But what was her surprise, when she came to a door on which was written, BEAUTY’S ROOM. She opened it in haste, and her eyes were dazzled by the splendor and taste of the apartment. What made her wonder more than all the rest, was a large library filled with books, a harpsichord, and many pieces of music. “The beast surely does not mean to eat me up immediately,” said she, “since he takes care I shall not be at a loss how to amuse myself.” She opened the library and saw these verses written in letters of gold in the back of one of the books:
Beauteous lady, dry your tears,
Here’s no cause for sighs or fears.
Command as freely as you may,
For you command and I obey.
“Alas!” said she, sighing, “I wish I could only command a sight of my poor father, and to know what he is doing at this moment.” Just then, by chance, she cast her eyes upon a looking-glass that stood near her, and in it she saw a picture of her old home, and her father riding mournfully up to the door. Her sisters came out to meet him, and although they tried to look sorry, it was easy to see that in their hearts they were very glad. In a short time all this picture disappeared, but it caused Beauty to think that the beast, besides being very powerful, was also very kind. About the middle of the day she found a table laid ready for her, and a sweet concert of music played all the time she was dining, without her seeing anybody. But at supper, when she was going to seat herself at table, she heard the noise of the beast, and could not help trembling with fear.
“Beauty,” said he, “will you give me leave to see you sup?”
“That is as you please,” answered she, very much afraid.
“Not in the least,” said the beast. “You alone command in this place. If you should not like my company, you need only say so, and I will leave you that moment. But tell me, Beauty, do you not think me very ugly?”
“’Why, yes,” said she, “for I cannot tell a falsehood, but then I think you are very good.”
“Am I?” sadly replied the beast. “Yet, besides being ugly, I am also very stupid. i know well enough that I am but a beast.”
“Very stupid people,” said Beauty, “are never aware of it themselves.”
At which kindly speech the beast looked pleased, and replied, not without an awkward sort of politeness, “Pray do not let me detain you from supper, and be sure that you are well served. All you see is your own, and I should be deeply grieved if you wanted for anything.”
“You are very kind—so kind that I almost forgot you are so ugly,” said Beauty, earnestly.
“Ah, yes!” answered the beast, with a great sigh, “I hope I am good-tempered, but still I am only a monster.”
“There is many a monster who wears the form of a man. It is better of the two to have the heart of a man and the form of a monster.”
“I would thank you, Beauty, for this speech, but I am too senseless to say anything that would please you,” returned the beast in a melancholy voice, and altogether he seemed so gentle and so unhappy that Beauty, who had the tenderest heart in the world, felt her fear of him gradually vanish.
She ate her supper with a good appetite, and conversed in her own sensible and charming way, till at last, when the beast rose to depart, he terrified her more than ever by saying abruptly, in his gruff voice, “Beauty, will you marry me?”
Now Beauty, frightened as she was, would speak only the exact truth. Besides, her father had told her that the beast liked only to have the truth spoken to him. So she answered, in a very firm tone, “No, Beast.”
He did not get into a passion, or do anything but sigh deeply, and depart.
When Beauty found herself alone, she began to feel pity for the poor beast. “Oh!” said she, “What a sad thing it is that he should be so very frightful, since he is so good-tempered!”
Beauty lived three months in this palace very well pleased. The beast came to see her every night, and talked with her while she supped, and though what he said was not very clever, yet, as she saw in him every day some new goodness, instead of dreading the time of his coming, she soon began continually looking at her watch, to see if it were nine o’clock, for that was the hour when he never failed to visit her.
One thing only vexed her, which was that every night before he went away, he always made it a rule to ask her if she would be his wife, and seemed very much grieved at her steadfastly replying, “No.” At last, one night, she said to him, “You wound me greatly, Beast, by forcing me to refuse you so often. I wish I could take such a liking to you as to agree to marry you, but I must tell you plainly that I do not think it will ever happen. I shall always be your friend, so try to let that content you.”
“I must,” sighed the beast, “for I know well enough how frightful I am, but I love you better than myself. Yet I think I am very lucky in your being pleased to stay with me. Now promise, Beauty, that you will never leave me.”
Beauty would almost have agreed to this, so sorry was she for him, but she had that day seen in her magic glass, which she looked at constantly, that her father was dying of grief for her sake.
“Alas!” she said, “I long so much to see my father, that if you do not give me leave to visit him, I shall break my heart.”
“I would rather break mine, Beauty,” answered the beast, “I will send you to your father’s cottage. You shall stay there, and your poor beast shall die of sorrow.”
“No,” said Beauty, crying, “I love you too well to be the cause of your death. I promise to return in a week. You have shown me that my sisters are married, and my brothers have become soldiers, so that my father is left all alone. Let me stay a week with him.”
“You shall find yourself with him tomorrow morning,” replied the beast, “but mind, do not forget your promise. When you wish to return, you have nothing to do but to put your ring on a table when you go to bed. Goodbye, Beauty!” The beast sighed as he said these words, and Beauty went to bed very sorry to see him so much grieved.
The End, Part Four