THE EMPEROR’S NEW CLOTHES(Page 12)

Little Tuk looked, and all was red and green before his
eyes; but as soon as the confusion of colors was somewhat
over, all of a sudden there appeared a wooded slope close
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to the bay, and high up above stood a magnificent old
church, with two high pointed towers. From out the hillside
spouted fountains in thick streams of water, so that
there was a continual splashing; and close beside them sat
an old king with a golden crown upon his white head:
that was King Hroar, near the fountains, close to the town
of Roeskilde, as it is now called. And up the slope into the
old church went all the kings and queens of Denmark,
hand in hand, all with their golden crowns; and the organ
played and the fountains rustled. Little Tuk saw all, heard
all. ‘Do not forget the diet,’ said King Hroar.*
* Roeskilde, once the capital of Denmark. The town
takes its name from King Hroar, and the many fountains
in the neighborhood. In the beautiful cathedral the greater
number of the kings and queens of Denmark are interred.
In Roeskilde, too, the members of the Danish Diet
assemble.

Again all suddenly disappeared. Yes, and whither? It
seemed to him just as if one turned over a leaf in a book.
And now stood there an old peasant-woman, who came
from Soroe,* where grass grows in the market-place. She
had an old grey linen apron hanging over her head and
back: it was so wet, it certainly must have been raining.
‘Yes, that it has,’ said she; and she now related many pretty
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things out of Holberg’s comedies, and about Waldemar
and Absalon; but all at once she cowered together, and her
head began shaking backwards and forwards, and she
looked as she were going to make a spring. ‘Croak! croak!’
said she. ‘It is wet, it is wet; there is such a pleasant
deathlike stillness in Sorbe!’ She was now suddenly a frog,
‘Croak"; and now she was an old woman. ‘One must dress
according to the weather,’ said she. ‘It is wet; it is wet. My
town is just like a bottle; and one gets in by the neck, and
by the neck one must get out again! In former times I had
the finest fish, and now I have fresh rosy-cheeked boys at
the bottom of the bottle, who learn wisdom, Hebrew,
Greek—Croak!’
* Sorbe, a very quiet little town, beautifully situated,
surrounded by woods and lakes. Holberg, Denmark’s
Moliere, founded here an academy for the sons of the
nobles. The poets Hauch and Ingemann were appointed
professors here. The latter lives there still.
When she spoke it sounded just like the noise of frogs,
or as if one walked with great boots over a moor; always
the same tone, so uniform and so tiring that little Tuk fell
into a good sound sleep, which, by the bye, could not do
him any harm.
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But even in this sleep there came a dream, or whatever
else it was: his little sister Augusta, she with the blue eyes
and the fair curling hair, was suddenly a tall, beautiful girl,
and without having wings was yet able to fly; and she now
flew over Zealand—over the green woods and the blue
lakes.
‘Do you hear the cock crow, Tukey? Cock-a-doodledoo!
The cocks are flying up fro m Kjoge! You will have a
farm-yard, so large, oh! so very large! You will suffer
neither hunger nor thirst! You will get on in the world!
You will be a rich and happy man! Your house will exalt
itself like King Waldemar’s tower, and will be richly
decorated with marble statues, like that at Prastoe. You
understand what I mean. Your name shall circulate with
renown all round the earth, like unto the ship that was to
have sailed from Corsor; and in Roeskilde—‘
‘Do not forget the diet!’ said King Hroar.
‘Then you will speak well and wisely, little Tukey; and
when at last you sink into your grave, you shall sleep as
quietly——‘
‘As if I lay in Soroe,’ said Tuk, awaking. It was bright
day, and he was now quite unable to call to mind his
dream; that, however, was not at all necessary, for one
may not know what the future will bring.
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And out of bed he jumped, and read in his book, and
now all at once he knew his whole lesson. And the old
washerwoman popped her head in at the door, nodded to
him friendly, and said, ‘Thanks, many thanks, my good
child, for your help! May the good ever-loving God fulfil
your loveliest dream!’
Little Tukey did not at all know what he had dreamed,
but the loving God knew it.
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THE NAUGHTY BOY
Along time ago, there lived an old poet, a thoroughly
kind old poet. As he was sitting one evening in his room,
a dreadful storm arose without, and the rain streamed
down from heaven; but the old poet sat warm and
comfortable in his chimney-comer, where the fire blazed
and the roasting apple hissed.
‘Those who have not a roof over their heads will be
wetted to the skin,’ said the good old poet.
‘Oh let me in! Let me in! I am cold, and I’m so wet!’
exclaimed suddenly a child that stood crying at the door
and knocking for admittance, while the rain poured down,
and the wind made all the windows rattle.
‘Poor thing!’ said the old poet, as he went to open the
door. There stood a little boy, quite naked, and the water
ran down from his long golden hair; he trembled with
cold, and had he not come into a warm room he would
most certainly have perished in the frightful tempest.
‘Poor child!’ said the old poet, as he took the boy by
the hand. ‘Come in, come in, and I will soon restore thee!
Thou shalt have wine and roasted apples, for thou art
verily a charming child!’ And the boy was so really. His
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eyes were like two bright stars; and although the water
trickled down his hair, it waved in beautiful curls. He
looked exactly like a little angel, but he was so pale, and
his whole body trembled with cold. He had a nice little
bow in his hand, but it was quite spoiled by the rain, and
the tints of his many-colored arrows ran one into the
other.
The old poet seated himself beside his hearth, and took
the little fellow on his lap; he squeezed the water out of
his dripping hair, warmed his hands between his own, and
boiled for him some sweet wine. Then the boy recovered,
his cheeks again grew rosy, he jumped down from the lap
where he was sitting, and danced round the kind old poet.
‘You are a merry fellow,’ said the old man. ‘What’s
your name?’
‘My name is Cupid,’ answered the boy. ‘Don’t you
know me? There lies my bow; it shoots well, I can assure
you! Look, the weather is now clearing up, and the moon
is shining clear again through the window.’
‘Why, your bow is quite spoiled,’ said the old poet.
‘That were sad indeed,’ said the boy, and he took the
bow in his hand -and examined it on every side. ‘Oh, it is
dry again, and is not hurt at all; the string is quite tight. I
will try it directly.’ And he bent his bow, took aim, and
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shot an arrow at the old poet, right into his heart. ‘You
see now that my bow was not spoiled,’ said he laughing;
and away he ran.
The naughty boy, to shoot the old poet in that way; he
who had taken him into his warm room, who had treated
him so kindly, and who had given him warm wine and
the very best apples!
The poor poet lay on the earth and wept, for the arrow
had really flown into his heart.
‘Fie!’ said he. ‘How naughty a boy Cupid is! I will tell
all children about him, that they may take care and not
play with him, for he will only cause them sorrow and
many a heartache.’
And all good children to whom he related this story,
took great heed of this naughty Cupid; but he made fools
of them still, for he is astonishingly cunning. When the
university students come from the lectures, he runs beside
them in a black coat, and with a book under his arm. It is
quite impossible for them to know him, and they walk
along with him arm in arm, as if he, too, were a student
like themselves; and then, unperceived, he thrusts an
arrow to their bosom. When the young maidens come
from being examined by the clergyman, or go to church
to be confirmed, there he is again close behind them. Yes,
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he is forever following people. At the play, he sits in the
great chandelier and burns in bright flames, so that people
think it is really a flame, but they soon discover it is
something else. He roves about in the garden of the palace
and upon the ramparts: yes, once he even shot your father
and mother right in the heart. Ask them only and you will
hear what they’ll tell you. Oh, he is a naughty boy, that
Cupid; you must never have anything to do with him. He
is forever running after everybody. Only think, he shot an
arrow once at your old grandmother! But that is a long
time ago, and it is all past now; however, a thing of that
sort she never forgets. Fie, naughty Cupid! But now you
know him, and you know, too, how ill-behaved he is!
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THE RED SHOES
There was once a little girl who was very pretty and
delicate, but in summer she was forced to run about with
bare feet, she was so poor, and in winter wear very large
wooden shoes, which made her little insteps quite red, and
that looked so dangerous!
In the middle of the village lived old Dame Shoemaker;
she sat and sewed together, as well as she could, a little
pair of shoes out of old red strips of cloth; they were very
clumsy, but it was a kind thought. They were meant for
the little girl. The little girl was called Karen.
On the very day her mother was buried, Karen
received the red shoes, and wore them for the first time.
They were certainly not intended for mourning, but she
had no others, and with stockingless feet she followed the
poor straw coffin in them.
Suddenly a large old carriage drove up, and a large old
lady sat in it: she looked at the little girl, felt compassion
for her, and then said to the clergyman:
‘Here, give me the little girl. I will adopt her!’
And Karen believed all this happened on account of the
red shoes, but the old lady thought they were horrible,
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and they were burnt. But Karen herself was cleanly and
nicely dressed; she must learn to read and sew; and people
said she was a nice little thing, but the looking-glass said:
‘Thou art more than nice, thou art beautiful!’
Now the queen once travelled through the land, and
she had her little daughter with her. And this little
daughter was a princess, and people streamed to the castle,
and Karen was there also, and the little princess stood in
her fine white dress, in a window, and let herself be stared
at; she had neither a train nor a golden crown, but
splendid red morocco shoes. They were certainly far
handsomer than those Dame Shoemaker had made for
little Karen. Nothing in the world can be compared with
red shoes.
Now Karen was old enough to be confirmed; she had
new clothes and was to have new shoes also. The rich
shoemaker in the city took the measure of her little foot.
This took place at his house, in his room; where stood
large glass-cases, filled with elegant shoes and brilliant
boots. All this looked charming, but the old lady could not
see well, and so had no pleasure in them. In the midst of
the shoes stood a pair of red ones, just like those the
princess had worn. How beautiful they were! The
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shoemaker said also they had been made for the child of a
count, but had not fitted.
‘That must be patent leather!’ said the old lady. ‘They
shine so!’
‘Yes, they shine!’ said Karen, and they fitted, and were
bought, but the old lady knew nothing about their being
red, else she would never have allowed Karen to have
gone in red shoes to be confirmed. Yet such was the case.
Everybody looked at her feet; and when she stepped
through the chancel door on the church pavement, it
seemed to her as if the old figures on the tombs, those
portraits of old preachers and preachers’ wives, with stiff
ruffs, and long black dresses, fixed their eyes on her red
shoes. And she thought only of them as the clergyman laid
his hand upon her head, and spoke of the holy baptism, of
the covenant with God, and how she should be now a
matured Christian; and the organ pealed so solemnly; the
sweet children’s voices sang, and the old music-directors
sang, but Karen only thought of her red shoes.
In the afternoon, the old lady heard from everyone that
the shoes had been red, and she said that it was very
wrong of Karen, that it was not at all becoming, and that
in future Karen should only go in black shoes to church,
even when she should be older.
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The next Sunday there was the sacrament, and Karen
looked at the black shoes, looked at the red ones—looked
at them again, and put on the red shoes.
The sun shone gloriously; Karen and the old lady
walked along the path through the corn; it was rather
dusty there.
At the church door stood an old soldier with a crutch,
and with a wonderfully long beard, which was more red
than white, and he bowed to the ground, and asked the
old lady whether he might dust her shoes. And Karen
stretched out her little foot.
‘See, what beautiful dancing shoes!’ said the soldier. ‘Sit
firm when you dance"; and he put his hand out towards
the soles.
And the old lady gave the old soldier alms, and went
into the church with Karen.
And all the people in the church looked at Karen’s red
shoes, and all the pictures, and as Karen knelt before the
altar, and raised the cup to her lips, she only thought of
the red shoes, and they seemed to swim in it; and she
forgot to sing her psalm, and she forgot to pray, ‘Our
Father in Heaven!’
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Now all the people went out of church, and the old
lady got into her carriage. Karen raised her foot to get in
after her, when the old soldier said,
‘Look, what beautiful dancing shoes!’
And Karen could not help dancing a step or two, and
when she began her feet continued to dance; it was just as
though the shoes had power over them. She danced round
the church corner, she could not leave off; the coachman
was obliged to run after and catch hold of her, and he
lifted her in the carriage, but her feet continued to dance
so that she trod on the old lady dreadfully. At length she
took the shoes off, and then her legs had peace.
The shoes were placed in a closet at home, but Karen
could not avoid looking at them.
Now the old lady was sick, and it was said she could
not recover. She must be nursed and waited upon, and
there was no one whose duty it was so much as Karen’s.
But there was a great ball in the city, to which Karen was
invited. She looked at the old lady, who could not
recover, she looked at the red shoes, and she thought there
could be no sin in it; she put on the red shoes, she might
do that also, she thought. But then she went to the ball
and began to dance.
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When she wanted to dance to the right, the shoes
would dance to the left, and when she wanted to dance up
the room, the shoes danced back again, down the steps,
into the street, and out of the city gate. She danced, and
was forced to dance straight out into the gloomy wood.
Then it was suddenly light up among the trees, and she
fancied it must be the moon, for there was a face; but it
was the old soldier with the red beard; he sat there,
nodded his head, and said, ‘Look, what beautiful dancing
shoes!’
Then she was terrified, and wanted to fling off the red
shoes, but they clung fast; and she pulled down her
stockings, but the shoes seemed to have grown to her feet.
And she danced, and must dance, over fields and
meadows, in rain and sunshine, by night and day; but at
night it was the most fearful.
She danced over the churchyard, but the dead did not
dance—they had something better to do than to dance.
She wished to seat herself on a poor man’s grave, where
the bitter tansy grew; but for her there was neither peace
nor rest; and when she danced towards the open church
door, she saw an angel standing there. He wore long,
white garments; he had wings which reached from his
shoulders to the earth; his countenance was severe and
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grave; and in his hand he held a sword, broad and
glittering.
‘Dance shalt thou!’ said he. ‘Dance in thy red shoes till
thou art pale and cold! Till thy skin shrivels up and thou
art a skeleton! Dance shalt thou from door to door, and
where proud, vain children dwell, thou shalt knock, that
they may hear thee and tremble! Dance shalt thou—!’
‘Mercy!’ cried Karen. But she did not hear the angel’s
reply, for the shoes carried her through the gate into the
fields, across roads and bridges, and she must keep ever
dancing.
One morning she danced past a door which she well
knew. Within sounded a psalm; a coffin, decked with
flowers, was borne forth. Then she knew that the old lady
was dead, and felt that she was abandoned by all, and
condemned by the angel of God.
She danced, and she was forced to dance through the
gloomy night. The shoes carried her over stack and stone;
she was torn till she bled; she danced over the heath till
she came to a little house. Here, she knew, dwelt the
executioner; and she tapped with her fingers at the
window, and said, ‘Come out! Come out! I cannot come
in, for I am forced to dance!’
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And the executioner said, ‘Thou dost not know who I
am, I fancy? I strike bad people’s heads off; and I hear that
my axe rings!’
‘Don’t strike my head off!’ said Karen. ‘Then I can’t
repent of my sins! But strike off my feet in the red shoes!’
And then she confessed her entire 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 wood.
And he carved out little wooden feet for her, and
crutches, taught her the psalm criminals always sing; and
she kissed the hand which had wielded the axe, and went
over the heath.
‘Now I have suffered enough for the red shoes!’ said
she. ‘Now I will go into the church that people may see
me!’ And she hastened towards the church door: but when
she was near it, the red shoes danced before her, and she
was terrified, and turned round. The whole week she was
unhappy, and wept many bitter tears; but when Sunday
returned, she said, ‘Well, now I have suffered and
struggled enough! I really believe I am as good as many a
one who sits in the church, and holds her head so high!’
And away she went boldly; but she had not got farther
than the churchyard gate before she saw the red shoes
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dancing before her; and she was frightened, and turned
back, and repented of her sin from her heart.
And she went to the parsonage, and begged that they
would take her into service; she would be very
industrious, she said, and would do everything she could;
she did not care about the wages, only she wished to have
a home, and be with good people. And the clergyman’s
wife was sorry for her and took her into service; and she
was industrious and thoughtful. She sat still and listened
when the clergyman read the Bible in the evenings. All
the children thought a great deal of her; but when they
spoke of dress, and grandeur, and beauty, she shook her
head.
The following Sunday, when the family was going to
church, they asked her whether she would not go with
them; but she glanced sorrowfully, with tears in her eyes,
at her crutches. The family went to hear the word of God;
but she went alone into her little chamber; there was only
room for a bed and chair to stand in it; and here she sat
down with her Prayer-Book; and whilst she read with a
pious mind, the wind bore the strains of the organ towards
her, and she raised her tearful countenance, and said, ‘O
God, help me!’
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And the sun shone so clearly, and straight before her
stood the angel of God in white garments, the same she
had seen that night at the church door; but he no longer
carried the sharp sword, but in its stead a splendid green
spray, full of roses. And he touched the ceiling with the
spray, and the ceiling rose so high, and where he had
touched it there gleamed a golden star. And he touched
the walls, and they widened out, and she saw the organ
which was playing; she saw the old pictures of the
preachers and the preachers’ wives. The congregation sat
in cushioned seats, and sang out of their Prayer-Books.
For the church itself had come to the poor girl in her
narrow chamber, or else she had come into the church.
She sat in the pew with the clergyman’s family, and when
they had ended the psalm and looked up, they nodded and
said, ‘It is right that thou art come!’
‘It was through mercy!’ she said.
And the organ pealed, and the children’s voices in the
choir sounded so sweet and soft! The clear sunshine
streamed so warmly through the window into the pew
where Karen sat! Her heart was so full of sunshine, peace,
and joy, that it broke. Her soul flew on the sunshine to
God, and there no one asked after the RED SHOES.
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