The Glass Slipper

by Eleanor Farjeon

  Ella was whispering, “Do we have to start it?” The Prince bowed again. “Oh dear!” she whispered.

  He led her into the center of the circle, where she stood like a bewildered child; all eyes were fixed on her, waiting for her first movement, and the music sparkled in her ears. The music! Why—it was the very tune her mother had played for the children at the party. Ella clapped her hands and, without thinking twice, broke into a joyous dance, as light, as funny, as unconscious as a child. It was easy! You didn’t have to learn this sort of dance; you just danced! The musicians played eight bars and reached a pause; Ella, with flushed cheeks, stopped too in front of the Prince, asking merrily, “Like that?”

  Behind her the ladies were murmuring that it was highly peculiar, not like anything they had ever been taught in the classes of Monsieur Piff-Paff-Pouff or Madame Point-de-Pied. They were not at all sure that they knew how to do it. But the Prince was gazing at Ella as though he had never seen dancing so charming before, and this gave her confidence to turn to the ladies and say lightly, “That happens to be how we dance in Nowhere.”

  “That happens to be how they dance in Nowhere,” the ladies explained to one another. They would just have to try, that was all. When the musicians repeated the tune they picked up their skirts and fell to dancing like children. Ella continued to cut her funny little capers, full of glee; and the ladies continued to follow suit, becoming all the time a little gayer, a little younger, a little more mindful of what fun it was to be a child at a party!

  When the music stopped they were all panting and laughing and hoping they hadn’t disgraced themselves. The Herald’s eyes said plainly that such romps were quite inadmissible, wholly unpermissible, and should never be visible at a royal ball. Pooh! What did the Herald matter? Hadn’t the Prince himself romped like a schoolboy? As for what he thought of the ladies, he hadn’t even seen them; he had eyes only for the Princess of Nowhere, who was standing beside him and fanning herself while she recovered her breath.

  Now she was laying her fingers on his wrist and saying, “I shall take your arm and walk a little.”

  And he was asking tenderly, “You are tired?”

  “Me?” cried Ella. “I could dance till—till midnight. But I have a fancy to meet your guests.”

  “If only there were no guests!” whispered the Prince.

  “It wouldn’t be a party without guests,” she said.

  She began to parade the room on the Prince’s arm, saying, “Good evening!” sweetly to the Countess of Caraway. The Countess sank to the floor in a deep curtsy. “What fun!” cried Ella. “Good evening! Good evening! Good evening!” One after another the ladies went down before her, falling and rising like rainbow waves as she passed. To think that all these grand strangers were eager for her notice, that her word or her smile could bow them to the ground. What fun! If only they knew!

  Now she was coming to the three who knew her too well. Would the Fairy’s spell hold, or would the Sisters and the Stepmother see through it? No, they were craning forward, with no sign of recognition, as greedy for her notice as all the others.

  “Good evening,” she said with special graciousness.

  Arethusa and Araminta dip-dip-dipped. The Stepmother kissed the hand of the Princess of Nowhere. Ella’s eyes sparkled—oh! She was having fun.

  “There now, Arethusa,” she exclaimed, “your feather is crooked again.”

  “Your Highness knows my daughter’s name?” stammered the Stepmother.

  “In Nowhere,” the Princess explained, after thinking a moment, “we know everybody’s name—by instinct. Your beauty spot should be on the other cheek, Araminta!”

  “Miraculous instinct!” gasped the Stepmother.

  “I never did see such instinction,” said Arethusa.

  With a touch here and a touch there, the Princess graciously straightened Thusa’s feather and changed Minta’s patch.

  “Such condescension,” murmured the Stepmother. They dip-dip-dipped again as the Princess passed on.

  But the Prince had had enough of the parade. “Come away,” he said under his breath. “You are wasting your time.”

  “My time!” Ella clasped her hands, as though she could hold time in them and stop it. “What time is it?” she asked.

  “It is half-past eleven.”

  She shut her eyes and counted. “Eighteen hundred seconds. Quick, quick, let’s dance again. Oh, I know—let’s play a game.”

  “The company will play a game,” said the Prince to the Herald.

  “The Company will play a Game!” proclaimed the Herald. “What game,” he asked icily, “will the company play?”

  “Hide-and-seek,” said Ella promptly. (That was the party game so long ago.)

  “Hide-and-Seek!” announced the Herald. “Hide-and-Seek.”

  “They must shut their eyes,” said Ella, remembering.

  “Shut Your Eyes,” pronounced the Herald. “Shut Your Eyes!”

  All eyes were instantly shut.

  “They must give me time till I count three,” said Ella.

  “Give Her Time,” decreed the Herald, without opening his eyes, “Till She Counts Three.”

  They were all ears to hear which way she ran; but she ran so lightly that they heard no sound until her clear voice called, “One!” not very far away. “Two!” Still clear, but distant. “Three!” More distant still. And then, farther than ever: “Come and find me. Where am I?”

  “Where Is She?” demanded the Herald, opening his eyes.

  “Where is she?” echoed the ladies, opening theirs. They began wandering about, looking for the Princess of Nowhere, who was nowhere to be seen. Hither and thither they ran, playing the delicious, mysterious game of hide-and-seek.

  But to the Prince her going was not a game. He hunted feverishly, crying, “Where is she? Where is she?” Oh, if only he had not played fair and had peeped through his eyelids. But princes, there’s no help for it, have to play fair.

  Ah, but zanies are zanies and don’t know the rules of fair play. The Zany had played half-fair and closed one eye, but kept the other open like a cat when it is pretending to sleep; and he had seen the Princess tiptoe out of the room. He pulled at the Prince’s cloak, and pointed to the right—then, leaping among the ladies, he led them away to the left.

  The Prince ran quickly, quickly to the Orangery.

  CHAPTER XIX

  “Where Are You?”

  “WHERE ARE YOU?” called the ladies in the distance. “Where is the Princess? Where are you?”

  “I knew you would find me,” said Ella. “I think I knew you would.” She was standing under one of the orange trees, not trying to hide at all. The Prince came and stood beside her. “How quick you were,” said Ella. “How did you know I would be here?”

  The Prince was too honorable to give the Zany away. He said, smiling, “You say you know everybody’s name by instinct. Perhaps you are not the only clever one. Perhaps I know where everybody is by instinct.”

  “You are making fun of me,” said Ella. “But it doesn’t matter. As long as you knew where I was—that’s all that matters.”

  “Yes,” he said, “that’s all I care about now—always to know where you are, where you are today, where you were yesterday, where you will be tomorrow.”

  “Don’t let’s talk about tomorrow,” she begged. “Hateful tomorrow!”

  “But tomorrow is always so exciting,” said the Prince.

  “Is it?”

  “There is so much to do.”

  “Oh yes, so much! That’s true.”

  “Why did you sigh?”

  “Did I? I’m happy really. I’ve never been so happy. I shall never be so happy again.”

  “What a mystery you are!” said the Prince. “You were made for joy, yet there is a tear in your heart. Why is it?”

  Ella looked round at the white and gold and green of the orange trees in the delicate glass room. “How beautiful it is here!”

  “What is your s
ecret?” asked the Prince.

  “I have never seen such a wonderful place!”

  “You would rather not speak about yourself.”

  “I would rather speak about you. Are you very, very happy?”

  “Sometimes,” he said, “I am extraordinarily happy, and yet I haven’t the faintest notion why. And sometimes I am extraordinarily unhappy, and I don’t know why either.”

  “How strange!” said Ella. “It is exactly the same with me.”

  “That is very remarkable. Tell me something else about yourself.”

  “What shall I tell you?”

  “Anything. What do you want?”

  “So many things.” She thought a moment. “I want to be good, for one thing. I try to be good, I do try, and to like everybody. But there are some people—some people I can’t like, however much I try. I hate them—there!”

  “But it is amazing!” exclaimed the Prince.

  “What?”

  “I am just like that too. We seem to have a good deal in common. Do you like getting up in the morning?”

  “Oh no-o-o-o-!”

  “Nor I! That must be more than coincidence. Are you fond of flowers?”

  “I adore them!”

  “So do I,” said the Prince. “We might have been made for each other.”

  Far away in the distance the voices were faintly calling, “Where are you? Where is she? Where is the Princess?” He saw her shrink.

  “Do you hope the others won’t find us?”

  “It is at the back of my mind all the time,” said Ella.

  “And it is at the back of mine.”

  She looked at him earnestly, saying, “Let us have one moment we shall never forget.”

  “I shall never forget any of these moments.”

  “But let us have one special moment. Always, always to remember. Take my hand.”

  He took it. “Yes?”

  “Now!” Ella gazed at him still more earnestly. “This is the moment we shall never forget. Say it with me.”

  “Am I really here?” she asked. “Is it really me?”

  “Yes, darling, yes. Of course it is really you.”

  “It is all so queer. So much has happened. I want to be sure.” Again she looked at him with wondering eyes. “I’m not dreaming?”

  “Your eyes are wide, wide awake,” he promised her.

  “And that is you?”

  He smiled and said, “I hope so.”

  “I hope so too! . . . Did you call me darling just now?”

  “Did you hear me?”

  “I heard you, but did you?”

  “Shall I say it again?”

  “No,” she said quickly, “no! Once is better than twice, once is better than twice. I shall tell myself that all the rest of my life—once is better than—What is the time?” she asked suddenly.

  “Always the time. A quarter to twelve, funny.”

  She shook her hand. “Not funny, not funny.”

  Outside, a little nearer, she could hear them (“Where is she? Where are you?”), and she caught her breath.

  The Prince said, “They are coming.”

  “Yes.”

  “Let us go outside.”

  “In the snow?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes!”

  “Take my hand again.”

  He held out his, and she took it, saying, “The moon will look lovely on the snow. How lovely it is when everything is lovely.”

  “Where are you?” called the ladies at the door. They opened it and peeped into the Orangery, but she was not there, only a little wind was blowing a drift of snow through an open window.

  CHAPTER XX

  Cream Tarts and Sugarplums

  THE FATHER STOOD in the crunchy snow on the terrace, sheltering in an angle by a window. He shivered a little, because his old suit really had worn very thin, but no one would notice him in this shadowy corner. He had taken no part in the festivities. In the ballroom he had been pushed aside by Arethusa and Araminta, who were ashamed of the shabby figure he cut. At the supper table the Stepmother had grabbed the best dishes that were presented to them, and emptied his glass of wine as well as her own. But he didn’t mind—his thoughts were all on Ella. The Fairy’s magic had deprived him, like everybody else, of the power to recognize his little daughter in the Princess of Nowhere; and he imagined her sitting alone in the dark kitchen, waiting for him to come back from the ball and tell her all about it—“Everything,” she had insisted, “Every speck!” The questions she would ask! But oh dear, his poor old memory! He tapped his forehead, counting over the things he must try to remember.

  “Let’s see. The curtains are lined with cloth of silver. The Toastmaster has gold frogs on his coat. The chandeliers carry five hundred candles apiece. The ceiling is painted with stars and flying cupids. The dancing floor is as smooth and as bright as ice. Arethusa fell down twice on it. The ladies wore all the colors of the rainbow. The Prince—the Prince—bless me if I can remember a single thing about the Prince. Tut! My poor mind, my poor mind!” He peered through the window, trying to see the Prince. But there wasn’t a sign of him; the ladies were all alone. How disappointed Ella would be if he couldn’t remember the Prince.

  To comfort himself, he stopped counting his thoughts and fumbled in his deep pockets to count the goodies he had hidden inside them. He had managed to sneak a few from the supper table before it was cleared, and now he drew them out, like a miser counting his hoard. Seven almonds, a bunch of raisins, and a candied orange. She’ll like those; she’ll be pleased with those, thought the Father, and wished there were more of them. And so there would have been; but while he was sneaking the goodies into his pocket he had seen that queer Zany staring at him with round eyes, and he had slipped outside before the fellow could tell on him. After all, it wasn’t the way to behave at a party.

  And now—dear, dear! Here came the Zany himself, padding round the corner as softly as a cat. He had a plate in his hand. Was he going to demand the almonds and raisins back? Would he make the Father give up the candied orange?

  No! He was holding out the pretty plate with a cunning look in his round eyes. On the plate was a handful of bonbons in gold and silver paper.

  “For me?” asked the Father.

  The Zany shook his head.

  “For Ella?”

  The Zany nodded.

  “You knew I had a little girl at home? And perhaps you remember what it was like to be a child and left out of things.”

  The Zany sighed heavily, remembering what it was like to be left out. He tipped the bonbons into the Father’s pocket, and ran away. Well, who would have thought it! The Father had a friend at Court! He counted the bonbons joyfully—there were nine of them! How Ella would enjoy them.

  The Zany reappeared with a dish full of sugarplums, which he poured into the Father’s hands, and ran away again. The Father counted them. Fifteen exquisite sugarplums, of different colors! So the Father hadn’t come to the ball for nothing—nobody could say that about him now.

  Just as he tucked the fifteenth sugarplum away, the Zany stole back for the third time, carrying a cake basket. He offered it to the Father, his round eyes rounder then ever.

  “Ah, my simple friend, something more for my little daughter? What is it this time?”

  It was twelve cream tarts. The Father scratched his head.

  “They will be rather difficult to conceal on my person. It is a pity—she would like them so much.”

  The Zany wiped away a tear for the pity of it.

  “All the same, it is more than kind of you.”

  The Zany was cheered up by his more than kindness.

  “But what can be done with them?”

  The Zany knew! He ate one—with pleasure; a second—with ecstasy; a third—oh, rapture! He crammed the remaining nine into his mouth so rapidly that one tripped over the other and covered his chin with cream, while his eyes goggled.

  “Ha, ha, what a child you are!” chuckled the F
ather. “A perfect baby.”

  The Zany sucked his thumb like a perfect baby.

  “Yet when I was telling you about my little Ella, I should have said you were a sage, far gone in years.”

  The Zany tottered on his feet like a little old man, his eyes as round and wise as any owl’s—and suddenly toppled head over heels in a somersault. One really never knew where to have him next!

  When he came right end up he put his finger to his lips and cocked his ear. At the far end of the terrace the Prince was leading his Princess out of the Orangery very secretly.

  Very secretly the Zany led the Father away, out of sight. They crept like two boys going to steal apples.

  CHAPTER XXI

  Ladies in the Snow

  THE SNOW HAD gone to everybody’s heads. The golden palace was deserted for the silver garden. Such a thing had never happened at a royal ball before. Ceremony had been cast aside; etiquette had flown to the winds. The musicians, with nobody to hear them, played dance music with nobody to dance to it. The Toastmaster had nobody to toast. The Herald no guests to command to do this or do that. All the rules were being broken. His authority was being flouted, routed, could one dare to say doubted? It was unthinkable, unpardonable, and unbearable that the ladies should be so utterly don’t-careable. He fussed hither and thither, trying to find a few of them, at least, say, two of them—even one, rather than none of them would do. Was one too much to ask?

  It was. They had all wandered away into the spellbound, moonstruck, snow-enchanted garden. For what, forsooth? To play at hide-and-seek! Their distant voices floated, light as snowflakes, from all quarters:

  “Where are you?

  Where is the Princess?

  Where are you?”

  The voices called in vain. The Princess of Nowhere bore a charmed life. She and the Prince, moving as though invisible here or there, continued to tell each other all about themselves, in a world of their own.