Chương Chương 1 · 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.