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The Shoes of Fortune
Hans Christian Anderson
I. A Beginning
Every author has some peculiarity in his descriptions or
in his style of writing. Those who do not like him, magnify it, shrug up their
shoulders, and exclaim--there he is again! I, for my part, know very well how I
can bring about this movement and this exclamation. It would happen immediately
if I were to begin here, as I intended to do, with: "Rome has its Corso, Naples
its Toledo"--"Ah! that Andersen; there he is again!" they would cry; yet I must,
to please my fancy, continue quite quietly, and add: "But Copenhagen has its
East Street."
Here, then, we will stay for the present. In one of the
houses not far from the new market a party was invited--a very large party, in
order, as is often the case, to get a return invitation from the others. One
half of the company was already seated at the card-table, the other half awaited
the result of the stereotype preliminary observation of the lady of the house:
"Now let us see what we can do to amuse ourselves."
They had got just so far, and the conversation began to
crystallise, as it could but do with the scanty stream which the commonplace
world supplied. Amongst other things they spoke of the middle ages: some praised
that period as far more interesting, far more poetical than our own too sober
present; indeed Councillor Knap defended this opinion so warmly, that the
hostess declared immediately on his side, and both exerted themselves with
unwearied eloquence. The Councillor boldly declared the time of King Hans to be
the noblest and the most happy period.*
* A.D. 1482-1513
While the conversation turned on this subject, and was
only for a moment interrupted by the arrival of a journal that contained nothing
worth reading, we will just step out into the antechamber, where cloaks,
mackintoshes, sticks, umbrellas, and shoes, were deposited. Here sat two female
figures, a young and an old one. One might have thought at first they were
servants come to accompany their mistresses home; but on looking nearer, one
soon saw they could scarcely be mere servants; their forms were too noble for
that, their skin too fine, the cut of their dress too striking. Two fairies were
they; the younger, it is true, was not Dame Fortune herself, but one of the
waiting-maids of her handmaidens who carry about the lesser good things that she
distributes; the other looked extremely gloomy--it was Care. She always attends
to her own serious business herself, as then she is sure of having it done
properly.
They were telling each other, with a confidential
interchange of ideas, where they had been during the day. The messenger of
Fortune had only executed a few unimportant commissions, such as saving a new
bonnet from a shower of rain, etc.; but what she had yet to perform was
something quite unusual.
"I must tell you," said she, "that to-day is my
birthday; and in honor of it, a pair of walking-shoes or galoshes has been
entrusted to me, which I am to carry to mankind. These shoes possess the
property of instantly transporting him who has them on to the place or the
period in which he most wishes to be; every wish, as regards time or place, or
state of being, will be immediately fulfilled, and so at last man will be happy,
here below."
"Do you seriously believe it?" replied Care, in a severe
tone of reproach. "No; he will be very unhappy, and will assuredly bless the
moment when he feels that he has freed himself from the fatal shoes."
"Stupid nonsense!" said the other angrily. "I will put
them here by the door. Some one will make a mistake for certain and take the
wrong ones--he will be a happy man."
Such was their conversation.
Next:
II. What Happened to the Councillor
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