



Produced by Madeleine Fournier. Images from The Internet Archive.




[Illustration: And there, on a bed the curtains of which were drawn
wide, he beheld the loveliest vision he had ever seen.]


The Sleeping Beauty and other fairy tales

FROM THE OLD FRENCH

retold by Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch


illustrated by Edmund Dulac


NEW YORK

HODDER and STOUGHTON



PREFACE


Once upon a time I found myself halting between two projects, both
magnificent. For the first, indeed--which was to discover, digest and
edit all the fairy tales in the world--I was equipped neither with
learning, nor with command of languages, nor with leisure, nor with
length of years. It is a task for many men, clubbing their lifetimes
together. But the second would have cost me quite a respectable amount
of toil; for it was to translate and annotate the whole collection of
stories in the _Cabinet des Fées._

Now the _Cabinet des Fées_, in the copy on my shelves, extends to
forty-one volumes, printed, as their title-pages tell, at Geneva
between the years 1785 and 1789, and published in Paris by M. Cuchet,
Rue et Hôtel Serpente. The dates may set us moralising. While the Rue
Serpente unfolded, as though

     _Tranquilla per alta,_

its playful voluminous coils, the throne of France with the Ancien
Régime rocked closer and closer to catastrophe. In 1789 (July), just as
M. Cuchet (good man and leisurable to the end) wound up his series with
a last volume of the _Suite des Mille et Un Nuits_, they toppled over
with the fall of the Bastille.

Even so in England--we may remind ourselves--in 1653, when the gods
made Oliver Cromwell Protector, Izaak Walton chose to publish a
book about little fishes. But the reminder is not quite apposite:
for angling, the contemplative man's recreation, was no favourite
or characteristic or symbolical pursuit of the Order which Cromwell
overthrew (and, besides, he did not overthrow it); whereas, M. Cuchet's
forty-one volumes most pertinently as well as amply illustrated some
real qualities, and those the most amiable of the Ancien Régime. When
we think of the French upper classes from the days of Louis XIV. to
the Revolution, we associate them with a certain elegance, a taste
fastidious and polite, if artificial, in the arts of living and the
furniture of life; and in this we do them justice. But, if I mistake
not, we seldom credit them with the quality which more than any other
struck the contemporary foreign observer who visited France with a
candid mind--I mean their good temper. We allow the Bastille or the
guillotine to cast their shadows backward over this period, or we see
it distorted in the glare of Burke's rhetoric or of Carlyle's lurid
and fuliginous history. But if we go to an eyewitness, Arthur Young,
who simply reported what he saw, having no rhetorical axe to grind
or guillotine to sharpen, we get a totally different impression. The
last of Young's _Travels in France_ (1787-1789) actually coincided
with the close of M. Cuchet's pleasant enterprise in publishing; and
I do not think it fanciful to suppose that, had this very practical
Englishman found time to read at large in the _Cabinet des Fées_, he
would have discovered therein much to corroborate the evidence steadily
and unconsciously borne by his own journals--that the urbanity of life
among the French upper classes was genuine, reflecting a real and (for
a whole society) a remarkable sunniness of disposition. Unconscious
of their doom, the little victims played. But they did play; and they
fell victims, not to their own passions, but to a form of government
economically rotten.

Of all the volumes in the _Cabinet_, possibly the most famous are the
first and second, containing the fairy tales of Charles Perrault and
Madame d'Aulnoy, and vols. 7-11, containing M. Galland's version (so
much better than any translation) of _The Arabian Nights_. I hope
that one of those days Mr. Dulac will lay the public under debt by
illustrating all these, and the stories of Antony Hamilton to boot.
Meanwhile, here are three of the most famous tales from Perrault's
wallet, and one, the evergreen _Beauty and the Beast_, by an almost
forgotten authoress, Madame de Villeneuve.

The ghost of Charles Perrault, could it walk to-day--_perruque_ and
all--might well sigh over the vanity of human pretensions. For Monsieur
Perrault was a person of importance in his lifetime (1628-1703), and
a big-wig in every sense of the term. Colbert made him Secretary of
the Academy of Inscriptions, and anon Controller of Public Works--in
which capacity he suggested to his architect-brother, Claude Perrault,
the facade of the Louvre with its renowned colonnade. He flattered
his monarch with a poem _Le Siècle de Louis le Grand_. 'Je ne sais,'
observes a circle, 'si ce roi, malgré son amour excessif pour la
flatterie, fut content: les bornes étaient outre-passées.' The poem, as
a poem, had little success; but by positing that the Age of Louis was
the greatest in history, and suggesting that the moderns were as good
as the ancients or better, it started a famous controversy. Boileau,
Racine, La Bruyère, honoured him by taking the other side, and forced
him to develop his paradox in a book of dialogues, _Parallèles des
Anciens et des Modernes_. But his best answer was his urbane remark
(for he kept his temper admirably) that these gentlemen did ill to
dispute the superiority of the moderns while their own works gave proof
of it. He wrote other poems, other tractates (including one on the
'Illustrious Men of his Age'), besides occasional tracts on matters
of high politics: and his memory is kept alive by one small packet
of fairy-tales--stories which he heard the nurse telling his little
boy, and set down upon paper for a recreation! That is the way with
literary fame. To take an English example: it is odds that Southey,
poet-laureate and politician of great self-importance in his day, will
come finally to be remembered by his baby-story of _The Three Bears_.
It will certainly outlive _Thalaba the Destroyer_, and possibly even
the _Life of Nelson_.

As for Gabrielle Susanne, wife of M. de Gallon, Seigneur de Villeneuve
and lieutenant-colonel of infantry (whom she outlived), she wrote a
number of romantic stories--_Le Phénix Conjugal, Le Juge Parvenu, Le
Beau-Frère Supposé, La Jardinière de Vincennes, Le Prince Azerolles_,
etc. I am not--perhaps few are--acquainted with these works. Madame de
Villeneuve died in 1755 and lives only by grace of her _La Belle et La
Bête_; and that again lives in despite of its literary defects. It has
style; but the style inheres neither in its language, which is loose,
nor in its construction. The story, as she wrote it, tails off woefully
and drags to an end in mere foolishness.

Since Perrault, who is usually accepted as the fountainhead of
these charming French fairy-stories, belongs almost entirely to the
seventeenth century, it may be asked why Mr. Dulac has chosen to depict
his Princes and Princess in costumes of the eighteenth? Well, for my
part, I hold that he has obeyed a just instinct in choosing the period
when the literature he illustrates was at the acme of its vogue. But
his designs, in every stroke of which the style of that period is so
unerringly felt, provide his best apology.

My own share in this volume is, perhaps, less easily defended. I began
by translating Perrault's tales, very nearly word for word; because
to me his style has always seemed nearly perfect for its purpose; and
the essence of 'style' in writing is propriety to its purpose. On the
other hand the late M. Ferdinand Brunetière has said that Perrault's
is 'devoid of charm,' and on this subject M. Brunetière's opinion must
needs out-value mine ten times over. Certainly the translations, when
finished, did not satisfy me, and so I turned back to the beginning and
have rewritten the stories in my own way, which (as you may say with
the Irish butler) 'may not be the best claret, but 'tis the best ye've
got.'

I have made bold, too, to omit Perrault's conclusion of _La Belle au
Bois Dormant_. To my amazement the editor of the _Cabinet des Fées_
selects this lame sequel--it is no better than a sequel--of a lovely
tale, and assigns to it the credit of having established 'la véritable
fortune de ce genre.' Frankly, I cannot believe him. Further, I have
condensed Madame de Villeneuve's narrative and obliterated its feeble
ending. In taking each of these liberties I have the warrant of
tradition, which in the treatment of fairy-tales speaks with a voice
more authoritative than the original author's, for it speaks with the
united voices of many thousands of children, his audience and best
critics. As the children have decreed that in Southey's tale of _The
Three Bears_ the heroine shall be a little girl, and not, as Southey
invented her, a good-for-nothing old woman, so they have decreed the
story of _The Sleeping Beauty_ to end with the Prince's kiss, and that
of _Beauty and the Beast_ with the Beast's transformation. And as
_Beauty and the Beast_ is really but a variant of the immortal fable of
_Cupid and Psyche_, I might--had I room to spare--attempt to prove to
you that the children's taste is here, as usually, right and classical.

ARTHUR QUILLER-COUCH



ILLUSTRATIONS


THE SLEEPING BEAUTY

_And there, on a bed the curtains of which were drawn wide, he beheld
the loveliest vision he had ever seen_ (20)

_Her head nodded with spite and old age together, as she bent over the
cradle_ (5)

_They grew until nothing but the tops of the castle towers could be
seen_ (15)


BLUE BEARD

_They overran the house without loss of time_ (34)

_The unhappy_ Fatima _cried up to her_, 'Anne, sister Anne, do you see
any one coming? (42)

_Then_ Blue Beard _roared out so terribly that he made the whole house
tremble_ (44)


CINDERELLA

_She used to creep away to the chimney-corner and seat herself among
the cinders_ (49)

_Whereupon she instantly desired her partner to lead her to the_ King
_and_ Queen (61)

_The Prime Minister was kept very busy during the next few weeks_ (70)


BEAUTY AND THE BEAST

_He had been fasting for more than twenty four hours, and lost no time
in falling-to_ (80)

_Soon they caught sight of the castle in the distance_ (91)

_'Ah! what a fright you have given me!' she murmured_ (126)



THE SLEEPING BEAUTY


Once upon a time there lived a King and a Queen, who lacked but one
thing on earth to make them entirely happy. The _King_ was young,
handsome, and wealthy; the _Queen_ had a nature as good and gentle as
her face was beautiful; and they adored one another, having married for
love--which among kings and queens is not always the rule. Moreover,
they reigned over a kingdom at peace, and their people were devoted to
them. What more, then, could they possibly want?

Well, they wanted one thing very badly, and the lack of it grieved them
more than words can tell. They had no child. Vows, pilgrimages, all
ways were tried; yet for a long while nothing came of it all, and the
poor _Queen_ especially was in despair.

At last, however, to her own and her husband's inexpressible joy,
she gave birth to a daughter. As soon as the palace guns announced
this event, the whole nation went wild with delight. Flags waved
everywhere, bells were set pealing until the steeples rocked, crowds
tossed up their hats and cheered, while the soldiers presented arms,
and even strangers meeting in the street fell upon each other's neck,
exclaiming: 'Our _Queen_ has a daughter! Yes, yes--Our _Queen_ has a
daughter! Long live the little _Princess_!'

A name had now to be found for the royal babe; and the _King_ and
_Queen_, after talking over some scores of names, at length decided to
call her _Aurora_, which means _The Dawn_. The Dawn itself (thought
they) was never more beautiful than this darling of theirs. The next
business, of course, was to hold a christening. They agreed that it
must be a magnificent one; and as a first step they invited all the
Fairies they could find in the land to be godmothers to the _Princess
Aurora_, that each one of them might bring her a gift, as was the [Pg
3]custom with Fairies in those days, and so she might have all the
perfections imaginable. After making long inquiries--for I should tell
you that all this happened not so many hundred years ago, when Fairies
were already growing somewhat scarce--they found seven. But this again
pleased them, because seven is a lucky number.

After the ceremonies of the christening, while the trumpeters sounded
their fanfares and the guns boomed out again from the great tower, all
the company returned to the Royal Palace to find a great feast arrayed.
Seats of honour had been set for the seven fairy godmothers, and before
each was laid a dish of honour, with a dish-cover of solid gold, and
beside the dish a spoon, a knife, and a fork, all of pure gold and all
set with diamonds and rubies. But just as they were seating themselves
at table, to the dismay of every one there appeared in the doorway an
old crone, dressed in black and leaning on a crutched stick. Her chin
and her hooked nose almost met together, like a pair of nut-crackers,
for she had very few teeth remaining; but between them she growled to
the guests in a terrible voice:

'I am the Fairy _Uglyane_! Pray where are your King's manners, that I
have not been invited?'

She had in fact been overlooked; and this was not surprising, because
she lived at the far end of the country, in a lonely tower set around
by the forest. For fifty years she had never come out of this tower,
and every one believed her to be dead or enchanted. That, you must
know, is the commonest way the Fairies have of ending: they lock
themselves up in a tower or within a hollow oak, and are never seen
again.

The _King_, though she chose to accuse his manners, was in fact the
politest of men. He hurried to express his regrets, led her to table
with his own hand, and ordered a dish to be set for her; but with the
best will in the world he could not give her a dish-cover such as the
others had, because seven only had been made for the seven invited
Fairies. The old crone received his excuses very ungraciously, while
accepting a seat. It was plain that she had taken deep offence. One of
the younger Fairies, _Hippolyta_ by name, who sat by, overheard her
mumbling threats between her teeth; and fearing she might bestow some
unlucky gift upon the little _Princess_, went as soon as she rose from
table and hid herself close by the cradle, behind the tapestry, that
she might have the last word and undo, so far as she could, what evil
the Fairy _Uglyane_ might have in her mind.

She had scarcely concealed herself before the other Fairies began to
advance, one by one, to bestow their gifts on the _Princess_. The
youngest promised her that she should be the most beautiful creature
in the world; the next, that she should have the wit of an angel;
the third, a marvellous grace in all her ways; the fourth, that she
should dance to perfection; the fifth, that she should sing like
a nightingale; the sixth, that she should play exquisitely on all
instruments of music.

Now came the turn of the old Fairy _Uglyane_. Her head nodded with
spite and old age together, as she bent over the cradle and shook
her crutched staff above the head of the pretty babe, who slept on
sweetly, too young and too innocent as yet to dream of any such thing
as mischief in this world.

'This is my gift to you, _Princess Aurora_,' announced the hag, still
in her creaking voice that shook as spitefully as her body. 'I promise
that one day you shall pierce your hand with a spindle, and on that day
you shall surely die!'

At these terrible words the poor _Queen_ fell back fainting into her
husband's arms. A trembling seized the whole Court; the ladies were in
tears, and the younger lords and knights were calling out to seize and
burn the wicked witch, when the young Fairy stepped forth from behind
the tapestry, and passing by _Uglyane_, who stood scornful in the midst
of this outcry, she thus addressed their Majesties:

'Take comfort, O _King_ and _Queen_: your daughter shall not die thus.
It is true, I have not the power wholly to undo what this elder sister
of mine has done. The _Princess_ must indeed pierce her hand with a
spindle; but, instead of dying, she shall only fall into a deep slumber
that shall last for many, many years, at the end of which a King's
son shall come and awake her. Whenever this misfortune happens to
your little _Aurora_, do not doubt that I, the Fairy _Hippolyta_, her
godmother, shall get news of it and come at once to render what help I
may.'

[Illustration: _Her head nodded with spite and old age together, as she
bent over the cradle.]

The _King_, while declaring himself infinitely obliged to the
good Fairy _Hippolyta_, could not help feeling that hers was but
cold comfort at the best. He gave orders to close the christening
festivities at once, although the Fairy _Uglyane_, their spoil-joy,
had already taken her departure; passing unharmed through the crowd
of folk, every one of whom wished her ill, and riding away--it was
generally agreed-upon a broomstick.

To satisfy the _King's_ faithful subjects, however,--who were unaware
of any misadventure--the palace fireworks were duly let off, with a
grand set-piece wishing _Long Life to the Princess Aurora!_ in all the
colours of the rainbow. But His Majesty, after bowing from the balcony
amid the banging of rockets and hissing of Catherine wheels, retired to
a private room with his Chamberlain, and there, still amid the noise
of explosions and cheering, drew up the first harsh proclamation of
his reign. It forbade every one, on pain of death, to use a spindle in
spinning or even to have a spindle in his house. Heralds took copies
of this proclamation and marched through the land reading it, to the
sound of trumpets, from every market-place: and it gravely puzzled and
distressed all who listened, for their women folk prided themselves
on their linen. Its fineness was a byword throughout the neighbouring
kingdoms, and they knew themselves to be famous for it. 'But what sort
of linen,' said they, 'would His Majesty have us spin without spindles?'

They had a great affection, however (as we have seen), for their
monarch; and for fifteen or sixteen years all the spinning-wheels
were silent throughout the land. The little _Princess Aurora_ grew up
without ever having seen one. But one day--the _King_ and _Queen_ being
absent at one of their country houses--she gave her governess the slip,
and running at will through the palace and upstairs from one chamber
to another, she came at length to a turret with a winding staircase,
from the top of which a strange whirring sound attracted her and seemed
to invite her to climb. As she mounted after the sound, on a sudden it
ceased; but still she followed the stairs and came, at the very top,
to an open door through which she looked in upon a small garret where
sat an honest old woman alone, winding her distaff. The good soul had
never, in sixteen years, heard of the _King's_ prohibition against
spindles; and this is just the sort of thing that happens in palaces.

'What are you doing, goody?' asked the _Princess_.

'I am spinning, pretty one,' answered the old woman, who did not know
who she was.

'Spinning? What is that?'

'I wonder sometimes,' said the old woman, 'what the world is coming
to, in these days!' And that, of course, was natural enough, and might
occur to anybody after living so long as she had lived in a garret on
the top of a tower. 'Spinning,' she said wisely, 'is spinning, or was;
and, gentle or simple, no one is fit to keep house until she has learnt
to spin.'

'But how pretty it is!' said the _Princess_. 'How do you do it? Give it
to me and let me see if I can do so well.'

She had no sooner grasped the spindle--she was over-eager perhaps, or
just a little bit clumsy, or maybe the fairy decree had so ordained
it--than it pierced her hand and she dropped down in a swoon.

The old trot in a flurry ran to the head of the stairs and called for
help. There was no bell rope, and, her voice being weak with age and
her turret in the remotest corner of the palace, it was long before
any one heard her in the servants' hall. The servants, too--in the
absence of the _King_ and _Queen_--were playing cards, and could not
be interrupted by anybody until their game was finished. Then they
sat down and discussed whose business it was to attend on a call from
that particular turret; and this again proved to be a nice point,
since nobody could remember having been summoned thither, and all were
against setting up a precedent (as they called it). In the end they
decided to send up the lowest of the junior page-boys. But he had a
weakness which he somehow forgot to mention--that of fainting at the
sight of blood. So when he reached the garret and fainted, the old
woman had to begin screaming over again.

This time they sent up a scullery maid; who, being good-natured and
unused to the ways of the palace, made the best haste she could to
the garret, whence presently she returned with the terrible news. The
servants, who had gone back to their game, now dropped their cards and
came running. All the household, in fact, came pouring up the turret
stairs; the palace physicians themselves crowding in such numbers that
the poor _Princess Aurora_ would have been hard put to it for fresh
air could fresh air have restored her. They dashed water on her face,
unlaced her, slapped her hands, tickled the soles of her feet, burned
feathers under her nose, rubbed her temples with Hungary-water. They
held consultations over her, by twos and threes, and again in Grand
Committee. But nothing would bring her to.

Meanwhile, a messenger had ridden off posthaste with the tidings, and
while the doctors were still consulting and shaking their heads the
_King_ himself came galloping home to the palace. In the midst of his
grief he bethought him of what the Fairies had foretold; and being
persuaded that, since they had said it, this was fated to happen, he
blamed no one but gave orders to carry the _Princess_ to the finest
apartment in the palace, and there lay her on a bed embroidered with
gold and silver.

At sight of her, she was so lovely, you might well have supposed that
some bright being of the skies had floated down to earth and there
dropped asleep after her long journey. For her swoon had not taken away
the warm tints of her complexion: her cheeks were like carnations, her
lips like coral: and though her eyes were closed and the long lashes
would not lift, her soft breathing told that she was not dead. The
_King_ commanded them all to leave her and let her sleep in peace until
the hour of her awakening should arrive.

Now when the accident befell our _Princess_ the good Fairy _Hippolyta_,
who had saved her life, happened to be in the Kingdom of Mataquin,
twelve thousand leagues away; but news of it was brought to her in an
incredibly short space of time by a little dwarf who owned a pair of
seven-league boots. (These were boots in which you could walk seven
leagues at a single stride.) She set off at once to the help of her
beloved goddaughter, and behold in an hour this good Fairy arrived at
the palace, in a fiery chariot drawn by dragons.

Our _King_ met her and handed her down from the chariot. She approved
of all that he had done; but, greatly foreseeing as she was, she
bethought her that, as all mortals perish within a hundred years or so,
when the time came for the _Princess_ to awake she would be distressed
at finding herself orphaned and alone in this old castle.

So this is what she did. She touched with her wand everything and
everybody in the palace: the _King_, the _Queen_; the ministers and
privy councillors; the archbishop (who was the Grand Almoner), the
bishops and the minor clergy; the maids-of-honour, ladies of the
bedchamber, governesses, gentlemen-in-waiting, equerries, heralds,
physicians, officers, masters of the household, cooks, scullions,
lackeys, guards, Switzers, pages, footmen. She touched the _Princess's_
tutors and the Court professors in the midst of their deep studies. She
touched likewise all the horses in the stables, with the grooms; the
huge mastiffs in the yard; even _Tiny_, the _Princess's_ little pet
dog, and _Fluff_, her black-and-white cat, that lay coiled on a cushion
by her bedside.

The instant the Fairy _Hippolyta_ touched them they all fell asleep,
not to awake until the same moment as their mistress, that all might be
ready to wait on her when she needed them. The very spits at the fire
went to sleep, loaded as they were with partridges and pheasants; and
the fire went to sleep too. All this was done in a moment: the Fairies
were never long about their business in those days.

But it so happened that one of the _King's_ councillors, the Minister
of Marine (his office dated from a previous reign when the kingdom
had hoped to conquer and acquire a seaboard) had overslept himself
that morning and came late to the palace without any knowledge of what
had befallen. He felt no great fear that his unpunctuality would be
remarked, the _King_ (as he supposed) being absent in the country;
nevertheless he took the precaution of letting himself in by a small
postern door, and so missed being observed by the Fairy and touched by
her wand. Entering his office, and perceiving that his under-secretary
(usually so brisk) and all his clerks rested their heads on their
desks in attitudes of sleep, he drew the conclusion that something had
happened, for he was an excellent judge of natural slumber. The farther
he penetrated into the palace, the stronger his suspicions became.
He withdrew on tiptoe. Though by nature and habit a lazy man, he was
capable of sudden decision, and returning to his home he caused notices
to be posted up, forbidding any one to approach the castle, the inmates
of which were suffering from an Eastern but temporary affliction known
as the Sleeping Sickness.

These notices were unnecessary, for within a few hours there grew up,
all around the park, such a number of trees of all sizes, and such a
tangle of briars and undergrowth, that neither beast nor man could find
a passage. They grew until nothing but the tops of the castle towers
could be seen, and these only from a good way off. There was no mistake
about it: the Fairy had done her work well, and the _Princess_ might
sleep with no fear of visits from the inquisitive.

One day, many, many years afterwards, the incomparable young _Prince
Florimond_ happened to ride a-hunting on that side of the country which
lay next to the tangled forest, and asked: 'What were those towers he
saw pushing up above the midst of a great thick wood? '

They all answered him as they heard tell. Some said it was an old
castle haunted by ghosts.

Others, that all the wizards and witches of the country met there to
keep Sabbath.

The most general opinion was that an Ogre dwelt there, and that he
carried off thither all the children he could catch, to eat them at his
ease. No one could follow him, for he alone knew how to find a passage
through the briars and brambles. The _Prince_ could not tell which to
believe of all these informants, for all gave their versions with equal
confidence, as commonly happens with those who talk on matters of which
they can know nothing for certain. He was turning from one to another
in perplexity, when a peasant spoke up and said:--

'Your Highness, long ago I heard my father tell that there was in
yonder castle a Princess, the most beautiful that ever man saw; that
she must lie asleep there for many, many years; and that one day she
will be awakened by a King's son, for whom she was destined.'

At these words Prince _Florimond_ felt himself a-fire. He believed,
without weighing it, that he could accomplish this fine adventure; and,
spurred on by love and ambition, he resolved to explore then and there
and discover the truth for himself.

[Illustration: They grew until nothing but the tops of the castle
towers could be seen.]

Leaping down from his horse he started to run towards the wood, and had
almost reached the edge of it before the attendant courtiers guessed
his design. They called to him to come back, but he ran on, and was
about to fling himself boldly into the undergrowth, when as by magic
all the great trees, the shrubs, the creepers, the ivies, briars and
brambles, unlaced themselves of their own accord and drew aside to let
him pass. He found himself within a long glade or avenue, at the end of
which glimmered the walls of an old castle; and towards this he strode.
It surprised him somewhat that none of his attendants were following
him; the reason being that as soon as he had passed through it, the
undergrowth drew close as ever again. He heard their voices, fainter
and fainter behind him, beyond the barrier, calling, beseeching him
to desist. But he held on his way without one backward look. He was a
Prince, and young, and therefore valiant.

He came to the castle, and pushing aside the ivies that hung like a
curtain over the gateway, entered a wide outer court and stood still
for a moment, holding his breath, while his eyes travelled over a
scene that might well have frozen them with terror. The court was
silent, dreadfully silent; yet it was by no means empty. On all hands
lay straight, stiff bodies of men and beasts, seemingly all dead.
Nevertheless, as he continued to gaze, his courage returned; for the
pimpled noses and ruddy faces of the Switzers told him that they were
no worse than asleep; and their cups, which yet held a few heeltaps of
wine, proved that they had fallen asleep over a drinking-bout.

He stepped by them and passed across a second great court paved with
marble; he mounted a broad flight of marble steps leading to the main
doorway; he entered a guardroom, just within the doorway, where the
guards stood in rank with shouldered muskets, every man of them asleep
and snoring his best. He made his way through a number of rooms filled
with ladies and gentlemen, some standing, others sitting, but all
asleep. He drew aside a heavy purple curtain, and once more held his
breath; for he was looking into the great Hall of State where, at a
long table, sat and slumbered the _King_ with his Council. The Lord
Chancellor slept in the act of dipping pen into inkpot; the Archbishop
in the act of taking snuff; and between the spectacles on the
Archbishop's nose and the spectacles on the Lord Chancellor's a spider
had spun a beautiful web.

_Prince Florimond_ tiptoed very carefully past these august sleepers
and, leaving the hall by another door, came to the foot of the grand
staircase. Up this, too, he went; wandered along a corridor to his
right, and, stopping by hazard at one of the many doors, opened it and
looked into a bath-room lined with mirrors and having in its midst,
sunk in the floor, a huge round basin of whitest porcelain wherein a
spring of water bubbled deliciously. Three steps led down to the bath,
and at the head of them stood a couch, with towels, and court-suit laid
ready, exquisitely embroidered and complete to the daintiest of lace
ruffles and the most delicate of body linen.

Then the _Prince_ bethought him that he had ridden far before ever
coming to the wood; and the mirrors told him that he was also somewhat
travel-stained from his passage through it. So, having by this time
learnt to accept any new wonder without question, he undressed himself
and took a bath, which he thoroughly enjoyed. Nor was he altogether
astonished, when he tried on the clothes, to find that they fitted him
perfectly. Even the rosetted shoes of satin might have been made to his
measure.

Having arrayed himself thus hardily, he resumed his quest along the
corridor. The very next door he tried opened on a chamber all panelled
with white and gold; and there, on a bed the curtains of which were
drawn wide, he beheld the loveliest vision he had ever seen: a
Princess, seemingly about seventeen or eighteen years old, and of a
beauty so brilliant that he could not have believed this world held the
like.

But she lay still, so still!... _Prince Florimond_ drew near, trembling
and wondering, and sank on his knees beside her. Still she lay,
scarcely seeming to breathe, and he bent and touched with his lips the
little hand that rested, light as a rose-leaf, on the coverlet....

With that, as the long spell of her enchantment came to an end, the
_Princess_ awaked; and looking at him with eyes more tender than a
first sight of him might seem to excuse:--

'Is it you, my _Prince_?' she said. 'You have been a long while coming!'

The _Prince_, charmed by these words, and still more by the manner in
which they were spoken, knew not how to find words for the bliss in his
heart. He assured her that he loved her better than his own self. Their
speech after this was not very coherent; they gazed at one another for
longer stretches than they talked; but if eloquence lacked, there was
plenty of love. He, to be sure, showed the more embarrassment; and no
need to wonder at this--she had had time to think over what to say to
him; for I hold it not unlikely (though the story does not say anything
of this) that the good Fairy _Hippolyta_ had taken care to amuse her,
during her long sleep, with some pleasurable dreams. In short, the
_Princess Aurora_ and the _Prince Florimond_ conversed for four hours,
and still without saying the half they had to say.

Meanwhile all the palace had awaked with the _Princess_. In the Council
Chamber the _King_ opened his eyes and requested the Lord Chancellor
to read that last sentence of his over again a little more distinctly.
The Lord Chancellor, dipping his quill into the dry inkpot, asked the
Archbishop in a whisper how many t's there were in 'regrettable.'
The Archbishop, taking a pinch of snuff that had long ago turned to
dust, answered with a terrific sneeze, which again was drowned by the
striking of all the clocks in the palace, as they started frantically
to make up for lost time. Dogs barked, doors banged; the _Princess's_
parrot screamed in his cage and was answered by the peacocks squawking
from the terrace; amid which hubbub the Minister for Agriculture,
forgetting his manners, made a trumpet of his hands and bawled across
the table, begging His Majesty to adjourn for dinner. In short, every
one's first thought was of his own business; and, as they were not all
in love, they were ready to die with hunger.

Even the _Queen_, who had dropped asleep while discussing with her
maids-of-honour the shade of mourning which most properly expressed
regret for royal personages in a trance, lost her patience at length,
and sent one of her attendants with word that she, for her part, was
keen-set for something to eat, and that in her young days it had been
customary for young ladies released from enchantment to accept the
congratulations of their parents without loss of time. The _Prince
Florimond_, by this message recalled to his devoirs, helped the
_Princess_ to rise. She was completely dressed, and very magnificently
too.

Taking his beloved _Princess Aurora_ by the hand, he led her to her
parents, who embraced her passionately and--their first transports
over--turned to, welcome him as a son, being charmed (quite apart from
their gratitude) by the modest gallantry of his address. They passed
into a great dining-room lined with mirrors, where they supped and
were served by the royal attendants. Violins and hautboys discoursed
music that was ancient indeed, but excellent, and the meal was scarcely
concluded before the company enjoyed a very pleasant surprise.

_Prince Florimond_, having no eyes but for his love, might be excused
if he forgot that his attendants must, long before now, have carried
home their report, and that his parents would be in deep distress,
wondering what had become of him. But the _King_, the _Princess's_
father, had a truly royal habit of remembering details, especially
when it concerned setting folks at their ease. Before dinner he had
dispatched a messenger to carry word to _Prince Florimond's_ father,
that his son was safe, and to acquaint him briefly with what had
befallen. The messenger, riding through the undergrowth--which now
obligingly parted before him as it had, a while ago, to admit the
_Prince_--and arriving at the outskirts of the wood, found there a
search-party vainly endeavouring to break through the barrier, with
the _Prince's_ aged father standing by and exhorting them in person,
to whom he delivered his message. Trembling with relief--for he truly
supposed his son to be lost beyond recall--the old man entreated the
messenger to turn back and escort him. So he arrived, and was ushered
into the hall.

The situation, to be sure, was delicate. But when these two kings, both
so well meaning, had met and exchanged courtesies, and the one had
raised the other by the hand to a place on the daïs beside him, already
and without speech they had almost accorded.

'I am an old man,' said the _Prince's_ father; 'I have reigned long
enough for my satisfaction, and now care for little in life but to see
my son happy.'

'I think I can promise you that,' said the _Princess's_ father,
smiling, with a glance at the two lovers.

'I am old enough, at any rate, to have done with ambitions,' said the
one.

'And I,' said the other, 'have dreamed long enough, at any rate, to
despise them. What matters ruling to either of us two, while we see
your son and my daughter reigning together?'

So it was agreed, then and there; and after supper, without loss of
time, the Archbishop married the _Prince Florimond_ and the _Princess
Aurora_ in the chapel of the Castle. The two Kings and the _Princess's_
mother saw them to their chamber, and the first maid-of-honour drew
the curtain. They slept little--the _Princess_ had no occasion; but
the _Prince_ next morning led his bride back to the city, where they
were acclaimed by the populace and lived happy ever after, reigning in
prosperity and honour.


                        MORAL

     _Ye Maids, to await some while a lover fond,_
     _Rich titled, debonair as Florimond,_
     _Is reason; and who learns on fate to attend_
     _Goes seldom unrewarded in the end--_
     _'What! No one kiss us for a hundred years!'_
     _There, la-la-la! I understood, my dears._

                       ANOTHER

     _Further, the story would suggest a doubt_
     _That marriage_ may _be happiest when deferr'd--_
     _'Deferr'd?' you cry--'Deferr'd,' I see you pout,_
     _--We'll skip this morale and attempt a third._

                       ANOTHER

     _Thirdly, our able then appears to prove_
     _Disparity of years no bar to love._
     _Crabb'd Age and Youth--But that's an ancient quarrel,_
     _And I'll not interfere. There 's no third moral._



BLUE BEARD


In the East, in a city not far from Baghdad, there lived a man who had
many possessions and might have been envied by all who knew him had
these possessions been less by one. He had fine houses in town and
country, retinues of servants, gold and silver plate in abundance,
coffers heaped with jewels, costly carpets, embroidered furniture,
cabinets full of curiosities, gilded coaches, teams of Arab horses of
the purest breed. But unluckily he had also a blue beard, which made
him so frightfully ugly that every woman wanted to scream and run away
at sight of him.

Among his neighbours was a lady of quality, who had two sons and two
daughters. Upon these two damsels _Blue Beard_ cast his affections,
without knowing precisely which he preferred; and asked the lady to
bestow the hand of one of her daughters upon him, adding, not too
tactfully, that he would leave the choice to her. Neither _Anne_ nor
_Fatima_ was eager for the honour. They sent their suitor to and fro,
and back again from one to the other: they really could not make up
their minds to accept a husband with a blue beard. It increased their
repugnance (for they were somewhat romantic young ladies) to learn that
he had already married several wives; and, moreover, nobody could tell
what had become of them, which again was not reassuring.

_Blue Beard_, to make their better acquaintance, invited them, with
their mother and brothers and a dozen or so of their youthful friends,
to divert themselves at one of his country houses, where they spent
a whole fortnight, and (as they confessed) in the most agreeable
pastimes. Each day brought some fresh entertainment: they hunted,
they hawked, they practised archery, they angled for gold-fish,
or were rowed to the sound of music on the waters of their host's
private canal, they picnicked in the ruined castles, of which he owned
quite a number. Each day concluded, too, with banqueting, dancing,
card-parties, theatricals; or would have concluded, had these young
people felt any disposition to go to bed. They preferred, however, to
sit up until morning, joking and teasing one another. _Blue Beard_,
who had arrived at middle age, would have been grateful for a little
more sleep than they allowed him, but showed himself highly complaisant
and smiled at their pranks even when--their awe of him having worn
off--they balanced a basin of water above his chamber door, to fall
on his head and douch him, or sewed up his night-garments, or stuffed
his bolster with the prickly cactus (an Eastern vegetable, of which
he possessed whole avenues); nay, even when, for the same mischievous
purpose, they despoiled his garden of an aloe which was due to blossom
in a few days' time, after having remained flowerless for a century, he
betrayed no chagrin but merely raised the wages of his head-gardener,
heart-broken over the loss of a plant so economical in giving pleasure.
In short all went so smoothly that the younger daughter began to find
their host's beard not so blue after all.

She confided this to her mother. 'Dear mother,' she said, 'it is
doubtless nothing more than my fancy, but his beard _does_ seem to me
to have altered in colour during the last ten days--a very little, of
course.'

'Then you, too, have observed it!' the lady interrupted delightedly.
'My dearest child, you cannot imagine how your words relieve me! For
a week past I have accused my eyesight of failing me, and myself of
growing old.'

'Then you really think there _is_ a change?' asked _Fatima_, at once
doubtful and hoping.

'Indeed, yes. Ask yourself if it be reasonable to suppose that our eyes
are playing a trick on both of us? Not,' her mother went on, 'that
I, for my part, have any prejudice against blue. On the contrary,
it is a beautiful colour, and considered lucky. The poets--you will
have remarked--when they would figure to us the highest attainable
happiness, select a blue flower or a blue bird for its emblem. Heaven
itself is blue; and, at the least, a blue beard must be allowed to
confer distinction.'

'A greyish-blue,' hazarded _Fatima_.

'A bluish-grey, rather,' her mother corrected her: 'that is, if I must
define the shade as it appears to me.'

'And,' still hesitated _Fatima_, 'since it has begun to change, there
seems no reason why it should not continue to do so.'

'My darling'--her mother kissed her--'that is precisely the point! Its
colour is changing, you say. But for what reason? Obviously because he
is in love; and what love has begun, love can carry to a conclusion.
Nay, but put it on the ground of pity alone. Could a feeling heart set
itself any task more angelic than to rescue so worthy a gentleman from
so hideous an affliction--if affliction it be, which I am far from
allowing?'

_Fatima_ reflected on her mother's advice, but thought it prudent to
consult her sister _Anne_ and her step-brothers before coming to a
decision which, once taken, must be irrevocable.

They listened to her very good-naturedly; though, to tell the truth,
all three were somewhat jaded, having sat up all night at the
card-tables, playing at ombre, quadrille, lasquenet; and Heaven knows
what other games.

'My dear _Fatima_,' said her sister _Anne_ with a little yawn, 'I
congratulate you with all my heart on having made a discovery which,
beyond a doubt and but for your better diligence, I should have had to
make for myself before long.'

As for her step-brothers, they were in the best of humours at having
won a considerable sum of money from their host by superior play; and
they answered her, quoting a proverb, that 'at nights all cats are
grey, and all beards too,' and seemed to consider this very much to the
point.

_Fatima_ was greatly relieved by these assurances. On the evening
before the company dispersed _Blue Beard_ again sought a private
interview and pressed his suit. She accepted him without further ado,
and as soon as they returned to town the marriage was concluded.


They had been married little more than a month when _Blue Beard_ came
to his wife one morning, and told her that letters of importance had
arrived for him: he must take a journey into the country and be away
six weeks at least on a matter of business. He desired her to divert
herself in his absence by sending for her friends, to carry them off to
the country if she pleased, and to make good cheer wherever she was.

'Here,' said he, 'are the keys of the two great store-chambers where
I keep my spare furniture; these open the strong-rooms of my gold and
silver plate which is only used on state occasions; these unlock my
chests of money, both gold and silver; these, my jewel coffers; and
this is the master-key to all my apartments. But this little one, here,
is the key of the closet at the end of the great gallery on the ground
floor. Open all the others; go where you will. But into that little
closet I forbid you to go; and I forbid it so strongly that if you
_should_ disobey me and open it, there is nothing you may not expect
from my displeasure.'

_Fatima_ promised to obey all his orders exactly; whereupon he embraced
her, got into his coach, and was driven off.

Her good friends and neighbours scarcely waited for the young bride's
invitation, so impatient were they to view all the riches of her
grand house, having never dared to come while her husband was at
home, because of his terrifying blue beard. They overran the house
without loss of time, hunting their curiosity from room to room, along
the corridors and in and out of closets and wardrobes, cabinets and
presses; opening cupboards, ferreting in drawers, and still exclaiming
over their contents as each new discovery proved more wonderful than
the last. They roamed through the bedrooms and spent a long while in
the two great store-chambers, where they could not sufficiently admire
the number and beauty of the tapestries, beds, sofas, consoles, stands,
tables, but particularly the looking-glasses, in which you could see
yourself from head to foot, with their frames of glass and silver and
silver-gilt, the finest and costliest ever seen. They ceased not to
extol and to envy their friend's good fortune.

'If my husband could only give me such a house as this,' said one to
another, 'for aught I cared he might have a beard of all the colours of
the rainbow!'

[Illustration: They overran the house without loss of time.]

_Fatima_, meanwhile, was not in the least amused by the sight of all
these riches, being consumed by a curiosity even more ardent than
that of her friends. Indeed, she could scarcely contain herself and
listen to their chatter, so impatient she felt to go and open the
closet downstairs. If only _Blue Beard_ had not forbidden this one
little thing! Or if, having reasons of his own to keep it secret, he
had been content to take the key away with him, saying nothing about
it! At least, if he wished to prove whether or not poor _Fatima_ could
rise above the common frailty of her sex--and he was, as we shall see,
a somewhat exacting husband--he should have warned her. As it was,
her curiosity grew and possessed her until at length, without even
considering how uncivil it was to leave her guests, she escaped from
them and ran down a little back staircase, in such haste that twice or
thrice she tripped over her gown and came near breaking her neck.

When she reached the door of the closet she hesitated for a moment or
so, thinking upon her husband's command, and considering what ill might
befall her if she disobeyed it. While he uttered it his look had been
extremely stern, and a blue beard--for after a month of married life
she could no longer disguise from herself that it was still blue, or
at any rate changing colour less rapidly than she or her mother had
promised themselves--might betoken a harsh temper. On the other hand,
and though she continued to find it repulsive, he had hitherto proved
himself a kind, even an indulgent husband, and for the life of her she
could not imagine there was anything unpardonable in opening so small a
chamber. The temptation, in short, was too strong for her to overcome.
She took the little key and, trembling, opened the door.

At first, shading her eyes and peering in, she could see nothing,
because the window-shutters were closed. But after some moments she
began to perceive that the light, falling through the shutters, took
a reddish tinge as it touched the floor. So red it was--or rather,
red-purple--that for a moment or two she supposed the closet to be
paved with porphyry of that colour. Still, as she stared, and her
eyes by degrees grew accustomed to the gloom, she saw--and moment by
moment the truth crept upon her and froze her--that the floor was all
covered with clotted blood. In the dull shine of it something horrible
was reflected.... With an effort she lifted her eyes to the wall
facing her, and there, in a row, on seven iron clamps, hung the bodies
of seven dead women with their feet dangling a few inches above the
horrible pool in which their blood had mingled.... Little doubt but
these were the wives whom _Blue Beard_ had married and whose throats he
had cut, one after another!

Poor _Fatima_ thought to die of fear, and the key, which she had pulled
from the lock, fell from her hand. When she had regained her senses a
little, she picked it up and locked the door again; but her hand shook
so that this was no easy feat, and she tottered upstairs to recover
herself in her own room. But she found it filled with her officious
friends, who, being occupied with envy of her riches and having no
reason to guess that, in a husband's absence, anything could afflict so
fortunate a wife, either honestly ignored her pallor or hoped (while
promising to come again) that they had not overtired her by their visit.

They promised, too, to repeat their call very soon, at the same time
inquiring how long her husband's journey might be expected to last. It
was plain that they feared him, one and all. Half an hour ago she might
have wondered at this.

They were gone at last. _Fatima_, drawing the key from her pocket, now
to her horror observed a dull smear upon it, and remembered that it had
fallen at her feet on the edge of the pool of blood in the closet. She
wiped it; she rubbed it on the sleeve of her robe; but the blood would
not come off. In a sudden terror she ran to her dressing-room, poured
out water, and began to soap the key. But in vain did she wash it, and
even scrape it with a knife and scrub it with sand and pumice-stone.
The blood still remained, for the key was a magic key, and there was no
means of making it quite clean; as fast as the blood was scoured off
one side it came again on the other.

She was still scouring and polishing, when a horn sounded not very far
away. In her flurry she paid little heed to this, or to the rumble of
wheels she heard approaching. Frightened though she was, she supposed
that she had still almost six weeks in which to restore by some means
the key to its brightness. But when the wheels rolled up to the
porchway and came to a stop, and when the horn, sounding again, blew
her husband's flourish, then indeed the poor lady's knees knocked
together and almost sank beneath her. Hiding the key in the bosom of
her bodice, she tottered forth to the head of the stairs, to behold
_Blue Beard_ himself standing beneath the lamp in the hall below.

He caught sight of her as she leaned over, clinging to the balustrade;
and called up cheerfully that he had received letters on the road with
news that his journey was after all unnecessary--the business he went
about had been settled, and to his advantage. Still shaking in every
limb, _Fatima_ crept downstairs to give him greeting. She ordered
supper to be prepared in haste; and while he ate, forced herself to ask
a hundred questions concerning his adventures. In short she did all she
could to give him proof that she was delighted at his speedy return.

Next morning, having summoned her to attend him on the terrace, he
asked her to render back the keys; which she gave him, but with such a
trembling hand that he easily guessed what had happened.

'How is this? 'said he. 'Why is not the key of my closet among the
rest?'

'I must have left it upstairs on my table,' said _Fatima_.

'Fetch it to me at once,' said _Blue Beard_. 'At once, and without
fail.'

She went, and after a while returned, protesting that she could not
find it.

'Go back and seek again,' commanded _Blue Beard_, dangerously calm.

After going backwards and forwards several times, she could pretend no
longer, but brought him the key. _Blue Beard_ examined it closely, and
demanded--

'How came this blood upon the key?'

'I do not know,' answered poor _Fatima_, paler than death.

'You do not know!' cried _Blue Beard_ in a terrible voice. 'But I know
well enough. You have chosen to enter that closet. Mighty well, madam;
since that poor room of mine so appeals to your fancy, your whim shall
not be denied. You _shall_ go in, and take your place among the ladies
you saw there!'

_Fatima_ flung herself at her husband's feet, and wept and begged his
pardon with every sign of truly repenting her disobedience. She would
have melted a rock, so beautiful and sorrowful she was; but _Blue
Beard_ had a heart harder than any rock.

[Illustration: The unhappy FATIMA cried up to her:--

'Anne, Sister Anne, do you see any one coming?']

'You must die, madam,' said he, 'and that presently.'

'Since I must die,' she answered, looking up at him with eyes all
bathed in tears, 'grant me a little time to say my prayers.'

'I grant you,' replied _Blue Beard_, 'ten minutes, and not a second
more.'

As she went from him, and through the house towards her own apartment,
at the foot of the great staircase she met with her sister _Anne_, who
(unaware of _Blue Beard's_ return) had just arrived to pay her a visit.

'Ah, dear sister!' cried _Fatima_, embracing her. 'But tell me, oh, and
for Heaven's sake, quickly! where are my brothers _Selim_ and _Hassan_,
who promised to come with you?'

'They are at home,' said _Anne_. 'They were detained at parade, and
I have come ahead of them. I could wait for them no longer in my
impatience to see you; but just as I was starting they arrived back
from the parade-ground, and sent word that they will follow as soon as
they have groomed their horses, and spend a happy day with you.'

'Alas!' sobbed _Fatima_, 'they will never see me alive in this world!'

'But what has happened? 'asked her sister, amazed.

'He--_Blue Beard_--has returned.... Yes, and in a few minutes he has
promised to kill me. But ah! ask me no questions--there is so little
time left. Dear sister, if you love me, run upstairs and still up to
the top of the tower, look if my brothers are not coming, and if you
see them, give them a signal to make haste!'

Her sister _Anne_ left her and ran up, up, to the roof of the tower;
and from time to time as the minutes sped, the unhappy _Fatima_ cried
up to her:--

'_Anne, Sister Anne, do you see any one coming?_'

And _Sister Anne_ answered her:--

'_I see nothing but the noon dust a-blowing, and the green grass
a-growing._'

By and by _Blue Beard_, who had pulled out his huge sabre, and was
trying its edge on the short turf of the terrace, shouted to her:--

'Wife, your time is up. Come down, and at once!'

Then, as she made no answer, he shouted again, and as loudly as he
could bawl: 'Come down quickly, or I will come up to you!'

'A moment--give me a moment longer!' she answered, and called softly to
her sister: '_Anne, Sister Anne, do you see any one coming?_'

And _Sister Anne_ answered: '_I see nothing but the noon dust
a-blowing, and the green grass a-growing._'

'Come down quickly,' shouted _Blue Beard_, 'or I will come up to you!'

'I am coming,' answered his wife; and again she cried: '_Anne, Sister
Anne, do you see any one coming?_'

'I see,' answered _Sister Anne_, 'yonder a great cloud of dust coming.'

'Is it my brothers?'

'Alas! no, sister. I see a flock of sheep.'

'Will you not come down?' bawled _Blue Beard_.

'Just one moment longer!' entreated his wife, and once more she called
out: '_Anne, Sister Anne, do you see nobody coming?_'

'I see,' she answered, 'yonder two Knights a-riding, but they are yet a
great way off.... God be praised,' she cried a moment after, 'they are
our brothers! I am waving my handkerchief to them to hasten.'

Then _Blue Beard_ stamped his foot and roared out so terribly that he
made the whole house tremble. The poor lady came down and, casting
herself, all in tears and dishevelled, at his feet, clasped him by the
ankles while she besought him for mercy.

'This shall not help you,' said _Blue Beard_, 'You must die!' Then,
taking hold of her hair and twisting her head back, the better to
expose her beautiful throat, he exclaimed: 'This be the lesson I read
against curiosity, the peculiar vice of womankind, and which above
all others I find detestable. To that most fatal habit all the best
accredited religions, in whatever else they may differ, unite in
attributing the first cause of all misfortunes to which the race is
subject.... In this strain he continued for fully three minutes, still
grasping her hair with one hand while with the other he flourished his
sabre.

As he ceased, poor _Fatima_ looked up at him with dying eyes. 'Ah,
sir!' she besought him, (if this curiosity be, as you remind me, my
worst sin, you will not be so cruel as to destroy me before I have
confessed and asked pardon for it. Grant me, then, just one moment more
to fix my thoughts on devotion!'

[Illustration: Then BLUE BEARD roared out so terribly that he made the
whole house tremble.]

'No, no,' was his answer; 'recommend thyself to Heaven'; and he swung
up his sabre to strike.

At that very instant there sounded so loud a knocking at the gate that
he came to a sudden stop. His arm dropped as the gate flew open and
two cavaliers ran in with drawn swords and rushed upon him. Loosing
his hold upon _Fatima_, who sank fainting upon the grass, he ran to
save himself, but the two brothers were so hot on his heels that, after
pursuing him through the vineries and the orange-house, they overtook
him just as he reached the steps of the main porch. There they ran
their swords through his body, and, after making sure that he was dead,
returned to their sister, who opened her eyes, indeed, as they bent
over her, but had not strength enough to rise and embrace them.


_Blue Beard_ had no heirs, and so his wife became mistress of all his
estates. She employed a part of her wealth to marry her sister _Anne_
to a young gentleman who had loved her a long while; another part to
purchase captains' commissions for her two step-brothers; and the rest
to marry herself to a very worthy gentleman who made her forget the
short but unhappy time she had passed with _Blue Beard_.


                      MORAL
               (For Curious Wives)
     _Wives should have one lord only. Some have reckon'd_
     _In Curiosity t' enjoy a second._
     _But Scripture says we may not serve two masters,_
     _And little keys have opened large disasters._

                     ANOTHER

      (For Chastising or Correcting Husbands)

     _The very best sermon that ever was preach'd_
     _Was a thought less effective the longer it reached._



CINDERELLA OR THE LITTLE GLASS SLIPPER


Once upon a time there lived a gentleman who married twice. His second
wife was a widow with two grown-up daughters, both somewhat past their
prime, and this woman would have been the proudest and most overbearing
in the world had not her daughters exactly resembled her with their
fine airs and insolent tempers. The husband, too, had by his first wife
a child of his own, a young daughter, and so good and so gentle that
she promised to grow up into the living image of her dead mother, who
had been the most lovable of women.

The wedding festivities were no sooner over than the stepmother began
to show herself in her true colours. She could not endure the girl's
good qualities, which by contrast rendered her own daughters the more
odious. She put her to drudge at the meanest household work, and thus
she and her precious darlings not only wreaked their spite but saved
money to buy themselves dresses and finery. It was the child who
scoured the pots and pans, scrubbed the floors, washed down the stairs,
polished the tables, ironed the linen, darned the stockings, and made
the beds. She herself slept at the top of the house in a garret, upon a
wretched straw mattress, while her sisters had apartments of their own
with inlaid floors, beds carved and gilded in the latest fashion, and
mirrors in which they could see themselves from head to foot.

Yet they were so helpless, or rather they thought it so menial to do
anything for themselves, that had they but a ribbon to tie, or a bow
to adjust, or a bodice to be laced, the child must be sent for. When
she came it was odds that they met her with a storm of abuse, in this
fashion:--

'What do you mean, pray, by answering the bell in this state? Stand
before the glass and look at yourself! Look at your hands--faugh! How
can you suppose we should allow you to touch a ribbon, or even come
near us, with such hands? Run downstairs, slut, and put yourself under
the kitchen pump'--and so on.

'How can I help it?' thought the poor little drudge. 'If I do not
run at once when the bell rings, they scold me for that. Yet they
ring--both of them together sometimes--a minute after setting me to
rake out a grate and sift the ashes. As for looking at myself in the
glass, gladly would I do it if they allowed me one. But they have told
me that if I had a glass I should only waste time in front of it.'

She kept these thoughts to herself, however, and suffered her ill-usage
patiently, not daring to complain to her father, who would, moreover,
have joined with the others in chiding her, for he was wholly under his
wife's thumb; and she had enough of chiding already. When she had done
her work she used to creep away to the chimney-corner and seat herself
among the cinders, and from this the household name for her came to
be _Cinder-slut_; but the younger sister, who was not so ill-tempered
as the elder, called her _Cinderella_. They were wise in their way to
deprive her of a looking-glass; for in truth, and in spite of her sorry
rags, _Cinderella_ was a hundred times more beautiful than they with
all their magnificent dresses.


It happened that the King's son gave a ball, and sent invitations
through the kingdom to every person of quality. Our two misses were
invited among the rest, for they cut a great figure in that part of
the country. Mightily pleased they were to be sure with their cards of
invitation, all printed in gold and stamped with the broad red seal of
the Heir Apparent; and mightily busy they were, discussing what gowns
and head-dresses would best become them. This meant more worry for
_Cinderella_, for it was she who ironed her sisters' linen, goffered
their tucks and frills, pleated their wristbands, pressed their
trimmings of old lace and wrapped them away in tissue paper. A score of
times all this lace, piece by piece, had to be unwrapped, inspected,
put away again; and after a trying-on, all the linen had to be ironed,
goffered, crimped, or pleated afresh for them. They could talk of
nothing but their ball dresses.

[Illustration: She used to creep away to the chimney-corner and seat
herself among the cinders.]

'For my part,' said the elder, 'I shall wear a velvet cramoisie trimmed
_à l'Anglaise_'--for she had a passion for cramoisie, and could not
perceive how ill the colour went with her complexion. 'I had thought of
cloth-of-gold, but there's the cost of the underskirt to be considered;
and underskirts seem to grow dearer and dearer in these days. What a
relief,' she went on, 'it must be to have money and not be forced to
set one thing against another!'

'I,' said the younger, 'must make shift with my old underskirt; that
is, unless I can wheedle some money out of Papa'--for so, in their
affection, they called their stepfather. '_Cinderella_ can take out the
worst stains to-morrow with a little eau-de-Cologne. I believe that,
if she tries, she can make it look as good as new; and, at all events,
it will give her something to do instead of wasting an afternoon. I
don't pretend that I _like_ wearing an old underskirt, and I hope
to make dear Papa sensible of this; but against it I shall have the
gold-flowered robe, on which I am determined, and my diamond stomacher,
which is somewhat better than the common.'

'And I, of course,' said the elder, 'must wear my diamond spray. If
only it had a ruby in the clasp instead of a sapphire! Rubies go so
much better with cramoisie.... I suppose there is no time now to ask
the jeweller to re-set it with a ruby.'

'But you don't possess a ruby, dear,' murmured her sister, who did
possess one, and had no intention of lending it. 'And, besides,
sapphires suit you so much better!'

They sent for the best milliner they could find, to build their
mob-caps in triple tiers; and for the best hairdresser to arrange
their hair; and their patches were supplied by the shop to which all
the Quality went. From time to time they called up _Cinderella_ to ask
her advice, for she had excellent taste. _Cinderella_ advised them
perfectly, and even offered her services to dress their hair for them
on the night of the ball. They accepted gladly enough.

Whilst she was dressing them one asked her: '_Cinderella_, would you
not like to be going to the ball?'

'Alas! miss,' said _Cinderella_, 'you are making fun of me. It is not
for the like of me to be there.'

'You are right, girl. Folks would laugh indeed to see _Cinder-slut_ at
a ball!'

Any one but _Cinderella_ would have pinned on their mob-caps awry; and
if you or I had been in her place, I won't swear but that we might have
pushed in the pins just a trifle carelessly. But she had no malice in
her nature; she attired them to perfection, though they found fault
with her all the while it was doing, and quite forgot to thank her
when it was done. Let it be related, in excuse for their tempers, that
they had passed almost two days without eating, so eager were they
and excited. The most of this time they had spent in front of their
mirrors, where they had broken more than a dozen laces in trying to
squeeze their waists and make them appear more slender. They were
dressed a full two hours before the time fixed for starting. But at
length the coach arrived at the door. They were tucked into it with a
hundred precautions, and _Cinderella_ followed it with her eyes as long
as she could; that is to say, until the tears rose and blinded them.

She turned away weeping, back to the house, and crept into her dear
chimney-corner; where, being all alone in the kitchen, she could
indulge her misery.

A long while she sat there. Suddenly, between two heavy sobs she looked
up, her eyes attracted by a strange blue glow on the far side of the
hearth: and there stood the queerest lady, who must have entered
somehow without knocking.

Her powdered hair was dressed all about her head in the prettiest
of short curls, amid which the most exquisite jewels--diamonds, and
rubies, and emeralds--sparkled against the firelight. Her dress had
wide panniers bulging over a skirt of lace flounces, billowy and
delicate as sea-foam, and a stiff bodice, shaped to the narrowest
waist imaginable. Jewels flashed all over this dress--or at least
_Cinderella_ supposed them to be jewels, though, on second thoughts,
they might be fireflies, butterflies, glowworms. They seemed at any
rate to be alive, and to dart from one point to another of her attire.
Lastly, this strange lady held in her right hand a short wand, on the
end of which trembled a pale bluish-green flame; and it was this which
had first caught _Cinderella's_ eye and caused her to look up.

'Good evening, child,' said the visitor in a sharp clear voice, at
the same time nodding kindly across the firelight. 'You seem to be in
trouble. What is the matter?'

'I wish,' sobbed _Cinderella_. 'I wish,' she began again, and again she
choked. This was all she could say for weeping.

'You wish, dear, that you could go to the ball; is it not so?'

'Ah, yes!' said _Cinderella_ with a sigh.

'Well, then,' said the visitor, 'be a good girl, dry your tears, and
I think it can be managed. I am your godmother, you must know, and in
younger days your mother and I were very dear friends.' She omitted,
perhaps purposely, to add that she was a Fairy; but _Cinderella_ was
soon to discover this too. 'Do you happen to have any pumpkins in the
garden?' her godmother asked.

_Cinderella_ thought this an odd question. She could not imagine what
pumpkins had to do with going to a ball. But she answered that there
were plenty in the garden--a whole bed of them in fact.

'Then let us go out and have a look at them.'

They went out into the dark garden to the pumpkin patch, and her
godmother pointed to the finest of all with her wand.

'Pick that one,' she commanded.

_Cinderella_ picked it, still wondering. Her godmother opened a fruit
knife that had a handle of mother-of-pearl. With this she scooped out
the inside of the fruit till only the rind was left; then she tapped
it with her wand, and at once the pumpkin was changed into a beautiful
coach all covered with gold.

'Next we must have horses,' said her godmother. 'The question is, Have
you such a thing as a mouse trap in the house?'

_Cinderella_ ran to look into her mouse trap, where she found six mice
all alive. Her godmother, following, told her to lift the door of the
trap a little way, and as the mice ran out one by one she gave each
a tap with her wand, and each mouse turned at once into a beautiful
horse--which made a fine team of six horses, of a lovely grey, dappled
with mouse colour.

Now the trouble was to find a coachman.

'I will go and see,' said _Cinderella_, who had dried her tears and was
beginning to find this great fun, 'if there isn't such a thing as a rat
in the rat trap. We can make a coachman of him.'

'You are right, dear,' said her godmother; 'run and look.'

_Cinderella_ fetched her the rat trap. There were three large rats in
it. The Fairy chose one of the three because of his enormous whiskers,
and at a touch he was changed into a fat coachman.

Next she said: 'Go to the end of the garden; and there in the corner of
the wall behind the watering-pot, unless I am mistaken, you will find
six lizards. Bring them to me.'

_Cinderella_ had no sooner brought them than her godmother changed them
into six footmen, who climbed up at once behind the coach with their
bedizened liveries, and clung on as though they had been doing nothing
else all their lives.

The Fairy then said to _Cinderella_: 'Hey now, child! This will do to
go to the ball with, unless you are hard to please.'

'Indeed, yes,' answered _Cinderella_. 'But how can I go, as I am, in
these horrid clothes?'

'You might have given me credit for thinking of that too!' Her
godmother did but touch her with her wand, and on the instant her rags
were transformed into cloth of gold and silver, all bespangled with
precious stones. She felt her hair creeping up into curls, and tiring
and arranging itself in tiers, on the topmost of which a double ostrich
feather grew from a diamond clasp that caught the rays of the old
lady's wand and shot them about the garden, this way and that, making
the slugs and snails crawl to shelter.

'But the chief mark of a lady,' said her godmother, eyeing her with
approval, 'is to be well shod,' and so saying she pulled out a pair of
glass slippers, into which _Cinderella_ poked her toes doubtfully, for
glass is not as a rule an accommodating material for slippers. You have
to be measured very carefully for it.

But these fitted to perfection: and thus arrayed from top to toe,
_Cinderella_ had nothing more to do but kiss her godmother, thank
her, and step into the coach, the six horses of which were pawing the
cabbage beds impatiently.

'Good-bye, child! 'said her godmother. 'But of one thing I must warn
you seriously. I have power to send you thus to the ball, but my power
lasts only until midnight. Not an instant beyond midnight must you stay
there. If you over-stay the stroke of twelve, your coach will become
but a pumpkin again, your horses will change back into mice, your
footmen into lizards, and your ball dress shrink to the same rags in
which I found you.'

_Cinderella_ promised that she would not fail to take her departure
before midnight: and, with that, the coachman cracked his whip and she
was driven away, beside herself with joy.


In the royal palace, and in the royal gardens, over which shone the
same stars which had looked down upon _Cinderella's_ pumpkins, the ball
was at its height: with scores and scores of couples dancing on the
waxed floor to the music of the violins; and under the trees, where the
music throbbed in faint echoes, other scores of couples moving, passing
and repassing, listening to the plash of the fountains and inhaling the
sweet scent of the flowers.

Now, as the King's son walked among his guests, word was brought to him
by his Chamberlain that a grand Princess, whom nobody knew, had just
arrived and desired admission.

'She will not tell her name,' said the Chamberlain; 'but that she is
a Princess and of very high dignity cannot be doubted. Apart from her
beauty and the perfection of her address (of which your Royal Highness,
perhaps, will allow me to be no mean judge), I may mention that the
very jewels in her hair are worth a whole province.'

The King's son hastened to the gate to receive the fair stranger,
handed her down from the coach, and led her through the gardens,
where the guests drew apart and gazed in wonder at her loveliness.
Still escorted by him she entered the ball-room, where at once a
great silence fell, the dancing was broken off, the violins ceased to
play--so taken, so ravished was everybody by the vision of this unknown
one. Everywhere ran the murmur, 'Ah! how beautiful she is!' The _King_
himself, old as he was, could not take his eyes off her, and confided
to the _Queen_ in a low voice that it was long since he had seen so
adorable a creature.

All the ladies were busily studying her head-dress and her ball gown,
that they might order the like next day for themselves, if only (vain
hope!) they could find materials so exquisite and dressmakers clever
enough.

The King's son took her to the place of honour, and afterwards led her
out to dance. She danced so gracefully that all admired her yet the
more. A splendid supper was served, but the young _Prince_ ate nothing
of it, so intent was he on gazing upon her.

She went and sat by her sisters, who bridled with pleasure at the
honour. She did them a thousand civilities, sharing with them the
nectarines and citrons which the _Prince_ brought her; and still not
recognising her, they marvelled at this, being quite unused (as they
never deserved) to be selected for attentions so flattering.

The King's son now claimed her for another dance. It had scarcely come
to an end when _Cinderella_ heard the clock strike the quarter to
twelve; whereupon she instantly desired her partner to lead her to the
_King_ and _Queen_. 'For I must be going,' she said.

'It is cruel of you to go so early,' he protested. 'But at least you
will come again to-morrow and grant me many dances?'

'Is there to be another ball, then, to-morrow?' she asked.

'To-morrow, yes; and as many morrows as you wish, if only you will
come.'

'Ah, if I could! 'sighed _Cinderella_ to herself: for she was young,
and it seemed to her that she could never have enough of such evenings
as this, though they went on for ever and ever.

The _Prince_ led her to the daïs where sat the _King_ and _Queen_. She
made a deep reverence before them, a slighter but no less gracious one
to the company, and withdrew. Although she had given no orders, her
coach stood waiting for her. Slipping in, she was whisked home in the
time it would take you to wink an eye.

She had scarcely entered the house, however, before she received a
shock. For on the threshold of the kitchen, glancing down to make sure
that her ball gown was not disarranged by this rapid journey, she
perceived that it had vanished--changed back to the rags of her daily
wear. But there, in the light of the hearth, stood her godmother, who
smiled so pleasantly that _Cinderella_ choked down her little cry of
disappointment.

[Illustration: Whereupon she instantly desired her partner to lead her
to the KING and QUEEN.]

'Well, child? And how have you fared?'

'Godmama, I have never been so happy in all my life! And it is all
thanks to you!' But after thanking her, _Cinderella_ could not help
confessing how she longed to go to the ball next evening. The King's
son had begged her to come again, and oh! if she had been able to
promise!

'As to that, child,' said her godmother, 'we will see about it when the
time comes. But it has been lonely, keeping watch and sitting up for
you. Will you not reward me by telling all about it?'

_Cinderella_ needed no such invitation; she was dying to relate
her adventures. She talked and talked, her godmother still smiling
and questioning. For two hours, may be, she talked and was still
recollecting a score of things to tell when her sisters' coach rumbled
up to the gate, and almost at once there came a loud ring at the bell.
She stared and rubbed her eyes, for at the first sound of it her
godmother had vanished!

_Cinderella_ ran and opened the door to her sisters. 'What a long time
you have stayed,' said she, yawning, rubbing her eyes, and stretching
herself as though she had just waked out of sleep. (She had felt,
however, no inclination at all to sleep since their departure!)

'If you had been at the ball,' said the elder sister, 'you would not
have felt tired. One of the guests was the loveliest Princess--oh, the
loveliest you ever could see! She showed us a thousand civilities. She
gave us nectarines and citrons.'

_Cinderella_ contained her joy. Upstairs, while she unplaited her
sisters' hair and unlaced their bodices, she asked the name of the
Princess. But they answered that no one knew her; that the King's son
was wild about her, and would give everything in the world to discover
who she was. _Cinderella_ smiled. She no longer felt any temptation at
all to be clumsy with the hairpins.

'Why then,' she said, 'she must be beautiful indeed. And she went away,
you say, without telling her name? Is no one going to see her again?'

'As for that, she may come again to the ball to-morrow. I am told that
the _Prince_ begged it, almost with tears in his eyes.... For there is
to be another ball to-morrow, and we are going!'

'Ah, heavens!' sighed _Cinderella_, how lucky you are! Might I not just
see her? Please, please, Sister Caroline, take me to-morrow--I could
manage quite well if only you lent me your yellow gown which you wear
every evening!'

'Hoity-toity! 'snapped _Miss Caroline_. 'You cannot be awake. You must
have been dreaming to some purpose if you see me lending my clothes to
a nasty little Cinder-slut!'

_Cinderella_ had quite well expected some such rebuff, and was glad
enough to get it, for it would have been very awkward if her sister had
been willing to lend the gown.


The next evening the two sisters were at the ball; and so was
_Cinderella_, but in even finer attire than before. Her godmother
had spared no pains, and as for the expense, that hardly needs to be
considered when you can turn pumpkins into gilt coaches, cobwebs into
Valenciennes lace, and beetles' wings into rubies, with the tap of a
wand.

The King's son in his impatience flew to her coach door as soon as she
arrived. Throughout the evening he never left her side, nor ceased to
make pretty speeches; and she, pretty maid, was far from finding his
behaviour tiresome--so far, indeed, that she forgot her godmother's
warning. The end was, that in the midst of a dance she heard the stroke
of a clock, looked up, was dismayed to find it the first stroke of
twelve when she believed it yet an hour short of midnight, and made her
escape as lightly as a deer. The _Prince_ followed, but could not catch
her. Only she dropped one of her glass slippers, which he picked up and
treasured.

With the last stroke of twelve, coach and footmen had whisked away,
and poor _Cinderella_, barefoot now as well as in rags, panted
homeward over roads where the flints cut her until she bled, and the
owls and great moths blundered out of the bushes against her face. To
make matters worse, a thunderstorm broke before she had ran half the
distance, and she arrived home in a terrible plight, muddy, drenched to
the skin, and almost more dead than alive. In one thing only she was
fortunate: she had outstripped her sisters, whose coach on the way home
lost a wheel--and I have a suspicion that _Cinderella's_ godmother had
something to do with this misadventure too.

At all events when _Cinderella_ opened the kitchen door the little lady
stood as she had stood the night before, in the glow of the hearth,
awaiting her.

'Well, child,' she said, frowning, yet the frown was not altogether
unkindly, 'it is easily seen that you have forgotten my warning and
have suffered for it. But what is _that_ you are clutching?'

Poor _Cinderella_ drew from under her bedraggled bodice a crystal
slipper, fellow to the missing one. It was the one remnant of all her
finery, and somehow, scarcely knowing why, she had hugged it to her
while she ran and never let it slip in all her stumblings.

Her godmother gazed at her with a queer expression, that began by being
a frown, yet in the end had certainly changed into a shrewd smile.

'You have been careless,' she said. 'Yet I am pleased to see that you
have managed to keep, at any rate, one-half of your godmother's gift.
'I think she meant by this that whereas all the rest of _Cinderella's_
adornment had been contrived out of something other than it was, the
two glass slippers had been really produced out of the Fairy's pocket.
They alone had not vanished at the stroke of midnight. 'But what has
become of the other one?' her godmother asked.

_Cinderella_ did not know for certain, but fancied that she must have
dropped it in her hurry to escape from the palace.

'Yes, you are careless,' repeated the Fairy; 'but decidedly you are not
unlucky.'

And with that she vanished, as the bell sounded announcing the
sisters'return.

They were not in the best of humours, to begin with. _Cinderella_ asked
them if they had again found the ball enjoyable, and if the beautiful
lady had been there. They told her yes; but that on the stroke of
twelve she had taken flight, and so hurriedly that she had let fall
one of her small glass slippers, the prettiest in the world, which the
King's son had picked up. They added, that this indeed was the first
cause of their delay; for, seeking their carriage, they had found the
entry blocked, and the _Prince_ in the wildest state of mind, demanding
of the guards if they had not seen a Princess pass out. The guards
answered that they had seen no one pass out but a ragged girl, who
looked more like a country wench than a Princess. Amid this to-do, the
sisters had with difficulty found their coach; and then, within two
miles of home, a wheel had come off and the coach had lurched over, in
a thunderstorm, too; and they had been forced to walk the rest of the
way, the one with a bruised shoulder, and the other (which was worse)
with a twisted ankle. But, after all, the dance had been worth these
mischances and sufferings; and, said they, harking back, the _Prince_
was undoubtedly deep in love, for they had left him gazing fondly at
the slipper, and little doubt--mysteriously as she chose to behave--he
would make every effort to find the beautiful creature to whom it
belonged.


They told the truth, too. For a few days after, the King's son had it
proclaimed by sound of trumpet that he would marry her whose foot the
slipper exactly fitted.

At first they tried it on the Princesses of the Court:

Then on the Duchesses:

Then on the Marchionesses:

Then on the Countesses and Viscountesses:

Then on the Baronesses:

And so on, through all the ladies of the Court, and a number of
competitors, who, though they did not belong to it, yet supposed that
the smallness of their feet was an argument that their parents had very
unjustly come down in the world. The Prime Minister, who carried the
glass slipper on a velvet cushion, was kept very busy during the next
few weeks.

At length he called on _Cinderella's_ two sisters, who did all they
could to squeeze a foot into the slipper, but by no means could they
succeed.

_Cinderella_, who was looking on and admiring their efforts, said
laughingly:--

'Let me see if it will fit me.'

Her sisters began to laugh and mock at her, but the Prime Minister,
who had come to make trial of the slipper, looked at _Cinderella_
attentively, and seeing how good-looking she was, said that it was but
just--he had orders to try it upon every one.

[Illustration: The Prime Minister was kept very busy during the next
few weeks.]

He asked _Cinderella_ to sit down, and drawing the slipper upon her
little foot, he saw that it went on easily, and fitted the foot like
wax. Great was the astonishment of the two sisters; but it was greater
when _Cinderella_ pulled from her pocket the other little slipper and
put it upon the other foot. On top of this came a rap at the door,
and in walked the Fairy Godmother, who, by a touch of her wand upon
_Cinderella's_ clothes, made them still more magnificent than they had
been before.

And now her two sisters knew _Cinderella_ to be the same beautiful
creature they had seen at the ball. They threw themselves at her feet,
begging her pardon for all the ill-usage they had made her suffer.
_Cinderella_ raised and kissed them, saying that she forgave them with
all her heart, and entreated them to be loving to her always.

They led her to the young _Prince_, arrayed as she was. He thought
her lovelier than ever, and, a few days after, they were married.
_Cinderella_, who was as good as she was beautiful, lodged her two
sisters in the palace, and married them that same day to two great
Lords of the Court.


                MORAL

     _Better than wealth or art,_
        _Jewels or a painted face,_
     _It is when a natural heart_
        _Inhabits its natural place_
        _And beats at a natural pace._

               ANOTHER

     _Yet youth that is poor of purse,_
        _No matter how witty or handsome,_
     _Will find its talents no worse_
        _For a godmamma to advance 'em._



BEAUTY AND THE BEAST


Once upon a time, in a country a long way from here, there stood a
flourishing city, full of commerce; and in that city lived a merchant
so lucky in all his ventures that it seemed as if fortune waited on his
wishes. But while enormously rich, he had a very long family of six
sons and six daughters; and as yet not one of them was settled in life.
The boys were too young to go out in the world; and the girls, who had
everything at home the heart could desire, were in no hurry to risk a
change by choosing a husband, although many rich and noble suitors paid
court to them.

But one day an unexpected disaster brought this pleasant state of
things to an end. Their house caught fire and was burnt to the ground;
and with it perished not only the magnificent furniture, but the
merchant's account books, bank notes, gold and silver, and the precious
wares on which his wealth depended. Scarcely anything was saved.

This was but the beginning of their misfortunes. Their father, who
up to now had prospered in everything he touched, lost in a very
short while every ship he had upon the sea. Some were wrecked, others
captured by pirates. His agents failed; his clerks in foreign countries
proved unfaithful; and, in short, from the height of riches he suddenly
fell into the direst poverty.

Nothing was left to him but one poor little country cottage, at least
a hundred leagues from the city in which he had lived. In this he was
driven to find refuge, and to this he carried off his family, who were
in despair since the overthrow. The daughters especially could not
endure the thought of dwelling in such a den (as they called it). At
first they had felt sure that on hearing the news their suitors would
be tripping one another up in haste to renew their offers of marriage.
But in this they were soon undeceived. Their downfall was no sooner
known than all these flattering wooers took to their heels in a troop.
They fared no better with their intimate friends, who at once dropped
their acquaintance. Nay, those to whom our merchant had formerly shown
the greatest kindness were now the most eager to speak ill of him.

So nothing was left for this hapless family but to take their departure
from the city and shut themselves up in the cottage, which stood in the
depth of a dismal and almost trackless forest. No servants now to wait
on them! The sons tilled the ground and swept out the farm sheds; and
the daughters, dressed like country girls in coarse linen frocks, were
forced to turn their delicate hands to the roughest employment and live
on hard fare of which there was little enough.

Only the youngest daughter showed a brave heart. She had been
despondent as any of them to begin with; but after weeping--as well she
might--for her father's misfortunes, she recovered her natural gaiety,
made the best of things, tried to forget how ungrateful the world had
been, kept her father and her brothers amused with her cheerful wit,
and after she had done her work, would sing and play. But her sisters
would not join with her in making the best of things. 'It is very easy
for you to be happy,' the eldest grumbled. 'You have low tastes and
were born for this kind of life.' The fact is, they were all jealous of
her because of her sweet temper and good looks. So beautiful, indeed,
was this youngest sister that in the old days every one had agreed to
call her _Beauty_--by that and by no other name she was known. Alone of
them she might easily, in the first days of their ruin, have found a
husband; but she could not think of this while she could be of use to
help and console her family.

Two years passed, and there came news which seemed to offer a hope to
escape. One of their father's ships, long supposed to be lost, had
arrived in port with a rich cargo. The message further advised his
return to the city with speed, or his, agents might sell the goods too
cheaply and he would lose his gains. So, whilst his children danced
with joy at the news, the merchant set about preparing for his long
journey.

In their transport his daughters loaded him with commissions for gowns
and jewels it would have taken a fortune to buy. Only _Beauty_ would
not ask for anything. Her father, noting her silence, interrupted the
others who still kept adding to their list of requirements.

'Well, _Beauty_,' he said, 'and what shall I bring home for you? Surely
you, too, wish for something?'

'Dear father,' she answered, 'I wish for the most precious thing in the
world; and that is to see you home again safe and sound.'

This answer covered the sisters with confusion, and vexed them so that
one of them, speaking up for the others, said tartly: 'This small miss
is putting on airs. She thinks, no doubt, she cuts a figure with her
affected fine sentiments!'

Her father, however, was touched by her good feeling. Nevertheless he
told her to choose something--'For,' said he, 'at your age it is only
natural to like dresses and pretty presents.'

'Well, dear father,' said she, 'since you insist, I will beg you to
bring me home a rose. I have not seen one since we came to live here,
and I love roses.' In this way _Beauty_ contrived to obey her father
and yet to put him to no expense.

The day came for the merchant to embrace them all and bid them
farewell. He made the best of his way to the great city; and arrived
there to be met with a great disappointment. To be sure his vessel had
come safely to port; but his partners, believing him dead, had taken
possession of it and divided the cargo between them. To make good his
claim he was forced to bring a number of tedious law-suits. He won them
in the end; but only to find, after six months of trouble and expense,
that he was almost as poor as when he started.

To make his misery complete he was forced to travel back in the winter,
in the most inclement weather; so that by the time he reached the
skirts of the forest he was ready to drop with fatigue. But reminding
himself that his home was now not many leagues away, he called up what
strength, remained to him.

As he pushed on through the forest, night overtook him; and in the
piercing cold, half buried--his horse and he--in the deep snow that hid
every pathway, the poor merchant feared that his last hour had come.
Not so much as a hut did he pass. The only shelter to be found was the
trunk of a hollow tree; and there he cowered through the long night,
kept awake by his hunger and the howling of the wolves. Nor did the
day bring him much comfort: for thick snow lay everywhere, and not a
path was to be seen. It was only after a weary search that he managed
to recover his horse, which had wandered away and partly sheltered
itself in another hollow tree. He mounted, and now in a little while
discovered a sort of track which presently grew easier.

Following this, he found himself in an avenue of trees, at the entrance
of which he halted and rubbed his eyes. For no snow had fallen in this
avenue, and the trees were tall orange-trees, planted in four rows and
covered with flowers and fruit; and here and there among the trees
were statues, some of single figures, others of groups representing
scenes of war, but all coloured like real life. At the end of the
avenue, straight in front of him, rose a magnificent castle in many
terraces. The merchant rode around to the stable courtyard, which
he found empty; and there, with half-frozen hands, he unbridled and
stabled his horse. Within the doorway he found a staircase of agate
with balusters of carved gold. He mounted it and passed through room
after room, each more splendidly furnished than the last. They were
deliciously warm, too, and he began to feel his limbs again. But he
was hungry; where could he find some one to give him food? Everywhere
was silence; and yet the place had no look of being abandoned.
Drawingrooms, bedchambers, galleries--all stood unlocked.... At last,
tired of roaming, he came to a halt in an apartment where some one had
lit a bright fire. A sofa drawn up cosily beside it, invited him to sit
and warm his limbs; and resting there, he closed his eyes and fell into
deep and grateful slumber.

As weariness had sent him to sleep, so hunger awoke him. He opened
his eyes and saw at his elbow a table with meats and wine upon it. He
had been fasting for more than twenty-four hours, and lost no time
in falling-to. He hoped that he might soon have sight of this most
hospitable entertainer, whoever he might be, and an opportunity of
thanking him. Still no one appeared; and now this good food did for him
what fatigue had done before. He dropped off again into an easy slumber
which lasted for four hours almost. Again awaking, he saw at his elbow
another small table--of porphyry this time--upon which the unknown
hands had set out a dainty meal of cakes, crystallised fruits and
liqueurs. To this, too, he did justice. But, as the time still passed
and no one appeared, he began to feel terrified, and resolved to search
once more through all the rooms.... But still he found no one.

[Illustration: He had been fasting, for more than twenty-four hours,
and lost no time in falling to.]

He was standing lost in thought, when of a sudden it came into his
mind that some kindly power had perhaps prepared this palace of wonder
for him, that it with all its riches might indeed be his. Possessed by
this notion he once again made a tour of the rooms and took stock of
their treasures, planning in his mind how he would divide them amongst
his children, assigning this apartment to one and that to another, and
whispering to himself what joy he would carry home after all from his
journey. Then he went down into the garden, where--though it was the
depth of winter--the birds were singing and the air breathed the scent
of a thousand flowers.

'Surely,' he told himself, 'my daughters will be happy here and never
desire any more to go back to the city. Quick! Let me saddle my horse
at once and ride home with the news!'

The way to the stable was an alley fenced on either hand with palings,
and over the palings hung great clusters of roses in bloom. They
reminded him of his promise to _Beauty_. He plucked one, and was about
to pluck a whole nosegay, when he was startled by a horrible noise
behind him, and attempted to turn. But behind him stood a hideous
_Beast_ who was overtaking him and reaching out towards him.

'Who gave you leave to pluck my roses?' roared this monster. 'Was it
not enough that I made you welcome in my palace and treated you kindly?
And you show your gratitude by stealing my flowers! But your insolence
shall not go unpunished!'

The good merchant, terrified no less by the sight of this _Beast_ than
by his threats, let drop the rose and flung himself on his knees.

'My Lord,' he cried, 'have pity on me! I am not ungrateful; but after
all your kindness I could not guess that so small a thing would offend
you.'

This speech did not at all abate the _Beast's_ wrath. 'Hold your
tongue, sir,' he commanded, 'if you can offer me nothing but flatteries
and false titles. I am not "my lord." I am the _Beast_; and your words
will not save you from the death you deserve.'

The merchant, although in fear of his life, plucked up courage to tell
the monster that the rose which he had been bold to pluck was for one
of his daughters, by name _Beauty_. Then, in hope either to delay the
_Beast's_ vengeance or to touch his compassion, he launched into the
tale of all his misfortunes, and of his reasons for the journey, not
forgetting to mention _Beauty_ again and her request.

The _Beast_ considered for a moment before answering him in a somewhat
milder tone: 'I will forgive you; but only on condition that you
give me one of your daughters. _Some one_ must make amends for this
trespass.'

'Heaven forgive me,' the merchant entreated, 'but how can I promise
such a thing! Even were I cruel enough to purchase my life at the cost
of a child, on what excuse could I bring her?'

'No excuse is necessary,' replied the _Beast_ shortly. 'Whichever you
bring must come here of her own free will, or not at all. Go home and
try if there be one brave and loving enough to sacrifice herself to
save your life. You seem to be an honest man. Give me your word to
return here at the end of a month and bring whichever of your daughters
you can persuade to come with you. If you can persuade none of them,
you must come alone; and I warn you that, if you fail of it, I shall
come and fetch you.'

What was the poor man to do? He promised, for he saw death staring him
in the face; and having given his promise he hoped to be allowed to
depart. But the _Beast_ informed him that he could not go until next
day.

'Then,' said he, 'at daybreak you will find a horse ready for you who
will carry you home in less than no time. Now go and eat your supper,
and await my commands.'

The merchant, more dead than alive, crept back to his rooms. There,
before a blazing fire, he found a delicious supper spread, inviting
him to eat. But so distraught was he, that no food, however delicious,
could have tempted him had he not been afraid that the _Beast_ might be
hiding somewhere to watch him. In fear of this he forced himself to sit
and taste of the dishes.

A loud noise in the next room warned him that the _Beast_ was coming.
Since he could not escape, he mustered what courage he could to conceal
his terror, and faced about to the doorway.

'Have you made a good supper?' was the _Beast's_ first question.

The merchant in humblest voice answered that, thanks to his host's kind
attention, he had fared excellently well.

'I am paying you a visit,' said the _Beast_, 'to warn you again to be
honest with your daughter. Describe me to her just as I am. Let her
be free to choose whether she will come or no; but tell her that, her
course once chosen, there can be no retreat, nor even reflection after
you have brought her to me. To break faith then will avail nothing: she
will but destroy you without winning her own release.'

Again the spirit-broken merchant repeated his promise.

The _Beast_ appeared to be content at length. 'Retire to bed now,'
he commanded, 'and do not get up to-morrow until you see the sun
and hear a golden bell rung. Then, before starting, you will find
breakfast laid for you here; your horse will be standing ready saddled
in the courtyard; and you may carry back the rose to your daughter
_Beauty_--as you call her. For the rest, I count on seeing you back in
a month's time. So, farewell.'

The merchant, who dared not disobey a single one of these orders,
retired to bed at once, though without any temptation to sleep; and
again, though he passed a wretched night, he was punctual to rise
with the sun. A golden bell rang; and prompt on the sound he found
breakfast laid, still by unseen hands. After breakfast he went down to
the stables, and on his way paused to pick up the rose, which lay in
the alley where it had dropped from his hand. It was fresh as ever, and
smelt as sweetly as though it yet grew on the tree.

A few paces further on he found his horse standing ready saddled,
with a handsome cloak of furs, far warmer than his own, lying across
the saddle. He put it on and mounted, and now he had to wonder at yet
another miracle. His horse set off at an incredible speed, so that
before he could even turn in the saddle the palace had sunk out of
sight.

Could the horse have felt the weight on the good man's mind, it had
never made such a pace. But it took its own way, insensible to rein or
bridle; nor halted until it reached the door of the cottage.

The merchant's sons and daughters had rushed out at his approach;
though it was not until he drew quite close that they recognised their
father in this horseman superbly cloaked, with a rose at his holster,
and mounted on a horse that travelled at such a speed. When they
recognised him, they made sure that he brought the best of news. But
the tears that trickled down his cheeks as he dismounted told them
another story.

His first motion then was to pluck the fatal rose from the pommel and
hand it to _Beauty_, saying: 'Here is what you asked me to bring. You
little know what it will cost you all.'

This, and his sorrowful look, gave the eldest daughter her cue. 'I was
certain of it!' she said. 'Did I not say, all along, that to force
a rose at this time of the year would cost you more than would have
bought presents for all the rest of us? A rose, in mid-winter! and such
a rose! There--one has only to look at it to see that you took good
care _Beauty_ should have her present, no matter at what cost to us!'

'It is all too true,' answered their father sorrowfully, 'that this
rose has cost me dear--far dearer than all the presents you others
begged of me. But the cost is not in money; for would to God I could
have bought it with the last penny in my purse!'

His speech, you may be sure, excited their curiosity, and they gave
him no rest until he had told the whole of his story. It left their
hopes utterly dashed: and the daughters lamented their lot, while their
brothers hardily declared that they would never allow their father to
return to this accursed castle--they would march thither in a body and
destroy the horrible _Beast_ who owned it. But their father assured
them that he had given his word and would rather die than break it.

Thereat the sisters turned upon _Beauty_ and started to upbraid and
rail against her.

'It is all your fault,' they declared; 'and this is what comes of
your pretended modesty! Why could you not have asked for dresses and
jewels as we did? Even if you could not get them, at least the demand
would have cost nothing. But you chose to be singular--you, with your
precious rose! and now our father must die, and we must all suffer
through your affectation!'

Poor _Beauty_ controlled her tears and answered them: 'Yes, I am to
blame for all this, though, indeed, dear sisters, I did it innocently;
for how could I guess that to ask for a rose in the middle of summer,
as it was then, would give rise to all this misery? But what does that
matter? Innocent or guilty, I cannot allow you to suffer for what was
my fault; and so I will go back with our father to save him from his
promise. That will be in a month's time, and in this little month, I
beg of you, let us be happy together without reproaches.'

At first her brothers would not hear of any such sacrifice, and her
father was equally set against it, until the sisters again fired up
in their jealousy and accused him of being distressed only because it
happened to be _Beauty_; if another of his daughters (they hinted)
had offered to pay this price for his life, he would have accepted it
cheerfully enough!

_Beauty_ closed this talk by saying firmly that, whether they wished
it or not, she would go--'And who knows,' said she, forcing a brave
smile, 'but this fate of mine, which seems so terrible, may cover some
extraordinary and happy fortune?' She said it merely to hearten them;
but her sisters, fancying her deluded by vanity and self-conceit,
smiled maliciously and applauded. So their father gave way, and it was
agreed that _Beauty_ must go. For her part she desired only that the
few days remaining to her might be as happy as possible; and so, as
they passed she spoke little of what was before her, and, if at all,
only to treat it lightly and as a piece of good fortune. When the time
drew near she shared up all her trinkets and little possessions with
her sisters--for, badly as they had treated her, they were the only
friends she had. Yet jealousy had made their hearts so wicked that when
the fatal day arrived they actually rejoiced to hear the neighing of a
horse which, punctually sent by the _Beast_, arrived at the door of the
cottage.

[Illustration: Soon they caught sight of the castle in the distance.]

The brothers would have rushed out and slain the beautiful animal;
but _Beauty_, mastering their anger with a few tender words, bade
her father mount into the saddle; and so, after bidding her sisters
farewell with a tenderness that forced them to weep at the last,
climbed to the pillion behind him quite as if she were setting out
for a holiday. They were off! The horse seemed to fly rather than to
gallop; so smoothly that _Beauty_ could scarcely feel the motion save
by the soft wind that beat on her cheek. Soon they caught sight of the
castle in the distance. Her father, less happy than she, again and
again asked and begged her to alight and return--a most idle offer,
for he had no real control of the reins. But _Beauty_ did not listen,
because her mind was made up.

Nevertheless, she was awed, and all the more when, as the fleet horse
galloped up to the courtyard, they were met by a great salvo of guns
and, as the echoes died away, by the sound of soft music within the
palace.

The horse had come to a stop, by a flight of agate steps; a light shone
down these steps from a porchway within which the violins kept their
throbbing. _Beauty_ slipped down from the saddle, and her father,
alighting after her, took her by the hand and led her to the chamber in
which he had first supped; where, sure enough, they found a cheerful
fire and a score of candles lit and burning with an exquisite perfume,
and--best of all--a table laid with the daintiest of suppers.

The merchant, accustomed to the ways of their host, knew that the
supper was meant for them, and _Beauty_ fell-to with a good appetite.
Her spirits indeed were rising. There had been no sign of any _Beast_
in all the many rooms through which she had passed, and everything in
them had seemed to breathe of gaiety and good living.

But this happy frame of mind did not last long. They had scarcely
finished supper when the _Beast_ was heard coming through the distant
rooms. At the sound--the heavy padding of his feet, the roar of his
breath--_Beauty_ clung to her father in terror, and had almost fainted
against the arm which he flung around her. But when the _Beast_ stood
before her in the doorway, after a little shudder she walked towards
him with a firm step, and, halting at a little distance, saluted him
respectfully. This behaviour evidently pleased the _Beast_. After
letting his eyes rest on her face for a while, he said, in a tone that
might well have struck terror into the boldest heart (and yet it did
not seem to be angry):--

'Good evening, my good sir! Good evening, _Beauty_!'

The merchant was too far terrified to find his voice; but _Beauty_
controlled hers and answered sweetly:--

'Good evening, _Beast_!'

'Have you come here of your own free will?' asked the _Beast_. 'And are
you willing to let your father return and leave you here?'

_Beauty_ answered that she was quite willing.

'Indeed? And yet what do you suppose will happen to you after he has
gone?'

'Sir,' said _Beauty_, 'that is as it pleases you, and you only can
tell.'

'Well answered,' replied the _Beast_; 'and since you have come of
your own accord, you shall stay. As for you, my good sir,' said he to
the merchant, 'you will take your departure at sunrise. The bell will
give you warning; delay not to rise, eat your breakfast, and depart as
before. But remember that you are forbidden ever to come within sight
of my palace again.'

Then, turning to _Beauty_, he said:--

'Take your father into the next room, and choose between you everything
you think will please your brothers and sisters. You will find there
two travelling trunks: fill them as full as they will hold.'

Sorrowful as she was at the certainty of losing her father so soon and
for ever, _Beauty_ made ready to obey the _Beast's_ orders, and he left
them as he had come, saying:--

'Good night, _Beauty_! Good night, good sir!'

When they were alone, _Beauty_ and her father went into the next
room, which proved to be a store-chamber piled with treasures a king
and queen might have envied. After choosing and setting apart in
heaps,--one for each of her sisters,--the most magnificent dresses she
could find, _Beauty_ opened a cupboard which had a door of crystal
framed in gold, and stood for a moment dazzled by the precious stones
that lay piled on every shelf. After choosing a vast number and adding
them to her heaps, she opened yet another wardrobe and found it full of
money in gold pieces. This set her pondering.

'I think, father,' she said, 'that we had better empty these trunks
again, and fill them with money. For money can always be turned to
account, whereas to sell these precious stones you would have to go
to some jeweller, who very likely would cheat you, and perhaps be
suspicious of them. But with these pieces of gold you can buy land,
houses, furniture, jewels--what you will--and no one will ask any
questions.'

Her father agreed. Yet he first of all tried to make room for the money
by emptying out the few things he had packed for himself. But this was
no good: for it seemed that the trunks were made in folds which opened
the wider the more he put in. Somehow the more they packed, the more
room there seemed to be, and they ended by replacing all the dresses
and precious stones they had taken out. But now the trunks were so
heavy that an elephant would have sunk under them.

'It is all a cheat!' cried the merchant. The _Beast_ is mocking us, and
only pretended to give us these things, knowing that I could not carry
them away.'

'Wait a little,' advised _Beauty_. 'That would be a sorry jest, and
I cannot help thinking that the _Beast_ is honest; and that since he
offered these gifts he will find you also the means to carry them. The
best thing we can do is to strap up the trunks and leave them ready
here.'

So they did this and went back to the little room, where to their
amazement they found a breakfast laid on the table. For a moment they
could scarcely believe that the night had flown by whilst they were
occupied in ransacking the treasure chamber and packing the trunks.
But, glancing at the windows, they saw that day was indeed breaking;
and presently a bell sounded, warning the merchant to eat quickly and
depart.

He finished his meal, and they went down together to the courtyard,
where two horses stood ready--the one laden with the two trunks, the
other saddled for the merchant to ride. And now _Beauty_ and her father
would fain have spent a long time in bidding one another farewell. But
the two horses neighed and pawed the ground so impatiently that he was
afraid to linger. Tearing himself from his daughter's arms he mounted
in haste, and could scarcely turn to say good-bye before both horses
sprang away swift as the wind and he was lost to sight in an instant.

Poor _Beauty_! She gazed and gazed through her tears, and so mounted
the stairs sorrowfully back to her own chamber. On reaching it she
felt herself oppressed with sleepiness, for she had passed the night
without undressing, and, moreover, for a month past her sleep had been
broken and haunted with terrors. So, having nothing better to do, she
went to bed, and was nestling down in the perfumed sheets when her eyes
fell on the little table by the bedside. Some one had set a cup of hot
chocolate there, and, half asleep, she reached out her hand for it
and drank it; whereupon her eyes closed and she fell into a delicious
slumber, such as she had not known since the day when her father
brought home the fatal rose.

She dreamed that she was walking alongside an endless canal, the banks
of which were bordered with tall orange-trees and myrtles in flower.
There, as she wandered disconsolately lamenting her fate, of a sudden a
young _Prince_ stood before her. He was handsome as the God of Love in
picture-books, and when he spoke it was with a voice that went straight
to her heart. 'Dear _Beauty_,' he said, 'you are not so unfortunate as
you suppose. It is here you shall find the reward of your goodness,
denied to you elsewhere. Use your wits to find me out under the
disguise which hides me--that is, if as I stand here now you find me
not altogether contemptible. For I love you tenderly--you alone--and in
making me happy you can attain to your own happiness. Beloved, never
distrust your own true heart, and it shall lead you where the heart
has nothing left to desire!' So saying, the charming apparition knelt
at her feet, and again besought her to accept his devotion and become
mistress over all his life.

'Ah! What can I do to make you happy?' she asked earnestly.

'Only be grateful,' he answered, 'and do not believe all that your eyes
would tell you. Above all, do not abandon me until you have rescued me
from the cruel sufferings I endure.'

With that the dream melted away, but only to be succeeded by another.
She found herself face to face with a stately and beautiful lady; and
the lady was speaking to her with dignity, yet most kindly.

'Dear _Beauty_,' she said, 'do not grieve for what you have left
behind; a far higher destiny lies before you. Only, if you would
deserve it, beware of being misled by appearances.'

_Beauty_ found her dreams so agreeable that she was in no hurry at all
to awake, and even when her eyes opened to the daylight she had more
than half a mind to close them again. But a clock, chiming out her own
name twelve times, warned her that it was midday and time to get up.
She rose, therefore, and found her dressing-table set out with brushes
and combs and everything she could want; and having dressed carefully,
and with a lightness of heart for which she found it hard to account,
she passed into the next room and found her dinner on the table.

Dinner does not take very long when you are all by yourself. _Beauty_,
when she had eaten enough, sat down on a sofa and began to think of the
handsome youth she had seen in her dream. 'He told me I could make him
happy. Why, then, it must be that the horrible _Beast_, who appears to
be master here, is keeping him a prisoner. How can I set him free?...
They both warned me not to trust to appearances. It is all very
puzzling.... But one thing is clear at any rate, that I am very silly
to be vexing my head over a dream. I will forget all about it, and look
for something to do to amuse myself.'

She sprang up, and started to make a tour of discovery through the many
rooms of the palace. They were even grander than she had expected. The
first she entered was lined with mirrors from floor to ceiling, where
she saw herself reflected on every side. The next thing to catch her
eye was a bracelet, hanging from one of the chandeliers. Set in the
bracelet was a gold locket, and opening this she was startled indeed;
for it contained a portrait in miniature of the gallant youth she had
seen in her dream. She could not be mistaken; so closely were his
features engraved on her memory--yes, and, it may be, on her heart. She
slipped the bracelet on her wrist, without stopping to think that it
did not belong to her, and went on to explore further. She passed into
a long picture gallery, and there again she met the _Prince's_ face. It
smiled down at her, this time from a life-sized portrait, and it seemed
to smile so wistfully that she caught herself blushing.

From the gallery her steps had led her to a chamber filled with
instruments of music. _Beauty_ was an accomplished musician; so,
sitting down, she amused herself by tuning and trying over one
instrument after another; but she liked the harp best because that went
best with her voice.

Leaving the music-room at length, she found herself in a long chamber
like the picture gallery, but lined with books. It held an immense
library; and _Beauty_, ever since she had lived in the country, had
been forced to do without reading, for her father had sold all his
books to pay his debts. Now, as her eyes travelled along the shelves,
she knew she need never have any fear that time would pass heavily
here. The dusk was gathering before she had half-studied even the
titles of the thousands of volumes; and numbers of candles, waxen and
scented, in chandeliers with lustres of diamonds and rubies, were
beginning to light themselves in every room.

In due time _Beauty_ found supper laid and served for her, with the
same good taste and orderliness as before, and still she had seen no
living face. What did this matter? Her father had warned her that she
would be solitary; and she was beginning to tell herself that she could
be solitary here without much discomfort, when she heard the noise of
the _Beast_ approaching. She could not help trembling a little; for
she had not yet found herself alone with him, and knew not what would
happen--he might even be coming to devour her. But when he appeared he
did not seem at all ferocious.

'Good evening, _Beauty_,' he said gruffly.

'Good evening, _Beast_,' she answered gently, but shaking a little.

'Do you think you can be content here?' he asked.

_Beauty_ answered politely that it ought not to be hard to live happily
in such a beautiful palace.

After this they talked for an hour, and in the course of their talk
_Beauty_ began to excuse many things in the _Beast_--his voice, for
example. With such a nose how could he help roaring through it? Really,
he appeared to be wanting in tact rather than purposely terrible;
though, to be sure, this want of tact terrified her cruelly, when at
length he blurted out:--

'Will you be my wife, _Beauty_?'

'Ah! I am lost!' thought _Beauty_. The _Beast_ could not be so
dull-witted after all, for, though she kept the cry to herself, he
answered quickly, and just as if she had uttered it aloud:--

'Not at all. I wish you to answer just "yes" or "no."'

'Oh! no, _Beast_.'

'Very well, then,' said this tractable monster. 'Since you will not, I
had best be going. Good night, _Beauty_.'

'Good night, _Beast_,' answered _Beauty_, relieved of her fright. She
felt sure now that he did not mean to hurt her, and as soon as he had
taken his leave she went off to bed, and was asleep in no time.

But almost as quickly she was dreaming, and in her dream at once she
saw her unknown lover standing beside her, handsome as ever, but more
sorrowful than before.

'Dear _Beauty_,' he said, 'why are you so cruel to me? I love you the
better for being so stubborn, and yet it lengthens out my misery.'

She could not understand this at all. Her dream wavered and it seemed
to her that he took a hundred different shapes in it. Now he had a
crown between his hands and was offering it to her; now he was kneeling
at her feet; now he smiled, radiant with joy; and again he buried
his head in despair and wept till the sound of his sobbing pierced
her heart. Thus, in one aspect or another, he was with her the night
through. She awoke with him in her thoughts, and her first act was to
unclasp the locket on her wrist and assure herself that the miniature
was like him. It certainly was the same face, and his, too, was the
face that smiled down from the larger portrait in the gallery. But the
face in the locket gave her a more secret joy and she unclasped and
gazed on it again and again.

This morning she went down into the gardens, where the sun shone
inviting her to ramble. They were beyond imagination lovely. Here stood
a statue showered over with roses; there fountain on fountain played
and threw a refreshing spray so high in the air that her eyes could
scarcely reach to its summit. But what most surprised her was that
every nook and corner recalled those she had seen in her dreams with
the unknown _Prince_ standing beside her. At length she came to the
long canal with the oranges and myrtles in the shade of which she had
first seen him approach. It was the very spot, and she could no longer
disbelieve that her dreams were real. She felt sure, now, that he must
somehow be imprisoned here, and resolved to get at the truth that very
evening, should the _Beast_ repeat his visit.

Tired at length of wandering, she returned to the palace and
discovered a new room full of materials for work to engage the most
idle--tape-bags, distaffs and shuttles, frames for tapestry, ribbons to
make into bows, silks for embroidery, scissors, and thimbles. Beyond
this needlework room a door opened upon the most wonderful sight of
all--an aviary full of the rarest birds, yet all so tame that they flew
to _Beauty_, and perched themselves on her shoulders.

'Dear birds,' she said, 'I wish you were closer to my own room, that I
might sit and hear you singing.'

She had scarcely said it when, opening a door beyond the aviary, she
found herself in her own chamber--yes, her very own!--which she had
thought to be quite on the other side of the building. The door,
when she came to examine it, had a shutter which could be opened to
hear, and closed again when she grew tired of it. This aviary opened
on another inhabited by parrots, parroquets, and cockatoos. These no
sooner saw _Beauty_ than they began to scream and chatter; one wishing
her 'Good morning,' another inviting her to luncheon, while a third yet
more gallant cried 'Kiss me! Kiss me!' Others again whistled airs from
grand opera or declaimed pieces of poetry by the best authors. It was
plain that in their several ways they all had the same object--to amuse
her.

Beyond the aviaries lay a monkey house. Here were apes of all
sorts--Barbary apes, mandarin apes, apes with blue faces, baboons,
marmosets, chimpanzees--and all came frisking about her, bowing and
scraping, to show how much they appreciated the honour of this visit.
To celebrate it they stretched a tight-rope and danced, and threw
somersaults with an agility which _Beauty_ found highly diverting; and
yet she could not help sighing that none of these animals were able to
tell her news of her unknown _Prince Charming_. She patted and made
much of them, however, and asked if some of them would be kind enough
to come with her and keep her company.

At once, and as if they had only been waiting for this command, two
large she-apes in sweeping court-dresses stepped to her side and became
her maids of honour; two brisk little marmosets volunteered for pages
and held up her train; while an affable baboon, his face wreathed with
smiles, bowed, presented a gloved hand, and begged leave to squire her.
With this singular escort _Beauty_ marched back to luncheon, and while
she ate it the birds piped and fluted around her for accompaniment to
the parrots, who lifted up their voices and chanted the latest and most
fashionable tunes. Nay more; the meal was no sooner ended than the apes
begged her to allow them to entertain her with a light comedy; which
(leave being granted) they proceeded to act in a highly creditable
manner and with appropriate dumb-show, while the parrots spoke the
words from the wings very distinctly and in accents that exactly
conformed with the various parts. At the close one of the actors
advanced, laid his hand on his heart and--still with the parrot for
interpreter--thanked _Beauty_ for the indulgence she had shown to their
poor efforts.

That night again, after supper, the _Beast_ paid her his accustomed
visit. He put the same questions, and received her answers as before;
and, as before, the conversation ended by his taking leave of her with
a 'Good night, _Beauty_.' The two she-apes, as ladies-in-waiting,
thereupon undressed their mistress and saw her to bed. Before
leaving they thoughtfully opened the window-shutter, that the soft
night-warbling of the birds might soothe her to sleep and dream of her
lover.

In this fashion day followed day, and still _Beauty_ found plenty to
amuse her. At the end of a week she made the most wonderful discovery
of all. There was one large room which she had entered but once,
because it seemed to her rather dull, and dark too. It was empty; and
although it had four windows in each wall, but two of them admitted
any light. One day, as she passed the door, the fancy took her to open
one of these windows. She stepped in and drew the shutter, when to her
astonishment it opened, not upon daylight at all, but what seemed to be
a dim hall lit only by a glimmer, distant and faint, behind the chinks
of a thick curtain at the further end. She was wondering what this
might mean, when the curtain went up and in a sudden flood of light she
found herself gazing, as from a box, into a theatre crowded from floor
to ceiling, and with an audience brilliant in dresses and jewels.

An orchestra played the overture, and gave place to the actors--real
actors this time, not apes and parrots. The play was charming, and
_Beauty_ in ecstasy with every scene of it. When the curtain fell
she still lingered in her box, hoping to see the fashionable crowd
disperse; but somewhat to her chagrin the lights went out almost at
once and the theatre was dark again. Still it had been very pleasant,
and she promised herself to become a constant playgoer.

That evening when the _Beast_ paid his visit, she told him all about
the comedy. 'Eh? You like that sort of thing, do you?' asked the
monster. 'Well, you shall have as much of it as you like. You are
so pretty.' _Beauty_ could not help smiling inwardly at his clumsy
compliments. But she smiled no longer when he put to her once again his
blunt question:--

'_Beauty_, will you be my wife?'

'No, _Beast_,' she answered as before; but she was really beginning to
get frightened, he was so gentle and so persistent. She sat up so long
thinking over this that it was almost daylight before she closed her
eyes in bed; and at once, as if impatient at being kept waiting, the
lover of her dreams presented himself. Perhaps for this reason he was
not in the best of tempers; at any rate he taxed her with being moody
and discontented.

'I should be happy enough,' she answered, 'if the _Beast_ did not
pester me so. I--I almost think, by his foolish compliments, that he
would like me to marry him.' _Beauty_ expected her dream-lover to show
some jealousy at this; seeing that he merely stood glum, she went on,
'Would you really be content if I married him?... but alas! no; were he
as charming as he is hideous, you know that I love you and can never
love any one else.' By all rights the _Prince_ should have been in
raptures at this avowal; but all his answer was: 'Dearest, love him
who best loves you. Do not be led astray by appearances, and so you
will free me from captivity. 'This was not only puzzling; it seemed to
_Beauty_ to be just a little selfish. 'At least,' she said, 'tell me
what to do! Since liberty appears to be your first wish, believe me, I
would liberate you at any sacrifice, if only I knew how.' But this was
what she could never discover; and because of it her nights now, though
she longed for them, troubled her more than her days.

Her days passed pleasantly enough, and still in fresh discoveries. One
by one in their turn she opened the windows of the great hall, and they
revealed:--

First, a grand performance of Opera; and she listened not to the
singers only, but to the murmur of the audience between the acts. To
listen to this and to gaze on human faces, gave her an inexpressible
pleasure.

Next, a great Fair in progress. When first she looked the throng had
not arrived and she inspected the booths at leisure, with their various
wares. As the spectators drifted in, the drums began to beat, the hobby
horses to revolve, the showmen to shout, the marionettes to perform in
their little theatre. It was ravishing.

After this she beheld a fashionable promenade, with a richly dressed
crowd passing, re-passing, exchanging good-days, remarking how superb
was the weather, and pausing to con and criticise the shop windows to
right and left.

The next spectacle was a gaming-room, with the players seated at their
cards or roulette, the croupiers spinning the ball or raking the money.
_Beauty_, with nothing to stake, had leisure to observe their faces,
and how sadly some left the tables who had come smiling with money in
their pockets. She saw, too, that some were being cheated; and it vexed
her, because she could not warn them.

Next, she was gazing at the Royal Palace, where the King and Queen were
holding a reception. She saw ambassadors with their wives, lords and
ladies and state counsellors; and watched them as they passed by the
throne making their lowest bows.

A water picnic followed this. The boats lay moored alongside a bank
where the merry-makers sat or lounged and talked to the sound of lutes.

The picnic ended in a ball, with violins playing and couples advancing
and retreating on the waxed floor that shone in the light of a thousand
candles. Oh, how _Beauty_ longed to be one of the dancers!

But perhaps the last window gave her the most pleasure. For through
it she was able to see the whole world at one gaze and all that was
going on in it. State embassies, royal weddings, coronations, pageants,
armies, revolutions, sieges, pitched battles--she could sit at her ease
and watch them all, which was far more amusing than it is to read about
them in a newspaper.

She ought, you will say, to have been happy as the day was long.
But no: a life becomes flat and stale which is a perpetual round of
pleasure and leaves nothing to sigh or to hope for. _Beauty_ began
to long for a sight of her father and her brothers and sisters. She
concealed this for a while, however, and turned her thoughts to what
was more pressing; for she could not beg leave to go home until
something had been done to rescue her dear Unknown and restore him to
liberty. The _Beast_ alone (she reflected) could tell her the secret;
and she thought to herself that, being himself so blunt of speech,
he would forgive some bluntness in her. So one evening she asked him
point-blank: '_Beast_, are we alone in this palace, with nobody but
ourselves?'

'Of course we are,' he answered gruffly; but the question appeared in
some way to sting him, for almost at once he rose and bade her good
night.

Now _Beauty_, whatever else she thought of the _Beast_, had by this
time learnt to trust him for honest. It was a dreadful disappointment,
therefore, to be forced to believe on his word that her _Prince
Charming_ had no existence outside of her fancy. She slept ill that
night. In her dream she was wandering again and sorrowfully alongside
the canal when her lover appeared and took her hands between his while
he scanned her face all bathed in tears.

'What has gone wrong, dear _Beauty_?' he demanded. 'Why are you in this
distress?... Ah, it is the _Beast_ who persecutes you! But, never fear,
you shall be delivered here and now from his attention'--and with these
words the _Prince_ snatched out a dagger and rushed on the monster,
who now for the first time came into the dream, advancing slowly down
the bank of the canal. Strange to say, he offered no resistance even
when the dagger almost touched his throat. But _Beauty_, whom an unseen
power held back as she would have run to prevent the murder, on the
instant found voice to cry, 'Stay! Stay, rash fool! or kill me before
you kill him who has been my best friend!' 'Friend?' answered back
the _Prince_, still with his dagger lifted; 'and am I no more than
that?' 'You are an unfaithful one, at any rate,' persisted _Beauty_;
'if, knowing well that I would lay down my life for you, you would
take the life of one who has done me so much kindness. 'But while she
pleaded the figures wavered in her dream, still struggling together,
and vanished, giving place to the same stately lady she had seen in
her former vision. 'Courage, _Beauty_!' said this fresh phantom; 'your
happiness is not far off, if only you will go your own way and trust
not to appearances.'

This dream left _Beauty_ so uneasy that next day she opened one window
after another to cure her restlessness; and, when this would not do,
all the windows together; but still in vain. That night, when the Beast
paid his usual visit, he detected almost at once that she had been
weeping, and demanded the reason.

'Ah, sir,' said _Beauty_, 'if only I might go home!'

'You wish to go home? 'The _Beast's_ face turned pale--which, for such
a face, was no easy matter. He staggered backwards with a deep sigh,
or rather, a roar of grief. 'Ah, _Beauty_, _Beauty_! Would you desert
a poor _Beast_? What more can I do to make you happy? Or is it because
you hate me, that you wish to be gone?'

[Illustration: Ah! what a fright you have given me! she murmured.]

'No, _Beast_,' answered _Beauty_ gently; 'I do not hate you, and I
should be very sorry never to see you again. But I do long to see my
own people. Let me go home for two months only, and I promise to come
back and stay with you for the rest of my life.'

The _Beast_ had fallen flat and lay along the carpet at her feet. His
eyes were closed, and for some while his heavy sighs alone told her
that he was neither dead nor in a swoon. By and by he lifted his head:--

'I can deny you nothing,' he said sadly. 'But no matter, though it cost
me my life.... In the room next to your bedroom you will find four
chests: fill them with everything you would like to take with you. Be
sure to keep your word; for if you break it and come back to find your
poor _Beast_ dead, you will be sorry when it is too late. Come back
at the end of two months and you will find me alive; and to come back
you will not need chariot or horses. Only say good-bye, that night, to
your father, and brothers, and sisters; and, when you are in-bed, turn
this ring round on your finger and say firmly: "I wish to go back to my
palace and see my _Beast_ again." That is all. Good night, _Beauty!_
Sleep soundly, and in good time you shall see your father once more.'

As soon as he was gone _Beauty_ set to work to fill the four boxes with
all the riches and finery that heart could desire. She filled them to
the brim; and then, tired out, she went to bed. But for a long while
she could not close her eyes for excitement. It was not until close
upon sunrise that sleep visited her and, with it, another dream. In
this dream she saw her beloved Unknown stretched at full length on
a bank of turf. His face was hidden, and she could hear that he was
sobbing. But when, touched by the sight of his grief, she drew near to
console him, he lifted his face to her and said:--

'Cruel _Beauty_, how can you ask what ails me? when you are leaving me,
and your going is my death warrant!'

'But, dearest _Prince_,' said _Beauty_, 'I am only going to tell
my father and brothers and sisters that I am well and happy. In a
short while I shall be back, never to leave you again.... But, for
that matter,' she went on as a new thought struck her, 'why should
we be separated at all? I will put off my going for another day, and
to-morrow I will beg the _Beast_ to let you go with me. I am sure he
will not refuse.'

'I can only go with you, if you promise me never to come back,' replied
the _Prince_. 'And, after all, when you have once delivered me, why
should we ever come back? The _Beast_ will be hurt in his feelings and
very angry no doubt; but by that time we shall be beyond his power.'

'You forget,' _Beauty_ reminded him sharply, 'that I have promised him
to return, and that, moreover, he says he will die of grief if I break
my word.'

'And what if he does?' demanded her lover. 'Is not your happiness worth
more than the life of a monster? Of what use is he in the world except
to frighten folks out of their wits?'

'Ah, you do not understand!' cried _Beauty_. 'This monster--as you call
him--is only a monster in his face, and through no fault of his. He has
the kindest heart in the world, and how could I be so ungrateful after
all he has done for me!'

'I believe,' said her lover bitterly, 'that if you saw us fighting, of
the two you would rather let me perish than this _Beast_ of yours.'

_Beauty_ told him that he was cruel and unjust, and begged him to talk
of something else. She set the example, too. Seeing that he was piqued
and proud, she addressed a long speech to him, full of endearments, to
win him back to a good humour, and was growing astonished at her own
eloquence when, in the middle of it, she awoke.

Her last words seemed to mingle with the sound of familiar voices.
She sprang out of bed and drew her curtain.... It was very strange!
As the sunlight poured in she saw that she was in a room much more
poorly furnished than that in which she had fallen asleep. She dressed
in haste, and opening the door, found that the next room too was like
no apartment in the _Beast's_ palace. But at her feet stood the four
chests she had packed overnight; and, while she marvelled, again she
heard a voice talking, and ran towards it. For it was her father's.

She rushed out and fell into his arms. He, poor man, stared at her
as though she had sprung from another world, and the others were no
less astonished. Her brothers embraced her with transports of joy,
while her sisters--who, to tell the truth, had not overcome their
jealousy--pretended to be quite as glad. They plied her with a thousand
questions, which she answered very good-naturedly, putting aside her
own impatience; for she too had a number of questions to ask. To begin
with, this house of theirs was not the cottage in which she had left
them, but a fine new one her father had been able to buy with the
_Beast's_ presents. If not wealthy, he was in easy circumstances; with
the bettering of their fortunes his sisters had found other wooers and
were soon to be married; and altogether _Beauty_ had the satisfaction
of knowing that she had at least brought prosperity back to her family.
'As for you, my dearest child,' said the merchant, 'when your sisters
are married, you shall keep house for your brothers and me, and so my
old age will be happy.'

This was all very well, but _Beauty_ had to tell her father that she
must leave him again in two months' time; whereat he broke out into
lamentations. 'Dear father,' said the sensible girl, 'it is good of you
to weep; but it is useless, and I would rather have your advice, which
is sure to be useful.' Thereupon she told him all the story. Her father
considered for a while, and then said:--

'I can only give you the same counsel that, by your own admission, you
are always receiving from these phantoms of your dreams. "Do not trust
to appearance," they say, and "Be guided by your heart's gratitude";
and they tell you this over and over again. What can it mean, child,
but one thing? The _Beast_, you say, is frightful. His appearance is
certainly against him. Then judge him rather by the gratitude which you
certainly owe him. It is plain that he has a good heart--"handsome is
as handsome does"--it is clear to me that these phantoms would have you
say "Yes" to the _Beast_, and I too advise you to consent.'

_Beauty_ saw the wisdom of this and knew very well that her father
was counselling her for the best. Nevertheless it needed something
more than this to reconcile her with marrying a monster, and she
felt relieved at the thought that for two whole months she could put
off deciding. Strange to say, as the days went by and the time of
her departure drew nearer, she found herself looking forward to it
rather than repining. For one thing distressed her and spoilt all her
happiness--she never dreamed at all now.

The days went by, and as they drew to an end her brothers and even her
father (forgetting his former good counsel) employed all persuasions to
hinder her departure. But her mind was made up; and when the two months
were passed she was resolute on everything but the hour of her parting.
Every morning, when she got up, she meant to say good-bye, but somehow
another night came and the farewells were still unspoken.

She reproached herself (as well she might), and was still thus cruelly
torn between two minds, when one night a dream visited her--the first
for two months and more.

She dreamed that she was back at the _Beast's_ palace, and wandering
by a lonely path in the gardens which ended in a tangle of brushwood
overhanging a cave. As she drew nearer she heard a terrible groaning,
and running in haste she found the _Beast_ stretched there on the point
of death. Still in her dream she was bending over him when the stately
lady stepped forth from the bushes and addressed her in a tone of grave
reproach:--

'I doubt, _Beauty_, if even now you have come in time. Cruel, cruel of
you to delay! when your delay has brought him so near to death!'

Terrified by this dream _Beauty_ awoke in her bed with a start. 'I have
done wickedly!' she cried. 'Am I too late? Oh, indeed I hope not!' She
turned the ring upon her finger and said aloud in a firm voice: '_I
wish to go back to my palace and see my Beast again!_'

With that she at once fell asleep, and only woke up to hear the clock
chiming, '_Beauty, Beauty,_' twelve times on the musical note she so
well remembered. She was back, then, at the palace. Yes, and--oh,
joy!--her faithful apes and parrots were gathered around the bed,
wishing her good morning!

But none of them could tell her any news of the _Beast_. They were here
to serve her, and all their thoughts ended with their duty. Their good
master--the lord of this splendid palace--what was he to them? At any
rate nothing was to be learnt from them, and _Beauty_ was no sooner
dressed than she broke away impatiently, wandering through the house
and the gardens to fill up the time until evening should bring his
accustomed visit. But it was hard work filling up the time. She went
into the great hall and resolutely opened the windows one by one. The
shows were there as before; but opera and comedy, fête and pageant,
held no meaning for her: the players were listless, the music was null,
the processions passed before her eyes but had lost their power to
amuse.

Supper-time came at length; but when after supper the minutes passed
and passed and still no _Beast_ appeared, then indeed _Beauty_ was
frightened. For a long while she waited, listened, told herself this
and that, and finally in a terror rushed down into the gardens to
seek for him. The alleys were dark; the bushes daunted her with their
black shadows; but still up and down ran poor _Beauty_, calling to the
_Beast_, and calling in vain.

She was drenched with the dew, utterly lost and weary, when, after
three hours, pausing for a moment's rest, she saw before her the same
solitary path she had seen in her dream: and there in the moonlight she
almost stumbled over the _Beast_.

He lay there, stretched at full length and asleep--or so she thought.
So glad was she to have found him that she knelt and stroked his head,
calling him by name over and over. But his flesh was cold beneath her
hand, nor did he move or open his eyes.

'Ah, he is dead!' she cried, aghast.

But she put a hand over his heart, and to her inexpressible joy she
felt that it was still beating. Hastily she ran to a fountain near by,
and dipping water into her palms from its basin she ran and sprinkled
it on his face, coaxing him with tender words as his eyes opened, and
slowly--very slowly--he came to himself.

'Ah! what a fright you have given me!' she murmured. 'Dear _Beast_,
I never knew how I loved you until I feared that you were dead--yes,
dead, and through my fault! But I believe, if you had died, I should
have died too.'

'_Beauty_,' said the _Beast_ faintly, 'you are very good if indeed
you can love such an ugly brute as I am. It is true that I was dying
for you, and should have died if you had not come. I thought you had
forsaken me. But are you sure?'

'Sure of what?' asked _Beauty_.

'That you love me?'

'Let us go back to supper,' said _Beauty_, raising his head.

'Yes, let us go back to supper, 'agreed the _Beast_, lifting himself
heavily on her arm. He still leaned on her, as they walked back to the
palace together. But the supper--which they found laid for two--seemed
to revive him, and in his old stupid way he asked her about the time
she had spent at home, and if her father and brothers and sisters had
been glad to see her.

_Beauty_, though weary enough after her search through the park and
gardens, brisked herself up to tell of all that had happened to her in
her absence. The _Beast_ sat nodding his head and listening in his old
dull way--which somehow seemed to her the most comfortable way in the
world. At length he rose to go. But at the doorway he put the old blunt
question.

'_Beauty_, will you marry me?'

'Yes, dear _Beast_,' said _Beauty_; and as she said it a blaze of light
filled the room. A salvo of artillery sounded, a moment later, from
the park. Bang, bang! fireworks shot across the windows of the palace;
sky rockets and Roman candles exploded and a magnificent set-piece
wrote across the darkness in letters of fire--'LONG LIVE BEAUTY AND THE
BEAST!'

_Beauty_ turned to ask what all these rejoicings might mean; and, with
that, she gave a cry. The _Beast_ had vanished, and in his place stood
the beloved _Prince_ of her dreams! He smiled and stretched out his
hands to her. Scarcely knowing what she did, she was stretching hers,
to take them, when above the banging of fireworks in the avenues there
sounded a rolling of wheels. It drew to the porch, and presently there
entered the stately lady she had seen in her dreams. It was the very
same; and, all astounded as she was, _Beauty_ did reverence to her.

But the stately lady was as eager to do reverence to _Beauty_. 'Best
and dearest,' said she, 'my son is going to love you always; as how
should he not, seeing that by your courage you have rescued him from
the enchantment under which he has lain so long, and have restored him
to his natural form? But suffer also his mother, a Queen, to bless you!'

_Beauty_ turned again to her lover and saw that he, who had been a
_Beast_, was indeed the _Prince_ of her dreams and handsomer than the
day. So they were married and lived happy ever after; nay, so happy
were they that all over the world folks told one another and set down
in writing this wonderful history of _Beauty and the Beast_.


                 MORAL

     _Maidens, from this tale of_ Beauty
       _Learn, and in your memory write--_
     _Daily leads a Path of Duty_
       _Through the Garden of Delight;_
     _Where the loveliest roses wear_
       _Daunting thorns, for you to dare._

                ANOTHER

     _Many shy, unhappy creatures_
       _From the covert watch your mirth:_
     _'Foul are we,' they mourn; 'our features_
       _Blot the sun, deform the earth.'_
     _Pity, love them, speak them fair;_
       _Half their woe ye may repair._





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Sleeping Beauty and other fairy
tales, by Arthur Quiller-Couch and Charles Perrault

*** 