Cinderella (Evans)/Chapter 1

by Charles Perrault

CINDERELLA

CHAPTER I

The Little Girl in the Big House

Once upon a time there was a nobleman who was married to a sweet and beautiful lady. They had one child, a little girl named Ella, and they lived in a big house in the country.

What a fine house that was! There were more rooms in it than you could count on your fingers and toes, and each room was full of the grandest furniture. Ella had a room all to herself, with pictures of fairy-stories on the walls and cupboards full of toys, and she used to play there on wet days after she had done her lessons and her embroidery. When the weather was fine, however, Ella much preferred to play in the garden, which was so big and so full of interesting things that nobody could ever get tired of it. There was a lake in the garden with nine swans on it; and there was a little summer-house all covered with roses; and there was an orchard where apples and pears and plum-trees grew. At the end of a long drive, by the lodge-keeper’s cottage, were the big gates that shut the garden off from the road. The road led to the town, which was a mile away, and all sorts of interesting people came walking along it—pedlar-men and beggars, and soldiers in splendid uniforms with pikes on their shoulders, marching left, right, left, right. Once Ella saw the King and Queen go by in a grand coach. The young Prince was with them, and all the people came out of their cottages to see him and to shout “Hurrah!”—for he was a very handsome and lovable young Prince. He smiled at Ella as he went by, and she waved her hand to him, and wished he would stop and come to play with her in the garden.

Although Ella had no brothers or sisters, she seldom felt lonely, because there was always her mother to play with her and tell her stories. Her mother knew so many stories that she could tell a new one every night

almost, and they were the most interesting stories one could possibly imagine.

Now Ella’s father spent most of his time in the library reading books—great heavy books without a single picture in them, and no conversations, as Ella knew well, for she had one day stolen a peep at one. Perhaps these books were full of stories! If they were, however, her father never told her any of them. In fact, he hardly ever spoke to her or to anybody else. Every morning after breakfast he would go away to his library, and sit there reading, with a big pair of horn spectacles on his nose, or writing with a quill pen that made a funny, scratchy noise.

There were not many little girls who were happier than Ella up to the time when she was twelve years old. Then a great sorrow came into her life, for her mother was taken ill. All the cleverest doctors came from miles around to give her physic, but none of them could do any good. Ella used to stand by the window and watch them drive up in their carriages. They were most of them big, important-looking men, dressed in black, shiny silk clothes with white lace on the sleeves, and they took snuff and said “Hum—ha ” a great many times. Ella was very anxious to know whether they were going to cure her dear mother, but they always spoke in very low voices, and they looked so important and so solemn that she did not dare to ask any questions.

And then one morning, when she came downstairs, she found her father sitting in the big arm-chair with his head buried in his hands. He did not say anything to

her for a long time, and then he came over and put his hand upon her head and stroked her hair.

“We are all alone now, dear,” he said.

And Ella knew, without any more telling, that her mother was dead.

All that day she crept about with a white face, trying to realize what had happened to her. It seemed im­possible to believe that she would never again hear her mother’s voice, or see her gentle smile. At night when she went to bed she could not sleep, and at last she got up and went to the window and stood there looking into the garden. It was very dark and mysterious out there. A wind was blowing among the trees, sighing like some­body in pain, and the moon shone fitfully from behind barred clouds.

And then a strange thing happened; for as Ella stood there, with the tears which she could not restrain rolling down her cheeks, she thought she saw the figure of an old woman among the bushes on the edge of the lawn. It was too dark to see very plainly, but the strange figure seemed to be dressed in a long black cloak and a queer, pointed hat, and to be leaning on a stick. As Ella watched, the moon shone out full for a moment and lighted up the face of the woman, who was staring straight at Ella’s window. It was an old face, but very, very tender, and the smile on the wrinkled lips was so beautiful that Ella stretched out her arms to the figure and gave a cry.

Then the clouds rolled over the face of the moon, and the shadows darkened in the garden; and when Ella looked again, the figure had vanished.