By Hans Christian Andersen
There was once a little girl who was very pretty and delicate. Still, she was forced to run about with bare feet in summer. She was so poor and wore enormous wooden shoes in winter, which made her little insteps quite red, which 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 day her mother was buried, Karen received the red shoes and wore them for the first time. They were 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 because of the red shoes, but the old lady thought they were horrible and burnt. But Karen 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!”
The queen once traveled through the land and had her little daughter with her. And this little daughter was a princess; people streamed to the castle, and Karen was there. The little princess stood in her delicate 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 undoubtedly far more handsome 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 new shoes. The rich shoemaker in the city took the measure of her little foot. This took place at his house, in his room, where stood significant glass cases filled with elegant shoes and brilliant boots. All this looked charming, but the old lady could not see well and had no pleasure in them. Amid the shoes stood a pair of red ones, just like those the princess had worn. How beautiful they were! The shoemaker also said 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 redness. Otherwise, she would never have allowed Karen to go 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 the future, Karen should only go in black shoes to church, even when she should be older.
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, the 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!”
Now all the people went out of the 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 around the church’s 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 them; she put on the red shoes. She might do that, she thought. But then she went to the ball and began to dance.
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 that reached from his shoulders to the earth; his countenance was severe and 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 that 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!”
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 ax 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 ax and went over the heath.
“Now I have suffered enough for the red shoes!” said she. “Now, I will go into the church so 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 around. 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 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, 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!”
And the sun shone so clearly, and straight before she 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 in the sunshine to God, and there no one asked after the red shoes.