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“Cinderella, or the Little Glass Slipper,” from Favourite French Fairy Tales by Charles Perrault and Barbara Douglas, 1921.

Once there was a gentleman who married, as his second wife, a most proud and selfish woman, who had two daughters as overbearing as herself.

He, too, had a daughter—a charming girl, whose disposition was like that of her own mother, who had been loved by all for her gentleness and kindly ways.

When the daughter was christened a fairy had appeared to act as godmother, and as the child grew up it was clear that she had received the best gift of all—a character that could not easily be spoiled.

No sooner were the marriage festivities over than the new wife showed her true character by a violent outburst of temper against her stepdaughter. And all because the well-bred manners of the unfortunate girl made her own rude daughters seem hateful.

She determined to put her stepdaughter in her place, so she set her to do the most menial work of the house, to wash dishes, scour pots and pans and scrub the tables. It was she who had to polish the oak floors of the rooms where Madam and her two fine daughters slept.

A bare garret at the top of the house and a hard straw mattress were her portion, while their ladyships had soft beds, handsome furniture, and great mirrors in which they could see themselves from head to foot.

The poor girl bore it all very patiently. She dared not complain to her father; he would only have scolded her, being completely under his wife's thumb.

When she had finished her work, the poor girl was always so tired that she just sat down in a corner of the wide kitchen fireplace, with her feet near the ashes for warmth. Because of this, all made game of her; the elder sister called her ‘Cinder-scraper,’ but the younger, who was not quite so rude, dubbed her ‘Cinderella.'

Nonetheless Cinderella, in her poor working clothes, was far more handsome than they in their splendid gowns.

Now it happened that the King's son was to give a ball, and all the nobility were invited. The two sisters were also invited, for the family cut quite a grand figure in the neighbourhood.

As you may suppose, this invitation pleased them mightily, but for Cinderella it meant more hard work, as it was she who ironed the linen her sisters wore, and who goffered their lace frills.

The stepsisters spoke of nothing else but how they would dress for the occasion.

"I," said the elder sister, "will wear my crimson velvet robe newly trimmed with my rare old lace."

"I," said the younger," shall put on my usual skirt, but I shall wear an over-dress of gold brocade, and my diamond bodice-front, which is not unworthy of notice."

They engaged the services of the most fashionable dressmakers, and they bought their patches from the most noted maker.

They even talked over their attire with Cinderella, for they knew what good taste she had.

She not only gave them excellent advice, but she also offered to dress their hair herself. This offer they accepted gladly, and while she was brushing their tresses they unfeelingly asked her if she, too, would not like to go to the ball.

"Oh! please do not laugh at me!" she exclaimed. "You know that balls are not for the like of me!"

"You are quite right," said the elder sister. "People would roar with laughter if they saw a cinder-scraper entering the ball-room!"

Cinderella's beautiful eyes filled with tears. Any other girl would have revenged herself by dressing their hair badly, but Cinderella's kind heart was proof against the temptation, and she was so skilled that no hairdresser in the town could excel her.

For two whole days the sisters were too much excited to take their food. They broke a dozen laces trying to draw in their waists to make them look slender; they just spent all their time before their mirrors.

At last the great moment arrived. The unfeeling sisters set off in high spirits, with never a thought for Cinderella, who followed them with her eyes as long as she could see them. When the coach was quite out of sight her brave young heart failed her, and she burst into tears.

At that moment her Godmother appeared before her.

"What is the matter, dear child?" she asked.

"I wish...I wish..." Cinderella's sobs choked her voice, and she could get no farther.

"You wish that you also could go to the ball—do you not?" said her Godmother kindly.

"I do...I do..." sobbed Cinderella.

"Well, you are a good girl and I shall see to that," said the Godmother.

She led Cinderella to the hall and bade her go to the garden and fetch a pumpkin.

Cinderella looked for the biggest she could find, and brought it to her Godmother, secretly wondering how a pumpkin could help her to get to the ball.

The Godmother scooped out the inside, leaving only the rind, then she touched this with her magic wand, and lo! in its place stood a gorgeous gilded coach!

Then she went to the mouse-trap and found six mice all alive. Telling Cinderella to raise the trap-door only a little way to let the mice out one at a time, she touched each with her wand as it passed, and changed it into a beautiful horse. Thus there stood a splendid team of six well-matched dapple-grey horses, which any king might have envied—but there was no coachman!

Cinderella, who had looked on with wonder, now cried: "I will run and see if there is anything in the rat-trap. If there is a rat in it, we might perhaps make a coachman of him!"

"You are right," said the Godmother; "go and see."

Cinderella brought the trap—it had three fine rats in it. Choosing the one that had the longest whiskers, with a touch of her wand the fairy changed him into a stately coachman, with the handsomest moustaches you ever saw.

Then she said: "Go to the garden and bring me the six lizards which you will find behind the watering-pot."

Cinderella brought them, and in a trice they were changed into six footmen with gold-laced liveries, who stepped up behind the coach, bearing themselves with as much dignity as if they had been fine lackeys all their lives.

Pointing to the coach with its splendid trappings, the fairy turned to Cinderella: "There is what is needed to take you to the ball—does it please you?"

"Oh, yes, dear Godmother, but how can I myself go in these ugly old clothes?"

Her Godmother touched her lightly with the wand, and lo! she stood dressed in cloth of gold and silver, all set with sparkling jewels, while a pair of fine glass slippers gave an exquisite finish to her magnificence.

Thus attired Cinderella now seated herself in the coach, but before starting she was warned by her Godmother that she must not stay after midnight, that if she remained at the ball one moment later her coach would again become a pumpkin, her horses would be mice, her footmen lizards, and she would find herself once more in her old clothes.

Cinderella promised faithfully to leave before midnight, and set off with a joyful heart.

Her arrival at the palace made a great stir; word was at once brought to the King's son that a great princess whom no one knew had come, and he hastened to go himself to receive her.

He reached the courtyard in time to assist her to alight, and taking her hand he conducted her to the ballroom, where the brilliant company was assembled. As they entered there was a sudden hush—the musicians stopped, the dancers stood still, everyone's gaze was riveted on the dazzling beauty of the unknown princess.

Then there was a low murmur of voices from every side: "How lovely she is!"

Even the aged King could not take his eyes off her, and he remarked softly to the Queen that it was many years since he had seen anyone so lovely and so lovable.

The ladies took every opportunity of studying the make of her garments, and the dressing of her hair, in order to have them copied if only they could find materials as rich and people clever enough to do it.

The King's son gave Cinderella the place of honour, and led her out as his partner in the dance. She danced so gracefully that everyone admired her more and more.

Delicious refreshments were served—fruits, ices, jellies, and wines—but the Prince quite forgot to eat, his mind being so full of the beautiful stranger, to whom he offered every dainty.

She had seated herself beside her sisters, and she showed them many polite attentions, giving them a share of the good things which the Prince had brought her.

This gave them a pleasant surprise, as they did not in the least recognize Cinderella in the seeming princess who was so gracious to them. The beautiful stranger was still talking to them when she heard the clock strike a quarter to twelve; she rose at once, and making a low curtsey to the company, she retired as quickly as possible.

On returning home Cinderella found her Godmother awaiting her; after thanking her warmly, she told her how much she wished to go again the next evening, as the King's son had determined to give another ball and had pressed her to come.

She was still telling her Godmother of the happenings at the ball when her two sisters knocked at the door, so she ran to open it for them.

"How late you are!" she exclaimed, rubbing her eyes, yawning and stretching herself as if just newly awakened from sleep, though indeed sleep had not been in her thoughts since their departure.

"If you had been at the ball you would not have felt tired," said one of the sisters.

"There was a beautiful princess there—so beautiful that no one ever saw her equal. She was most polite and attentive to us, and gave us some of the choice dainties which the Prince had given to herself," said the other sister.

Cinderella could hardly hide her joy. She asked them the name of the princess, but they told her that no one knew it—that the King's son was so much in love with her that he would give all he had in the world to know who she was.

Cinderella smiled as she said, "She must have been beautiful indeed! How fortunate you are! Is it not possible for me also to see her? Oh! Miss Charlotte, could you not lend me the yellow frock which you wear every day?"

“Lend my frock to a mean cinder-scraper like you!" exclaimed Charlotte. "You must take me for a fool indeed!"

Cinderella expected some such answer and was quite pleased, for it would have placed her in a very difficult position if her sister had been willing to lend her the frock.

Next evening the two sisters were again at the ball, and so was Cinderella, even more richly dressed than upon the former occasion.

The King's son was constantly at her side, making pleasant little speeches and paying her compliments.

Far from getting weary, Cinderella enjoyed the ball so much that she completely forgot her Godmother's warning, and the first stroke of twelve rang out when she thought it was only a little after eleven o'clock. She rose in a moment, and fled as lightly as a fawn.

In her haste one of her glass slippers dropped from her foot upon the stair; she could not stop to pick it up, and before she reached the hall the last stroke of twelve had sounded.

The Prince had followed her quickly; not a trace of her could he find but the little glass slipper on the stair. You may be sure that he picked this up with great care.

Cinderella got home quite out of breath, without carriage, horse, or servant, and without a vestige left of all her magnificence, except one slipper like the one she had dropped.

The guards at the palace gate were questioned, but they had seen no princess going out, nor indeed anyone but a young girl who was so poorly dressed that she looked more like a peasant than a fine lady.

When the sisters returned from the ball, Cinderella asked if they had again enjoyed themselves, and if the stranger princess was there.

They said she was, but that, when midnight had struck, she had gone off so hurriedly that she had dropped one of her little glass slippers—the prettiest little thing in the world; that the King's son had picked it up and had done nothing but look at it ever since, thus showing how deeply in love he must be with the beautiful lady to whom it belonged.

They were quite right, for a few days later the King's son had it proclaimed by sound of trumpet that he would wed the lady whose foot the glass slipper would fit exactly.

A gentleman of the court was sent round with the slipper to see it tried on. He took it first to the princesses, next to the duchesses, then to each of the ladies of the court, but all to no purpose. Then he brought it to the two sisters, who did their very best to pull it on, but in vain,

Cinderella, who had been looking on, now said, with a laugh: "Let me try—perhaps I shall be the lucky girl!" At which the sisters burst into scornful laughter.

The gentleman who carried the slipper looked attentively at Cinderella, whose appearance pleased him very much. "It would only be fair," said he; "my orders are to let every girl try it, till the owner is found."

Making Cinderella sit down, he presented the slipper, and her neat little foot went into it quite easily—indeed, the slipper fitted it like wax.

Great was the amazement of the two sisters, but it was greater still when Cinderella drew the other slipper from her pocket and put it on!

At that moment the Godmother appeared, and with a touch of her wand she changed Cinderella's poor clothes into even more magnificent garments than the former ones.

The two sisters now recognized her as the beautiful stranger they had seen at the ball; they threw themselves at her feet, begging her to forgive all their bad treatment of her.

Cinderella raised them, and kissed them affectionately, saying she forgave them with all her heart, and that she hoped henceforth they would love her.

She then gave her hand to the gentleman, who conducted her with great ceremony to the palace. When the Prince beheld her, in all the magnificence of the attire which her Godmother had bestowed upon her, he thought her more lovely than ever, and a few days later they were married.

Cinderella, who was as kind and good as she was beautiful, gave her two sisters apartments in the palace, and in due course got each of them married to a nobleman of the court.

Perrault, Charles. Favourite French Fairy Tales. Translated by Barbara Douglas, Dodd, Mead & Co. , 1921.

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