Once upon a time long ago--so long, indeed, that even the very oldest
people now alive could not remember it--there lived a King and Queen
in a beautiful palace, a great white marble palace, with wide halls
and high towers, and a golden roof that flashed in the sun.
And all round the palace, for miles and miles, there were lovely
gardens and pleasure-grounds, with terraces and green lawns, and
ancient trees where the birds would sit and sing all day and all night
long, and more flowers than you could ever think of if you were
to think a whole summer through. There were peacocks and birds of
paradise on the broad lawns, and pretty slender brown deer in the
shady glades, and gold and silver fishes in the ponds and fountains,
and great red and yellow fruits ripened in the orchards.
There was everything there that heart could wish--except just one,
and that was the one thing in all the world that this King and Queen
wanted to make them perfectly happy. For there was no little child to
run and play about the sunny gardens and pick the flowers, and pet the
birds and beasts that wandered there. And this would often make them
very sad.
But at last, after many years, they had their wish, and a little
baby daughter was born to them--a tiny child with a face like a blush
rosebud, eyes like violets, and a little red mouth like the pimpernel
flowers that grow in the cornfields and by the wayside in summer-time.
Now, you can easily think how glad this King and Queen were, and what
great rejoicings were made over all the country.
Bonfires as big as haystacks were kept burning all night, fat oxen
were roasted whole in the market-place of every town, the church-bells
were rung and rung again until the ringers were out of breath and
their arms were aching, and every little child in the kingdom was
given a beautiful present for the baby Princess's sake.
In the palace, of course, all was bustle and hurry to make ready for
the christening-feast; the maids were busy putting flowers all
about the halls and chambers, and sprinkling the shining floors with
sweet-smelling leaves and petals.
For the most important guests invited to this christening were seven
very powerful fairies, and you know, I am sure, how particular fairies
are about what they eat and drink. Not that they are greedy; but they
are used to such delicate food that even the very best of ours seems
strange to them. So the Queen was very anxious that they should
be pleased; for they had been asked to be godmothers to the baby
Princess, and she wanted them to be in a good humor so that they
should be kind to her little one.
It was a beautiful summer afternoon, and the roses on the palace
terrace were nodding their heads sleepily in the warm breeze, when the
fairies' chariots came into sight, sailing through the blue sky like a
flight of bright-winged butterflies.
They were all good fairies, and had known the King and Queen all their
lives long, and as they had not seen them for some time there was
a great deal to talk about and much news to tell. And, dear me! how
pleased they were with the baby! They all agreed that she was the
prettiest little darling they had ever seen--almost as pretty as a
real fairy baby--and _that_ was a compliment indeed, I can tell you.
And when they went in to the great banqueting-hall and sat down to
table, they were even more delighted than at first. For each one of
them there was a set of six golden dinner things--knife, spoon, fork,
cup, dish, and plate--made on purpose as a present for each, and all
different. One was set with pearls, another with diamonds, the third
with rubies, the fourth with opals, the fifth with amethysts, the
sixth with emeralds, the seventh with sapphires; and nobody could tell
which was the most beautiful.
They were just going to begin, and everybody was as happy as happy
could be, when, all of a sudden, 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 all the room, so that the
guests could hardly see their plates. Then the great doors burst open
with a terrible bang, and an old fairy in a long trailing black gown,
with her face almost hidden in a black hood, jumped out of a black
chariot drawn by fierce griffins, and stalked up to the table.
The King turned pale, and the Queen nearly fainted away, for this
was the spiteful fairy Tormentilla, who lived all alone, an immense
distance away from everywhere and everyone, in a dismal black stone
castle in the middle of a desert. The poor Queen had been so happy and
so busy that she had forgotten all about her, and never sent her an
invitation.
However, they all tried to make the best of it, and another chair was
brought, and another place laid for Tormentilla; and both the King and
Queen told her over and over again how very, very sorry they were not
to have asked her.
It was all in vain. Nothing could please her; she would eat and
drink nothing, and she sat, scowling and looking angrily at the other
fairies' jeweled cups and dishes, until the feast was over, and it was
time to give the presents.
Then they all went into the great tapestried room where the tiny
Princess lay sleeping in her mother-o'-pearl cradle, and the seven
fairies began to say what they would each give her.
The first stepped forward and said: "She shall always be as good as
gold"; the second: "She shall be the cleverest Princess in the world";
the third: "She shall be the most beautiful"; the fourth: "She shall
be the happiest"; the fifth: "She shall have the sweetest voice that
was ever heard"; the sixth: "Everyone shall love her." And then the
wicked old cross fairy strode over to the cradle with long quick
steps, and said, shaking her black crooked stick at the King and
Queen: "_And I say that she shall prick her hand with a spindle and
die of the wound_!"
At this the Queen fell on her knees and begged and prayed Tormentilla
to call back her cruel words; but suddenly the seventh fairy, the
youngest of all, who knew Tormentilla well, and had hidden herself
behind the curtains for fear that some such thing might happen, came
out and said:
"Do not cry so, dear Queen; I cannot quite undo my cousin's wicked
enchantment, but I can promise you that your daughter shall not die,
but only fall asleep for a hundred years. And, when these are past and
gone, a Prince shall come and awaken her with a kiss."
So the King and Queen dried their tears and thanked the kind fairy
Heartsease for her goodness; and all the fairies went back to their
homes, and things went on much as usual in the palace. But you can
imagine how careful the Queen was of her little girl; and the King
made a law that every spindle in the country must be destroyed, and
that no more should be made, and that anyone who had a spindle should
be heavily punished if not executed at once.
Well, the years went by happily enough until the Princess Miranda was
almost eighteen years old, and all that the six fairies had promised
came true, for she was the best and the prettiest and the cleverest
Princess in all the world, and everybody loved her. And, indeed, by
this time Tormentilla's spiteful words were almost forgotten.
"Poor old thing," the Queen would sometimes say, "she was so angry
at having been left out that she did not know what she was saying. Of
course, she did not really mean it."
Now, the King and Queen had to go away for a few days to a great
entertainment that one of their richest nobles was giving at his
country house; and, as the Princess did not wish to go, they left her
behind with her ladies-in-waiting in the beautiful old palace. For
the first two days she amused herself very well, but on the third she
missed her father and mother so much that, to pass the time till
they came back, she began exploring all the old lumber-rooms and
out-of-the-way attics in the palace, and laughing at the dusty
furniture and queer curiosities she found there.
At last she found herself at the top of a narrow winding stairway in
a tall turret that seemed even older than all the rest of the palace.
And when she lifted the latch of the door in front of her she saw
a little low chamber with curiously painted walls, and there sat a
little old, old woman in a high white cap, spinning at a wheel.
For some time she stood at the door, watching the old woman curiously;
she could not imagine what she was doing, for the Princess had never
seen a spinning-wheel in her life before, because, as I told you, the
King had ordered them all to be destroyed.
Now, it happened that the poor old woman who lived in this tower
had never heard the King's command, for she was so deaf that if
you shouted until you were hoarse she would never have been able to
understand you.
"What pretty work you are doing there, Goody? And why does that wheel
go whirr, whirr, whirr?" said the Princess. The old woman neither
answered nor looked up, for, of course, she did not hear.
So the Princess stepped into the room and laid her hand upon the old
woman's shoulder.
Goody started then, 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 Miranda," screamed the maiden in her ear, but the
old woman only shook her head--she could hear nothing.
Then the Princess pointed to the spindle, and made the old woman
understand that she wanted to try if she could work it.
So Goody nodded, and laughed, and got up from her seat, and the
Princess sat down and took the spindle in her hand. But no sooner did
she touch it than she pricked the palm of her hand with the point, and
sank down in a swoon.
Immediately a deep silence fell on all around. The little bird that
only a moment before had been singing so sweetly upon the window-sill
hushed his song. The distant hum of voices from the courtyard beneath
ceased; even Goody stopped short in the directions she was giving
the Princess, and neither moved hand nor foot towards the poor little
maid, and all because she had fallen fast asleep as she stood.
Below in the castle it was just the same. The King and Queen, who had
that moment returned from their journey and were enquiring for their
daughter, fell asleep before the lady-in-waiting could answer them,
and as to the lady herself she had begun to snore--in a ladylike
manner, of course--before you could have winked your eye.
The soldiers and men-at-arms slumbered as they stood. The page-boy
fell asleep with his mouth wide open, and a fly that had just been
going to settle on his nose fell asleep too in mid-air.
Although the sun had been shining brightly when the Princess took the
spindle in her hand, no sooner did she prick herself with the point
than deep shadows darkened the sunny rooms and gardens.
It was just as though night had overtaken them, but there was no one
in or near the palace to heed whether it were dark or light.
This sudden darkness had been caused by a magic wood which had sprung
up all around the palace and its grounds. It was at least half a mile
thick, and was composed of thorns and prickly plants, through which
it seemed impossible for anyone to penetrate. It was so thick and high
that it hid even the topmost towers of the enchanted castle, and no
one outside could have dreamed that such a castle lay behind it.
Well, and so the years went on, and on, and on, until a hundred years
had passed, and the palace and the story of it were all but forgotten.
And it happened that a King's son from a neighboring country came
hunting that way with his men, and horses, and dogs. And in the
excitement of the chase he rode on and on until he became separated
from his servants and attendants, and found himself in a part of the
country where he had never been before. In vain he tried to retrace
his steps; he only seemed to wander farther away in the wrong
direction.
Presently he came to a woodcutter's cottage, and dismounted to ask his
way. An old, old man lived in this hut, and after he had directed the
Prince as to the best way back, the young man pointed to a thick wood
ahead, and asked what lay beyond it. Then the old man told him that
there was a legend that beyond the wood was an enchanted palace where
a beautiful Princess had lain sleeping for a hundred years, and whom a
Prince was to awaken with a kiss.
Directly the Prince Florimond heard this, nothing would serve but he
must go there and see for himself if the tale were true. So he rode
and he rode until he came to the edge of the wood, and there he got
off his horse and began to push his way through the thorny thicket. It
was hard work indeed, for the briars were so strong and so sharp that
you would never believe that anyone could get past them, and they
closed up behind him as he went.
But he was strong and brave, and after a time the way became easier,
until at last he came to the palace.
There everyone was sleeping--the sentinels and soldiers in the
court-yard, the cooks in the kitchen, and pages and lords and
ladies-in-waiting in the corridors and chambers; and, in the great
throne-room the King and Queen on their golden and ivory thrones.
Prince Florimond passed on, wondering more and more, till he came at
length to the narrow staircase which led to the little tower in which
the Princess had fallen asleep. He mounted this, and then came the
greatest wonder of all--the beautiful sleeping lady, in her glistening
white robes. She was so beautiful that to see her almost took away his
breath; and, falling on his knees, he bent to kiss her cheek. And as
he kissed her, she opened her lovely blue eyes and said, smiling: "Oh!
Prince, have you come at last? I have had such pleasant dreams."
Then she sat up laughing and rubbing her eyes, and gave him her hand,
and they went hand in hand together down the stairs and along the
corridors, till they came to the throne-room. And there were the King
and Queen rubbing their eyes too, and they kissed their daughter and
welcomed the Prince most gladly.
And, all at the same time, the whole palace was awake. Cocks crowed,
dogs barked, the cats began to mew, the spits to turn, the clocks to
strike, the soldiers presented arms, the heralds blew their trumpets,
the head cook boxed a little scullion's ears, the butler went on
drinking his half-finished tankard of wine, the first lady-in-waiting
finished winding her skein of silk.
Everything, in short, went on exactly as though the spell had lasted
a hundred seconds instead of years. To be sure, Princess Miranda's
pretty white dress was just such a one as Prince Florimond's
great-grandmother might have worn. But that gave them something to
laugh at.
And now my story is done, for I need hardly tell you that the Prince
and Princess were married amid great rejoicings, and lived happily
ever after; and that the seven fairy godmothers danced at the wedding.
So all ended well, and what more could anyone wish?
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