Thereupon she closed her eyes, and breathed her last.
The maiden went to her mother’s grave every day and wept, and she continued to be devout and good. When the winter came, the snow spread a white covering on the grave, and when the sun of spring had unveiled it again, the husband took another wife. The new wife brought home with her two daughters, who were fair and beautiful to look upon, but base and black at heart.
Then began a sad time for the unfortunate step-child.
‘Is this stupid goose to sit with us in the parlour?’ they said.
‘Whoever wants to eat bread must earn it; go and sit with the kitchenmaid.’
They took away her pretty clothes, and made her put on an old grey frock, and gave her wooden clogs.
‘Just look at the proud Princess, how well she’s dressed,’ they laughed, as they led her to the kitchen. There, the girl was obliged to do hard work from morning till night, to get up at daybreak, carry water, light the fire, cook, and wash. Not content with that, the sisters inflicted on her every vexation they could think of; they made fun of her, and tossed the peas and lentils among the ashes, so that she had to sit down and pick them out again. In the evening, when she was worn out with work, she had no bed to go to, but had to lie on the hearth among the cinders. And because, on account of that, she always looked dusty and dirty, they called her Ashenputtel.
It happened one day that the Father had a mind to go to the Fair. So he asked both his step-daughters what he should bring home for them.
‘Fine clothes,’ said one.
‘Pearls and jewels,’ said the other.