Cinderella

A small glass slipper lay alone on the stone steps of the palace. Candlelight spilled out from the great hall and settled on the clear glass, so that it shone like a drop of dew not yet fallen. Somewhere behind the tall doors, the music of the ball still drifted softly on. But the girl who had worn that slipper had already run off into the night. She had left one slipper behind on the steps, quietly growing cold under the late dew.

By the hearths of France long ago, people used to tell one another the story of a girl who lost her slipper on the night of the ball. Then a writer named Charles Perrault set the story down in a book. He called it Cendrillon, so that the children of later times could still hear it. In English she is Cinderella. In Vietnam, families know her as Cô bé Lọ Lem.

The story goes that in a certain land there lived a young girl who lost her mother early. Her father loved her, and he married again. His new wife already had two daughters of her own. The new wife ruled the whole household, and the father did whatever she said. The girl was gentle and never complained. Every task in the house, heavy or light, fell to her hands alone. When her work was done, she would curl up in the chimney corner among the cinders, so her clothes were always smudged with ash and soot. Her two stepsisters called her Cinderella, the girl of the cinders, and the name stayed with her for good.

One day, happy news spread through the whole land. The prince, the king's son, was about to give a grand ball at the palace, and all the fine people of the region were invited. The stepmother and the two stepsisters were delighted. They busied themselves with splendid gowns, choosing every ribbon and every piece of jewelry. They made Cinderella brush their hair, lace their bodices and dress them as beautifully as she could. Then the carriage carried the three of them away behind the row of trees, and Cinderella was left standing alone at the door. She sat down by the kitchen hearth, and the tears simply rolled down her cheeks.

At that very moment, a fairy godmother appeared before her, holding a magic wand. She asked why the girl was crying. Then she smiled and told her not to worry, for everything would turn out well. She sent Cinderella out to the garden to carry in a big pumpkin. The godmother touched the tip of her wand lightly to its green rind. At once the pumpkin became a gilded coach, gleaming with gold, more beautiful than any coach Cinderella had ever seen. In the mousetrap there were six little mice. The godmother touched them with her wand, and in a flash they became six dapple gray horses, standing in a straight line, ready and waiting. A big rat became a coachman with a truly splendid mustache. Out in the garden were six lizards. They became six footmen in coats trimmed with gold and silver, standing at attention on either side of the coach.

Last of all, the fairy touched her wand gently to Cinderella's old, ragged clothes. In an instant the patched dress was gone. In its place was a gown woven of gold and silver thread, covered with jewels that sparkled like stars. Then, on her feet, a pair of clear glass slippers appeared, small and wonderfully pretty, and light as air when she walked. Cinderella stood very still, looking down at the slippers on her feet. She could hardly believe that the girl wearing them was really her.

But the fairy gave her one careful warning. This magic would last only until midnight. When the clock struck twelve, the coach would turn back into a pumpkin, the horses back into mice, and the splendid gown back into her old clothes. So however much fun she was having, she had to leave before the clock struck midnight.

Cinderella stepped into the great hall, and she was so beautiful that the whole room fell quiet for a moment. As soon as the prince saw her, he fell in love. He asked her to dance himself, and he did not leave her side all evening. She danced as lightly as a butterfly, and the glass slippers caught the light with every turn. She was gentle and courteous to everyone. She even went over to her two stepsisters and chatted kindly with them, smiling, and they never realized she was their own Cinderella from home. That night she remembered the fairy's words. She took her leave before midnight and went home safe and happy.

The next night the ball was held again, and Cinderella came again. This time she was even happier, and the prince stayed closer to her than ever, so close that she forgot all about the time. Then, all of a sudden, the great palace clock began to strike. One. Two. Cinderella gave a start and remembered the warning. She sprang up and ran as fast as she could out of the great hall. She rushed down the stone steps in such a hurry that one glass slipper slid off her foot and was left behind on the steps. But there was no time to go back for it. As the last stroke died away, the coach, the horses and the gown all vanished. Cinderella ran all the way home, out of breath, in her old clothes, with one glass slipper still tucked in her pocket.

That same night, the prince picked up the little slipper left behind on the steps. He held it tenderly in his hands, thinking only of the girl who had just run away. He ordered his courtiers to carry the slipper throughout the kingdom and try it on every young woman, one by one. Whoever the slipper fitted would become his wife. The courtiers took the slipper from house to house, from one village to the next town. Girl after girl held her breath as she slid a foot in, hoping it would fit. Then she sighed and drew the foot out again, because the slipper was far too tight. When the courtiers reached Cinderella's house, the two stepsisters took turns trying it on. They tried with all their might, but neither of them could fit a foot into that tiny slipper.

Then Cinderella stepped forward shyly and quietly asked if she might try it once. The two sisters burst out laughing. But the courtier knelt down politely all the same and slipped the slipper onto her foot. It fit perfectly, as if it had been made for that foot alone. Then Cinderella calmly took the other glass slipper from her pocket and set it down beside the first. The two were exactly alike. Everyone in the house stood stunned. The lovely young woman from the ball and the ash-smudged girl by the kitchen hearth were one and the same.

The prince joyfully brought Cinderella to the palace and made her his wife. But the loveliest part of the story is this. Cinderella bore her stepsisters no anger at all. She embraced them and gently forgave them for all the days gone by. She brought them both to live in the palace. Then she arranged for them to marry two kind noblemen of the court. Her heart was so generous that even the people who had once scorned her found shelter in her care.

As for the glass slippers, now a pair once more, they were set side by side again. No more running down stone steps in the night, no more one slipper lying cold under the dew. Just two clear glass slippers resting quietly together, glinting softly in the sunlight. They seemed to hold the music of that night forever, the night that brought the girl from the kitchen hearth back to where she truly belonged.