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by Me © Copyright 2000 When my sister, Javotte, and I were young ladies, our mother decided to marry again. She was always a keen business woman and she wisely selected her new husband according to his ability to contribute to the family wealth, as much as for her being attracted to him. He was an affluent nobleman as well as an attractive gentleman. Unfortunately for all of us, the man came encumbered with the most useless daughter you can imagine. She was truly beautiful and, as is the case with many excessively attractive people, she was completely without business sense, probably because she had lived only on the merit of her looks for her entire life. She was the meekest little sheep you can envision. She would foolishly give anyone anything she possessed; just give it away; just like that! Mother wanted to keep her from our customers and other business associates (who knows what piece of furniture she will squander next?), so she assigned the girl household chores like washing dishes and cleaning all our bedrooms. She was given a room in an out-of-the-way section of the house, but when she would finish her chores she would go to the corner by the chimney and sit on the floor in the ashes. She always had ashes on her bottom and I began to call her Cinderbottom (sometimes when you are abrupt with people, that will shake some sense into their heads, but it was not so with this little decoration). Javotte eventually began to call her Cinderella instead, and this name stuck and became her name among the family. The trouble started when the King's son gave a ball for all the important and influential people of the land. Naturally, we were invited, as were mother and her new husband. Of course, little Cinderella was completely unimportant and uninfluential, so she received no invitation. Now, when the prince gives a ball, that is momentous, indeed. It is a chance to associate with other powerful people, and to make new and powerful friends. So, my sister and I, upon receiving our invitations, began to plan for the ball. We chose outfits and hairstyles which would be most becoming to us. We had Cinderella iron our ruffles and pleats. I planned to wear my red velvet with English lace, and Javotte had selected a plain petticoat with her overdress of gold flowers, and her diamond brooch. Cinderella, the dear dim-wit, even volunteered to do our hair. Now, when it came to taste, that girl was endowed, since appearance seemed to have been all she had ever paid any attention to, so we were actually pleased to have her do our hair. She was likely to make us very beautiful. I was kidding her while she was doing my hair. "Cinderella, wouldn't you like to be going to the ball?" "Oh, ladies! You're making fun of me. It wouldn't be proper for me to go." "You're right. People would laugh if they saw a cinderbottom heading for the ball." Javotte laughed, and I was afraid she would be offended and mess up my hair but she just smiled in her silly way and continued. She did exceptionally well on both of us. Daily, we had Cinderella cinch up the stays on our corsets to make our waists thinner. Over and over she tightened these little torture devices; the price of beauty! When we departed for the ball we could see the little cinderbottom following us with her eyes, in envy, until we were out of sight. Javotte said "What would you have done if Cinderella had taken you up on your suggestion to go to the ball with us?" I told her "Well, I don't know. But I knew she wouldn't go because she is so stupid and would not want to be among all the educated and successful people of the land and have them make fun of her." Javotte agreed. When we got to the ball (fashionably late), many of the best people were already there; the banker with his wife and son and daughter; the judge; many of the merchants from town and the surrounding countryside; and land holders were also there. Javotte and I circulated, working the crowd. We talked with the banker, then the judge, then to several merchants. We talked with one of the land holders with whom we were working a deal where we would hold goats on some of his land while prices rose. He gave us the name of his solicitor and told us to contact him later. The prince came by and we exchanged a few words, but he is a busy man and his attention is difficult to attract, although Javotte and I tried very hard; he would make an excellent addition to the family's worth if one of us could marry him, and this had been one of our goals since we were little girls. Then we heard a fanfare outside the palace, and a rumor waved through the crowd that a princess was arriving. There was no princess invited! Could this trollop be crashing the prince's party? Sure enough, that is what happened. Talk about ostentatious, though. She arrived in a pumpkin-colored coach with gold gilt everywhere, drawn by the finest mouse-colored six-horse team. Her coachman was a bit rat-faced but he was dressed in pumpkin with gold to match the coach. And, she was accompanied by six liveried footmen, also dressed in pumpkin and gold. They rode on the back of the coach, staring ever forward, with cold reptilian eyes. The princess was dressed pretentiously in a gown of gold and silver cloth which was all covered with diamonds, rubies and amethysts. And, get this. She had on glass slippers! You would think that, if one so shod were to actually walk in those things, she would certainly break the glass and cut her feet off, but this little party crasher was so skinny that she did not have enough weight to break her silly glass shoes. She walked, even danced in them, all evening. To make matters worse, the prince was obviously infatuated with her. He met her at the entrance to the palace almost as if he were expecting her, and escorted her in, and seldom let her from his side. They danced, whispered to each other, giggled, sometimes disappeared together for a while, only to reappear and dance again. The unsolicited princess made only a couple of trips around the ballroom without the prince. During the last of these, she actually came by and talked with us and gave us, are you ready? Some oranges and lemons. Well, thanks a load, honey! Just what we always wanted! This happened about quarter to twelve; I remember because the queerest thing happened next. As we were chit-chatting small talk, the princess abruptly, rather rudely, actually, got up, made a deep curtsy to the guests and left as quickly as she could. As you know, when something like this happens at a party, it seems to imply that the party is over, and people begin to leave, and the more people leave, the more other people leave, etc., until no one is left, so Javotte and I got up about twelve midnight, said our goodby's, making certain to speak with the prince, and left. When we got home, Cinderella met us at the door. "How long you were!" she said, pretending to be sleepy, but we could tell she wanted to know all about what had happened at the ball. "If you had come to the ball," I said, "you wouldn't have gotten so tired. The most beautiful princess came that anybody would ever hope to see, and she showered us with kindness. She gave us oranges and lemons!" I gave her the citrus and she took them, obviously pleased. She seemed beside herself with joy. She asked the name of the princess but we didn't know; no one did, and the prince seemed quite upset that she had gotten away so suddenly. The better for the rest of us though, I thought. "She was really that beautiful?" Cinderella said. "Heavens, you're lucky! Couldn't I see her? Oh, Miss Javotte, let me borrow your yellow dress, the everyday one." Javotte wasn't about to do THAT! "Really! Lend my dress to a waif who sits in the ashes in the cinderbox. Sorry, hon." When the prince threw a ball, it was not a one night affair. It would go on for days. So the next day we were back at the palace, networking, dancing, eating free food. Then, as the night before, a fanfare sounded. The prince fairly flew to the entrance and, sure enough, there was the uninvited princess again (although, by this time, she probably had wheedled herself an invitation from the prince). This evening was to end even more suspiciously than the previous one. I remember very clearly that, just as the clock began to strike midnight, the princess was, as usual, talking with the prince, and a few of his closes friends were hanging on. As the clock began to strike, she jumped up like a fawn shot with a crossbow, ran through the ballroom, running into guests, falling once, to the entrance and, according to witnesses near the door, just disappeared. The prince just stared for a moment, then chased her, but he was too late. He came back into the ballroom with a dejected look upon his face. And he was carrying one of those silly glass shoes she had worn. And the thing was still unbroken. I could tell from across half the ballroom that it was about a size two! How could any grownup have feet that small? After some excited murmuring, the guests once again began to filter away, and Javotte and I made our way to the prince and, smiling sweetly, told him how sorry we were that things had turned out as they had. He just stared at the shoe. He said that he was going to try it on every woman in the land until he found the girl whose foot exactly fit it and he was going to marry her. Well, this was not good news for us! We just looked at each other. The chance of either of us getting a foot into that thing without surgery was about as slim as the chance that the prince would ask out Cinderella for a date; maybe less. When we got home, Cinderella was still up and wanted to hear everything again. We told her about the princess and how she ran away at midnight, and about the glass shoe, and about what the prince had told us. The prince was good for his word. The next morning, he had the shoe tried on each of the princesses in the court, then on the duchesses, then on all the rest of the court's women, but none could wear the shoe. Then he ordered that every woman in the land should try on the shoe, and sent his trusted nobleman up and down the streets with the thing, trying it on, indeed, every woman in the land. While Javotte and I had no illusions about the shoe fitting, we were still ready to give it the old court try. We spent the days massaging our feet with lotions. We slept with our feet suspended high above our beds, attached to the ceiling, in order for the blood to run away from them. Then, when the nobleman called at our home with the shoe, we sent Cinderella to answer while we coated our feet with the slipperiest lard from the kitchen we could find. When we arrived, squishing and sloshing, in the front room, we tried on the shoe. Javotte went first. She shoved and tugged and went red in the face but all she could get into the shoe was her toes, and then only when turning the shoe sideways. Javotte always did wear gunboats, though. My feet are somewhat smaller and I actually did, for a tiny moment, entertain the possibility of getting my foot into the thing. And I did, after a fashion. My toes were in the shoe, and so was my heel. But the rest of my foot arched up out of the shoe like a scared cat. Then the most embarrassing thing happened. Because of all the lard lubricating my foot, it shot off my foot and hit the nobleman in the shin. He looked as if he could kill me! "I wonder if it wouldn't fit me." a small voice from the doorway said. It was Cinderella! Javotte and I just burst out laughing. It was nerves, mostly. We were experiencing the big let-down, now that we knew that neither of us were going to be marrying the prince, at least not soon. But the nobleman said that his orders were to try the shoe on every woman in the land and asked Cinderella to sit down. She offered him her foot and he put the shoe on it. That's right! It just went right on, and STAYED! Well, Javotte and I were devastated. Mother was looking on and said something which resembled a curse, then "How did you do that, Cinderella?" Cinderella reached into the filthy pocket of her apron and pulled out another glass shoe to match the one the nobleman had brought, and she put it on her other foot, then got up and, as if to mock us, held her skirt up high and exhibited her footwear like a runway model, turning one way, then the other, smiling maliciously all the time. If this were not enough to confound us, a fairy appeared from out of thin air. This fairy had a little wand in her hand and she touched it to Cinderella's dress and, instantly, Cinderella was wearing a magnificent gown, finer than anything any of us had ever seen. It was obvious that Cinderella and the uninvited princess were, in fact, the same person. Cinderella introduced us. It seems that the fairy was also Cinderella's godmother, and she, through her magic, had made the two nights at the ball possible. She had turned a pumpkin into a coach and a rat into a coachman, and she had turned mice into horses, and lizards into footmen. Cinderella also explained that the reason she had disappeared so suddenly each night is that the magic wore out at midnight and, afterward, she would find herself back in her filthy house dress, riding a pumpkin. Well, as you can guess, we were not pleased, but we also know which side our bread is buttered on, so we both, simultaneously, began to gush, telling her how beautiful and intelligent (yea, right) she was, and how we always had known it, and would she remember us to the prince? And, would you believe it? She did! The dim-wit never realized we had done anything mean to her, like giving her all the dirty work around the house. She arranged for both of us to marry well-placed court members. It just goes to show you, business sense will win out every time, even over magic.
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