by E. Nesbit
“Let’s go back,” said Jimmy, “now this minute, and get our things and have our dinner.”
“Let’s have one more try at the maze. I hate giving things up,” said Gerald.
“I am so hungry!” said Jimmy.
“Why didn’t you say so before?” asked Gerald bitterly.
“I wasn’t before.”
“Then you can’t be now. You don’t get hungry all in a minute. What’s that?”
That was a gleam of red that lay at the foot of the yew-hedge a thin little line, that you would hardly have noticed unless you had been staring in a fixed and angry way at the roots of the hedge.
It was a thread of cotton. Gerald picked it up. One end of it was tied to a thimble with holes in it, and the other—
“There is no other end,” said Gerald, with firm triumph. “It’s a clue, that’s what it is. What price cold mutton now? I’ve always felt something magic would happen some day, and now it has.”
“I expect the gardener put it there,” said Jimmy.
“With a Princess’s silver thimble on it? Look! There’s a crown on the thimble.”
There was.
“Come,” said Gerald in low, urgent tones, “if you are adventurers be adventurers; and anyhow, I expect someone has gone along the road and bagged the mutton hours ago.”
He walked forward, winding the red thread round his fingers as he went. And it was a clue, and it led them right into the middle of the maze. And in the very middle of the maze they came upon the wonder.
The red clue led them up two stone steps to a round grass plot. There was a sun-dial in the middle, and all round against the yew hedge a low, wide marble seat. The red clue ran straight across the grass and by the sun-dial, and ended in a small brown hand with jewelled rings on every finger. The hand was, naturally, attached to an arm, and that had many bracelets on it, sparkling with red and blue and green stones. The arm wore a sleeve of pink and gold brocaded silk, faded a little here and there but still extremely imposing, and the sleeve was part of a dress, which was worn by a lady who lay on the stone seat asleep in the sun. The rosy gold dress fell open over an embroidered petticoat of a soft green colour. There was old yellow lace the colour of scalded cream, and a thin white veil spangled with silver stars covered the face.
“It’s the enchanted Princess,” said Gerald, now really impressed. “I told you so.”
“It’s the Sleeping Beauty,” said Kathleen. “It is—look how old-fashioned her clothes are, like the pictures of Marie Antoinette’s ladies in the history book. She has slept for a hundred years. Oh, Gerald, you’re the eldest; you must be the Prince, and we never knew it.”
“She isn’t really a Princess,” said Jimmy. But the others laughed at him, partly because his saying things like that was enough to spoil any game, and partly because they really were not at all sure that it was not a Princess who lay there as still as the sunshine. Every stage of the adventure—the cave, the wonderful gardens, the maze, the clue, had deepened the feeling of magic, till now Kathleen and Gerald were almost completely bewitched.
“Lift the veil up, Jerry,” said Kathleen in a whisper, “if she isn’t beautiful we shall know she can’t be the Princess.
“Lift it yourself,” said Gerald.
“I expect you’re forbidden to touch the figures,” said Jimmy.
“It’s not wax, silly,” said his brother.
“No,” said his sister, “wax wouldn’t be much good in this sun. And, besides, you can see her breathing. It’s the Princess right enough.” She very gently lifted the edge of the veil and turned it back. The Princess’s face was small and white between long plaits of black hair. Her nose was straight and her brows finely traced. There were a few freckles on cheekbones and nose.
“No wonder,” whispered Kathleen, “sleeping all these years in all this sun!” Her mouth was not a rosebud. But all the same—
“Isn’t she lovely!” Kathleen murmured.
“Not so dusty,” Gerald was understood to reply.
“Now, Jerry,” said Kathleen firmly, “you’re the eldest.”
“Of course I am,” said Gerald uneasily.
“Well, you’ve got to wake the Princess.”
“She’s not a Princess,” said Jimmy, with his hands in the pockets of his knickerbockers; “she’s only a little girl dressed up.”
“But she’s in long dresses,” urged Kathleen.
“Yes, but look what a little way down her frock her feet come. She wouldn’t be any taller than Jerry if she was to stand up.”
“Now then,” urged Kathleen. “Jerry, don’t be silly. You’ve got to do it.”
“Do what?” asked Gerald, kicking his left boot with his right.
“Why, kiss her awake, of course.”
“Not me!” was Gerald’s unhesitating rejoinder.
“Well, someone’s got to.”
“She’d go for me as likely as not the minute she woke up,” said Gerald anxiously.
“I’d do it like a shot,” said Kathleen, “but I don’t suppose it ’ud make any difference, me kissing her.”
She did it; and it didn’t. The Princess still lay in deep slumber.
“Then you must, Jimmy. I dare say you’ll do. Jump back quickly before she can hit you.”
“She won’t hit him, he’s such a little chap,” said Gerald.
“Little yourself!” said Jimmy. “I don’t mind kissing her. I’m not a coward, like Some People. Only if I do, I’m going to be the dauntless leader for the rest of the day.”
“No, look here—hold on!” cried Gerald, “perhaps I’d better—” But, in the meantime, Jimmy had planted a loud, cheerful-sounding kiss on the Princess’s pale cheek, and now the three stood breathless, awaiting the result.
And the result was that the Princess opened large, dark eyes, stretched out her arms, yawned a little, covering her mouth with a small brown hand, and said, quite plainly and distinctly, and without any room at all for mistake:—
“Then the hundred years are over? How the yew hedges have grown! Which of you is my Prince that aroused me from my deep sleep of so many long years?”
“I did,” said Jimmy fearlessly, for she did not look as though she were going to slap anyone.
“My noble preserver!” said the Princess, and held out her hand. Jimmy shook it vigorously.
“But I say,” said he, “you aren’t really a Princess, are you?”
“Of course I am,” she answered; “who else could I be? Look at my crown!” She pulled aside the spangled veil, and showed beneath it a coronet of what even Jimmy could not help seeing to be diamonds.
“But—” said Jimmy.
“Why,” she said, opening her eyes very wide, “you must have known about my being here, or you’d never have come. How did you get past the dragons?”
Gerald ignored the question. “I say,” he said, “do you really believe in magic, and all that?”
“I ought to,” she said, “if anybody does. Look, here’s the place where I pricked my finger with the spindle.” She showed a little scar on her wrist.
“Then this really is an enchanted castle?”
“Of course it is,” said the Princess. “How stupid you are!” She stood up, and her pink brocaded dress lay in bright waves about her feet.
“I said her dress would be too long,” said Jimmy.
“It was the right length when I went to sleep,” said the Princess; “it must have grown in the hundred years.”
“I don’t believe you’re a Princess at all,” said Jimmy; “at least—”
“Don’t bother about believing it, if you don’t like,” said the Princess. “It doesn’t so much matter what you believe as what I am. She turned to the others.
“Let’s go bac
k to the castle,” she said, “and I’ll show you all my lovely jewels and things. Wouldn’t you like that?”
“Yes,” said Gerald with very plain hesitation. “But—”
“But what?” The Princess’s tone was impatient.
“But we’re most awfully hungry.”
“Oh, so am I!” cried the Princess.
“We’ve had nothing to eat since breakfast.”
“And it’s three now,” said the Princess, looking at the sun-dial. “Why, you’ve had nothing to eat for hours and hours and hours. But think of me! I haven’t had anything to eat for a hundred years.” Come along to the castle.”
“The mice will have eaten everything,” said Jimmy sadly. He saw now that she really was a Princess.
“Not they,” cried the Princess joyously. “You forget everything’s enchanted here. Time simply stood still for a hundred years. Come along, and one of you must carry my train, or I shan’t be able to move now it’s grown such a frightful length.”
CHAPTER II
When you are young, so many things are difficult to believe, and yet the dullest people will tell you that they are true—such things, for instance, as that the earth goes round the sun, and that it is not flat but round. But the things that seem really likely, like fairy-tales and magic, are, so say the grown-ups, not true at all. Yet they are so easy to believe, especially when you see them happening. And, as I am always telling you, the most wonderful things happen to all sorts of people, only you never hear about them because the people think that no one will believe their stories, and so they don’t tell them to any one except me. And they tell me, because they know that I can believe anything.
When Jimmy had awakened the Sleeping Princess, and she had invited the three children to go with her to her palace and get something to eat, they all knew quite surely that they had come into a place of magic happenings. And they walked in a slow procession along the grass towards the castle. The Princess went first, and Kathleen carried her shining train; then came Jimmy, and Gerald came last. They were all quite sure that they had walked right into the middle of a fairy-tale, and they were the more ready to believe it because they were so tired and hungry. They were, in fact, so hungry and tired that they hardly noticed where they were going, or observed the beauties of the formal gardens through which the pink-silk Princess was leading them. They were in a sort of dream, from which they only partially awakened to find themselves in a big hail, with suits of armour and old flags round the walls, the skins of beasts on the floor, and heavy oak tables and benches ranged along it.
The Princess entered, slow and stately, but once inside she twitched her sheeny train out of Jimmy’s hand and turned to the three.
“You just wait here a minute,” she said, “and mind you don’t talk while I’m away. This castle is crammed with magic, and I don’t know what will happen if you talk.” And with that, picking up the thick goldy-pink folds under her arms, she ran out, as Jimmy said afterwards, “most unprincesslike,” showing as she ran black stockings and black strap shoes.
Jimmy wanted very much to say that he didn’t believe anything would happen, only he was afraid something would happen if he did, so he merely made a face and put out his tongue. The others pretended not to see this, which was much more crushing than anything they could have said. So they sat in silence, and Gerald ground the heel of his boot upon the marble floor. Then the Princess came back, very slowly and kicking her long skirts in front of her at every step. She could not hold them up now because of the tray she carried.
It was not a silver tray, as you might have expected, but an oblong tin one. She set it down noisily on the end of the long table and breathed a sigh of relief.
“Oh! it was heavy,” she said. I don’t know what fairy feast the children’s fancy had been busy with. Anyhow, this was nothing like it. The heavy tray held a loaf of bread, a lump of cheese, and a brown jug of water. The rest of its heaviness was just plates and mugs and knives.
“Come along,” said the Princess hospitably. “I couldn’t find anything but bread and cheese—but it doesn’t matter, because everything’s magic here, and unless you have some dreadful secret fault the bread and cheese will turn into anything you like. What would you like?” she asked Kathleen.
“Roast chicken,” said Kathleen, without hesitation.
The pinky Princess cut a slice of bread and laid it on a dish.
“There you are,” she said, “roast chicken. Shall I carve it, or will you?”
“You, please,” said Kathleen, and received a piece of dry bread on a plate.
“Green peas?” asked the Princess, cut a piece of cheese and laid it beside the bread.
Kathleen began to eat the bread, cutting it up with knife and fork as you would eat chicken. It was no use owning that she didn’t see any chicken and peas, or anything but cheese and dry bread, because that would be owning that she had some dreadful secret fault.
“If I have, it is a secret, even from me,” she told herself.
The others asked for roast beef and cabbage and got it, she supposed, though to her it only looked like dry bread and Dutch cheese.
“I do wonder what my dreadful secret fault is,” she thought, as the Princess remarked that, as for her, she could fancy a slice of roast peacock. “This one, she added, lifting a second mouthful of dry bread on her fork, “is quite delicious.”
“It’s a game, isn’t it?” asked Jimmy suddenly.
“What’s a game?” asked the Princess, frowning.
“Pretending it’s beef the bread and cheese, I mean.”
“A game? But it is beef. Look at it,” said the Princess, opening her eyes very wide.
“Yes, of course,” said Jimmy feebly. “I was only joking.”
Bread and cheese is not perhaps so good as roast beef or chicken or peacock (I’m not sure about the peacock. I never tasted peacock, did you?); but bread and cheese is, at any rate, very much better than nothing when you have gone on having nothing since breakfast (gooseberries and ginger-beer hardly count) and it is long past your proper dinner-time. Everyone ate and drank and felt much better.
“Now,” said the Princess, brushing the bread crumbs off her green silk lap, “if you’re sure you won’t have any more meat you can come and see my treasures. Sure you won’t take the least bit more chicken? No? Then follow me.”
She got up, and they followed her down the long hall to the end where the great stone stairs ran up at each side and joined in a broad flight leading to the gallery above. Under the stairs was a hanging of tapestry.
“Beneath this arras,” said the Princess, “is the door leading to my private apartments.” She held the tapestry up with both hands, for it was heavy, and showed a little door that had been hidden by it.
“The key,” she said, “hangs above.”
And so it did, on a large rusty nail.
“Put it in,” said the Princess, “and turn it.”
Gerald did so, and the great key creaked and grated in the lock.
“Now push,” she said; “push hard, all of you.”
They pushed hard, all of them. The door gave way, and they fell over each other into the dark space beyond.
The Princess dropped the curtain and came after them, closing the door behind her.
“Look out!” she said; “look out! There are two steps down.”
“Thank you,” said Gerald, rubbing his knee at the bottom of the steps. “We found that out for ourselves.”
“I’m sorry,” said the Princess, “but you can’t have hurt yourselves much. Go straight on. There aren’t any more steps.”
They went straight on in the dark.
“When you come to the door, just turn the handle and go in. Then stand still till I find the matches. I know where they are.”
“Did
they have matches a hundred years ago?” asked Jimmy.
“I meant the tinder-box,” said the Princess quickly. “We always called it the matches. Don’t you? Here, let me go first.”
She did, and when they had reached the door she was waiting for them with a candle in her hand. She thrust it on Gerald.
“Hold it steady,” she said, and undid the shutters of a long window, so that first a yellow streak and then a blazing great oblong of light flashed at them, and the room was full of sunshine.
“It makes the candle look quite silly,” said Jimmy.
“So it does,” said the Princess, and blew out the candle. Then she took the key from the outside of the door, put it in the inside keyhole, and turned it.
The room they were in was small and high. Its domed ceiling was of deep blue with gold stars painted on it. The walls were of wood, panelled and carved, and there was no furniture in it whatever.
“This,” said the Princess, “is my treasure chamber.”
“But where, asked Kathleen politely, “are the treasures?”
“Don’t you see them?” asked the Princess.
“No, we don’t,” said Jimmy bluntly. “You don’t come that bread-and-cheese game with me not twice over, you don’t!”
“If you really don’t see them,” said the Princess, “I suppose I shall have to say the charm. Shut your eyes, please. And give me your word of honour you won’t look till I tell you, and that you’ll never tell anyone what you’ve seen.”
Their words of honour were something that the children would rather not have given just then, but they gave them all the same, and shut their eyes tight.