Cinderella

This story is called Cinderella by Charles Perrault. This is a LibraryCall recording. There was once an honest gentleman who married the proudest and most disagreeable woman in the whole country after the death of his first wife. The disagreeable woman had two daughters exactly like herself in all things. The man had one daughter of his own, a kind and intelligent young girl. The stepmother soon became jealous of the good qualities of the girl, who was so great a contrast to her own two daughters. She gave her all the worst jobs in the house-- washing the floors and staircases, dusting the bedrooms, and cleaning the fireplace. And while her step-sisters slept in rooms hung with mirrors, where they could see themselves from head to foot, the poor girl was sent to sleep in an attic, on an old straw mattress, with only one chair and not a single mirror. She suffered in silence, not daring to complain to her father, who was entirely intimidated by his new wife. When her daily work was done, she used to sit down in the chimney-corner among the ashes, from which the two sisters gave her the nickname of “Cinderella.” But Cinderella, however shabbily dressed, was handsomer than they were with all their fine clothes. It happened that the king’s son gave a series of balls, to which all the rank and fashion of the city were invited, including the two step-sisters. They were very proud and happy, and occupied their whole time in deciding what they should wear, a source of new trouble to Cinderella, whose duty it was to fetch and fix their fine linen and laces. But she could never please them, however much she tried. “I,” said the elder, “shall wear my velvet gown and my trimmings of English lace.” “And I,” added the younger, “will have but my ordinary silk petticoat, but I shall adorn it with an upper skirt of flowered brocade, and shall put on my diamond tiara, which is a great deal finer than anything of yours.” Here the elder sister grew angry, and their argument began to run so high that Cinderella, who was known to have excellent taste, was called upon to decide between them. She gave them the best advice she could, and gently offered to dress them herself and fix their hair. The important evening came, and she used all her skills to adorn the two young ladies. While she was combing out the elder’s hair, this ill-natured girl said, sharply, “Cinderella, do you not wish you were going to the ball?” “Ah, madam” (they obliged her always to say madam), “you are only mocking me; I know I would never be allowed to go.” “You are right; people would only laugh to see someone like you at the ball.” The sisters lost their tempers over and over again before they had finished getting ready. When at last the happy moment arrived, Cinderella followed them to the coach. After it had whirled them away, she sat down by the kitchen fire and cried. Immediately her godmother, who was a fairy, appeared beside her. “What are you crying for, my dear?” “Oh, I wish—I wish—” She sobbed. “You wish to go to the ball, don’t you?” Cinderella nodded. “Well, then, be a good girl and you shall go. First run into the garden and fetch me the largest pumpkin you can find.” Cinderella did not understand what this had to do with her going to the ball, but, being obedient and obliging, she went. Her godmother took the pumpkin, and, having scooped out all its seeds, struck it with her wand. It became a splendid golden coach lined with rose-colored satin. “Now fetch me the mouse-trap out of the pantry, my dear.” Cinderella brought it; it contained six of the fattest, sleekest mice. The fairy lifted up the wire door, and as each mouse ran out she struck it and changed it into a beautiful black horse. “But what shall I do for your coachman, Cinderella?” Cinderella suggested that she had seen a large black rat in the rat-trap, and he might do. “You’re right; go and look for him.” He was found, and the fairy made him into a most respectable coachman, with the finest whiskers imaginable. She afterwards took six lizards from behind the pumpkin frame and changed them into six footmen, all in splendid uniforms, who immediately jumped up behind the carriage, as if they had been footmen all their lives. “Well, Cinderella, now you can go to the ball.” “In these clothes?” said Cinderella sadly, looking down on her ragged dress. Her godmother laughed, and touched her with the wand, at which her wretched, threadbare jacket became stiff with gold and sparkling with jewels; her woollen petticoat lengthened into a gown of sweeping satin, from underneath which peeped out her feet, no longer bare, but covered with silk stockings and the prettiest glass slippers in the world. “Now, Cinderella, depart; but remember, if you stay one instant after midnight, your carriage will become a pumpkin, your coachman a rat, your horses mice, and your footmen lizards; while you yourself will be as ragged as you were an hour ago.” Cinderella promised. At the palace, the king’s son was standing at the entrance. Someone, probably the fairy, had told him to await the coming of a princess nobody knew. He offered her his hand, and led her with the utmost courtesy through the assembled guests, who stood aside to let her pass, whispering to one another, “Oh, how beautiful she is!” Cinderella felt as if it were something happening in a dream. The old king said to the queen, that never had he seen such a charming and elegant person. The king’s son led her out to dance, and she danced so gracefully that he admired her more and more. While they were dancing, she heard the clock strike a quarter to twelve, and making a courteous goodbye to the royal family, she re-entered her carriage, escorted tenderly by the king’s son, and arrived safely at her own door before the clock struck twelve. There she found her godmother, who smiled with approval. Cinderella begged permission to go to a second ball, the following night. She had been invited by the queen! The fairy godmother vanished, leaving Cinderella sitting in the chimney-corner, rubbing her eyes and pretending to be very sleepy. “Ah,” cried the eldest sister, maliciously, “it has been the most delightful ball, and there was present the most beautiful princess I ever saw, who was so exceedingly polite to us both.” “Was she?” said Cinderella, indifferently; “and who might she be?” “Nobody knows, though everybody would like to, especially the king’s son.” “Indeed!” replied Cinderella, a little more interested. “I would like to see her. Will you not let me go tomorrow, and lend me your yellow gown that you wear on Sundays?” “What, lend my yellow gown to YOU! Of course not.” The next night came, and the two young ladies, richly dressed in different gowns, went to the ball. Cinderella, more splendidly attired and beautiful than ever with the help of her fairy godmother, followed shortly after. “Now remember twelve o’clock,” was her godmother’s parting speech. But the prince’s attentions to her were greater even than the first evening, and, in the delight of their pleasant conversation, time slipped by without her noticing. While she was sitting beside him in a lovely alcove, she heard a clock strike the first stroke of twelve. She started up, and fled away as quickly as she could. Confused, the prince followed, but could not catch her. Indeed, he only saw running out of the palace doors a young woman in rags he had never seen before. Cinderella arrived at home breathless and weary, ragged and cold, without a carriage or footmen or coachman. The only hint of the night before was one of her little glass slippers—the other she had dropped in the ballroom as she ran away. When the two sisters returned, they couldn’t stop talking about how the beautiful lady had appeared at the ball more beautiful than ever, and enchanted everyone who looked at her; and how, as the clock was striking twelve, she had suddenly risen up and fled through the ballroom, disappearing and dropping one of her glass slippers behind her in her flight. How the king’s son had picked up the little glass slipper, which he carried away in his pocket, and was seen to take it out continually, and look at it affectionately, with the air of a man very much in love; in fact, from his behavior during the remainder of the evening, all the court and royal family were convinced that he had become desperately enamoured of the owner of the glass slipper. A few days after, the whole city was captivated by the sight of a herald going round with a little glass slipper in his hand. He declared, with a flourish of trumpets, that the king’s son had ordered every woman in the kingdom to try on the slipper, and that he wished to marry the person it fit best. Princesses, duchesses, and simple gentlewomen all tried it on, but, being a fairy slipper, it fit nobody. Besides, nobody could produce its fellow-slipper, which lay safely in the pocket of Cinderella’s tattered dress. At last, the herald came to the house of the two sisters, and though they well knew they were not the beautiful lady the prince was looking for, they made every attempt to get their clumsy feet into the glass slipper. But of course, it did not fit either one. “Let me try it on,” said Cinderella, from the chimney-corner. “What, you?” cried the others, bursting into shouts of laughter; but Cinderella only smiled and held out her hand. Her sisters could not prevent her, since the command was that every young maiden in the city should try on the slipper. So the herald asked Cinderella to sit down on a three-legged stool in the kitchen, and he placed the slipper on her foot, which it fit exactly. She then drew from her pocket the fellow-slipper, which she also put on, and stood up—for with the touch of the magic shoes all her dress was changed likewise—no longer a maiden in rags, but the elegant woman the king’s son recognized. Filled with astonishment, mingled with alarm, the step-sisters threw themselves at her feet, begging her pardon for all their former unkindness. She raised and embraced them, told them she forgave them. Then she departed with the herald to the king’s palace, and told her whole story to his majesty and the royal family, who were not in the least surprised, for everybody believed in fairies, and everybody longed to have a fairy godmother. The young prince found her more lovely and lovable than ever, and was delighted when she agreed to marry him. This was Cinderella by Charles Perrault. This has been a LibraryCall recording.