‘This is not the right one either,’ he said. ‘Have you no other daughter?’
‘No,’ said the man. ‘There is only a daughter of my late wife’s, a puny, stunted drudge, but she cannot possibly be the Bride.’
The Prince said that she must be sent for.
But the Mother answered, ‘Oh no, she is much too dirty; she mustn’t be seen on any account.’
He was, however, absolutely determined to have his way, and they were obliged to summon Ashenputtel.
When she had washed her hands and face, she went up and curtsied to the Prince, who handed her the golden slipper.
Then she sat down on a bench, pulled off her wooden clog and put on the slipper, which fitted to a nicety.
And when she stood up and the Prince looked into her face, he recognised the beautiful maiden that he had danced with, and cried: ‘This is the true Bride!’
The Stepmother and the two sisters were dismayed and turned white with rage; but he took Ashenputtel on his horse and rode off with her.
As they rode past the hazel-tree the two White Doves cried:
No blood’s on the track,
The shoe’s not too small,
You carry the true Bride home to your hall.’
And when they had said this they both came flying down, and settled on Ashenputtel’s shoulders, one on the right, and one on the left, and remained perched there.
When the wedding was going to take place, the two false sisters came and wanted to curry favour with her, and take part in her good fortune. As the bridal party was going to the church, the eldest was on the right side, the youngest on the left, and the Doves picked out one of the eyes of each of them.
