There was once a girl named Ella who was so gentle and beautiful that
everyone who knew her loved her, except those who should have loved her
best, and those were her stepmother and her stepsisters.
Her own mother had died while she was quite young, and then her father
had married again. This new wife had two daughters of her own, and she
wished them to have everything and Ella to have nothing. The stepmother
dressed her own children in fine clothes, and they sat about and did
nothing all day, but Cinderella worked in the kitchen and had nothing
but rags to wear, and because she often sat close to the ashes to warm
herself her sisters called her Cinderella.
Now the King and Queen of that country had only one son, and they were
very anxious for him to marry, but he had never seen anyone whom he
wished to have for a bride. At last they determined to give a great
ball, and to ask to it all the fairest ladies in the land. They hoped
that among them all the Prince might see someone whom he would choose.
All the grand people of the city were invited, and Cinderella’s
stepmother and her stepsisters were asked with all the rest.
The stepsisters were very much excited over it. They were both so
handsome that they hoped one of them might be chosen by the Prince.
They had often watched from the windows to see him riding by, and he
was so gay and gallant that anyone might have been glad to marry him.
All sorts of fine things were bought for the sisters to wear, satins
and velvets and laces and jewels, feathers for their hair, and
glittering fans for them to carry, and the stepmother’s dress was no
less fine than theirs.
Cinderella sighed and sighed. “I wish I might go to the ball, too, and
see that handsome Prince and all the lovely ladies,” she said.
“You!” cried the sisters, laughing. “A pretty sight you would be at the
ball; you with your rags and your sooty hands.”
“Go scour your pots and pans,” cried the stepmother. “That is all you
are fit for, you cinder-wench.”
So Cinderella went back to her work, but as she scrubbed and rubbed the
tears ran down her cheeks so fast she could hardly see.
The night of the ball the sisters dressed themselves in all their
finery and came into the kitchen to show themselves to Cinderella; they
hoped to make her envious. They swept up and down the room and spread
their gowns and smiled and ogled while Cinderella admired them. After
they tired of her admiration they and the stepmother stepped into a
fine coach and rolled gayly away to the ball.
But Cinderella sat in a corner by the fire and wept and wept.
Suddenly, as she wept, a little old woman in a high-pointed hat and
buckled shoes appeared in the kitchen, and where she came from no one
could have told. Her eyes shone and twinkled like two stars, and she
carried a wand in her hand.
“Why are you so sad, my child,” she asked; “and why do you weep so
bitterly?”
Cinderella looked at her with wonder. “I am weeping,” she said,
“because my sisters have gone to the ball without me, and because I
wished to go too.”
“Then dry your tears,” said the little old woman, “I am your fairy
godmother, and if you are a good girl and do exactly as I say, there is
nothing you can wish for that you shall not have. Run to the garden and
fetch me a pumpkin; and let me see the mousetrap; if there are six fine
fat mice in it they will be of use.”
Cinderella got out the mousetrap as she was told, and there were
exactly six mice in it. She also hurried out to the garden and fetched
the biggest, roundest pumpkin she could find.
“That is well,” said the godmother. “And now the rattrap.”
Cinderella brought the trap and there was a rat in it.
“And now,” said the godmother, “we are ready to begin.”
She touched the pumpkin with her wand, and at once it turned into a
magnificent golden coach, lined throughout with pale yellow satin; she
touched the mice and they became six handsome sleek gray horses to draw
the coach. She touched the rat with her wand and he was turned into a
coachman in a livery of scarlet and gold lace. He mounted to the box
of the coach, and gathered up the reins, and sat there, whip in hand,
waiting.
“Footmen! Footmen!” cried the godmother impatiently. “Where shall we
get them!” Her sharp eyes glanced this way and that, and presently, in
the crack of the wall, she espied two lizards. “The very thing,” said
she. A touch of her wand and they were changed to footmen with powdered
wigs and cocked hats. They sprang up and took their places behind the
coach. “And now,” said the fairy, “all is ready, and no one has a finer
coach in which to go to the ball. Do you not agree with me?”
“But, Godmother, my rags! I could not go to the ball in rags, no matter
how fine my coach,” cried Cinderella.
“Wait a bit! I have not done yet.” The godmother touched Cinderella’s
rags with her wand, and at once they were changed to a gown of white
satin embroidered with pearls. There were diamonds in her hair, and her
clumsy shoes were changed to glass slippers that exactly fitted her
little feet.
Cinderella wondered, and her heart was filled with joy. The satin
gleamed about her like moonshine, and the diamonds shone as bright as
the tears she had shed.
“Now, my child, you can go to the ball,” said the godmother. “But
remember this: My fairy charm can only last till twelve o’clock. At the
last stroke of twelve these fine clothes will change into rags; the
coach will again become a pumpkin, the horses mice, and the coachman
and footman a rat and lizards as they were before; so by twelve you
must be home again.”
Cinderella promised to obey, and then she stepped into the coach and
rolled away to the ball.
[Illustration: CINDERELLA AT THE BALL]
When she reached the palace the music was sounding and the Prince
was about to choose a partner for the dance. All the ladies waited
anxiously, each hoping she would be the one to be chosen. Many beauties
were there, and it was hard to say which was the loveliest. But when
Cinderella entered the room no one had eyes for anyone but her. She was
far fairer than the fairest, as the crescent moon is lovelier than the
stars.
The Prince came to her and took her by the hand. “You shall be my
partner in the dance,” said he, “for never have I seen anyone as fair
as you.”
From then on the Prince would dance with no one but Cinderella, and
none could wonder nor blame him, for she was so beautiful that the
heart melted at sight of her.
The Prince begged her to tell him her name and whence she came, but she
would not, and when the castle clock struck the quarter before twelve
she managed to slip away from him, and run out to her coach. She sprang
into it, the rat coachman cracked his whip, and away they went, and the
Prince did not know what had become of her.
When the stepsisters came home, Cinderella was again sitting in the
corner beside the fire, dressed in her rags.
“Was it a beautiful ball?” she asked.
“Yes, it was a fine ball indeed,” said the sisters, and they began to
tell her about it.
“And whom did the Prince dance with?” asked Cinderella.
“Oh, he danced with a strange princess who came in just after the ball
began. The Prince had bowed to us and smiled, and he might have chosen
one of us as his partner, but after she came he had eyes for no one
else. She must be a very great princess indeed, but no one could find
out who she was, not even the Prince himself, though he begged and
entreated her to tell him. She slipped away before the ball was over,
and no one knew where she went. The Prince was like one distracted.
To-morrow night another ball is to be given, for the Prince hopes the
Princess may come again and that he may find out who she is.”
Cinderella sighed. “Oh, my dear sisters, let me go with you to-morrow,
I beg of you. One of your old dresses would do for me to wear.”
But the sisters laughed and jeered. “You the cinder-wench!” they
cried. “No, no, the kitchen is the place for you. We would die of shame
if any of those fine folk saw you.” Then they bade her unfasten their
dresses and help them to bed. They must get to sleep and be fresh and
handsome for the second ball.
The next night the stepsisters dressed again, and drove away to the
ball, and more than ever did Cinderella long to go with them.
Scarcely had they gone, however, when the fairy godmother appeared in
the kitchen.
“Well,” said she, “I suppose you would like to go to this ball, too.”
“Oh, dear Godmother, if I only could!” cried Cinderella.
The godmother bade Cinderella bring her the pumpkin, the mice, the
rat, and the lizards. Again she changed them into the grand coach,
the horses, driver, and footmen, all complete. She then touched
Cinderella’s rags with her wand, and they were changed into a dress
even more beautiful than the one she had worn the night before. She
stepped into the coach and rolled away to the ball.
The Prince had been watching for her impatiently, and the moment she
entered the room he hurried forward and took her by the hand.
“Why did you leave me so suddenly?” he asked her. “I sought you
everywhere and could not sleep all night for thinking of you.”
He then again led her to a place in the dance, and he would dance with
no one else.
As it drew on toward midnight Cinderella became very uneasy. She tried
to slip away without being seen, but the Prince followed her everywhere
she went. At last she made some excuse and sent him away for a moment.
Then she drew her cloak around her and sped down the stairs and out to
where her coach was waiting. She sprang into it and rolled away. But
half-way home she heard the castle clock begin to strike the hour. As
the last stroke sounded the coach melted away from around her, and a
yellow pumpkin lay at her feet; the horses changed into mice and ran
away, squealing; the coachman became a rat, and the lizards made haste
to hide in the crack of a wall. Cinderella, in her rags, had barely
time to run back to the kitchen and take her place beside the fire
before the door opened and her stepsisters swept into the room.
“This ball was even more beautiful than the other,” they cried. “And
the Princess was there again, and so lovely that it dazzled the eyes to
look at her. The Prince thought of no one but her.”
“Ah, if I could only see her!” sighed Cinderella.
“You the cinder-wench!” scoffed the sisters. “Why she would not even
allow you in her kitchen. But come! Unfasten our dresses. To-morrow
there is to be another ball, and we must get to bed and rest, so as to
look our best.”
So Cinderella helped her sisters to undress, and all the while she
did so they could talk of nothing but the unknown princess, of how
beautiful she was, and of how much the Prince had admired her.
The next night Cinderella helped to dress her sisters and make
them ready for the ball. They rolled away in their coach, and then
Cinderella waited impatiently for her godmother to come. It was not
long before the old fairy appeared.
“Well,” said she, “and do you wish to go to this ball also?”
“Oh, dear Godmother!” cried Cinderella. “I wish to go as I never
wished for anything in all my life before.”
“Very well, then you shall go,” said the godmother. “But do not forget,
you must leave before the clock strikes twelve, or your fine clothes
will turn to rags before them all, and your sisters will know you as
the cinder-wench.”
Cinderella promised, and the godmother then touched her with her wand,
and the rags were turned into a dress even more magnificent than
before. If before Cinderella had appeared like the crescent moon,
now she shone like the moon in its full glory. When she entered the
ballroom she appeared so beautiful that it dazzled the eyes to look at
her. The Prince followed her everywhere and begged and entreated her to
tell him who she was, but she would not. Again and again they danced
together, and Cinderella was so happy she quite forgot to notice how
fast the time was going.
Suddenly the castle clock began to strike. Cinderella gave a cry of
terror. She snatched her hand from the Prince and fled away so fast
that for a moment he lost sight of her. Such was her haste that as she
ran down the stairs she lost one of her little glass shoes, but she
dared not wait to pick it up.
Just as she reached the door the last stroke of twelve sounded.
Immediately her beautiful clothes fell into rags; her jewels melted
away, and the guard who was on watch saw no one but a little
kitchen-wench who ran past him, weeping bitterly, and wringing her
hands.
Cinderella ran all the way home, and she scarcely had time to take her
place beside the fire before her sisters swept into the room.
“What! crying?” they said. “Why are you not content? You have a warm
corner to sit in, and no need to bother your head about anything. But
you should have seen the ball to-night. It was more wonderful than
either of the others; and as for the Princess, she was so beautiful
that there never was anything like it. The Prince never looked at
anyone else. But she went away as before, and no one knows where she
went. However, the Prince picked up one of her slippers on the stairs,
and he may find her by that.”
The next day the Prince sent out a proclamation far and wide that he
had found a glass slipper and whoever could wear that slipper should
be his bride. He hoped in this way to find the lovely Princess who had
three times escaped him.
The slipper was sent around from one house to another, and every lady
was eager to try it on. All hoped to be able to wear it, but it fitted
none of them. Some feet were too long, and some too broad, some too
fat, and some too thin.
At last the messenger came to the house where Cinderella and her
stepsisters lived. The stepsisters could hardly wait to try the slipper
on. Each was sure she could wear it, and they began to quarrel as to
which should try it first. At last it was given to the eldest sister.
She sat down and tried to put her foot into it, but she could not. The
toes went in easily enough, but her heel would not go down into it.
Then the second sister tried it, but that was even worse, for she could
not even get her toes into it. The stepmother stood by, begging and
urging them to try again.
But the messenger shook his head. “No, no,” he said. “Neither of those
two is the right one. But is there no one else in the house who could
try it on?”
No, there was no one except the little kitchen-maid, and it was not
worth while for her to try it. If the sisters could not wear it she
certainly could not. Nevertheless, the messenger said he must see her.
His orders were that everyone in the city should try it on.
Very reluctantly the stepmother sent for Cinderella. She came at once,
and so modest and lovely were her looks that the messenger wondered
that she should be a kitchen-wench.
She sat down and took the slipper from the messenger, and put it on,
and it fitted exactly. Then she drew the other slipper out from beneath
her rags and put it upon her other foot, and at once the messenger knew
she must be the one the Prince had been seeking.
He kneeled before her and said, “You are my mistress, for you are the
one the Prince has chosen for his bride.”
The stepmother and the stepsisters were ready to burst with rage
and envy. They could not believe their eyes, and would have sent
Cinderella back to the kitchen with harsh words and blows; but this
the messenger would not allow.
Cinderella was taken away to the palace and dressed as a princess
should be, and when the Prince saw her again in all her beauty he was
filled with love and joy.
Soon after they were married, and though the stepsisters were invited
to the wedding they were ashamed to come because their faces were so
swollen with weeping. As for the stepmother she was quite ill with rage
and spite, but the Prince and Cinderella lived happy together forever
after.
[Illustration]