ONCE upon a time, long ago—so long, indeed, that even the very oldest people now alive cannot remember it—there dwelt a king and queen in a great, white, marble palace with splendid halls and high towers and a golden roof that flashed in the sunlight. All round the palace for miles and miles there were gardens and pleasure-grounds with terraces and green lawns and flowers and ancient trees. Peacocks walked about on the lawns, and deer loitered in the shady glades, and gold and silver fish swam in the ponds and fountains.
But in spite of all this beauty the king and queen were not happy, because they had no child. So when at last a little daughter was born to them they were very glad and there were great rejoicings all over the kingdom. Bonfires as big as hay stacks were kept burning all night, fat oxen were roasted whole in the market-place of every town, and the church bells were rung until the ringers were out of breath.
A few weeks later all was bustle and hurry in the palace to make ready for the christening feast, and the maids trimmed the halls and chambers with flowers, and sprinkled the floors with sweet-scented leaves and petals. Among the guests invited to the christening were seven powerful fairies, and the choicest foods were provided for them, and golden dishes from which to eat.
The feast was just going to begin when suddenly there was a clashing of brazen claws and a rushing of wings, and something like a black cloud seemed to pass before the tall windows and darken the room. Then the great doors burst open with a terrible bang, and an old fairy with her face almost hidden in a black hood jumped out of a chariot drawn by fierce griffins, and came into the hall. The king turned pale, and the queen nearly fainted, for this was the spiteful fairy Tormentilla, who lived alone an immense distance away from everywhere in a dismal black castle in the middle of a desert. The queen in her happiness had forgotten all about her, and so neglected to send her an invitation.
However, another chair was brought for Tormentilla, and she was given a place of honor at the table, and everyone tried to make up for the oversight—but all in vain. Nothing pleased her. She would neither eat nor drink, and sat scowling angrily about her until the feast was over.
Then she and the seven other fairies went to the chamber where the tiny princess lay sleeping in her cradle, and each stepped forward in turn to bestow a magic gift.
The first said, “She shall be as good as gold.”
The second said, “She shall be the cleverest princess in the world.”
The third said, “She shall be the most beautiful princess in the world.”
The fourth said, “She shall be the happiest princess in the world.”
The fifth said, “She shall have the sweetest voice that ever was heard.”
The sixth said, “She shall be loved by all who know her.”
Next the old cross fairy took her place beside the cradle, and shaking her cane at the king and queen, shouted, “And I say that before she reaches the age of twenty she shall prick her hand with a spindle and die of the wound.”
At this the queen fell on her knees and begged Tormentilla to recall her cruel words. But the wicked fairy, without replying, turned and left the hall. Then the eighth fairy went to the queen and said: “Do not cry, my dear lady; for though I cannot relieve the princess of this enchantment I can make it less severe. She shall not die, but instead shall fall asleep for a hundred years. When those are past, a prince shall come and awaken her with a kiss.”
So the king and queen were somewhat comforted, and the fairies returned to their homes. The greatest care was taken of the little princess, and in order to save her from her fate a law was made that every spindle in the kingdom should be burned, and no more made. Life moved along happily for the princess until she was eighteen years old. All that the first six fairies promised had come true, and she was the best and cleverest, the most beautiful and the happiest and the sweetest-voiced princess in all the world, and everybody loved her. Indeed, by this time Tormentilla’s spiteful words were nearly forgotten.
But one morning the king and queen went away to be gone till late in the afternoon, and the princess amused herself by wandering about into the out-of-the-way nooks and corners and attics of the great building. She found dusty furniture that was often so quaint it made her laugh, and there were many other curiosities. At last she climbed a narrow winding stair in an old tower. It led to a little door with a rusty key sticking out of the lock. She turned the key, opened the door, and there, in a low chamber, sat a white-capped old woman with a spinning-wheel before her on which she was spinning flax. This poor old woman had been allowed many years previous to make her home in the tower, and it happened that she had never heard the king’s command to destroy the spindles; for she was so deaf that if you shouted till you were hoarse she never would have been able to understand you.
The princess stood on the threshold watching the old woman curiously. This was the first time she had ever seen a spinning-wheel. “What pretty work you are doing,” she said presently; “and why does that wheel go whirr, whirr, whirr?”
But of course the old woman did not hear, and she neither answered nor lifted her eyes from her work. So the princess stepped into the room and laid her hand on the old woman’s shoulder. The spinner looked up and rubbed her eyes. “Deary, deary me!” cried she in a high, cracked voice, “and who may you be, my pretty darling?”
“I’m the princess,” screamed the maiden in her ear, but the spinner only shook her head—she could hear nothing.
Then the princess pointed to the spindle on which the flax was twirling into thread, and made the old woman understand that she wanted to try if she could work it. The spinner nodded and laughed and got up from her seat, and the princess sat down at the wheel, but she had hardly begun to spin when she pricked her finger with the spindle. Immediately a faintness seized her. She staggered to a bed close by, and as soon as her head touched the pillow she became unconscious.
At the same moment there was a deep silence everywhere in the castle. The little bird that just before had been singing so sweetly on the windowsill hushed its song. The distant hum of voices from the courtyard beneath was stilled. Even the old woman, who had been standing beside her wheel telling the princess how to spin, stopped short and fell asleep. In the great hall, the king and queen, who had just returned, and were inquiring for their daughter, fell asleep before the lady-in-waiting could answer them, and the lady herself began to snore. The guards slumbered at their posts. The horses in their stalls became motionless, and so did the dogs in the yard, the pigeons on the roof, and the flies on the wall. The fire on the hearth stopped burning, and the meat on the spit ceased roasting. In short, sleep fell on the whole castle, and round about it there sprung up a thick and thorny magic wood which it seemed impossible for anyone to penetrate, and which hid the entire castle from view except a weather-vane on the roof.
Time went on until a hundred years had passed, and then one day a king’s son happened to be hunting in the region. He became separated from his attendants in the excitement of the chase, and at length he came to a woodcutter’s cottage and dismounted to ask the way. The old man who lived in the hut gave him the required directions, and then told the prince about a thick wood a little farther on in the direction he had been riding. “No one has ever been able to get through that wood,” said the old man, “and my grandfather used to say it surrounded a castle in which was a beautiful princess condemned to sleep for a hundred years. He said some prince would come and awaken her with a kiss.”
On hearing this, nothing would do but the prince must go and have a look at the wood. He found it, and dismounted and prepared to push his way through the thorny thicket. But no sooner did he start to penetrate the wood than the tangled briars of the undergrowth were changed into beautiful flowers which parted and bent aside to let him pass. When he reached the courtyard he saw the dogs lying asleep, and on the roof the pigeons were sitting with their heads under their wings. He went indoors, and there were the flies asleep on the wall, and there was the cook with his hand uplifted to strike the kitchen boy, and a maid sitting near by had a fowl on her lap ready to pluck. When the prince entered the great hall he found the whole court asleep, and the king and queen slumbering on their thrones. Everything was so still he could hear his own breathing.
As yet he saw no princess, and he continued looking about till he came to the old tower and ascended the narrow, winding stair. He went into the little room where the princess lay, and she looked so lovely in her sleep that he could not turn away his eyes, and presently he stooped and kissed her. At once she awoke and said: “O prince, are you here at last? I have had such pleasant dreams!”
She sat up laughing and rubbing her eyes, and after a few moments stood on her feet, and they went hand in hand out of the room. The old woman stared at them in amazement, and then, mumbling to herself, resumed her spinning. They descended the stairs and passed along the corridors until they came to the throne room. The king and queen and whole court had just waked up and were gazing at each other with wonderment. The long sleep was ended for the rest of the palace also. Roosters crowed, dogs barked, the cats began to mew, the clocks struck the hours, the heralds blew their trumpets, the pigeons flew away from the roof to the fields, the kitchen fire blazed up, and the meat was again roasting, the cook gave the kitchen boy such a box on the ear that he roared lustily, and the maid began to pluck the fowl.
In short, everything went on as if there had been no enchantment at all. To be sure, the dress the princess was wearing was such as the prince’s great-grandmother might have worn, but that gave them something to laugh at.
As soon as preparations could be made, the wedding of the prince and princess was celebrated with great splendor, and they lived happily ever after.
