THE STORY OF THE
BEAUTY AND THE BEAST
The Original Classic French Fairytale
UNABRIDGED EDITION
Story by Madame de Villeneuve
Translated by J.R. Planché
Adapted by Rachel Louise Lawrence
BlackdownPublications
This revised edition of Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve’s “La Belle et la
Bête” (1740) from ‘Four-and-twenty Fairy Tales selected from those of Perrault
and other popular writers’ (1858), translated by James Robinson Planché, first
published in 2014 by Blackdown Publications
BlackdownPublications
Address 83 Blackdown View, Ilminster, Somerset TA19 0BD
Email blackdownpublications@mail.com
ISBN-13: 978-1502992970
ISBN-10: 1502992973
Copyright © Rachel Louise Lawrence 2014
Illustration on front cover by Walter Crane (1870)
The rights of Rachel Louise Lawrence to be identified as the author of this work
has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents
Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or
introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form, or by any means
(electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior
permission of the author. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation
to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for
damages.
Folklore Type: ATU-425C (Beauty and the Beast)
Other Titles Available
East of the Sun and West of the Moon – A Norwegian Folktale
Irish Cinder Lad Tales – ‘Billy Beg and his Bull’ and ‘The Bracket
Bull’
Persinette, The Maiden in the Tower – The Classic French
‘Rapunzel’ Fairytale
Snow White – A Brothers Grimm Fairytale
Talia, The Sleeping Beauty – A European Fairytale
The Story of Tom Tit Tot – The Classic English ‘Rumpelstiltskin’
Folktale
Zezolla, The Cat Cinderella – An Italian Fairytale
CONTENTS
Chapter I – A Tempest at Sea
Chapter II – The Enchanted Palace
Chapter III - Beauty’s Sacrifice
Chapter IV - Dreams
Chapter V - Exploring the Palace of the Beast
Chapter VI - Beauty’s Visit to her Family
Chapter VII - The Future of the Beast
Chapter VIII - Unexpected Guests
Chapter IX - Revelations of the Past
Chapter X - Royalty from the Fortunate Island
Chapter XI - Marriage Guests
About the Author
CHAPTER I – A TEMPEST AT SEA
In a country very far from this is to be seen a great city wherein
trade flourishes abundantly. It numbered amongst its citizens a
merchant, who succeeded in all his speculations, and upon whom
Fortune, responding to his wishes, had always showered her
fairest favours. However, if he had immense wealth, he had also a
great many children, his family consisting of six boys and six
girls. None of them was settled in life: the boys were too young to
think of it; the girls, too proud of their fortunes, upon which they
had every reason to count, could not easily determine upon the
choice they should make. Their vanity was flattered by the
attentions of the handsomest young gentlemen.
However, a reverse of fortune, which they did not at all
expect, came to trouble their felicity. Their house took fire; the
splendid furniture with which it was filled, the account books,
the notes, gold, silver, and all the valuable stores, which formed
the merchant’s principal wealth, were enveloped in this fatal
conflagration, which was so violent that very few of the things
could be saved. This first misfortune was but the forerunner of
others.
The father, with whom hitherto everything had prospered,
lost at the same time, either by shipwreck or by pirates, all the
ships he had at sea; his correspondents made him a bankrupt, his
foreign agents were treacherous; in short, from the greatest
opulence, he suddenly fell into the most abject poverty. He had
nothing left but a small country house, situated in a lonely place,
more than a hundred leagues from the city in which he usually
resided.
Impelled to seek a place of refuge from noise and tumult, he
took his family to this retired spot, who were in despair at such a
revolution. The daughters of this unfortunate merchant were
especially horrified at the prospect of the life they should have to
lead in this dull solitude.
For some time they flattered themselves that, when their
father’s intention became known, their lovers, who had hitherto
sued in vain, would be only too happy to find they were inclined
to listen to them. They imagined that the many admirers of each
would be all striving to obtain the preference. They thought if
they wished only for a husband they would obtain one; but they
did not remain very long in such a delightful illusion. They had
lost their greatest attractions when, like a flash of lightning, their
father’s splendid fortune had disappeared, and their time for
choosing had departed with it. Their crowd of admirers vanished
the moment of their downfall; their beauty was not sufficiently
powerful to retain one of them.
Their friends were not more generous than their lovers.
From the hour they became poor, every one, without exception,
ceased to know them. Some were even cruel enough to impute
their misfortunes to their own acts. Those whom the father had
most obliged were his most vehement calumniators: they
reported that all his calamities were brought on by his own bad
conduct, his prodigality, and the foolish extravagance of himself
and his children.
This wretched family, therefore, could not do better than
depart from a city wherein everybody took a pleasure in
insulting them in their misfortunes. Having no resource
whatever, they shut themselves up in their country house,
situated in the middle of an almost impenetrable forest, and
which might well be considered the saddest abode in the world.
What misery they had to endure in this frightful solitude!
They were forced to do the hardest work. Not being able to have
any one to wait upon them, this unfortunate merchant’s sons
were compelled to divide the servant’s duties amongst them, as
well as to exert themselves in every way that people must do
who have to earn their livelihood in the country.
The daughters, on their part, had sufficient employment.
Like the poor peasant girls, they found themselves obliged to
employ their delicate hands in all the labours of a rural life.
Wearing nothing but woollen dresses, having nothing to gratify
their vanity, existing upon what the land could give them, limited
to common necessaries, yet still retaining a refined and dainty
taste, these girls incessantly regretted the city and its attractions.
The recollection even of their younger days passed so rapidly in a
round of mirth and pleasure was their greatest torment.
The youngest girl, however, displayed greater perseverance
and firmness in their common misfortune. She bore her lot
cheerfully, and with strength of mind much beyond her years:
not but what, at first, she was truly melancholy. Alas! Who would
not have felt such misfortunes? But, after deploring her father’s
ruin, could she do better than resume her former gaiety, make up
her mind to the position she was placed in, and forget a world
which she and her family had found so ungrateful, and the
friendship of which she was so fully persuaded was not to be
relied upon in the time of adversity?
Anxious to console herself and her brothers by her amiable
disposition and sprightliness, there was nothing she did not do to
amuse them. The merchant had spared no cost in her education
nor in that of her sisters. At this sad period she derived all the
advantage from it she desired. As she could play exceedingly well
upon various instruments, and sing to them charmingly, she
asked her sisters to follow her example, but her cheerfulness and
patience only made them more miserable.
These girls, who were so inconsolable in their ill fortune,
thought their youngest sister showed a poor and mean spirit, and
even silliness, to be so merry in the state it had pleased
Providence to reduce them to.
“How happy she is,” said the eldest; “she was intended for
such coarse occupations. With such low notions, what would she
have done in the world?”
Such remarks were unjust. This young person was much
more fitted to shine in society than either of them. She was a
perfectly beautiful young creature; her good temper rendered
her adorable. A generous and tender heart was visible in all her
words and actions. Quite as much alive to the reverses that had
just overwhelmed her family as either of her sisters; by strength
of mind - which is not common in her sex - she concealed her
sorrow and rose superior to her misfortunes. So much firmness
was considered to be insensibility. But one can easily appeal
from a judgment pronounced by jealousy. Every intelligent
person, who saw her in her true light, was eager to give her the
preference over her sisters.
In the midst of her greatest splendour, although
distinguished by her merit, she was so handsome that she was
called “The Beauty”. Known by this name only, what more was
required to increase the jealousy and hatred of her sisters? Her
charms, and the general esteem in which she was held, might
have induced her to hope for a much more advantageous
establishment than her sisters; but feeling only for her father’s
misfortunes, far from retarding his departure from a city in
which she had enjoyed so much pleasure, she did all she could to
expedite it.
This young girl was as contented in their solitude as she
had been in the midst of the world. To amuse herself in her hours
of relaxation, she would dress her hair with flowers, and, like the
shepherdesses of former times, forgetting in a rural life all that
had most gratified her in the height of opulence, every day
brought to her some new innocent pleasure.
CHAPTER II – THE ENCHANTED PALACE
Two years passed, and the family began to be accustomed to a
country life, when a hope of returning prosperity arrived to
discompose their tranquillity. The father received news that one
of his vessels that he thought was lost had safely arrived in port,
richly laden. His informants added, they feared the factors would
take advantage of his absence, and sell the cargo at a low price,
and by this fraud make a great profit at his expense. He imparted
these tidings to his children, who did not doubt for an instant but
that they should soon be enabled to return from exile.
The girls, much more impatient than the boys, thinking it
was unnecessary to wait for more certain proof, were anxious to
set out instantly, and to leave everything behind them. But the
father - who was more prudent - begged them to moderate their
delight. However important he was to his family at a time when
the labours of the field could not be interrupted without great
loss, he determined to leave his sons to get in the harvest, and
that he would set out upon this long journey.
His daughters, with the exception of the youngest, expected
they would soon be restored to their former opulence. They
fancied that, even if their father’s property would not be
considerable enough to settle them in the great metropolis, their
native place, he would at least have sufficient for them to live in a
less expensive city. They trusted they should find good society
there, attract admirers, and profit by the first offer that might be
made to them.
Scarcely remembering the troubles they had undergone for
the last two years, believing themselves to be already, as by a
miracle, removed from poverty into the lap of plenty, they
ventured (for retirement had not cured them of the taste for
luxury and display) to overwhelm their father with foolish
commissions. They requested him to make purchases of
jewellery, attire, and headdresses. Each endeavoured to out-vie
the other in her demands, so that the sum total of their father’s
supposed fortune would not have been sufficient to satisfy them.
Beauty, who was not the slave of ambition, and who always
acted with prudence, saw directly that if he executed her sisters’
commissions, it would be useless for her to ask for anything. But
the father, astonished at her silence, said, interrupting his
insatiable daughters, “Well, Beauty, do you not desire anything?
What shall I bring you? What do you wish for? Speak freely.”
“My dear papa,” replied the amiable girl, embracing him
affectionately, “I wish for one thing more precious than all the
ornaments my sisters have asked you for; I have limited my
desires to it, and shall be only too happy if they can be fulfilled. It
is the gratification of seeing you return in perfect health.”
This answer was so unmistakeably disinterested, that it
covered the others with shame and confusion. They were so
angry, that one of them, answering for the rest, said with
bitterness, “This child gives herself great airs, and fancies that
she will distinguish herself by these affected heroics. Surely
nothing can be more ridiculous.”
But the father, touched by her expressions, could not help
showing his delight at them. Appreciating, too, the feeling that
induced her to ask nothing for herself, he begged she would
choose something; and to allay the ill will that his other
daughters had towards her, he observed to her that such
indifference to dress was not natural at her age that there was a
time for everything.
“Very well, my dear father,” said she, “since you desire me
to make some request, I beg you will bring me a rose; I love that
flower passionately, and since I have lived in this desert I have
not had the pleasure of seeing one.” This was to obey her father,
and at the same time to avoid putting him to any expense for her.
At length the day arrived, that this good old man was
compelled to leave his family. He travelled as fast as he could to
the great city to which the prospect of a new fortune recalled
him. But he did not meet with the benefits he had hoped for. His
vessel had certainly arrived; but his partners, believing him to be
dead, had taken possession of it, and all the cargo had been
disposed of. Thus, instead of entering into the full and peaceable
possession of that which belonged to him, he was compelled to
encounter all sorts of chicanery in the pursuit of his rights. He
overcame them, but after more than six months of trouble and
expense, he was not any richer than he was before. His debtors
had become insolvent, and he could hardly defray his own costs -thus terminated this dream of riches.
To add to his troubles, he was obliged, on the score of
economy, to start on his homeward journey at the most
inconvenient time, and in the most frightful weather. Exposed on
the road to the piercing blasts, he thought he should die with
fatigue; but when he found himself within a few miles of his
house (which he did not reckon upon leaving for such false
hopes, and which Beauty had shown her sense in mistrusting) his
strength returned to him. It would be some hours before he
could cross the forest; it was late, but he wished to continue his
journey.
He was benighted, suffering from intense cold, buried, one
might say, in the snow, with his horse; not knowing which way to
bend his steps, he thought his last hour had come: no hut in his
road, although the forest was filled with them. A tree, hollowed
by age, was the best shelter he could find, and only too happy
was he to hide himself in it. This tree protecting him from the
cold was the means of saving his life; and the horse, a little
distance from his master, perceiving another hollow tree, was led
by instinct to take shelter in that.
The night, in such a situation, appeared to him to be neverending; furthermore, he was famished, frightened at the roaring
of the wild beasts, that were constantly passing by him. Could he
be at peace for an instant? His trouble and anxiety did not end
with the night. He had no sooner the pleasure of seeing daylight
than his distress was greater. The ground appeared so
extraordinarily covered with snow, no road could he find no
track was to be seen. It was only after great fatigue and frequent
falls that he succeeded in discovering something like a path upon
which he could keep his footing.
Proceeding without knowing in which direction, chance led
him into the avenue of a beautiful palace, which the snow seemed
to have respected. It consisted of four rows of orange-trees, laden
with flowers and fruit. Statues were seen here and there,
regardless of order or symmetry some were in the middle of the
road, others among the trees all after the strangest fashion; they
were of the size of life, and had the colour of human beings, in
different attitudes, and in various dresses, the greatest number
representing warriors.
Arriving at the first courtyard, he perceived a great many
more statues. He was suffering so much from cold that he could
not stop to examine them. An agate staircase, with balusters of
chased gold, first presented itself to his sight: he passed through
several magnificently furnished rooms; gentle warmth which he
breathed in them renovated him. He needed food; but to whom
could he apply? This large and magnificent edifice appeared to be
inhabited only by statues. A profound silence reigned throughout
it; nevertheless, it had not the air of an old palace that had been
deserted. The halls, the rooms, the galleries were all open; no
living thing appeared to be in this charming place.
Weary of wandering over this vast dwelling, he stopped in a
saloon, wherein was a large fire. Presuming that it was prepared
for someone, who would not be long in appearing, he drew near
the fireplace to warm himself; but no one came. Seated on a sofa
near the fire, a sweet sleep closed his eyelids, and left him no
longer in a condition to observe the entrance of anyone. Fatigue
induced him to sleep; hunger awoke him; he had been suffering
from it for the last twenty-four hours. The exercise that he had
taken ever since he had been in this palace increased his
appetite. When he awoke and opened his eyes, he was astonished
to see a table elegantly laid. A light repast would not have
satisfied him; but the viands, magnificently dressed, invited him
to eat of everything.
His first care was to utter in a loud voice his thanks to those
from whom he had received so much kindness, and he then
resolved to wait quietly till it pleased his host to make himself
known to him. As fatigue caused him to sleep before his repast,
so did the food produce the same effect, and his repose was
longer and more powerful; in fact, this second time he slept for at
least four hours. Upon awaking, in the place of the first table he
saw another of porphyry, upon which some kind hand had set
out a collation consisting of cakes, preserved fruits, and liqueurs.
This was likewise for his use. Profiting, therefore, by the
kindness shown him, he partook of everything that suited his
appetite, his taste, and his fancy.
Finding at length no one to speak to, or to inform him
whether this palace was inhabited by a man or by a God, fear
began to take possession of him, for he was naturally timid. He
resolved, therefore, to re-pass through all the apartments, and
overwhelm with thanks the Genius to whom he was indebted for
so much kindness, and in the most respectful manner solicit him
to appear.
All his attentions were useless: no appearance of servants,
no result by which he could ascertain that the palace was
inhabited. Thinking seriously of what he should do, he began to
fancy, for what reason he could not imagine, that some good
spirit had made this mansion a present to him, with all the riches
that it contained.
This idea seemed like inspiration, and without further delay
- making a new inspection of it - he took possession of all the
treasures he could find. More than this, he settled in his own
mind what share of it he should allow to each of his children, and
selected the apartments that would particularly suit them,
enjoying the delight beforehand that his journey would afford
them. He entered the garden, where, in spite of the severity of the
winter, the rarest flowers were exhaling the most delicious
perfume in the mildest and purest air. Birds of all kinds blending
their songs with the confused noise of the waters, made an
agreeable harmony.
The old man, in ecstasies at such wonders, said to himself,
“My daughters will not, I think, find it very difficult to accustom
themselves to this delicious abode. I cannot believe that they will
regret, or that they will prefer the city to this mansion. Let me set
out directly,” he cried in a transport of joy rather uncommon for
him; “I shall increase my happiness in witnessing theirs: I will
take possession at once.”
Upon entering this charming palace he had taken care,
notwithstanding he was nearly perished, to unbridle his horse
and let him wend his way to a stable, which he had observed in
the forecourt. An alley, ornamented by palisades, formed by
rosebushes in full bloom, led to it. He had never seen such lovely
roses. Their perfume reminded him that he had promised to give
Beauty a rose. He picked one, and was about to gather enough to
make half-a-dozen bouquets, when a most frightful noise made
him turn round.
He was terribly alarmed upon perceiving at his side a
horrible beast, which, with an air of fury, laid upon his neck a
kind of trunk, resembling an elephant’s, and said, with a terrific
voice, “Who gave you permission to gather my roses? Is it not
enough that I kindly allowed you to remain in my palace? Instead
of feeling grateful, rash man, I find you stealing my flowers! Your
insolence shall not remain unpunished.”
The good man, already too much overpowered by the
unexpected appearance of this Beast, thought he should die of
fright at these words, and quickly throwing away the fatal rose.
“Ah! My Lord,” he said, prostrating himself before the Beast,
“have mercy on me! I am not ungrateful! Penetrated by all your
kindness, I did not imagine that so slight a liberty could possibly
have offended you.”
The Beast very angrily replied, “Hold your tongue, you
foolish talker. I care not for your flattery nor for the titles you
bestow on me. I am not your Lord; I am The Beast; and you shall
not escape the death you deserve.”
The merchant, dismayed at so cruel a sentence, and
thinking that submission was the only means to preserve his life,
said, in a truly affecting manner, that the rose he had dared to
take was for one of his daughters, called Beauty. Then, whether
he hoped to escape from death or to induce his enemy to feel for
him, he related to him all his misfortunes.
He told him the object of his journey, and did not omit to
dwell on the little present he was bound to give Beauty; adding
that was the only thing she had asked for, while the riches of a
King would hardly have sufficed to satisfy the wishes of his other
daughters. And so came to the opportunity which had offered
itself to satisfy the modest desire of Beauty and his belief that he
could have done so without any unpleasant consequences; asking
pardon, moreover, for his involuntary fault.
The Beast considered for a moment, then, speaking in a
milder tone, he said to him, “I will pardon you, but upon
condition that you will give me one of your daughters. I require
someone to repair this fault.”
“Just Heaven!” replied the merchant. “How can I keep my
word? Could I be so inhuman as to save my own life at the
expense of one of my children’s? Under what pretext could I
bring her here?”
“There must be no pretext,” interrupted the Beast. “I expect
that whichever daughter you bring here she will come willingly,
or I will not have either of them. Go, see if there be not one
amongst them sufficiently courageous, and loving you enough, to
sacrifice herself to save your life. You appear to be an honest
man. Give me your word of honour to return in a month. If you
cannot decide to bring one of them back with you, she will
remain here and you will return home. If you cannot do so,
promise me to return here alone after bidding them farewell
forever, for you will belong to me. Do not fancy,” continued the
Beast, grinding his teeth, “that by merely agreeing to my
proposition you will be saved. I warn you, if you think so to
escape me I will seek you and destroy you and your race,
although a hundred thousand men may appear to defend you.”
The good man, although quite convinced that he should
vainly put to the proof the devotion of his daughters, accepted,
nevertheless, the Beast’s proposition. He promised to return to
him at the time named, and give himself up to his sad fate,
without rendering it necessary for the Beast to seek for him.
After this assurance, he thought himself at liberty to retire
and take leave of the Beast, whose presence was most distressing
to him. The respite was but brief, yet he feared he might revoke
it. He expressed his anxiety to depart; but the Beast told him he
should not do so till the following day.
“You will find,” he said, “a horse ready at break of day. He
will carry you home quickly. Adieu. Go to supper and await my
orders.”
The poor man, more dead than alive, returned to the saloon
in which he had feasted so heartily. Before a large fire, his
supper, already laid, invited him to sit and enjoy it. The delicacy
and richness of the dishes had no longer, however, any
temptation for him.
Overwhelmed by his grief, he would not have seated
himself at the table, but that he feared that the Beast was
concealed somewhere, and observing him, and that he would
excite his anger by any slight of his bounty. To avoid further
disaster, he made a momentary truce with his grief, and, as well
as his afflicted heart would permit, he tasted, in turn, the various
dishes.
At the end of the repast, a great noise was heard in the
adjoining apartment, and he did not doubt that it was his
formidable host. As he could not manage to avoid his presence,
he tried to recover from the alarm, which this sudden noise had
caused him. At the same moment, the Beast, who appeared,
asked him abruptly if he had made a good supper. The good man
replied, in a modest and timid tone that he had, thanks to his
attention, eaten heartily.
“Promise me,” replied the Beast, “to remember your word
to me, and to keep it as a man of honour, in bringing me on e of
your daughters.”
The old man, who was not much entertained with this
conversation, swore to him that he would fulfil what he had
promised, and return in a month alone or with one of his
daughters, if he should find one who loved him sufficiently to
follow him on the conditions he must propose to her.
“I warn you again,” said the Beast, “to take care not to
deceive her as to the sacrifice which you must exact from her, or
the danger she will incur. Paint to her my face such as it is. Let
her know what she is about to do: above all, let her be firm in her
resolution. There will be no time for reflection when you shall
have brought her here. There must be no drawing back: you will
be equally lost, without obtaining for her the liberty to return.”
The merchant, who was overcome at this discourse,
iterated his promise to conform to all that was prescribed to him.
The Beast, satisfied with his answer, ordered him to retire to
rest, and not to rise till he should see the sun, and hear a golden
bell.
“You will breakfast before setting out,” he said again, “and
you may take a rose with you for Beauty. The horse which shall
bear you will be ready in the courtyard. I reckon on seeing you
again in a month, if you are an honest man. If you fail in your
word, I shall pay you a visit.”
The good man, for fear of prolonging a conversation
already too painful to him, made a profound reverence to the
Beast - who told him again not to be anxious respecting the road
by which he should return as, at the time appointed, the same
horse, which he would mount the next morning, would be found
at his gate and would suffice for his daughter and himself.
However little disposition the old man felt for sleep, he
dared not disobey the orders he had received. Obliged to lie
down, he did not rise till the sun began to illumine the chamber.
His breakfast was soon despatched, and he then descended into
the garden to gather the rose, which the Beast had ordered him
to take to Beauty.
How many tears this flower caused him to shed. But the
fear of drawing on himself new disasters made him constrain his
feelings, and he went, without further delay, in search of the
horse which had been promised him. He found on the saddle a
light but warm cloak. As soon as the horse felt him on his back,
he set off with incredible speed.
The merchant, who in a moment lost sight of this fatal
palace, experienced as great a sensation of joy as he had on the
previous evening felt in perceiving it, with this difference, that
the delight of leaving it was embittered by the cruel necessity of
returning to it.
“To what have I pledged myself?” said he, whilst his courser
carried him with a velocity and a lightness, which is only known
in Fairyland. “Would it not be better that I should become at once
the victim of this Beast who thirsts for the blood of my family? By
a promise I have made, as unnatural as it is indiscreet, I have
prolonged my life. Is it possible that I could think of extending
my days at the expense of those of my daughters? Can I have the
barbarity to lead one to him, to see him, no doubt, devour her
before my eyes?
But all at once, interrupting himself, he cried, “Miserable
wretch that I am, what have I to fear? If I could find it in my heart
to silence the voice of nature, would it depend on me to commit
this cowardly act? She must know her fate and consent to it. I see
no chance that she will be inclined to sacrifice herself for an
inhuman father, and I ought not to make such a proposition to
her. It is unjust.
“But even if the affection which they all entertain for me
should induce one to devote herself, would not a single glance at
the Beast destroy her constancy, and I could not complain. Ah!
Too imperious Beast,” he exclaimed, “you have done this
expressly! By putting an impossible condition to the means, you
offer me to escape your fury - and obtain the pardon of a trifling
fault - you have added insult to injury!
“But,” he continued, “I cannot bear to think of it. I hesitate
no longer; and I would rather expose myself without turning
away from your rage, than attempt a useless mode of escape,
which my paternal love trembles to employ. Let me retrace,” he
said, “the road to this frightful palace, and without deigning to
purchase so dearly the remnant of a life which can never be but
miserable without waiting for the month which is accorded me to
expire, return, and terminate this day my miserable existence!”
At these words, he endeavoured to retrace his steps, but he
found it impossible to turn the bridle of his horse. Allowing
himself, therefore, against his will, to be carried forward, he
resolved at least to propose nothing to his daughters.
BEAUTY AND THE BEAST
The Original Classic French Fairytale
UNABRIDGED EDITION
Story by Madame de Villeneuve
Translated by J.R. Planché
Adapted by Rachel Louise Lawrence
BlackdownPublications
This revised edition of Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve’s “La Belle et la
Bête” (1740) from ‘Four-and-twenty Fairy Tales selected from those of Perrault
and other popular writers’ (1858), translated by James Robinson Planché, first
published in 2014 by Blackdown Publications
BlackdownPublications
Address 83 Blackdown View, Ilminster, Somerset TA19 0BD
Email blackdownpublications@mail.com
ISBN-13: 978-1502992970
ISBN-10: 1502992973
Copyright © Rachel Louise Lawrence 2014
Illustration on front cover by Walter Crane (1870)
The rights of Rachel Louise Lawrence to be identified as the author of this work
has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents
Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or
introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form, or by any means
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to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for
damages.
Folklore Type: ATU-425C (Beauty and the Beast)
Other Titles Available
East of the Sun and West of the Moon – A Norwegian Folktale
Irish Cinder Lad Tales – ‘Billy Beg and his Bull’ and ‘The Bracket
Bull’
Persinette, The Maiden in the Tower – The Classic French
‘Rapunzel’ Fairytale
Snow White – A Brothers Grimm Fairytale
Talia, The Sleeping Beauty – A European Fairytale
The Story of Tom Tit Tot – The Classic English ‘Rumpelstiltskin’
Folktale
Zezolla, The Cat Cinderella – An Italian Fairytale
CONTENTS
Chapter I – A Tempest at Sea
Chapter II – The Enchanted Palace
Chapter III - Beauty’s Sacrifice
Chapter IV - Dreams
Chapter V - Exploring the Palace of the Beast
Chapter VI - Beauty’s Visit to her Family
Chapter VII - The Future of the Beast
Chapter VIII - Unexpected Guests
Chapter IX - Revelations of the Past
Chapter X - Royalty from the Fortunate Island
Chapter XI - Marriage Guests
About the Author
CHAPTER I – A TEMPEST AT SEA
In a country very far from this is to be seen a great city wherein
trade flourishes abundantly. It numbered amongst its citizens a
merchant, who succeeded in all his speculations, and upon whom
Fortune, responding to his wishes, had always showered her
fairest favours. However, if he had immense wealth, he had also a
great many children, his family consisting of six boys and six
girls. None of them was settled in life: the boys were too young to
think of it; the girls, too proud of their fortunes, upon which they
had every reason to count, could not easily determine upon the
choice they should make. Their vanity was flattered by the
attentions of the handsomest young gentlemen.
However, a reverse of fortune, which they did not at all
expect, came to trouble their felicity. Their house took fire; the
splendid furniture with which it was filled, the account books,
the notes, gold, silver, and all the valuable stores, which formed
the merchant’s principal wealth, were enveloped in this fatal
conflagration, which was so violent that very few of the things
could be saved. This first misfortune was but the forerunner of
others.
The father, with whom hitherto everything had prospered,
lost at the same time, either by shipwreck or by pirates, all the
ships he had at sea; his correspondents made him a bankrupt, his
foreign agents were treacherous; in short, from the greatest
opulence, he suddenly fell into the most abject poverty. He had
nothing left but a small country house, situated in a lonely place,
more than a hundred leagues from the city in which he usually
resided.
Impelled to seek a place of refuge from noise and tumult, he
took his family to this retired spot, who were in despair at such a
revolution. The daughters of this unfortunate merchant were
especially horrified at the prospect of the life they should have to
lead in this dull solitude.
For some time they flattered themselves that, when their
father’s intention became known, their lovers, who had hitherto
sued in vain, would be only too happy to find they were inclined
to listen to them. They imagined that the many admirers of each
would be all striving to obtain the preference. They thought if
they wished only for a husband they would obtain one; but they
did not remain very long in such a delightful illusion. They had
lost their greatest attractions when, like a flash of lightning, their
father’s splendid fortune had disappeared, and their time for
choosing had departed with it. Their crowd of admirers vanished
the moment of their downfall; their beauty was not sufficiently
powerful to retain one of them.
Their friends were not more generous than their lovers.
From the hour they became poor, every one, without exception,
ceased to know them. Some were even cruel enough to impute
their misfortunes to their own acts. Those whom the father had
most obliged were his most vehement calumniators: they
reported that all his calamities were brought on by his own bad
conduct, his prodigality, and the foolish extravagance of himself
and his children.
This wretched family, therefore, could not do better than
depart from a city wherein everybody took a pleasure in
insulting them in their misfortunes. Having no resource
whatever, they shut themselves up in their country house,
situated in the middle of an almost impenetrable forest, and
which might well be considered the saddest abode in the world.
What misery they had to endure in this frightful solitude!
They were forced to do the hardest work. Not being able to have
any one to wait upon them, this unfortunate merchant’s sons
were compelled to divide the servant’s duties amongst them, as
well as to exert themselves in every way that people must do
who have to earn their livelihood in the country.
The daughters, on their part, had sufficient employment.
Like the poor peasant girls, they found themselves obliged to
employ their delicate hands in all the labours of a rural life.
Wearing nothing but woollen dresses, having nothing to gratify
their vanity, existing upon what the land could give them, limited
to common necessaries, yet still retaining a refined and dainty
taste, these girls incessantly regretted the city and its attractions.
The recollection even of their younger days passed so rapidly in a
round of mirth and pleasure was their greatest torment.
The youngest girl, however, displayed greater perseverance
and firmness in their common misfortune. She bore her lot
cheerfully, and with strength of mind much beyond her years:
not but what, at first, she was truly melancholy. Alas! Who would
not have felt such misfortunes? But, after deploring her father’s
ruin, could she do better than resume her former gaiety, make up
her mind to the position she was placed in, and forget a world
which she and her family had found so ungrateful, and the
friendship of which she was so fully persuaded was not to be
relied upon in the time of adversity?
Anxious to console herself and her brothers by her amiable
disposition and sprightliness, there was nothing she did not do to
amuse them. The merchant had spared no cost in her education
nor in that of her sisters. At this sad period she derived all the
advantage from it she desired. As she could play exceedingly well
upon various instruments, and sing to them charmingly, she
asked her sisters to follow her example, but her cheerfulness and
patience only made them more miserable.
These girls, who were so inconsolable in their ill fortune,
thought their youngest sister showed a poor and mean spirit, and
even silliness, to be so merry in the state it had pleased
Providence to reduce them to.
“How happy she is,” said the eldest; “she was intended for
such coarse occupations. With such low notions, what would she
have done in the world?”
Such remarks were unjust. This young person was much
more fitted to shine in society than either of them. She was a
perfectly beautiful young creature; her good temper rendered
her adorable. A generous and tender heart was visible in all her
words and actions. Quite as much alive to the reverses that had
just overwhelmed her family as either of her sisters; by strength
of mind - which is not common in her sex - she concealed her
sorrow and rose superior to her misfortunes. So much firmness
was considered to be insensibility. But one can easily appeal
from a judgment pronounced by jealousy. Every intelligent
person, who saw her in her true light, was eager to give her the
preference over her sisters.
In the midst of her greatest splendour, although
distinguished by her merit, she was so handsome that she was
called “The Beauty”. Known by this name only, what more was
required to increase the jealousy and hatred of her sisters? Her
charms, and the general esteem in which she was held, might
have induced her to hope for a much more advantageous
establishment than her sisters; but feeling only for her father’s
misfortunes, far from retarding his departure from a city in
which she had enjoyed so much pleasure, she did all she could to
expedite it.
This young girl was as contented in their solitude as she
had been in the midst of the world. To amuse herself in her hours
of relaxation, she would dress her hair with flowers, and, like the
shepherdesses of former times, forgetting in a rural life all that
had most gratified her in the height of opulence, every day
brought to her some new innocent pleasure.
CHAPTER II – THE ENCHANTED PALACE
Two years passed, and the family began to be accustomed to a
country life, when a hope of returning prosperity arrived to
discompose their tranquillity. The father received news that one
of his vessels that he thought was lost had safely arrived in port,
richly laden. His informants added, they feared the factors would
take advantage of his absence, and sell the cargo at a low price,
and by this fraud make a great profit at his expense. He imparted
these tidings to his children, who did not doubt for an instant but
that they should soon be enabled to return from exile.
The girls, much more impatient than the boys, thinking it
was unnecessary to wait for more certain proof, were anxious to
set out instantly, and to leave everything behind them. But the
father - who was more prudent - begged them to moderate their
delight. However important he was to his family at a time when
the labours of the field could not be interrupted without great
loss, he determined to leave his sons to get in the harvest, and
that he would set out upon this long journey.
His daughters, with the exception of the youngest, expected
they would soon be restored to their former opulence. They
fancied that, even if their father’s property would not be
considerable enough to settle them in the great metropolis, their
native place, he would at least have sufficient for them to live in a
less expensive city. They trusted they should find good society
there, attract admirers, and profit by the first offer that might be
made to them.
Scarcely remembering the troubles they had undergone for
the last two years, believing themselves to be already, as by a
miracle, removed from poverty into the lap of plenty, they
ventured (for retirement had not cured them of the taste for
luxury and display) to overwhelm their father with foolish
commissions. They requested him to make purchases of
jewellery, attire, and headdresses. Each endeavoured to out-vie
the other in her demands, so that the sum total of their father’s
supposed fortune would not have been sufficient to satisfy them.
Beauty, who was not the slave of ambition, and who always
acted with prudence, saw directly that if he executed her sisters’
commissions, it would be useless for her to ask for anything. But
the father, astonished at her silence, said, interrupting his
insatiable daughters, “Well, Beauty, do you not desire anything?
What shall I bring you? What do you wish for? Speak freely.”
“My dear papa,” replied the amiable girl, embracing him
affectionately, “I wish for one thing more precious than all the
ornaments my sisters have asked you for; I have limited my
desires to it, and shall be only too happy if they can be fulfilled. It
is the gratification of seeing you return in perfect health.”
This answer was so unmistakeably disinterested, that it
covered the others with shame and confusion. They were so
angry, that one of them, answering for the rest, said with
bitterness, “This child gives herself great airs, and fancies that
she will distinguish herself by these affected heroics. Surely
nothing can be more ridiculous.”
But the father, touched by her expressions, could not help
showing his delight at them. Appreciating, too, the feeling that
induced her to ask nothing for herself, he begged she would
choose something; and to allay the ill will that his other
daughters had towards her, he observed to her that such
indifference to dress was not natural at her age that there was a
time for everything.
“Very well, my dear father,” said she, “since you desire me
to make some request, I beg you will bring me a rose; I love that
flower passionately, and since I have lived in this desert I have
not had the pleasure of seeing one.” This was to obey her father,
and at the same time to avoid putting him to any expense for her.
At length the day arrived, that this good old man was
compelled to leave his family. He travelled as fast as he could to
the great city to which the prospect of a new fortune recalled
him. But he did not meet with the benefits he had hoped for. His
vessel had certainly arrived; but his partners, believing him to be
dead, had taken possession of it, and all the cargo had been
disposed of. Thus, instead of entering into the full and peaceable
possession of that which belonged to him, he was compelled to
encounter all sorts of chicanery in the pursuit of his rights. He
overcame them, but after more than six months of trouble and
expense, he was not any richer than he was before. His debtors
had become insolvent, and he could hardly defray his own costs -thus terminated this dream of riches.
To add to his troubles, he was obliged, on the score of
economy, to start on his homeward journey at the most
inconvenient time, and in the most frightful weather. Exposed on
the road to the piercing blasts, he thought he should die with
fatigue; but when he found himself within a few miles of his
house (which he did not reckon upon leaving for such false
hopes, and which Beauty had shown her sense in mistrusting) his
strength returned to him. It would be some hours before he
could cross the forest; it was late, but he wished to continue his
journey.
He was benighted, suffering from intense cold, buried, one
might say, in the snow, with his horse; not knowing which way to
bend his steps, he thought his last hour had come: no hut in his
road, although the forest was filled with them. A tree, hollowed
by age, was the best shelter he could find, and only too happy
was he to hide himself in it. This tree protecting him from the
cold was the means of saving his life; and the horse, a little
distance from his master, perceiving another hollow tree, was led
by instinct to take shelter in that.
The night, in such a situation, appeared to him to be neverending; furthermore, he was famished, frightened at the roaring
of the wild beasts, that were constantly passing by him. Could he
be at peace for an instant? His trouble and anxiety did not end
with the night. He had no sooner the pleasure of seeing daylight
than his distress was greater. The ground appeared so
extraordinarily covered with snow, no road could he find no
track was to be seen. It was only after great fatigue and frequent
falls that he succeeded in discovering something like a path upon
which he could keep his footing.
Proceeding without knowing in which direction, chance led
him into the avenue of a beautiful palace, which the snow seemed
to have respected. It consisted of four rows of orange-trees, laden
with flowers and fruit. Statues were seen here and there,
regardless of order or symmetry some were in the middle of the
road, others among the trees all after the strangest fashion; they
were of the size of life, and had the colour of human beings, in
different attitudes, and in various dresses, the greatest number
representing warriors.
Arriving at the first courtyard, he perceived a great many
more statues. He was suffering so much from cold that he could
not stop to examine them. An agate staircase, with balusters of
chased gold, first presented itself to his sight: he passed through
several magnificently furnished rooms; gentle warmth which he
breathed in them renovated him. He needed food; but to whom
could he apply? This large and magnificent edifice appeared to be
inhabited only by statues. A profound silence reigned throughout
it; nevertheless, it had not the air of an old palace that had been
deserted. The halls, the rooms, the galleries were all open; no
living thing appeared to be in this charming place.
Weary of wandering over this vast dwelling, he stopped in a
saloon, wherein was a large fire. Presuming that it was prepared
for someone, who would not be long in appearing, he drew near
the fireplace to warm himself; but no one came. Seated on a sofa
near the fire, a sweet sleep closed his eyelids, and left him no
longer in a condition to observe the entrance of anyone. Fatigue
induced him to sleep; hunger awoke him; he had been suffering
from it for the last twenty-four hours. The exercise that he had
taken ever since he had been in this palace increased his
appetite. When he awoke and opened his eyes, he was astonished
to see a table elegantly laid. A light repast would not have
satisfied him; but the viands, magnificently dressed, invited him
to eat of everything.
His first care was to utter in a loud voice his thanks to those
from whom he had received so much kindness, and he then
resolved to wait quietly till it pleased his host to make himself
known to him. As fatigue caused him to sleep before his repast,
so did the food produce the same effect, and his repose was
longer and more powerful; in fact, this second time he slept for at
least four hours. Upon awaking, in the place of the first table he
saw another of porphyry, upon which some kind hand had set
out a collation consisting of cakes, preserved fruits, and liqueurs.
This was likewise for his use. Profiting, therefore, by the
kindness shown him, he partook of everything that suited his
appetite, his taste, and his fancy.
Finding at length no one to speak to, or to inform him
whether this palace was inhabited by a man or by a God, fear
began to take possession of him, for he was naturally timid. He
resolved, therefore, to re-pass through all the apartments, and
overwhelm with thanks the Genius to whom he was indebted for
so much kindness, and in the most respectful manner solicit him
to appear.
All his attentions were useless: no appearance of servants,
no result by which he could ascertain that the palace was
inhabited. Thinking seriously of what he should do, he began to
fancy, for what reason he could not imagine, that some good
spirit had made this mansion a present to him, with all the riches
that it contained.
This idea seemed like inspiration, and without further delay
- making a new inspection of it - he took possession of all the
treasures he could find. More than this, he settled in his own
mind what share of it he should allow to each of his children, and
selected the apartments that would particularly suit them,
enjoying the delight beforehand that his journey would afford
them. He entered the garden, where, in spite of the severity of the
winter, the rarest flowers were exhaling the most delicious
perfume in the mildest and purest air. Birds of all kinds blending
their songs with the confused noise of the waters, made an
agreeable harmony.
The old man, in ecstasies at such wonders, said to himself,
“My daughters will not, I think, find it very difficult to accustom
themselves to this delicious abode. I cannot believe that they will
regret, or that they will prefer the city to this mansion. Let me set
out directly,” he cried in a transport of joy rather uncommon for
him; “I shall increase my happiness in witnessing theirs: I will
take possession at once.”
Upon entering this charming palace he had taken care,
notwithstanding he was nearly perished, to unbridle his horse
and let him wend his way to a stable, which he had observed in
the forecourt. An alley, ornamented by palisades, formed by
rosebushes in full bloom, led to it. He had never seen such lovely
roses. Their perfume reminded him that he had promised to give
Beauty a rose. He picked one, and was about to gather enough to
make half-a-dozen bouquets, when a most frightful noise made
him turn round.
He was terribly alarmed upon perceiving at his side a
horrible beast, which, with an air of fury, laid upon his neck a
kind of trunk, resembling an elephant’s, and said, with a terrific
voice, “Who gave you permission to gather my roses? Is it not
enough that I kindly allowed you to remain in my palace? Instead
of feeling grateful, rash man, I find you stealing my flowers! Your
insolence shall not remain unpunished.”
The good man, already too much overpowered by the
unexpected appearance of this Beast, thought he should die of
fright at these words, and quickly throwing away the fatal rose.
“Ah! My Lord,” he said, prostrating himself before the Beast,
“have mercy on me! I am not ungrateful! Penetrated by all your
kindness, I did not imagine that so slight a liberty could possibly
have offended you.”
The Beast very angrily replied, “Hold your tongue, you
foolish talker. I care not for your flattery nor for the titles you
bestow on me. I am not your Lord; I am The Beast; and you shall
not escape the death you deserve.”
The merchant, dismayed at so cruel a sentence, and
thinking that submission was the only means to preserve his life,
said, in a truly affecting manner, that the rose he had dared to
take was for one of his daughters, called Beauty. Then, whether
he hoped to escape from death or to induce his enemy to feel for
him, he related to him all his misfortunes.
He told him the object of his journey, and did not omit to
dwell on the little present he was bound to give Beauty; adding
that was the only thing she had asked for, while the riches of a
King would hardly have sufficed to satisfy the wishes of his other
daughters. And so came to the opportunity which had offered
itself to satisfy the modest desire of Beauty and his belief that he
could have done so without any unpleasant consequences; asking
pardon, moreover, for his involuntary fault.
The Beast considered for a moment, then, speaking in a
milder tone, he said to him, “I will pardon you, but upon
condition that you will give me one of your daughters. I require
someone to repair this fault.”
“Just Heaven!” replied the merchant. “How can I keep my
word? Could I be so inhuman as to save my own life at the
expense of one of my children’s? Under what pretext could I
bring her here?”
“There must be no pretext,” interrupted the Beast. “I expect
that whichever daughter you bring here she will come willingly,
or I will not have either of them. Go, see if there be not one
amongst them sufficiently courageous, and loving you enough, to
sacrifice herself to save your life. You appear to be an honest
man. Give me your word of honour to return in a month. If you
cannot decide to bring one of them back with you, she will
remain here and you will return home. If you cannot do so,
promise me to return here alone after bidding them farewell
forever, for you will belong to me. Do not fancy,” continued the
Beast, grinding his teeth, “that by merely agreeing to my
proposition you will be saved. I warn you, if you think so to
escape me I will seek you and destroy you and your race,
although a hundred thousand men may appear to defend you.”
The good man, although quite convinced that he should
vainly put to the proof the devotion of his daughters, accepted,
nevertheless, the Beast’s proposition. He promised to return to
him at the time named, and give himself up to his sad fate,
without rendering it necessary for the Beast to seek for him.
After this assurance, he thought himself at liberty to retire
and take leave of the Beast, whose presence was most distressing
to him. The respite was but brief, yet he feared he might revoke
it. He expressed his anxiety to depart; but the Beast told him he
should not do so till the following day.
“You will find,” he said, “a horse ready at break of day. He
will carry you home quickly. Adieu. Go to supper and await my
orders.”
The poor man, more dead than alive, returned to the saloon
in which he had feasted so heartily. Before a large fire, his
supper, already laid, invited him to sit and enjoy it. The delicacy
and richness of the dishes had no longer, however, any
temptation for him.
Overwhelmed by his grief, he would not have seated
himself at the table, but that he feared that the Beast was
concealed somewhere, and observing him, and that he would
excite his anger by any slight of his bounty. To avoid further
disaster, he made a momentary truce with his grief, and, as well
as his afflicted heart would permit, he tasted, in turn, the various
dishes.
At the end of the repast, a great noise was heard in the
adjoining apartment, and he did not doubt that it was his
formidable host. As he could not manage to avoid his presence,
he tried to recover from the alarm, which this sudden noise had
caused him. At the same moment, the Beast, who appeared,
asked him abruptly if he had made a good supper. The good man
replied, in a modest and timid tone that he had, thanks to his
attention, eaten heartily.
“Promise me,” replied the Beast, “to remember your word
to me, and to keep it as a man of honour, in bringing me on e of
your daughters.”
The old man, who was not much entertained with this
conversation, swore to him that he would fulfil what he had
promised, and return in a month alone or with one of his
daughters, if he should find one who loved him sufficiently to
follow him on the conditions he must propose to her.
“I warn you again,” said the Beast, “to take care not to
deceive her as to the sacrifice which you must exact from her, or
the danger she will incur. Paint to her my face such as it is. Let
her know what she is about to do: above all, let her be firm in her
resolution. There will be no time for reflection when you shall
have brought her here. There must be no drawing back: you will
be equally lost, without obtaining for her the liberty to return.”
The merchant, who was overcome at this discourse,
iterated his promise to conform to all that was prescribed to him.
The Beast, satisfied with his answer, ordered him to retire to
rest, and not to rise till he should see the sun, and hear a golden
bell.
“You will breakfast before setting out,” he said again, “and
you may take a rose with you for Beauty. The horse which shall
bear you will be ready in the courtyard. I reckon on seeing you
again in a month, if you are an honest man. If you fail in your
word, I shall pay you a visit.”
The good man, for fear of prolonging a conversation
already too painful to him, made a profound reverence to the
Beast - who told him again not to be anxious respecting the road
by which he should return as, at the time appointed, the same
horse, which he would mount the next morning, would be found
at his gate and would suffice for his daughter and himself.
However little disposition the old man felt for sleep, he
dared not disobey the orders he had received. Obliged to lie
down, he did not rise till the sun began to illumine the chamber.
His breakfast was soon despatched, and he then descended into
the garden to gather the rose, which the Beast had ordered him
to take to Beauty.
How many tears this flower caused him to shed. But the
fear of drawing on himself new disasters made him constrain his
feelings, and he went, without further delay, in search of the
horse which had been promised him. He found on the saddle a
light but warm cloak. As soon as the horse felt him on his back,
he set off with incredible speed.
The merchant, who in a moment lost sight of this fatal
palace, experienced as great a sensation of joy as he had on the
previous evening felt in perceiving it, with this difference, that
the delight of leaving it was embittered by the cruel necessity of
returning to it.
“To what have I pledged myself?” said he, whilst his courser
carried him with a velocity and a lightness, which is only known
in Fairyland. “Would it not be better that I should become at once
the victim of this Beast who thirsts for the blood of my family? By
a promise I have made, as unnatural as it is indiscreet, I have
prolonged my life. Is it possible that I could think of extending
my days at the expense of those of my daughters? Can I have the
barbarity to lead one to him, to see him, no doubt, devour her
before my eyes?
But all at once, interrupting himself, he cried, “Miserable
wretch that I am, what have I to fear? If I could find it in my heart
to silence the voice of nature, would it depend on me to commit
this cowardly act? She must know her fate and consent to it. I see
no chance that she will be inclined to sacrifice herself for an
inhuman father, and I ought not to make such a proposition to
her. It is unjust.
“But even if the affection which they all entertain for me
should induce one to devote herself, would not a single glance at
the Beast destroy her constancy, and I could not complain. Ah!
Too imperious Beast,” he exclaimed, “you have done this
expressly! By putting an impossible condition to the means, you
offer me to escape your fury - and obtain the pardon of a trifling
fault - you have added insult to injury!
“But,” he continued, “I cannot bear to think of it. I hesitate
no longer; and I would rather expose myself without turning
away from your rage, than attempt a useless mode of escape,
which my paternal love trembles to employ. Let me retrace,” he
said, “the road to this frightful palace, and without deigning to
purchase so dearly the remnant of a life which can never be but
miserable without waiting for the month which is accorded me to
expire, return, and terminate this day my miserable existence!”
At these words, he endeavoured to retrace his steps, but he
found it impossible to turn the bridle of his horse. Allowing
himself, therefore, against his will, to be carried forward, he
resolved at least to propose nothing to his daughters.
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