The Red Shoes

: Hans Andersens Fairy Tales

THERE was once a pretty, delicate little girl, who was so poor that she

had to go barefoot in summer and wear coarse wooden shoes in winter,

which made her little instep quite red.



In the center of the village there lived an old shoemaker's wife. One

day this good woman made, as well as she could, a little pair of shoes

out of some strips of old red cloth. The shoes were clumsy enough, to be

sure, but the fitted the little girl tolerably well, and anyway the

woman's intention was kind. The little girl's name was Karen.



On the very day that Karen received the shoes, her mother was to be

buried. They were not at all suitable for mourning, but she had no

others, so she put them on her little bare feet and followed the poor

plain coffin to its last resting place.



Just at that time a large, old-fashioned carriage happened to pass by,

and the old lady who sat in it saw the little girl and pitied her.



"Give me the little girl," she said to the clergyman, "and I will take

care of her."



Karen supposed that all this happened because of the red shoes, but the

old lady thought them frightful and ordered them to be burned. Karen was

then dressed in neat, well-fitting clothes and taught to read and sew.

People told her she was pretty, but the mirror said, "You are much more

than pretty--you are beautiful."



It happened not long afterwards that the queen and her little daughter,

the princess, traveled through the land. All the people, Karen among the

rest, flocked toward the palace and crowded around it, while the little

princess, dressed in white, stood at the window for every one to see.

She wore neither a train nor a golden crown, but on her feet were

beautiful red morocco shoes, which, it must be admitted, were prettier

than those the shoemaker's wife had given to little Karen. Surely

nothing in the world could be compared to those red shoes.



Now that Karen was old enough to be confirmed, she of course had to have

a new frock and new shoes. The rich shoemaker in the town took the

measure of her little feet in his own house, in a room where stood great

glass cases filled with all sorts of fine shoes and elegant, shining

boots. It was a pretty sight, but the old lady could not see well and

naturally did not take so much pleasure in it as Karen. Among the shoes

were a pair of red ones, just like those worn by the little princess.

Oh, how gay they were! The shoemaker said they had been made for the

child of a count, but had not fitted well.



"Are they of polished leather, that they shine so?" asked the old lady.



"Yes, indeed, they do shine," replied Karen. And since they fitted her,

they were bought. But the old lady had no idea that they were red, or

she would never in the world have allowed Karen to go to confirmation in

them, as she now did. Every one, of course, looked at Karen's shoes;

and when she walked up the nave to the chancel it seemed to her that

even the antique figures on the monuments, the portraits of clergymen

and their wives, with their stiff ruffs and long black robes, were

fixing their eyes on her red shoes. Even when the bishop laid his hand

upon her head and spoke of her covenant with God and how she must now

begin to be a full-grown Christian, and when the organ pealed forth

solemnly and the children's fresh, sweet voices joined with those of the

choir--still Karen thought of nothing but her shoes.



In the afternoon, when the old lady heard every one speak of the red

shoes, she said it was very shocking and improper and that, in the

future, when Karen went to church it must always be in black shoes, even

if they were old.



The next Sunday was Karen's first Communion day. She looked at her black

shoes, and then at her red ones, then again at the black and at the

red--and the red ones were put on.



The sun shone very brightly, and Karen and the old lady walked to church

through the cornfields, for the road was very dusty.



At the door of the church stood an old soldier, who leaned upon a crutch

and had a marvelously long beard that was not white but red. He bowed

almost to the ground and asked the old lady if he might dust her shoes.

Karen, in her turn, put out her little foot.



"Oh, look, what smart little dancing pumps!" said the old soldier. "Mind

you do not let them slip off when you dance," and he passed his hands

over them. The old lady gave the soldier a half-penny and went with

Karen into the church.



As before, every one saw Karen's red shoes, and all the carved figures

too bent their gaze upon them. When Karen knelt at the chancel she

thought only of the shoes; they floated before her eyes, and she forgot

to say her prayer or sing her psalm.



At last all the people left the church, and the old lady got into her

carriage. As Karen lifted her foot to step in, the old soldier said,

"See what pretty dancing shoes!" And Karen, in spite of herself, made a

few dancing steps. When she had once begun, her feet went on of

themselves; it was as though the shoes had received power over her. She

danced round the church corner,--she could not help it,--and the

coachman had to run behind and catch her to put her into the carriage.

Still her feet went on dancing, so, that she trod upon the good lady's

toes. It was not until the shoes were taken from her feet that she had

rest.



The shoes were put away in a closet, but Karen could not resist going to

look at them every now and then.



Soon after this the old lady lay ill in bed, and it was said that she

could not recover. She had to be nursed and waited on, and this, of

course, was no one's duty so much as it was Karen's, as Karen herself

well knew. But there happened to be a great ball in the town, and Karen

was invited. She looked at the old lady, who was very ill, and she

looked at the red shoes. She put them on, for she thought there could

not be any sin in that, and of course there was not--but she went next

to the ball and began to dance.



Strange to say, when she wanted to move to the right the shoes bore her

to the left; and when she wished to dance up the room the shoes

persisted in going down the room. Down the stairs they carried her at

last, into the street, and out through the town gate. On and on she

danced, for dance she must, straight out into the gloomy wood. Up among

the trees something glistened. She thought it was the round, red moon,

for she saw a face; but no, it was the old soldier with the red beard,

who sat and nodded, saying, "See what pretty dancing shoes!"



She was dreadfully frightened and tried to throw away the red shoes, but

they clung fast and she could not unclasp them. They seemed to have

grown fast to her feet. So dance she must, and dance she did, over field

and meadow, in rain and in sunshine, by night and by day--and by night

it was by far more dreadful.



She danced out into the open churchyard, but the dead there did not

dance; they were at rest and had much better things to do. She would

have liked to sit down on the poor man's grave, where the bitter tansy

grew, but for her there was no rest.






She danced past the open church door, and there she saw an angel in long

white robes and with wings that reached from his shoulders to the

earth. His look was stern and grave, and in his hand he held a broad,

glittering sword.



"Thou shalt dance," he said, "in thy red shoes, till thou art pale and

cold, and till thy body is wasted like a skeleton. Thou shalt dance from

door to door, and wherever proud, haughty children dwell thou shalt

knock, that, hearing thee, they may take warning. Dance thou

shalt--dance on!"



"Mercy!" cried Karen; but she did not hear the answer of the angel, for

the shoes carried her past the door and on into the fields.



One morning she danced past a well-known door. Within was the sound of a

psalm, and presently a coffin strewn with flowers was borne out. She

knew that her friend, the old lady, was dead, and in her heart she felt

that she was abandoned by all on earth and condemned by God's angel in

heaven.



Still on she danced--for she could not stop--through thorns and briers,

while her feet bled. Finally, she danced to a lonely little house where

she knew that the executioner dwelt, and she tapped at the window,

saying, "Come out, come out! I cannot come in, for I must dance."



The man said, "Do you know who I am and what I do?"



"Yes," said Karen; "but do not strike off my head, for then I could not

live to repent of my sin. Strike off my feet, that I may be rid of my

red shoes."



Then she confessed her sin, and the executioner struck off the red

shoes, which danced away over the fields and into the deep wood. To

Karen it seemed that the feet had gone with the shoes, for she had

almost lost the power of walking.



"Now I have suffered enough for the red shoes," she said; "I will go to

the church, that people may see me." But no sooner had she hobbled to

the church door than the shoes danced before her and frightened her

back.



All that week she endured the keenest sorrow and shed many bitter tears.

When Sunday came, she said: "I am sure I must have suffered and striven

enough by this time. I am quite as good, I dare say, as many who are

holding their heads high in the church." So she took courage and went

again. But before she reached the churchyard gate the red shoes were

dancing there, and she turned back again in terror, more deeply

sorrowful than ever for her sin.



She then went to the pastor's house and begged as a favor to be taken

into the family's service, promising to be diligent and faithful. She

did not want wages, she said, only a home with good people. The

clergyman's wife pitied her and granted her request, and she proved

industrious and very thoughtful.



Earnestly she listened when at evening the preacher read aloud the Holy

Scriptures. All the children came to love her, but when they spoke of

beauty and finery, she would shake her head and turn away.



On Sunday, when they all went to church, they asked her if she would not

go, too, but she looked sad and bade them go without her. Then she went

to her own little room, and as she sat with the psalm book in her hand,

reading its pages with a gentle, pious mind, the wind brought to her the

notes of the organ. She raised her tearful eyes and said, "O God, do

thou help me!"



Then the sun shone brightly, and before her stood the white angel that

she had seen at the church door. He no longer bore the glittering

sword, but in his hand was a beautiful branch of roses. He touched the

ceiling with it, and the ceiling rose, and at each place where the

branch touched it there shone a star. He touched the walls, and they

widened so that Karen could see the organ that was being played at the

church. She saw, too, the old pictures and statues on the walls, and the

congregation sitting in the seats and singing psalms, for the church

itself had come to the poor girl in her narrow room, or she in her

chamber had come to it. She sat in the seat with the rest of the

clergyman's household, and when the psalm was ended, they nodded and

said, "Thou didst well to come, Karen!"



"This is mercy," said she. "It is the grace of God."



The organ pealed, and the chorus of children's voices mingled sweetly

with it. The bright sunshine shed its warm light, through the windows,

over the pew in which Karen sat. Her heart was so filled with sunshine,

peace, and joy that it broke, and her soul was borne by a sunbeam up to

God, where there was nobody to ask about the red shoes.