Story
Jane Yolen's story of Briar Rose from the novel Briar Rose
Once upon a time, which is all times and no times but not the very best of times, there was a castle. And in it lived a king and a queen who wanted nothing more in the world than a child. “From your lips to God’s ears,” the queen said each time the king talked of a baby.
One day, finally and about time, the queen went to bed and gave birth to a baby girl with a crown of red hair. The child’s face was as beautiful as a wildflower and so the king named her Briar Rose. So the king said it was time for a party. A terrifically big party, with invitations sent to all the good fairies in the kingdom. But not the bad fairy. Not the one in black with big black boots and silver eagles on her hat. But she came, that angel of death. She came to the party and she said “I curse you, Briar Rose. When you are seventeen you will lie down and a great mist will cover the castle and everyone will die.” But one of the good fairies had saved a wish. “Not everyone will die. A few will just sleep. You, princess, will be one.”
When princess Briar Rose was seventeen, one day and without further warning, a great mist covered the entire kingdom. And everyone in it, the good people and the not-so-good, the young people and the not-so-young, fell asleep. So fast asleep they were, they were not able to wake up for a hundred years. All around the castle, a briary hedge began to grow, with thorns as sharp as barbs. No one could see in and no one could see out, and no one cared to know about the sleeping folk inside.
It took a hundred years, and then a prince came from a nearby country. As the prince’s hand came near the thorns, all the bones of the many princes who had been there before him rose up from the bush singing. The prince sang, too, and as he added his voice to theirs, it was as if he had knowledge of all their lives, past and present and future. And the thorns parted before him. At last he came to the palace itself. A mist still lay all about the walls and floors, hovering like a last breath on the lips of all the sleepers. As he walked through the castle, he marveled at how many lay asleep: the good people, the not-so-good, the young people and the not-so-young, and not one of them stirring.
At last he came to a tower room. It had a tin ceiling and a tin floor covered with latticework. In the middle of the room was a four-poster bed, fine damask curtains hanging from each corner. And on that bed lay the most beautiful young woman the prince had ever seen. More beautiful than the sun, more beautiful than the moon, with red hair as clean and shining as a river. He was so struck by the princess’s beauty that he put his mouth on hers, and as he did so, giving her breath for breath, she awoke saying “I am alive, dear prince. You have given me back the world.” After she was married, she had a baby girl, even more beautiful than she.
And they lived happily ever after.
Once upon a time, which is all times and no times but not the very best of times, there was a castle. And in it lived a king and a queen who wanted nothing more in the world than a child. “From your lips to God’s ears,” the queen said each time the king talked of a baby.
One day, finally and about time, the queen went to bed and gave birth to a baby girl with a crown of red hair. The child’s face was as beautiful as a wildflower and so the king named her Briar Rose. So the king said it was time for a party. A terrifically big party, with invitations sent to all the good fairies in the kingdom. But not the bad fairy. Not the one in black with big black boots and silver eagles on her hat. But she came, that angel of death. She came to the party and she said “I curse you, Briar Rose. When you are seventeen you will lie down and a great mist will cover the castle and everyone will die.” But one of the good fairies had saved a wish. “Not everyone will die. A few will just sleep. You, princess, will be one.”
When princess Briar Rose was seventeen, one day and without further warning, a great mist covered the entire kingdom. And everyone in it, the good people and the not-so-good, the young people and the not-so-young, fell asleep. So fast asleep they were, they were not able to wake up for a hundred years. All around the castle, a briary hedge began to grow, with thorns as sharp as barbs. No one could see in and no one could see out, and no one cared to know about the sleeping folk inside.
It took a hundred years, and then a prince came from a nearby country. As the prince’s hand came near the thorns, all the bones of the many princes who had been there before him rose up from the bush singing. The prince sang, too, and as he added his voice to theirs, it was as if he had knowledge of all their lives, past and present and future. And the thorns parted before him. At last he came to the palace itself. A mist still lay all about the walls and floors, hovering like a last breath on the lips of all the sleepers. As he walked through the castle, he marveled at how many lay asleep: the good people, the not-so-good, the young people and the not-so-young, and not one of them stirring.
At last he came to a tower room. It had a tin ceiling and a tin floor covered with latticework. In the middle of the room was a four-poster bed, fine damask curtains hanging from each corner. And on that bed lay the most beautiful young woman the prince had ever seen. More beautiful than the sun, more beautiful than the moon, with red hair as clean and shining as a river. He was so struck by the princess’s beauty that he put his mouth on hers, and as he did so, giving her breath for breath, she awoke saying “I am alive, dear prince. You have given me back the world.” After she was married, she had a baby girl, even more beautiful than she.
And they lived happily ever after.