In a high stone castle, a king and queen sat together in a quiet chamber, their faces turned toward the window where the first green buds were showing on the pear trees. For many years they had wished for a child, and now their wish had come true. Their daughter lay in a cradle carved of pale oak, and the whole court spoke of nothing else.
The king ordered a feast to be prepared for her christening. Invitations were written on parchment and sealed with red wax, and messengers rode to every corner of the kingdom. Twelve fairies were invited, for that was the number who lived nearby, and each was to bring a gift for the child.
On the day of the feast the great hall glowed with torchlight. Silver dishes gleamed on the tables, and the air smelled of roast meat and fresh bread. When the meal was finished, the fairies approached the cradle one by one. The first promised the child beauty, the second wit, the third grace, and so the blessings continued until eleven had spoken.
At that moment the door opened and the twelfth fairy entered, her cloak wet from the rain. She had not been invited, and her eyes were sharp with anger. The king offered her a seat and a plate, but she would not be soothed. She stepped forward and spoke her gift in a voice that carried to every corner of the hall.
'The princess shall prick her finger on a spindle and die,' she said. Then she turned and left without another word. A silence followed her, broken only by the crackle of the fire.
The twelfth fairy had scarcely gone when the thirteenth, who had hidden behind a curtain, stepped forward. She could not undo the curse, but she could soften it. 'The princess will not die,' she said. 'She will fall into a deep sleep for a hundred years, and at the end of that time a king's son will come to wake her.'
The king tried to prevent the curse from coming true. He ordered every spindle in the kingdom to be burned. Great bonfires were lit in the castle courtyard, and the air filled with the smell of scorched wood and flax. The people watched the flames and wondered what would happen next.
The princess grew into a tall girl with fair hair and steady eyes. She learned to read and to ride, and she often walked through the castle gardens, stopping to smell the roses that climbed the walls. She had never seen a spindle, nor did she know why the servants sometimes looked at her with worry.
One summer afternoon, when she was fifteen, the princess climbed a narrow stair she had never noticed before. At the top she found a small room where an old woman sat spinning. The wheel turned with a soft whirring sound, and the spindle flashed in the sunlight that came through the window.
'What are you doing?' the princess asked. The woman smiled and held out the spindle. 'I am spinning,' she said. 'Would you like to try?' The princess reached out, and the point of the spindle pricked her finger. At once she felt a heavy sleep come over her, and she sank down on a nearby bed.
The sleep spread through the castle like mist. Servants who had been carrying trays stopped where they stood. Horses in the stable lowered their heads. Even the flies on the wall grew still. Within an hour the whole castle lay under the same deep quiet, and a hedge of thorns began to grow around the outer walls.
Years passed. The hedge grew taller than a man on horseback, and its thorns were long and sharp. Travelers who came near heard stories of the sleeping princess, but none could force a way through. The tale traveled from village to village until it reached the ears of a young prince in a neighboring kingdom.
The prince asked his father for leave to seek the castle. He rode for many days, and at last he saw the towers above the thorns. He dismounted and approached the hedge. To his surprise the branches drew back, leaving a narrow path. He walked through and the thorns closed behind him.
Inside the castle walls everything was unchanged. The prince passed guards asleep at their posts, a groom with his hand still on a bridle, and a cook whose ladle hung in the air above a pot. He climbed the stairs and opened the door to the little room where the princess lay.
She looked as if she had just closed her eyes. Sunlight fell across her face, and a single rose petal rested on the pillow beside her. The prince knelt and kissed her hand. At that moment her eyes opened, and she smiled as though she had seen him in a dream.
Throughout the castle people stirred and stretched. Horses shook their manes. The fire in the kitchen leaped up again, and the smell of baking bread returned to the air. The king and queen hurried to their daughter's chamber, their faces bright with wonder and relief.
A wedding was held before the roses in the garden had begun to fade. The prince's parents came, and the fairies who had given their gifts attended as honored guests. The thirteenth fairy stood near the bride and groom, her face calm and thoughtful.
The old woman who had been spinning was never seen again, yet the spindle she left behind was kept in a glass case in the castle library. Children who visited years later would sometimes ask to see it, and the story would be told once more.
In the evenings the princess and her husband often walked along the battlements. They watched the sun set over the fields and listened to the sound of sheep bells in the valley. The memory of the long sleep stayed with them, but it no longer cast a shadow over their days.
The prince's younger brother once asked how the hedge had opened. The prince answered that he had not forced it; he had simply walked forward when the way appeared. The boy nodded and did not ask again.
News of the awakening spread to distant towns. Some people doubted the tale, others believed every word. A few travelers came to see the castle for themselves, and they returned home with sprigs of thorn wrapped in cloth.
The king ordered that the remaining spindles be brought out of hiding and used again. Flax was planted in the fields, and the sound of spinning wheels could be heard once more in cottage doorways at dusk.
On the anniversary of the awakening, the castle gates were opened to the people. They brought bread and honey, and the great hall was filled with talk and laughter. The princess moved among them, listening to their stories and answering their questions.
When the youngest guests grew sleepy, their parents carried them home through the cool night air. The torches along the path flickered, and the stars shone clearly above the towers.
The prince and princess had three children of their own. They told them the story of the spindle and the hedge, but they did not tell it as a warning. They told it as something that had happened, and that was now finished.
In time the castle grew old. Stones fell from the outer wall and were replaced. New roses were planted where the old ones had died. The story remained, passed from one generation to the next by those who remembered how the sleep had ended.
The thirteenth fairy visited once more, many years later. She found the princess walking in the garden with her grandchildren. They spoke for a while beneath the pear trees, and then the fairy left as quietly as she had come.
The castle still stands. On certain evenings, when the light is low, the windows seem to glow as though many lamps were lit inside. People passing on the road sometimes stop to look, and the old tale returns to their minds.