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.