Beauty and the Beast

by Maria Tatar

  She looked up into the sky. There she saw her seven pups. They had become seven stars, the Pleiades.

  THE SNAKE PRINCE

  India

  Andrew Lang published this story in The Olive Fairy Book and attributed the narrative to a Major Campbell, most likely a British colonial administrator who recorded the tale in Feroshepore (or Firozpur) in Punjab, India. Secrets are the consuming idea in many “Beauty and the Beast” tales, and “The Snake Prince,” with its animal groom redeemed and then re-enchanted, is no exception. In place of the arduous redemptive journeys undertaken by women, this story offers a model of courageous fortitude.

  Once upon a time there lived by herself, in a city, an old woman who was desperately poor. One day she found that she had nothing but a handful of flour left in the house, and no money to buy more and no hope of earning any. Carrying her little brass pot, very sadly she made her way down to the river to bathe and to obtain some water, thinking afterward to come home and to make herself an unleavened cake of what flour she had left. After that she did not know what was to become of her.

  While she was bathing she left her little brass pot on the riverbank covered with a cloth, to keep the inside nice and clean. But when she came up from the river and took the cloth off to fill the pot with water, she saw inside it the glittering folds of a deadly snake. At once she popped the cloth back into the mouth of the pot and held it there; and then she said to herself, “Ah, kind death! I will take you home, and there I will shake you out of my pot and you can bite me and I will die, and then all my troubles will be ended.”

  With these sad thoughts in her mind the poor old woman hurried home, pressing the cloth carefully to the mouth of the pot. When she reached home, she shut all the doors and windows, removed the cloth, and turned the pot upside down on her hearthstone. What was her surprise to find that, instead of the deadly snake she had expected to see fall out, there fell out with a rattle and a clang a most magnificent necklace of flashing jewels!

  For a few minutes she could hardly think or speak, but just stood there gaping. And then, with trembling hands, she picked the necklace up, and folding it in the corner of her veil, she hurried off to the king’s hall where he held public audiences.

  “A petition, O king!” she said. “A petition for your ears alone!” And when her plea had been granted, and she found herself alone with the king, she shook out her veil at his feet, and out fell in glittering coils the splendid necklace. As soon as the king saw it, he was filled with amazement and delight, and the more he looked at it the more he felt that he must possess it at once. So he gave the old woman five hundred silver pieces for it, and put it straightaway into his pocket. Away she went full of happiness, for the money the king had given her was enough to keep her for the rest of her life.

  As soon as he could finish up his royal duties, the king hurried off and showed the prize to his wife. She was as pleased as he was, if not more so. Once they had finished admiring the wonderful necklace, they locked it up in the great chest where the queen’s jewelry was kept, the key to which the king always wore around his neck.

  A short while later, a neighboring king sent a message to say that a most lovely girl baby had been born to him, and he invited his neighbors to come to a great feast in honor of the occasion. The queen told her husband that of course they must be present at the banquet, and she would wear the new necklace that he had given her. They had only a short time to prepare for the journey, and at the last moment the king went to the jewel chest to take the necklace out for his wife to wear, but the necklace was gone and in its place was a chubby little boy baby, crowing and shouting. The king was so astonished that he nearly fell over, but soon he found his voice, and called for his wife so loudly that she came running, thinking that someone must have stolen the necklace.

  “Look! Just look!” cried the king, “Haven’t we always longed for a son? And now heaven has sent us one!”

  “What are you talking about?” cried the queen. “Are you mad?”

  “Mad? No, I hope not,” shouted the king, dancing in excitement around the open chest. “Come here, and take a look! Look what we now have instead of that necklace!”

  Just then the baby boy crowed with joy, as though he would like to jump up and dance with the king. The queen let out a cry of surprise and ran up and looked into the chest.

  “Oh!” she gasped, as she looked at the baby, “what a darling child! Where could he have come from?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know,” the king said. “All I know is that we locked a necklace up in the chest, and when I unlocked it just now there was no necklace, but a baby, and as fine a baby as ever was seen.”

  By this time the queen had the baby in her arms. “Oh, the blessed child!” she cried. “He is a fairer ornament for a queen than any necklace that ever was wrought. Write to our neighbor,” she added, “and tell him that we cannot attend his feast, for we are holding a feast of our own, and a baby of our own! Oh, happy day!”

  So the visit was abandoned, and, in honor of the new baby, the bells of the city, and its guns, and its trumpets, and its people, rich and poor, hardly had a moment’s rest for a week. There was such a ringing, and banging, and blaring, and such fireworks, and feasting, and rejoicing, and merry-making as had never been seen before.

  A few years went by. The king’s baby boy and his neighbor’s baby girl grew and flourished, and the kings arranged that the two would marry as soon as they were old enough. And so, after much signing of papers and agreements, and wagging of wise heads, and stroking of gray beards, the compact was made, and signed, and sealed, and lay waiting for its fulfillment. And this too came to pass, for, as soon as the prince and princess reached the age of eighteen, the kings agreed that it was time for the wedding. The young prince traveled to the neighboring kingdom for his bride, and there they were married with great rejoicing.

  I should now tell you that the old woman who had sold the king the necklace had been summoned by him to serve as nurse to the young prince. Although she loved her charge dearly and was a most faithful servant, she could not help talking just a little, and so, by and by, it began to be rumored that there was some kind of magic mixed in with the young prince’s birth. And the rumors reached the ears of the parents of the princess. Now that she was going to be the wife of the prince, her mother (who was curious, as many other people are) said to her daughter on the eve of the ceremony, “Remember that the first thing you must do is to learn about the prince’s story. And in order to do that, you must not speak a word to him no matter what he says until he asks you why you are silent. Then you must ask him for the truth about his magic birth, and until he tells you, you must not speak to him again.”

  The princess promised to follow her mother’s advice.

  When the two were married, the prince spoke to his bride, but she did not answer him. He could not imagine what was the matter, for she would not utter a word, not even about her old home. Finally he asked why she would not speak, and then she said, “Tell me the secret about your birth.”

  The prince was very sad and disappointed. Although she pressed him hard, he refused to say anything and just told her, “If I tell you, you will regret that you ever asked me.”

  For several months they lived together, and it was not a happy time for the one or the other, as it might have been. A secret is a secret, and it lay between them like a cloud between the sun and the earth, making what could have been fair, dull and sad.

  At length the prince could bear it no longer. One day he told his wife, “At midnight I will reveal my secret if you still want to know it, but you will regret it all your life.” The princess was overjoyed that she had succeeded at last and paid no attention to his warning.

  That night, a little before midnight, the prince ordered horses to be ready for the princess and himself. He placed her on one, and he mounted the other, and the two rode together down to the river t
o the place where the old woman had first found the snake in her brass pot. The prince drew the reins in right there and said mournfully, “Do you still insist on knowing my secret?” The princess answered, “Yes.” “If I tell you,” the prince replied, “remember that you will regret it all your life.” But the princess only replied, “Tell me!”

  “Then,” said the prince, “know that I am the son of the king of a distant country, but by enchantment I was turned into a snake.”

  The word “snake” had hardly left his lips when he disappeared, and the princess heard a rustle and saw a ripple on the water. In the faint moonlight she caught sight of a snake swimming into the river. Soon it disappeared and she was left alone. In vain she waited with a heart beating fast for something to happen, and for the prince to return to her. Nothing happened and no one came. Only the breezes sighed through the trees on the riverbank, and the night birds cried, and a jackal howled in the distance, and the river flowed black and silent beneath her.

  In the morning they found her, weeping and disheveled, on the riverbank. They could not learn anything from her or from anyone else about what had happened to her husband. At her bidding, they built a little house of black stone on the riverbank. And there she dwelt in mourning, with a few servants and guards to watch over her.

  A long, long time passed, and still the princess was living in mourning and would see no one. She never left the house on the riverbank or the garden that surrounded it. One morning, when she woke up, she found a track of fresh mud left on the carpet. She sent for the guards, who kept watch outside the house day and night, and asked them who had entered her room while she was sleeping. They declared that no one could possibly have entered, for they kept such careful watch that not even a bird could fly in without their knowing it. And none of them could explain the track of mud. The next morning, the princess found another stain made by wet mud, and she questioned everyone carefully. But no one could explain how the mud got there. The third night the princess was determined to stay awake. Afraid that she might fall asleep, she cut her finger with a penknife and rubbed salt into the wound so that the pain would keep her from sleeping. And so she lay awake, and at midnight she saw a snake come wriggling along the ground with some mud from the river in its mouth. When it reached her bed, it reared up its head and then let the mud drop on her covers. The princess was frightened, but tried to control her fear, and called out, “Who are you, and what are you doing here?”

  The snake replied, “I am the prince, your husband, and I have come to visit you.”

  Then the princess began to weep, and the snake continued, “Alas! Didn’t I tell you that if I told you my secret you would regret it? And don’t you regret it now?”

  “Oh, indeed!” cried the poor princess, “I have regretted it and shall continue to regret it all my life! Is there nothing I can do?”

  And the snake replied, “Yes, there is one thing you can do, if you dare.”

  “Just tell me what it is,” said the princess. “I will do whatever you ask!”

  “Then on a certain night,” the snake replied, “you must put a large bowl of milk and sugar in each of the four corners of this room. All the snakes in the river will come out to drink the milk, and the one that leads the way will be the queen of the snakes. You must stand in her way at the door, and say: ‘Oh, Queen of Snakes, Queen of Snakes, give me back my husband!’ and perhaps she will do it. But if you become frightened and fail to stop her, you will never see me again.” And he glided away.

  On the night designated by the snake, the princess put four large bowls of milk and sugar into each corner of the room, and stood in the doorway waiting. At midnight there was a great hissing and rustling coming from the direction of the river, and before long the ground appeared to be alive with the horrible writhing forms of snakes. Their eyes glittered, and their forked tongues quivered as they turned in the direction of the princess’s house. Leading them was a huge, repulsive scaly creature at the head of the dreadful procession. The guards were so terrified that they all ran off, but the princess stayed in the doorway, as white as death, with her hands clasped tightly together for fear that she might scream or faint and thus fail to do her part.

  As the snakes drew closer and saw her in the way, they raised their horrifying heads and swayed them back and forth and looked at her with wicked beady eyes, while their breath seemed to poison the very air. Still the princess stood her ground, and, when the leader of the snake procession was within a few feet of her, she cried out: “Oh, Queen of Snakes, Queen of Snakes, give me back my husband!” Then the entire rustling, writhing crowd of snakes seemed to whisper to one another, “Her husband? Her husband?” But the queen of snakes edged forward until her head was almost in the princess’s face, and her little eyes seemed to flash fire. And still the princess stayed in the doorway and would not move, but cried again: “Oh, Queen of Snakes, Queen of Snakes, give me back my husband!” Then the queen of snakes replied, “Tomorrow you shall have him back—tomorrow!”

  When the princess heard these words and knew that she had succeeded, she staggered away from the door, sank down on her bed, and fainted. As if in a dream, she could see that her room was full of snakes, all jostling and squabbling over the bowls of milk until they were done. And then they went away.

  In the morning the princess was up early and took off the mourning dress, which she had worn for five whole years, and put on beautiful, cheerful clothes. And she swept the house, cleaned it, and decorated it with garlands and nosegays of sweet flowers and ferns. She prepared it as though she were preparing for her wedding. And when night fell, she lit up the woods and gardens with lanterns, set a table as if for a feast, and lit a thousand wax candles in the house. Then she waited for her husband, not knowing in what form he would appear. At midnight the prince came marching up from the river, laughing, but with tears in his eyes. And she ran over to meet him and threw herself in his arms, crying and laughing too.

  And so the prince returned home, and the next day the two went back to the palace. The old king wept with joy to see them. And the bells, so long silent, were set a-ringing again, and the guns firing, and the trumpets blaring, and there was fresh feasting and rejoicing.

  And the old woman who had been the prince’s nurse became nurse to the prince’s children—at least that’s what they called her, for she was far too old to do anything for them but love them. Yet she believed she was useful, and she was happy beyond compare. And happy, indeed, were the prince and princess, who in due time became king and queen, and lived and ruled long and prosperously.

  THE SMALL-TOOTH DOG

  England

  The British folklorist Sidney O. Addy collected this story for his Household Tales. In the introduction to his anthology, he explained that he had “either written the tales down from dictation” or had used a “written copy” given to him. This version of “Beauty and the Beast” includes a wonderful inventory of magical objects and, like many other folktales, it emphasizes the damaging effects of name-calling and the redemptive power of words that ennoble and elevate.

  Once upon a time, there was a merchant who traveled about the world a great deal. On one of his journeys thieves attacked him, and they would have taken both his life and his money if a large dog had not come to his rescue and driven the thieves away. When the dog had driven the thieves away he took the merchant to his house, which was a very handsome one, and he dressed his wounds and nursed him until he was well.

  As soon as he was able to travel the merchant began his journey home, but before starting he told the dog how grateful he was for his kindness, and asked him what reward he could offer in return, and he said he would not refuse to give him the most precious thing that he had.

  And so the merchant said to the dog, “Will you accept a fish that I have that can speak twelve languages?”

  “No,” said the dog, “I will not.”

  “Or a goose that
lays golden eggs?”

  “No,” said the dog, “I will not.”

  “Or a mirror in which you can see what anybody is thinking about?”

  “No,” said the dog, “I will not.”

  “Then what will you have?” said the merchant.

  “I will have none of such presents,” said the dog, “but let me fetch your daughter, and take her to my house.”

  When the merchant heard this he was grieved, but what he had promised had to be done, so he said to the dog, “You can come and fetch my daughter after I have been at home for a week.”

  So at the end of the week the dog came to the merchant’s house to fetch his daughter, but when he got there he stayed outside the door, and would not go in. But the merchant’s daughter did as her father told her, and came out of the house dressed for a journey and ready to go with the dog.

  When the dog saw her he looked pleased, and said, “Jump on my back, and I will take you away to my house.” So she mounted on the dog’s back, and away they went at a great pace until they reached the dog’s house, which was many miles off.

  But after she had been a month at the dog’s house she began to mope and cry.

  “What are you crying for?” said the dog.

  “Because I want to go back to my father,” she said.

  The dog said, “If you will promise me that you will not stay at home more than three days I will take you there. But first of all,” said he, “what do you call me?”

  “A great, foul, small-tooth dog,” said she.

  “Then,” said he, “I will not let you go.”

  But she cried so pitifully that he promised again to take her home. “But before we start,” said he, “tell me what you call me.”