Sleeping Beauty연령 맞춤판

Once upon a time, there were a king and a queen who were very sad because they didn't have any children. They tried everything—they went to all the healing springs in the world, made vows, went on pilgrimages—but nothing worked. Finally, the queen became pregnant and gave birth to a daughter. There was a magnificent christening, and the princess had all the fairies they could find in the kingdom as her godmothers (they found seven). This way, as was the custom, each fairy could give her a gift, and the princess would have every perfection imaginable.

After the christening ceremony, everyone returned to the king's palace, where a great feast was prepared for the fairies. In front of each fairy was placed a magnificent cover with a case of solid gold, containing a spoon, knife, and fork, all of pure gold set with diamonds and rubies.

But as they all sat down at the table, they saw an old fairy enter the hall whom they had not invited. She had not left a certain tower for over fifty years, and everyone thought she was either dead or enchanted.

The king ordered a place for her but could not give her a golden case like the others, because only seven had been made for the seven invited fairies. The old fairy felt slighted and muttered threats under her breath.

One of the young fairies, sitting nearby, overheard her grumbling and guessed that she might give the little princess a terrible gift. So as soon as they rose from the table, the young fairy hid behind the curtains so that she could speak last and try to repair the evil the old fairy might do.

Meanwhile, all the fairies began to give their gifts to the princess. The youngest gave her the gift of being the most beautiful person in the world. The next gave her the wit of an angel. The third gave her wonderful grace in everything she did. The fourth gave her perfect dancing. The fifth gave her a voice like a nightingale. And the sixth gave her the ability to play all kinds of music to perfection.

Then it was the old fairy's turn. Shaking her head more with spite than age, she said that the princess would pierce her hand with a spindle and die from the wound. This terrible gift made everyone tremble, and everyone began to cry.

At that very moment, the young fairy came out from behind the curtains and spoke loudly: "Do not worry, King and Queen. Your daughter will not die from this misfortune. It is true, I cannot undo entirely what the older fairy has done. The princess will indeed pierce her hand with a spindle, but instead of dying, she will fall into a deep sleep that will last a hundred years. At the end of that time, a king's son will come and wake her."

To avoid the misfortune foretold by the old fairy, the king immediately issued a proclamation forbidding anyone, on pain of death, to spin with a distaff and spindle or to have any spindle in their houses.

About fifteen or sixteen years later, while the king and queen were away at one of their pleasure houses, the young princess happened one day to amuse herself by running up and down the palace. As she went from one room to another, she climbed to a little room at the top of a tower, where a good old woman was sitting alone, spinning with her spindle. This old woman had never heard of the king's proclamation against spindles.

"What are you doing there, good woman?" asked the princess.

"I am spinning, my pretty child," said the old woman, who did not know who she was.

"Oh!" said the princess, "that is very pretty. How do you do it? Give it to me, so I can see if I can do it too." She had no sooner taken the spindle into her hand than, whether she was too hasty or a bit clumsy, or because the fairy's spell had ordained it, the spindle pricked her hand, and she fell down in a faint.

The old woman, not knowing what to do, cried out for help. People came running from all over. They threw water on the princess's face, loosened her clothes, slapped her hands, and rubbed her temples with Hungary water, but nothing could wake her.

The king, who had come up at the noise, remembered the fairies' prophecy. He knew this had to happen since the fairies had said it, so he had the princess carried to the finest room in the palace and laid on a bed embroidered with gold and silver.

She looked like an angel, so beautiful she was; her faint had not dimmed her complexion at all. Her cheeks were pink, and her lips like coral. Her eyes were shut, but she breathed softly, which assured everyone she was not dead.

The king commanded that she not be disturbed and that she sleep peacefully until her time to wake came.

The good fairy who had saved her life by putting her to sleep for a hundred years was in the kingdom of Matakin, twelve thousand leagues away, when this accident happened to the princess. But she was immediately told by a little dwarf who wore seven-league boots—boots that let him cover seven leagues in one stride.

The fairy set off at once and arrived about an hour later in a fiery chariot pulled by dragons. The king helped her out of the chariot, and she approved everything he had done. But, being very farsighted, she thought that when the princess woke up, she might not know what to do, all alone in the old palace.

So this is what she did: She touched everything in the palace with her wand—except the king and queen. She touched the governesses, maids of honor, ladies of the bedchamber, gentlemen, officers, stewards, cooks, under-cooks, scullions, guards with their beefeaters, pages, and footmen.

She also touched all the horses in the stables and their grooms, the big dogs in the courtyard, and even little Mopsey, the princess's pet spaniel, who was lying on the bed.

As soon as she touched them, they all fell asleep, so that they would not wake before their mistress and be ready to serve her when she needed them. Even the spits at the fireplace, full of partridges and pheasants, fell asleep, and the fire itself. All this was done in an instant. Fairies do not waste time.

Then the king and queen kissed their dear child without waking her and left the palace. They issued a proclamation that no one should dare come near it. But that was not necessary, because within a quarter of an hour, such a vast number of trees, big and small, bushes and brambles, all tangled together, grew up around the whole park that neither man nor beast could pass through.

You could only see the very tops of the palace towers, and that only from far away. Everyone believed the fairy had done this so the princess, while sleeping, would have nothing to fear from curious people.

*

A hundred years passed. The son of the then-reigning king, who was from a different family than the sleeping princess, went hunting on that side of the country. He asked what those towers were that he saw in the middle of a great thick wood.

Everyone answered according to what they had heard. Some said it was a ruined old castle haunted by spirits. Others said all the sorcerers and witches of the country held their sabbath there. The common opinion was that an ogre lived there and carried off all the little children he could catch to eat them at his leisure, because no one else could pass through the wood.

The prince did not know what to believe, until an old countryman spoke to him: "Your Royal Highness, it has been over fifty years since I heard my father say—and he heard my grandfather say—that there was once a princess in this castle, the most beautiful ever seen. She was to sleep there for a hundred years and be woken by a king's son, for whom she was meant." At these words, the young prince was excited. Without a moment's doubt, he believed he could end this adventure, and driven by love and honor, he decided at once to see for himself.

As soon as he stepped toward the wood, all the great trees, bushes, and brambles parted on their own to let him pass. He walked up to the castle at the end of a large avenue he entered.

To his surprise, none of his people could follow him, because the trees closed again after he passed. But he did not stop; a young and loving prince is always brave. He entered a spacious outer courtyard, where everything he saw might have frozen the bravest person with horror.

A terrible silence reigned. The image of death was everywhere, with nothing but stretched-out bodies of men and animals, all seeming dead. But he knew by the red faces and pimpled noses of the beefeaters that they were only asleep, and their goblets, with a few drops of wine still in them, showed they had fallen asleep while drinking.

He crossed a marble courtyard, went up the stairs, and entered the guardroom, where the guards stood in their ranks, their muskets on their shoulders, snoring as loudly as they could. Then he went through several rooms full of gentlemen and ladies, all asleep, some standing, others sitting. At last, he entered a room gilded with gold, where on a bed with open curtains he saw the most beautiful sight ever beheld: a princess who appeared to be about fifteen or sixteen years old, with bright, almost dazzling beauty that seemed divine. He approached with trembling and admiration, and knelt before her.

And now, because the enchantment was over, the princess woke up. She looked at him with eyes more tender than one might expect at first sight. "Is it you, my prince?" she said. "You have waited a long time."

The prince, charmed by her words and even more by the way she spoke them, did not know how to show his joy and gratitude. He assured her that he loved her more than himself.

His words were not very orderly, but that pleased her even more: little eloquence but a lot of love. He was more flustered than she, which is not surprising, because she had had time to think about what to say to him.

It is very likely (though the story does not mention it) that the good fairy had entertained her with pleasant dreams during her long sleep. In short, when they had talked for four hours, they had not said even half of what they had to say.

Meanwhile, the whole palace woke up. Everyone thought about their own business, and since none of them were in love, they were starving. The chief lady-in-waiting, as hungry as anyone, grew impatient and told the princess loudly that supper was served. The prince helped the princess up; she was fully dressed, and very magnificently, but the prince was careful not to tell her that she was dressed like his great-grandmother, with a lace collar over a high neckline. She still looked beautiful and charming anyway.

They went into the great hall of mirrors, where they supped, served by the princess's officers. Violins and oboes played old tunes, which were very excellent, even though it had been over a hundred years since they had been played.

After supper, without wasting time, the lord chaplain married them in the castle chapel, and the chief lady-in-waiting drew the curtains. They got very little sleep; the princess did not need it, and the prince left the next morning to return to the city, where his father must have been worried about him.

The prince told his father he had gotten lost in the forest while hunting and had stayed at a charcoal burner's cottage, eating cheese and brown bread.

The king, who was easygoing, believed him. But his mother could not be convinced. She noticed that he went hunting almost every day and always had some excuse when he stayed away three or four nights at a time. She no longer doubted that he had a love affair. In fact, he lived with the princess for more than two years, and they had two children. The eldest, a daughter, was named Aurora, and the youngest, a son, was called Day, because he was even more handsome than his sister.

The queen said more than once to her son, hoping he would confide in her, that a young man must enjoy himself. But he never dared to tell her his secret. He feared her, though he loved her, because she was from the race of ogres. The king had only married her for her vast riches. It was even whispered at court that she had ogreish tendencies and that whenever she saw little children passing by, she had great difficulty refraining from attacking them. So the prince never told her a word.

But when the king died about two years later, the prince became king himself. He openly announced his marriage and went in great ceremony to bring his queen from the castle. They made a magnificent entry into the capital city, the queen riding between her two children.

Some time later, the king went to war against the Emperor Cantalabutte, his neighbor. He left the government of the kingdom to the queen mother and earnestly recommended his wife and children to her care. The war lasted all summer, and as soon as he left, the queen mother sent her daughter-in-law and children to a country house in the woods, where she could more easily satisfy her horrible desire.

A few days later, she went there herself and said to her clerk of the kitchen: "I want to eat little Aurora for my dinner tomorrow."

"Ah, madam!" cried the clerk of the kitchen.

"I will have it so," replied the queen (in the tone of an ogress who had a strong craving for fresh meat), "and I will eat her with a Sauce Robert."

The poor man knew he could not play tricks with ogresses. He took his big knife and went up to little Aurora's room. She was four years old and came running to him, jumping and laughing, to hug him and ask for some candy.

He began to cry, the big knife fell from his hand, and he went into the backyard, killed a little lamb, and cooked it with such good sauce that his mistress said she had never eaten anything so good in her life.

Meanwhile, he had taken little Aurora to his wife, who hid her in the lodgings at the end of the courtyard.

About eight days later, the wicked queen said to the clerk of the kitchen: "I want to eat little Day for supper."

He did not answer, determined to trick her as before. He went to find little Day and saw him playing with a little foil, fencing with a big monkey. The child was only three years old. He picked him up and carried him to his wife, to hide him in her room with his sister. Instead of little Day, he cooked a tender young kid, which the ogress found wonderfully good.

So far, so good. But one evening, the wicked queen said to her clerk of the kitchen: "I want to eat the queen with the same sauce I had with her children."

Now the poor clerk of the kitchen despaired of being able to trick her. The young queen was over twenty (not counting the hundred years she had slept); her skin was somewhat tough, though very fair and white, and he could not find an animal in the yard that was firm enough.

So he decided to cut the queen's throat to save his own life. He went up to her room, intending to do it quickly, and worked himself into as great a fury as possible. He entered the young queen's room with his dagger in hand.

However, he did not want to surprise her. With great respect, he told her the orders he had received from the queen mother.

"Do it, do it," she said, stretching out her neck. "Carry out your orders, and I will go see my children, my poor children, whom I loved so much and so tenderly." She thought they were dead, because they had been taken away without her knowledge.

"No, no, madam!" cried the poor clerk of the kitchen, in tears. "You shall not die, and you shall see your children again. They are hidden in my lodgings. I will deceive the queen once more by giving her a young hind in your place."

He immediately led her to his room, where he left her to embrace her children and cry with them. Then he went and dressed a hind, which the queen ate for supper, devouring it with as much appetite as if it had been the young queen. She was exceedingly delighted with her cruelty and had invented a story to tell the king when he returned—that ravenous wolves had eaten the queen and her two children.

One evening, as she was wandering around the palace courtyards, trying to smell fresh meat, she heard little Day crying in a ground-floor room because his mother was about to spank him for being naughty. At the same time, she heard little Aurora begging forgiveness for her brother.

The ogress recognized the voices of the queen and her children. Furious at being deceived, she commanded the next morning at daybreak, with a horrible voice that made everyone tremble, that a large tub be brought into the middle of the great courtyard. She had it filled with toads, vipers, snakes, and all kinds of serpents, so that the queen, her children, the clerk of the kitchen, his wife, and the maid could be thrown into it with their hands tied behind their backs, as she ordered.

They were brought out, and the executioners were about to throw them into the tub when the king (who was not expected so soon) entered the courtyard on horseback (he had come posthaste). He asked, in utter astonishment, what that horrible spectacle meant. No one dared to tell him. The ogress, enraged at what had happened, threw herself headfirst into the tub and was instantly devoured by the ugly creatures she had ordered for others. The king was sorry, for she was his mother, but he soon comforted himself with his beautiful wife and his pretty children.

The Moral

To get a handsome, rich husband with a sweet temper and many years to live is natural enough, it's true. But to wait for him a hundred years, and all that while asleep, is entirely new. Nowadays, not one woman sleeps so soundly. Still, this story seems to show that even when happy marriages face some tedious obstacles, they are no less happy for coming slowly. It's only natural that lovely ladies long to share conjugal joys; so I haven't the heart to preach a moral that's beyond their reach.