Beauty and the Beast

Beauty and the Beast. There was once a house in a bustling French port town, where the windows were always dirty with salt, and the rooms were always full of noise. It was a grand house, three stories high, with marble fireplaces and carpets so thick, they swallowed the sound of footsteps. The man who owned it was a merchant, and for many years, every wind that blew across the ocean seemed to blow money straight into his pockets. His ships sailed to the far corners of the earth, returning with chests of cinnamon, rolls of heavy silk, and jars of sweet oils. He had three sons and three daughters, and because he loved them dearly, he spared no expense on their education. The two eldest daughters spent their days in balls and operas, wearing dresses that rustled like dry leaves, and talking of nothing but dukes and marquises. They were handsome girls, but they carried their heads so high that they rarely saw the people beneath them. The youngest daughter, however, was different. When she was a baby, she was so remarkably pretty that everyone called her the little beauty. And as she grew older, the name simply stayed with her. She was called beauty, not only because her face was pleasing, but because her mind was quiet and her heart was steady. While her sisters spent their afternoons looking into their mirrors or whispering about who was the richest man in the province, Beauty sat by the window with a book. She loved stories of old voyages, of distant lands, and of people who had to be brave when the world changed around them. And then, in a single night, the world did change. A letter arrived, followed by another, and then a third, like a row of falling dominos. One of the merchant's richest ships had been wrecked on a reef. Another had been seized by pirates. A third had been lost in a sudden violent storm in the Atlantic. Within a week, the grand house in the port was gone, sold to pay the merchant's debts. The carriages were sold, the silk dresses were packed away, and the servants were dismissed with tears and empty hands. "We are ruined," the merchant told his children, his hands trembling as he held his spectacles. "We have nothing left but a small cottage in the depths of a dark forest, miles from any town. We must go there and learn to live by the labor of our hands." The two eldest sisters wept and raged. "We cannot live in a forest," they cried. "We are ladies. Our friends will come and rescue us." But their friends, finding that the merchant was no longer rich, suddenly found themselves too busy to visit. Only Beauty did not cry. "It is no use weeping," she thought. "Tears will not grow corn, and they will not sweep a floor." When they arrived at the cottage, which was small, damp, and smelled of old pine needles, the family had to learn a completely new way of being. The three brothers took up axes and spades, clearing the wild earth to plant potatoes and cabbage. The merchant rose before dawn to tend the small field, and Beauty became the keeper of the hearth. Every morning, she rose at 4:00. She carried water from the well, built the fire, and made bread. Her hands, which had once been soft and white, grew chapped and brown, but she found that the work kept her warm and her mind clear. When her chores were done, she would sit under a great oak tree and read her books, or play a small spinet her father had managed to save from the ruin. Her sisters, however, did not adapt. They did not rise until 10:00 in the morning, and they spent the day sitting on three-legged stools, complaining of the draft and the smell of the cabbage. "Look at her," the eldest sister would whisper, watching Beauty sweep the stone floor. "She has the soul of a servant. She is perfectly happy in this miserable place." But Beauty was not a servant. She was simply free. She had learned that…

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