\nplain that in their several ways they all had the same object--to amuse\nher.\n\nBeyond the aviaries lay a monkey house. Here were apes of all\nsorts--Barbary apes, mandarin apes, apes with blue faces, baboons,\nmarmosets, chimpanzees--and all came frisking about her, bowing and\nscraping, to show how much they appreciated the honour of this visit.\nTo celebrate it they stretched a tight-rope and danced, and threw\nsomersaults with an agility which _Beauty_ found highly diverting; and\nyet she could not help sighing that none of these animals were able to\ntell her news of her unknown _Prince Charming_. She patted and made\nmuch of them, however, and asked if some of them would be kind enough\nto come with her and keep her company.\n\nAt once, and as if they had only been waiting for this command, two\nlarge she-apes in sweeping court-dresses stepped to her side and became\nher maids of honour; two brisk little marmosets volunteered for pages\nand held up her train; while an affable baboon, his face wreathed with\nsmiles, bowed, presented a gloved hand, and begged leave to squire her.\nWith this singular escort _Beauty_ marched back to luncheon, and while\nshe ate it the birds piped and fluted around her for accompaniment to\nthe parrots, who lifted up their voices and chanted the latest and most\nfashionable tunes. Nay more; the meal was no sooner ended than the apes\nbegged her to allow them to entertain her with a light comedy; which\n(leave being granted) they proceeded to act in a highly creditable\nmanner and with appropriate dumb-show, while the parrots spoke the\nwords from the wings very distinctly and in accents that exactly\nconformed with the various parts. At the close one of the actors\nadvanced, laid his hand on his heart and--still with the parrot for\ninterpreter--thanked _Beauty_ for the indulgence she had shown to their\npoor efforts.\n\nThat night again, after supper, the _Beast_ paid her his accustomed\nvisit. He put the same questions, and received her answers as before;\nand, as before, the conversation ended by his taking leave of her with\na 'Good night, _Beauty_.' The two she-apes, as ladies-in-waiting,\nthereupon undressed their mistress and saw her to bed. Before\nleaving they thoughtfully opened the window-shutter, that the soft\nnight-warbling of the birds might soothe her to sleep and dream of her\nlover.\n\nIn this fashion day followed day, and still _Beauty_ found plenty to\namuse her. At the end of a week she made the most wonderful discovery\nof all. There was one large room which she had entered but once,\nbecause it seemed to her rather dull, and dark too. It was empty; and\nalthough it had four windows in each wall, but two of them admitted\nany light. One day, as she passed the door, the fancy took her to open\none of these windows. She stepped in and drew the shutter, when to her\nastonishment it opened, not upon daylight at all, but what seemed to be\na dim hall lit only by a glimmer, distant and faint, behind the chinks\nof a thick curtain at the further end. She was wondering what this\nmight mean, when the curtain went up and in a sudden flood of light she\nfound herself gazing, as from a box, into a theatre crowded from floor\nto ceiling, and with an audience brilliant in dresses and jewels.\n\nAn orchestra played the overture, and gave place to the actors--real\nactors this time, not apes and parrots. The play was charming, and\n_Beauty_ in ecstasy with every scene of it. When the curtain fell\nshe still lingered in her box, hoping to see the fashionable crowd\ndisperse; but somewhat to her chagrin the lights went out almost at\nonce and the theatre was dark again. Still it had been very pleasant,\nand she promised herself to become a constant playgoer.\n\nThat evening when the _Beast_ paid his visit, she told him all about\nthe comedy. 'Eh? You like that sort of thing, do you?' asked the\nmonster. 'Well, you shall have as much of it as you like. You are\nso pretty.' _Beauty_ could not help smiling inwardly at his clumsy\ncompliments. But she smiled no longer when he put to her once again his\nblunt question:--\n\n'_Beauty_, will you be my wife?'\n\n'No, _Beast_,' she answered as before; but she was really beginning to\nget frightened, he was so gentle and so persistent. She sat up so long\nthinking over this that it was almost daylight before she closed her\neyes in bed; and at once, as if impatient at being kept waiting, the\nlover of her dreams presented himself. Perhaps for this reason he was\nnot in the best of tempers; at any rate he taxed her with being moody\nand discontented.\n\n'I should be happy enough,' she answered, 'if the _Beast_ did not\npester me so. I--I almost think, by his foolish compliments, that he\nwould like me to marry him.' _Beauty_ expected her dream-lover to show\nsome jealousy at this; seeing that he merely stood glum, she went on,\n'Would you really be content if I married him?... but alas! no; were he\nas charming as he is hideous, you know that I love you and can never\nlove any one else.' By all rights the _Prince_ should have been in\nraptures at this avowal; but all his answer was: 'Dearest, love him\nwho best loves you. Do not be led astray by appearances, and so you\nwill free me from captivity. 'This was not only puzzling; it seemed to\n_Beauty_ to be just a little selfish. 'At least,' she said, 'tell me\nwhat to do! Since liberty appears to be your first wish, believe me, I\nwould liberate you at any sacrifice, if only I knew how.' But this was\nwhat she could never discover; and because of it her nights now, though\nshe longed for them, troubled her more than her days.\n\nHer days passed pleasantly enough, and still in fresh discoveries. One\nby one in their turn she opened the windows of the great hall, and they\nrevealed:--\n\nFirst, a grand performance of Opera; and she listened not to the\nsingers only, but to the murmur of the audience between the acts. To\nlisten to this and to gaze on human faces, gave her an inexpressible\npleasure.\n\nNext, a great Fair in progress. When first she looked the throng had\nnot arrived and she inspected the booths at leisure, with their various\nwares. As the spectators drifted in, the drums began to beat, the hobby\nhorses to revolve, the showmen to shout, the marionettes to perform in\ntheir little theatre. It was ravishing.\n\nAfter this she beheld a fashionable promenade, with a richly dressed\ncrowd passing, re-passing, exchanging good-days, remarking how superb\nwas the weather, and pausing to con and criticise the shop windows to\nright and left.\n\nThe next spectacle was a gaming-room, with the players seated at their\ncards or roulette, the croupiers spinning the ball or raking the money.\n_Beauty_, with nothing to stake, had leisure to observe their faces,\nand how sadly some left the tables who had come smiling with money in\ntheir pockets. She saw, too, that some were being cheated; and it vexed\nher, because she could not warn them.\n\nNext, she was gazing at the Royal Palace, where the King and Queen were\nholding a reception. She saw ambassadors with their wives, lords and\nladies and state counsellors; and watched them as they passed by the\nthrone making their lowest bows.\n\nA water picnic followed this. The boats lay moored alongside a bank\nwhere the merry-makers sat or lounged and talked to the sound of lutes.\n\nThe picnic ended in a ball, with violins playing and couples advancing\nand retreating on the waxed floor that shone in the light of a thousand\ncandles. Oh, how _Beauty_ longed to be one of the dancers!\n\nBut perhaps the last window gave her the most pleasure. For through\nit she was able to see the whole world at one gaze and all that was\ngoing on in it. State embassies, royal weddings, coronations, pageants,\narmies, revolutions, sieges, pitched battles--she could sit at her ease\nand watch them all, which was far more amusing than it is to read about\nthem in a newspaper.\n\nShe ought, you will say, to have been happy as the day was long.\nBut no: a life becomes flat and stale which is a perpetual round of\npleasure and leaves nothing to sigh or to hope for. _Beauty_ began\nto long for a sight of her father and her brothers and sisters. She\nconcealed this for a while, however, and turned her thoughts to what\nwas more pressing; for she could not beg leave to go home until\nsomething had been done to rescue her dear Unknown and restore him to\nliberty. The _Beast_ alone (she reflected) could tell her the secret;\nand she thought to herself that, being himself so blunt of speech,\nhe would forgive some bluntness in her. So one evening she asked him\npoint-blank: '_Beast_, are we alone in this palace, with nobody but\nourselves?'\n\n'Of course we are,' he answered gruffly; but the question appeared in\nsome way to sting him, for almost at once he rose and bade her good\nnight.\n\nNow _Beauty_, whatever else she thought of the _Beast_, had by this\ntime learnt to trust him for honest. It was a dreadful disappointment,\ntherefore, to be forced to believe on his word that her _Prince\nCharming_ had no existence outside of her fancy. She slept ill that\nnight. In her dream she was wandering again and sorrowfully alongside\nthe canal when her lover appeared and took her hands between his while\nhe scanned her face all bathed in tears.\n\n'What has gone wrong, dear _Beauty_?' he demanded. 'Why are you in this\ndistress?... Ah, it is the _Beast_ who persecutes you! But, never fear,\nyou shall be delivered here and now from his attention'--and with these\nwords the _Prince_ snatched out a dagger and rushed on the monster,\nwho now for the first time came into the dream, advancing slowly down\nthe bank of the canal. Strange to say, he offered no resistance even\nwhen the dagger almost touched his throat. But _Beauty_, whom an unseen\npower held back as she would have run to prevent the murder, on the\ninstant found voice to cry, 'Stay! Stay, rash fool! or kill me before\nyou kill him who has been my best friend!' 'Friend?' answered back\nthe _Prince_, still with his dagger lifted; 'and am I no more than\nthat?' 'You are an unfaithful one, at any rate,' persisted _Beauty_;\n'if, knowing well that I would lay down my life for you, you would\ntake the life of one who has done me so much kindness. 'But while she\npleaded the figures wavered in her dream, still struggling together,\nand vanished, giving place to the same stately lady she had seen in\nher former vision. 'Courage, _Beauty_!' said this fresh phantom; 'your\nhappiness is not far off, if only you will go your own way and trust\nnot to appearances.'\n\nThis dream left _Beauty_ so uneasy that next day she opened one window\nafter another to cure her restlessness; and, when this would not do,\nall the windows together; but still in vain. That night, when the Beast\npaid his usual visit, he detected almost at once that she had been\nweeping, and demanded the reason.\n\n'Ah, sir,' said _Beauty_, 'if only I might go home!'\n\n'You wish to go home? 'The _Beast's_ face turned pale--which, for such\na face, was no easy matter. He staggered backwards with a deep sigh,\nor rather, a roar of grief. 'Ah, _Beauty_, _Beauty_! Would you desert\na poor _Beast_? What more can I do to make you happy? Or is it because\nyou hate me, that you wish to be gone?'\n\n[Illustration: Ah! what a fright you have given me! she murmured.]\n\n'No, _Beast_,' answered _Beauty_ gently; 'I do not hate you, and I\nshould be very sorry never to see you again. But I do long to see my\nown people. Let me go home for two months only, and I promise to come\nback and stay with you for the rest of my life.'\n\nThe _Beast_ had fallen flat and lay along the carpet at her feet. His\neyes were closed, and for some while his heavy sighs alone told her\nthat he was neither dead nor in a swoon. By and by he lifted his head:--\n\n'I can deny you nothing,' he said sadly. 'But no matter, though it cost\nme my life.... In the room next to your bedroom you will find four\nchests: fill them with everything you would like to take with you. Be\nsure to keep your word; for if you break it and come back to find your\npoor _Beast_ dead, you will be sorry when it is too late. Come back\nat the end of two months and you will find me alive; and to come back\nyou will not need chariot or horses. Only say good-bye, that night, to\nyour father, and brothers, and sisters; and, when you are in-bed, turn\nthis ring round on your finger and say firmly: \"I wish to go back to my\npalace and see my _Beast_ again.\" That is all. Good night, _Beauty!_\nSleep soundly, and in good time you shall see your father once more.'\n\nAs soon as he was gone _Beauty_ set to work to fill the four boxes with\nall the riches and finery that heart could desire. She filled them to\nthe brim; and then, tired out, she went to bed. But for a long while\nshe could not close her eyes for excitement. It was not until close\nupon sunrise that sleep visited her and, with it, another dream. In\nthis dream she saw her beloved Unknown stretched at full length on\na bank of turf. His face was hidden, and she could hear that he was\nsobbing. But when, touched by the sight of his grief, she drew near to\nconsole him, he lifted his face to her and said:--\n\n'Cruel _Beauty_, how can you ask what ails me? when you are leaving me,\nand your going is my death warrant!'\n\n'But, dearest _Prince_,' said _Beauty_, 'I am only going to tell\nmy father and brothers and sisters that I am well and happy. In a\nshort while I shall be back, never to leave you again.... But, for\nthat matter,' she went on as a new thought struck her, 'why should\nwe be separated at all? I will put off my going for another day, and\nto-morrow I will beg the _Beast_ to let you go with me. I am sure he\nwill not refuse.'\n\n'I can only go with you, if you promise me never to come back,' replied\nthe _Prince_. 'And, after all, when you have once delivered me, why\nshould we ever come back? The _Beast_ will be hurt in his feelings and\nvery angry no doubt; but by that time we shall be beyond his power.'\n\n'You forget,' _Beauty_ reminded him sharply, 'that I have promised him\nto return, and that, moreover, he says he will die of grief if I break\nmy word.'\n\n'And what if he does?' demanded her lover. 'Is not your happiness worth\nmore than the life of a monster? Of what use is he in the world except\nto frighten folks out of their wits?'\n\n'Ah, you do not understand!' cried _Beauty_. 'This monster--as you call\nhim--is only a monster in his face, and through no fault of his. He has\nthe kindest heart in the world, and how could I be so ungrateful after\nall he has done for me!'\n\n'I believe,' said her lover bitterly, 'that if you saw us fighting, of\nthe two you would rather let me perish than this _Beast_ of yours.'\n\n_Beauty_ told him that he was cruel and unjust, and begged him to talk\nof something else. She set the example, too. Seeing that he was piqued\nand proud, she addressed a long speech to him, full of endearments, to\nwin him back to a good humour, and was growing astonished at her own\neloquence when, in the middle of it, she awoke.\n\nHer last words seemed to mingle with the sound of familiar voices.\nShe sprang out of bed and drew her curtain.... It was very strange!\nAs the sunlight poured in she saw that she was in a room much more\npoorly furnished than that in which she had fallen asleep. She dressed\nin haste, and opening the door, found that the next room too was like\nno apartment in the _Beast's_ palace. But at her feet stood the four\nchests she had packed overnight; and, while she marvelled, again she\nheard a voice talking, and ran towards it. For it was her father's.\n\nShe rushed out and fell into his arms. He, poor man, stared at her\nas though she had sprung from another world, and the others were no\nless astonished. Her brothers embraced her with transports of joy,\nwhile her sisters--who, to tell the truth, had not overcome their\njealousy--pretended to be quite as glad. They plied her with a thousand\nquestions, which she answered very good-naturedly, putting aside her\nown impatience; for she too had a number of questions to ask. To begin\nwith, this house of theirs was not the cottage in which she had left\nthem, but a fine new one her father had been able to buy with the\n_Beast's_ presents. If not wealthy, he was in easy circumstances; with\nthe bettering of their fortunes his sisters had found other wooers and\nwere soon to be married; and altogether _Beauty_ had the satisfaction\nof knowing that she had at least brought prosperity back to her family.\n'As for you, my dearest child,' said the merchant, 'when your sisters\nare married, you shall keep house for your brothers and me, and so my\nold age will be happy.'\n\nThis was all very well, but _Beauty_ had to tell her father that she\nmust leave him again in two months' time; whereat he broke out into\nlamentations. 'Dear father,' said the sensible girl, 'it is good of you\nto weep; but it is useless, and I would rather have your advice, which\nis sure to be useful.' Thereupon she told him all the story. Her father\nconsidered for a while, and then said:--\n\n'I can only give you the same counsel that, by your own admission, you\nare always receiving from these phantoms of your dreams. \"Do not trust\nto appearance,\" they say, and \"Be guided by your heart's gratitude\";\nand they tell you this over and over again. What can it mean, child,\nbut one thing? The _Beast_, you say, is frightful. His appearance is\ncertainly against him. Then judge him rather by the gratitude which you\ncertainly owe him. It is plain that he has a good heart--\"handsome is\nas handsome does\"--it is clear to me that these phantoms would have you\nsay \"Yes\" to the _Beast_, and I too advise you to consent.'\n\n_Beauty_ saw the wisdom of this and knew very well that her father\nwas counselling her for the best. Nevertheless it needed something\nmore than this to reconcile her with marrying a monster, and she\nfelt relieved at the thought that for two whole months she could put\noff deciding. Strange to say, as the days went by and the time of\nher departure drew nearer, she found herself looking forward to it\nrather than repining. For one thing distressed her and spoilt all her\nhappiness--she never dreamed at all now.\n\nThe days went by, and as they drew to an end her brothers and even her\nfather (forgetting his former good counsel) employed all persuasions to\nhinder her departure. But her mind was made up; and when the two months\nwere passed she was resolute on everything but the hour of her parting.\nEvery morning, when she got up, she meant to say good-bye, but somehow\nanother night came and the farewells were still unspoken.\n\nShe reproached herself (as well she might), and was still thus cruelly\ntorn between two minds, when one night a dream visited her--the first\nfor two months and more.\n\nShe dreamed that she was back at the _Beast's_ palace, and wandering\nby a lonely path in the gardens which ended in a tangle of brushwood\noverhanging a cave. As she drew nearer she heard a terrible groaning,\nand running in haste she found the _Beast_ stretched there on the point\nof death. Still in her dream she was bending over him when the stately\nlady stepped forth from the bushes and addressed her in a tone of grave\nreproach:--\n\n'I doubt, _Beauty_, if even now you have come in time. Cruel, cruel of\nyou to delay! when your delay has brought him so near to death!'\n\nTerrified by this dream _Beauty_ awoke in her bed with a start. 'I have\ndone wickedly!' she cried. 'Am I too late? Oh, indeed I hope not!' She\nturned the ring upon her finger and said aloud in a firm voice: '_I\nwish to go back to my palace and see my Beast again!_'\n\nWith that she at once fell asleep, and only woke up to hear the clock\nchiming, '_Beauty, Beauty,_' twelve times on the musical note she so\nwell remembered. She was back, then, at the palace. Yes, and--oh,\njoy!--her faithful apes and parrots were gathered around the bed,\nwishing her good morning!\n\nBut none of them could tell her any news of the _Beast_. They were here\nto serve her, and all their thoughts ended with their duty. Their good\nmaster--the lord of this splendid palace--what was he to them? At any\nrate nothing was to be learnt from them, and _Beauty_ was no sooner\ndressed than she broke away impatiently, wandering through the house\nand the gardens to fill up the time until evening should bring his\naccustomed visit. But it was hard work filling up the time. She went\ninto the great hall and resolutely opened the windows one by one. The\nshows were there as before; but opera and comedy, f\u00eate and pageant,\nheld no meaning for her: the players were listless, the music was null,\nthe processions passed before her eyes but had lost their power to\namuse.\n\nSupper-time came at length; but when after supper the minutes passed\nand passed and still no _Beast_ appeared, then indeed _Beauty_ was\nfrightened. For a long while she waited, listened, told herself this\nand that, and finally in a terror rushed down into the gardens to\nseek for him. The alleys were dark; the bushes daunted her with their\nblack shadows; but still up and down ran poor _Beauty_, calling to the\n_Beast_, and calling in vain.\n\nShe was drenched with the dew, utterly lost and weary, when, after\nthree hours, pausing for a moment's rest, she saw before her the same\nsolitary path she had seen in her dream: and there in the moonlight she\nalmost stumbled over the _Beast_.\n\nHe lay there, stretched at full length and asleep--or so she thought.\nSo glad was she to have found him that she knelt and stroked his head,\ncalling him by name over and over. But his flesh was cold beneath her\nhand, nor did he move or open his eyes.\n\n'Ah, he is dead!' she cried, aghast.\n\nBut she put a hand over his heart, and to her inexpressible joy she\nfelt that it was still beating. Hastily she ran to a fountain near by,\nand dipping water into her palms from its basin she ran and sprinkled\nit on his face, coaxing him with tender words as his eyes opened, and\nslowly--very slowly--he came to himself.\n\n'Ah! what a fright you have given me!' she murmured. 'Dear _Beast_,\nI never knew how I loved you until I feared that you were dead--yes,\ndead, and through my fault! But I believe, if you had died, I should\nhave died too.'\n\n'_Beauty_,' said the _Beast_ faintly, 'you are very good if indeed\nyou can love such an ugly brute as I am. It is true that I was dying\nfor you, and should have died if you had not come. I thought you had\nforsaken me. But are you sure?'\n\n'Sure of what?' asked _Beauty_.\n\n'That you love me?'\n\n'Let us go back to supper,' said _Beauty_, raising his head.\n\n'Yes, let us go back to supper, 'agreed the _Beast_, lifting himself\nheavily on her arm. He still leaned on her, as they walked back to the\npalace together. But the supper--which they found laid for two--seemed\nto revive him, and in his old stupid way he asked her about the time\nshe had spent at home, and if her father and brothers and sisters had\nbeen glad to see her.\n\n_Beauty_, though weary enough after her search through the park and\ngardens, brisked herself up to tell of all that had happened to her in\nher absence. The _Beast_ sat nodding his head and listening in his old\ndull way--which somehow seemed to her the most comfortable way in the\nworld. At length he rose to go. But at the doorway he put the old blunt\nquestion.\n\n'_Beauty_, will you marry me?'\n\n'Yes, dear _Beast_,' said _Beauty_; and as she said it a blaze of light\nfilled the room. A salvo of artillery sounded, a moment later, from\nthe park. Bang, bang! fireworks shot across the windows of the palace;\nsky rockets and Roman candles exploded and a magnificent set-piece\nwrote across the darkness in letters of fire--'LONG LIVE BEAUTY AND THE\nBEAST!'\n\n_Beauty_ turned to ask what all these rejoicings might mean; and, with\nthat, she gave a cry. The _Beast_ had vanished, and in his place stood\nthe beloved _Prince_ of her dreams! He smiled and stretched out his\nhands to her. Scarcely knowing what she did, she was stretching hers,\nto take them, when above the banging of fireworks in the avenues there\nsounded a rolling of wheels. It drew to the porch, and presently there\nentered the stately lady she had seen in her dreams. It was the very\nsame; and, all astounded as she was, _Beauty_ did reverence to her.\n\nBut the stately lady was as eager to do reverence to _Beauty_. 'Best\nand dearest,' said she, 'my son is going to love you always; as how\nshould he not, seeing that by your courage you have rescued him from\nthe enchantment under which he has lain so long, and have restored him\nto his natural form? But suffer also his mother, a Queen, to bless you!'\n\n_Beauty_ turned again to her lover and saw that he, who had been a\n_Beast_, was indeed the _Prince_ of her dreams and handsomer than the\nday. So they were married and lived happy ever after; nay, so happy\nwere they that all over the world folks told one another and set down\nin writing this wonderful history of _Beauty and the Beast_.\n\n\n                 MORAL\n\n     _Maidens, from this tale of_ Beauty\n       _Learn, and in your memory write--_\n     _Daily leads a Path of Duty_\n       _Through the Garden of Delight;_\n     _Where the loveliest roses wear_\n       _Daunting thorns, for you to dare._\n\n                ANOTHER\n\n     _Many shy, unhappy creatures_\n       _From the covert watch your mirth:_\n     _'Foul are we,' they mourn; 'our features_\n       _Blot the sun, deform the earth.'_\n     _Pity, love them, speak them fair;_\n       _Half their woe ye may repair._","title":"The sleeping beauty and other fairy tales from the old French","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":26933}