The Velveteen Rabbit

This story comes to us from a book by Margery Williams, which bears the alternate title “How Toys Become Real.” It is interesting to think about how many stories there are out there that concern toys becoming real. It seems that as long as children have played with toys, they have fantasized about their being really alive. From Colloddi’s Pinocchio to Milne’s Winnie the Pooh all the way through to Bill Watterson’s comic strip Calvin and Hobbes and the phenomenally successful Toy Story films of Pixar. Only a few months ago, I shared a story of live toys (and a certain penguin of which I know of) with you all. What sets this story apart from so many of these others is that, in this story, the titular rabbit is destined to become real not merely a living toy.

Velveteen, before you ask, is a kind of fabric usually made from cotton which is designed to look and feel somewhat like velvet. It was this material that a toymaker once used to make a lovely little rabbit which was bought by a nice lady and subsequently given to her son as a Christmas gift. The boy was very happy and absolutely loved his new Velveteen Rabbit…for about two hours. By then, he had unwrapped other gifts. Clockwork trains, electric soldiers, and the very latest in video games: 8-Bit graphics and everything!

Okay, that last one’s not right, but I think you get the idea. The rabbit was just velveteen stuffed with sawdust, he didn’t make a noise or move on his own or light up or anything. So, after the Christmas festivities were over, the rabbit was tossed carelessly into the toy chest with all the other toys the boy hardly ever played with but would throw a tantrum if you even suggested giving them away.

Of course, the other toys looked down on the rabbit for being so old-fashioned. They had moving parts and wind-up keys and could move and walk and talk. Some of the fancier toys even pretended to be real.

“And look at you,” said one particularly nasty toy boat. “Have you ever even seen a real rabbit?”

“Real rabbit?” asked our velveteen friend. “What is that?”

“Sort of like you,” said a kind voice from outside the chest. “Only very, very different.” The Velveteen Rabbit looked out of the chest and saw that he was being addressed by a rocking horse, who was perhaps the oldest toy in the room and was very kind and clever. “Don’t let those fancy toys get to you,” he said with a friendly smile. “I’ve seen hundreds of toys come and go in this place. They’re top of the heap one day and the maid is picking up their gears and springs the next.”

“What is real?” asked the Rabbit.

“Not like those toys, I can tell you that. It’s difficult to explain, but when you are real you can move and think on your own. You can live and breathe and eat just like live animals do. There are no toy chests if you’re real, no little boys poking and pawing at you. It means you’re alive and that’s the best thing to be.”

The Velveteen Rabbit wasn’t sure he understood the Rocking Horse’s words, but they did excite him. He thought he’d like to try being real. “How can I be real?” he asked.

“For toys, it’s not easy. It takes love. The love of a child. And I mean a great love. You must be real in his eyes, and then you’ll be real in everyone’s eyes.”

“You’re crazy!” chimed in a toy car. “That’s just an old toys’ tale. Toys don’t become real. We’re built, we’re played with, we wear out, we’re thrown away. That’s the best any of us can hope for!”

Now the Velveteen Rabbit was very confused and he didn’t know who to believe.

The next night, the boy was throwing a fit because he had lost his china dog. This was a little toy dog that he always took to bed with him and he couldn’t sleep without it. The woman called “Nanny” didn’t know what had become of the dog but knew she had to get the boy to sleep soon. So she looked through the toy chest and there she found the Velveteen Rabbit. “Here,” she said. “Remember your bunny? I’m sure he’d like to spend the night with you.”

The boy was hesitant at first, but he gave in eventually and from then on, it was not the china dog, but the Velveteen Rabbit the boy called for when bedtime came. Of course, the fancy, wind-up, clockwork, electric, etcetera toys were shocked and appalled at the Rabbit becoming the boy’s favorite toy, but the Rocking Horse was very proud of his little friend. “You may turn real yet,” he said one night.

But in the meantime, the Rabbit was having so much fun playing with the boy that he hadn’t noticed he was changing. His pretty brown coat was getting duller and shabbier. The pink paint from his nose was almost rubbed off. A few of his seams were getting loose and stuffing began to peek out. He was beginning to wear out, just as the toy car had said he would. One day, the boy had been playing with the Rabbit out in the garden and left him there, so when bedtime came, Nanny had to go get him, clean him off (as best she could) and hand him to the boy.

“I don’t see why you make such a fuss over this toy,” she said as she handed the Rabbit over.

“He’s not a toy!” insisted the boy. “He’s real!”

Real? Thought the Rabbit to himself. Am I real? The boy said so, and the Rocking Horse did say that a child’s love could make me real. If he says I’m real…I must be! I’m real!

That summer, when he and the boy were playing as they always did, the Rabbit found himself left temporarily alone on the lawn. As he sat there, patiently waiting for the boy to return, two very strange creatures hopped over to him. The Velveteen Rabbit didn’t know what they were, but they were, in fact, rabbits. Real rabbits. They stared at the Velveteen Rabbit, who stared back at them, trying to figure out where the wind-up key was.

“Hello,” said the rabbits.

“Hello,” said the Rabbit.

“Would you like to run and play with us?”

“I can’t until my boy comes back.”

“Can’t you move on your own?”

“No. Why can you?”

“Certainly. Because we are real rabbits, whereas you are just a toy rabbit.”

The Velveteen Rabbit was taken aback. “But…but the boy said…he said I was real.”

“Well, look,” said the rabbits patiently, “this is very easy to settle. Can you jump?”

“Not unless the boy tosses me in the air.”

“Can you run?”

“Not unless the boy is holding me.”

“Can you wiggle your nose?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never tried.” He tried. “No, I can’t.”

“Then, I’m sorry, but you’re not a real rabbit like us.” And with that, the rabbits hopped away as the boy came back to play with his now crestfallen toy.

The boy went on loving the Velveteen Rabbit for quite some time. He loved him so hard that he was now quite worn out. He was more gray than brown, he had been repaired by Nanny seven or eight times, and his stuffing was so bent out of shape that he hardly even looked like a rabbit anymore, except to the eyes of the boy, and that’s all that mattered to the Rabbit. No matter what anybody else said, the boy said he was real so real he must be…but that’s when the boy got sick. Very sick.

The Velveteen Rabbit heard snatches of grown-up conversation. Words like “fever” and “scarlet” and “deathly ill.” It was decided that the boy would be taken to the sea-side for some fresh air. But on the day he left, something terrible happened: He left the Velveteen Rabbit behind. And once the boy was well out of the house, in came Nanny and a few maids, all wearing white handkerchiefs over their mouths.

“Okay, you heard the doctor. Everything must be destroyed so the virus can’t spread.” The Velveteen Rabbit, unable to move, watched as they gathered up the boy’s clothes, his bedsheets, his blankets…and his toys! “That rabbit especially,” said Nanny. “He played with that thing morning, noon and night. It must be infected.”

And so the Rabbit, along with many of the boy’s other possessions, were taken outside, far from the house and thrown onto a big pile. Some kind of smelly liquid was poured over it all and then the matches were struck and the fire set.

This is it, thought the Velveteen Rabbit. The toy car was right all along. I was made, played with, I wore out and now I must be destroyed. I shall never be the real rabbit I was when the boy held me close. And as he thought about his horrible fate, a most remarkable thing happened: A single tear, a real tear, rolled down the Rabbit’s cheek and onto the earth below. Suddenly, he couldn’t feel the heat from the flames. And all he could see was a bright, white light, that seemed to be surrounding him. A moment later, he felt that he was not on the bonfire after all, but in a warm, safe place, like when his boy used to cuddle him at night. He didn’t feel quite so shabby anymore, either…

When the next springtime came, the boy went out to play. His scarlet fever was quite gone and he carried with him a fine, new toy rabbit he had been given when he was sick. As he was playing, he saw two real rabbits, one of which looked like any old ordinary brown rabbit. The other, however, looked…familiar.

“That looks just like my old velveteen rabbit,” the boy said. “The one I lost when I got sick.”

The Rabbit smiled in his heart as he looked at the new toy rabbit being held by the boy who had helped bring him to life. But that was the last he ever saw of the boy. He went off with the other real rabbits like himself, and lived very happily ever after.

THE END

NEXT WEEK: "Prince Darling"

Rapunzel

Next Wednesday, Disny’s newest animated fairy tale opens in theatres nationwide. Though it is called Tangled, it is based on this classic tale from the Brothers Grimm, though it has been given a decidely different slant. I just thought that I should bring out my version first, knowing full well that it will suffer by comparison.

No theme seems more prevalent in these tales than the suffering of beautiful women at the hands of jealous, ugly witches. This particular story, however, has an interesting twist, which was explored most expertly by James Lapine and songwriter Stephen Sondheim in their Tony-winning musical Into the Woods. Here the witch keeps Rapunzel not as a trophy, but as a daughter. She truly loves Rapunzel (or as close as she can come to love) and wishes to shield her from the outside world. But her love is selfish, and leads to her eventual destruction, as does all love which is anything less than pure and selfless.

And if you don’t believe that kind of love can exist, you are most definitely reading the wrong blog…heck, you’re probably reading the wrong author.

  

M

any, many years ago, back when you weren’t even born, a baker and his wife lived in a little house near the woods. They were not wealthy, but had everything they really needed. Indeed, the Baker’s Wife was expecting a child.

The funny thing about women when they’re in a family way, is that they tend to get unusual cravings. Some mothers-to-be like odd flavors of ice cream or bizarre food combinations like watermelon and chop suey (ew!). But the Baker’s Wife had a different sort of appetite. See, her bedroom window overlooked the most beautiful vegetable garden in the world. She told her husband that she absolutely needed a salad made from that lettuce.

The funny thing about men whose wives are in a family way, is that they tend to do all manner of stupid things to make their brides happy. Ordinarily, of course, the Baker would not dare fetch any vegetables from that garden, because that garden was kept by a wicked old witch with terrible dark powers. But, the flora of the Witch cast a strange spell on the wife, and she refused all food except the Witch’s Lettuce, so the Baker agreed.

That night, when the Witch was sure to be asleep, he climbed over the garden wall and started picking as many heads of lettuce as he could carry. And just when he had all he could carry and was on his way back over the wall he heard a voice from behind him cry out:

“Stop, thief!”

A bolt of power struck him and he fell from the wall. He looked up and saw the Witch standing over him! A horrible, ugly witch with a hump and a clawlike hand which clutched her magic staff.

“How dare you defile my garden!” cried the Witch. “I should turn you into…into…well, something pretty bad, I can tell you!”

“Please, Madame Witch,” pleaded the Baker. “Have mercy!” He had to say this a few times because the witch wasn’t really listening. She was trying to decide what to change him into.

“Mercy?” she said when she finally snapped out of it. “Why should I be merciful to a petty thief?”

“I’m not a thief, honestly. I only wanted your vegetables for my wife. She is with child and has an uncontrollable desire for greens! And, as everyone knows yours are the finest vegetables in all the kingdom…” This was a pretty lame attempt at sucking up and the witch knew it, but she did stay her hand.

The truth is that witches are not necessarily vindictive and merciless. And this one appreciated the Baker’s predicament. If his wife said she wanted the witch’s lettuce, what could a devoted husband do? And, after all, she had plenty of vegetables to spare…but, darn it, that lettuce was her favorite! And she couldn’t let him get away with it!

“All right,” she said when she had reached her decision. “You may take as much as you wish. But listen well! If you want something from me, I demand something from you!”

“But what could a humble Baker own that is of any value to a witch? We have nothing of any great worth!”

“Don’t you? Did you or did you not, just tell me that your wife was going to have a baby?”

In a fit of desperation, the deal was made. And soon thereafter, the Baker’s Wife gave birth to a beautiful daughter. They begged and pleaded, but the Witch would have none of it. A bargain had been made and the Witch intended the Baker to honor it. However, before she left with the child, she made the Baker and his Wife a promise: That she would protect the child from the evils of the world. And with that, the witch vanished into the night with her stolen daughter.

Seventeen years went by, and the little girl (whom the Witch had named “Rapunzel,” being another word for lettuce) had grown into a great beauty. Fair of skin, fair of voice, fair of manner, fair of eyes…and her hair…well, that was the most remarkable thing of all. She had never had it cut, so it grew down to her feet and well past. She had to be careful when she moved, for fear it would snag on something…

Not that she had that much room in which to move. For, you see, the Witch had been as good as her word to the Baker and his Wife, if not better. She had taken tremendous steps to protect Rapunzel from the outside world. She had even built a large tower in the middle of the forest and shut Rapnuzel inside. She was high above the ground and the tower had no doors, or stairs, and only one small window at the very top. The only way the Witch could get in or out was to climb Rapunzel’s hair like a rope! When she wanted to visit, she stood at the base of the tower and sang out:

Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair

That I may climb the golden stair!

Every time she heard this, Rapunzel was to lower her hair for the Witch to climb up. Once inside, the Witch would bring food or drink, give Rapunzel lessons or simply talk pleasantly of this and that.

Poor Rapunzel. She longed to see the world with her own eyes. Meet people, have adventures…get a bloody haircut! But the Witch said no. There are dangerous things out in the world, and she would not let Rapunzel get herself into trouble. It looked as if no one would be able to free Rapunzel from her unfortunate predicament…

Nobody, that is, until one day, when Prince Roger was traveling through the forest with his right hand man, Count Basie (an unfortunate coincidence). Roger was an adventurer, and always eager to try new things. He saw the world as a challenge to be faced and fought. Count Basie, for his part, wished that his master would go a little easy sometimes, or at least stop forcing the Poor Count to go with him.

Today they were getting lost. Prince Roger would often get deliberately and hopelessly lost, just to see how fast he could find his way again. In this case, however, he was getting loster than he’d ever lost before. Deeper and deeper into the heart of the forest until, if he took one more step, he’d officially be moving out of the forest.

That sentence makes sense, just think about it for a minute.

“Congratulations,” said Count Basie, sarcastically. “You’ve gotten yourself hopelessly lost in uncharted forest to die miserabley of starvation and/or cold. What are you going to do next?”

“First I’m going to fire my sarcastic companion,” said the Prince. “Don’t worry, Count Basie, this is easy. We’ll be out of here in no time. Just listen for birdsong and that will tell us roughly where we are.”

The men listened, and they did hear a song. But it was not a bird’s song. No bird could sing this beautifully. Birds got into fights over who sounded more like this voice. It was a woman’s voice. The most beautiful voice Prince Roger had ever heard. Without waiting for the Count, he pulled his horse’s reins and sped through the woods after the voice.

It was then that he saw Rapunzel’s Tower. He saw the Witch approaching it and calling out:

Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair

That I may climb the golden stair!

And within moments, a beuatiful rope of flaxon hair was lowered and the Witch climbed it and dissapeared within. But this was all Prince Roger needed to hear to know exactly what was happening. The girl, apparently called “Rapunzel” was being held prisoner in this tower by that horrible Witch. He could barely see her through her tiny window as she pulled up her hair, but what he saw was lovely and graceful. And she sang beautifully. This, he reasoned, was enough to rescue her by.

“We should return to the palace,” said Count Basie.

“Yes,” said Roger, not daring to take his eyes away fro Rapunzel. “But tomorrow I will return to this spot, and rescue Rapunzel before that horrible Witch returns.” He said this with great determination, then proceeded to navigate his way out of the woods in less than five minutes.

The next day, Rapunzel was reading a book when she heard a familiar phrase:

Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair

That I may climb the golden stair!

Obediently, Rapunzel lowered her hair in the usual way. She started wrapping it around the bedpost about a foot and a half from her scalp and lowered the rest out the window so that the tugging wouldn’t hurt her (you’d be surprised how long it took her to figure that one out). She was shocked, however, when her visitor turned out to be not the Witch, but rather a handsome young man in expensive-looking clothes. Indeed, he looked every bit like a prince from a picture book…which, I guess, he is, in a sense.

“Who are you?” she said.

“My name is Prince Roger,” said the young man, bowing elegantly. “I assure you, I mean you no harm.”

“Why have you come here? How did you find me?”

The Prince explained briefly the events of the previous day and how he simply had to meet the woman who sang so beautifully. He asked Rapunzel how she came to be locked up in this tower, but when he described her captor as a terrible, evil witch, he was surprised when Rapunzel seemed offended.

“Don’t talk about my mother that way!”

“Your…your mother?” said the Prince, incredulously. So, Rapunzel told Roger the whole story. How the only family she ever knew was the Witch, and how in her attempts to take care of her, the old hag had locked her away from the world.

“I know she loves me,” said Rapunzel. “But I wish to see the world with my own eyes.”

“Let me help you,” said Prince Roger. “Let me take you away from all this. I can show you the world.”

“That would be wonderful,” said Rapunzel. “But there are a few problems.”

“Like what?”

“First of all, I barely know you! You cannot expect me to run off with some stranger.”

“A prince?”

“Still!”

“You are right. I will return tomorrow at this same time. And every day until you love me as much as I feel I love you.” With that he bowed again and descended Rapnuzel’s hair.

And, for the next month, every single day at the exact same time, the Prince returned to Rapunzel’s side. They talked on every subject, they played simple games, they fell deeper and deeper in love. Until at last the day came when Rapunzel lowered her eyes and said to her Prince:

“I love you. And I wish for you to take me away from this place.”

“I will. Tomorrow, when I come to see you, I will bring with me a rope ladder. I will climb your hair and we will tie it to the window. Then we will climb down together and take you far away from this terrible tower.” With a kiss, Prince Roger was gone, elated by his newfound love.

The next day, at the usual time, the Witch returned to the tower and called out:

Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair

That I may climb the golden stair!

Rapunzel did as she was asked. Moments later, the Witch was in the tower, teaching Rapunzel to play the lute, for some reason. She was having a hard time paying attention, because, sure enough, her mind kept floating back to the handsome prince and his promise of freedom. But, glad though she was to be running away with him, she felt terrible betraying her mother after all these years. She knew she couldn’t just leave without talking to her.

“Mother,” said Rapunzel when she had summoned up all her courage. “You love me, don’t you?”

“My child, of course I love you.”

“Then why do you keep me locked up in this tower?”

“Rapunzel, my precious, it is precisely because I love you that I keep you in this tower. Have you any idea what the outside world is like? There are dangerous, treacherous things out there. Things that a child like yourself must be protected from.”

“I do not feel like a child anymore. I wish to see the world.”

“You may see what you want through your window. You may see the cruelty of men, the savagery of nature, the unfairness of life.”

“Yes, but I want to see them for myself. I want to see the good and the bad of life. I want my own experiences. I want freedom.”

“Enough!” yelled the Witch. “You are mine! I will do with you as I wish. And I do not wish for you to see the world.”

“That is not for you to decide. I have made that decision for myself.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have had another visitor. A prince. He loves me, Mother. And I him. This evening he will come for me and set me free. Then I will never see you again as long as I live!”

“This is how you repay me? I have cared for you as my own all your life, and you dare speak to me in this way? I will teach you a lesson you will never forget!” And with that, the Witch took out a large, sharp knife and cut all of Rapunzel’s hair off. Then, using her magic, she took Rapunzel away from the tower and dragged her to a tiny cottage far, far from anywhere and locked her inside. Here Rapunzel wept, knowing that she might never see her beloved Prince again.

Meanwhile, the Prince was on his way back to the tower with the ladder he had promised to bring. Count Basie was along, too because, in those days, when a couple was eloping, the groom chose his best friend to help them make their getaway. He always chose his best, most reliable friend and this led to our modern tradition of having a “best man” at a wedding.

No, really. Look it up.

When he got to the tower, he stood at the base and sang out:

Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair

That I may climb the golden stair!

In a moment, the long hair was lowered and the Prince climbed up. But when he got inside he saw not Rapunzel, but the Witch! She had taken all the hair that she had cut off and tied it to the bedpost to fool the Prince. Then, with a wave of her magic staff, the Witch pushed the Prince out of the window where he fell on some thorny bushes, piercing his eyes and blinding him.

Count Basie took his friend back to the palace where the king’s physicians were unable to do a thing to help him. He would be blind for life. When the doctors had left, Prince Roger called his friend close to him.

“Basie, you are more than just a servant, more than a companion. You are my brother. And I need your help now more than ever.”

“Yes, your high—Yes, Roger?”

“Find her.”

“What?”

“Find her. The witch has hidden her from me, but you must find her.”

“How do you know she did not simply destroy your beloved when she found out about you?”

“Because she loves Rapunzel. She could no more hurt her than I could. You must help me find her again.”

The Count could not refuse and acting on Prince Roger’s orders, he assembled all the king’s guards, all the best hunters and warriors, and anybody else who answered his classified ad. “Somewhere in the wide world,” he said to the assembled throng, “there is a beautiful young girl of about eighteen. Her hair is the color of the first rays of dawn. Her voice is the voice of the angels. Her name is ‘Rapunzel.’ And, provided we can track her down, she will be our prince’s bride.”

The search was on. Good men and true formed search parties that covered the countryside like a vast shadow. And, to their credit they found quite a lot. They found a funny little man who claimed to be able to spin straw into gold, a house made out of gingerbread and candy, a frog who swore blind that he used to be a prince, several talking animals, a very small girl whose best friend was a bird, and a bear of very little brain who…no, sorry, that’s another book.

The point is, they found no sign of Rapunzel. Until one fateful day many, many months later, when Count Basie, almost despairing of ever finishing his mission, tripped over something in the underbrush. At first he thought it was a vine, but it was too stringy and thing and…and…blonde!

It was hair! He followed it like a set of footprints and it led him to a small clearing with an even smaller cottage right in the center. A stream running next to the cottage seemed to stop at the end of the clearing, which was enough to convince Count Basie that it was magic. That’s why they hadn’t been able to find her before now. The witch created this magic glade so that it could not be found. But Rapunzel’s hair must’ve outgrown the spell, for it led the Count right to her door.

To knock on her door, explain the situation and help her up on his horse was, with Basie, the work of a moment…the next part, however, took much longer, when they realied her hair was waaay too long for a horseback ride through the woods and they gave her an impromptu haircut with the Count’s sword. Once that was sorted, they raced back to the palace as fast as they could and Rapunzel was let in to see the prince.

“Rapunzel?” he said. “Is that you?”

“Oh, my beloved!” cried Rapunzel upon seeing his sightless eyes. “What has that horrible witch done to you?”

“It’s all right, Rapunzel. I don’t need my eyes to know how beautiful you are, or to hear your heavenly voice…or to love you.”

This was too much for Rapunzel and she wept. The Prince held her in his arms and dried her tears with his hand. At that moment, his eyes began to itch and he rubbed them with the same hand. And the minute her tears touched his eyes, his sight was restored!

Rapunzel and the prince were married the very next day, and (except for the days when Rapunzel couldn’t do a thing with her hair) they lived very happily ever after.

THE END

If You Liked My Story, You Might Enjoy:

• “Faerie Tale Theatre” (TV) Series host Shelley Duvall is Rapunzel and Jeff Bridges is her prince.
• Tangled (2010) Go see it during your Thanksgiving break. Mandy Moore is the girl in the tower with magic hair and Zachary Levi (TV’s “Chuck”) is the dashing thief who becomes her unlikely hero.

Next week: A Thanksgiving Special

Beauty and the Beast

Originally written by Jeanne-Marie LePrince de Beaumont, it has been adapted for the stage, made into a ballet, a television series and countless movies. Of course, the best known version of this story must be the animated musical from Walt Disney pictures with songs by Alan Menken and Howard Ashman. In truth, Walt himself had been interested in the story for quite some time, but kept on hitting a wall in terms of story development. It was Howard Ashman who, twenty years after Walt passed away, uncovered the single element of the story which was being neglected by the film’s creators:

The Beast’s Humanity.

All versions of this story walk a fine line with the Beast. How human can be how and how beastly? He has to be frightening beyond belief when he is first introduced but when he softens at the end, we have to believe that it’s possible for Beauty to fall in love wth him. I only hope that my Beast comes across this way, and if he does, it’s only because of Mr. Ashman’s inspiration. We lost a great talent when he passed away, so it is to his memory that this story is humbly dedicated.

T

here was once a wealthy merchant who had six children. Three boys and three girls, to be precise. Now, the two older girls were very pretty, but very spoiled and selfish and stupid. They were cruel to the servants, disrespectful to their elders and fickle in their romantic affairs, as each had several boyfriends at any given moment. But the one person these two girls hated more than any other was their younger sister, Beauty.

Now her name wasn’t really Beauty, but ever since she was a baby, her father had called her “Little Beauty,” and now that she was quite a young woman, the name had stuck, so everyone knew her as Beauty. The name fit her better than any other could because in addition to being very fair of face and figure, she was beautiful on the inside. What does that mean? Well, for one thing she was very gentle and kind and good-natured. She always said “please” and “thank you,” even to the servants, she showed respect to others by calling them “sir” or “madam,” and her favorite pasttime was reading, so she was very clever.

Not surprising then that her sisters resented her so.

Well, things were going just fine for the family until, quite suddenly, the merchant lost everything. His entire fortune! Now he and his children would have to leave their vast estate and spend the rest of their days in a small farmhouse in the country, where they would have to work to feed themselves. Of course, Beauty’s sisters were outraged at the very thought of living like (ugh!) commoners and decided that they would instead marry one of their many suitors and…oh, right. It turns out that the only resaon the boys put up with the sisters’ cruelty and selfishness is because of how wealthy they were. Now that they were poor, they had no further offers of marriage and were doomed to the farmhouse with their father and brothers.

As for Beauty herself, at first, naturally, she was upset at the thought of losing her wealth. But, she dried her eyes and said to herself, “Crying won’t change anything. This is the way things are now and I might as well make the most of it. Besides, it might be an exciting new adventure for us all!”

It was saying things like this that made her sisters hate her the way they did.

So the merchant and his brood relocated to the country and, after a while, it must be said that they were getting along all right. The boys worked the fields and tended the animals and the girls kept house…and by “the girls” I of course mean “Beauty and no one else” because her sisters refused to do anything more strenuous than brushing their own hair. It’s fair to say they weren’t adjusting as well as Beauty. And, to make matters worse, Beauty’s positive attitude just made her sisters hate her even more. “She’s trying to make us look bad,” they would whisper just loud enough to be heard. But despite their disdain, Beauty was compassionate toward her sisters and loved them with all her heart, which was, of course, the most beautiful thing about her.

One day, the merchant had loaded up his cart to go into town to sell his wares. The path to the town led through the forest, but as the weather was clear and the sun was shining, he wasn’t afraid. He asked his children if there was any special present they would like him to pick up for them while he was in town. His boys asked for new farming implements so that they could do their work better (a fine trio of young gentlemen, these boys, which is why it’s too bad they don’t have more to do in this story). His two elder daughters wanted jewels and trinkets and new dresses and silks and satins and things.

But Beauty asked for nothing.

“I don’t need anything, Father, only come home as quick as you can,” she said when she was asked. Of course, her sisters thought she was trying to show them up again, so, more to appease them than anything, she said, “All right, if you must bring me something, let me have…a rose. They are scarce this time of year, and I do love roses.” And so saying, she waved goodbye to her father…never dreaming that her humble request would change the course of her entire life and the lives of her whole family!

This is called “foreshadowing” and it’s great for adding drama.

The merchant was in high spirits as he traveled through the forest to the market place where he was to sell his goods. The birds were singing, the sunlight streamed in through the branches of the trees and cute, furry little woodland creatures abounded, and all looked up as he passed, as if to say “Good morning!” It was, all in all, a most enchanting scene, such as one would expect to find in…well, in a fairy tale, I suppose.

The same, unfortunately, could not be said for his return trip. No sooner had he reached the city limits when he had been robbed of everything he owned! His money, his watch, his pencil (one of those really good ones, you know?) not to mention everything he was going to sell. They left him his horse, and nothing else, and that’s just because the horse was so old and run down that the robbers expected him to drop dead at any moment. Now the woods seemed an altogether more forboding sight for the merchant and his horse. For one thing, he had not planned to return home until the following morning. But, having nothing to keep him in town any longer, or even money to pay for loding, he had turned back that very day, and night was falling. Not only night, but a terrible storm was brewing. The wind blew so hard it nearly blew the poor old merchant off his horse. But when the wind finally died down, the merchant made a terrifying discovery:

He was hopelessly lost in the woods.

The storm had blinded him and he had missed his way. Now it was the dead of night, freezing cold, the merchant himself was soaking wet and he had no idea where he was or who, if anybody, could help him. He was beginning to fear he would die in that wood when all of a sudden he came upon a most unexpected sight.

For there, in a clearing in the middle of the forest, was a castle. A giant stone castle, with iron gates all around. It was an old castle, and not in very good condition, but it was shelter and that’s what the merchant needed. He entered the courtyard through the gate and looked around for somebody, anybody who might be able to help him. Finding no one, he took his horse around to the stable and tied him up while he himself went into the castle.

The castle was massive on the inside and almost as dark and cold as the forest he had just left. “Hello” he called out in all directions, “Is anybody home?” He called for quite some time but got no answer. Finally, he came upon a dining room and there, to his great surprise, was a dining table…well, no, that’s not what I mean. Of course there was a dining table, that wasn’t a great surprise, that’s what you expect to find in a dining room. I mean…sorry, I got a little excited. What was surprising was that the table was set up with food and wine. It was just as if he was expected. “They won’t object, I am sure,” thought the merchant, and he sat down and ate his fill. Then he continued to search the castle for someone who could tell him where he was. Instead, he found a bedroom which, like the dining room, had been made up as though he was expected. The bed was turned down there was a roaring fire in the fireplace. “I am very cold and tired,” he thought and, assuming that his host, whoever he was, wouldn’t object, he undressed, got into bed and went right to sleep…

The next morning, the merchant woke up to another surprise. His clothes had been cleaned and pressed and were laid out for him on a chair next to the bed. He dressed and continued to explore the castle. It was much less frightening in the daytime, he had to admit, and there were gold and jewels and riches everywhere he looked. The pantry was full of sumptuous food, the rooms were full of oppulent and luxurious furnishings, as a matter of fact the only thing there didn’t seem to be any of was people.

As he wandered through the rooms, the merchant’s eye fell upon an opened window which looked out on a flower garden below. At once he remembered his promise to Beauty to bring her a rose. So, he went outside, took a few roses in his hand and cut them from the bush to make a bouquet. But, as he finished cutting the stems, he perceived a shadow looming over him. He turned around and what he saw shocked him more than anything he had ever seen.

It was a beast! An enormous, eight-foot-tall monster covered in thick brown fur. His hands were giant paws which ended in razor sharp claws. His mouth was snarling and the merchant could see a row of terrifyingly sharp teeth. There was nothing remotely human about this monstrosity…except his eyes. But even these were twisted in an angry glare as they looked down on the merchant with raw hatred. Perhaps the humanity the merchant saw in the beast’s eyes made his visage all the more terrifying.

“I welcomed you into my home,” the Beast bellowed, and his deep, mighty voice seemed to emenate from deep within his hideous body, “I gave you food and rest. And this is how you repay my hospitality? Cutting my roses like a common thief? I should tear you limb from limb!”

The merchant fell to his knees, “Please, be merciful, Mr…er…Beast. I meant no harm. The roses were meant as a present for my daughter. Won’t you forgive me?”

“If what you say is true, I shall not begrudge you the roses. However, you have taken advantage of my good nature and for this you must pay.” The Beast seemed to consider things for a moment, and then said, “How many daughters do you have?” A curious question, but the merchant answered, three, and at this the Beast raised an eyebrow. “You may return home this very day. But one of your daughters must take your place. One of them must elect to come here of their own free will and arrive at my door within two days. If none of your daughters will do this, you must return yourself within two days. Do you understand?” The merchant said he did and thanked the Beast for his compassion. “There is a large, empty trunk in the room where you spent the night,” the Beast continued. “Fill it with anything you would like from my castle, shut it and lock it. Then take your horse and go home. The trunk will be waiting for you when you get back.” With that, the Beast turned and went back inside.

Well, the merchant was in a terrible predicament, but he reasoned that it would be best to do as the Beast commanded. He went upstairs and filled the turnk with golden candlesticks, satin pillows, diamonds, rubies, silks (new farm implements from the barn) and anything else he could fit inside, closed the lid and turned the lock. Then he went to the stable, untied his horse and rode home. Even though he was unsure where he was, the horse seemed to know the way.

Upon arriving at his home, however, the merchant was faced with the unpleasant task of explaining the situation to his children. He told them the whole story of what had transpired between himself and the Beast and, when he was done, reached into his coat pocket and held out the roses he had cut, handing them to Beauty. “Here, my child,” he said, sadly, “as I promised.”

“How dare you!” cried Beauty’s sisters. “You and your stupid roses! I hope you like them, because they’ve cost our dear father his very life!”

“They have done no such thing,” said Beauty. “The Beast said that if one of us would go to him of our own free will, that Father would be spared. It was my roses that started all this…so I shall go.”

“No, don’t say that,” said her father. “Don’t even think it. You are young and have years and years of life ahead of you. It is a father’s duty to lay down his life for his children, not the other way around. Now I’ll hear no more of this.” But that night, while everyone else slept, Beauty rose, dressed and climbed on her father’s horse, who, again, knew the way as if by magic. And when the merchant awoke the next morning, it was to find his youngest child gone into the woods to live with a monster.

The sun was just rising as Beauty had arrived at the Beast’s castle. Whereas her father had found the castle seemingly unoccupied, the Beast was standing at the gate waiting for Beauty.

“What is your name?” asked the Beast.

“Beauty, sir,” replied the girl.

“You understand what is happening?”

“Yes, sir. I am to be your prisoner in my father’s place.”

“You will have the freedom of the castle. Plenty to eat and drink, a warm bed, books to read, musical instruments to play…but you may never leave the castle as long as you live. Do you agree to this of your own free will?”

“I do,” replied Beauty, wiping a tear from her eye as she did so.

The Beast showed her to her room and gave her a brief tour of the castle. In spite of herself, Beauty had to admit that one could not wish for a better prison. It was the most beautiful place she had ever seen. Her bed was so warm and soft it was like sleeping on a cloud. The fireplace seemed to have a life of its own and would burn hotter when it was cold and die down when it was too warm. All the food she ate was so wonderfully delicious that it seemed to melt in her mouth. And the castle library was full of more books than Beauty could read in her whole life.

In fact, it would have been downright idyllic had it not been for the Beast himself. For though he had shown her nothing but politeness and consideration since her arrival, she was still very frightened of him. She fancied she heard him growling and roaring when she wasn’t around. Some nights she even had nightmares that the Beast had gone mad and was going to devour her alive! But frightened though she was, she would never let the Beast see her fear. When they were together at supper (one of the Beast’s rules was the Beauty had to dine with him every night), she was kind, respectful, and made a valiant effort to look him in the eye. But his face was so hideous and monstrous that it was not easy.

The Beast, for his part, sensed her discomfort and so made an extra effort to change for her. He gave her whatever she wanted, bowed when she passed, did everything he could to make her less afraid. And, over time, it began to work. Indeed, after only a few months, Beauty was able to look at him without a twinge of fear. In fact, when the Beast injured himself (broken wineglass, an unforseeable consequence of being a great, hulking behemoth trying to be polite and refined), she was even able to tend to his wound, even touching his hand without recoiling in terror. It was then that both Beauty and the Beast realized what had happened:

They had become friends.

And that evening, as they said good night to each other, the Beast asked the question he had been longing to ask for ages: “Beauty,” he asked, “do you love me?”

“I care for you as a dear friend,” said Beauty. “But, no. In my heart I do not love you.”

The Beast asked this question every night from then on. And every night Beauty gave the same answer. After a while, the Beast began to lose hope that she would ever love him.

“Beauty,” he asked one morning, “are you quite happy?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied. “I am very happy here. Except…”

“What?”

“Well…I know I promised never to leave, and I will keep my promise. I just miss my family so much. My father, my brothers and…yes, even my sisters. I want so much to see them again.”

The Beast thought about this for a moment, then said with a sigh, “If that is what you wish, then you should go to them. I will release you from your promise for one week. But you must give me your solemn word that you will return to me within one week.”

Beauty gave her word and, as with her father before, she was allowed to fill a trunk with anything she liked before she left. This she did, closed it and locked it before saying a final farewell and thank you to the Beast and getting on her horse to go home.

And what a wonderful week it was. In the time she had been gone, her father’s hard work had paid off and they were all quite wealthy again. Not as wealthy as before, but they were no longer impoverished (of course the trunk from the Beast’s castle didn’t hurt). Everyone was delighted to see Beauty again, even her sisters who, since saying goodbye to Beauty so long ago had quite reformed and were much nicer people than they were before.

“However did you escape that terrible monster?” they all asked her.

“You don’t understand,” said Beauty. “He isn’t a terrible monster. He looks frightful and, I’ll admit, I was afraid of him for quite some time, but I have gotten to know him since then and I find him very kind, very gentle. The truth is we are quite good friends. Which is why I must be sure to return to him in a week’s time.”

Her family was disappointed at the thought of losing her again, but understood that she had given her solemn word. But, as the week came to an end, something terrible happened. Beauty was having such a good time with her father and her brothers and sisters that she completely lost track of the days and before she knew it, ten days had passed since she left the Beast’s castle. When she realized what she had done, she climbed up on her horse and rode full speed back into the forest to beg the Beast’s forgiveness.

When she got to the castle, however, the Beast was not waiting for her at the gate as he had been the last time. In fact, he was nowhere to be seen. She searched through the whole castle, before finally, she spotted him. She glanced through a window, which looked down on the flower garden, the very same window her father had looked through when he saw the roses he was going to give to Beauty. But instead of roses, Beauty saw the figure of her friend, the Beast, lying prone on the ground. She ran to his side and found he was very weak indeed.

“You did not return,” the Beast said, very weakly. “I thought…I thought you had forgotten me.”

“I meant to return, I did,” said Beauty. “And had I known what it has done to you, I never would have left you. And I never will again, I swear it.”

“Beauty,” said the Beast, struggling with every breath, “Do…do you…love me?”

“I care for you as a dear friend,” said Beauty. “And…yes. In my heart, I love you.”

Upon hearing this, the Beast rolled his head back and shut his eyes. Believing him to be dead, Beauty fell upon him and wept into his lifeless form. But as she wept, she felt the fur beneath her hands vanish. The body she clutched so desperately shrunk and changed shape, so that when she opened her eyes she saw, not a hideous monster…but a man. A beautiful young man, opening his eyes and looking around.

“I…I am changed!” the man cried. “Beauty, you have set me free.” But Beauty was confused and frightened and shyed away from the beautiful stranger. “Beauty, please. Look into my eyes. It’s me. Your dear friend, the Beast.”

“It is you,” she said when she had looked into his eyes. “But how?”

“Many years ago, a wicked witch cast a spell on me, turning me from the prince you see now into the beast you’ve come to know. The only way I could break the spell was for a young maiden to give herself to me freely and willingly. That is why you needed to come to me of your own free will and why I asked you every night if you loved me.”

“And I do,” said Beauty. “I love you with all my heart.”

“And I you,” said her prince and he took her in his arms and kissed her.

Well, you can probably guess the rest of the story. Beauty and her prince returned to the merchant’s home and explained the whole thing to the girl’s family. Then the whole family moved into the castle where Beauty and her prince were married and bore many fine children, children of inteligence, grace, compassion, honor and…of course…beauty.

           

THE END

If You Liked My Story, You Might Enjoy:

•  “Faerie Tale Theatre” (TV) Susan Sarandon as Beauty and Anglica Huston as one of her sisters
• Beauty and the Beast (1991) The award-winning animated musical with Paige O’Hara and Robbie Benson in the title roles.
• “Beauty and the Beast” (TV) Contemporized version of the tale which ran for three years on television starring Linda Hamilton as “Catherine” (Beauty) and Ron Perlman as “Vincent” (The Beast)

NEXT WEEK: “Cinderella”