Cinderella thanked him, went to her mother’s grave and planted the branch on it, and wept so much that the tears fell down on it and watered it. And it grew and became a handsome tree.
Thrice a day Cinderella went and sat beneath it, and wept and prayed, and a little white bird always came on the tree. And if Cinderella expressed a wish, the bird threw down to her what she had wished for.
It happened, however, that the King gave orders for a festival which was to last three days, and to which all the beautiful young girls in the country were invited, in order that his son might choose himself a bride.
When the two stepsisters heard that they too were to appear among the number, they were delighted, called Cinderella and said, “Comb our hair for us, brush our shoes and fasten our buckles, for we are going to the wedding at the King’s palace.”
Cinderella obeyed, but wept, because she too would have liked to go with them to the dance, and begged her stepmother to allow her to do so.
“You go, Cinderella?” said she. “Covered in dust and dirt as you are, and would go to the festival? You have no clothes and shoes, and yet would dance?”
As, however, Cinderella went on asking, the stepmother said at last, “I have emptied a dish of lentils into the ashes for you, if you have picked them out again in two hours, you shall go with us.”
The maiden went through the back-door into the garden, and called, “You tame pigeons, you turtle-doves, and all you birds beneath the sky, come help me to pick the good into the pot, the bad into the crop.”
Then two white pigeons came in by the kitchen window, and afterward the turtle-doves, and at last all the birds beneath the sky came whirring and crowding in, and alighted amongst the ashes. And the pigeons nodded with their heads and began pick, pick, pick, pick, and the rest began also pick, pick, pick, pick, and gathered all the good grains into the dish. Hardly had one hour passed before they had finished, and all flew out again.
Then the girl took the dish to her stepmother, and was glad, and believed that now she would be allowed to go with them to the festival.
But the stepmother said, “No, Cinderella, you have no clothes and you cannot dance. You would only be laughed at.”
And as Cinderella wept at this, the stepmother said, “If you can pick two dishes of lentils out of the ashes for me in one hour, you shall go with us.” And she thought to herself, That she most certainly cannot do again.
When the stepmother had emptied the two dishes of lentils amongst the ashes, the maiden went through the back-door into the garden and cried, “You tame pigeons, you turtle-doves, and all you birds beneath the sky, come help me to pick the good into the pot, the bad into the crop.”
Then two white pigeons came in by the kitchen-window, and afterward the turtle-doves, and at length all the birds beneath the sky came whirring and crowding in, and alighted amongst the ashes. And the doves nodded with their heads and began pick, pick, pick, pick, and the others began also pick, pick, pick, pick, and gathered all the good seeds into the dishes. And before half-an-hour was over they had already finished, and all flew out again.
Then the maiden was delighted, and believed that she might now go with them to the wedding. But the stepmother said, “All this will not help. You cannot go with us, for you have no clothes and cannot dance. We should be ashamed of you.”
On this she turned her back on Cinderella, and hurried away with her two proud daughters.
As no one was now at home, Cinderella went to her mother’s grave beneath the hazel-tree, and cried: “Shiver and quiver, little tree, silver and gold throw down over me!” Then the bird threw a gold and silver dress down to her, and slippers embroidered with silk and silver. She put on the dress with all speed, and went to the festival.
Her stepsisters and the stepmother however did not know her, and thought she must be a foreign princess, for she looked so beautiful in the golden dress. They never once thought of Cinderella, and believed that she was sitting at home in the dirt, picking lentils out of the ashes.
The Prince approached her, took her by the hand and danced with her. He would dance with no other maiden, and never let loose of her hand. And if anyone else came to invite her, he said, “This is my partner.”
She danced till it was evening, and then she wanted to go home. But the King’s son said, “I will go with you and bear you company,” for he wished to see to whom the beautiful maiden belonged.
She escaped from him, however, and sprang into the pigeon-house. The King’s son waited until her father came, and then he told him that the unknown maiden had leapt into the pigeon-house. The old man thought, Can it be Cinderella?
And they had to bring him an ax and a pickax that he might hew the pigeon-house to pieces, but no one was inside it.
And when they got home Cinderella lay in her dirty clothes among the ashes, and a dim little oil-lamp was burning on the mantle-piece. For Cinderella had jumped quickly down from the back of the pigeon-house and had run to the little hazel-tree, and there she had taken off her beautiful clothes and laid them on the grave. And the bird had taken them away again, and then she had seated herself in the kitchen amongst the ashes in her gray gown.
Next day when the festival began afresh, and her parents and the stepsisters had gone once more, Cinderella went to the hazel-tree and said, “Shiver and quiver, my little tree, silver and gold throw down over me.”
Then the bird threw down a much more beautiful dress than on the preceding day. And when Cinderella appeared at the festival in this dress, everyone was astonished at her beauty.
The King’s son had waited until she came, and instantly took her by the hand and danced with no one but her. When others came and invited her, he said, “This is my partner.”
When evening came she wished to leave, and the King’s son followed her and wanted to see into which house she went. But she sprang away from him, and into the garden behind the house. Therein stood a beautiful tall tree on which hung the most magnificent pears. She clambered so nimbly between the branches like a squirrel that the King’s son did not know where she was gone.
He waited until her father came, and said to him, “The unknown maiden has escaped from me, and I believe she has climbed up the pear-tree.” The father thought, Can it be Cinderella? and had an ax brought and cut the tree down, but no one was on it.
And when they got into the kitchen, Cinderella lay there among the ashes, as usual, for she had jumped down on the other side of the tree, had taken the beautiful dress to the bird on the little hazel-tree, and put on her gray gown.
On the third day, when the parents and sisters had gone away, Cinderella went once more to her mother’s grave and said to the little tree, “Shiver and quiver, my little tree, silver and gold throw down over me.”
And now the bird threw down to her a dress which was more splendid and magnificent than any she had yet had, and the slippers were golden.
And when she went to the festival in the dress, no one knew how to speak for astonishment. The King’s son danced with her only, and if anyone invited her to dance, he said, “This is my partner.”
When evening came, Cinderella wished to leave, and the King’s son was anxious to go with her, but she escaped from him so quickly that he could not follow her. The King’s son, however, had employed a ruse, and had caused the whole staircase to be smeared with pitch. And there, when she ran down, had the maiden’s left slipper remained stuck. The King’s son picked it up, and it was small and dainty, and all golden.
Next morning, he went with it to the father, and said to him, “No one shall be my wife but she whose foot this golden slipper fits.”
Then were the two sisters glad, for they had pretty feet.
The eldest went with the shoe into her room and wanted to try it on, and her mother stood by. But she could not get her big toe into it, and the shoe was too small for her. Then her mother gave her a knife and said, “Cut the toe off. When you are Queen you will have no more need to go on foot.”<
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The maiden cut the toe off, forced the foot into the shoe, swallowed the pain, and went out to the King’s son.
Then he took her on his horse as his bride and rode away with her. They were obliged, however, to pass the grave, and there, on the hazel-tree, sat the two pigeons and cried: “Turn and peep, turn and peep, there’s blood within the shoe. The shoe it is too small for her, the true bride waits for you!”
Then he looked at her foot and saw how the blood was trickling from it. He turned his horse around and took the false bride home again, and said she was not the true one, and that the other sister was to put the shoe on.
Then this one went into her chamber and got her toes safely into the shoe, but her heel was too large. So her mother gave her a knife and said, “Cut a bit off your heel. When you are Queen you will have no more need to go on foot.”
The maiden cut a bit off her heel, forced her foot into the shoe, swallowed the pain, and went out to the King’s son.
He took her on his horse as his bride, and rode away with her. But when they passed by the hazel-tree, the two pigeons sat on it and cried: “Turn and peep, turn and peep, there’s blood within the shoe. The shoe it is too small for her, the true bride waits for you!”
He looked down at her foot and saw how the blood was running out of her shoe, and how it had stained her white stocking quite red. Then he turned his horse and took the false bride home again.
“This also is not the right one,” said he. “Have you no other daughter?”
“No,” said the man. “There is still a little stunted kitchen-wench which my late wife left behind her, but she cannot possibly be the bride.”
The King’s son said he was to send her up to him, but the mother answered, “Oh, no, she is much too dirty. She cannot show herself.”
But he absolutely insisted on it, and Cinderella had to be called.
She first washed her hands and face clean, and then went and bowed down before the King’s son, who gave her the golden shoe.
Then she seated herself on a stool, drew her foot out of the heavy wooden shoe, and put it into the slipper, which fitted like a glove. And when she rose up and the King’s son looked at her face, he recognized the beautiful maiden who had danced with him and cried: “That is the true bride!”
The stepmother and the two sisters were horrified and became pale with rage. He, however, took Cinderella on his horse and rode away with her. As they passed by the hazel-tree, the two white doves cried: “Turn and peep, turn and peep, no blood is in the shoe. The shoe is not too small for her, the true bride rides with you.”
And when they had cried that, the two came flying down and placed themselves on Cinderella’s shoulders, one on the right, the other on the left, and remained sitting there.
When the wedding with the King’s son was to be celebrated, the two false sisters came and wanted to get into favor with Cinderella and share her good fortune. When the betrothed couple went to church, the elder was at the right side and the younger at the left, and the pigeons pecked out one eye from each of them. Afterward, as they came back, the elder was at the left, and the younger at the right, and then the pigeons pecked out the other eye from each.
And thus, for their wickedness and falsehood, they were punished with blindness all their days.
The Ash-Boy
CHRISTOPHER FOWLER
“Once upon a time in a far-off land there was a rich merchant who had two children, a boy and a girl born a year apart. The boy was called Peter and the girl was called Elizabeth. Their lives were happy, and they were as close as brother and sister could be. But a terrible sickness swept through the region and touched nearly every family. Elizabeth lost her mother and her beloved brother, and watched in the town square as their bodies were burned, for it was the only sure way of stopping the plague from spreading. Then, with the smell of her loved ones’ cinders still in her clothes, she returned home to tend to her grief-stricken father.
“Elizabeth planted a hazel tree in her mother’s memory, and its branches filled with ravens that kept watch over her. She returned to the marketplace and scooped up some of her brother’s ashes, and took them to the scullery fireplace, where she fashioned an image of her brother from the ashes, so he would glow there in the grate and in her heart every time the fire was lit to warm the merchant’s house.
“Just as Elizabeth was reaching maturity—which is to say that her body had changed and she could now be expected to perform all the duties of adults—her father resolved to find her a new mother, in order to provide her with the guidance that a man could not.
“The unwed townswomen looked upon the merchant with fresh eyes, for they saw a fellow with a fortune and only his daughter on which to spend it (it was common in this town to have six or seven children at least), and although the merchant was fat and ungainly and rather dull, he soon acquired a great number of eligible women seeking his hand in marriage.
“The rich merchant chose unwisely from their number, for he was no match for feminine guile. The woman he selected (or rather, who selected him) was fair of face but severe in temperament, and she brought with her two plain daughters from her last marriage, her husband having died of exhaustion and disappointment brought on by his wife’s bitter ministrations.
“The two daughters were versions of their mother, but with their most inherited features attenuated, so that they were more mean-spirited, more selfish and more shallow. They had trouble following conversations that were not about themselves, and one had a pitch to her laugh that could shock birds from the trees, while the other spoke in such an uninteresting manner that she put listeners to sleep. They resented their new father’s beautiful daughter, who could charm the fruit to ripen, and took away the nice clothes she had made for herself and sent her down to work in the scullery, washing and cleaning and tending the fire, which she was warned to never let go out (for this was in a mountain region the sun hardly ever touched, where frost bristled the skin even at the height of summer).
“The sisters refused to call the merchant’s daughter any other name than Cinder-Ella, and promptly forgot about her, except when they needed her to perform some unpleasant duty. The merchant was busy working to maintain his fortune, and his new wife passed her days visiting other wealthy ladies in the nearby towns. The sisters did very little beyond brushing their hair, painting their toenails, gossiping about the townsfolk, checking the local gazette for dinners and dances and screaming at each other over the perception of slights.”
“One day they heard of a handsome prince who was coming to visit. He was to be given a grand ball at the Mayor’s palatial mansion in the verdant green hills above the town, the only part of the valley that the sun ever touched. The Mayor was after political favors and the Prince was still unwed, and as the town was filled with single women (too many beaux having succumbed to woodland overwork or plague), it was thought that a series of lavish parties might work to the satisfaction of both sides.
“Everyone who cared about such things was to be there, and the sisters begged their mother to petition for invitations. Gold-edged cards were duly sent out to every female between the ages of fourteen and twenty-one, and the merchant’s family were able, through their connections, to obtain these coveted invitations, despite the fact that the stepsisters were visibly beyond the required age-range.
“The ungainly pair could not resist bragging about the ball to Cinder-Ella. ‘Perhaps I could come too?’ asked Cinder-Ella hopefully. ‘After all, I am of an eligible age.’
“‘You?’ laughed one of the sisters, batting the gold-edged invitation before her bony-white face. ‘But, my dear, just look at yourself, so filthy and ragged and uncouth. How could you possibly attend a ball held for a man so finely bred as the Prince? Besides, you must stay here to ensure that the embers never burn out. There’s ice upon the windowpane and you can’t allow the house to grow cold, for we cannot afford to appear before the Prince with red noses.’ Laughing gaily, they went off to town
to have their hair dyed and twisted into shapes that might please a minor member of royalty.
“That night the rest of the family set off for the Mayor’s palatial home, leaving their stepsister to tend the great fire. ‘It’s so unfair,’ thought Cinder-Ella as she gathered more logs. ‘Why should I be forced to work when they go to the ball seeking to marry a handsome prince? And under false pretenses, at that.’
“But then she realized that she couldn’t go anyway, for she had no invitation. The fire was growing low and the burned logs had exposed the glowing shape of the Ash-Boy, her lost brother, Peter, and she took comfort from his image. Her tears dripped onto his crimson form with a hiss, and as they did so she thought she heard a voice that said, ‘But you can go to the ball, Cinder-Ella, for a ticket was delivered for every eligible female member of the household. Your stepsisters threw your invitation into the fire, but I placed my cold ash hand over it and refused to allow it to burn.’
“And with that Ash-Peter raised his ash hand and revealed the unscorched card, and Cinder-Ella fished it from the fire intact.
“‘Thank you, Ash-Peter,’ said Cinder-Ella, ‘but this is no good by itself, for I have nothing to wear.’
“‘You made your own clothes before our father remarried,’ whispered Ash-Peter, ‘and although they were not made of silks and satins, nor covered in diamonds and rubies, they were as lovely as the trees, as flowing as the streams, as graceful as the breeze.’
“And, inspired by his words, she went out to the little woodshed where she and her brother had always kept their meager belongings and she returned with some bundles of cloth, some emerald grass and sapphire moon-dew, and her deft fingers darted so quickly that soon she had sewn a dress that shone with all the colors of the night. Cinder-Ella was good with a needle.
“She quickly washed and dressed, and dared to admire herself in the looking glass; she was quite beautiful enough to dazzle a prince. She made herself a tiara woven from hazel twigs and pinched her cheeks to make them pink, and poured rosewater into her hair. She even carved a pair of dainty little shoes from bark and painted them silver with the frost from the meadow.
Fearie Tales Page 19
