Sleeping Beauty – A Bedtime Tale from the Silbenwald

Once upon a time, a king and a queen lived in a warm and glowing castle at the edge of the Silbenwald. The trees of the forest carried little lanterns that shone gently as evening fell, and between their branches fireflies danced like living sparks. More than anything in the world, the king and the queen longed for a child — a child who would laugh and play and look out at the world with wide, wondering eyes. Every evening they gazed at the lantern-lit trees and whispered their wish into the warm, still night. And the Silbenwald, so they say, always listens.

One sunny morning, when the Silbenwald's mist still lay soft and thin across the meadows, a little frog leapt up from the well and called out to the queen: "Your wish will be granted! Before long, you shall hold a daughter in your arms!" And sure enough, not long afterwards, a beautiful baby girl was born. Her parents shone with joy, and the whole castle was bright and merry. The king had lanterns lit in every corner, and the fireflies of the Silbenwald came drifting in all on their own — as though they, too, wished to welcome the child.

To celebrate, the king invited the wisest and kindest fairies in the land, so that each might give the little girl a gift. One by one they stepped up to the small cradle and offered something precious: goodness, joyfulness, gentleness, a lively mind, a sweet singing voice, and many other wonderful things besides. The baby lay peacefully sleeping whilst the fairies stood around her and smiled. Outside, the Silbenwald seemed to catch each wish as it was spoken and carry it softly away, so that it might stay with the child for ever.

But then — right at the very end of the celebration — one more fairy appeared, an old one who had been forgotten. She was not wicked, only very, very old and sometimes a little unpredictable. She spoke a wish that made everyone go pale: one day, the girl would prick her finger on a spindle. But the last of the kind fairies stepped quickly forward and said in a gentle voice, "Do not be afraid — she will not be unhappy. She will simply fall into a deep and beautiful sleep, and after a long while a good soul will come and wake her again." Everyone breathed out in relief.

The little girl grew up, and all who knew her loved her — for the people called her Sleeping Beauty, because she was as delicate and lovely as a rose. She had long, reddish-brown hair, rosy cheeks, and wore a soft pink dress with the finest embroidery. A small golden crown sat in her hair. Sleeping Beauty was curious and cheerful, with a heart as warm as the lanterns of the Silbenwald. She played in the castle garden, listened to the rustling of the trees, and spent long summer evenings watching the fireflies flicker in the dusk.

Sleeping Beauty was wonderfully curious and explored every corner of the castle. One remarkable day, she discovered a little staircase she had never noticed before. At the top, in a round turret room, sat an old woman humming contentedly to herself as she worked at a strange and curious device — a spindle. "What are you doing?" asked Sleeping Beauty, her eyes wide with wonder. "I am spinning thread," said the old woman kindly. Sleeping Beauty reached out an eager hand to touch the spindle — and in that very moment it happened. She pricked her finger, ever so lightly, and at once her eyelids grew as heavy as feather pillows.

Sleeping Beauty sank gently down onto a soft little bed and fell fast asleep — more deeply and peacefully than she had ever slept before. And with her, the whole castle fell asleep too: the king and the queen, the cooks and the knights, the horses in the stables and the doves on the rooftop. Even the fire in the hearth stopped crackling and waited, quite still. All around, the Silbenwald began to grow — slowly, carefully, tenderly. Thorns and trailing vines crept up the walls, but fireflies glimmered between them, and a soft mist wrapped itself around the castle like a gentle blanket. The forest was watching over Sleeping Beauty.

Many, many years went by. From time to time, brave travellers would come and stand before the Silbenwald, gazing at the fireflies glowing behind the thorny vines and feeling that something extraordinary lay sleeping within. But the forest quietly let them know: "Not yet — the time has not come." The travellers would nod and go on their way, for the Silbenwald was wise and people trusted it. A hundred years passed as quietly as one long, slow, steady breath — and all the while Sleeping Beauty dreamed beautiful dreams of fireflies and lanterns and the whispering of the trees.

Then, on one very particular morning, a kind young prince came riding through the Silbenwald. The vines drew back of their own accord to let him pass, as though he had been expected — for now, at last, the time had come. The prince followed the warm lantern-light deeper into the castle until he found Sleeping Beauty in the little turret room, asleep, with a quiet smile resting on her lips. He stood and looked at her for a long moment, full of wonder. Then he leant forward and pressed the softest of kisses to her cheek — as light as a firefly settling briefly on a flower.

Sleeping Beauty opened her eyes, slowly. The first thing she saw was the warm glow of the lanterns and the dancing fireflies. The second was the kind face of the prince. She smiled — a smile that had been waiting a hundred years for just the right moment. All through the castle, people yawned and stretched and blinked. The fire crackled cheerfully again. The king and the queen folded Sleeping Beauty into their arms. And the Silbenwald? The Silbenwald drew back its soft veil of mist, let its lanterns shine a little brighter, and the fireflies celebrated — each in its own quiet, sparkling way.