Old time stories

(Perrault,
Robinson)/The
Sleeping Beauty in
the Wood
< Old t ime st ories (Perrault , Robinson)

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Sleeping Beauty.
 THE SLEEPING BEAUTY
IN THE WOOD

O NCE upon a time there lived a king

and queen who were grieved, more
grieved than words can tell, because they
had no children. They tried the waters of
every country, made vows and pilgrimages,
and did everything that could be done, but
without result. At last, however, the queen
found that her wishes were fulfilled, and in
due course she gave birth to a daughter.

A grand christening was held, and all the

fairies that could be found in the realm
(they numbered seven in all) were invited
to be godmothers to the little princess.
This was done so that by means of the
gifts which each in turn would bestow
upon her (in accordance with the fairy
custom of those days) the princess might
be endowed with every imaginable
perfection.

When the christening ceremony was over,

all the company returned to the king's
palace, where a great banquet was held in
honour of the fairies. Places were laid for
them in magnificent style, and before each
was placed a solid gold casket containing
a spoon, fork, and knife of fine gold, set
with diamonds and rubies. But just as all
were sitting down to table an aged fairy
was seen to enter, whom no one had
thought to invite—the reason being that for
more than fifty years she had never quitted
the tower in which she lived, and people
had supposed her to be dead or
bewitched.

By the king's orders a place was laid for

her, but it was impossible to give her a
golden casket like the others, for only
seven had been made for the seven fairies.
The old creature believed that she was
intentionally slighted, and muttered threats
between her teeth.
She was overheard by one of the young
fairies, who was seated near by. The latter,
guessing that some mischievous gift might
be bestowed upon the little princess, hid
behind the tapestry as soon as the
company left the table. Her intention was
to be the last to speak, and so to have the
power of counteracting, as far as possible,
any evil which the old fairy might do.

Presently the fairies began to bestow their

gifts upon the princess. The youngest
ordained that she should be the most
beautiful person in the world; the next, that
she should have the temper of an angel;
the third, that she should do everything
with wonderful grace; the fourth, that she
should dance to perfection; the fifth, that
she should sing like a nightingale; and the
sixth, that she should play every kind of
music with the utmost skill.

It was now the turn of the aged fairy.

Shaking her head, in token of spite rather
than of infirmity, she declared that the
princess should prick her hand with a
spindle, and die of it. A shudder ran
through the company at this terrible gift.
All eyes were filled with tears.

But at this moment the young fairy

stepped forth from behind the tapestry.
'Take comfort, your Majesties,' she cried in
a loud voice; 'your daughter shall not die.
My power, it is true, is not enough to undo
all that my aged kinswoman has decreed:
the princess will indeed prick her hand with

'The king . . . at once published an edict'

a spindle. But instead of dying she shall

merely fall into a profound slumber that
will last a hundred years. At the end of that
time a king's son shall come to awaken
her.'

The king, in an attempt to avert the

unhappy doom pronounced by the old
fairy, at once published an edict forbidding
all persons, under pain of death, to use a
spinning-wheel or keep a spindle in the
house.

At the end of fifteen or sixteen years the

king and queen happened one day to be
away, on pleasure bent. The princess was
running about the castle, and going
upstairs from room to room she came at
length to a garret at the top of a tower,
where an old serving-woman sat alone
with her distaff, spinning. This good
woman had never heard speak of the
king's proclamation forbidding the use of
spinning-wheels.

'What are you doing, my good woman?'

asked the princess.

'I am spinning, my pretty child,' replied the

dame, not knowing who she was.

'Oh, what fun!' rejoined the princess; 'how

do you do it? Let me try and see if I can do
it equally well.'
Partly because she was too hasty, partly
because she was a little heedless, but also
because the fairy decree had ordained it,
no sooner had she seized the spindle than
she pricked her hand and fell down in a
swoon.

In great alarm the good dame cried out for

help. People came running from every
quarter to the princess. They threw water
on her face, chafed her with their hands,
and rubbed her temples with the royal
essence of Hungary. But nothing would
restore her.
Then the king, who had been brought
upstairs by the commotion, remembered
the fairy prophecy. Feeling certain that
what had happened was inevitable, since
the fairies had decreed it, he gave orders
that the princess should be placed in the
finest apartment in the palace, upon a bed
embroidered in gold and silver.

You would have thought her an angel, so

fair was she to behold. The trance had not
taken away the lovely colour of her
complexion. Her cheeks were delicately
flushed, her lips like coral. Her eyes,
indeed, were closed, but her gentle
breathing could be heard, and it was
therefore plain that she was not dead. The
king commanded that she should be left to
sleep in peace until the hour of her
awakening should come.

When the accident happened to the

princess, the good fairy who had saved her
life by condemning her to sleep a hundred
years was in the kingdom of Mataquin,
twelve thousand leagues away. She was
instantly warned of it, however, by a little
dwarf who had a pair of seven-league
boots, which are boots that enable one to
cover seven leagues at a single step. The
fairy set off at once, and within an hour her
chariot of fire, drawn by dragons, was seen
approaching.

The king handed her down from her

chariot, and she approved of all that he
had done. But being gifted with great
powers of foresight, she bethought herself
that when the princess came to be
awakened, she would be much distressed
to find herself all alone in the old castle.
And this is what she did.

She touched with her wand everybody

(except the king and queen) who was in
the castle governesses, maids of honour,
ladies-in-waiting, gentlemen, officers,
stewards, ​

'A little dwarf who had a pair of seven-league boots'

cooks, scullions, errand boys, guards,

porters, pages, footmen. She touched
likewise all the horses in the stables, with
their grooms, the big mastiffs in the
courtyard, and little Puff, the pet dog of the
princess, who was lying on the bed beside
his mistress. The moment she had
touched them they all fell asleep, to
awaken only at the same moment as their
mistress. Thus they would always be
ready with their service whenever she
should require it. The very spits before the
fire, loaded with partridges and pheasants,
subsided into slumber, and the fire as well.
All was done in a moment, for the fairies
do not take long over their work.

Then the king and queen kissed their dear

child, without waking her, and left the
castle. Proclamations were issued,
forbidding any approach to it, but these
warnings were not needed, for within a
quarter of an hour there grew up all round
the park so vast a quantity of trees big and
small, with interlacing brambles and
thorns, that neither man nor beast could
penetrate them. The tops alone of the
castle towers could be seen, and these
only from a distance. Thus did the fairy's
magic contrive that the princess, during all
the time of her slumber, should have
nought whatever to fear from prying eyes.

At the end of a hundred years the throne

had passed to another family from that of
the sleeping princess. One day the king's
son chanced to go a-hunting that way, and
seeing in the distance some towers in the
midst of a large and dense forest, he
asked what they were. His attendants told
him in reply the various stories which they
had heard. Some said there was an old
castle haunted by ghosts, others that all
the witches of the neighbourhood held
their revels ​there. The favourite tale was
that in the castle lived an ogre, who carried
thither all the children whom he could
catch. There he devoured them at his
leisure, and since he was the only person
who could force a passage
 'The king's son chanced to go'

through the wood nobody had been able to

pursue him.

While the prince was wondering what to

believe, an old peasant took up the tale.

'Your Highness,' said he, 'more than fifty

years ago I heard my father say that in this
castle lies a princess, the most beautiful
that has ever been seen. It is her doom to
sleep there for a hundred years, and then
to be awakened by a king's son, for whose
coming she waits.'
This story fired the young prince. He
jumped immediately to the conclusion that
it was for him to see so gay an adventure
through, and impelled alike by the wish for
love and glory, he resolved to set about it
on the spot.

Hardly had he taken a step towards the

wood when the tall trees, the brambles and
the thorns, separated of themselves and
made a path for him. He turned in the
direction of the castle, and espied it at the
end of a long avenue. This avenue he
entered, and was surprised to notice that
the trees closed up again as soon as he
had passed, so that none of his retinue
were able to follow him. A young and
gallant prince is always brave, however; so
he continued on his way, and presently
reached a large fore-court.

The sight that now met his gaze was

enough to fill him with an icy fear. The
silence of the place was dreadful, and
death seemed all about him. The
recumbent figures of men and animals had
all the appearance of being lifeless, until
he perceived by the pimply noses and
ruddy faces of the porters that they merely
slept. It was plain, too, from their glasses,
in which were still some dregs of wine, that
they had fallen asleep while drinking.
The prince made his way into a great
courtyard, paved with marble, and
mounting the staircase entered the guard-
room. Here the guards were lined up on
either side in two ranks, their muskets on
their shoulders, snoring their hardest.
Through several apartments crowded with
ladies and gentlemen in waiting, some
seated, some standing, but all asleep, he
pushed on, and so came at last to a
chamber which was decked all over with
gold. There he ​encountered the most
beautiful sight he had ever seen. Reclining
upon a bed, the curtains of which on every
side were drawn back, was a princess of
seemingly some fifteen or sixteen
summers, whose radiant beauty had an
almost unearthly lustre.

Trembling in his admiration he drew near

and went on his knees beside her. At the
same moment, the hour of
disenchantment having come, the princess
awoke, and

'All asleep'

bestowed upon him a look more tender

than a first glance might seem to warrant.
'Is it you, dear prince?' she said; 'you have
been long in coming!'

Charmed by these words, and especially

by the manner in which they were said, the
prince scarcely knew how to express his
delight and gratification. He declared that
he loved her better than he loved himself.
His words were faltering, but they pleased
the more for that. The less there is of
eloquence, the more there is of love.

Her embarrassment was less than his, and

that is not to be wondered at, since she
had had time to think of what she would
say to him. It seems (although the story
says nothing about it) that the good fairy
had beguiled her long slumber with
pleasant dreams. To be brief, after four
hours of talking they had not succeeded in
uttering one half of the things they had to
say to each other.

'They all fell asleep'

Now the whole palace had awakened with
the princess. Every one went about his
business, and since they were not all in
love they presently began to feel mortally
hungry. The lady-in-waiting, who was
suffering like the rest, at length lost
patience, and in a loud voice called out to
the princess that supper was served.

The princess was already fully dressed,

and in most magnificent style. As he
helped her to rise, the prince refrained from
telling her that her clothes, with the
straight collar which she wore, were like
those to which his grand-mother had been
accustomed. And in truth, they in no way
detracted from her beauty.

They passed into an apartment hung with

mirrors, and were there served with supper
by the stewards of the household, while
the fiddles and oboes played some old
music—and played it remarkably well,
considering they had not played at all for
just upon a hundred years. A little later,
when supper was over, the chaplain
married them in the castle chapel, and in
due course, attended by the courtiers in
waiting, they retired to rest.
They slept but little, however. The princess,
indeed, had not much need of sleep, and
as soon as morning came the prince took
his leave of her. He returned to the city, and
told his father, who was awaiting him with
some anxiety, that he had lost himself
while hunting in the forest, but had
obtained some black bread and cheese
from a charcoal-burner, in whose hovel he
had passed the night. His royal father,
being of an easy-going nature, believed the
tale, but his mother was not so easily
hoodwinked. She noticed that he now went
hunting every day, and that he always had
an excuse handy when he had slept two or
three ​nights from home. She felt certain,
therefore, that he had some love affair.

Two whole years passed since the

marriage of the prince and princess, and
during that time they had two children. The
first, a daughter, was called 'Dawn,' while
the second, a boy, was named 'Day,'
because he seemed even more beautiful
than his sister.

Many a time the queen told her son that he

ought to settle down in life. She tried in
this way to make him confide in her, but he
did not dare to trust her with his secret.
Despite the affection which he bore her, he
was afraid of his mother, for she came of
a race of ogres, and the king had only
married her for her wealth.

It was whispered at the Court that she had

ogrish instincts, and that when little
children were near her she had the
greatest difficulty in the world to keep
herself from pouncing on them.

No wonder the prince was reluctant to say

a word.

But at the end of two years the king died,

and the prince found himself on the throne.
He then made public announcement of his
marriage, and went in state to fetch his
royal consort from her castle. With her two
children beside her she made a triumphal
entry into the capital of her husband's
realm.

Some time afterwards the king declared

war on his neighbour, the Emperor
Cantalabutte. He appointed the queen-
mother as regent in his absence, and
entrusted his wife and children to her care.

He expected to be away at the war for the

whole of the summer, and as soon as he
was gone the queen-mother sent her
daughter-in-law and the two children to a
country ​
 The most beautiful sight he had ever seen."

mansion in the forest. This she did that

she might be able the more easily to
gratify her horrible longings. A few days
later she went there herself, and in the
evening summoned the chief steward.

'For my dinner to-morrow,' she told him, 'I

will eat little Dawn.'
'Oh, Madam!' exclaimed the steward.

'That is my will,' said the queen; and she

spoke in the tones of an ogre who longs
for raw meat.

'You will serve her with piquant sauce,' she

added.

The poor man, seeing plainly that it was

useless to trifle with an ogress, took his
big knife and went up to little Dawn's
chamber. She was at that time four years
old, and when she came running with a
smile to greet him, flinging her arms round
his neck and coaxing him to give her some
sweets, he burst into tears, and let the
knife fall from his hand.

Presently he went down to the yard behind

the house, and slaughtered a young lamb.
For this he made so delicious a sauce that
his mistress declared she had never eaten
anything so good.

At the same time the steward carried little

Dawn to his wife, and bade the latter hide
her in the quarters which they had below
the yard.

Eight days later the wicked queen

summoned her steward again.
'For my supper,' she announced, 'I will eat
little Day.' The steward made no answer,
being determined to trick her as he had
done previously. He went in search of little
Day, whom he found with a tiny foil in his
hand, making brave passes though he was
but three years old—at a big ​monkey. He
carried him off to his wife, who stowed him
away in hiding with little Dawn. To the
ogress the steward served up, in place of
Day, a young kid so tender that she found it
surpassingly delicious.

So far, so good. But there came an evening

when this evil queen again addressed the
steward.
'I have a mind,' she said, 'to eat the queen
with the same sauce as you served with
her children.'

This time the poor steward despaired of

being able to practise another deception.
The young queen was twenty years old,
without counting the hundred years she
had been asleep. Her skin, though white
and beautiful, had become a little tough,
and what animal could he possibly find
that would correspond to her? He made up
his mind that if he would save his own life
he must kill the queen, and went upstairs
to her apartment determined to do the
deed once and for all. Goading himself
into a rage he drew his knife and entered
the young queen's chamber, but a
reluctance to give her no moment of grace
made him repeat respectfully the
command which he had received from the
queen-mother.

'Do it! do it!' she cried, baring her neck to

him; 'carry out the order you have been
given! Then once more I shall see my
children, my poor children that I loved so
much!'

Nothing had been said to her when the

children were stolen away, and she
believed them to be dead.
The poor steward was overcome by
compassion. 'No, no, Madam,' he declared;
'you shall not die, but you shall certainly
see your children again. That will be in my
quarters, where I have hidden them. I shall
make the ​queen eat a young hind in place
of you, and thus trick her once more.'

Without more ado he led her to his

quarters, and leaving her there to embrace
and weep over her children, proceeded to
cook a hind with such art that the queen-
mother ate it for her supper with as much
appetite as if it had indeed been the young
queen.
The queen-mother felt well satisfied with
her cruel deeds, and planned to tell the
king, on his return, that savage wolves had
devoured his consort and his children. It
was her habit, however, to prowl often
about the courts and alleys of the
mansion, in the hope of scenting raw meat,
and one evening she heard the little boy
Day crying in a basement cellar. The child
was weeping because his mother had
threatened to whip him for some
naughtiness, and she heard at the same
time the voice of Dawn begging
forgiveness for her brother.
The ogress recognised the voices of the
queen and her children, and was enraged
to find she had been tricked. The next
morning, in tones so affrighting that all
trembled, she ordered a huge vat to be
brought into the middle of the courtyard.
This she filled with vipers and toads, with
snakes and serpents of every kind,
intending to cast into it the queen and her
children, and the steward with his wife and
serving-girl. By her command these were
brought forward, with their hands tied
behind their backs.

There they were, and her minions were

making ready to cast them into the vat,
when into the courtyard rode the king!
Nobody had expected him so soon, but he
had travelled post-haste. Filled with
amazement, he demanded to know what
this horrible spectacle meant. None dared
tell him, and at that moment the ogress,
enraged at what confronted her, threw
herself head foremost into the vat, and
was devoured on the instant by the
hideous creatures she had placed in it.

The king could not but be sorry, for after all

she was his mother; but it was not long
before he found ample consolation in his
beautiful wife and children.
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