Cinderella

Once upon a time there lived a kind man, and he had a daughter, gentle and friendly, with a fair braid down to her waist. Her mother had died long ago, and her father married again. His new wife was proud and haughty, and her two daughters were just like her.

The wedding feast was hardly over when the stepmother showed her true nature. She could not bear that her stepdaughter was kinder and prettier than her own girls. So she gave her the hardest work: washing the dishes, scrubbing the stairs, polishing the floors in her stepsisters' rooms. The sisters slept on soft featherbeds and spent whole days twirling in front of their mirrors, while the girl slept in the attic, on a straw mattress right under the roof.

In the evening, when all the work was done, she would sit in a corner by the stove, right on the warm ashes. The elder sister roared with laughter:

"Look, Smudge!"

And the younger one, a little gentler, said:

"Not Smudge, but Cinderella."

The name stuck to her. But even in a plain wheat-coloured dress, with ash on her cheek, Cinderella was a hundred times prettier than her sisters in all their silks.

Then the king’s son announced a ball, two evenings in a row. All the noble young ladies were invited, and the two sisters with them. What a fuss there was! The sisters tried on dresses, lace and ribbons, and quarrelled over who would wear what.

"I shall wear the red velvet!" shouted the elder.

"And I shall wear my cloak with the golden flowers!" the younger would not give way.

They called for Cinderella, of course, because she had the best taste. She advised them honestly and even did both their hair, though she could have tousled it on purpose.

"Cinderella, would you like to go to the ball?" asked the elder, while Cinderella braided her plaits.

"Oh, you’re laughing at me," said Cinderella softly. "Is that any place for me?"

"You’re right. How people would laugh: Smudge at the ball!"

At last the sisters drove off. Cinderella watched them until the coach vanished around the corner, then sat down by the stove and cried.

"Why are you crying, my dear?" said a gentle voice.

Before her stood her godmother. And her godmother, you must know, was a fairy.

"I wish I could... I wish I could..." sobbed Cinderella, and could not finish.

"Go to the ball?" smiled the godmother. "Be a good girl, and you shall. Run to the garden and bring me a pumpkin."

Cinderella brought the biggest one. The godmother scooped it out, touched it with her magic wand, and ting! the pumpkin became a golden coach.

Then she peeked into the mousetrap. Six little mice sat inside. The godmother opened the door, and each mouse that ran out turned, ting!, into a dapple-grey horse. There was a team of six!

"But who will drive?" wondered the godmother.

"Perhaps there is someone in the rat trap?" suggested Cinderella.

There was one rat there, old and whiskered. Ting! and up on the box sat a stout coachman with the most splendid whiskers nobody had ever seen. And six lizards from behind the watering can became footmen in livery and leapt up behind the coach as if they had done nothing else all their lives.

"Well, there is your coach! Are you glad?"

"I am... But how can I go in this?" Cinderella looked at her wheat-coloured dress.

The godmother barely touched her with the wand, and the dress shone silver, covered in delicate embroidery, as if frosted over. And on her feet the godmother put a pair of glass slippers, the loveliest in the world.

"But remember," she said sternly. "You must be home by midnight. As soon as the clock strikes twelve, the coach will be a pumpkin again, the horses mice, and your dress an old one."

"I will come back," promised Cinderella.

When she walked into the hall, everyone fell silent. The musicians lowered their bows, and the guests forgot to dance.

"Who is she? How lovely!" they whispered on all sides.

The prince led her out to dance himself, and she danced so lightly that everyone admired her all the more. At supper the prince did not eat a single bite, he only gazed at the stranger. And Cinderella sat down beside her sisters and shared the oranges the prince had given her. The sisters were quite flustered: such a polite young lady! And they did not recognise her.

Then the clock showed a quarter to twelve. Cinderella bowed to the guests and hurried home.

At home she thanked her godmother and asked:

"May I go tomorrow, too? The prince invited me."

Just then the sisters knocked at the door. Cinderella opened it, yawning and rubbing her eyes as if she had just woken up.

"Oh, you took so long!"

"If you had been there, you would not have been bored!" rattled the elder. "A princess came, the loveliest in the world, and she shared oranges with us!"

"And what is she like?" asked Cinderella, hiding a smile. "Oh, sister, lend me your yellow dress for tomorrow, I would like to see her, if only from far away."

"Certainly not! Lend my dress to Smudge!"

Cinderella was not upset: what would she have done if her sister had agreed?

The next evening Cinderella went to the ball again, and her dress was even more magical. The prince would not leave her side for a single step. She was having so much fun that she completely forgot her godmother’s words.

Bong! struck the clock. Bong! Bong! Midnight!

Cinderella jumped up and ran, light as a deer. The prince rushed after her but could not catch her. On the palace stairs one glass slipper was left behind, and the prince picked it up with care.

Cinderella ran home out of breath, with no coach and no footmen, in her old dress. Of all the magic, only the other slipper remained.

And the guards at the gate were asked:

"Did a princess run past here?"

"No," the guards shrugged. "Only some poor girl who looked like a servant."

A few days later, trumpets sounded all over the city: the prince was looking for the girl whom the glass slipper would fit, and he would marry her. The king’s messenger went from house to house. Princesses tried the slipper, countesses tried it, but it was too small for every foot.

They brought it to the sisters, too. The elder pushed her foot in: no. The younger pulled until she turned red: no.

"May I try?" asked Cinderella softly.

The sisters burst out laughing:

"You?! Smudge?!"

But the messenger looked closely at Cinderella and saw how lovely she was.

"I was ordered to try it on everyone," he said, and pushed forward a chair.

Cinderella barely touched the slipper, and her foot slid in as if it had been made from it. The sisters froze. And Cinderella calmly took the other slipper out of her pocket and put it on as well.

Then from somewhere her godmother appeared. She waved her wand, and the wheat-coloured dress turned silver in an instant, even more splendid than at the ball.

Now the sisters recognised the beautiful young lady who had shared oranges with them. They threw themselves at Cinderella’s feet and begged forgiveness for everything she had suffered from them.

Cinderella lifted them up, hugged them and said:

"I forgive you with all my heart. Just love me from now on."

Dressed in silver, she was driven to the palace. The prince seemed even dearer to her than at the ball, and a few days later they were married. Cinderella took her sisters to the palace, and that same year she married them off to two noble lords.

So the girl who once sat in the ashes by the stove became a princess, and she stayed as kind as she had been there in her corner.