IT was a rusty key, and Briar-Rose was afraid that she might not be able
to turn it, but to her surprise it turned quite easily. The heavy door
swung inward on its ancient hinges with many a creak and groan, and she
found herself in a little dark room thickly carpeted with the dust of
years. From this room a winding staircase led upward, and Briar-Rose was
just about to climb the stair when a sudden noise made her start back in
alarm.
[Illustration]
_Whirr!_ There was a beating of wings, a flurry and a scuffle, and past
her face flew a dark shape, with gleaming, yellow eyes. It was only an
owl who was hiding in the tower out of the sunlight, but he gave poor
Briar-Rose a great fright, and she was in two minds whether to turn back
or not, but the winding staircase looked very inviting and she wanted to
see whither it led, so gathering up her skirts to avoid any creepy
things that might be crawling about, she ran up the stairway as fast as
she could, round and round until she reached the top. There she came
upon another door.
In this door also was a rusty key, and Briar-Rose turned it as easily as
she had turned the first. Then she pushed open the door and entered.
She found herself in a small room lighted by narrow windows. Beneath one
of these windows was a couch, and in front of it sat an old woman with a
spinning-wheel.
"Good-morrow, Motherkin," said the Princess. "What are you doing?"
"I am spinning, my pretty child," answered the old woman without ceasing
her work.
"Spinning?" asked the Princess. "Oh, do let me see! What is that thing
which goes round so merrily?"
"That is the spinning-wheel," said the old woman. "Why, child, you speak
as though you had never seen such a thing before."
"Indeed, I have not," said the Princess. "How interesting it is! I
wonder whether I could do it as well as you. Will you let me try?"
"Why, of course," said the old woman, "every young girl should know how
to spin. Here you are, my dear," and she gave Briar-Rose the spindle.
Now whether the Princess in her eagerness to seize the spindle grasped
it too roughly, or whether it was just because the fairy had ordained
that it should be so, I do not know, but anyhow the sharp iron point
pricked her hand, and immediately she fell backward on to the couch in a
deep sleep.
And in that very moment sleep fell upon every man, woman and child in
the castle, and upon every living thing within its gates. The King, who
was sitting at the Council-board with his ministers, stopped speaking in
the middle of a sentence, and remained with his mouth open, in the act
of uttering a word, and nobody remarked the strangeness of his conduct,
for all his ministers were asleep too, just as they sat. Outside the
door the sentry leaned upon his pike. In the Queen's chamber the
ladies-in-waiting fell into a profound slumber in the very midst of what
they were doing--one as she was hemming a handkerchief, another over her
embroidery, still another while she was talking to her parrot. The Queen
slept in her chair, and a little page-boy who was singing fell asleep in
the middle of a note.
All through the castle the charmed slumber spread. Courtiers, officers,
stewards, cooks, errand-boys, soldiers, beadles,--nay the very horses in
the stables and the dogs in their kennels were stricken motionless as
though they were dead. The flies ceased to buzz at the windows and the
pigeons to coo upon the roof. In the great kitchen the scullions fell
asleep as they were washing up the dishes, and a cook in the very act of
boxing the ears of a kitchen-knave.
[Illustration]
But not for a hundred years would he feel that blow, or be able to utter
the cry that was on the tip of his tongue. The dog fell asleep under
the table as he was gnawing a bone; the cat in front of a mouse-hole,
the mouse itself on the other side of the skirting-board, with its
little sharp nose outstretched to sniff the air suspiciously. Even the
spits which were turning at the fire, laden with partridges and
pheasants cooking for the Princess's birthday feast--even they ceased to
turn, and the very fire stopped flickering and the flames sank down.
[Illustration]
A deep silence fell over the castle. In the fields the lambs ceased to
bleat, the horses to neigh and the cows to low. The birds in the trees
were silent. One moment the air was full of the music of their
twittering; the next, all was as still as in a desert. The very wind
dropped to sleep in the woods; not a leaf stirred, and the white clouds
were motionless in the sky.
* * * * *
So sleep fell upon the enchanted castle and upon all within it, because
of the Princess Briar-Rose, who lay there on her couch in the ancient
tower waiting till the hundred years should be past and the Prince
should come to waken her.
And all round the castle there grew up a hedge of thorn, tangled with
ivy, woodbine and creeping plants, so dense that from a distance it
seemed like a little wood. Higher and higher it grew, closing round the
castle like a wall until all that could be seen was the top of the
highest tower, and the flagstaff from which the royal standard hung limp
and motionless.
And the years went by, each with its changing seasons. Spring came and
brought to the fields and woods outside the new life of leaf and flower.
The trees awoke from their winter sleep and clothed themselves
gloriously in green; the birds began to sing again and the swallows and
martins built their nests under the eaves; children laughed and clapped
their hands because they were happy in the bright sunshine, and old
people felt their hearts filled with joy when they saw the mist of
bluebells in the woods and the daffodils dancing in the breeze.
[Illustration]
But within the thorn hedge no life stirred, and neither flower nor tree
answered the call of spring.
[Illustration]
As time went on, the people who were young when the palace was enchanted
grew old and died, but they never forgot the prophecy that one of these
days the sleeping Princess should awaken; and they told the story to
their children, who told it in their turn, changing it a little because
it was only a tale to them. And so, after many years, the legend spread
abroad to neighbouring countries, and many a young prince dreamed that
it was he who was destined to break the spell and waken the sleeping
Princess.
Now and again one would take the quest upon him and try to force his way
through the thick hedge. But no one succeeded. The sharp thorns gripped
the unhappy young men like clutching hands, and held them fast, so that
they could neither go forward nor back, and they perished miserably.
Their bones, whitened by the sun and wind, remained there as a warning
for all to see, and the creeping plants grew over them.