Beautiful Beast

By Mordena Babich

Roland looked up at the grand, turreted walls before him and whistled. It was a far cry from his father’s modest house, even before all the money had been lost.

He switched his traveling bag to the other hand, took a deep breath and knocked, and the heavy golden door opened at once. Roland took a cautious step into the doorway and looked to both sides, but he saw no one there. He was in a richly furnished entry hall, with purple and gold tapestries, and before him was a grand marble stairway with a crystal chandelier above it. The banister was gilded, and the ceiling above was painted in beautiful, intricate designs. In his shabby “best” suit, handed down from his brother Rupert, Roland felt decidedly underdressed.

After a few minutes—during which he wondered if it would be rude to yell “Hello!” and whether it would really matter if he just turned around and left—someone swept down the stairs in a beautiful, shimmering golden gown. Well, something, anyway. The word monster came to mind but Roland shook it away.

The contrast between the elegant clothing and the…creature wearing it was fascinating. It stood upright, a tall, broad-shouldered, shaggy animal with a bushy brown mane, a strong jaw and sharp teeth. Below the gown, its huge, hairy feet were bare, and its claws clicked on the marble as it descended to the hallway.

“You must be Roland,” said the creature, in a raspy female voice.

“Y-yes.” Roland coughed, then tried to recover his civility. “Um – my lady?”

“You may call me Beast.”

“Beast, then,” said Roland, attempting a smile. “Ah, um, you see…” Where was the speech he’d rehearsed on the way here? It had gone out of his head, and the intensity—the disconcerting humanness—of the Beast’s dark brown eyes was not helping.

“Well…I’ve been thinking that there must have been some sort of mistake.”

Beast nodded, unsurprised. “You don’t understand why you had to come here.” Though her voice had a roughness to it, she spoke clearly through those fierce teeth.

“N-not exactly, no. I know that my father picked one of your roses. He picked it for me, you see, because I’m a bit of a gardener, and he…well, the point is, it was only a rose. Just one. And it wilted after three days.”

Beast nodded, but her expression did not change. “Nevertheless, it was a magic rose. There are rules about these things—rules which even I am powerless to change. Either you or your father must be my prisoner.”

“Very well,” said Roland. It had been worth a try, anyway. He sighed. There was no way he was letting his frail, aging father spend the rest of his days shut up in prison. “Take me, then.”

Beast smiled. “It will be a comfortable captivity,” she said. “The footmen will show you to your room.”

“Footmen?” Roland looked around at the empty hall.

“They’re invisible,” Beast explained.

Roland followed his battered luggage as it floated up the stairs, through gorgeous, gilded hallways and into a vast bedroom with thick crimson carpet on the floor and velvet drapes. The bedposts were polished gold, as were the frames that surrounded some of the most magnificent artwork Roland had ever seen—land- and seascapes painted by a master.
Roland sat down on the edge of the gold-embroidered bedspread and looked around. Rupert would love this, he thought with a small laugh. His older brother had expensive tastes—fancy clothes, fine horses, rich carriages, rich food, rich women. It had hit Rupert the hardest when Father lost his money.

There had never been any question of sending Rupert to the Beast’s castle. As the oldest son, he had taken over Father’s business and was building it back up. It had always been clear that Roland was the expendable one. Useless, was how Rupert had phrased it, once when he thought Roland couldn’t hear.

A funny idea of uselessness, Roland thought. It was he who had fixed up the crumbling house, hammering, sanding and sawing with his own hands. It was he who had planted the vegetable garden for food, and sold his best roses at the market. Were those things useless?

A closet door opened and a finely-tailored black suit floated out and hovered respectfully at his side.

“Thank you,” said Roland to the air. He didn’t much care for the idea of invisible servants. How did you know whether they were in the room or not? They also seemed uncommonly silent.

Taking the hint, Roland dressed for dinner—the suit fit him perfectly—and went downstairs. Beast was waiting for him at a long, candlelit table in the dining room. The food, as he might have expected by now, was delicious, rich and perfectly seasoned. Each course in turn glided smoothly to his attention from the left and departed to the right: soup and salad, platters of roasted meats and vegetables, fresh bread and fanciful desserts.

Facing him over the table, Beast dug her teeth into a messy helping of raw meat, dripping with blood. Roland tried not to look at her, as it put him off the delicacies on his own plate.

And then, as the last dishes were whisked silently away and Roland began to get up, Beast suddenly growled, “Will you marry me, Roland?”

Roland laughed. Surely it was a joke.

“No offense,” Roland told her, “but I always thought I’d marry someone with better table manners.” Then he saw the Beast’s hairy face fall and realized he had hurt her feelings.

“I’m sorry,” he said at once. He was actually rather surprised to find that she had feelings. Roland would never have made a remark like that to a young woman who wasn’t a beast, and he was ashamed. “That was extremely rude of me. It’s your table, and of course you may eat in whatever way you wish.”

“It is not what I wish,” said Beast bitterly. “But I am a Beast and I eat like a Beast. I’m not used to polite company.”

Nothing more was said, and Roland went to bed that night troubled both by the abrupt proposal and by his own cruel response.

˜

Roland spent the next day alone, unless you counted the invisible servants, which he didn’t. Beast had made it clear that he could go anywhere he liked, within the confines of the outer castle walls. He wandered through the gardens, gazing at the richly-colored roses and the perfectly-pruned fruit trees. He explored the inside of the castle as well, room after room full of art treasures and expensive furnishings, and gold, gold, gold, everywhere he looked.

Useless, he thought. That’s what I am here. He wasn’t even any good at appreciating the beautiful castle. As glorious as it was, it wasn’t at all to his taste. Roland was drawn to the plain and practical. He was the only one of the family who had secretly enjoyed the fall of their fortunes, who had relished the simpler food and clothes, enjoyed the physical work of managing a house and a large garden. These ornate surroundings made him feel faintly depressed.

He didn’t see Beast again until dinner. Roland couldn’t help noticing that she was trying to devour her raw animal flesh with greater delicacy. He smiled, touched at her attempts. When Beast once again asked, “Roland, will you marry me?” he sighed.

“I have said no already,” he said gently. “Please accept my answer.”

“I do accept it,” said Beast. “But I cannot help asking again. There are – rules.”

Roland nodded. Rules. It was the magic roses all over again, he supposed.

The next day, after his fruitless wandering about the grounds, Roland discovered the library – and for the first time he thought his captivity might not be so bad after all. Bookshelves lined the room from floor to ceiling, with an upper balcony similarly lined. Novels, poetry, drama, science, history – it was all here, a remarkably thorough collection. There were movable ladders so that he could reach any book, and big comfortable chairs to lounge in – really comfortable, not just plush and purple velvet. This was the one room in the castle that wasn’t overflowing with gorgeousness, just books.

That night when he sat down at the dinner table, he smiled right into Beast’s face and said, “I love your library.”

She seemed surprised, and an entirely new sort of smile overtook her hairy face. Girlish was perhaps the wrong word, but not far off.

“Do you really?” she said, almost giggly, as if he’d admired her lovely eyes.

“Goodness, yes! I’ve never seen anything like it.”

It was a pleasant meal, and conversation came more easily, which made it all the worse when it was over and Beast proposed to him yet again.

“How can I marry you?” said Roland. “I don’t love you.”

Beast nodded sadly. “Because I am a cruel and ugly Beast?”

“I didn’t say that,” said Roland. “You’re not cruel. And you’re not ugly, for a Beast. But I still would prefer to marry someone…human.”

He was afraid he’d been rude once again, but Beast’s dark eyes sparkled for a brief moment, and he thought she seemed a little amused.

“I wish you’d stop asking me,” Roland went on. “I mean—I’m your prisoner.”

“You are my guest.”

“You’re very kind to me. But we both know I’m not here by choice.”

Beast acknowledged the point with a movement of her head. “But there are rules.”

˜

Night after night, Beast practiced eating more and more neatly. Night after night, every dinner ended with the question Roland had come to dread.

One evening after she had asked it again, Roland put down his dessert fork and said, “How can I marry you? All I know is a Beast who eats with the dainty manners of a princess. What do you do all day? Why do I only see you at night?”

“Could you stand to see my face in the harsh light of day?”

Roland looked at Beast, shaggy and hideous, but familiar, in the flickering candlelight. “Oh, don’t be silly. How much worse could it be?”

Beast smiled, baring sharp, scary teeth. “Very well,” she said in her raspy voice. “Will you walk with me in the rose garden tomorrow morning?”

“With pleasure,” said Roland

˜

Roland and Beast strolled together in the rose garden the next morning. If her face and her teeth seen in broad daylight alarmed him slightly, he quickly grew used to them. They walked all over the castle grounds as well—and Roland found it much more pleasant than walking alone.

Then they went to the library.

“Listen to this,” Roland said, and read Beast a funny story he’d found the day before. She had a nice laugh, raspy like her voice but with a dark music to it.

“Do you know this one?” Beast asked him. She read him a poem. Roland had never much cared for poetry before, but from the very first words, he was riveted.

“When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,” she read, “I all alone beweep my outcast state…”

Beast’s voice made sense of the musical sounds, and she gave a subtle emphasis to the words, “and look upon myself and curse my fate.” When she concluded in triumph, “For thy sweet love rememb’red such wealth brings, That then I scorn to change my state with kings,” Roland felt a shiver of joy. He took the book from her and read the words over again to fix them in his mind.

They sat together in the library all day and read to each other, sharing anything funny or beautiful or interesting. Roland found himself forgetting that Beast was, well, a beast. He only wanted to make her laugh again, and to watch the spark that came and went from her dark eyes.

She still proposed to him after dinner – there were, after all, rules. Her voice sounded terribly sad this time as she asked him.

“Not tonight,” Roland replied lightly. “But—say— ” he leaned forward as if he’d just had an exciting idea— “why don’t you ask me again tomorrow?”

Beast stared for a moment, then threw back her head and laughed her deep woodwind laugh. And Roland was satisfied. Rules might be rules, but there was no reason this nightly exercise in embarrassment had to be painful. It was merely something they had to get through, and they had just got through it, together.

˜

The months passed. Roland grew used to the castle. Even the invisible servants, springing instantly to do his bidding, had ceased to bother him much. What weighed on him most was the old feeling of uselessness. It would have been nice to have something broken around the place, something he could fix. His fingers itched to prune those roses, to mulch that soil – but the garden was perfect already and didn’t need him.

He dreamed of his old garden at home and the sweet smell of the turned-up soil, the soft, squirming earthworms, the mud on his shoes. He thought, too, of his father, growing more fragile every day.

“I wonder what’s happening at home,” he thought aloud as he walked with Beast in the garden.

“You can find out,” she told him. “There’s a magic mirror in your closet—didn’t you know? It will show you anyone you wish to see.”

“Really?” Roland felt like a bit of a fool. The truth was, he’d never gone into the closet himself. The invisible footmen were always so quick to bring him appropriate clothing, it had never been necessary.

“Come with me,” he said to Beast. “We’ll both have a look.”

Roland’s closet was enormous. It was a ridiculous amount of space to devote to a few suits. In the back hung a mirror, framed with gilded roses.

“Show us Roland’s father, please,” Beast told the mirror. Their reflections shimmered and shifted, until they saw a room in Roland’s old house, and an aged man lying in bed. The old man tossed his head on the pillow, as if in a fever, and moaned, “Roland.”

Beast reached over and squeezed Roland’s hand. Her claws scratched, but he ignored it and squeezed back.

“If only I could be with him!”

“You can,” said Beast. “I’ll give you a magic rose. Roll it between your fingers and it will take you to your father’s side. When it’s time to return, roll the rose between your fingers again and think of me. But you must be back within three days exactly.”

“Or…?” said Roland.

“Or I will die,” said Beast. “There are—”

“Rules, yes, I know.” Roland said, frowning. “I’ll be back in time, I promise.”

˜

Roland’s father began to improve immediately upon seeing his younger son again, and soon he was able to sit up in bed and sip tea, while Roland told him all about his life at the castle.

“You’re a good boy, Roland,” his father said, patting his hand.

“Good to have you back, Roland,” said Rupert, slapping him on the shoulder. “Wait till you see all the things I’ve done since you’ve been gone. The business is back on its feet—in fact it’s booming—and it’s all because of me!” And there followed a litany of all the wise business decisions Rupert had made, all the new purchases he’d been able to afford, and all the parties he’d had, “just like the old days.”

“It’s wonderful to be home again,” said Roland, trying very hard to mean it. Of course, he was glad to see his brother so happy. “And Father, you shouldn’t worry about me at all. Beast’s castle is very comfortable, and she’s the perfect host.”

“That’s nice,” said Rupert. “Come and look at the new carriage I ordered—it’s trimmed with real gold!”

“Later,” said Roland. “I want to sit with Father now.” The old man was clinging to his hand, and besides, Roland felt he had seen enough real gold to last a lifetime.

“Yes, later. We’ll go for a drive and you can meet my fiancée! She’s the richest woman in five counties, and a beauty into the bargain. Good old Roland, you haven’t changed a bit!”

But Roland had changed, and he knew it. He didn’t belong in this house now, any more than he belonged in Beast’s gorgeous castle. He wasn’t good old Roland any more. He wasn’t the easygoing boy who looked up to his older brother and puttered contentedly about the house and garden. Rupert had hired a carpenter to keep the place in repair, and Roland’s old garden had been planted over with grass. There was no question of puttering. Roland read to his father—there weren’t many books to choose from—and fluffed his pillows. He missed Beast. All day long, he thought of things to tell her that only she would understand. He laughed at things she would have found funny, while his brother only blinked at him with a puzzled expression.

On the second day, Rupert pulled Roland aside.

“You’re not really going back to that monster’s castle, are you?” he asked.

“Of course I am,” Roland said. “Beast said she would die if I didn’t.”

“And you believed her? What nonsense!”

“It’s not something I’m willing to take a chance on,” said Roland. He did not add that he could hardly wait to see Beast again, and that his three-day visit seemed to have lasted three months already.

“Suit yourself,” said Rupert, shrugging. “But if you stayed, you could help with my wedding. It’s going to be the event of the year. Besides,” he added, nudging Roland’s shoulder, “what does it matter if this Beast lives or dies? She’s holding you prisoner, right?”

“It matters,” Roland said through clenched teeth. “I gave her my word.”

Rupert shrugged—but that night, just to prove he was right that it would do no harm, Rupert set all the clocks back an hour.

On the third day, Roland prepared to say his goodbyes. He had made up his mind to ask Beast whether the “rules” would permit his father coming to live with them at the castle. He didn’t like the idea of leaving him to Rupert’s care. It was this that occupied his thoughts, while Rupert stalled to stretch Roland’s visit out to the last few minutes.

˜

When Roland returned to Beast via the magic rose, he found her in the entryway of the castle, lying in a heap and barely breathing.

“Oh, no,” Roland gasped. He sank to his knees beside her.

“You’re late,” Beast whispered weakly.

“No, I…” Roland glanced at the clock and saw that it was true. “Oh, Beast, I’m so sorry.”

There was no answer. Beast’s eyelids closed.

“Oh, Beast, don’t die, please. Beast?” Tears filled Roland’s eyes. “You can’t die. I missed you. I love you.” It was a shock to realize the full truth of it. “I do love you. Marry me, Beast.”

Roland wasn’t aware of the exact moment things changed. He simply blinked and found that Beast was gone. What he held in his arms was a beautiful golden-haired princess wearing Beast’s golden gown. The sun shone through the windows and spread its golden light over the tapestried walls. Everything gleamed. The invisible servants became a row of footmen in golden livery. Their very buttons sparkled.

Roland blinked again—he’d preferred the servants invisible after all. Their golden splendor made his eyes ache.

“Roland,” the princess said sweetly. “You have broken my enchantment at last. I am Beauty, the princess of this castle. Now you shall be my prince, and we shall live happily ever after.”

Roland squinted down at her. “Huh? But…where is Beast?”

“I am your Beast, transformed,” said Beauty, with a bell-like laugh, high and clear.

“Well…” Roland didn’t know what to say or where to look. “Are you all right, then? Not dying any more?”

“I am more than all right, now that I know you love me.” Beauty got to her feet.

“But—” Roland rose, too, and gestured helplessly with his hands. “It was Beast I loved.”

“Not Beast, surely, but Beast’s inner Beauty. I am she.”

“I…I’m sorry, but this is a lot to get used to.” If Roland had to stay in this castle with a strange, new, glittering princess…

“Don’t you want to marry me any more?”

Roland looked into Beauty’s face—her perfect features and bright blue eyes, her sweet, dazzling smile—and hesitated. Was he a fool? This was what most men would want. Surely he should say yes. He should marry Beauty. The rules seemed to demand it. And Beauty’s feelings would be hurt if he said no. Over time he might grow used to her. If only he could see some sign of his beloved Beast in that face!

“I don’t know,” he said.

The dazzling smile vanished. “Perhaps you would rather I changed back into Beast.”

Roland’s heart leapt for a moment at the suggestion. But he saw the hurt in Beauty’s eyes.

“No,” he said. “No. For your sake, I want you to be who you really are.”

And then, wonder of wonders, Beauty was gone in another eye-blink, and in her place was a rather plain young woman in a clean but ordinary blue dress.

“Thank you,” she said in a reedy voice a little lower than Beauty’s. “That’s a relief. I think that spell was worse than the first one.”

Roland eyed the young woman warily. Was she going to keep changing every five minutes?

“This is who I really am, Roland. Not a beauty, not a beast. Just me.”

Roland shook his head, still struggling to catch up. “Who are you? Do you have a name?”

“It’s Helga,” she said, with an apologetic shrug.

“Helga.” Roland touched her cheek with the back of one finger. She looked a lot like Beast, really. Her disheveled brown hair was the same color as Beast’s shaggy mane, her dark eyes were Beast’s eyes, her crooked nose and strong jaw reminiscent of Beast’s craggy features.

“And I’m not a princess, in case you haven’t noticed. The castle was enchanted, too.”

Gone were the vaulted ceiling, the gilded paneling, the marble stairs. The footmen, too, were gone. They were standing in the dining room of what looked like a largish farmhouse, with lots of mice scurrying about underfoot.

“I was a farmer’s daughter,” Helga explained. “When he died, a witch came to the funeral with her arms full of roses. She had lived next door when I was a child, but I failed to recognize her, and this made her angry. I’ve been enchanted for a hundred years until someone could love me and recognize me for who I truly am.”

Roland had a worrisome thought. “Is the library gone, too?”

Helga laughed—and it was Beast’s bassoon-like laugh. “Yes, but I bought all the books myself. They’re probably still here somewhere.”

A quick investigation revealed that the halls, the bedrooms and the pantry were piled high with books from floor to ceiling.
Roland whistled. “We’ll have to build an addition.”

“We? Is the wedding on again?” A crooked smile began on Helga’s lips.

“It might be,” said Roland cautiously. “Do you still want me? I’m still a youngest son with nothing to my name.”

“I’ve loved you since that first day in the library,” said Helga softly. “But the rules are all off now. You’re not my prisoner. You’re free to make your own decision.”

Roland looked into the familiar eyes of his old companion and knew he’d already decided. He took her hand—her clawless, human hand—and raised it to his lips. She loved him—and he scorned to change his state with kings.

“The roses!” he remembered. “What’s become of them?”

Outside, the roses were gone, but hundreds of daisies bloomed cheerfully in the summer sun.

“The farm will need a lot of work,” said Helga, looking out over the fields.

“Good,” said Roland, drawing her arm through his. “I can make myself useful.”

˜

It was a modest wedding feast with few guests—just Roland’s family and a few old friends gathered together at a long table in the farmhouse. There was not a trace of gold anywhere except for two simple wedding rings.

Roland’s father took to Helga right away. And who wouldn’t? Roland thought proudly. Helga was charming and well-read, and she had happily agreed to invite his father to stay with them.

“Your little farm is very nice,” Rupert said to Roland over dessert. “And you’ve always liked gardening, so you ought to enjoy it. And Helga…well, she’s smart and capable, and you can’t fault her table manners…but…tell me the truth, Roland, doesn’t it bother you?”

“The mice, you mean?” Roland laughed. “They used to be shiny invisible footmen when this was an enchanted castle. We don’t have the heart to turn them out.”

“Not the mice,” said Rupert. “Helga. She’s…well…you have to admit, Roland, she’s sort of—” Rupert dropped his voice to a whisper— “ugly.”

Roland glared at his brother with such ice-cold contempt that Rupert actually flinched.

“Well, not ugly, exactly. I meant…plain? No, not plain…um…”

Roland turned away. Perhaps it would be best if they didn’t invite Rupert back any time soon. His gaze wandered down the table to where Helga sat chatting with his father. She caught Roland’s eye and smiled at him—a warm, crooked smile that said, unmistakably, I know you, Roland. I know exactly who you are, and you are all I want. Roland pulled a daisy from the centerpiece.

Rupert, beside him, was still sputtering. “It’s just that she’s …um…you know…”

Roland rolled the daisy between his fingers. “The word you’re looking for,” he said, “is beautiful.”