To be sure, he had three alternatives in the matter. First, he might shave it off, thus avoiding earthly ugliness while renouncing all hope of a place in Paradise; secondly, he might marry a scold, and so become prematurely grey; and last, he might keep his blue beard and remain the ugliest man in all the world. There was no other alternative, for the beard was so deadly blue that no dye could touch it.
He had staked his chances on the second point: he had married, and more than once; but, although his wives had disappeared mysteriously, his blue beard still remained, as blue as ever. How it was that he had ever found any woman blind enough to marry him it is difficult to imagine, for he was so frightfully ugly that most women at sight of him ran away screaming, and hid in the cellar. But it is only fair to say that Blue Beard had such a way with him that, given two hours' start, he could snap his fingers at any rival.
Now it so happened that in his neighbourhood there lived a lady of quality, who had two sons and two daughters; and, in his walks abroad, Blue Beard often met the two girls, and soon fell into the lowest depths of love. Both were adorable, and he really could not decide which one he preferred. Always in exquisite doubt on the point, he finally approached the mother and asked her for the hand of one of her daughters, leaving the choice to her. And she, like a wise woman, said nothing, but simply introduced Blue Beard to Anne and Fatima, and left the rest to nature and their own fancies.
SEVEN AND ONE ARE EIGHT, MADAM!
But neither Anne nor Fatima fell in love with their admirer at first sight. His beard was so blue that they could not endure it, and, between them, they led him a dance. Neither was inclined to marry a man with a beard like that, and, what made matters worse, they soon learned that he had already been married several times, and that his wives had disappeared mysteriously. This was rather disconcerting, and each was angling for a brother-in-law rather than a husband.
But, as already stated, Blue Beard had a way with him. He did not expect to be accepted at first asking. Indeed, when he proposed, first to one and then to the other, they both said, 'Oh! you must see father about it.' Now Blue Beard knew very well that their father, having led a very wicked life, was dead and gone; and, as he pondered over it, stroking his beard the while, he began to realise what they meant when they said, 'You must see father about it.'
But Blue Beard did not despair, he merely altered his plan. He invited the whole family, with some of their chosen friends, to one of his country houses, where he gave them the time of their lives. Hunting, hawking, shooting with the bow, or fishing for goldfish in the ponds, they enjoyed themselves to the full, especially in the evenings, when they were rowed upon the lake to the sound of beautiful music, and made moonlight excursions to some of Blue Beard's ruined castles, of which he possessed quite a number. Whatever the nature of the day's pleasure-party, the night hours were taken up with banqueting, dancing, or some other form of revelry, until such a late hour that Blue Beard said to himself, 'Only wait till I marry one of them, then we shall see who is master.' For the present he was content to take their pranks in good part. When he found himself trying in vain to get into an apple-pie bed he merely laughed; when he found his pillow stuffed with prickly cactus, or the sleeves and legs of his garments stitched up so that he could not put them on, he swore merrily and fell more deeply in love than ever. One day they cut down the stem of an aloe that was about to flower—a thing which happened only once in every hundred years. The head gardener, who had been listening every day for the loud report with which the aloe blossoms burst their sheath, was heart-broken when he saw what had been done; but Blue Beard consoled him by raising his wages, saying that in a hundred years' time, when every one was bald, the plant might blossom again,—what did it matter? In fact, things went so smoothly, and everything in the garden was so very lovely, that the younger daughter, Fatima, being the more poetical and impressionable of the two, began quietly to think what a splendid beard their host's would be if it were not so blue. From this—for you know that love is colour-blind—she began to see the beard in a different light. Like a dutiful and affectionate daughter she spoke to her mother upon the point.
'Mother,' she said, 'it may be only my fancy, but I really think his beard has changed a little in colour during the last few days. Perhaps it's the country air, I don't know; but it doesn't seem to me quite so blue, after all.'