Cinderella (Evans)/Chapter 7

by Charles Perrault

CHAPTER VII

The Fairy Godmother

Cinderella followed the carriage with her eyes until it was out of sight, and then she descended to the kitchen, and took up her usual place in the corner of the fireplace.

She felt very miserable as she sat there in the chim­ney corner. She was of a brave disposition, and she had learned not to show her feelings in the presence of her stepsisters, but as she contrasted their good fortune with her hard and miserable life she could not help crying. By this time they were in the great hall of the palace, mingling with a crowd of gaily dressed and happy people, beneath the light of a thousand candles, while she sat there in the dingy kitchen, with no one to talk to, and only her sad thoughts for occupation. A tear fell down her nose and splashed on to the hearth­ stone, and then another and another.

All of a sudden Cinderella heard a noise. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw the figure of an old woman standing in the shadow on the other side of the hearth-place.

“Who are you?” asked Cinderella in a quavering voice.

“Don’t be afraid,” said the woman. “I have not come to do you any harm. You have seen me before, once upon a time, when you were even more unhappy than you are to-night. Look at me well, and see if you do not remember.”

Then the strange old woman stepped forward into the light. She was very, very old; so old that her face was a maze of lines, like a wrinkled apple. She was dressed in a very full red petticoat and a black-laced bodice, and

on her head was a queerly shaped hat, with a high pointed crown and a wide brim. There she stood, leaning heavily on a big crooked stick, while Cinderella gazed at her and wondered where she had seen her before.

And then the woman smiled. Have you ever seen a ray of sunshine light up the shadows of a gloomy place? Well, the strange woman’s smile was like that. She no longer appeared old, but as young and radiant as a spring morning, and her eyes glowed deep and pure and true.

“I know, I know!” cried Cinderella. “You are the woman who was in the garden that night when my mother died. The moon pointed you out to me, and I wanted to come down to you, but when I looked again you had disappeared.”

“Because the time was not ripe,” said the woman. “You only saw me that once, but many is the time that I have seen you. I have watched you at your work day after day, and I know all that you have endured through the malice of your stepmother and your stepsisters. At night, when you sat here brooding among the cinders and thought yourself all alone, I was never very far away. When you went to your garret and lay down on your straw bed, it was I who watched over your sleep.”

“Why,” said Cinderella, “who then can you be?”

“I am your godmother,” answered the old woman.

“Your mother and I were friends when she was a girl, and I promised her before she died that I would make your welfare my care. You were crying when I came in. Tell me what was the matter?”

“It was nothing,” said Cinderella, who was just a little ashamed at having been discovered in tears. “I wanted—I wanted———”

“You wanted to go to the ball—isn’t that it?”

“Yes,” said Cinderella with a sigh.

“Well, if you will be a good girl and do what I tell you, and don’t ask any questions, you shall go. Have you a pumpkin-bed in the garden?”

“Why, yes” said Cinderella wonderingly.

“Then go to it at once, and bring me the biggest pumpkin you can find. Now don’t stop to ask me why, but just do as I say, and you will discover the reason quickly enough.”

Cinderella ran into the garden at once, and soon came back with a fine pumpkin, which she gave to her godmother, wondering the while how such a thing was going to help her to go to the ball.

“Now a knife, if you please.”

Cinderella brought a knife, with which her godmother cut off the top of the pumpkin and scooped out the pulp until nothing was left but the hollow rind.

This she took outside into the courtyard and touched with her stick, when the pumpkin immediately changed into a most magnificent coach, all glass above and gilded panels below!

Now Cinderella realized that her godmother was a fairy, and if there was a more surprised and delighted girl in the whole country that night, I have yet to hear of her. She could not resist peeping inside the coach, which was upholstered with delicate rose-coloured silk, and she was so excited that her godmother had to touch her on the arm to bring her to herself.

“Come along,” said the old woman, “or the ball will be over before you get there. I want a mouse or two. Run and see if there are any in the trap.”

Cinderella hastened into the kitchen and found that, by the greatest good luck, there were six live mice in the trap. There they were, running round and round the wire cage, and poking their little black muzzles through the bars.

“Open the trap just a little,” said the old woman, “and let them run out one by one.” Then, as each mouse came out, she gave it a tap with her stick, and each mouse was immediately changed into a fine horse. When she had finished there was a train of handsome steeds, all of a dappled mouse-grey colour, and so well trained that they immediately placed themselves between the shafts of the carriage, ready to be harnessed into place.

“Now we shall want a coachman,” said the old woman when this was done. What are we going to do for him, I wonder?”

“I know,” said Cinderella. “Perhaps there is a rat in the rat-trap. If so, he’ll make a very good coachman. I’ll go and see.”

Once again fortune favoured her. There were no less than three large rats in the rat-trap, and that was a very unusual thing.

“A very fine selection,” said the fairy godmother looking them over. “We’ll have this fat fellow, because he has such a splendid set of whiskers. Let him out carefully.”

She touched the rat with her wand, and before Cinderella’s eyes he grew taller and taller and gradually changed shape.

First of all his hind legs became a pair of shapely legs, clad in a pair of most elegant grey breeches: then his tail shrivelled up and turned into the tail of a fine, grey livery-coat. The last part of him to change was his head, so that the rat could watch the strange things that were happening to his person.

You never saw a more surprised-looking rat in your life! However, there he stood at last, the most dignified and solemn-looking coachman that ever sat on a box-seat, and his whiskers were a real wonder to behold.

“With such a fine coach and six you must have some footmen,” the godmother said. “Go into the garden

again and look behind the big watering-pot that stands beside the fountain. There you will find six lizards. Catch them and bring them to me, but mind you don’t catch hold of their tails, because if you do the tails will come off in your hand, and in that case your footmen will have no coats to their backs.”

The lizards were behind the watering-pot, just as the old woman had said, and fine plump fellows they were. Very soon they were turned into six footmen, all as like each other as six peas in a pod, and all dressed in a showy livery of grey and gold. They did not need to

be taught their duties, but jumped up behind the coach and held on to the rail there, just as if they had done nothing else all their lives.

“So that is finished,” said the fairy godmother with a smile. “There is no lady at the Prince’s ball to-night

who will arrive in a finer equipage than you. Are you not pleased?”

“Yes,” answered Cinderella, “but am I to go to the ball in these shabby old clothes? Everybody would stare at me!”

“Bless my soul, I forgot all about the dress!” cried the old woman; “but that is easily attended to.” She touched Cinderella lightly on the shoulder with her stick, and immediately her dingy gown was changed into a magnificent dress of white silk, embroidered with butterflies and flowers of a delicate blue, and sewn with seed-pearls. Round her neck was a necklace of pearls and diamonds, and, greatest wonder of all, on her tiny feet was a pair of glass shoes, the prettiest that ever were seen.

“Now you are all ready,” said the kind godmother who had worked all these marvels. “Step into the coach and drive away, but before you go, take careful heed of what I say. You may dance and enjoy yourself to your heart’s content until midnight, but on the stroke of twelve you must leave the ballroom and come home. If you remain even a minute longer, your coach will become a pumpkin, your horses mice, your coachman a rat, and your footmen lizards, while your pretty gown will change back again into your shabby old dress. That will not be nice for you, to have such things happening in everybody’s sight, so remember my warning.”

Cinderella promised her godmother that she would not fail to act upon her advice, and, stepping into her coach, drove off, almost beside herself with joy.