There was once a very rich merchant who had three sons and three daughters. These children had everything money could buy them. The daughters were all pretty, but the youngest was so very beautiful that from her childhood she was always called “Beauty.” This made her sisters very jealous; but they were proud of their wealth and of their position in society, and took pains to be haughty with any people who were not as rich as they.
One day the merchant suddenly lost all his fortune. All that he had left of his vast property was a little house in the country, a long distance from the town. He told his children that they must go there now and work for a living. The two eldest replied that they need not leave town, for they had several lovers who would be glad to marry them. In this they found they were mistaken; their lovers would not look at them now. Because of their pride they had not made real friends, and nobody was very sorry to see them humbled. But every one pitied Beauty, who had always been kind and friendly to every one. Indeed, several gentlemen offered to marry her, though they knew she had not a penny; but she told them she could not think of leaving her father in his trouble.
When they were settled in the country the merchant and his three sons set to work to till the fields. Beauty took care of the house. She rose at four o’clock in the morning, lighted the fires, swept and dusted the house, and got breakfast for the family. At first she found all this very hard, for she was not used to it; but she soon grew stronger and healthier, and prettier than ever. When her work was over she would read, or play on the harpsichord, or sing as she sat at her spinning wheel.
Her two sisters did not know what to do with themselves. They would get up at ten, and idle away the whole day, fretting for the loss of their fine clothes and gay parties. “Do but see that girl!” they would say to one another. “What stupid, low tastes she has to be contented with this kind of life!” But their father thought differently, and loved his youngest daughter more than ever.
After two years, when they were all beginning to get accustomed to this new life, something happened to disturb them again. The merchant received the news that one of his ships, which he had believed to be lost, had come safely into port with a rich cargo. All the sons and daughters were much excited at this news, and believed that their poverty was at an end. The two eldest daughters were wild with joy, and wanted to set out for town at once. When their father was ready to start, they begged him to bring them jewels and rings and rich dresses. Beauty was the only one of the children who had any doubt that this one ship would bring back their fortune; so, not wishing to trouble her father, she asked for nothing. But her father noticed her silence, and inquired, “What shall I bring you, Beauty?”
“Well, dear father,” she said, “since you ask me, I should like to have you bring me a rose. They do not grow about here, and I am very fond of them.”
Beauty did not particularly desire a rose, but she did not wish to seem to blame her sisters by saying she did not want anything.
The merchant set off on his journey, but when he reached the port he was obliged to go to law about the cargo, and it ended in his returning home as poor as he came. He was within thirty miles of home when, in the middle of a large forest, he was overtaken by a heavy snowstorm. He lost his way, and was beginning to fear he should die of hunger and cold, when all of a sudden he saw a light at the end of a long avenue of trees. As he came nearer he found it came from a splendid palace, the windows of which were blazing with light. He entered the courtyard, but, to his surprise, did not meet any one. His horse followed him, and seeing a stable door open, he walked in. The manger was filled with hay and oats, and the poor beast, who was almost famished, fell to eating heartily. His master walked toward the palace, and passed through several splendidly furnished rooms, but still saw nobody. He came to the dining room, where he found a good fire, and a table plentifully spread, and set for one person. As he was wet to the skin, he drew near the fire to dry his clothes, saying to himself, “I hope the master of the house or his servants will excuse the liberty I am taking; I suppose it will not be long before some of them appear.”
He waited for some time, and still no one came; at last the clock struck eleven, and as he was so hungry he could not wait any longer, he helped himself to some chicken, and drank a little wine. Then he opened a door at the end of the hall, and found himself in a room with a very good bed in it. As he was very tired, he closed the door and went to bed.
It was ten o’clock in the morning before the merchant awoke. As he was getting up, he was surprised to find a new suit of clothes in place of his own which were torn and spoiled.
“This palace,” said he to himself, “certainly belongs to some good fairy who has seen and pitied my misfortunes.”
He looked out of the window, but instead of snowy woods he saw the most delightful arbors, filled with beautiful blooming flowers.
He returned to the great hall where he had had supper the night before, and found breakfast ready on a little table. He drank his chocolate, and then went out to look for his horse. As he was passing under an arbor of roses, he remembered Beauty’s request to him, and gathered a branch on which were several roses. Immediately he heard a loud roar, and saw stalking towards him so frightful a beast that he was ready to faint with fear.
“You are most ungrateful,” said the beast in a terrible voice. “I saved your life by admitting you to my palace, and in return you steal my roses, which I value more than anything in the world. But your insolence shall not go unpunished; you shall die for it.”
The poor merchant threw himself on his knees before the beast, and cried: “Pardon me, my lord. I had no intention of offending you by gathering a rose for one of my daughters, who desired me to bring her one.”
“I am not a lord, but a beast,” replied the monster. “I hate flattery and compliments; so do not fancy you can move me by your fine speeches. You say you have daughters; now I will spare you if you will give me one of your daughters. If not, promise that you will yourself return in three months.”
The merchant had no intention of sacrificing one of his daughters, but he knew that if he agreed to come back he should see his children once more. So he promised to return, and the beast told him he might set out when he pleased; “but,” he added, “you need not go empty-handed. Go back to the room in which you slept, and you will see a great empty chest; fill it with whatever you like best, and I will have it taken to your house for you.” Then the beast left him.
“Well,” said the good man to himself, “if I must die, I shall at least have the comfort of leaving my children provided for.”
He returned to the room, and found there heaps of gold pieces. With these he filled the chest. Then he went to the stable, took his horse, and left the palace in a far sadder mood than that in which he had entered it.
In a few hours he reached home, and his children came running out to meet him. Instead of embracing them with joy, he gazed at them sadly and, holding out the branch of roses he had in his hand, said, “Here, Beauty, take them; you little know how much they have cost your poor father.”
Then he told them all that had happened to him. The two eldest sisters began to lament loudly, and to reproach Beauty, saying that it was all her fault.
“See,” they said, “what comes from her pride. She would not ask for such things as we did, but wanted to seem wiser than we; so now she will be the death of our poor father, and yet she does not so much as shed a tear.”
“Why should I?” said Beauty. “It would be useless, for my father shall not suffer on my account. As the beast will accept one of the daughters, I will gladly give myself up in his stead.”
“No, indeed!” said her three brothers; “that shall not be. We will go and find the monster, and either kill him or perish in the attempt.”
“Do not imagine you can do any such thing,” said the merchant. “I have seen him and know that his power is too great. But I will not consent to Beauty’s offer. I am old, and have not long to live, so I can lose only a few years. I am only sorry for you, my children.”
But Beauty insisted, saying, “Indeed, father, you shall not go to the palace without me; you cannot hinder me from following you.”
The merchant was so distressed at the thought of losing his daughter that he quite forgot the chest filled with gold; but at night, when he retired to his room, he found, to his great surprise, the chest standing by his bedside. He decided to say nothing of his riches to his eldest daughters, for he knew they would want to return to town at once; but he told Beauty his secret, and she then told him that while he was away two gentlemen came and courted her sisters. She begged her father to consent to their marriage, and give them their portions, for she was so sweet-tempered that she wished them to be happy.
When the day came Beauty got ready to set out with her father for the home of the beast. The horse took the direct road to the palace, and they arrived there all too soon. As they approached they found the windows brilliantly lighted as before. The horse went at once to the stable of his own accord, and the merchant and his daughter went into the great hall, where they found a table loaded with every dainty and set with two plates. The merchant had no heart to eat, but Beauty, trying to appear cheerful, sat down and served both him and herself. After supper they heard a great noise, and the merchant began to bid his child a sad farewell. In a moment the beast entered. Beauty was terrified at the frightful form, but she tried not to show her fear.
“Good evening, Beauty,” said the beast. “Have you come here willingly?”
“Yes,” she faltered.
“You are very good, and I am greatly obliged to you,” he growled; and turning to the father, he added: “As for you, old man, you are to go your way to-morrow morning, and never to return here again. Good night, merchant. Good night, Beauty.”
“Good night, Beast,” she answered, and the monster withdrew.
Again the merchant tried to persuade Beauty to go back without him, but she would not hear to it. They went to bed, thinking they should not close their eyes all night; but as soon as they lay down they fell fast asleep. Beauty dreamed that a stately and beautiful lady came to her, and said: “I am very much pleased, dear Beauty, with the goodness you have shown in giving yourself to save your father. Do not be afraid; you shall be rewarded. Only do not trust to appearances.”
Beauty told this dream to her father in the morning; but though it comforted him a little, he wept bitterly when he took leave of his dear child, for he feared he might never see her again.
When her father was out of sight poor Beauty could not help crying, but she had made up her mind to be brave, and she proceeded to explore the various rooms of the palace. What was her surprise when she came to a door over which was written, “BEAUTY’S ROOM.” She opened it in haste, and found a magnificently furnished room; but what delighted her most was a large library, a harpsichord, and several music books. She concluded that all this would not be provided for her if she had only a day to live, and she took courage. Her surprise increased when she opened one of the books and found on the first page, in letters of gold, these words:
“Welcome, Beauty! banish fear!
You are queen and mistress here;
Speak your wishes, speak your will,—
You will find them granted still.”
“Alas!” said she, sighing, “there is nothing I wish so much as to see my father and know what he is doing.”
She happened to turn towards a large mirror that was hanging near her, and there she saw her father arriving sadly at home. Her sisters came out to meet him, and in spite of their efforts to look sorrowful, it was plain that in their hearts they were very glad to see him return alone. The picture disappeared, and Beauty felt very grateful to the beast for thus giving her her wish.
At noon she found dinner ready, and was entertained at table with music, though she could see no player. After dinner she found she was very sleepy, and went to lie down in her room. She fell asleep instantly, and dreamed that a handsome young Prince came to her, and said: “Beauty, you need not be so unhappy here as you expect. All your wishes will be granted. Only try to find me out, and love me as I love you, and above all do not trust to appearances.”
In the evening, as she was going to sit down to supper, the beast came and asked leave to sit with her at table. She was frightened, but tried not to show it, saying, “That is as you please.”
“No,” replied the beast, “you alone are mistress here. You need only tell me to go, if my presence troubles you, and I will withdraw at once. Everything here is yours, and I should be much distressed if you were not happy.”
Presently he inquired if she did not think him very ugly.
“Yes,” said Beauty, “but I think you are very kind, too.”
They talked for some time, and Beauty found her fear of him almost gone, when suddenly, just as they were leaving the table, the beast said, “Beauty, will you marry me?”
Beauty was so startled that she could hardly speak, but she faltered out, “Oh, no! Beast.”
“Then good night, Beauty,” said the beast, very sadly, and left the room.
Beauty felt very sorry for him, but she soon went to bed and dreamed of the unknown prince who had been in her mind all day. This time she thought he came and said to her: “Ah, Beauty! why are you so unkind to me? Must I be unhappy always?”
She could not understand it, but when she woke she thought that he must be in some way in the power of the beast, and began to wonder how she could help him.
The days passed quickly enough in the lovely palace. Every evening the beast came to her, and they had entertaining talks together. Beauty began to look forward to his visits, for she had become accustomed to his ugliness, and found him very kind and interesting. But one thing gave her great concern: every night, before he left her, the beast asked her to become his wife. One night she said to him: “Beast, you make me unhappy, for I can only offer you friendship. I cannot love you.”
He begged her at least to promise never to leave him; but Beauty had seen in the glass that day that her father was sick with grief at the loss of her. Her sisters were married and her brothers had gone into the army, so he was all alone. She had so great a longing to see him that she told the beast that she should die if he refused her leave.
“Indeed, I had rather die of grief for your absence,” replied the beast, “than that you should be unhappy. You shall be there to-morrow morning.”
Beauty promised to return in a week, and the beast told her that she had only to lay her ring on the table before she went to bed, when she wanted to come back, and she would find herself in the palace.
When she woke the next morning she found herself in her father’s cottage, and his delight at seeing her soon made him well again. He sent for her sisters, who came with their husbands. They were both unhappily married, one to a man who was so vain of his good looks that he cared nothing for his wife, the other to a man who was so sarcastic that he tired everybody out with his speeches, and teased his poor wife most of all. The sisters were so jealous at seeing Beauty so magnificently dressed, and hearing how kind the beast was to her, that they laid a plan to detain her longer than the week she had intended to stay, in hopes that this might make the beast angry, so that he would devour her. Accordingly, when the week was over, they affected such grief at her departure that Beauty was touched by their affection and agreed to stay longer. She could not help reproaching herself for staying, but she could not make up her mind to wish herself back when they urged her so strongly.
But on the night of the tenth day she dreamed that she saw the beast lying half-dead on the grass in the palace garden. Waking in tears, she reproached herself bitterly for her ingratitude, and rose, put her ring on the table, and then went back to bed, where she fell asleep again. When she woke the next morning she was overjoyed to find herself back at the palace. She put on one of her richest dresses to please him, and waited impatiently till evening; but nine o’clock struck, and still no beast appeared. Then Beauty remembered her dream and ran to the garden to search for him. At last she found the path she had seen in her dream, and there lay the poor beast senseless on the grass. Forgetting his ugliness, she threw herself on him in despair, and felt that his heart was still beating. Then she ran to fetch some water from the spring, and weeping, poured it on his head. The beast opened his eyes, and said faintly: “You forgot your promise, and I did not care to live without you, so I determined to starve myself; but since you are come, I shall die happy.”
“No, you shall not die, dear Beast!” cried Beauty; “for I love you, and want you to be my husband.”
She had scarcely spoken these words when a blaze of light streamed from the palace windows, fireworks were displayed, and triumphant strains of music sounded. Beauty turned to the beast to inquire what had happened, but he had disappeared, and in his place stood the Prince of her dreams, whom she had loved so long. He thanked her for having broken his enchantment.
“But where is my poor beast?” asked Beauty, anxiously.
“I am he,” replied the Prince. “A wicked fairy condemned me to remain in that form till some beautiful maiden should love me and consent to marry me in spite of my ugliness.”
The Prince conducted Beauty to the palace, where they were welcomed by the stately lady of her dream, who was the mother of the Prince, and who thanked her for restoring her son to his proper form. She found her father there, too. The young couple were married the very next day, and the Prince and his beautiful bride were heartily welcomed by his subjects, who had long mourned his absence. Beauty and the Prince reigned happily for many, many, long years.