Classic Storybook Fables Page 3

gaze. “No, Beast,” she said at last. “I am sorry,

  but I can’t.”

  The Beast heaved a deep, sad sigh that drifted

  through the room and echoed down the hallways. “Good

  night, Beauty,” he said as he turned and followed the echo of

  his own sigh into the darkness.

  Alone in the room, Beauty couldn’t help but wonder at the strangeness of her

  new life and marvel at how truly sorry she felt for the most unhappy Beast. Over

  the next several months, Beauty grew accustomed to her new home. She filled her

  days with activities and began to look forward to her evenings with the Beast; for

  every night at nine o’clock, the Beast would join her in the dining room for dinner.

  Throughout the day she would see or read something and think, “I must remember

  to tell the Beast about that.” Many evenings she would bring a book, and after the

  meal was cleared away by invisible hands, she would read to him. Or perhaps she

  would bring her harp and play a new piece she had learned.

  Every night, she hoped that whatever new pastime she offered would divert

  him from asking the same awful question. But every night, even if she read the

  most wonderful story or played the loveliest music, she could still feel his gaze

  upon her and see in his sad eyes how deeply his soul ached. Then, as the story

  ended, or the last note faded, the dreaded question would come: “Beauty, will you

  be my wife?”

  And every night, she replied with the equally dreaded answer: “No, Beast. I

  can’t. . . . ”

  Then one night, just as he was about to speak, Beauty spoke first. “Beast,

  please. I know what you are about to ask, and every night, it breaks my heart to

  give you the same answer. You are my dearest friend, and I hate to hurt you. I care

  for you so deeply, Beast, but as a friend.” Beauty turned her face away, trying to

  hide her tears.

  “Beauty, I have made you unhappy,” the Beast said sadly. “I fear only one

  thing in this life—that you will go away and never return. Because if you do, I

  will die. I will never ask you that question again if you promise that you will live

  here forever.”

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  “I will make that promise,” Beauty answered, “but first I must ask a favor.”

  Ever since noticing how frail her father looked when she last saw him, she had been

  worried about his health. “Please, let me see my father once more.”

  “You can see him tomorrow,” the Beast replied. “But if you do not return, I

  will die.”

  “I promise to be gone for only one week, and then when I return, I will stay

  with you always,” Beauty said.

  “Take this ring,” the Beast said as he gave it to her. “You need only turn it

  around your finger three times before you go to sleep tonight. Tomorrow morning

  you will awaken in your father’s house. In the same way, you can return here

  anytime you choose. But remember, if you stay away longer than seven days, you

  will return to find me no more.

  “Good-bye, Beauty,” said the Beast, but as he started to go, he paused to look

  at her one last time. It was only a moment, just long enough for Beauty to catch a

  glimpse of a tear glistening in the monster’s eye, and then he was gone.

  That night, Beauty followed the Beast’s instructions, and the next morning,

  she awoke in her father’s house. The old man laughed and cried with joy as he

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  hugged his beloved Beauty. Word was sent to her sisters, and soon they arrived

  with their new husbands. As it turned out, using the dowries that their father had

  provided, the sisters had managed to find mates who were equal to them in every

  unpleasant way—equally proud in character and cruel in nature. At first, the sisters

  pretended to be thrilled to have Beauty back again, but when they saw how elegantly

  she was dressed and learned how happy she was in her palatial home, they were

  overcome with envy and soon went back to their old spiteful ways, treating Beauty

  more like their servant than their sister.

  Within days, Beauty had grown weary of their mistreatment and longed to

  return to the kindness of the Beast. When she told her family that she must leave

  at the end of the week or her friend would die, the cruel sisters immediately realized

  how they could destroy her happiness. Suddenly, they were oozing with sweetness.

  “Oh, little sister,” they begged through false tears, “please stay just a few more

  days—we love you so!”

  Beauty was touched. Her whole life, she had so yearned to be cared for by these

  evil creatures that she fell into their trap. Seven, and then eight, and then nine

  days passed.

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  On the night of the ninth day, she had a frightful dream in which she ran

  through the palace searching in vain for the Beast. Finally, she found him lying on

  the ground in the garden—dead. She woke up crying, twisted the ring around her

  finger three times, and drifted back to sleep. When she awoke the next morning,

  she was home in the palace of the Beast. Just as in her dream, she ran from room

  to room, hoping to find him. Frantic, she ran into the garden, where her nightmare

  came true—for there, on the ground by the fountain, lay her Beast.

  “Beast!” she cried and ran to him, but he didn’t move. She shook him, trying

  to revive him, but he still didn’t respond. In utter despair, she fell onto him and

  wept. “Oh, Beast!” she cried. “Please don’t die! Not now that I finally know how

  much you mean to me. Not now that I know that I love you! Please, open

  your eyes and ask me that question again so I can tell you how much I

  want to be your wife!”

  Suddenly, a violent shudder ran through the

  Beast, and he breathed a long, deep sigh.

  Fearing this was the end, Beauty

  jumped back.

  The air was filled with a rushing sound, and as she turned to look, the entire

  palace glowed with a brilliant light, and fireworks lit up the sky. When she turned

  back, she found a handsome prince lying in the monster’s place. His eyes opened,

  and he sat up.

  “Beauty,” he said, “your love has saved my life! Many years ago, an evil witch

  turned me into a beast and said the only way the curse could be broken was if a

  beautiful woman told me she loved me and would consent to be my wife.”

  Overjoyed, Beauty gave the Prince her hand and helped him to his feet.

  Together they entered the light-filled palace. To Beauty’s surprise, her family was

  gathered there. The lovely woman who had appeared to Beauty in her dream was

  indeed a fairy, and it was she who had worked to help undo the witch’s evil spell.

  “Beauty,” the fairy said, taking her hand, “you will be rewarded not only for

  your steadfast love and devotion to your father but also for learning to overcome

  your fear of a beast to find the true, kind heart that beat within. You shall remain

  in this palace and take your rightful place beside your prince.”

  “As for you, ladies,” the fairy said, turning to the sisters, “your pride and

  cruelty have earned you quite another reward. You will stand at t
he palace doors as

  stone statues and will silently watch your sister’s happiness until you realize the

  pain you have caused and admit your mistakes. You will, I fear, remain statues for

  a long time.”

  With a wave of her wand, all was accomplished. The Prince’s lands and his

  subjects were all restored to him. The royal couple ruled with wisdom and kindness

  and lived happily ever after.

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  The Crow and the Pitcher

  A VERY THIRSTY CROW

  came upon a pitcher. Having looked far and wide for

  something to drink, the parched bird peered into the jug.

  “At last,” she said, “a bit of water.” But unfortunately for her, the vessel’s

  narrow neck kept her from reaching the cool water at the bottom, no matter how

  hard she tried. Discouraged but far from giving up on the possibility of quenching

  her thirst, she took a moment to think things over.

  “Aha!” she cried. “I have an idea!” The crow began picking up nearby pebbles

  and dropping them into the pitcher. With every stone that plunked into the old jug,

  the water level was raised just a bit. Pebble by pebble, the clever bird kept raising the

  level of the water until at last a cool drink was within reach.

  “Ah,” sighed the refreshed crow, “so it’s true. Necessity is the mother of

  invention!”

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  MANY YEARS AGO

  , there lived an Emperor who loved new clothes so much that

  he spent all of his money on fancy outfits. He didn’t care much about meeting

  with his generals or visiting the theater or even going for a ride in the park. He was

  interested only in showing off the latest addition to his wardrobe.

  Life was very merry in the capital city, with new visitors arriving every

  day. One day, two scoundrels appeared in the city. They told everyone that they

  were weavers and that they could weave the most beautiful and luxurious cloth

  imaginable. Not only were the colors rich and the patterns fabulous, they claimed,

  but the fabric also had the wonderful quality of remaining invisible to anyone who

  was unfit for his or her position or who was remarkably stupid.

  “Now, this must be splendid cloth indeed,” the Emperor thought. “Why, if

  I were to wear a suit made of that cloth, I would know who in my kingdom was

  unqualified for his job. And I could easily distinguish between the wise and the

  foolish. I simply must have some of that marvelous fabric woven for me!”

  The Emperor ordered that the two weavers be paid a large amount of gold

  right away, so that they would start work on his clothes without delay. Soon these

  so-called weavers set up a loom and pretended to be hard at work, but in reality

  they did nothing, for the loom was empty. They requested spools of the finest

  threads made from silk and gold, but these were put into their own knapsacks. Then

  they returned to the empty loom, where they resumed their pretend work until

  late into the night. Everyone in town had heard of the wonderful fabric and its

  amazing qualities and all were eager to see just how wise or foolish their neighbors

  might be.

  The Emperor’s New Clothes

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  “I should like to see how my cloth is coming along,” the Emperor said to

  himself several days later. But when he remembered that anyone who was stupid or

  unfit for his office would be unable to see the marvelous fabric, he thought better

  of going himself. “Of course I will be able to see the fabric,” he thought, “but I

  believe I shall send my honest old Minister first. He has always been fair and wise.”

  So the Minister was sent to call upon the weavers, and soon he arrived in the

  shop where the two swindlers sat working at the empty loom.

  “Oh my!” he thought as he gazed upon the loom, wide-eyed. “I cannot see a

  single thread!” But the Minister said nothing.

  “Come closer, sir!” The wily weavers graciously invited him to step up for a

  better look. They asked his opinion of the intricate pattern and wanted to know

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  if he admired the luminous colors, all the while pointing and gesturing at the

  empty loom.

  The poor old Minister opened his eyes even wider and adjusted his

  spectacles, but he still couldn’t see anything because, in fact, there was nothing

  to see. “My goodness,” he thought. “Am I unfit for my royal office? How

  embarrassing it would be if anyone were to find out!” So he didn’t dare admit

  that he couldn’t see the miraculous fabric.

  “Why . . . why, it’s very pretty . . . quite, ah, enchanting!” said the old Minister,

  squinting. “I shall tell the Emperor that I am very pleased with it!”

  “Thank you, sir.” The pretend weavers beamed, and they went on to describe in

  great detail all the colors they had chosen and the name of their particular pattern.

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  The old Minister nodded and listened attentively, trying to remember every word so

  that he’d have something to tell the Emperor, and that is just what he did.

  Soon the Emperor sent another member of his Court to see when the cloth

  would be ready. It was the same with this gentleman as it had been with the old

  Minister. He looked carefully at the loom but could see no fabric.

  “Don’t you think our cloth is beautiful?” gushed the swindlers. “The Minister

  loved it.” And they pretended to run their hands across the fabric.

  “I know that I am not stupid,” the Officer thought. “So it must be that I am not

  worthy of my Imperial appointment. It’s ridiculous, but for the sake of my position

  at Court, I must let no one know that I cannot see the cloth.” So he also praised

  the fabric, complimenting the weavers on the rich colors and delightful design.

  “Yes, Your Majesty, I, too, found the cloth enchanting!” he told the Emperor.

  The whole town was talking about the wonderful cloth. At last, the Emperor

  went to see it for himself, accompanied by members of his Court, including the two

  faithful officials who had already “seen” the imaginary fabric.

  “Isn’t it magnificent?” cried the two royal officials. “What a splendid design!

  What gorgeous colors!” they said, pointing to the empty loom, for they believed that

  the others could truly see the cloth.

  “What is this?” thought the Emperor. “I don’t see a thing! Am I stupid? Am

  I be unfit to be Emperor? Goodness, that would be the worst thing that could ever

  happen to me!”

  “Yes, it is indeed beautiful,” said the Emperor. “It has our highest approval!”

  He nodded contentedly, gazing with pleasure at the empty loom. All those attending

  him now strained their eyes to see if they could see anything, but they saw no

  more than the others. Nevertheless, they all exclaimed, “It is beautiful!” just as the

  Emperor had, and suggested that His Majesty should have a suit of clothes made

  of the magnificent material in time for the upcoming procession through the town.

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  The swindlers sat up the entire night before the procession was to take
place.

  They pretended to roll the fabric off the loom, pretended to cut it out with a huge

  pair of scissors, and stitched away with needles without thread in them. At last they

  declared, “Now the Emperor’s new clothes are ready!”

  The Emperor came in, and the scoundrels each held out an arm as if they were

  carrying something precious and said, “Here are Your Majesty’s trousers! And your

  jacket! And your robe!” and so on.

  “Now, would it please Your Majesty to step behind those curtains and take off

  your clothes,” asked the scoundrels, “so that we may dress you in front of the mirror?”

  So the Emperor was undressed and the swindlers pretended to fasten, lace, and

  button him into each new article of clothing. Meanwhile, the Emperor turned this

  way and that in front of the mirror.

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  “Oh, how wonderful Your Majesty looks in his new clothes! And how well they

  fit!” cried all the nobles. “What a pattern! What colors! These are indeed robes

  worthy of Your Majesty!”

  “The canopy that is to be carried over Your Majesty in the procession is waiting

  outside,” announced the Master of Ceremonies.

  “Yes, I am quite ready,” said the Emperor. “Doesn’t the new suit fit well?” And

  he turned once more to look at himself in the mirror so that everyone might see

  just how much he admired the wonderful garments.

  The chamberlains, who usually carried the end of the Emperor’s long robe,

  fumbled with their hands on the ground as if they were lifting the trailing hem.

  They pretended to carry it as the Emperor began the procession, for they didn’t

  dare let the people know that they could see nothing.

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  And so the Emperor marched, and everyone in the street who saw him and all

  those leaning out of windows exclaimed, “Look at how marvelous the Emperor’s

  new clothes are! And how well they fit him!” No one said they could see nothing,

  for that would mean that they were unfit for office, or were simpletons.

  Suddenly, from the crowd, a small child said, “But the Emperor has no clothes!”