fast to her feet. She danced and was obliged to go on dancing over
field and meadow, in rain and sunshine, by night and by day- but by
night it was most horrible.
She danced out into the open churchyard; but the dead there did
not dance. They had something better to do than that. She wanted to
sit down on the pauper's grave where the bitter fern grows; but for
her there was neither peace nor rest. And as she danced past the
open church door she saw an angel there in long white robes, with
wings reaching from his shoulders down to the earth; his face was
stern and grave, and in his hand he held a broad shining sword.
"Dance you shall," said he, "dance in your red shoes till you
are pale and cold, till your skin shrivels up and you are a
skeleton! Dance you shall, from door to door, and where proud and
wicked children live you shall knock, so that they may hear you and
fear you! Dance you shall, dance- !"
"Mercy!" cried Karen. But she did not hear what the angel
answered, for the shoes carried her through the gate into the
fields, along highways and byways, and unceasingly she had to dance.
One morning she danced past a door that she knew well; they were
singing a psalm inside, and a coffin was being carried out covered
with flowers. Then she knew that she was forsaken by every one and
damned by the angel of God.
She danced, and was obliged to go on dancing through the dark
night. The shoes bore her away over thorns and stumps till she was all
torn and bleeding; she danced away over the heath to a lonely little
house. Here, she knew, lived the executioner; and she tapped with
her finger at the window and said:
"Come out, come out! I cannot come in, for I must dance."
And the executioner said: "I don't suppose you know who I am. I
strike off the heads of the wicked, and I notice that my axe is
tingling to do so."
"Don't cut off my head!" said Karen, "for then I could not
repent of my sin. But cut off my feet with the red shoes."
And then she confessed all her sin, and the executioner struck off
her feet with the red shoes; but the shoes danced away with the little
feet across the field into the deep forest.
And he carved her a pair of wooden feet and some crutches, and
taught her a psalm which is always sung by sinners; she kissed the
hand that guided the axe, and went away over the heath.
"Now, I have suffered enough for the red shoes," she said; "I will
go to church, so that people can see me." And she went quickly up to
the church-door; but when she came there, the red shoes were dancing
before her, and she was frightened, and turned back.
During the whole week she was sad and wept many bitter tears,
but when Sunday came again she said: "Now I have suffered and
striven enough. I believe I am quite as good as many of those who
sit in church and give themselves airs." And so she went boldly on;
but she had not got farther than the churchyard gate when she saw
the red shoes dancing along before her. Then she became terrified, and
turned back and repented right heartily of her sin.
She went to the parsonage, and begged that she might be taken into
service there. She would be industrious, she said, and do everything
that she could; she did not mind about the wages as long as she had
a roof over her, and was with good people. The pastor's wife had
pity on her, and took her into service. And she was industrious and
thoughtful. She sat quiet and listened when the pastor read aloud from
the Bible in the evening. All the children liked her very much, but
when they spoke about dress and grandeur and beauty she would shake
her head.
On the following Sunday they all went to church, and she was asked
whether she wished to go too; but, with tears in her eyes, she
looked sadly at her crutches. And then the others went to hear God's
Word, but she went alone into her little room; this was only large
enough to hold the bed and a chair. Here she sat down with her
hymn-book, and as she was reading it with a pious mind, the wind
carried the notes of the organ over to her from the church, and in
tears she lifted up her face and said: "O God! help me!"
Then the sun shone so brightly, and right before her stood an
angel of God in white robes; it was the same one whom she had seen
that night at the church-door. He no longer carried the sharp sword,
but a beautiful green branch, full of roses; with this he touched
the ceiling, which rose up very high, and where he had touched it
there shone a golden star. He touched the walls, which opened wide
apart, and she saw the organ which was pealing forth; she saw the
pictures of the old pastors and their wives, and the congregation
sitting in the polished chairs and singing from their hymn-books.
The church itself had come to the poor girl in her narrow room, or the
room had gone to the church. She sat in the pew with the rest of the
pastor's household, and when they had finished the hymn and looked up,
they nodded and said, "It was right of you to come, Karen."
"It was mercy," said she.
The organ played and the children's voices in the choir sounded
soft and lovely. The bright warm sunshine streamed through the
window into the pew where Karen sat, and her heart became so filled
with it, so filled with peace and joy, that it broke. Her soul flew on
the sunbeams to Heaven, and no one was there who asked after the Red
Shoes.
THE END
.
1872
FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
THE SAUCY BOY
by Hans Christian Andersen
ONCE upon a time there was an old poet, one of those right good
old poets.
One evening, as he was sitting at home, there was a terrible storm
going on outside; the rain was pouring down, but the old poet sat
comfortably in his chimney-corner, where the fire was burning and
the apples were roasting.
"There will not be a dry thread left on the poor people who are
out in this weather," he said.
"Oh, open the door! I am so cold and wet through," called a little
child outside. It was crying and knocking at the door, whilst the rain
was pouring down and the wind was rattling all the windows.
"Poor creature!" said the poet, and got up and opened the door.
Before him stood a little boy; he was naked, and the water flowed from
his long fair locks. He was shivering with cold; if he had not been
let in, he would certainly have perished in the storm.
"Poor little thing!" said the poet, and took him by the hand.
"Come to me; I will soon warm you. You shall have some wine and an
apple, for you are such a pretty boy."
And he was, too. His eyes sparkled like two bright stars, and
although the water flowed down from his fair locks, they still
curled quite beautifully.
He looked like a little angel, but was pale with cold, and
trembling all over. In his hand he held a splendid bow, but it had
been entirely spoilt by the rain, and the colours of the pretty arrows
had run into one another by getting wet.
The old man sat down by the fire, and taking the little boy on his
knee, wrung the water out of his locks and warmed his hands in his
own.
He then made him some hot spiced wine, which quickly revived
him; so that with reddening cheeks, he sprang upon the floor and
danced around the old man.
"You are a merry boy," said the latter. "What is your name?"
"My name is Cupid," he answered. "Don't you know me? There lies my
bow. I shoot with that, you know. Look, the weather is getting fine
again- the moon is shining."
"But your bow is spoilt," said the old poet.
"That would be unfortunate," said the little boy, taking it up and
looking at it. "Oh, it's quite dry and isn't damaged at all. The
string is quite tight; I'll try it." So, drawing it back, he took an
arrow, aimed, and shot the good old poet right in the heart. "Do you
see now that my bow was not spoilt?" he said, and, loudly laughing,
ran away. What a naughty boy to shoot the old poet like that, who
had taken him into his warm room, had been so good to him, and had
given him the nicest wine and the best apple!
The good old man lay upon the floor crying; he was really shot
in the heart. "Oh!" he cried, "what a naughty boy this Cupid is! I
shall tell all the good children about this, so that they take care
never to play with him, lest he hurt them."
And all good children, both girls and boys, whom he told about
this, were on their guard against wicked Cupid; but he deceives them
all the same, for he is very deep. When the students come out of
class, he walks beside them with a book under his arm, and wearing a
black coat. They cannot recognize him. And then, if they take him by
the arm, believing him to be a student too, he sticks an arrow into
their chest. And when the girls go to church to be confirmed, he is
amongst them too. In fact, he is always after people. He sits in the
large chandelier in the theatre and blazes away, so that people
think it is a lamp; but they soon find out their mistake. He walks
about in the castle garden and on the promenades. Yes, once he shot
your father and your mother in the heart too. Just ask them, and you
will hear what they say. Oh! he is a bad boy, this Cupid, and you must
never have anything to do with him, for he is after every one. Just
think, he even shot an arrow at old grandmother; but that was a long
time ago. The wound has long been healed, but such things are never
forgotten.
Now you know what a bad boy this wicked Cupid is.
THE END
.
1872
FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
THE SHADOW
by Hans Christian Andersen
IN very hot climates, where the heat of the sun has great power,
people are usually as brown as mahogany; and in the hottest
countries they are negroes, with black skins. A learned man once
travelled into one of these warm climates, from the cold regions of
the north, and thought he would roam about as he did at home; but he
soon had to change his opinion. He found that, like all sensible
people, he must remain in the house during the whole day, with every
window and door closed, so that it looked as if all in the house
were asleep or absent. The houses of the narrow street in which he
lived were so lofty that the sun shone upon them from morning till
evening, and it became quite unbearable. This learned man from the
cold regions was young as well as clever; but it seemed to him as if
he were sitting in an oven, and he became quite exhausted and weak,
and grew so thin that his shadow shrivelled up, and became much
smaller than it had been at home. The sun took away even what was left
of it, and he saw nothing of it till the evening, after sunset. It was
really a pleasure, as soon as the lights were brought into the room,
to see the shadow stretch itself against the wall, even to the
ceiling, so tall was it; and it really wanted a good stretch to
recover its strength. The learned man would sometimes go out into
the balcony to stretch himself also; and as soon as the stars came
forth in the clear, beautiful sky, he felt revived. People at this
hour began to make their appearance in all the balconies in the
street; for in warm climates every window has a balcony, in which they
can breathe the fresh evening air, which is very necessary, even to
those who are used to a heat that makes them as brown as mahogany;
so that the street presented a very lively appearance. Here were
shoemakers, and tailors, and all sorts of people sitting. In the
street beneath, they brought out tables and chairs, lighted candles by
hundreds, talked and sang, and were very merry. There were people
walking, carriages driving, and mules trotting along, with their bells
on the harness, "tingle, tingle," as they went. Then the dead were
carried to the grave with the sound of solemn music, and the tolling
of the church bells. It was indeed a scene of varied life in the
street. One house only, which was just opposite to the one in which
the foreign learned man lived, formed a contrast to all this, for it
was quite still; and yet somebody dwelt there, for flowers stood in
the balcony, blooming beautifully in the hot sun; and this could not
have been unless they had been watered carefully. Therefore some one
must be in the house to do this. The doors leading to the balcony were
half opened in the evening; and although in the front room all was
dark, music could be heard from the interior of the house. The foreign
learned man considered this music very delightful; but perhaps he
fancied it; for everything in these warm countries pleased him,
excepting the heat of the sun. The foreign landlord said he did not
know who had taken the opposite house- nobody was to be seen there;
and as to the music, he thought it seemed very tedious, to him most
uncommonly so.
"It is just as if some one was practising a piece that he could
not manage; it is always the same piece. He thinks, I suppose, that he
will be able to manage it at last; but I do not think so, however long
he may play it."
Once the foreigner woke in the night. He slept with the door
open which led to the balcony; the wind had raised the curtain
before it, and there appeared a wonderful brightness over all in the
balcony of the opposite house. The flowers seemed like flames of the
most gorgeous colors, and among the flowers stood a beautiful
slender maiden. It was to him as if light streamed from her, and
dazzled his eyes; but then he had only just opened them, as he awoke
