The Complete Fairy Tales and Stories

by Hans Christian Andersen

  “I think they are patent leather,” remarked the old lady. “They shine.”

  “Yes, they shine!” sighed Karen as she tried them on. They fit the child and the old woman bought them. Had she known that they were red, she wouldn’t have because it was not proper to wear red shoes when you were being confirmed. But her eyesight was failing—poor woman!—and she had not seen the color.

  Everyone in the church looked at Karen’s feet, as she walked toward the altar. On the walls of the church hung paintings of the former ministers and their wives who were buried there; they were portrayed wearing black with white ruffs around their necks. Karen felt that even they were staring at her red shoes.

  When the old bishop laid his hands on her head and spoke of the solemn promise she was about to make—of her covenant with God to be a good Christian—her mind was not on his words. The ritual music was played on the organ; the old cantor sang, and the sweet voices of the children could be heard, but Karen was thinking of her red shoes.

  By afternoon, everyone had told the old lady about the color of Karen’s shoes. She was very angry and scolded the girl, telling her how improper it was to have worn red shoes in church, and that she must remember always to wear black ones, even if she had to put on an old pair.

  Next Sunday Karen was to attend communion. She looked at her black shoes and she looked at her red shoes; then she looked at her red shoes once more and put them on.

  The sun was shining, it was a beautiful day. The old lady and Karen took the path across the fields and their shoes got a bit dirty.

  At the entrance to the church stood an old invalid soldier leaning on a crutch. He had a marvelously long beard that was red with touches of white in it. He bowed low toward the old lady and asked her permission to wipe the dust off her feet. Karen put her little foot forward too.

  “What pretty little dancing shoes!” said the soldier and, tapping them on the soles, he added, “Remember to stay on her feet for the dance.”

  The old lady gave the soldier a penny, and she and Karen entered the church.

  Again everyone looked at Karen’s feet, even the people in the paintings on the wall. When she knelt in front of the altar and the golden cup was lifted to her lips, she thought only of the red shoes and saw them reflected in the wine. She did not join in the singing of the psalm and she forgot to say the Lord’s Prayer.

  The coachman had come with the carriage to drive them home from church. The old lady climbed in and Karen was about to follow her when the old soldier, who was standing nearby, remarked, “Look at those pretty dancing shoes.”

  His words made her take a few dancing steps. Once she had begun, her feet would not stop. It was as if the shoes had taken command of them. She danced around the corner of the church; her will was not her own.

  The coachman jumped off the carriage and ran after her. When he finally caught up with her, he grabbed her and lifted her up from the ground, but her feet kept on dancing in the air, even after he managed to get her into the carriage. The poor old woman was kicked nastily while she and the coachman took Karen’s shoes off her feet, so she could stop dancing.

  When they got home, the red shoes were put away in a closet, but Karen could not help sneaking in to look at them.

  The old lady was very ill. The doctors had come and said that she would not live much longer. She needed careful nursing and constant care, and who else but Karen ought to give it to her? In the town there was to be a great ball and Karen had been invited to go. She looked at the old lady, who was going to die anyway, and then she glanced at her red shoes. To glance was no sin. Then she put them on; that too did no great harm. But she went to the ball!

  She danced! But when she wanted to dance to the left, the shoes danced to the right; and when she wanted to dance up the ballroom floor, the shoes danced right down the stairs and out into the street. Dance she did, out through the city gates and into the dark forest.

  Something shone through the trees. She thought it was the moon because it had a face. But it was not; it was the old soldier with the red beard. He nodded to her and exclaimed, “Look what beautiful dancing shoes!”

  Terrified, she tried to pull off her shoes. She tore her stockings but the shoes stayed on. They had grown fast to her feet. Dance she did! And dance she must! Over the fields and meadows, in the rain and sunshine, by night and by day. But it was more horrible and frightening at night when the world was dark.

  She danced through the gates of the churchyard; but the dead did not dance with her, they had better things to do. She wanted to sit down on the pauper’s grave, where the bitter herbs grew, but for her there was no rest. The church door was open and she danced toward it, but an angel, dressed in white, who had on his back great wings that reached almost to the ground, barred her entrance.

  His face was stern and grave, and in his hand he held a broad, shining sword.

  “You shall dance,” he said, “dance in your red shoes until you become pale and thin. Dance till the skin on your face turns yellow and clings to your bones as if you were a skeleton. Dance you shall from door to door, and when you pass a house where proud and vain children live, there you shall knock on the door so that they will see you and fear your fate. Dance, you shall dance.… Dance!”

  “Mercy!” screamed Karen, but heard not what the angel answered, for her red shoes carried her away, down through the churchyard, over the meadows, along the highways, through the lanes: always dancing.

  One morning she danced past a house that she knew well. From inside she heard psalms being sung. The door opened and a coffin decked with flowers was carried out. The old lady who had been so kind to her was dead. Now she felt that she was forsaken by all of mankind and cursed by God’s angel.

  Dance she must, and dance she did. The shoes carried her across fields and meadows, through nettles and briars that tore her feet so they bled.

  One morning she danced across the lonely heath until she came to a solitary cottage. Here, she knew, the executioner lived. With her fingers she tapped on his window.

  “Come out! Come out!” she called. “I cannot come inside, for I must dance.”

  The executioner opened his door and came outside. When he saw Karen he said, “Do you know who I am? I am the one who cuts off the heads of evil men; and I can feel my ax beginning to quiver now.”

  “Do not cut off my head,” begged Karen, “for then I should not be able to repent. But cut off my feet!”

  She confessed her sins and the executioner cut off her feet, and the red shoes danced away with them into the dark forest. The executioner carved a pair of wooden feet for her and made her a pair of crutches. He taught her the psalm that a penitent sings. She kissed the hand that had guided the ax and went on her way.

  “Now I have suffered enough because of those red shoes,” thought Karen. “I shall go to church now and be among other people.”

  But when she walked up to the door of the church, the red shoes danced in front of her, and in horror she fled.

  All during that week she felt sad and cried many a bitter tear. When Sunday came she thought, “Now I have suffered and struggled long enough. I am just as good as many of those who are sitting and praying in church right now, and who dare to throw their heads back with pride.” This reasoning gave her courage, but she came no farther than the gate of the churchyard. There were the shoes dancing in front of her. In terror she fled, but this time she really repented in the depth of her heart.

  She went to the minister’s house and begged to be given work. She said that she did not care about wages but only wanted a roof over her head and enough to eat. The minister’s wife hired the poor cripple because she felt sorry for her. Karen was grateful that she had been given a place to live and she worked hard. In the evening when the minister read from the Bible, she sat and listened thoughtfully. The children were fond of her and she played with them, but when they talked of finery and being beautiful like a princess, she would sadly shake her head.
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br />   When Sunday came, everyone in the household got ready for church, and they asked her to go with them. Poor Karen’s eyes filled with tears. She sighed and glanced toward her crutches.

  When the others had gone, she went into her little room that was so small that a bed and a chair were all it could hold. She sat down and began to read from her psalmbook. The wind carried the music from the church organ down to her, and she lifted her tear-stained face and whispered, “Oh, God, help me!”

  Suddenly the sunlight seemed doubly bright and an angel of God stood before her. He was the same angel who with his sword had barred her entrance to the church, but now he held a rose branch covered with flowers. With this he touched the low ceiling of the room and it rose high into the air and, where he had touched it, a golden star shone. He touched the walls and they widened.

  Karen saw the organ. She saw the old paintings of the ministers and their wives; and there were the congregation holding their psalm-books in front of them and singing. The church had come to the poor girl in her little narrow chamber; or maybe she had come to the church. Now she sat among the others, and when they finished singing the psalm they looked up and saw her.

  Someone whispered to her: “It is good that you came, Karen.”

  “This is His mercy,” she replied.

  The great organ played and the voices of the children in the choir mingled sweetly with it. The clear, warm sunshine streamed through the window. The sunshine filled Karen’s heart till it so swelled with peace and happiness that it broke. Her soul flew on a sunbeam up to God; and up there no one asked her about the red shoes.

  36

  The Jumping Competition

  The flea, the grasshopper, and the jumping jack decided to hold a competition to see which of them could jump the highest. They invited the whole world, and anyone else who wanted to come, to look at it. Each of them felt sure that he would become the champion.

  “I will give my daughter to the one who jumps the highest,” declared the king. “Honor is too paltry a reward.”

  The flea was the first to introduce himself. He had excellent manners; but then he had the blood of young maidens in him and was accustomed to human society, and that had left its mark on him.

  Then came the grasshopper. He was stout but not without grace and dressed in a green uniform, which he had acquired at birth. He said he was of ancient family and that his ancestors came from Egypt. He claimed that he was so highly esteemed in this country that he had been brought directly from the fields and given a card house. It was three stories high and all made of picture cards. It had both doors and windows.

  “I sing so well,” he boasted, “that sixteen native crickets, who have been cheeping since birth—but never have been honored with a card house—grew so thin from envy, when they heard me sing, that they almost disappeared.”

  Both the flea and the grasshopper gave a full account of their merits. Each of them thought it only fitting that he should marry a princess.

  Now came the jumping jack. He was made from the wishbone of a goose, two rubber bands, some sealing wax, and a little stick that was mahogany. He didn’t say a word, which made the whole court certain that he was a genius. The royal dog sniffed at him and said that he came of good family. The old councilor, who had received three decorations as a reward for keeping his mouth shut, declared that the jumping jack was endowed with the gift of prophecy. One could tell from looking at its back whether we would have a mild winter or not; and that was more than one could tell from the back of the fellow who wrote the almanac.

  The old king merely said, “I don’t talk much, but I have my own opinion about everything.”

  The competition began. The flea jumped so high that one could not see him; and then everyone said he hadn’t jumped at all, which was most unfair! The grasshopper only jumped half as high as the flea but landed right in the face of the king and that did not please His Majesty, who said it was repulsive.

  Now it was the jumping jack’s turn; he sat so still and appeared so pensive that everyone decided that he wouldn’t jump at all.

  “I hope he hasn’t got sick,” said the royal hound, and sniffed at him; but just at that moment he jumped. It was a little, slanted jump, but high enough so that he landed in the lap of the princess, who was sitting on a golden stool.

  “The highest jump is into my daughter’s lap,” declared the king. “The jumping jack has shown both intelligence and taste; she shall marry him.” And the jumping jack got the princess.

  “I jumped highest,” said the flea. “But it is of no importance; she can keep him: wishbone, rubber bands, sealing wax, mahogany stick, and all! I don’t care! I know I jumped the highest, but in this world it’s only appearance that counts.”

  The flea enlisted in a foreign army and it was rumored that he was killed in battle.

  The grasshopper sat down in the ditch and thought about the injustice of the world. “It’s appearance that counts! It’s appearance that counts!” he said. And then he sang his own sad song. It’s from him that we have the story, which, even though it has been printed, may still be a lie.

  37

  The Shepherdess and the Chimney Sweep

  Have you ever seen a really old cabinet, the kind whose wood is dark from age and that doesn’t have a spot on it that isn’t carved, so that it looks like a mass of vines and twirls? Once there stood in a parlor just such an heirloom that had been in the family for four generations. From the bottom to the top there were roses and tulips; everywhere there were curlicues, and little deer heads with numerous antlers peered out from among them. But the most amazing figure was in the center panel. It was a man with a long beard, who had little horns sticking out of his forehead and the legs of a goat. He had a grin on his face—for you could hardly call it a smile. He looked so funny that the children who lived in the house gave him a name. They called him Mr. Goat-legged Commanding-General-Private-War-Sergeant because it was so difficult to say, even for a grownup; and they knew of no one—either living or carved—who could boast of such a fine title.

  From his cabinet he was always looking straight across the room at a little table that stood beneath a mirror, for on the table was the loveliest little porcelain shepherdess. She had her skirt pinned up with a red rose; on her feet were golden shoes, on her head she had a golden hat, and in her hand was a shepherd’s crook. Oh, she was beautiful! Next to her stood a little chimney sweep, and he was black as coal, except for his face, which was as pink and white as hers. Somehow this seemed wrong; he ought to have had at least a dab of soot on his nose or his cheek. But he was of porcelain too, and his profession was make-believe; he might just as well have been a prince. There he stood with his ladder in his hands looking as delicate as the shepherdess. They had been standing close together, for that was the way they had always been placed; and so they thought it was natural that they be engaged. They had much in common: both were young, both were made from the same clay, both were breakable.

  Near them on the table there was another figure; he was three times as big as either of them. He was a Chinese mandarin and he knew how to nod. He was of porcelain too, and insisted that he was the shepherdess’ grandfather. Although he couldn’t really prove that he was related to her at all, he behaved as if he had as much right over her as her parents and demanded that she obey him. Now Mr. Goat-legged Commanding-General-Private-War-Sergeant had asked for the shepherdess’ hand in marriage, and the Chinese mandarin had nodded.

  “You will have a husband who I am almost certain is made of mahogany,” said the old mandarin. “You will be called Mrs. Goat-legged Commanding-General-Private-War-Sergeant. He has a whole cabinetful of silverware, plus all that he has hidden in the secret compartments.”

  “I don’t want to live in a dark closet!” wailed the shepherdess. “They say that he has eleven porcelain wives in there already.”

  “Then you shall be number twelve!” declared the Chinese mandarin. “And tonight! As soon as the cabinet creaks,
there shall be a wedding, my dear, and that is as certain as it is that I am Chinese!” And he nodded his head back and forth until he fell asleep.

  The little shepherdess cried and cried; then she looked up at her beloved, the chimney sweep. “I beg you to go with me out into the world, for we cannot stay here,” she sobbed.

  “I will do anything that you ask,” he replied. “Let’s go at once. I must be able to earn a living at my profession.”

  “If only we were down on the floor already,” she said anxiously. “I won’t feel safe before we are out in the wide world.”

  The chimney sweep did his best to console her. He showed her where she should set her little feet along the carved edges of the table and on the leaves of the gilded vines that wound themselves around its legs. He made use of his ladder and soon they had reached the floor. But then they looked up at the cabinet, where there was an uproar. All the carved deer were shaking their antlers in fury; and Mr. Goat-legged Commanding-General-Private-War-Sergeant was jumping up and down. “They’re eloping! They’re eloping!” he cried as loud as he could over to the Chinese mandarin.

  A drawer in the wall, just a little above the floor, was luckily open and the frightened lovers jumped inside it. Here lay three or four incomplete decks of cards and a little puppet theater. The puppets were performing a play. In the front row of the audience sat all the queens: hearts, diamonds, spades, and clubs, fanning themselves with their tulips; behind them sat the knaves and looked both above and below the ladies in the front row, just to show that they had heads at both ends, exactly as they always do in a deck of cards. The play was about two lovers who weren’t allowed to be together and reminded the poor shepherdess so much of her own situation that she wept and wept.