Cinderella. Charles Perrault. Audio fairy tale illustrated (Diafilm: diapositives 1964)

Once a young girl called Ella was left alone in the world. Her mother and father were dead and there was nowhere for her to live except with her stepmother, a proud snobbish and ambitious woman. She dressed in all the latest fashions and sent to Paris for her hats but no amount of silk or velvet could make her or her two daughters beautiful. Their mother told Bertha and Gertrude that they were as pretty as two flowers and they believed her. But how could they help noticing Ella's golden hair? How could they overlook the softness of her skin, the brightness of her smile or the daintiness of her hands and feet? Their jealousy made them unkind and they forced Ella to do all the housework. She scoured the pots and pans, scrubbed the floors and swept out the fireplaces and her stepsisters called her Cinderella. Fetch the coal in Cinderella. Polish my shoes Cinderella. Lazy, wicked, stupid Cinderella. End of the day Cinderella was too weary to do anything but curl up in the chimney corner and cry herself to sleep. One morning a wax-sealed envelope dropped onto the doormat. Inside were four invitations to a ball at the palace. The prince was looking for a wife from among the town's most beautiful women. What excitement there was in the house. Bertha, Gertrude and their mother immediately began choosing gowns and jewels. They talked of nothing else. Powder my chestnut wig Cinderella. Sew on these sequins Cinderella. Iron this lace Cinderella and don't burn it you stupid girl. Cinderella hardly noticed the extra work. She had always longed to see inside the beautiful palace on the hill and now it seemed that she would. What shall I wear? She asked timidly. Three faces stared at her in disbelief. You, said her stepmother. You don't suppose you're going to the ball do you? Bertha laughed out loud. You vain little ragamuffin. Whoever would want to see you at the palace. They wouldn't let in a dirty little waif like you, sneered Gertrude. But the invitation. The palace must have sent four by mistake, said her stepmother and taking out the precious gilt-edged card she tore it up and dropped the pieces at Cinderella's feet. Sweep them up, she laughed. Then comb my wig. The day of the ball arrived. Bertha powdered her round nose until it looked like a marshmallow. Gertrude fluffed out her hair until it looked like candy floss. Their mother climbed into a dress of puce brocade and they all squeezed into the best carriage in town. As their laughing voices died away and Cinderella shut the door, she could no longer keep back her tears. They splattered and hissed among the cinders. Suddenly all the candles flickered. Hovering between ceiling and stairs was a white-haired fairy in a dress of shimmering silver. Why, you crying child? Cinderella put her hands to her cheeks in amazement. Oh, please don't be angry with me. I just wanted so much to go to the ball. And so you shall, for I am your fairy godmother. But we haven't much time. Run and fetch four mice from the corn bins in the cellar and bring them to me in the garden. Too amazed to argue, Cinderella did as she was told. In the garden, the fairy asked her to find two lizards and to pick a pumpkin. As soon as Cinderella had laid these on the ground, the fairy waved her star-tipped wand three times. In the glittering shower of stardust, the little creatures and the pumpkin were transformed into a silver coach, resting on golden springs upholstered with scarlet velvet and drawn by four dapple-gray horses. Two smart footmen in white wigs opened its doors, inviting Cinderella to climb in. But how can I go to the ball in these filthy rags? cried the girl. Her fairy godmother giggled. Oh, how silly of me. I quite forgot. And with the star-tipped wand, she tapped Cinderella on the forehead. All at once, her rags were changed into a gown of gold and silver lace. And on her tiny feet were a pair of delicate glass slippers. Have a wonderful evening, my child, said the fairy, kissing her on the cheek. But do remember to leave before midnight. When the clock strikes twelve, my magic will melt away. Touching her own head with her wand, the fairy godmother disappeared. But a moment later, she was back again. Silly me, I forgot this. In her hand was a gilt-edged card, an invitation to the ball. By the time Cinderella arrived at the ball, it was well underway. But as she walked down the white marble staircase, people stopped dancing, the orchestra stopped playing, and everyone stared at the newcomer's extraordinary beauty. The prince ran to greet her and begged to be the first to dance with her. He stayed for the next dance, too. In fact, for the rest of the evening, he danced with no one else. Huddled in a corner, Gertrude and Bertha sulked. Who is she anyway? It's not fair. He ought to dance with someone else now. Whirling to the music in the prince's arms, Cinderella forgot that she had ever been unhappy. She forgot about scrubbing floors, cleaning out the fires, washing her sister's fine clothes while her own fell into rags. She forgot that her gown was made of fairy dust, and she forgot her fairy godmother's warning. Midnight. I must go, she cried in alarm. But it's still early, called the prince, as she fled up the marble stairs. The clock chimed for the third time. I don't even know your name, he cried as she ran out of the palace. The clock chimed for the sixth time. But I love you, he pleaded as she leapt into the silver coach. The clock chimed for the ninth time. Cinderella was swept away into the night. The clock struck twelve as the prince dropped his head despairingly and glimpsed a single glass slipper lying on the palace steps. Weary and barefoot, Cinderella stumbled into the kitchen and fell asleep beside the dying fire. Halfway home, her coach had turned back into a pumpkin, and mice and lizards had scuttled away into the gutter. Hours later, her stepsisters woke her with their noisy quarrelling as they arrived home. It's all Cinderella's fault, whined Bertha. If she'd ironed my dress properly, the prince would have loved me. If she'd tied my corset tighter, grizzled Gertrude, he would have married me. He still might, snarled their mother. The princess has disappeared, hasn't she? But the prince was set on marrying the owner of the glass slipper. It's so tiny, nobody but she could have a foot delicate enough to fit in it, he told his mother. And the next day, the queen issued a proclamation. The prince will marry she whom the slipper fits. Imagine the uproar when the town's fashionable ladies heard the news. He's mine at last, cried Bertha. My feet are so dainty. They're as big as paving stones, shrieked Gertrude. I'm going to get that slipper on if it's the last thing I do. Their mother was silent. She was preening herself in front of the mirror, thinking how well a crown would suit her. There was a knock at the door. It was the prince's page, and he carried the glass slipper on a plush red cushion. Bertha pulled him in through the door. Let me try. Let me try. Me first, wailed Gertrude. If you don't mind, boomed their mother, sweeping them aside. I shall try first. But although they pushed and squeezed and scrunched up their toes, none of them could force a foot into the glass slipper. Is there no one else in the house, asked the royal servant. No one, said all three. The servant cast a puzzled look at Cinderella, who was standing by the fire. Oh, her? She's nobody, just the scullery maid. Every woman in the land must try on the slipper, said the page, and he knelt in front of Cinderella. Her tiny foot slipped perfectly into the glass shoe. Then the servant turned, doffed his cap, and bowed low. There in the open doorway stood the prince. I have found her, your highness, said the page. It's not fair, gasped Bertha. It's all a mistake, cried Gertrude. She didn't even go to the ball, screeched their mother. Cinderella smiled past them at the prince. I'm afraid, my lord, that my ball gown was borrowed, and I can't afford a wedding dress. But I do have a pair of shoes now to wear to my wedding. And from her tattered bag, she brought out the second slipper and put it on. Bertha blushed. Gertrude curtsied. Their mother squeaked and then fainted. The prince bought his bride a wedding dress of milk white satin and a veil as misty as cloud, and he married her in the great cathedral. Her stepsisters and stepmother bought new dresses for the wedding and quite forgot that they had ever called her Cinderella and made her scrub floors.