The Sleeping Beauty (Evans)/Chapter 8

by Charles Perrault

CHAPTER VIII

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.

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.

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 perigee and pheasants cooking for the Princess’s birthday east—even they ceased to turn, and the very fire stopped flickering and the flames sank down.

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.

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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 caves; 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,

But within the thorn hedge no life stirred, and neither flower nor tree answered the call of spring.

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.