Array The Brothers Grimm - Fairy Tales from the Brothers Grimm - A New English Version

And off she went with her two daughters, leaving Cinderella on her own.

First she washed herself from head to toe and brushed her hair till not a speck of ash and soot remained. Then she went out of the back door and whispered to the hazel tree:

‘What colour?’ whispered the leaves.

‘Oh! I’d like a dress the colour of starlight.’

There was a little shake among the leaves, and there hanging on the lowest branch, just beside her, was a beautiful ball gown the colour of starlight, together with a pair of silken slippers.

‘Thank you!’ Cinderella said, and ran inside to put them on.

They fitted perfectly. She had no mirror, so she couldn’t see how lovely she looked, and when she arrived at the ball she was surprised to find how well she was treated, how everyone made way for her, how the ladies invited her to sit and take tea with them, how the lords asked her to dance. Not many people had ever been nice to her, and she was a stranger to the feeling of being popular and sought after.

She wouldn’t dance with any of the lords, though, young or old, rich or handsome. Only when the prince himself bowed and asked her did she stand up and take to the dance floor. She danced so lightly and so gracefully that everyone else had to stop and look at her, even her two sisters. They didn’t recognize her at all, thinking that Cinderella was at home among the ashes, and this lovely stranger was a princess from a foreign land. In fact her beauty had a strange effect on them, for it banished all the envy from their hard little hearts for a time, and made them honestly admire her.

But Cinderella didn’t stay long. Once she’d danced with the prince, and he’d got her to promise to dance with no one but him, she took advantage of an interval in the music to slip outside and run back home.

The prince followed her, but she ran so fast he couldn’t keep up, and when they reached home, she’d vanished. The prince waited, and her father appeared.

‘Have you seen the mysterious princess?’ the prince asked him. ‘I think she went into your dovecote.’

Her father thought, ‘Could that be my Cinderella?’ and he went and fetched the key of the dovecote, and opened it up. There was no sign of her. The prince had to go back to the ball alone.

Cinderella had slipped out of the back of the dovecote and taken off the starlight-coloured dress and the silken slippers, and put them on their hanger and hung it on the hazel tree. There was a sort of shiver, and they disappeared. Then she lay down in her old clothes by the cold fireplace. When her stepmother and sisters came home, they woke her up to help them out of their corsets, because they could hardly breathe.

‘Ooof! That’s better,’ said one.

‘Oh, Cinderella, you should have been there,’ said the other.

‘What a sensation!’ they went on. ‘There was a princess from a foreign land, no one knows her name, and the prince wouldn’t dance with anyone else. She was so lovely you wouldn’t believe it. I can see her still! She had the loveliest dress on, just the colour of starlight. I can’t imagine where you could get such a dress! There’s no one in this country who could make one like it. Why, Cinderella, you wouldn’t believe it, but she made everyone else — even us! — look just a little dowdy.’

Next day they spent even longer getting ready. Cinderella had to brush their wiry hair with a hundred strokes, and lace their corsets even tighter, and polish their shoes till they could see their faces in them.

As soon as they’d gone, she ran outside to the hazel tree and whispered:

‘What colour?’ said the leaves.

‘I’d like a dress the colour of moonlight,’ she said.

There was a rustle, and there it was on a hanger right next to her, a dress the soft silver colour of moonlight, and a pair of silver slippers.

‘Thank you!’ she whispered, and ran to put them on, and hastened to the ball.

This time the prince had been waiting for her, and as soon as she appeared he hurried to her side and asked her to dance. When anyone else asked her, he said, ‘This lady is my partner in every dance.’

So the evening passed like the one before, except that there was even more excitement and speculation among the lords and ladies. Who could this lovely stranger be? She must be a princess from a great and wealthy kingdom. But no one knew, and no one noticed when she slipped away, except the prince himself. He ran after her through the dark, and followed her as far as her house. In the garden there was a beautiful pear tree, covered in heavy fruit. Cinderella climbed up nimbly and hid among the branches, and the prince had no idea where she’d gone.

When Cinderella’s father came home, he found the prince still there.

‘I think she climbed that tree,’ he said.

The father thought, ‘Surely that couldn’t be Cinderella?’

He brought an axe and cut down the tree, but there was no one there among the branches. Cinderella had slipped down the other side, taken the moonlight-coloured dress back to the hazel tree, and gone inside to curl up in the ashes as usual.

On the third night everything happened as before. The stepmother and sisters went off to the ball, and Cinderella whispered to the hazel tree:

‘What colour?’ rustled the leaves.

‘This time I’d like a dress the colour of sunlight,’ she said.

And once more the tree shivered, and down fell a dress so lovely that Cinderella hardly dared to touch it. It was pure gold, and it shone and gleamed like the morning sun. And there was a pair of golden slippers to wear with it.

‘Thank you!’ said Cinderella

At the ball, the prince had eyes for no one else. They danced all evening, and he wouldn’t leave her side. When she said it was time to go, he wanted to come with her, but she slipped away before he could stop her. This time, though, he’d laid a trap. He’d told his servants to spread pitch on the stairs, and as she ran down, one of her slippers got stuck and she had to leave it behind.

The prince picked it up and wouldn’t let anyone else touch it. He cleaned off the pitch and found that it was pure gold.

In the morning there was a proclamation made throughout the whole kingdom: ‘Whoever lost her slipper at the prince’s ball may come and claim it from the palace. And the prince will marry whoever it fits!’

Noble ladies and servant girls, peasants and princesses came from all over that kingdom and from many kingdoms besides, but not one of them could put her foot in the slipper. Finally the choice came down to Cinderella’s stepsisters. As it happens, their feet were their best feature, being shapely and well formed, and each of them thought she could wear the slipper. But just in case, the mother took the first sister aside and whispered to her: ‘If it doesn’t fit, take this knife and cut a bit off your heel. It’ll only hurt for a bit, and you’ll be queen.’

The first sister went into her bedroom to try. She couldn’t get her foot in, so she did as her mother said and sliced off a bit of her heel. She jammed her foot in the slipper and limped out, trying to smile.

The prince had to do as he’d said, and he accepted her as his bride and helped her up on to his horse. But as he was riding away, the doves called from the hazel tree: