The Sleeping Beauty’s Dream
“She pricked her hand with the point of the spindle, and fell into a deep, deep sleep.”
And the creepers that had been climbing over the castle walls for a long time, searching for the turret chamber wherein the sleeping Princess lay—the ivy, the jessamine, the briar rose—climbed round odd niches and corners, as if all were curious to see the lovely maiden under the Fairy Spell. But the years went by and none had reached so high, though one sweet little briar rose had not given up hope, and crept steadily onward and spread as it went. And this is the dream of the beautiful Princess:—
She dreamt that she arose and wandered forth out of the castle gates, on to the sunlit terrace. Her attendants had dozed over their labours, and she wondered at their laziness. The peacocks had stopped in their strutting and had fallen asleep; even the singing-birds in the trees had ceased their trilling and hidden their little heads under their wings. But the Princess did not tarry. She went straight on, past the closed-up daisies and sunflowers and the drooping foxgloves, past the goldfish drowsing in the fountain basin, for all around Nature was hushed and had fallen asleep.
Without hesitation she crossed the meadow of wild flowers, and reached the willow path that skirted the sparkling river, and did not stop until she reached a willow larger than the rest. Then, bending under its branches, she neared the water’s edge. There an old wooden skiff was moored; lifting her silken robe, she stepped into it, unfastened the cord, and, reclining on the embroidered cushions, she closed her eyes with a happy sigh. Away drifted the bark with its lovely burden. The sunlight turned to twilight with lurid gleams, and pale green flecks jewelled the sky; the twilight turned to dark grey and silver, and the moon and stars watched her on her way. The bark floated to where the silent river joined the open sea; still peacefully on it went, over the bosom of the moonlit ocean, onward into the night.
The Princess’s sweet thoughts were disturbed by the sudden stopping of her craft, which had run aground on the sands just where the tiny wavelets retreated shyly, to venture again and as quickly withdraw.
Soft and balmy was the summer’s night, and on the breeze music came, wafted towards the young Princess, who smiled and landed lightly, drawn by the bright strains which led her, following, to a pleasure ground. Lights hung festooned in the great trees, and in an open space peasants in their picturesque costumes were dancing, and laughing as they stepped. The Princess, from behind a tree, gazed on the scene, on the glades and lake in the distance—all mysterious in the night; and as she listened to the laughter and the music, she knew she had never heard anything so delightful before.
Happy at the sight and sounds, she moved from behind the tree, and she saw a young man approach her with great respect—one of a group who were not dancing. The Princess would have fled, but he was already close; and although his dress betokened origin as humble as that of those around, he was as handsome as a young god. They looked into one another’s eyes; then she accepted his invitation to dance.
Afterwards they sat together on a mossy knoll and talked low—all was silent around, and the light of the stars was reflected in the glow-worms, but the Princess did not tell him who she was; and when he spoke of a quest on which he was about to start, to find his unknown betrothed, who awaited him in a distant land, she wept. Her sweet tears fell upon his hand, which he raised to his lips and reverently kissed them there, and she smiled on him for doing so. But the smile faded as an old woman came, and, plucking him by the sleeve, told him it was the hour to go. And when the Princess was alone she felt as though she had never known before what it was to be alone.
“... and she would be awakened by a king’s son.”
How long a time passed by she did not know. But again she saw the handsome peasant youth. And her heart sank as she thought that her release could come only through the kiss of some king’s son who could claim her for his wife. Then she pondered no more, for she saw the traveller now, far, far away, where she could not get near him; and he was in a forest path, wrestling with desperate fury with a giant who had barred the way.
Breathlessly she watched the youth as he struggled in the brawny monster’s clutch. The Princess, moved by his stress, cried out in her sleep. Then the rays of the noonday sun, redoubling their forceful heat, shone forth with overpowering energy. The giant, struck with the pain of it, clasped his hands to his head, and fell backwards like a log to the ground.
The Princess knew that her love was safe, and by her fear for his safety she knew, too, how dear he was to her. And she went on dreaming—dreaming happily of what might be the future shared with one she loved so much.
Her heart fluttered as with foreboding of evil. She beheld a range of mountains, and up the foot of one of the peaks a peasant youth toiled his weary course. But the mountain was so slippery that his efforts were of no avail. As he gazed round she could see the handsome features, clouded by fatigue that almost was despair. She saw that the mountain was glistening, and that it was made of ice.
Then she felt the breath of summer. She saw it lift the white pall from the earth—she saw it melt the belt of ice, and as she looked the mountain dissolved into water under the warmth of her love. She saw that he was safe, trudging over the carpet of cowslips, smiling as he went. She wanted to run towards him, but he passed through a thicket and disappeared from sight.
The Princess arose to follow him. But she lost her way, and wandered on and on through a dense forest, where nothing stirred but scampering hares and startled squirrels.
At last, towards evening, she came to a path all gay with glowing flowers, refreshed by their evening bath of dew, and whispering to one another a hushed good-night ere closing their eyes to the light. As the Princess passed along, the strains of an organ fell upon her ear, and she saw a great temple before her. She stood at the open door. Within, hundreds of candles lighted the vast grey dome. And far beyond, in a haze of mystery, stood the man she loved, and by his side his bride, all veiled in white. And she knew his quest was done, and that he had found her whom he had gone to seek. Then there was a stir in the multitude, and a peal of bells rang out on the stillness without. The Princess sank down and felt as though she swooned.
A kiss was on her lips, and she trembled, for she knew the moment had come for the Prince to claim her. But the kiss was sweet. The Sleeping Beauty came slowly back to consciousness; she awoke, and before her was a tall knight in silver armour. His handsome features were lighted up with joy: she knew him well, and, enfolded in his embrace, she murmured happily:—
“It is you, O Prince, the youth of my dream!”
And the little briar rose peeped in at the turret casement and nodded in the breeze at the lovers as they sat close clasped, and as the bells pealed forth, told the news to the ivy, which told it to the jessamine, until soon the tidings spread over the great city far and wide, and over all the joyful land.