The Red Shoes

Once upon a time there was a little girl, pretty and dainty. But in summer she always had to go barefoot, because she was poor, and in winter she wore great wooden shoes, so that the little arch of her foot turned quite red — red all over.

In the middle of the village lived an old shoemaker's wife. She sat down and sewed, as well as she could, a pair of little shoes out of old strips of red cloth. They were clumsy, but they were kindly meant, for they were for the little girl, whose name was Karen.

On the very day her mother was buried, Karen received the red shoes and wore them for the first time. They were certainly nothing to mourn in; but she had no others, and so she slipped her bare feet into them and walked behind the poor coffin.

Just then a great old carriage came by, and in it sat an old lady. She looked at the little girl and felt pity for her, and she said to the clergyman, "Listen, give me the little girl, and I will take care of her."

Karen believed that all of this happened only because of the red shoes; but the old lady thought them hideous, and so they were burned. Karen herself was dressed clean and neat. She was taught to read and to sew, and people said she was pretty. But the mirror said, "You are more than pretty — you are beautiful."

One day the Queen was traveling through the land, and she had her little daughter with her, who was a princess. The people streamed toward the castle, and Karen was among them; and the little princess stood at a window in fine white clothes and let herself be admired. She wore neither a train nor a golden crown, but lovely red morocco shoes — far finer, to be sure, than the ones the shoemaker's wife had sewn for little Karen. There is really nothing in the world that can be compared to red shoes!

Now Karen was old enough to be confirmed. She was to have new clothes, and new shoes as well. The rich shoemaker in the town took the measure of her little foot; this was done at home in his own room, where there stood great glass cases full of dainty shoes and shining slippers. It all looked lovely, but the old lady could not see very well, and so she took little pleasure in it. Among the shoes stood a pair of red ones, just like those the princess had worn. How beautiful they were! The shoemaker said too that they had been made for a count's daughter, but had not fitted her.

"Is that patent leather?" asked the old lady. "How they shine!"

"Yes, they shine," said Karen. They fitted her, and they were bought. But the old lady knew nothing of their being red, for she would never have let Karen go to be confirmed in red shoes; and yet that was just what Karen did.

Everyone looked at her feet. And as she walked up to the choir door, across the threshold of the church, it seemed to her as though even the old pictures on the tombstones — the portraits of pastors and their wives in stiff collars and long black robes — fixed their eyes upon her red shoes. And she thought of nothing else when the clergyman laid his hand upon her head and spoke of holy baptism, of the covenant with God, and told her that she was now to be a grown Christian. The organ rolled out solemnly, the sweet children's voices sang, and the old cantor sang; but Karen thought only of her red shoes.

In the afternoon the old lady heard from everyone that the shoes had been red. She said it was a shameful thing, that it was quite improper, and that in future, when Karen went to church, she was always to wear black shoes, even if they were old.

The next Sunday there was Communion. And Karen looked at the black shoes, looked at the red ones — looked at the red ones again — and put on the red ones.

It was glorious sunshine. Karen and the old lady walked along the footpath through the corn, where the dust rose a little.

At the church door stood an old crippled soldier leaning on a crutch, with a wonderfully long beard, more red than white. He bowed right down to the ground and asked the old lady whether he might wipe her shoes. And Karen put out her little foot too. "Look, what pretty dancing shoes!" said the soldier. "Sit fast when you dance!" And with that he struck the soles with his hand.

The old lady gave the soldier a coin, and then she went into the church with Karen.

And everyone inside looked at Karen's red shoes, and all the pictures looked at them too. And when Karen knelt before the altar and set the golden goblet to her lips, she thought only of the red shoes — it seemed to her as though they were swimming about in the goblet — and she forgot to sing her psalm, forgot to say her Lord's Prayer.

Now all the people came out of church, and the old lady climbed into her carriage. But just as Karen lifted her foot to step in too, the old soldier said, "Look, what pretty dancing shoes!" And Karen could not help it — she had to take a few dancing steps; and once she had begun, her legs went on dancing. It was as though the shoes had gained power over her. She danced round the corner of the church, for she could not stop; the coachman had to run after her and seize her, and he lifted her into the carriage, but her feet went on dancing, so that she kicked the good old lady hard. At last they pulled the shoes off her, and her legs were at rest.

At home the shoes were put away in the cupboard, but Karen could not keep from looking at them.

Now the old lady fell ill, and it was said she would never rise again. She had to be nursed and tended, and this fell to no one more than to Karen. But there was a grand ball in the town, and Karen was invited. She looked at the red shoes and thought there could be no sin in that; she put the red shoes on, for surely that was allowed too; and then she went to the ball and began to dance.

But when she wanted to go to the right, the shoes danced to the left, and when she wanted to dance up the room, the shoes danced down it — down the stairs, through the street, and out through the town gate. She danced, and she had to dance, out into the dark wood.

Then something shone up among the trees, and she thought it was the moon, for it was a face. But it was the old soldier with the red beard. He sat there nodding, and said, "Look, what pretty dancing shoes!"

Then she was frightened and tried to fling the red shoes away; but they clung fast. She tore off her stockings; but the shoes had grown to her feet. She danced, and she had to dance, over field and meadow, in rain and sunshine, by night and by day — but by night it was most dreadful of all.

She danced out into the open churchyard; but the dead there did not dance, for they had better things to do than dance. She wanted to sit down on the pauper's grave, where the bitter fern grows; but for her there was neither peace nor rest. And as she danced toward the open church door, she saw an angel there in long white robes, with wings that reached from his shoulders down to the ground. His face was stern and grave, and in his hand he held a sword, broad and shining.

"Dance you shall!" he said. "Dance in your red shoes till you grow pale and cold, till your skin shrivels to a skeleton! Dance you shall, from door to door; and where proud and haughty children live, there you shall knock, so that they hear you and fear you! Dance you shall — dance —!"

"Mercy!" cried Karen. But she did not hear what the angel answered, for the shoes carried her through the gate and out into the fields, over highway and byway, and always she had to dance.

One morning she danced past a door she knew well. Inside came the sound of psalms, and a coffin was carried out, decked with flowers. Then she knew that the old lady had died, and now she felt that she was forsaken by everyone and condemned by the angel of God.

She danced, and she had to dance, dance on through the dark night. The shoes bore her away over thorns and stumps, and she tore herself till she bled; she danced over the heath to a little lonely house. Here, she knew, lived the executioner; and she tapped with her fingers on the windowpane and said:

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

And the executioner said, "You do not know, I think, who I am. I strike the heads off wicked people — and I feel that my axe is ringing to be at it!"

"Do not strike off my head," said Karen, "for then I could not repent of my sin. But strike off my feet with the red shoes!"

And then she confessed all her 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 forest.

And he carved her a pair of wooden feet and crutches, and taught her a psalm that sinners always sing; and she kissed the hand that had guided the axe, and went away over the heath.

"Now I have suffered enough for the red shoes," she said. "Now I will go to church, so that people may see me." And she walked quickly toward the church door; but when she came there, the red shoes danced along in front of her, and she was frightened, and turned back.

All through the week she was sorrowful and wept many bitter tears; but when Sunday came she said, "Now I have suffered and struggled enough! I dare say I am quite as good as many who sit in church and give themselves such airs." And so she went boldly on; but she got no farther than the churchyard gate before she saw the red shoes dancing along in front of her. Then she was terrified, and turned back, and repented from the bottom of her heart.

And she went to the parsonage and begged that they might take her into service there; she would be diligent, she said, and do all she could, and she cared nothing for wages, only to have a roof over her and to be among good people. The pastor's wife took pity on her and took her into service. And she was diligent and thoughtful. Quietly she sat and listened when the pastor read aloud from the Bible in the evening. All the little ones loved her dearly; but when they talked of finery and splendor and beauty, she would shake her head.

The next Sunday they all went to church, and they asked her whether she would come too; but with tears in her eyes she looked sadly at her crutches. So the others went off to hear God's Word, and she went alone into her little room, which was only large enough for a bed and a chair. Here she sat down with her hymn-book, and as she read in it with a devout heart, the wind carried the notes of the organ over to her from the church; and she lifted up her face in tears and said, "O God, help me!"

Then the sun shone out clear and bright, and right before her stood God's angel in the white robes — the very same she had seen that night at the church door. But he no longer held the sharp sword; instead he carried a splendid green branch, full of roses. With it he touched the ceiling, and the ceiling rose up very high, and where he had touched it there shone a golden star. He touched the walls, and they widened out, and she saw the organ pealing forth; she saw the old pictures of the pastors and their wives, and the congregation sitting in their polished pews, singing from their hymn-books. The church itself had come to the poor girl in her narrow little room — or else she had come to the church. She sat in the pew with the rest of the pastor's household; and when they had finished the psalm and looked up, they nodded and said, "It was right of you to come, Karen."

"It was mercy," she said.

The organ sounded, and the children's voices in the choir rang soft and lovely. The clear sunshine streamed warm through the window into the pew where Karen sat, and her heart grew so full of sunshine, of peace, and of joy that it broke. Her soul flew on the sunbeams up to God; and there was no one who asked after the red shoes.