Little Red Riding-Hood

Once upon a time, in a village, there lived a little girl, the prettiest you could wish to see. Her mother adored her, and her grandmother adored her even more. This kind lady had a riding-hood* made for her granddaughter; it was red, and it suited her so well that everywhere she went she was called Little
Red Riding-Hood.

One day, when her mother had done some baking, she made some buns,* and said: ‘Go and see how your grandmama is, because I’ve heard she isn’t well. Take her one of these buns, and a little pot of butter.’ Little Red Riding-Hood set off at once to visit her grandmother, who lived in another village. As she was going into a wood, she met Master Wolf, and he wanted very much to eat her up; but he did not dare, because there were some woodcutters in the forest. He asked her where she was going. The poor child, who did not know that it is dangerous to stay and listen to a wolf, told him: ‘I am going to see my grandmother, and I’m taking her a bun and a little pot of butter that my mother is sending me with.’

‘Does she live a long way off?’ asked the Wolf.

‘Oh yes,’ said Little Red Riding-Hood, ‘it’s beyond the mill that you can see ever so far away over there, and it’s the first house you come to in the village.’

‘Well then,’ said the Wolf, ‘I’d like to go and see her too. I’ll go by this path here, and you go by that one, and we’ll see who gets there fi rst.’

The Wolf began to run as hard as he could along his path, which was shorter, while the little girl went by the longer path, and amused herself gathering hazel-nuts, running after butterflies, and making posies out of the fl owers that she saw. The Wolf did not take long to reach the grandmother’s house.

He knocked at the door, rat-a-tat-tat!
‘Who is it?’
‘It’s me, your granddaughter, Little Red Riding-Hood,’ said the Wolf, imitating the little girl’s voice, ‘and I’ve brought you a bun and a little pot of butter that Mummy has sent.’

The kind grandmother, who was in bed because she was not feeling very well, called out: ‘Draw the peg back, and the bar will fall.’* The Wolf drew the peg back and the door opened.
He flung himself on the old lady, and ate her all up in less than a moment, because he had not had a meal for more than three days. Then he shut the door, went to lie down in the grandmother’s bed, and waited for Little Red Riding-Hood. In a little while she came, and knocked on the door, rat-a-tat-tat!
‘Who is it?’
Little Red Riding-Hood, hearing the Wolf ’s gruff voice, was frightened at fi rst, but, believing that her grandmother had a cold, she answered: ‘It’s me, your granddaughter, Little Red Riding-Hood, and I’ve brought you a bun and a little pot of butter that Mummy has sent.’

Making his voice a little softer, the Wolf called out: ‘Draw the peg back, and the bar will fall.’ Little Red Riding-Hood drew the peg back and the door opened. When he saw her coming in, the Wolf hid under the bedclothes, and said: ‘Put the bun and the little pot of butter on the chest, and come and get into bed with me.’

Little Red Riding-Hood undressed and got into the bed, where she was very surprised to see what her grandmother looked like without any clothes on, and she said:
‘Oh grandmama, what long arms you have!’
‘All the better to hug you with, my dear.’
‘Oh grandmama, what long legs you have!’
‘All the better for running with, my dear.’
‘Oh grandmama, what big ears you have!’
‘All the better to hear you with, my dear.’
‘Oh grandmama, what big eyes you have!’
‘All the better to see you with, my dear.’
‘Oh grandmama, what great big teeth you have!’
‘And they are all the better to eat you with!’*
And as he said these words, the wicked Wolf flung himself on Little Red Riding-Hood, and ate her up.


The moral of this tale
Young children, as this tale will show,
And mainly pretty girls with charm,
Do wrong and often come to harm
In letting those they do not know
Stay talking to them when they meet.
And if they don’t do as they ought,
It’s no surprise that some are caught
By wolves who take them off to eat.

I call them wolves, but you will find
That some are not the savage kind,
Not howling, ravening or raging;
Their manners seem, instead, engaging,
They’re softly-spoken and discreet.
Young ladies whom they talk to on the street
They follow to their homes and through the hall,
And upstairs to their rooms;* when they’re there
They’re not as friendly as they might appear:
These are the most dangerous wolves of all.

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The Sleeping Beauty in the Wood

Once upon a time there lived a king and queen who were ever so unhappy, because they had no children; so unhappy I can’t tell you. They went to all the spas to drink the waters there, gave presents to all the saints, went on pilgrimages, and always said their prayers; everything was tried and nothing worked. But at last the Queen did become pregnant, and had a baby daughter. They held a beautiful service for her to be christened; all the fairies they could find in the country were to come
(there were seven of them), to be godmothers for the little Princess, which meant that each would bestow a gift on her, which was the custom for fairies in those days, and then she would be as perfect as you could possibly imagine.

When the christening service was finished, all the guests went back to the royal palace, where a banquet was to be given in honour of the fairies. Each of them had her place laid magnificently at table with a solid gold case, which contained a knife, a fork, and a spoon made out of pure gold, and decorated with diamonds and rubies. But as everyone was sitting down to table, they saw an aged fairy come in, who had not been invited, because for more than fifty years she had never left the tower she lived in, so that she was believed to be dead, or under a spell. The King had a place laid for her at table, but there was no means of giving her a case of solid gold like the others, because only
seven cases had been made, one for each of the seven. The aged fairy believed herself insulted, and muttered threatening words between her teeth. Sitting beside her, one of the younger fairies
heard what she said, and guessed that the gift that she would give to the little Princess might be dangerous for her; so she went and hid behind a tapestry on the wall as soon as the meal was
finished, in order to speak last of all, and prevent if possible any harm that the old fairy might do.
Meanwhile the fairies began to present their gifts to the Princess. The gift that the youngest fairy gave was that she would be the loveliest person in the world; the next one’s gift was that she would be as clever as an angel; the third gift was that she would do everything with all the grace imaginable; the
fourth that she would dance to perfection; the fifth that she would sing like a nightingale; and the sixth, that she would play beautiful music on all kinds of instruments. When it came to the
turn of the very old fairy, whose head was shaking, but not so much from age as from bad temper, she said that the Princess would prick her hand on the point of the spindle on a spinningwheel,
and that she would die.

This terrible gift made the whole company shudder, and they all began to weep. It was then that the younger fairy stepped out from behind the tapestry, and in a loud voice she spoke these words: ‘Oh King and Queen, be reassured; your daughter will not die, although it is not in my power to undo completely what the older fairy has done. The Princess will prick her hand on a spindle, but instead of dying, she will fall into a deep sleep. It will last for a hundred years, and at the end of that time the son of a king will come to waken her.’ In order to try to prevent the disaster announced by the old fairy, the King at once had an edict proclaimed, by which every person was forbidden to spin
wool on a spinning-wheel or keep a spindle at home, on pain of death.

Fifteen or sixteen years went by, and one day, when the King and Queen were on a visit to one of their summer residences, it happened that the Princess, in running about the castle and going from apartment to apartment, went higher and higher up a tower. She came to a tiny attic room and found an old woman sitting alone, spinning wool from her distaff. This good lady had never heard that the King had forbidden everyone to use a spindle. ‘What is it that you are doing there, good woman?’ asked the Princess. ‘I am spinning, my pretty child,’ said the old woman, not knowing who she was talking to. ‘What fun!’ the Princess said then, ‘how do you do it? Give it to me and let me see if I can do it too.’

She took the spindle; and because she was hasty and impulsive, and in any case the fairies’ decree had decided what would happen, no sooner had she done so than she pricked her hand and fell down in a faint. The good woman was very upset and cried out for help; people came from everywhere, and
splashed water on the Princess’s face, loosened her clothes, slapped her wrists, and rubbed her temples with eau-de-cologne; but nothing could revive her. The King had come at once on hearing all the noise, and remembered the fairies’ prediction. He realized that it had to happen, because the fairies had said it would, and ordered that the Princess should be placed in the fi nest apartment in the castle, on a bed embroidered with gold and silver. You would have said she was an angel, she looked so beautiful. Fainting had not taken away the fresh colours from her face; her cheeks were rosy pink and her lips like coral. It was only that her eyes were closed; but you could tell that she was not dead because she could still be heard breathing gently. The King gave orders that she was to be left to sleep in peace until the time for her to be awakened should arrive. The good fairy who, in order to save her life, had condemned her to sleep for a hundred years, was twelve thousand leagues
away in the Kingdom of Matakin when the Princess had her accident, but she was given the news in an instant by a little dwarf with seven-league boots (these were boots in which you could go seven leagues in a single stride). The fairy set off at once and appeared at the castle an hour later in a chariot of fi re drawn by dragons. The King went to help her down from the chariot, and she gave her approval to everything he had done; but, possessing great foresight, she reflected that when the Princess awoke from her sleep she would find things very difficult all alone in the old castle; and this is what she did. With her wand, she touched everyone in the castle except the King and Queen:
governesses, maids of honour, ladies’ maids, gentlemen of the household, stewards, footmen, cooks, scullions, turnspits, guards, pages, doormen; she also touched all the horses in the stables, the ostlers there, the great guard-dogs in the stable-yard, and little Puff, the Princess’s lapdog, who was lying beside her on her bed. As soon as she touched them they all fell asleep, not to wake up until their mistress did, so as to be ready to serve her when they were needed. Even the spits in front of the kitchen fire, all covered with pheasants and partridges, went to sleep, and the fire did too.

This all happened in a moment; fairies did not take long over their work. Then the King and Queen, after having kissed their daughter without awakening her, left the castle. They issued orders that nobody should come near. But the ban was not needed, because within a quarter of an hour so many trees had shot up, large and small, all around the castle park, with brambles and thorns all intertwined, that neither man nor beast could have got through. All that could still be seen was the top of the castle towers, and only from a long way off. No doubt this was another of the fairy’s devices to make sure that the Princess would have nothing to fear from inquisitive visitors while she was asleep.
A hundred years later, the son of the king then ruling, who was
not of the same family as the sleeping Princess, went hunting in
that region. Seeing some towers rising above a tall dense wood,
he asked what they were. Everyone present answered according
to what he had heard tell. Some said that it was an ancient castle
where ghosts were seen to walk; others, that all the witches round
about held their sabbaths there. The commonest opinion was that
it was where an ogre lived, and where he brought all the children
he could catch, in order to eat them in peace without being followed,
since he alone had the power to make his way through the
wood. The Prince did not know what to believe; but then an
elderly peasant began to speak, saying: ‘Your Highness: more
than fi fty years ago, I heard my father say that in the castle there
lay a Princess, who was the most beautiful in the world; she was
to stay asleep for a hundred years, and would be awakened by the
son of a king, for whom she was destined.’ The young Prince
took fi re at the old man’s words: he took it for granted at once that
it was he who would succeed in this splendid adventure, and
inspired by love and glory he resolved to fi nd out at once how
things stood.

He had scarcely taken his fi rst step towards the wood than all
the great trees, brambles and thorns drew aside of themselves to
let him pass. He set out towards the castle, which he could see at
the end of a long avenue ahead, and was a little surprised to see
that none of his servants had been able to follow him; the trees
had closed behind him as soon as he passed. He continued on his
way regardless, for a young and ardent prince is always full
of courage. He came into a great forecourt, where everything
that met his eyes was such as to freeze his blood with fear.
The silence was terrible, and the look of death was all around.
Nothing was to be seen but the bodies of men and animals lying
stretched out, who appeared to be dead. He could tell nonetheless,
from the blotchy noses and fl ushed complexions of the
Swiss guards,* that they were only sleeping, and the dregs of
wine left in their glasses showed clearly enough that they had
fallen asleep in the middle of having a drink.

Through a great court paved with marble he went, up a fl ight
of steps, and entered the guardroom, where the guards were standing
in line, their guns on their shoulders, and snoring with all
their might. He passed through several rooms full of gentlemen
and ladies, all asleep, some standing and some sitting; he came
to a room that was all of gold, and saw on a bed, with its curtains
drawn back to leave it open, the most beautiful sight that he had
ever seen: a Princess who seemed to be about fi fteen or sixteen
years old, and who in her radiant splendour had something
luminous and divine about her. Trembling with wonder and
admiration, he approached and knelt down beside her.

Since the end of the enchantment had come, the Princess
woke up, and gazing at him with greater tenderness in her eyes
than might have seemed proper at a fi rst meeting, she said: ‘Is
that you, my prince? What a long time you have kept me waiting!’
Delighted at these words, and still more by the tone in
which she said them, the Prince did not know how to express his
gratitude and joy, but he told her that he loved her more than
himself. Although what he said was badly expressed it pleased
her all the more; the greatest love is the least eloquent. Of the
two of them, she was the less tongue-tied, which is not surprising
since she had had the time to think of what she would say;
for it is likely (though history is silent on the matter) that during
her long sleep the good fairy had seen to it that she enjoyed
sweet dreams. Be that as it may,* they spent four hours talking
to each other and still had not said the half of what they
wanted.

In the meantime, the whole palace had awakened with the
Princess. Everyone’s thoughts were on getting back to work, and
since they were not in love, they were all dying of hunger. The
lady-in-waiting, famished like the rest of them, grew impatient,
and said loudly to the Princess that her meal was served. The
Prince helped the Princess to her feet; she was fully dressed and
her clothes were magnifi cent, but he took good care not to tell
her that she was dressed like Grandmother in the old days, with
a starched high collar; it did not make her any the less beautiful.
They went into a hall lined with mirrors, where they had their
supper, and were served by the offi cers of the Princess’s household.
The violins and oboes played old pieces of music, which
were excellent, even though they had not been played for almost
a hundred years. After supper, without wasting time, the High
Chaplain married them in the castle chapel, and the lady-inwaiting
drew the bed-curtain. They slept little, for the Princess
had little need of it, and the Prince left her as soon as it was
morning to return to the town, since his father would be anxious
about him.

The Prince told him that he had got lost in the forest while
out hunting, and that he had spent the night in a hovel belonging
to a charcoal-burner, who had given him cheese and black
bread to eat. The King, who was a good soul, believed him, but
his mother was not convinced. She noticed that he went hunting
almost every day, and always had some excuse to give when he
had slept away from home for two or three nights; so she became
certain that he was carrying on some love-affair, for he lived in
this way with the Princess for more than two whole years, and
had two children with her. The fi rst was a girl, and was named
Dawn; and the second, who was a boy, was called Day, since he
looked even more beautiful than his sister.
The Queen said to her son several times, in the hope of drawing
him out, that one should enjoy oneself in life, but he never
dared to entrust her with his secret; although he loved her, he
was afraid of her, because she came from a family of ogres, and
the King had married her only because of her great wealth.
It was even whispered at court that she herself had ogreish
tendencies, and that when she saw small children going by she
found it almost impossible to prevent herself from jumping on
them, which is why the Prince would never say anything. But
when the King died, which happened after another two years,
and the Prince was in command, he made his marriage public,
and went in a grand procession to fetch the Queen his wife from
her castle. A magnifi cent reception was held for her in the capital,
where she made her entrance into the town accompanied by
her two children.

Some time later, the new King went to war against his neighbour
the Emperor Cantalabutto. He left the government of the
kingdom in the hands of the Queen his mother, asking her to
take special care of his wife and children, for he was to be away
at the war for the whole summer. As soon as he had left, the
Queen Mother sent her daughter-in-law and the children to a
summer residence she had in the forest, so as to satisfy her horrible
desires more easily. She went there herself a few days later,
and said one evening to her steward: ‘Tomorrow evening for
supper, I want to eat little Dawn.’

‘Alas, my lady!’ said the steward.

‘That is my wish,’ said the Queen, and her tone was the tone of
an ogress who wants fresh meat, ‘and I want to eat her with onion
and mustard sauce.’ The poor man, realizing that an ogress was
not to be trifl ed with, took a great knife and went up to little
Dawn’s room. She was then four years old, and came across the
room skipping and laughing to embrace him and ask him for
sweets. Tears came to his eyes, the knife fell from his hands, and
he went down to the farmyard and cut the throat of a small lamb,
which he served up to his mistress with such a good sauce that
she assured him that she had never tasted anything as good. He
had taken away little Dawn at the same time, and gave her to his
wife to hide in their lodgings at the end of the farmyard.
A week later, the wicked Queen said to the steward: ‘I want
to eat little Day for my supper.’ He did not protest, but resolved
to trick her again as he had before. He went to look for little
Day, and found him with a small sword in his hand, practising
fencing against a fat monkey, although he was only three years
old. The steward took him to his wife, who hid him with little
Dawn, and instead of the little boy he served up a tender young
kid, which the ogress found excellent.

Everything had gone well until then, but one evening the
wicked Queen said to the steward: ‘I want to eat the young
Queen, cooked in the same sauce as her children.’ This time the
poor steward despaired of being able to deceive her: the young
Queen was more than twenty years old, not counting the
hundred years when she had been asleep, and her skin was
somewhat tough, although it was fi ne and white. How was he to
fi nd, among the animals kept for eating,* one as tough as that?
He took the decision, in order to save his own life, to cut the
Queen’s throat, and went up to her room with the intention of
getting it over and done with. He worked himself up into a rage
and entered the Queen’s room with his dagger in his hand.
However, he did not want to kill her without any warning, and
told her, with great respect, of the orders he had received from
the Queen Mother.

‘Do your duty,’ she said, stretching out her neck; ‘carry out
the command you have been given. Then I shall see my children
again, my poor children, whom I loved so much.’ She
believed them dead, because, when they were taken away,
nobody had told her anything.
‘No, my lady, no,’ said the poor steward in tears, ‘you will
not die, and I will make sure that you do see your beloved children,
though it will be in my house, where I have hidden them,
and I will deceive the Queen again by giving her a young doe to
eat instead.’ At once he took her to his house, where he left her
to embrace her children and weep with them, and went to prepare
the doe for cooking; the Queen ate it for supper with as
much relish as if it had been the young Queen. She was very
pleased with her cruel deeds, and meant to tell the King, on his
return, that ravening wolves had eaten his wife and the two
children.

One evening, when she was prowling about the castle’s
courtyards and farmyards as usual, in order to catch the scent of
any fresh meat, she heard little Day who was crying in a basement
room, because the Queen his mother had said that she
would have him whipped for being naughty; she could also hear
little Dawn, who was pleading for her brother to be forgiven.
The ogress, recognizing the voices of the young Queen and her
children, was furious to have been tricked.

The next morning she ordered, in a dreadful voice that made
everyone shudder, that a huge cauldron was to be brought into
the middle of the main courtyard and fi lled with toads* and
vipers and snakes of every sort, for the young Queen and her
children to be thrown into it, together with the steward, his
wife, and their maidservant; she had given the order to have
them led out with their hands tied behind their backs.
They were standing there, with the executioners getting
ready to throw them into the cauldron, when the King, who
was not expected so soon, rode into the courtyard; he had
changed horses at every stage for speed. In amazement, he asked
what this horrible spectacle could mean. Nobody dared to
explain. And it was then that the ogress, maddened by what she
saw before her, fl ung herself head fi rst into the cauldron, and
was devoured in an instant by the horrid creatures she had put
there. Despite everything, the King was upset: she was his
mother; but he soon consoled himself with his beautiful wife
and children.

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Cinderella (The Little Slipper Made of Glass)

There was once a gentleman who was widowed, and married again. His second wife was the proudest and haughtiest woman who had ever been seen. She had two daughters, and they were just the same; they resembled her in everything. For his part, the husband had a young daughter, who was amazingly sweet natured and kind, which gifts she got from her mother, who had been the most charming person you could imagine. No sooner was the wedding over than the stepmother gave
free rein to her bad temper. She could not endure the child’s good nature, which made her own daughters appear even more detestable. The worst of the household chores were given to her stepdaughter: it was she who washed the dishes and scrubbed the stairs, she who cleaned out the mistress’s bedroom, and the bedrooms of the young ladies her daughters. She slept right at the top of the house, in an attic, on a dirty mattress, while her sisters in their bedrooms had parquet flooring, beds of the most fashionable design, and looking-glasses in which they could see themselves from head to foot.* The poor girl put up with it all patiently, not daring to complain to her father, who would have scolded her, because he was completely under the thumb of his wife. When she had done all her work, she would go to a corner of the fireplace, and sit among the cinders on the hearth, so that she was commonly known, in the household, as Cinderbum. The
younger stepsister, though, who was not as rude as the elder one, called her Cinderella. Even in her ragged clothes, she looked a hundred times more beautiful than either of her sisters, despite their splendid dresses.

One day it happened that the Prince gave a ball, and he invited everyone who was of good family. Our two fine young ladies were included, because they were very important people in those parts. They felt extremely pleased with themselves, and kept themselves busy choosing dresses and hairstyles to suit them, which meant more trouble for Cinderella: for it was she who ironed her sisters’ clothes and pleated their cuffs. They could talk of nothing but what they were going to wear. The elder one said: ‘I shall put on my red velvet dress and my English lace.’ The younger one said: ‘I shall put on the skirt I always wear, but to
make up for it I shall have my cape with golden flowers and my diamond hairpin, which is something you won’t see every day.’ They sent for the best hairdresser in town, to put their hair into double rows of curls,* and went to the best supplier of beauty spots.* They summoned Cinderella to advise them because she had good taste; the advice she gave was perfect. She even offered to do their hair, which they gladly accepted. While she was doing it, they said: ‘Cinderella, wouldn’t you like to go to the ball?’ ‘For pity, sisters—you are making fun; that kind of thing is not for me.’
‘Quite right—how everyone would laugh, to see Cinderbum going to the ball!’

Anyone but Cinderella would have done their hair all askew, but she was good by nature and did it very nicely. They were in such transports of happiness that they ate nothing for almost two days, and more than a dozen laces got broken while they were being laced into their corsets to make their waists look
thinner.

At last the happy day arrived; they set off, and Cinderella watched them on their way for as long as she could; seeing them no longer, she began to cry.
Her godmother saw that she was all in tears, and asked what the matter was.

‘I wish . . . I wish . . .’; but she was crying so much that she could not finish. Her godmother, who was a fairy, said: ‘You wish you could go to the ball—is that it?’

‘Alas!—yes,’ said Cinderella with a sigh.

‘Very well; will you be a good girl?’ said her godmother; ‘then I shall see that you go.’

She took Cinderella to her room, and said: ‘Go into the garden and fetch me a pumpkin.’

Cinderella went at once to pick the best one she could find, and took it to her godmother, but could not guess how the pumpkin would get her to the ball. Her godmother scooped out the inside, and when only the skin was left, she tapped it with her wand, and suddenly the pumpkin was transformed into a beautiful golden
coach. Then she went to look in the mousetrap, and found six mice all alive. She told Cinderella to lift the trap-door a tiny bit, and as each of the mice ran out, she touched it with her wand, and the mouse changed instantly into a beautiful horse, which made a fine team of six horses, with prettily dappled mouse-grey coats.

As she was puzzled about what to turn into a coachman, Cinderella said: ‘I’ll go and see if there is a rat in the rat-trap—then we could make a coachman out of him.’ ‘That’s a good idea,’ said her godmother; ‘go and see.’ Cinderella brought her the trap; there were three big rats in it. The fairy chose the one with the longest whiskers, and when she touched him he turned into a great fat coachman, with one of the finest moustaches that had ever been seen. Then she said: ‘Go out into the garden, and behind the watering-can you will find six lizards; bring them here.’ No sooner had she brought them in than her godmother changed them into six footmen, their uniforms covered in gold braid, and they immediately got up behind the coach and held on, as if they had never done anything else all their lives.

Then the fairy said to Cinderella: ‘Well, that is what you need to get you to the ball; aren’t you pleased?’

‘Yes I am; but must I go like this, in these horrid clothes?’

Her godmother just touched her with her wand, and her clothes were changed at once into a dress made from cloth of gold and silver, gleaming with jewels. Next she gave her a pair of slippers made of glass, as pretty as could be. When she was all dressed up, Cinderella stepped into her coach. Her godmother told her that she must take care, above all else, not to be out later than midnight, and warned her that if she stayed at the ball even a moment longer, her coach would change back into a pumpkin, her horses into mice, her footmen into lizards, and her dress into dirty old rags. She promised her godmother faithfully that she
would leave the ball before midnight, and set off hardly able to contain herself for joy.

When the King’s son was told that a great princess whom nobody knew had arrived, he hurried to welcome her. He offered her his hand to help her out of her coach, and took her into the ballroom where all the guests were. A great silence fell; the dancers stopped their dancing, the musicians stopped their music, so eagerly were they gazing at the great beauty of the unknown girl. The only thing that could be heard was a murmur of voices exclaiming: ‘How beautiful she is!’ Even the King, old though he was, could not stop looking at her, and said quietly to the Queen that it was a long time since he had seen so beautiful and charming a girl. All the women were studying her hair and her dress, so that next day they could look the same themselves, provided they could find cloth sufficiently fine and dressmakers sufficiently skilled.

The King’s son saw her to a place of honour; then he asked her to dance. She danced so gracefully that she was admired even more. A splendid supper was brought in, but the young Prince ate nothing, because he was so busy looking at her. She went to sit next to her two sisters, and paid them all sorts of attentions;
she gave them a share of the oranges and sweet citrons* that she had been given by the Prince, which surprised them very much, since they did not know who she was. While they were talking, Cinderella heard the clock strike a quarter to midnight: at once she made a deep curtsey to all the guests, and went away as quickly as she could.

As soon as she was back home, Cinderella went to find her godmother, and when she had thanked her, she said that what she really wanted was to go to the ball again, on the next evening, because the Prince had asked her. While she was busy telling her godmother about everything that had happened at the ball, her
two sisters knocked on the door. Cinderella went to open it. ‘What a long time you have been!’ she said, and yawned and  stretched herself, rubbing her eyes as if she had only just woken up; all the same, she had not been the slightest bit sleepy since she had last seen them. ‘If you had come to the ball,’ said one of the sisters, ‘you wouldn’t have found it boring: a beautiful princess was there, the most beautiful you could ever see; to us she was politeness itself, and she gave us oranges and citrons.’ Cinderella was beside herself with joy, and asked what the princess was called; but they told her that nobody knew her name, which had made the King’s son very unhappy, and that he would give everything he possessed to know who she was.

Cinderella smiled and said: ‘She was very beautiful, then, was she? Goodness, how lucky you are! I wish I could see her.
Oh please, Miss Javotte, lend me your yellow dress that you wear for everyday.’ ‘Surely,’ said Miss Javotte, ‘you don’t expect me to agree to that? Lend my dress to an ugly Cinderbum like you? I’d have to be out of my mind.’ Cinderella was expecting to be refused, and she was glad, because it would have made things very diffi cult for her if her sister had agreed to lend her the dress. The next evening the two sisters went to the ball again, and Cinderella also, in a dress that was even more gorgeous than the fi rst time. The King’s son was always at her side, and paid her compliments all the evening. The young lady herself was far from being bored, and she forgot what her godmother had told her, so that she heard the clock strike the first stroke of midnight when she thought it was not yet eleven o’clock: she got to her feet and ran away as fast as a young deer. The Prince went after her and could not catch her; but one of her glass slippers fell off, and he very carefully picked it up.

Cinderella arrived back home quite out of breath, without her carriage or her footmen, and dressed in her old clothes: nothing remained of all her magnificent things, except for one little slipper, the pair of the one which had fallen off. The guards at the palace gate were asked if they had seen a princess leaving;
they said that nobody had been seen leaving except a shabbily dressed girl, who looked more like a peasant than a lady. When her two sisters came back from the ball, Cinderella asked them if they had enjoyed themselves just as much, and whether the beautiful lady had been there. They said that she had, but that she had run away when midnight struck, and in such haste that she had dropped one of her little glass slippers, which was as pretty as could be; that the Prince had picked it up, that throughout the rest of the ball he had done nothing but look at it, and that he must surely be deeply in love with the beautiful
girl to whom it belonged.

They were right in what they said, because a few days later the Prince had an announcement made, to the sound of trumpets, that he would marry the person whose foot the slipper fitted. To start with they tried it on princesses; then on duchesses; and then on all the other ladies of the court, but all to no purpose.
They brought it to the two sisters at their house, and they did everything they could to get their feet into the slipper, but they could not do it. Cinderella was watching, and recognizing her slipper she laughed and said: ‘Let me see if it fits me!’ Her sisters began to giggle and make fun of her. The gentleman who was fitting the slipper looked carefully at Cinderella and, finding her very beautiful, said that she was right to ask, and that his orders were to see that the slipper was tried on every girl there was. He asked Cinderella to sit down, and when he brought the slipper to her foot he saw that it went on as easily as if it had been moulded to fit.

The two sisters were completely amazed, and even more when Cinderella took the other little slipper out of her pocket and put it on. At that moment her godmother arrived, and touching Cinderella’s clothes with her wand she made them even more splendid than all her other dresses. Then the two sisters recognized her for the beauty that they had seen at the ball. They threw themselves at her feet and asked her pardon for all that she had suffered when they had treated her so badly. Cinderella made them get up, embraced them, told them that she forgave them with all her heart, and said that she begged them to love her kindly always. She was taken to the young Prince, dressed as she was in all her fi ne clothes: he thought that she was more beautiful than ever, and a few days later he married her. Cinderella, who was as good-natured as she was beautiful, arranged for her two sisters to live in the palace, and married them on the same day to two great lords at the Court.

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