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| He was dressed like a nobleman, wearing a fine doublet with slashed sleeves and a broad lace collar, a pair of velvet breeches, and high leather boots. Around his neck he wore a marvellous bejewelled chain. But his face, oh, his face! It was not a human being's, but a lion's face, surrounded by a wild mane. His huge, gnarled hands ended in claws that, like the rest of him, were covered in thick matted fur. Anger and rage distorted his already grotesque features even more. Baring his fangs, the creature growled furiously. "So, you villain! You would steal my roses? I provided you with food and rest, and how you do you repay me? By stealing from my most beloved garden! Nothing in the whole world is more precious to me. " Furiously, he seized the merchant by the shoulders. "You are most unfortunate now. You could have taken anything - anything but my roses! You will have to pay for that theft with your life." The merchant fell to his knees, trembling. "My Lord, I did not know! I assumed it would not matter if I plucked a rose for my daughter." "One does not call me "my Lord"; one calls me the Beast. Compliments are wasted on one such as I! Say your farewells quickly, for you shall die ere the sun sets." "Mercy, my Lord," the son cried desperately and threw himself before his father. "My Lord, again? I command you to be silent!" The creature grabbed the merchant by the hair. "You stole one of my roses and you shall die for it. Unless ..." The Beast’s eyes turned to the merchant’s son. ”Unless your son agrees to take your place and be punished in your stead. He will remain my prisoner forever to pay for your misdeed.” "But, but …" the merchant stammered. The Beast snarled angrily. "Do not try to argue with me. Take advantage of the one chance I have given you." "Orlando, I cannot leave you with this monster!" the merchant murmured heatedly. "Father, you must. He will kill you if you stay." Orlando whispered in his father's ear. "There is no other way. Leave and … have faith in me. I will find a way to escape." "What do you two have to whisper and mumble?" The Beast growled, stepping between them. "Have you made up your mind now?" "Go, Father, go," the son cried breathlessly, helping his father to mount the horse. "I would rather be this creature's prisoner than regret the rest of my life having left you behind." With tears in his eyes the father turned his horse and rode away. "Farewell, my son." Silently the tall hedges closed behind him and from one second to the next he was gone from sight. "“Now, my prisoner, return to the castle at once!" the Beast commanded harshly and the young man did as he was told. In a daze, the youth stepped up the broad stairs and went through the gate that again opened on its own. The magic arms and hands on the walls showed him the way and soon he found himself back in the Great Hall. What now? He looked around questioningly. "Follow me, follow me," a voice whispered from nowhere. He turned around, then looked up and back to where he had come from, but saw that no one was there. It could only be early afternoon yet there was a strange twilight in the corridors. The candles flickered. Following the ethereal voice the young man mounted another flight of marble stairs until he reached a gallery with many windows. The white curtains billowing in the wind enveloped him like veils. At last he came to a door framed by arms that beckoned him to enter. Another voice whispered: "Orlando, I'm the door to your room." He hesitated for a moment, then stepped inside. Before him opened a spacious room with elegant furniture. Everywhere there were flowers. Roses upon each windowsill, in every vase and goblet, roses upon the wide bed, tucked in the ties of the curtains… and Orlando remembered his father, who would have been sacrificed for blooms like this. Immediately the young man ran to one of the windows, as if wanting to cast a last glance at a life outside the castle walls, a life of freedom. Soon, however, he realized how futile such wishful thinking was. He sank into a chair in front of the dressing table and stared at the precious inlays with empty eyes. At that moment he heard yet another voice. "Orlando, I'm your mirror. I'm here only for you." Quickly, he reached for the mirror and looked inside. The image of a sad, young man looked back at him. But then the mirror clouded and darkened. When the blackness vanished he saw his father lying sick at home. "Father!" He sprang up again and started pacing the room, wringing his hands. "What is it with this mirror? Does it show me what is happening right now? Or is it a vision of what will happen if I do not return? Ah, and there is nothing I can do … if only Father hadn't plucked that rose …" Outside the windows, the wind was rustling in the trees and it was as if he could hear voices. "Who is there?" shouted the young man. Again, nobody answered. Holding his head in his hands, he pondered what to do. He was grateful that his father was safely home, but it struck him as unfair that he should be at the Beast’s mercy for a petty thing such as a rose. He felt trapped and yet … what could he do? He ran to the window again. The grounds looked so peaceful in the afternoon sun, as if one could simply walk out of the gate and off into the woods. But then he thought of the strange hands on the walls, the voices and the mirror. It was clear that there was magic at work throughout the Beast's domain. But perhaps he could make it if he was quick … ? From the corner of his eye, Orlando glimpsed how invisible hands pulled back the luxurious fur cover on the large bed. The young man groaned. What kind of game was the Beast playing with him? Keeping him in a luxurious room as if he were a guest when in fact he was a prisoner. Perhaps even a prisoner for the rest of his life? Having spent less than a day at the château the mere idea of never again leaving it seemed already intolerable. No, this could not be! In a wild haste he ran out of the room, down the stairs, along the corridors and out of the gate. Suddenly a door on the opposite side of the courtyard sprang open and the Beast appeared before him, looming up imperiously. His eyes glittered dangerously. "Where do you think you are you going?" You will never leave this place,” growled the Beast, raising a hand – that was all it took. Instantly the young man stopped as if he'd run up against an invisible wall. He staggered, his eyes rolling back as he lost consciousness. With a small sigh he sank to the ground. For a while the Beast stood over the young man, glowering at his captive as if he wasn't quite sure what to do with him. Finally, he bent over the unconscious youth and gathered him in his arms. For an instant the Beast's atrocious features softened when looking at the innocent face before him. The creature inhaled deeply. When the Beast carried the young man over the threshold of his room, Orlando’s travelling garments marvellously changed into fine silk robes that were richly embroidered and seamed with pearls. No prince could have wished for more precious garments. Gently, the Beast put him down on the bed. In that moment the young man's eyes fluttered open. When he saw the hideous creature bent over him he let out a cry. His hands came up as if he wanted to strangle the Beast, but instantly his fingers froze in the air. For a moment he couldn't move. "That is folly," said the Beast coldly. "You need not even try." The youth swallowed hard, turning his head in disgust. "Don't touch me, you, you … monster." "You will not call me that!" the Beast growled furiously, raising a hand as if wanting to hit the young man. But seeing the mixture of fear and disgust in the boy's eyes he stopped. As if he suddenly became aware that he couldn't reasonably expect his captive to respond differently. The Beast’s eyes flickered in the briefest expression of pain. He stepped back from the bed. “Do not worry," he said in a much quieter voice. "You will rarely see me, except for when I come down to the Great Hall in the evening." Noticing that the young man was still staring at him, the Beast jerked his head awkwardly. "You must not look at me like this, Orlando." The young man winced. "How do you know my name?" The Beast did not answer. Instead he made a quick gesture with his hand, bowing slightly before he left the room. The door closed silently behind him. All of a sudden, the young man felt tired beyond words. He lay down again, turned on his side and fell asleep immediately. *** The clock on the mantelpiece in the Great Hall struck seven. The sounds reverberated for a while and then sank to the floors as if burdened by the heavy silence in the empty halls and on the windy stairs. Orlando, dressed in dark-green, jewelled garments, sat at a long dining table. Lots of mouth-watering dishes had been placed before him; roast meat and delicious white bread, pomegranates and sweet peaches. Each time he emptied his glass the magic hands poured him more wine. For a while he ate and drank, without truly enjoying the meal. Eventually, he pushed back the plates. Staring into the fire with a blank face he let out a small sigh. The evening before he had been sitting here with his father, chatting and joking. How merry they had been. And now? Closing his eyes, he leaned back his head, letting his clenched hands drop in his lap. In that moment the door behind him opened and the Beast entered the hall. Like a ghost he soundlessly crossed the room and stood behind the young man's chair, looking down on him. "Do not be afraid," the Beast said in a quiet voice. Involuntarily, the young man tensed, startled from his memories." I am not afraid." “May I sit with you for a time?” Orlando abruptly remembered his status amidst the fine surroundings and replied sadly, “You are the Master as you made it clear to me last night.” "No," answered the Beast. "I am not. There is no other Master here but you." Slowly, he came up beside his guest. "You find me disgusting, don't you?" The boy looked down on his hands. "How could I answer that without lying to you?" The Beast opened his mouth to answer, but then thought better of it. Instead, he looked over the plates on the table, holding up a glass to inspect whether it was clean and polished properly. "Is everything here to your liking?" "I feel uneasy dressed in such finery and I'm not used to being waited upon." The youth looked into the fire again and his voice was full of melancholy. "I dislike being a prisoner as well, but I know you are doing your best to make me forget the ugliness of this … arrangement." The Beast walked over to the fireplace, shoulders bent, head hanging low. "My heart is kind, but I am a monster." The young man pulled back his chair and rose. "There are men more monstrous than you, but they're better at hiding it." "I'm also lacking in wit." "You have wit enough to be aware of that." For a long while the Beast studied the young man intently – and fearlessly, the young man held his glance. The crackling of the fire was the only sound in the room; even the marble busts on both sides of the fireplace seemed to be holding their breath. Finally, the Beast cleared his throat and bowed to the young man. "Everything in my residence is yours. All your wishes shall be fulfilled." The young man stepped toward the Beast to speak, but the Beast motioned him to be silent. "Every evening at seven I will come down to see you. And each time I will ask you the same question before I retire." "And the question would be?" the young man asked, his voice trembling slightly. The Beast looked down at his deformed hands. For a moment he seemed to waver, but then he cleared his voice and continued. "Orlando, will you be my companion?" Orlando blanched. "You want me to stay here for the rest of my life?" The Beast nodded silently. Emphatically, the young man shook his head. "No. No. Never." The Beast stepped back. "I did not expect any other answer. Now, fare well until tomorrow." |