It was in Copenhagen, on East Street, not far from the New Royal Square. A large society has gathered in one house: you have to receive guests from time to time - you will receive, treat and you can, in turn, expect an invitation. Part of the society had already sat down at the card tables, while the other guests, with the hostess herself at the head, were waiting for something to come out of the hostess' words: “Well, we should also think of something to do!” - meanwhile they were talking among themselves about this and that.

So the conversation went on little by little and, by the way, touched upon the Middle Ages. Some of the interlocutors considered this era to be much better than our time; Councilor Knap defended this opinion with particular fervor; the mistress of the house joined him, and both began to refute the words of Oersted, who proved in the New Year's almanac just published that our time, in general, is much higher than the Middle Ages. The adviser recognized the times of King Hans as the best and happiest era.

Under the guise of this conversation, interrupted only for a moment by the appearance of the evening newspaper, in which, however, there was nothing to read, we will move into the hall, where the outer dress hung, sticks, umbrellas and galoshes stood. There were two women sitting right there: a young one and an elderly one, who appeared here, apparently, as escorts of some old young ladies or widows. Looking more closely at them, however, anyone would notice that they are not simple servants; their hands were too tender, their posture and all movements were too majestic, and their dress was distinguished by some especially bold, peculiar cut. They were two fairies; the youngest, if not the Fairy of Happiness herself, then the maid of one of her chamber-maids of honor, whose duty was to deliver small gifts of happiness to people; the elderly one, who looked very seriously and preoccupied, was the fairy of Sorrow, who always carried out all her orders in her own high person: in this way she at least knew that they were carried out as they should.

They told each other where they had been that day. The maid of one of the ladies-in-waiting of the Fairy of Happiness managed to fulfill only a few insignificant tasks today: to save someone's new hat from a downpour, to deliver a bow from an important nonentity to one respectable person, etc. But she had something extraordinary in store.

The fact is, she said, that today is my birthday, and in honor of this I was given a pair of galoshes, which I must bring as a gift to mankind. These galoshes have the ability to transfer everyone who puts them on to the place or the conditions of the time that he likes best. All desires of a person regarding time or place of residence will thus be fulfilled, and a person will finally become truly happy!

No matter how! - said the fairy of Sorrows. - Your galoshes will bring him real misfortune, and he will bless the moment when he gets rid of them!

Well, here's more! said the youngest of the fairies. - I'll put them here at the door, someone will mistakenly put them on instead of their own and be happy.

That was the conversation.

It was too late; adviser Knap, deep in reflections on the times of King Hans, got ready to go home, and it happened that instead of his galoshes he put on galoshes of Happiness. He went out into the street in them, and the magic power of the galoshes immediately transported him to the time of King Hans, so that his feet immediately set foot in impenetrable mud: at that time there were no sidewalks yet.

Here's some dirt! What a horror! the adviser said. - The whole panel is flooded, and not a single lantern!

The moon is not yet high enough; there was a thick fog, and everything around was drowned in darkness. On the near corner hung the image of the Madonna (During the time of King Hans, Catholicism dominated in Denmark. - Approx. Transl.), And in front of him was a lit lamp, which, however, gave such light that even if it were not there at all; The adviser didn't notice him until he was close to the image.

Well, here, - he said, - there must be an exhibition of paintings, and they forgot to remove the sign for the night.

At this time, several people dressed in medieval costumes passed by the adviser.

What are they dressed up like that for? They must have been at the masquerade! the adviser said.

Suddenly, a drumbeat and a whistle of pipes were heard, torches flashed, the adviser stopped and saw a strange procession: in front of everyone were drummers, diligently working with sticks, behind them - soldiers armed with bows and crossbows; all this retinue was accompanied by some noble clergyman. The astonished adviser asked what this procession meant and who was this important person?

Bishop of Zeeland! - answered him.

Lord have mercy! What happened to the bishop? the adviser sighed, shaking his head. - No, it cannot be that it was a bishop!

Reflecting on what he had just seen and not looking either to the right or to the left, the adviser entered the High Bridge Square. The bridge leading to the palace, however, was not in place, and in the dark the adviser could barely make out some kind of wide stream and a boat in which two guys were sitting.

Does the lord want to go to the island? they asked.

To the island? - said the adviser, who did not know that he was wandering in the Middle Ages. - I need to get to Christian's harbor, to Malaya Torgovaya Street!

The guys just looked at him.

Tell me at least where the bridge is! the adviser continued. - After all, this is a disgrace! Not a single lantern burns, and such mud, as if walking through a swamp.

But the more he talked to them, the less he understood them.

I don't understand your Bornholmism! (The Bornholm dialect is quite different from the dominant Zeelandic dialect in Denmark. - Note trans.) - he finally got angry and turned his back on them. But he never managed to find the bridge; There were also no railings on the canal.

After all, it's just a scandal! - he said.

Never before had our time seemed to him so miserable as at this moment!

“Really, it’s better to take a cab! he thought. “But where have all the cabbies gone?” At least one! I will return to the New Royal Square, there are probably carriages! Otherwise, I will never reach Christian Harbor!”

He was back on East Street again, and had almost passed it, when a full moon floated over his head.

Good God! What is this awarded here? - he said, seeing in front of him the Eastern City Gate, which ended in those days, East Street.

Finally, he found a gate and went out to the present New Royal Square, which at that time was a large meadow. Bushes stuck out here and there, and some kind of stream or canal flowed in the middle; on the opposite shore one could see miserable wooden shacks in which huddled shops for Dutch skippers, which is why the very place was called the Dutch Cape.

Either this is an optical illusion, fata morgana, or I'm drunk! groaned the adviser. - What is it? What is it?

He turned back again, fully convinced that he was ill; this time he kept closer to the houses, and saw that most of them were built half of bricks, half of logs, and many thatched.

Not! I am positively unwell! he sighed. “But I only drank one glass of punch, but that’s a lot for me!” And what an absurdity - to treat people with punch and boiled salmon! I will definitely tell the agent about this! Should I go back to them and tell them what happened to me? No, it's awkward! And yes, they probably did!

He looked for a familiar house, but there was none.

What a horror it is! I don't recognize East Street! Not a single store! Everywhere there are some old, miserable shacks, as if I were in Roskilde or Ringsted! Ah, I'm sick! Nothing to be ashamed of here! I will return to them! But where did the agent's house go? Or does he not look like himself anymore?.. Ah, they don’t sleep here yet! Oh, I'm really, really sick!

He came across a half-open door from which light could be seen. It was one of the taverns of that era, something like our pub. In a clay-floored room, several skippers and Copenhagen townspeople and two scientists sat over mugs of beer; everyone was busy talking and paid no attention to the newcomer.

Sorry! - said the adviser to the hostess who met him. - I suddenly felt sick! Will you hire me a cab to Christian harbor?

The woman looked at him and shook her head, then spoke to him in German. The councilor thought she did not understand Danish and repeated his request in German; this circumstance, in connection with the cut of his dress, convinced the hostess that he was a foreigner. He did not, however, have to repeat twice that he was ill - the hostess immediately brought him a mug of brackish well water. The councilor leaned his head on his hand, took a deep breath and began to think about the strange sight that he saw in front of him.

Is it an evening "Day"? - he asked to say something, seeing in the hands of the hostess some large sheet.

She did not understand him, but handed him the sheet; it turned out that it was a rough drawing depicting a celestial phenomenon seen in Cologne.

Here's the old man! - said the adviser, and quite perked up, seeing such a rarity. Where did you get this leaflet from? This is very interesting, although, of course, everything is made up! As they now explain, it was the aurora borealis, a well-known manifestation of aerial electricity!

Those who sat closer and heard him looked at him in surprise, and one of them even got up, respectfully raised his hat and said seriously:

You are probably a great scientist, monsieur?

Oh no! - answered the adviser. - So-so! Although, of course, I can talk about this and that as well as others!

Modestia (Modesty (lat.).) - the most beautiful virtue! - said the interlocutor. - As for your speech, then mihi secus videtur (I have a different opinion (Lat.).), Although I will gladly express my judicium (Judgment (Lat.).)!

I dare to ask, with whom do I have the pleasure of talking? the adviser asked.

I'm a Bachelor of Theology! - answered the interlocutor.

This was quite enough for the adviser: the title corresponded to the cut of the stranger's dress. "Must be some kind of village teacher, the likes of which you can meet in the wilderness of Jutland!" he decided to himself.

Here, of course, there is no locus docendi (Place of learned conversations (lat.).), - the interlocutor began again, - but I still ask you to continue your speech! You must be very well-read in ancient literature?

Yes, wow! - answered the adviser. - I read some good things from ancient literature, but I also like the latest, just not "Ordinary Stories" - there are enough of them in life!

- Ordinary stories? asked the bachelor.

Yes, I'm talking about modern novels.

Oh, they are very witty and have great success at court! The bachelor smiled. - The King especially likes the novels about the Knights of the Round Table, Ifvente and Gaudiana; he even deigned to joke about them with his high confidants (The famous Danish writer Holberg tells in his "History of the Danish State" that King Hans, after reading the novel about the knights of King Arthur, jokingly remarked to his favorite Otto Rudu: "These gentlemen Ifvent and Gaudian were amazing knights; now something like that does not occur! ”To this Otto Rud replied:“ If there were many such kings as Arthur, there would be many such knights as Ifwent and Gaudian "- Note by the author.).

I haven't read this yet! the adviser said. - Geiberg must have released something new again!

No, not Heiberg, but Gottfried of Gemensky! answered the bachelor.

Yes, this is our first printer! answered the bachelor.

Thus the conversation was successfully carried on. Then one of the townspeople spoke of a plague that had raged several years ago, that is, in 1484. The adviser thought that it was about the recent cholera, and the conversation continued.

In passing, it was impossible not to mention the war of 1490, so close in time, when English privateers captured Danish ships in the roadstead, and the adviser, who survived the events of 1801, willingly echoed the general attacks on the British. But then the conversation somehow ceased to go well: the good-natured bachelor was too ignorant, and the most simple expressions and comments of the adviser seemed to him too free and fantastic. They looked at each other in surprise, and when at last they completely ceased to understand one another, the bachelor spoke in Latin, thinking that this would at least help the cause, but no such luck.

Well, how do you feel? - the hostess asked the adviser and pulled his sleeve; then he came to his senses: in the heat of the conversation he completely forgot where he was and what happened to him.

"God, where did I go?"

And his head began to spin at the mere thought of it.

Let's drink claret, mead and Bremen beer! one of the guests shouted. - And you are with us!

Two girls entered; one of them was wearing a two-color cap (In the era described, girls of reprehensible behavior were required to wear such caps. - Note. Trans.). They poured for the guests and then squatted low; a shiver ran down the councilor's spine.

What is it? What is it? - he said, but he had to drink with everyone; they pestered him so much that he fell into complete despair, and when one of the drinking companions told him that he was drunk, he did not doubt his words at all and only asked to find a cab for him, and they thought that he spoke Muscovite !

Never before had he been in such simple and rude company. “Just think, really, that we have returned to the times of paganism. This is the worst moment of my life!”

Then it occurred to him to crawl under the table, crawl to the door and slip unnoticed into the street. He was almost at the door, when suddenly the other guests noticed his intention and grabbed him by the legs. Oh happiness! Galoshes were taken off their feet, and with them all witchcraft disappeared!

The councilor clearly saw a lighted lantern and a large house in front of him, he recognized this house and all the neighboring ones, he recognized East Street; he himself was lying on the panel, resting his feet on someone's gate, and next to him sat and snored the night watchman.

My God! So I fell asleep on the street! the adviser said. - Yes, yes, this is East Street! How bright and beautiful it is! No, it's just awful what one glass of punch can do!

Two minutes later, he was already riding in a cab to Christian harbor and, recalling the fear and horror he had just experienced on the road, he praised with all his heart the happy reality of our time, which, with all its shortcomings, is still much better than the one he had just experienced. . Yes, now he was aware of it, and it cannot be said that he acted imprudently.

III. THE ADVENTURE OF THE NIGHT WATCHMAN

No pair of galoshes lies! said the night watchman. - It must be the officer who lives upstairs. Left at the very gate!

The venerable watchman would have gladly called and given the galoshes to the owner, especially since there was still a fire in the window of the owner, but he was afraid to wake the other tenants in the house and did not go.

It must be comfortable in such things! - he said. - The skin is so soft!

Galoshes hit him just on the legs, and he remained in them.

And it’s wonderful, really, it happens in this world! If only this officer was wandering up and down the room instead of sleeping in a warm bed! Lucky! He doesn't have a wife or kids! Every evening away! If I were in his place, I would be much happier!

He said, and the galoshes did their job, and the night watchman became an officer both in body and soul.

The officer stood in the middle of the room with a piece of pink paper in his hands. Poems were written on a piece of paper, the compositions of Mr. Officer himself. Who does not find moments of poetic mood? And in such moments you pour out your thoughts on paper, and poems will come out. This is what was written on the pink paper:

"If I were rich, I would become an officer, -

I often repeated as a little boy. -

I would put on a saber, a helmet and spurs

And would attract all the hearts and eyes!

Now I'm wearing the clothes I want

With them, the pocket is still empty,

But you are with me, my God!

I once sat as a merry young man

With a little girl in the evening.

I told fairy tales, she listened,

Then she hugged me and kissed me.

The child did not want wealth at all,

Well, I was rich in fantasy alone;

You know it, my God!

"Be rich," I sigh again,

The child has become a girl.

And how smart, how good-looking,

I love her, I love her with all my heart!

But I'm poor and I won't open my passions,

I am silent, not daring to enter into an argument with fate;

You want it, oh my God!

If I were rich, I would be happy

And I would not pour out complaints in verse.

Oh, if I guessed with a heart

She read my love,

What am I writing here! .. No, it's better not to know

I don't want to disturb her peace.

Save her, oh my God!

Yes, many lovers write such poems, but prudent people do not publish them. Officer, love and poverty - this is a triangle, or rather, half a broken dice of Happiness. So it seemed to the officer himself, and, sighing deeply, he leaned his head against the window.

The poor night watchman is even happier than me! He does not know my torment! He has his own corner, a wife and children who share both sorrow and joy with him. Oh, if I were in his place, I would be happier!

At the same moment, the night watchman became a watchman again: after all, he became an officer only thanks to galoshes, but, as we have seen, he felt even more unhappy and wanted to be better what he really was. So the night watchman became the night watchman again.

Fu, what a nasty dream I had! - he said. - Pretty funny, though! It seemed to me that I was the officer who lives up there, and I was not at all happy! I missed my wife and my kids ready to kiss me to death!

And the night watchman pecked his nose again, but the dream did not get out of his head. Suddenly, a star fell from the sky.

Look, rolled! - he said. Well, there are still a lot of them left! And I would look at these things closer, especially a month; it won't slip through your fingers! “After death,” says the student, on whom his wife erases, “we will fly from one star to another.” This is not true, otherwise it would be funny! Now, if I could jump there now, and let the body lie here, on the steps!

There are things that generally need to be expressed with caution, especially if you have galoshes of Happiness on your feet. Look what happened to the night watchman!

All of us, people, or almost all, have an idea about the speed of movement by means of steam: who has not traveled by rail or by ship on the sea? But this speed is like the speed of a slow-moving sloth or a snail compared to the speed of light. Light runs nineteen million times faster than the fastest trotter, and electricity still faster. Death is an electric shock to the heart, freeing our soul, which flies away from the body on the wings of electricity. A sunbeam travels more than 20 million miles in 8 minutes and seconds, but electricity rushes the soul even faster, and it takes even less time to fly around the same space.

The distance between different luminaries means no more to our soul than the distance between the houses of our friends, even if the latter live on the same street, means to us. But such an electric shock to the heart costs us our lives, if we do not, like a night watchman, have galoshes of Happiness on our feet.

In a few seconds the night watchman flew 52,000 miles separating the earth from the moon, which, as you know, consists of a substance less dense than our earth, and soft as freshly fallen snow. The night watchman found himself on one of the innumerable lunar mountains that we know from Dr. Medler's lunar maps; do you know them too? In the basin, which lay a whole Danish mile below the foot of the mountain, one could see the city with airy, transparent towers, domes and sail-like balconies, swaying in the rarefied air; at a glance, it all looked like an egg white released into a glass of water; above the head of the night watchman our land floated in the form of a large fiery red ball.

There were many inhabitants on the moon who, in our opinion, should be called people, but they had a completely different look and their own special language, and although no one can demand that the soul of the night watchman understand the lunar language, she nevertheless understood it.

The lunar inhabitants argued about our land and doubted its habitability: the air on earth was too dense for an intelligent lunar creature to exist on it. According to them, the moon was the only inhabited planet and the cradle of the first generation of planetary inhabitants.

But let's go back to East Street and see what happened to the night watchman's body.

The lifeless body still sat on the steps, the watchman's stick or, as we call it, the "morning star", fell out of his hands, and his eyes rested on the moon where the soul traveled.

What time is it now? - asked the night watchman some passerby and, of course, did not wait for an answer. Then the passer-by lightly flicked the watchman on the nose; the body lost balance and stretched to its full length - the night watchman "was dead". The passer-by was frightened, but the "dead" remained "dead"; They told the police, and in the morning the body was taken to the hospital.

That would be a thing if the soul returned and began to look for the body where it left it, that is, on East Street! She probably would have rushed to the police, and then to the classifieds office to look for him in the lost property department, and then she would have already gone to the hospital. There is no need to worry, however: the soul acts much smarter if it acts on its own - only the body makes it stupid.

As it is said, the night watchman's body was brought to the hospital and brought to the emergency room, where, of course, the first duty was to remove his galoshes, and the soul had to return back; she immediately found her way into the body, and once, twice - the man came to life! He later assured that he had experienced the most terrible night in his life: even for two silver marks, he would not have agreed to experience such passions a second time; but now the matter was, thank God, over.

On the same day he was discharged from the hospital, and the galoshes remained there.

IV. "PUZZLE" BUSINESS.

EXTRAORDINARY JOURNEY TO THE HIGHEST

Every Copenhagener, of course, knows the external appearance of Frederick's hospital, but perhaps non-Copenhageners will read this story, so a short description must be given.

The hospital is separated from the street by a rather high grating of thick iron bars, spaced so sparsely that, it is said, many lean medical students could easily squeeze between them when they had to make a little visit to the neighborhood at an odd hour. The most difficult thing in such cases was to stick the head in, so that here, as is often the case in life, the small-headed turned out to be lucky.

Well, that's enough for the introduction.

Just such a young student was on duty in the hospital that evening, about whom, only in a physical sense, one would say that he was one of the big-headed ones. It was pouring rain, but despite this inconvenience, the student still needed to be off duty for only a quarter of an hour, so it was not worth, in his opinion, to disturb the gatekeeper, especially since one could simply slip through the bars. The galoshes, forgotten by the watchman, were still in the hospital; it never occurred to the student that these were Happy's goloshes, but they were just in time in such bad weather, and he put them on. Now all he had to do was crawl between the iron bars, which he had never tried before.

God help me just stick my head out! - said the student, and his head, in spite of all its size, immediately slipped between the bars - it was the case of galoshes. Now the turn was behind the body, but it was necessary to tinker with it.

Wow! I'm too fat! - said the student. “And I thought it would be the hardest thing to stick your head in!” No, I can't get through!

And he wanted to quickly pull his head back, but no such luck. He could turn his neck as he liked, but that was the end of it.

At first our student was angry, but then his disposition quickly dropped to zero. Galoshes of Happiness put him in a most terrible situation, and, unfortunately, it did not occur to him to wish to be freed; he only indefatigably turned his neck and - did not move from his place. The rain poured down like a bucket, there was not a soul on the streets, it was impossible to reach the bell hanging at the gate - how could one free oneself here! He foresaw that he would probably have to stand in this position until morning, and then send for the blacksmith to cut the bars. The matter, however, is not done so soon, and while all the schoolchildren, all the inhabitants of Novaya Slobidka have time to rise to their feet everyone will come running and see him in this shameful iron cage!

Phew! The blood is pounding in the whiskey! I'm ready to go crazy! Yes, I will! Oh, if only I could free myself!

He should have said it sooner! At the same moment, his head was freed, and he rushed back headlong, completely stunned by the fear that he had just experienced thanks to the galoshes of Happiness.

Do not think, however, that this is the end of the matter - no, it will be even worse.

The night passed, another day passed, and no one came for galoshes.

In the evening, a performance was given in a small theater on Kanonikov Street. The theater was full; between other numbers of the performance, the poem "Aunt's Glasses" was recited (The poem itself is skipped as not representing, due to its purely mystical character, any interest for modern Russian readers. - Note. Transl.); it spoke of miraculous glasses through which one could see the future.

From another translation

My grandmother had such a gift,

That they would have burned her alive before.

After all, she knows everything and even more:

The future to know - it was in her will,

I penetrated the forties with my eyes,

But the request to tell always ended in an argument.

"Tell me, I say, the coming year,

What events will bring us?

And what will happen in art, in the state?”

But the grandmother, skilled in deceit,

Silently stubbornly, and in response not a word.

And sometimes ready to scold me.

But how can she resist, where can she get strength?

After all, I was her favorite.

"In your opinion, let it be this time, -

Grandma said to me right away

She gave me her glasses. - Go there.

Where people always gather

Put on your glasses, come closer

And look at the crowd of people.

People will suddenly turn to a deck of cards.

From the cards you will understand what was and what will be.

After saying thank you, I left quickly.

But where is the crowd? On the square, no doubt.

On the square? But I don't like cold.

On the street? There is mud and puddles everywhere.

Isn't it in the theatre? Well, great idea!

That's where I'll meet the whole horde.

And finally I'm here! I just need to get glasses

And I will become an oracle to match.

And you sit quietly in your seats:

After all, you need to seem like cards,

To see the future clearly.

Your silence is a sign that you agree.

Now I will ask fate, and not in vain,

For our own benefit and for the people.

So, what will the deck of living cards say.

(Puts on glasses.)

What do I see! Well, fun!

You really would burst with laughter,

When they would see all the aces of diamonds,

And gentle ladies, and harsh kings!

All spades, clubs here are blacker than bad dreams.

Let's take a look at them properly.

That lady of spades is known for her knowledge of the world -

And suddenly fell in love with the jack of diamonds.

What do these cards tell us?

They promise a lot of money for the house

And a guest from far away

And yet, we hardly need guests.

Would you like to start a conversation?

From estates? Better shut up!

And I will give you one good advice:

You do not take bread from the newspapers.

Or about theaters? Backstage friction?

Oh no! I do not spoil relations with the management.

About my future? But it is known:

Bad to know is not interesting at all.

I know everything - what's the use in that:

You will know when the time is right!

I'm sorry, what? Who is the happiest among you?

Aha! I'll find a happy one now...

It can be easily distinguished

Yes, the rest would have to upset!

Who will live longer? Ah, is he? Wonderful!

But talking about this story is dangerous.

To tell? To tell? Say or no?

No, I won't - that's my answer!

I'm afraid that I can offend you,

I'd rather read your thoughts now,

Recognizing all the power of magic at once.

Would you like to know? I will tell myself in reproach:

Do you think that I, since when,

I'm talking nonsense in front of you.

Then I am silent, you are right, without a doubt,

Now I want to hear your opinion myself.

The poem was read admirably, and the reciter was a great success. Among the audience was our medical student, who seemed to have already forgotten the adventure of the previous evening. Galoshes were on his feet again: no one came for them, and the streets were dirty, and they again served him.

He liked the poem very much.

He would not have been averse to having such glasses: by putting them on, perhaps, with a certain skill, one could read in the hearts of people, and this is even more interesting than foreseeing the future: the latter will be recognized in due time anyway.

“Here, for example,” the student thought, “here, on the first bench, there is a whole row of spectators; what if you could penetrate everyone's heart? It probably has some kind of entrance, sort of like a shop, or something! .. Well, I would have seen enough! I would probably find a whole fashion store in the heart of this lady! This shop would have been empty; It wouldn't hurt to just clean it up! But, of course, there would be reputable stores! Oh! I even know one of them, but... it already has a clerk! That's the only downside to this wonderful store! And from many, I think, they would shout: “Come to us, come to us!” Yes, I would love to walk through the hearts, in the form of a small thought, for example.

The galoshes needed only that. The student suddenly cringed all over and began a most extraordinary journey through the hearts of the front row spectators. The first heart he entered belonged to a lady, but for the first minute it seemed to him that he was in an orthopedic institute - that is the name of an institution where doctors treat people with various physical disabilities and deformities - and in that very room where plaster casts are hung on the walls from ugly parts of the human body; the whole difference was that at the institute, casts were taken when the patient arrived there, but in the heart of this lady they were made after the departure of good people: casts of the physical and spiritual shortcomings of her friends were kept here.

Soon the student moved into another woman's heart, but this heart seemed to him a spacious holy temple; the white dove of innocence hovered over the altar. He would have knelt here willingly, but the journey had to be continued. The sounds of the church organ still rang in his ears, he felt as if renewed, enlightened and worthy to enter the next sanctuary. The latter seemed to him like a poor closet where his sick mother lay; a warm sun shone through the open window, wonderful roses nodded their heads from a small box on the roof, and two sky-blue birds sang about childish joy, while a sick mother prayed for her daughter.

Following this, he crawled on all fours into a crowded butcher's shop, where everywhere he stumbled upon one meat; it was the heart of a rich, well-respected man, whose name can be found in the address-calendar.

From there, the student fell into the heart of his wife; it was an old dilapidated dovecote; the portrait of her husband served as a weather vane; the front door was tied to it, which either opened or locked, depending on the direction in which the spouse turned.

Then the student found himself in a mirror room, like the one in the Rosenborg Palace, but the mirrors magnified everything to an incredible degree, and in the middle of the room sat, like some kind of Dalai Lama, the insignificant “I” of this person and reverently contemplated his own greatness.

Then it seemed to him that he had passed into a narrow needle-case full of sharp needles. He thought that he had hit the heart of some old maid, but he was mistaken - it was the heart of a young military man, decorated with orders and reputed to be "a man with a mind and a heart."

Completely stunned, the unfortunate student finally found himself in his place and for a long, long time could not come to his senses: no, positively his fantasy had already played out too much.

"Oh my God! he sighed to himself. - I think I'm really starting to lose my mind. And what an unbearable heat is here! The blood is pounding in the temples!” Then he remembered yesterday's adventure. “Yes, yes, here it is, the beginning of everything! he thought. - It is necessary to take timely action. The Russian bath is especially helpful in such cases. Ah, if only I were already on the shelf!”

At that very moment he was lying there, but he was lying dressed, in boots and galoshes; Hot water dripped onto his face from the ceiling.

Phew! he shouted and ran to take a shower.

The attendant also shouted loudly when he saw a dressed man in the bathhouse. The student, however, did not lose his head and whispered to him:

It's on a bet!

Arriving home, however, he rolled two Spanish flies, one on his neck, the other on his back, in order to drive out insanity.

The next morning, his whole back was covered in blood - that's all that the galoshes of Happiness brought him.

V. THE TRANSFORMATION OF THE LETTER

The night watchman, whom you, perhaps, have not yet forgotten, remembered meanwhile about the galoshes he had found and then left in the hospital, and came for them. Neither the officer nor any other of the inhabitants of that street, however, recognized them as their own, and the galoshes were taken to the police.

Exactly mine! - said one of the gentlemen of the police clerks, examining the find and his own galoshes standing nearby, - the master himself would not have distinguished them from each other!

Mr Writer! - said the policeman who entered with the papers.

The clerk turned to him and spoke to him, and when he looked again at the galoshes, he himself did not know which ones were his own: were they those on the left or those on the right?

“These wet ones must be mine!” - he thought, and he was mistaken: these were just galoshes of Happiness; but why shouldn't a police officer make mistakes sometimes? He put them on, slipped some papers into his pocket, took others under his arm: he had to go over and copy them at home. It was a Sunday afternoon, and the weather was fine, and he thought it would be a good idea to take a walk in Fredericksburg Gardens.

Let's wish this quiet, hard-working young man a pleasant walk - it was generally useful for him to take a walk after a long sitting in the office.

At first he walked without thinking about anything, so that the galoshes did not yet have a chance to show their magical power.

In the alley, the clerk met a young poet who told him that he was leaving to travel.

You are leaving again! - said the clerk. - Happy you people, free! Flutter yourself wherever you want, not like us! We have chains on our feet!

They chain you to the bread place! - answered the poet. - You do not need to worry about tomorrow, and get a pension in old age!

No, you still have a better life! - said the clerk. - Writing poetry is fun! Everyone praises you, and besides, you are your own masters! But would you try to sit in the office and tinker with these vulgar deeds!

The poet shook his head, and so did the clerk; each remained in his own opinion, and so they said goodbye.

“These poets are a very special people! thought the clerk. - I would like to be in their place, to become a poet myself. I would not write such aching poems as others! Today is just a real spring day for the poet! The air is somehow unusually transparent, and the clouds are amazingly beautiful! And what a smell, what a fragrance! Yes, I have never felt the way I do today.”

Notice? He has already become a poet, although in appearance he has not changed at all: it is absurd, after all, to assume that poets are some kind of special breed of people; and among ordinary mortals there may be found natures much more poetic than many recognized poets; the only difference is that poets have a happier spiritual memory, which allows them to keep ideas and feelings firmly in their souls until they finally pour out clearly and accurately in words and images. To become a poetic nature out of a simple, ordinary person, however, is still a kind of transformation, and this is what happened to the clerk.

“What a wonderful scent! he thought. - I remember the violets of Aunt Lona! Yes, I was still a child then! Lord, how many years have I not thought of her! Good old girl! She lived there, behind the stock exchange! She always, even in the most severe winters, had some green twigs or shoots standing in the water. The violets were so fragrant, and I applied heated copper coins to the frozen window panes to melt my little round holes for my eyes. Here was the panorama! On the canal stood empty wintered ships with flocks of croaking crows instead of crew. But then spring came, and work began to boil on them, songs were heard and friendly “cheers” of the workers, cutting ice around the ships; ships pitched, caulked and then sailed to foreign countries. But I stayed! I was destined to sit forever in the office and only watch how others straightened out their foreign passports! Here's my share! Alas!" Here he took a deep breath and then suddenly stopped.

“What, really, is being done to me today? I have never had such thoughts and feelings before! This must be the effect of spring air! Both creepy and nice! And he grabbed the papers he had in his pocket. “The papers will give my thoughts a different direction.” But, glancing at the very first sheet, he read: "Zigbrita, a tragedy in 5 acts." "What?! The handwriting, however, is mine... Did I really write a tragedy? And what's that? "Intrigue at the ball, vaudeville." No, where does all this come from? Who slipped this on me? And here's another letter!

Hm! Hm! - said the clerk and sat down on the bench. His thoughts played like that, his soul was somehow especially soft and tenderly tuned; mechanically he plucked some flower growing near him and stared at it. It was a simple daisy, but in one minute she managed to tell him as much as we can learn in a few lectures on botany. She told him a wonderful story about her birth, about the magical power of sunlight, which made her delicate petals bloom and smell fragrant. The poet, at that time, was thinking about the struggle of life, awakening the forces dormant in the chest of a person. Yes, air and light are the beloved of the flower, but light is the chosen one to which the flower is constantly drawn; when the light goes out, the flower folds its petals and falls asleep in the arms of the air.

I owe my beauty to the light! Chamomile said.

What would you breathe without air? the poet whispered to her.

Not far from him stood a little boy, slapping a cane along the groove; splashes of muddy water just flew into the green grass, and the clerk began to think about millions of invisible organisms that took off together with drops of water to a height beyond the clouds for them - in comparison with their own size - height. Thinking about this and about the transformation that happened to him today, the clerk smiled. “I just sleep and dream! It is amazing, however, how alive a dream can be! And yet I am well aware that this is only a dream. It would be good if I remembered tomorrow morning everything that I feel now; now I am surprisingly well-disposed: I look at everything somehow especially sensibly and clearly, I feel some kind of special uplift of spirit. Alas! I am sure that by morning I will have only nonsense left in my memory! This has happened more than once! All these smart, wondrous things that you hear and say yourself in your sleep are like the gold of the gnomes: in daylight it turns out to be a heap of stones and dry leaves. Alas!"

The clerk sighed sadly and looked at the birds singing merrily and fluttering from branch to branch.

“They live much better than ours! The ability to fly is an enviable gift! Happy is he who was born with him! If I could turn into anything, I would like to be a little lark!”

At that very moment, the sleeves and tails of his coat folded into wings, the dress became feathers, and the galoshes became claws. He perfectly noticed all this and laughed to himself: “Well, now I see that I am dreaming! But I have never seen such funny dreams!” Then he flew up a tree and sang, but there was no longer poetry in his singing - he ceased to be a poet: galoshes, like anyone who takes the matter seriously, could only do one thing at a time: he wanted to become a poet and became, wanted to turn into he turned into a bird, but on the other hand he lost his former gift. "Thumbs up! he thought. - By day I sit in the police, busy with the most important matters, and at night I dream that I am flying like a lark in the Frederiksberg garden! Here is the plot for a folk comedy!”

And he flew down to the grass, twirling his head and pinching with his beak the flexible stalks, which now seemed to him like huge palm branches.

Suddenly, it became dark all around him as at night: some huge, as it seemed to him, object was thrown over him - this boy covered him with his cap. A hand crawled under his cap and grabbed the clerk by the tail and wings, so that he squeaked, and then shouted loudly:

Oh, you shameless boy! After all, I'm a police clerk!

But the boy heard only "beep-beep", clicked the bird on the beak and went on his way with her.

In the alley he met two schoolchildren from the upper class, that is, by position in society, and not at school. They bought a bird for 8 skillings (Skilling is a small Danish copper coin that has already fallen into disuse. - Note translation), and now the clerk returned to the city again and ended up in the same family who lived on Gotha Street.

“It’s good that this is a dream,” thought the clerk, “otherwise I would really get angry! First I was a poet, then I became a lark! My poetic nature made me want to turn into this tiny creature! Quite a sad fate, however! Especially if you fall into the clutches of the boys. But still curious to know how it all ends?

The boys carried him into the richly decorated drawing room, where they were met by a fat, smiling lady; she was not particularly pleased with the simple bird of the field, as she called the lark, although she allowed him to be planted for a while in an empty cage that stood by the window.

Maybe she will amuse the ass! - said the lady and smiled at the big green parrot, swinging importantly on the ring in its magnificent metal cage. “Today is popochkin’s birthday,” she continued in a stupidly naive tone, “and a field bird came to congratulate him!”

Popochka did not answer a word, continuing to rock back and forth, but a pretty canary, only last summer brought from her warm, fragrant homeland, sang loudly.

Screamer! - said the lady and threw a white handkerchief over the cage.

Pip, pip! What a terrible blizzard! the canary sighed and fell silent. The clerk, or, as the lady called him, a field bird, was

put in a cage next to the cage of the canary and not far from the parrot. The only thing that the parrot could burr in a human voice was a phrase that sometimes sounded very comical: “No, I want to be a man!” Everything else came out of him as incomprehensibly as the chirping of a canary; incomprehensible to people, and not to the clerk, who himself was now a bird and perfectly understood his fellows.

I flew under the shade of green palms and blossoming almond trees! - the canary sang. - I flew with my brothers and sisters over the luxurious flowers and the quiet mirror waters of the lakes, from where the green reeds nodded affably to us. I saw lovely parrots there, able to tell amusing tales without end, without counting!

Wild birds! - answered the parrot. - Without any education. No, I want to be a man!.. Why don't you laugh? If this makes the lady and all the guests laugh, then you, it seems, could laugh! It is a great defect not to be able to appreciate funny witticisms. No, I want to be human!

Do you remember the beautiful girls dancing under the canopy of the flower-strewn trees? Do you remember sweet fruits and cool juice of wild vegetables?

Oh yeah! - said the parrot. But I'm much better here. I have a good table, and I am my man in the house. I know that I'm small with a head, and that's enough for me. No, I want to be human! You have, as they say, a poetic nature, but I have a thorough knowledge and, moreover, witty. You have a genius, but you lack prudence, you always take too high notes, and they shut your mouth for it. This will not happen to me - I cost them more! In addition, I inspire them with respect with my beak and sharp on the tongue! No, I want to be human!

Oh, my warm, flowering homeland! - the canary sang. - I will begin to sing of your dark green forests, your quiet bays, where branches kiss transparent waves, where “desert reservoirs” grow (Cacti. - Note transl.); I will sing the joy of my brilliant brothers and sisters!

Leave your ahi and ooh! - said the parrot. - Scratch better yes make us laugh! Laughter is a sign of higher mental development. After all, neither the horse nor the dog laughs, they can only cry; Laughter is the highest gift that distinguishes a person! Ho, ho, ho! - the parrot laughed and again quipped: - No, I want to be a man!

And you were captured, you little gray Danish bird! said the canary to the lark. - In your forests, of course, it's cold, but still you were free there! Fly away! Look, they forgot to lock you up, the window is open - fly away, fly away!

The clerk did just that, fluttered out and sat on the cage. At that moment a cat with green sparkling eyes slipped through the half-open door from the adjoining room and rushed at him. The canary huddled in the cage, the parrot flapped its wings and screamed:

No, I want to be human!

The clerk was seized with mortal horror, and he flew out the window into the street, flew and flew, finally tired and wanted to rest.

The house next door seemed familiar to him; one window was open, he flew into the room - it was his own room - and sat down on the table.

No, I want to be human! - he said, unconsciously repeating the wit of the parrot, and at the same moment he became the clerk again, but it turned out that he was sitting on the table!

Lord have mercy! - he said. - How did I get here, and even fell asleep! And what a dream I had! Here is nonsense!

VI. THE BEST THING THE GALOSHI DID

The next day, early in the morning, when the clerk was still lying in bed, there was a knock on the door and his neighbor, a student of theology, entered.

Lend me your galoshes! - he said. - It's still damp in the garden, but the sun is still shining - go smoke a pipe in the air!

Putting on his galoshes, he quickly descended into the garden, which had one pear and one plum tree, but even such a garden is considered a great luxury in Copenhagen.

The theologian paced up and down the path; it was only six o'clock in the morning; from the street came the sound of a mail horn.

Oh, travel, travel! There is nothing better in the world than this! he said. - This is the highest, cherished goal of my aspirations! If I manage to achieve it, this inner anxiety of my heart and thoughts will subside. But I'm so torn into the distance! Further, further ... to see wonderful Switzerland, Italy ...

Yes, it’s good that the galoshes acted immediately, otherwise he would have climbed, perhaps, too far for himself and. for us! And now he was already traveling through Switzerland, hidden in a stagecoach along with eight other passengers. His head ached, his back ached, his legs were numb and swollen, his boots were unbearably tight. He wasn't sleeping, he wasn't awake. In the right side pocket he had bills of exchange for banking offices, in the left - a passport, and on his chest - a bag with gold coins sewn into it; as soon as the theologian fell asleep, it seemed to him that one or the other of these jewels was lost; a shiver ran down his back, and his hand feverishly described a triangle - from right to left and on his chest, in order to ascertain the integrity of all his treasures. Umbrellas and hats dangled in a net under the ceiling of the stagecoach, and rather prevented him from admiring the marvelous surroundings. He looked and looked, and the quatrain sounded in his ears, which he composed during a trip to Switzerland, not intending it, however, for publication, by a well-known poet:

Yes, it's good here! And Mont Blanc

I see before me, friends!

If only there was a tight pocket,

I would be quite happy!

The surrounding nature was severely majestic; the pine forests on the tops of the high mountains looked like heather; snow began to fall, a sharp cold wind blew.

Brr! If we were on the other side of the Alps, we would already have summer, and I would have received money on my bills! For fear of losing them, I cannot enjoy Switzerland properly. Ah, if we were already on the other side of the Alps!

And he found himself on the other side of the Alps, in the middle of Italy, between Florence and Rome. Lake Trasimene was illuminated by the evening sun; here, where once Hannibal defeated Flaminius, vines clung to each other with their green fingers; adorable half-naked children grazed pitch-black pigs on the road under the shade of flowering laurel trees. Yes, if you depict all this with paints on the canvas, everyone would gasp: “Ah, wonderful Italy!” But neither the theologian nor his traveling comrades, sitting in the mail coach, said this.

Clouds of poisonous flies and mosquitoes hovered in the air; in vain did travelers fan themselves with myrtle branches - the insects bit and stung them mercilessly; there was not a single person left in the carriage whose face was not bitten and swollen. The poor horses looked like some kind of carrion - flies stuck around them in swarms; the coachman sometimes got down from the goat and drove their tormentors off the unfortunate animals, but only for a minute. But then the sun set, and the travelers were seized by a chilling cold; it was quite unpleasant, but the clouds and mountains were painted in wonderful brilliant greenish tones. Yes, one must see all this for oneself: no descriptions can give a real idea about it. The spectacle was incomparable, all the passengers agreed with this, but ... the stomach was empty, the body asked for rest, all dreams rushed to the lodging for the night, but what else will it be? And more and more concerned with these issues, rather than the beauties of nature.

The road lay through an olive grove, and it seemed to the theologian that he was traveling between native knotted willows; finally reached a lonely hotel. At the entrance there were about a dozen crippled beggars; the most vigorous of them looked like “the eldest son of famine who had come of age”, others were either blind, or with withered legs and crawling on their hands, or with mutilated hands without fingers. From their rags, bare poverty looked like that. "Eccellenza, miserabili!" - they groaned and flaunted mutilated members. The hostess of the hotel herself met the travelers barefoot, with an uncombed head and in some kind of dirty blouse. The doors were without latches and were simply connected with ropes, the brick floor in the rooms was full of holes, bats nested on the ceilings, and even air! ..

Let them set the table for us in the stable! - said one of the travelers. - You still know what you breathe!

They opened the windows to let fresh air into the rooms, but withered hands and incessant whining: "Eccellenza, miserabili!" All the walls were covered with inscriptions; half of them scolded Bella Italia (... beautiful Italy (ital.).)!

Lunch was served: a watery soup seasoned with pepper and rancid olive oil, a salad with the same oil, then, as main dishes, rotten eggs and fried cockerel combs; wine - and that gave the medicine.

At night the doors were filled with suitcases; one of the travelers stood guard, while the others fell asleep. The theologian had to be on guard duty. Fu, what stuffiness was in the rooms! The heat was tormenting, the mosquitoes were biting, the miserabili were moaning in their sleep!

Yes, travel is a good thing! the theologian sighed. "If only we didn't have a body!" Let it rest for itself, and let the soul fly everywhere. And wherever I go, in my soul there is the same longing, the same anxiety ... I strive for something better, higher than all these earthly instantaneous joys. Yes, for the better, but where is it and in what? .. No, I know, in essence, what I want! I want to reach the blissful goal of earthly wandering!

The word had been spoken, and he was already at home, at home; long white curtains were drawn down, and a black coffin stood in the middle of the room; in it lay the theologian. His wish was fulfilled: the body rested, the soul wandered. “No one can be called happy until he goes to the grave!” - said Solon, and his words were confirmed once again.

Each dead person is a riddle thrown in our faces by eternity, and this human riddle in a black coffin did not answer us the questions that the person himself asked some two or three days before death.

Oh, omnipotent death, mute, Your trail - graves without end! Alas, will my earthly life wither like grass? Can it be that the thought that boldly Strives towards the sky will perish without a trace? Or will the spirit buy a crown of immortality with the suffering of the body? ..

Two female figures appeared in the room; we know both: they were the fairy of Sorrow and the messenger of Happiness; they bowed over the dead.

Well, - said Sorrow, - did your galoshes bring a lot of happiness to mankind?

Well, this man that lies here, they brought lasting happiness! Joy replied.

Not! Sadness said. - He left the world arbitrarily, without being recalled! His spiritual powers had not yet developed and strengthened enough to enable him to inherit those heavenly treasures that were prepared for him. I will do him a favor!

And she pulled the galoshes off the feet of the deceased; the sleep of death was interrupted, and the risen one arose. The sadness disappeared, and with it the galoshes: she must have considered them her property.

Page 1 of 13

1. Start

It was in Copenhagen, on East Street, not far from the New Royal Square. A large company has gathered in one house - sometimes you still have to receive guests; but, you look, and you yourself will someday wait for an invitation. The guests split into two large groups: one immediately sat down at the card tables, while the other formed a circle around the hostess, who suggested “thinking up something more interesting,” and the conversation flowed by itself. By the way, the discussion turned to the Middle Ages, and many found that in those days life was much better than now. Yes Yes! The councilor of justice, Knap, defended this opinion so zealously that the hostess immediately agreed with him, and the two of them attacked poor Oersted, who argued in his article in the Almanac that our era is in some ways higher than the Middle Ages. The adviser claimed that the times of King Hans were the best and happiest times in the history of mankind.

While this heated argument is going on, which was interrupted only for a moment, when the evening paper was brought (however, there was absolutely nothing to read in it), let's go into the hall, where the guests left their coats, sticks, umbrellas and galoshes. Two women have just entered, a young one and an old one. At first glance, they could be mistaken for maids accompanying some old ladies who came here to visit, but, looking more closely, you would notice that these women did not look like maids at all: their hands were too soft and tender. , the posture and movements are too stately, and the dress was distinguished by some especially bold cut. Of course, you already guessed that they were fairies. The younger one was, if not the Fairy of Happiness herself, then, most likely, the maid of one of her many maids of honor and was engaged in bringing people various small gifts of Happiness. The eldest seemed much more serious - she was a fairy of Sorrow and always managed her own affairs, not entrusting them to anyone: so at least she knew that everything would certainly be done properly.

Standing in the hall, they told each other about where they had been during the day. The chambermaid of the maid of honor of Happiness today fulfilled only a few unimportant assignments: she saved someone's new hat from the downpour, conveyed to one respectable person a bow from a high-ranking nonentity, and all in the same vein. But in return, she had something completely unusual.

“I need to tell you,” she finished, “that today is my birthday, and in honor of this event, they gave me a pair of galoshes, so that I could take them to people. These galoshes have one remarkable property: the one who puts them on, they can instantly transfer to any place or environment of any era - wherever he wants - and he, thus, will immediately find happiness.

- You think so? said the Fairy of Sorrow. “Know this: he will be the most miserable person on earth and will bless the moment when he finally gets rid of your galoshes.

- Well, we'll see! said the chambermaid of Happiness. “In the meantime, I’ll put them at the door.” Perhaps someone will put them on by mistake instead of their own and become happy.

Here is the conversation between them.

It was too late. Councilor of Justice Knap was going home, still thinking about the days of King Hans. And it had to happen that instead of his galoshes he put on galoshes of Happiness. As soon as he stepped out into the street in them, the magic power of the galoshes immediately transported him to the time of King Hans, and his feet immediately sank into impassable mud, because the streets were not paved under King Hans.

- Well, and dirt! Just what a horror! muttered the adviser. “Besides, none of the lights are on.

The moon had not yet risen, there was a thick fog, and everything around was drowned in darkness. On the corner in front of the image of the Madonna hung a lamp, but it glimmered a little, so that the adviser noticed the picture only when he was level with it, and only then saw the Mother of God with the baby in her arms.

“There must have been an artist’s studio here,” he decided, “and they forgot to remove the sign.”

Just then, several people in medieval costumes walked past him.

“Why are they so dressed up? thought the adviser. “They must be coming from the masquerade.”

But suddenly there was a drumbeat and a whistle of pipes, torches flashed, and an amazing sight presented itself to the eyes of the adviser! A strange procession was moving towards him along the street: drummers walked in front, skillfully beating out the shot with sticks, and guards with bows and crossbows walked behind them. Apparently, it was a retinue accompanying some important clergyman. The astonished adviser asked what kind of procession this was and who this dignitary was.

It was in Copenhagen, on East Street, not far from the New Royal Square. A large society has gathered in one house: you have to receive guests from time to time - you will receive, treat and you can, in turn, expect an invitation. Part of the society had already sat down at the card tables, while the other guests, with the hostess herself at the head, were waiting for something to come out of the hostess' words: “Well, we should also think of something to do!” - and yet they were talking among themselves about this and that.

So the conversation went on little by little and, by the way, touched on the Middle Ages. Some of the interlocutors considered this era to be much better than our time; Councilor Knap defended this opinion with particular fervor; the mistress of the house joined him, and both began to refute the words of Oersted, who proved in the New Year's almanac just published that our time, in general, is much higher than the Middle Ages. The adviser recognized the times of King Hans as the best and happiest era.

Under the guise of this conversation, interrupted only for a moment by the appearance of the evening newspaper, in which, however, there was nothing to read, we will move into the hall, where the outer dress hung, there were sticks, umbrellas and galoshes. There were two women sitting right there: a young one and an elderly one, who appeared here, apparently, as escorts of some old young ladies or widows. Looking more closely at them, however, anyone would notice that they are not simple servants; their hands were too tender, their posture and all movements were too majestic, and their dress was distinguished by some especially bold, peculiar cut. They were two fairies; the younger, if not the Fairy of Happiness herself, then the maid of one of her chamber-maids of honor, whose duty was to deliver small gifts of happiness to people; the elderly one, who looked very seriously and preoccupied, was the fairy of Sorrow, who always carried out all her orders in her own high person: in this way she at least knew that they were carried out as they should.

They told each other where they had been that day. The maid of one of the ladies-in-waiting of the Fairy of Happiness managed to fulfill only a few insignificant tasks today: to save someone's new hat from a downpour, to deliver a bow to one respectable person from an important nonentity, etc. But she had something extraordinary in store.

The fact is, she said, that today is my birthday, and in honor of this I was given a pair of galoshes, which I must bring as a gift to mankind. These galoshes have the ability to transfer everyone who puts them on to the place or the conditions of the time that he likes best. All desires of a person regarding time or place of residence will thus be fulfilled, and a person will finally become truly happy!

No matter how! - said the fairy of Sorrows. - Your galoshes will bring him real misfortune, and he will bless the moment when he gets rid of them!

Well, here's more! said the youngest of the fairies. - I'll put them here at the door, someone will mistakenly put them on instead of their own and be happy.

That was the conversation.

II. What happened to the adviser

It was too late; adviser Knap, deep in thought about the times of King Hans, got ready to go home, and it happened that instead of his galoshes he put on galoshes of Happiness. He went out into the street in them, and the magic power of the galoshes immediately transported him to the time of King Hans, so that his feet immediately set foot in impenetrable mud: at that time there were no sidewalks yet.

Here's some dirt! What a horror! the adviser said. - The whole panel is flooded, and not a single lantern!

The moon hasn't risen high enough yet; there was a thick fog, and everything around was drowned in darkness. On the near corner hung the image of the Madonna, and in front of it was a lit lamp, which, however, gave such light that even if it were not there at all; The adviser didn't notice him until he was close to the image.

Well, here, - he said, - there must be an exhibition of paintings, and they forgot to remove the sign for the night.

At this time, several people dressed in medieval costumes passed by the adviser.

What are they dressed up like that for? They must have been at the masquerade! the adviser said.

Suddenly, a drumbeat and a whistle of pipes were heard, torches flashed, the adviser stopped and saw a strange procession: in front of everyone were drummers, diligently working with sticks, behind them were warriors armed with bows and crossbows; all this retinue was accompanied by some noble clergyman. The astonished adviser asked what this procession meant and who was this important person?

Bishop of Zeeland! - answered him.

Lord have mercy! What happened to the bishop? the adviser sighed, shaking his head. - No, it cannot be that it was a bishop!

Reflecting on what he had just seen and not looking either to the right or to the left, the adviser entered the High Bridge Square. The bridge leading to the palace, however, was not in place, and in the dark the adviser could barely make out some kind of wide stream and a boat in which two guys were sitting.

Does the lord want to go to the island? they asked.

To the island? - said the adviser, who did not know that he was wandering in the Middle Ages. - I need to get to Christian's harbor, to Malaya Torgovaya Street!

The guys just looked at him.

Tell me at least where the bridge is! the adviser continued. - After all, this is a disgrace! Not a single lantern burns, and such mud, as if walking through a swamp.

But the more he talked to them, the less he understood them.

I don't understand your Bornholmism! He finally got angry and turned his back on them. But he never managed to find the bridge; There were also no railings on the canal.

After all, it's just a scandal! - he said.

Never before had our time seemed to him so miserable as at this moment!

“Really, it’s better to take a cab! he thought. “But where have all the cabbies gone?” At least one! I will return to the New Royal Square, there are probably carriages! Otherwise, I will never reach Christian Harbor!”

He returned to East Street again and was almost past it when a full moon floated over his head.

Good God! What is this awarded here? - he said, seeing in front of him the Eastern City Gate, which ended in those days, East Street.

Finally, he found a gate and went out to the present New Royal Square, which at that time was a large meadow. Bushes stuck out here and there, and some kind of stream or canal flowed in the middle; on the opposite shore one could see miserable wooden shacks in which huddled shops for Dutch skippers, which is why the place itself was called the Dutch Cape.

Either this is an optical illusion, fata morgana, or I'm drunk! groaned the adviser. - What is it? What is it?

He turned back again, fully convinced that he was ill; this time he kept closer to the houses and saw that most of them were built half of bricks, half of logs, and many thatched.

Not! I am positively unwell! he sighed. “But I only drank one glass of punch, but that’s a lot for me!” And what an absurdity - to treat people with punch and boiled salmon! I will definitely tell the agent about this! Should I go back to them and tell them what happened to me? No, it's awkward! And yes, they probably did!

He looked for a familiar house, but there was none.

What a horror it is! I don't recognize East Street! Not a single store! Everywhere there are some old, miserable shacks, as if I were in Roskilde or Ringsted! Ah, I'm sick! Nothing to be ashamed of here! I will return to them! But where did the agent's house go? Or does he not look like himself anymore?.. Ah, they don’t sleep here yet! Oh, I'm really, really sick!

It was in Copenhagen, on East Street, not far from the New Royal Square. A large company gathered in one house - sometimes you still have to receive guests; but, you look, and you yourself will someday wait for an invitation. The guests split into two large groups: one immediately sat down at the card tables, while the other formed a circle around the hostess, who suggested “thinking up something more interesting,” and the conversation flowed by itself. By the way, the discussion turned to the Middle Ages, and many found that in those days life was much better than now. Yes Yes! The councilor of justice, Knap, defended this opinion so zealously that the hostess immediately agreed with him, and the two of them attacked poor Oersted, who argued in his article in the Almanac that our era is in some ways higher than the Middle Ages. The adviser claimed that the times of King Hans were the best and happiest times in the history of mankind.

While this heated argument is going on, which was interrupted only for a moment, when the evening paper was brought (however, there was absolutely nothing to read in it), let's go into the hall, where the guests left their coats, sticks, umbrellas and galoshes. Two women have just entered, a young one and an old one. At first glance, they could be mistaken for maids accompanying some old ladies who came here to visit, but, looking more closely, you would notice that these women did not look like maids at all: their hands were too soft and tender. , the posture and movements are too stately, and the dress was distinguished by some especially bold cut. Of course, you already guessed that they were fairies. The younger one was, if not the Fairy of Happiness herself, then, most likely, the maid of one of her many maids of honor and was engaged in bringing people various small gifts of Happiness. The eldest seemed much more serious - she was a fairy of Sorrow and always managed her own affairs, not entrusting them to anyone: so at least she knew that everything would certainly be done properly.

Standing in the hall, they told each other about where they had been during the day. The chambermaid of the maid of honor of Happiness today fulfilled only a few unimportant assignments: she saved someone's new hat from the downpour, conveyed to one respectable person a bow from a high-ranking nonentity, and all in the same vein. But in return, she had something completely unusual.

I need to tell you,” she finished, “that today is my birthday, and in honor of this event, they gave me a pair of galoshes, so that I could take them to people. These galoshes have one remarkable property: they can instantly transfer the one who puts them on to any place or environment of any era - wherever he wishes - and he will thus immediately find happiness.

You think so? said the Fairy of Sorrow. - Know this: he will be the most unfortunate person on earth and will bless the moment when he finally gets rid of your galoshes.

Well, we'll see about that! - said the chambermaid of Happiness. For now, I'll put them at the door. Perhaps someone will put them on by mistake instead of their own and become happy.

Here is the conversation between them.

2. What happened to the Counselor of Justice

It was too late. Councilor of Justice Knap was going home, still thinking about the days of King Hans. And it had to happen that instead of his galoshes he put on galoshes of Happiness. As soon as he stepped out into the street in them, the magic power of the galoshes immediately transported him to the time of King Hans, and his feet immediately sank into impassable mud, because the streets were not paved under King Hans.

Well, dirt! Just what a horror! muttered the adviser. And besides, none of the lights are on.

The moon had not yet risen, there was a thick fog, and everything around was drowned in darkness. On the corner in front of the image of the Madonna hung a lamp, but it glimmered a little, so that the adviser noticed the picture only when he was level with it, and only then saw the Mother of God with the baby in her arms.

“Here, probably, there was an artist’s studio,” he decided, “and they forgot to remove the signboard.”

Just then, several people in medieval costumes walked past him. “Why are they so dressed up? thought the adviser. “They must be coming from the masquerade.”

But suddenly there was a drumbeat and a whistle of pipes, torches flashed, and an amazing sight presented itself to the eyes of the adviser! A strange procession was moving towards him along the street: drummers walked in front, skillfully beating out the shot with sticks, and guards with bows and crossbows walked behind them. Apparently, it was a retinue accompanying some important clergyman. The astonished adviser asked what kind of procession this was and who this dignitary was.

Bishop of Zeeland! - was heard in response.

Lord have mercy! What else happened to the bishop? Councilor Knap sighed, shaking his head sadly. - No, it's hardly a bishop.

Thinking about all these wonders and not looking around, the adviser slowly walked along East Street until he finally reached High Bridge Square. However, the bridge leading to the Palace Square was not in place - the poor adviser barely made out some kind of river in the pitch darkness and eventually noticed a boat in which two guys were sitting.

Would you like to be transported to the island? they asked.

To the island? - asked the adviser, not yet knowing that he now lives during the Middle Ages. - I need to get to Christian's harbor, to Malaya Torgovaya Street.

The boys rolled their eyes at him.

Can you tell me where the bridge is? the adviser continued. - Well, what a disgrace! The lanterns do not burn, and the mud is such that it seems as if you are wandering through a swamp!

But the more he talked to the carriers, the less he could make sense of anything.

I don't understand your Bornholm gibberish! He finally got angry and turned his back on them.

But he still did not find the bridge; the stone parapet of the embankment has disappeared too. “What is being done! That's a disgrace!" he thought. Yes, reality had never seemed to him so pathetic and vile as that evening. “No, it’s better to take a cab,” he decided. “But, my God, where did they all disappear to? Unfortunately, none! I’ll go back to the New Royal Square - there must be carriages there, otherwise I’ll never get to Christian Harbor!

He returned to East Street again, and had already walked most of it when the moon rose.

“God, what is this built here?” - the adviser was amazed when he saw the Eastern City Gate in front of him, which in those distant times stood at the end of East Street.

Finally, he found a gate and went out to the present New Royal Square, which in those days was just a large meadow. Bushes stuck out here and there in the meadow, and it was crossed either by a wide canal or by a river. On the opposite shore were the miserable shops of the Halland skippers, which is why the place was called the Halland Height.

My God! Or is it a mirage, a fata morgana, or am I…god…drunk? groaned the Counselor of Justice. - What is it? What is it?

And the adviser turned back again, thinking that he was ill. Walking along the street, he now looked more closely at the houses and noticed that they were all old-fashioned and many thatched.

Yes, of course, I fell ill, - he sighed, - and after all, I only drank a glass of punch, but that hurt me too. And you have to think of it - treat guests with punch and hot salmon! No, I'll definitely talk to the agent about it. Should I go back to them and tell them what misfortune happened to me? No, it's inconvenient. Yes, they probably went to bed a long time ago.

He began to look for the house of some of his acquaintances, but he, too, was not there.

No, it's just some kind of nonsense! I don't recognize East Street. Not a single store! All just old, miserable shacks - you might think that I ended up in Roskilde or Ringsted. Yes, my business is bad! Well, what's there to be shy, I'll go back to the agent! But damn it, how do I find his house? I don't recognize him anymore. Aha, it seems they are still awake here!... Ah, I am quite ill, quite ill.

He stumbled upon a half-open door through which light poured. It was one of those old taverns that looked like our pubs today. The common room resembled a Holstein tavern. Several regulars were sitting in it - the skipper, the Copenhagen burghers and some other people who looked like scientists. Drinking beer from mugs, they had some kind of heated argument and did not pay the slightest attention to the new visitor.

Excuse me, - said the adviser to the hostess who came up to him, - I suddenly felt sick. Will you get me a cab? I live in Christian Harbor.

The hostess looked at him and shook her head sadly, then said something in German. The adviser thought that she did not understand Danish well and repeated his request in German. The hostess had already noticed that the visitor was dressed in a strange way, and now, having heard the German speech, she was finally convinced that this was a foreigner. Deciding that he was not feeling well, she brought him a mug of brackish well water. The adviser leaned his head on his hand, took a deep breath and thought: where did he end up?

Is it an evening "Day"? - he asked to say something, seeing how the hostess removes a large sheet of paper.

She did not understand him, but nevertheless handed him a sheet: it was an old engraving depicting a strange glow of the sky, which was once observed in Cologne.

Antique painting! - said the adviser, seeing the engraving, and immediately perked up. - Where did you get this rarity? Very, very interesting, albeit a complete fiction. It was actually just the Northern Lights, as scientists now explain; and probably similar phenomena are caused by electricity.

Those who sat close and heard his words looked at him with respect; one man even got up, respectfully took off his hat, and said with a most serious air:

You are obviously a great scientist, monsieur?

Oh no, - the adviser answered, - I can just talk about this and that, like anyone else.

Modestial Modestial - modesty (lat.)- the most beautiful virtue, - said his interlocutor. - However, about the essence of your statement mihi secus videtur, Mihi secus videtur - I have a different opinion (lat.) though I will gladly refrain for the time being from expressing my own judicium. Judicium - judgment (lat.)

Dare I ask, with whom do I have the pleasure of conversing? the adviser asked.

I'm a bachelor of theology, he replied.

These words were explained to the adviser - the stranger was dressed in accordance with his academic rank. "He must be some old village teacher," he thought, "an out-of-this-world person, such as can be found in the remote corners of Jutland."

Here, of course, there is no locus docendi, Locus docendi - a place of learned conversations (lat.)- said the theologian, - but I still very much ask you to continue your speech. You are, of course, very well-read in ancient literature?

Oh yeah! You are right, I often read the ancient authors, that is, all their good works; but I am also very fond of the latest literature, only not Ordinary Stories; A hint at Ordinary Stories by the Danish writer Güllemburg they are enough in life.

Ordinary stories? - asked the theologian.

Yes, I'm talking about these new novels, of which there are so many now.

Oh, they are very witty and enjoy success at court, - the bachelor smiled. - The king especially loves the novels about Ifwent and Gaudian, which tell about King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, and even deigned to joke about this with his entourage. The famous Danish writer Holberg tells in his "History of the Danish State" that, after reading a novel about the Knights of the Round Table, King Hans once jokingly said to his close associate Otto Rud, whom he loved very much: "These gentlemen Ifvent and Gaudian, who are spoken of in this book were wonderful knights. You don't see them anymore." To which Otto Rud replied: "If such kings as King Arthur met now, then, probably, there would be many such knights as Ifvent and Gaudian." (Andersen's note.)

I haven't read those novels yet,” said the Counselor of Justice. - It must be Heiberg released something new?

No, what are you, not Heiberg, but Gottfred von Gemen, - answered the bachelor.

Yes, he is our first printer! - confirmed the theologian.

So so far everything has been going great. When one of the townspeople spoke of a plague that raged here several years ago, namely in 1484, the councilor thought that it was a recent cholera epidemic, and the conversation continued safely. And after that, it was impossible to remember the recently ended pirate war of 1490, when English privateers captured Danish ships in the roadstead. Here the adviser, remembering the events of 1801, willingly added his voice to the general attacks on the British. But then the conversation somehow ceased to stick and was increasingly interrupted by deathly silence.

The good bachelor was very ignorant: the simplest judgments of the adviser seemed to him something extraordinarily bold and fantastic. The interlocutors looked at each other with increasing bewilderment, and when at last they completely ceased to understand one another, the bachelor, trying to correct the matter, spoke in Latin, but this did not help much.

Well, how do you feel? - asked the hostess, pulling the adviser by the sleeve.

Then he came to his senses and looked in amazement at his interlocutors, because during the conversation he completely forgot what was happening to him.

"God, where am I?" he thought, and just thinking about it made his head spin.

Let's drink claret, mead and Bremen beer! one of the guests shouted. - And you are with us!

Two girls came in, one of them was wearing a two-color cap; In a two-color bonnet - under King Hans, in 1495, a decree was issued according to which women of easy virtue should wear bonnets of conspicuous colors they poured wine for the guests and squatted low. The adviser even had goosebumps running down his back.

What is it? What it is? he whispered, but he had to drink with everyone else. The drinking buddies were so upset with him that the poor adviser was completely confused, and when someone said that he must be drunk, he did not doubt it at all and only asked that a cab be hired for him. But everyone thought that he spoke Muscovite. Never in his life did the adviser fall into such a rude and uncouth company. “You might think,” he said to himself, “that we have returned to the times of paganism. No, this is the worst moment of my life!”

Then it occurred to him: what if he crawled under the table, crawled to the door and slipped away? But when he was almost at the goal, the revelers noticed where he was crawling and grabbed him by the legs. Fortunately, the galoshes fell off his feet, and with them the magic dissipated.

In the bright light of the lantern, the adviser clearly saw a large house standing directly in front of him. He recognized this house and all the neighbors, recognized East Street as well. He himself was lying on the pavement, resting his feet on someone's gate, and next to him sat a night watchman, fast asleep.

God! So I fell asleep right on the street, here you go! the adviser said. - Yes, here is East Street ... How light and beautiful! But who would have thought that one glass of punch would affect me so much!

Two minutes later, the adviser was already riding in a cab to Christian's harbor. All the way he remembered the horrors he had experienced and from the bottom of his heart blessed the happy reality and his age, which, despite all its vices and shortcomings, was still better than the one he had just happened to visit. And I must say that this time the counselor of justice thought quite reasonably.

3. Adventures of a watchman

Um, someone left their galoshes here! - said the watchman. - This is probably the lieutenant who lives upstairs. That's what, he left them at the very gates!

The honest watchman, of course, wanted to immediately call and give the galoshes to their rightful owner, especially since the lieutenant's light was still on, but he was afraid to wake the neighbors.

Well, it must be warm to walk in such galoshes! - said the watchman. And the skin is so soft!

The galoshes fit him just right.

And how strange the world is, he continued. - Take at least this lieutenant: he could now sleep peacefully in a warm bed - but no, he paces up and down the room all night. That's happiness! He has no wife, no children, no worries, no worries; travels around every evening. It would be nice for me to change places with him: then I would become the happiest person on earth!

He did not have time to think this, as by magical power the galosh instantly reincarnated into that officer who lived upstairs. Now he was standing in the middle of the room, holding in his hands a piece of pink paper with poems written by the lieutenant himself. And to whom sometimes poetic inspiration does not come! That's when the thoughts and poured into poetry. The following was written on the pink paper:

BE RICH

"Be rich, - I dreamed of a boy, -

I would definitely become an officer

I would wear a uniform, a saber and a plume!”

But it turned out that dreams are a mirage.

Years passed - I put on epaulettes,

But, unfortunately, poverty is my lot.

Cheerful boy, in the evening hour,

When, do you remember, I visited you,

I amused you with a children's fairy tale,

Which was all my capital.

You were surprised, dear child,

And kissed my lips jokingly.

If I were rich, I would still dream

About the one that was irretrievably lost ...

She is now beautiful and smart

But still my bag is poor,

And fairy tales will not replace capital,

Which the Almighty did not give me.

If I were rich, I would not know bitterness

And I didn’t pour out sorrow on paper,

But I put my soul into these lines

And dedicated them to the one he loved.

In my poems I put the ardor of love!

I am poor. God bless you!

Yes, lovers always write such poems, but prudent people still do not publish them. The rank of lieutenant, love and poverty - this is the ill-fated triangle, or rather, the triangular half of a dice thrown for good luck and split. So thought the lieutenant, putting his head on the windowsill and sighing heavily:

“The poor watchman is happier than me. He does not know my suffering. He has a home, and his wife and children share with him both joy and sorrow. Oh, how I would like to be in his place, because he is much happier than me!

And at the same moment the night watchman became a night watchman again: after all, he became an officer only thanks to galoshes, but, as we have seen, he did not become happier because of this and wanted to return to his former state. So the night watchman became the night watchman again.

“What a bad dream I had! - he said. - It's pretty funny though. I dreamed that I became the very lieutenant who lives upstairs with us - and how boring he lives! How I missed my wife and kids: someone who, and they are always ready to kiss me to death.

The night watchman sat where he had been, nodding in time to his thoughts. The dream did not get out of his head, and on his feet he still wore galoshes of happiness. A star rolled across the sky.

“Look how it rolled,” the watchman said to himself. - Well, nothing, there are still a lot of them left, - It would be nice to see all these heavenly things closer. Especially the moon: it's not like a star, it won't slip between your fingers. The student for whom my wife does laundry says that after death we will fly from one star to another. This, of course, is a lie, but still, how interesting it would be to travel that way! Oh, if only I could jump to the sky, and let the body lie here on the steps.

There are things that you generally need to talk about very carefully, especially if you have galoshes of happiness on your feet! Listen to what happened to the watchman.

You and I must have traveled by train or by steamboat, which went at full speed. But compared to the speed of light, their speed is like that of a sloth or a snail. Light travels nineteen million times faster than the best runner, but not faster than electricity. Death is an electric shock to the heart, and on the wings of electricity, the liberated soul flies out of the body. A sunbeam travels twenty million miles in just eight minutes and seconds, but the soul, even faster than light, covers the vast spaces separating the stars.

It is as easy for our soul to fly the distance between two heavenly bodies as it is for us to reach the neighboring house ourselves. But an electric shock to the heart can cost us our lives if we do not have on our feet such galoshes of happiness as the watchman had.

In a few seconds, the night watchman flew over the fifty-two thousand miles distance separating the earth from the moon, which, as you know, consists of a substance much lighter than our earth, and it is about as soft as freshly fallen powder.

The watchman found himself on one of those innumerable lunar ring mountains known to us from Dr. Madler's large lunar maps. You saw them too, didn't you? A crater formed in the mountain, the walls of which almost sheerly broke down for a whole Danish mile, and at the very bottom of the crater was a city. This city resembled an egg white released into a glass of water - its towers, domes and sail-like balconies seemed so transparent and light, weakly swaying in the rarefied air of the moon. And above the head of the watchman, a huge fiery-red ball floated majestically - our land.

There were many living creatures on the moon, which we would call people if they were not so different from us both in appearance and in language. It was hard to expect that the soul of the watchman understood this language - but she understood it perfectly.

Yes, yes, you can be as surprised as you want, but the soul of the watchman immediately learned the language of the inhabitants of the moon. Most often they argued about our land. They very, very doubted that there was life on earth, because the air there, they said, was too dense, and an intelligent lunar creature could not breathe it. They argued further that life is possible only on the moon - the only planet where life had already originated a long time ago.

But let's go back to East Street and see what happened to the watchman's body.

Lifeless, it still sat on the steps; a stick with a star on the end - we called it the "morning star" - fell out of his hands, and his eyes stared at the moon, through which the soul of the watchman was now traveling.

Hey watchman, what time is it? - asked some passerby; without waiting for an answer, he lightly tapped the watchman on the nose. The body lost its balance and stretched out to its full length on the pavement.

Deciding that the watchman had died, the passer-by was horrified, and the dead one remained dead. This was reported to the right place, and in the morning the body was taken to the hospital.

That would be a mess if the soul returned and, as one would expect, would begin to look for its body where it parted from it, that is, on East Street. When she discovered it was missing, she would most likely immediately rush to the police, to the address desk, from there to the tracing office to advertise the loss in the newspaper, and only as a last resort would go to the hospital. However, there is nothing to worry about the soul - when it acts on its own, everything goes fine, and only the body interferes with it and makes it do stupid things.

So, when the watchman was taken to the hospital and brought into the dead room, the first duty, of course, was to take off his galoshes, and the soul, willy-nilly, had to interrupt its journey and return to the body. She immediately found him, and the watchman immediately came to life. Then he assured that it was the most crazy night in his life. He would not agree to relive all these horrors even for two marks. However, now all this is over.

The watchman was discharged on the same day, and the galoshes remained in the hospital.

4. "Puzzle". Declamation. An absolutely extraordinary journey

Every resident of Copenhagen has seen the main entrance to the city's Frederiksberg hospital many times, but since this story will probably not only be read by Copenhageners, we will have to give some clarification.

The fact is that the hospital is separated from the street by a rather high grating of thick iron bars. These bars are so sparsely spaced that many trainees, if they are thin, manage to squeeze between them when they want to get out into the city at an odd hour. It is most difficult for them to stick their heads in, so in this case, as, however, it often happens in life, the big-headed ones had the hardest time ... Well, enough about that for an introduction.

That evening, a young doctor was on duty at the hospital, about whom, although one could say that “he has a big head,” but ... only in the truest sense of the word. It was pouring rain; however, despite the bad weather and the duty, the doctor still decided to run to the city on some urgent business - at least for a quarter of an hour. "There is no need," he thought, "to mess with the gatekeeper if you can easily climb through the bars." The vestibule was still littered with galoshes, forgotten by the watchman. In such a downpour, they were very handy, and the doctor put them on, not realizing that these were galoshes of happiness. Now all that was left was to squeeze between the iron bars, which he had never had to do before.

Lord, if only I could stick my head in, - he said.

And at the same moment his head, although very large, safely slipped between the bars - not without the help of galoshes, of course.

Now it was up to the body, but he couldn't get through.

Wow, how fat I am! - said the student. - And I thought it would be the hardest thing to stick my head in. No, don't let me through!

He wanted to immediately pull his head back, but there it was: it was stuck hopelessly, he could only twist it as much as he liked and to no avail. At first the doctor was simply angry, but soon his mood soured completely; galoshes put him in a really terrible position.

Unfortunately, he did not guess at all that he should wish to be free, and no matter how he turned his head, she did not crawl back. The rain kept pouring and pouring, and there was not a soul on the street. There was still no way to reach the janitor's bell, and he himself could not free himself. He thought that, what good, he would have to stand like that until the morning: after all, only in the morning it would be possible to send for a blacksmith to saw through the grate. And it is unlikely that it will be possible to cut it quickly, and the schoolchildren, all the surrounding residents will come running to the noise - yes, yes, they will come running and stare at the doctor, who crouched like a criminal at the pillory; to stare, as last year at a huge agave when it blossomed.

Oh, the blood is rushing to the head. No, I'm going crazy! Yes, yes, I'm going crazy! Oh, if only I could be free!

For a long time the doctor should have said this: at that very moment his head was freed, and he rushed headlong back, completely mad from the fear into which the goloshes of happiness plunged him.

But if you think that this is the end of the matter, then you are deeply mistaken. No, the worst is yet to come.

The night passed, the next day came, and still no one came for galoshes.

In the evening, a performance was given in a small theater located on Kannike Street. The auditorium was full. Among other artists, one reader recited a poem called "Grandma's Glasses":

My grandmother had such a gift,

That they would have burned her alive before.

After all, she knows everything and even more:

The future to know - it was in her will,

I penetrated the forties with my eyes,

But the request to tell always ended in an argument.

"Tell me, I say, the coming year,

What events will bring us?

And what will happen in art, in the state?”

But the grandmother, skilled in deceit,

Silently stubbornly, and in response not a word.

And sometimes ready to scold me.

But how can she resist, where can she get strength?

After all, I was her favorite.

"In your opinion, let it be this time, -

Grandma said to me right away

She gave me her glasses. - Go there.

Where people always gather

Put on your glasses, come closer

And look at the crowd of people.

People will suddenly turn to a deck of cards.

From the cards you will understand what was and what will be.

After saying thank you, I left quickly.

But where is the crowd? On the square, no doubt.

On the square? But I don't like cold.

On the street? There is mud and puddles everywhere.

Isn't it in the theatre? Well, great idea!

That's where I'll meet the whole horde.

And finally I'm here! I just need to get glasses

And I will become an oracle to match.

And you sit quietly in your seats:

After all, you need to seem like cards,

To see the future clearly.

Your silence is a sign that you agree.

Now I will ask fate, and not in vain,

For our own benefit and for the people.

So, what will the deck of living cards say.

(Puts on glasses.)

What do I see! Well, fun!

You really would burst with laughter,

When they would see all the aces of diamonds,

And gentle ladies, and harsh kings!

All spades, clubs here are blacker than bad dreams.

Let's take a look at them properly.

That lady of spades is known for her knowledge of the world -

And suddenly fell in love with the jack of diamonds.

What do these cards tell us?

They promise a lot of money for the house

And a guest from far away

And yet, we hardly need guests.

Would you like to start a conversation?

From estates? Better shut up!

And I will give you one good advice:

You do not take bread from the newspapers.

Or about theaters? Backstage friction?

Oh no! I do not spoil relations with the management.

About my future? But it is known:

Bad to know is not interesting at all.

I know everything - what's the use in that:

You will know when the time is right!

I'm sorry, what? Who is the happiest among you?

Aha! I'll find a happy one now...

It can be easily distinguished

Yes, the rest would have to upset!

Who will live longer? Ah, is he? Wonderful!

But talking about this story is dangerous.

To tell? To tell? Say or no?

No, I won't - that's my answer!

I'm afraid that I can offend you,

I'd rather read your thoughts now,

Recognizing all the power of magic at once.

Would you like to know? I will tell myself in reproach:

Do you think that I, since when,

I'm talking nonsense in front of you.

Then I am silent, you are right, without a doubt,

Now I want to hear your opinion myself.

The reader recited excellently, applause thundered in the hall.

Among the public was our unfortunate physician. He seemed to have already forgotten his misfortunes experienced last night. Going to the theater, he again put on galoshes - no one has claimed them yet, and there was slush on the street, so they could do him good service. And they served!

The poems made a great impression on our physician. He really liked their idea, and he thought it would be nice to get such glasses. With a little sharpening, one could learn to read in the hearts of people, and this is much more interesting than looking into the next year, because it will come sooner or later anyway, but you can’t look into a person’s soul otherwise.

“If we were to take, say, the spectators of the first row,” thought the physician, “and see what is going on in their hearts, there must be some kind of entrance leading there, sort of like a store. Whatever I saw there, I suppose! This lady probably has a whole haberdashery store in her heart. And this one is already empty, only it would be necessary to properly wash and clean it. There are also reputable shops among them. Ah, - the doctor sighed, - I know one such store, but, alas, the clerk has already been found for him, and this is his only drawback. And of the many others, they would probably call out: “Come, please, to us, you are welcome!” Yes, I would like to go there in the form of a tiny thought, to walk through the hearts!

No sooner said than done! Just wish - that's all the galoshes of happiness need. The medic suddenly somehow cringed all over, became very tiny and began his extraordinary journey through the hearts of the front row spectators.

The first heart he hit belonged to a lady, but the poor medical man at first thought he was in an orthopedic institute, where doctors treat patients by removing various tumors and correcting deformities. Numerous plaster casts of these ugly parts of the body were hung in the room where our physician entered. The only difference is that in a real institute, casts are taken as soon as the patient enters there, but in this heart they were made when a healthy person was discharged from it.

Among others, in the heart of this lady were kept casts taken from the physical and moral deformities of all her friends.

Since it was not supposed to linger too much, the physician quickly migrated to another woman's heart - and this time it seemed to him that he had entered a vast, bright temple. A white dove hovered over the altar - the personification of innocence. The medic wanted to kneel, but he had to hurry on, to the next heart, and only the music of the organ sounded in his ears for a long time. He even felt that he had become better and cleaner than he had been before, and now he was worthy to enter the next sanctuary, which turned out to be a miserable closet where his sick mother lay. But the warm rays of the sun poured through the open windows, the wonderful roses that had blossomed in a box under the window shook their heads, nodding to the sick man, two sky-blue birds sang a song about children's joys, and the sick mother asked happiness for her daughter.

Then our medic crawled on all fours into the butcher shop; it was littered with meat, and wherever he poked his head, he ran into carcasses everywhere. It was the heart of a rich, respected man - his name, probably, can be found in the guide to the city.

From there, the physician migrated to the heart of his wife. It was an old, dilapidated dovecote. A portrait of her husband was hoisted over her instead of a weather vane; the front door was attached to it, which either opened or closed - depending on where the spouse turned.

Then the doctor got into a room with mirrored walls, the same as in Rosenborg Palace, but the mirrors here were magnifying, they magnified everything many times over. In the middle of the room, the small "I" of the owner of the heart sat on a throne and admired his own greatness.

From there, the doctor moved to another heart, and it seemed to him that he had fallen into a narrow needle case stuffed with sharp needles. He quickly decided that this was the heart of some old maid, but he was mistaken: it belonged to a young military man awarded many orders, about whom they said that he was "a man with a heart and mind."

Finally, the poor physician got out of the last heart and, completely stunned, could not collect his thoughts for a long time. He blamed everything on his own fantasy.

“God knows what it is! he sighed. - No, I'm definitely going crazy. And what a wild heat here! The blood rushes to the head. - Then he remembered his misadventures yesterday at the hospital fence. - That's when I got sick! he thought. - It is necessary to take up treatment in time. They say that in such cases, the Russian bath is the most useful. Ah, if only I were already on the shelf.

And he really found himself in the bathhouse on the topmost shelf, but he was lying there completely dressed, in boots and galoshes, and hot water was dripping from the ceiling onto his face.

Ouch! - the doctor shouted and ran to take a shower as soon as possible.

The attendant also screamed: he was frightened when he saw a dressed man in the bathhouse.

Our doctor, not at a loss, whispered to him:

Don't be afraid, it's me on the bet - but when I got home, the first thing I did was put one big patch of Spanish flies around my neck, and another on my back, to get the nonsense out of my head.

The next morning, his whole back was swollen with blood - that's all the galoshes of happiness have done him good.

5. Police Scribe Transformations

Our familiar watchman, meanwhile, remembered the galoshes that he found on the street, and then left in the hospital, and took them from there. But neither the lieutenant nor the neighbors recognized these galoshes as their own, and the watchman took them to the police.

Yes, they are like two drops of water similar to mine! - said one of the police clerks, placing the find next to his galoshes and carefully examining it. - Here even the experienced eye of a shoemaker would not have distinguished one pair from another.

Mr. clerk, - the policeman turned to him, who entered with some papers.

The clerk talked to him, and when he again looked at both pairs of galoshes, he himself no longer understood which of them was his pair - whether the one on the right, or the one on the left.

“Mine must be these, wet ones,” he thought, and he was mistaken: they were just galoshes of happiness. Well, the police sometimes make mistakes too.

The clerk put on galoshes and, putting some papers in his pocket and others under his arm (he had to re-read and copy something at home), went out into the street. It was a Sunday afternoon, and the weather was fine, and the police clerk thought it would be a good idea to take a walk around Fredericksburg.

The young man was distinguished by rare diligence and perseverance, so we wish him a pleasant walk after many hours of work in a stuffy office.

At first he walked without thinking about anything, and therefore the galoshes did not have an opportunity to show their miraculous power.

But then he met his acquaintance, a young poet, in one alley, and he said that tomorrow he was going to travel for the whole summer.

Oh, here you are leaving again, and we are staying, - said the clerk. - Happy people, fly yourself where you want and where you want, but we have chains on our feet.

Yes, but you are chained to the breadfruit tree with them, the poet objected. - You do not need to worry about tomorrow, and when you grow old, you will receive a pension.

So something like that, but you still live much more freely, ”said the clerk. - Write poetry - what could be better! The public carries you in their arms, and you are your own masters. But if you tried to sit in court, as we sit, and tinker with these most boring cases!

The poet shook his head, the clerk also shook his head, and they went their separate ways, each having his own opinion.

“These poets are amazing people,” thought the young official. - I would like to get to know people like him better and become a poet myself. If I were in their place, I would not whimper in my poems. Oh, what a wonderful spring day today, how much beauty, freshness, poetry in it! What unusually clear air! What amazing clouds! And the grass and leaves are so sweetly fragrant! I haven't felt this as strongly as I do now in a long time."

You have noticed, of course, that he has already become a poet. But outwardly he has not changed at all - it is absurd to think that the poet is not the same person as everyone else. Among the common people there are often natures much more poetic than many famous poets. Only poets have a much better developed memory, and all ideas, images, impressions are stored in it until they find their poetic expression on paper. When a simple person becomes a poetically gifted nature, a kind of transformation takes place - and such a transformation happened to the clerk.

“What a delightful fragrance! he thought. “It reminds me of Aunt Lona's violets. Yes, I was still very young then. Oh my God, how did I never think of her before! Good old aunt! She lived right behind the Stock Exchange. Always, even in the most severe cold, some twigs or sprouts grew green on her windows in jars, violets filled the room with fragrance; and I applied heated coppers to icy glass so that I could look at the street. What a view from those windows! Ships frozen into the ice stood on the canal, huge flocks of crows made up their entire crew. But with the onset of spring, the ships were transformed. With songs and shouts of "Hurrah" the sailors chipped the ice; the ships were pitched, equipped with everything necessary, and they finally sailed away to overseas countries. They are sailing away, but I am staying here; and so it will always be; I will always sit in the police office and watch how others receive foreign passports. Yes, that is my lot!” - and he took a deep, deep breath, but then he suddenly came to his senses: “What is this happening to me today? Nothing like this had ever crossed my mind before. It's true, it's the spring air that affects me so much. And the heart shrinks from some kind of sweet excitement.

He reached into his pocket for his papers. “I'll take them on, I'll think of something else,” he decided, and ran his eyes over the first sheet of paper that came across. "Fru Siegbrit, an original tragedy in five acts," he read. "What? Strange, my handwriting! Did I write the tragedy? What else is this? “Intrigue on the rampart, or the Great Holiday; vaudeville". But where do I get all this from? Probably someone slipped it. Yes, there is a letter...

The letter was sent by the directorate of one theatre; she not very politely informed the author that both of his plays were no good.

Hm, - said the clerk, sitting down on the bench.

A lot of thoughts suddenly flooded into his head, and his heart was filled with inexplicable tenderness ... for what - he himself did not know. Mechanically, he picked a flower and admired it. It was a simple little daisy, but she told him more about herself in one minute than one can learn from a few lectures on botany. She told him a legend about her birth, told him about how powerful the sunlight is, because it was thanks to him that her delicate petals blossomed and began to smell fragrant. And the poet at that time was thinking about the harsh struggle of life, awakening in a person forces and feelings still unknown to him. Air and light are beloved daisies, but light is her main patron, she reveres him; and when he leaves in the evening, she falls asleep in the arms of the air.

The light gave me beauty! said the daisy.

And the air gives you life! the poet whispered to her.

A little boy stood nearby and slammed a stick on the water in a dirty groove - the spray scattered in different directions, and the clerk suddenly thought about those millions of living, invisible to the naked eye creatures that take off together with water drops to a huge, compared to their own size, height, - as if we, for example, found ourselves above the clouds. Thinking about this, and also about his transformation, our clerk smiled: “I just sleep and dream. But what an amazing dream it is! It turns out that you can daydream, realizing that you are only dreaming. It would be nice to remember all this tomorrow morning when I wake up. What a strange state! Now I see everything so clearly, so clearly, I feel so cheerful and strong - and at the same time I know well that if I try to remember anything in the morning, only nonsense will come into my head. How many times has this happened to me! All these wonderful things are like the gold of the dwarves: at night, when you receive them, they look like precious stones, and during the day they turn into a heap of rubble and withered leaves.

The clerk, who was completely upset, sighed sadly, looking at the birds, who merrily sang their songs, fluttering from branch to branch.

“And they are better off than me. To be able to fly - what a wonderful ability! Happy is he who is endowed with it. If only I could turn into a bird, I would become such a little lark!”

And at the same moment the sleeves and tails of his coat turned into wings and overgrown with feathers, and claws appeared instead of galoshes. He immediately noticed all these transformations and smiled. “Well, now I see that this is a dream. But I have never had such stupid dreams, ”he thought, flew up to a green branch and sang.

However, there was no longer poetry in his singing, since he ceased to be a poet: galoshes, like everyone who wants to achieve something, did only one thing at a time. The clerk wanted to become a poet - he became, he wanted to turn into a bird - he turned, but then he lost his former properties.

“Funny, nothing to say! he thought. - During the day I sit in the police office, doing the most important things, and at night I dream that I am a lark flying through Frederiksberg Park. Yes, damn it, you can write a whole folk comedy!

And he flew down to the grass, turned his head around, and began merrily pecking at the flexible blades of grass, which now seemed to him like huge African palm trees.

All of a sudden it became as dark as night around him; he felt as if some giant blanket had been thrown over him! In fact, it was a boy from the settlement who covered him with his hat. The boy reached under his cap and grabbed the clerk by the back and wings; he at first squealed in fear, then suddenly became indignant:

Oh, you wretched puppy! How dare you! I'm a police clerk!

But the boy heard only a plaintive "pee, pee." He clicked the bird on its beak and went with it further up the hill.

On the way he met two schoolchildren; both of them were in the upper class - in terms of their position in society, and in the lower - in terms of mental development and success in the sciences. They bought a lark for eight skillings. Thus, the police clerk returned to the city and ended up in an apartment on Gotha Street.

Damn it, it's good that this is a dream, - said the clerk, - otherwise I would be very angry! First I became a poet, then a lark. And after all, it was my poetic nature that inspired me with the desire to turn into such a baby. However, this is a sad life, especially when you fall into the clutches of such tomboys. I would like to know how it all ends?

The boys carried him into a beautifully furnished room, where they were greeted by a fat, smiling woman. She was not at all pleased with the "simple bird of the field", as she called the lark, nevertheless she allowed the boys to leave him and put him in a cage on the windowsill.

Perhaps he will entertain the ass a little! - she added, and with a smile looked at the big green parrot, which was swaying importantly on the ring in a luxurious metal cage. - Today is the birthday of the popochki, - she said, smiling stupidly, - and the field bird wants to congratulate him.

The parrot, without answering this, swayed back and forth just as importantly. At this time, a beautiful canary sang loudly, which was brought here last summer from a warm and fragrant native country.

Hey, screamer! - said the hostess and threw a white handkerchief over the cage.

Pee-pee! What a terrible blizzard! the canary sighed and fell silent. The clerk, whom the mistress called "the bird of the field," was put in a small cage, next to the cage of the canary and next to the parrot. The parrot could clearly pronounce only one phrase, which often sounded very comical: “No, we will be people!”, And everything else turned out to be as unintelligible as the chirping of a canary. However, the clerk, having turned into a bird, perfectly understood his new acquaintances.

I fluttered over the green palm tree and the flowering almond tree, - the canary sang, - together with my brothers and sisters, I flew over the wonderful flowers and the mirror surface of the lakes, and the reflections of coastal plants nodded affably to us. I saw flocks of beautiful parrots that told many wonderful stories.

These are wild birds, - the parrot answered, - they have not received any education. No, let's be human! Why aren't you laughing, stupid bird? If both the hostess and her guests laugh at this joke, why shouldn't you laugh too? Not appreciating good witticisms is a very great vice, I must tell you. No, let's be human!

Do you remember the beautiful girls that danced under the shade of flowering trees? Do you remember sweet fruits and cool juice of wild plants?

Of course, I remember, - answered the parrot, - but here I am much better! I am well fed and pampered in every possible way. I know I'm smart and I've had enough. No, let's be human! You have, as they say, a poetic nature, and I am knowledgeable in the sciences and witty. You have this same genius, but lacks judgment. You aim too high, that's why people push you. They won't do that to me because I cost them dearly. I inspire respect with just my beak, and with my chatter I can put anyone in their place. No, let's be human!

Oh my warm, flowering homeland, - the canary sang, - I will sing about your dark green trees, whose branches kiss the clear waters of quiet bays, about the bright joy of my brothers and sisters, about the evergreen keepers of moisture in the desert - cacti.

Stop whining! - said the parrot. - Say something funny. Laughter is a sign of the highest degree of spiritual development. Can a dog or a horse, for example, laugh? No, they can only cry, and only a person is gifted with the ability to laugh. Ha ha ha! - the ass burst out laughing and finally struck the interlocutors with his “no, we will be people!”

And you, little gray Danish bird, - said the canary to the lark, - you also became a prisoner. It may be cold in your forests, but you are free in them. Fly away from here! Look, they forgot to lock your cage! The window is open, fly - hurry, hurry!

The clerk did so, flew out of the cage and sat down beside it. At that moment, the door to the next room opened, and a cat appeared on the threshold, flexible, terrible, with green burning eyes. The cat was already quite ready to jump, but the canary darted about in the cage, and the parrot flapped its wings and shouted: “No, let's be people!” The clerk went cold with horror and, flying out the window, flew over the houses and streets. He flew, flew, finally got tired - and then he saw a house that seemed familiar to him. One window in the house was open. The clerk flew into the room and sat down on the table. To his amazement, he saw that it was his own room.

"No, let's be human!" - mechanically he repeated the parrot's favorite phrase, and at the same moment he again became a police clerk, only for some reason he sat down on the table.

Lord have mercy, - said the clerk, - how did I get on the table, and even fell asleep? And what a wild dream I had. What nonsense!

6. The best thing that galoshes did

The next day, early in the morning, while the clerk was still in bed, there was a knock on the door, and his neighbor, who rented a room on the same floor, a young student of theology, entered.

Lend me your galoshes, please,” he said. - Although it is damp in the garden, the sun is shining brightly. I want to go there and smoke a pipe.

He put on galoshes and went out into the garden, in which only two trees grew - a plum and a pear; however, even such sparse vegetation in Copenhagen is a rarity.

The student paced up and down the path. The time was early, only six in the morning. Outside, the stagecoach horn blew.

Oh, travel, travel! - burst out of him. - What could be better! This is the limit of all my dreams. If they were realized, then I would probably calm down and stop rushing about. How I want to go far away from here, see magical Switzerland, travel around Italy!

It’s good that the galoshes of happiness fulfilled wishes immediately, otherwise the student, perhaps, would have climbed too far both for himself and for you and me. At the same moment, he was already traveling through Switzerland, hidden in a post coach along with eight other passengers. His head was cracking, his neck was aching, his legs were numb and aching, because his boots stung mercilessly. He did not sleep and was not awake, but was in a state of some painful stupor. He had a letter of credit in his right pocket, a passport in his left, and several gold coins sewn into a leather pouch on his chest. As soon as our traveler pecked his nose, he immediately began to imagine that he had already lost some of his treasures, and then he was trembling, and his hand convulsively described a triangle - from right to left and on his chest - to check whether everything whole. Umbrellas, sticks, hats dangled in the net over the heads of the passengers, and all this prevented the student from enjoying the beautiful mountain scenery. But he kept looking and looking and could not get enough of it, and in his heart there sounded the lines of a poem that was written, although he did not publish it, by a Swiss poet known to us:

Great edge! In front of me

Mont Blanc is white in the distance.

Here would be, right, an earthly paradise,

Have more money in your wallet.

Nature here was gloomy, severe and majestic. The coniferous forests that covered the sky-high mountain peaks looked from a distance just thickets of heather. It snowed, a sharp, cold wind blew.

Wow! the student sighed. - If only we were on the other side of the Alps! It was now summer there, and I would finally have received my money by letter of credit. I am so afraid for them that all these alpine beauties have ceased to captivate me. Ah, if I were already there!

And he immediately found himself in the very heart of Italy, somewhere on the road between Florence and Rome. The last rays of the sun illuminated Lake Trasimene lying between two dark blue hills, turning its waters into molten gold. Where once Hannibal smashed the Flaminius, now the vines peacefully wrapped themselves around each other with their green lashes. Near the road, under the shade of fragrant laurels, lovely half-naked children were tending a herd of pitch-black pigs. Yes, if you describe this picture properly, everyone would only repeat: “Ah, delicious Italy!” But, oddly enough, neither the theologian nor his companions thought this. Thousands of poisonous flies and mosquitoes hovered in clouds in the air; in vain did the travelers fan themselves with myrtle branches, the insects still bit and stung them. There was not a person in the carriage whose whole face would not swell, bitten into blood. The horses looked even more miserable: the poor animals were completely covered with huge swarms of insects, so that the driver from time to time got down from the goat and drove away their tormentors from the horses, but after a moment new hordes swooped in. Soon the sun went down, and the travelers were seized by a piercing cold - though not for long, but still it was not very pleasant. But the tops of the mountains and the clouds were painted in indescribably beautiful green tones, shimmering with the brilliance of the last rays of the sun. This play of colors defies description, it must be seen. The spectacle is amazing, everyone agreed with this, but everyone's stomach was empty, the body was tired, the soul longed for shelter for the night, but where to find it? Now all these questions occupied travelers much more than the beauty of nature.

The road passed through an olive grove, and it seemed that you were going somewhere in your homeland, between native knotted willows. Soon the carriage drove up to a lonely hotel. Many crippled beggars sat at its gates, and the most cheerful of them seemed to be "the eldest son of hunger that had reached maturity." Some cripples are blind; others had dry feet - these crawled on their hands; still others had no fingers on their mutilated hands. It seemed that poverty itself was drawn to the travelers from this heap of rags and tatters. "Eccelenza, miserabili!" Eccelenza, miserabili! - sir, help the unfortunate! (Italian) they wheezed, showing their ugly limbs. The travelers were met by the hostess of the hotel, barefoot, unkempt, in a dirty jacket. The doors in the rooms were held on with ropes, bats fluttered under the ceiling, the brick floor was full of potholes, and the stench was such that even hang an ax ...

Better let her set the table for us in the stable, - said one of the travelers. “At least you know how you breathe.

They opened the window to let in fresh air, but then withered hands reached into the room and the eternal howl was heard: “Eccelenza, miserabili!”

The walls of the room were completely covered with writing, and half of the inscriptions scolded "beautiful Italy" abusively.

Dinner was brought: a watery soup with pepper and rancid olive oil, then a salad seasoned with the same oil, and finally stale eggs and fried rooster combs - as a decoration of the feast; even the wine did not seem to be wine, but some sort of mixture.

At night, the door was barricaded with suitcases, and one traveler was assigned to stand watch while the rest fell asleep. The sentinel was a theology student. Well, stuffiness was in the room! The heat is unbearable, mosquitoes - and then there are the "miserabili", which moaned in a dream, making it difficult to fall asleep.

Yes, traveling, of course, would not be bad, - the student sighed, - if we didn’t have a body. Let it lie to itself and rest, and the spirit would fly wherever it pleases. And then, wherever I go, everywhere longing gnaws at my heart. I would like something more than the instant joy of being. Yes, yes, more, the highest! But where is it? In what? What it is? No, I know what I'm striving for, what I want. I want to come to the final and happiest goal of earthly existence, the happiest of all!

And as soon as he uttered the last words, he found himself at home. Long white curtains hung on the windows, in the middle of the room on the floor stood a black coffin, and in it the theologian slept in the sleep of death. His wish was fulfilled: his body rested, and his soul wandered. "No one can be called happy before he dies," said Solon; and now his words have been confirmed again.

Every dead person is a sphinx, an unsolvable riddle. And this "sphinx" in a black coffin could no longer answer us the question that he asked himself two days before his death.

O evil death! You sow fear everywhere

Your trail is only graves and prayers.

So what, and the thought is thrown into the dust?

Am I a worthless prey of decay?

What a groaning chorus for the world of vanity!

You've been lonely all your life

And your lot was heavier than the slab,

What someone put on your grave.

Two women appeared in the room. We know them: it was the fairy of Sorrow and the messenger of Happiness, and they bent over the dead.

Well, - asked Sorrow, - did your galoshes bring much happiness to mankind?

Well, to the one who lies here, they at least gave eternal bliss! - answered the Fairy of Happiness.

Oh no, said Sorrow. He left the world ahead of his time. He is not yet strong enough spiritually to master those treasures that he was supposed to master by his very destiny. Well, I'll do him a favor! - And she pulled off the galoshes from the student.

The sleep of death is broken. The dead man has risen and stood up. The Fairy of Sorrow has disappeared, and with it the galoshes. She must have decided that they should be hers now.

Andersen's fairy tale "Galoshes of happiness" is one of the author's most ironic works. In it, he discusses what will happen if any careless desire of a person immediately begins to come true. In a playful manner, the writer describes the fantastic events that can happen to people if they put on galoshes of happiness. A summary of this funny tale will be presented in this article.

How did it all start?

So, the work takes us to Copenhagen, to East Street, which is located next to the Royal Square. In one house, a lot of guests gathered who had fun. Some of them sat down to play cards, some occupied their leisure time with an interesting conversation. Its meaning boiled down to the fact that life was much better than at the present time. The Counselor of Justice Knap was especially insistent on this. He was so eloquent that the mistress of the house immediately agreed with him. A certain Esterd, who published an article in the Almanac stating that the modern era was nevertheless subjected to ruthless criticism. During the heated argument, the interlocutors did not notice the appearance of two ladies in the hall. This is how the fairy tale "Galoshi of Happiness" begins, a summary of which is given in this article.

Two fairies

So, in the hall, where there were galoshes, hats and umbrellas of the guests, two unknown women appeared. They looked modest, but their manners, appearance and unusual cut of clothes betrayed in them not mere mortals. So it was. One of the ladies - the old one - was a fairy of Sorrow and preferred to do everything on her own, because she did not trust others. Another - young - was an assistant to the Fairy of Happiness and was distinguished by fun and cheerfulness. It was her birthday today, and she decided to give people something special in honor of this holiday. The girl brought with her galoshes of happiness, which could transfer the person who put them on to any era that he wished, and thereby make him happy. The Fairy of Sorrow suggested that such an unusual gift would rather make a mortal the most miserable on earth. The ladies are gone. Only the galoshes of happiness left in the hallway reminded of their arrival. The summary of the tale further tells about the fate of the adviser Knap, who put on the magic shoes.

As we already know, the adviser really wanted to get into the Middle Ages. Therefore, leaving the hospitable house in galoshes, he was immediately transported to the era of King Hans. Knap's feet immediately sank into the impassable mud, since the streets were not paved in those days. The amazed adviser saw people in medieval costumes and heard an unfamiliar speech. He met an unusual procession, consisting of drummers walking in front and guards following them with crossbows and bows, and learned that this was the escort of the Bishop of Zeeland. Thinking about why the clergyman should start such a masquerade, the adviser reached the High Cape Square, but could not find the bridge leading to the same place. Two guys suggested that the adviser cross to the other side by boat. The man refused. Reality seemed to him more and more disgusting: dirt, the absence of lamps and stone porches made his existence unbearable. He was about to return to the New Royal Square to look for a cab, but found a spacious meadow in this place, crossed by an unknown channel. Then Knap headed for East Street. Under the light of the moon, he managed to make out ancient buildings covered with straw. In the end, the poor adviser had to go into the house, where the light was still on, and find himself in the strangest company of his life. Knap found himself in a tavern filled with people who listened in amazement to his every word. The adviser decided to slip away from his interlocutors, hid under the table and slowly began to crawl towards the exit, but he was caught by the legs. Fortunately, galoshes of happiness immediately fell from Knap. The summary of the work takes us after the new owner of the ill-fated shoes. And Knap was back in his era. And until the end of his days he thanked fate for not living in the Middle Ages.

Night Watchman's Wish

This man found galoshes of happiness on the street. He decided that the shoes belonged to the brave lieutenant who lives upstairs. Since the time was late, the watchman decided to return them in the morning, but for now he tried on the galoshes himself. They suited him. The watchman thought about how freely a military man lives. The lieutenant is not disturbed by worries, he has no wife and children. He visits every day. The man decided that he would change places with the military. The wise Andersen laughed at this naive dream in his fairy tale. Galoshes of happiness immediately made the night watchman a lieutenant.

Lieutenant's worries

In the guise of a military man, the watchman found himself standing in front of the window and reading love poems written on pink paper, composed by the lieutenant himself. In them, a man tells about his bitter fate. Being a poor man, he could not marry the one he idolized. All his capital was made up of beautiful fairy tales that he told his beloved. But the lieutenant's eloquence could not win the girl's heart. The unfortunate lover looked longingly at the street, cursed fate and envied the night guard, who did not know his worries. Thinking that a man with a close-knit family is much happier than him, the officer sincerely wanted to become a watchman. Of course, his wish immediately came true, because on the feet of the military man were galoshes of happiness. A short stay in the shoes of a lieutenant set the man in a different way. He finally realized how lucky he was. But now he was overcome by other dreams.

Flight to the stars

The night watchman stared up at the night sky dotted with bright stars. It seemed to him that being among the stars and the moon would make him happy. The man was daydreaming, the star-shaped stick fell out of his hands and he began to nod off. A passer-by asked the watchman what time it was, and saw how the body of a daydreaming man was stretched to its full length on the sidewalk. Everyone thought the guard was dead. His lifeless body was taken to the hospital. And then the crafty Andersen took pity on his hero. Galoshes of happiness were removed from the watchman in the first place, and he instantly came to life. The man recalled with horror the last few hours of his life and assured that even for two marks he could not endure such nightmares again. The watchman was discharged the same day, but the magic galoshes remained in the hospital.

The Medic's Adventure at the Hospital Bar

The fairy tale "Galoshes of happiness", a summary of which is offered in this article, leads us to the territory of the main city hospital in Copenhagen. In the times described by Andersen, it was separated from the street by a fence made of iron rods. Skinny trainees squeezed through them when they tried to break out into the city at an odd hour. Squeezing the head through the bars was the most difficult, so the big-headed medics had a hard time. The hero of the story, which will be described below, had a big head in the truest sense of the word. This young doctor was about to run into the city for a quarter of an hour on urgent business. In order not to disturb the gatekeeper, he decided to make his way through the bars. Seeing in the vestibule the galoshes forgotten by the watchman, the young man considered that in such damp weather they would come in handy and put them on. Once in front of the bars, the medic became agitated. He had never had to climb through it before. The guy thought only about how to stick his big head through the bars. As soon as he mentally wanted this, his head immediately found itself on the other side of the fence. Galoshes of happiness fulfilled the desire of the young man. However, the guy's torso was too fat to follow his head. The doctor was in a terrible position. Stuck inside the fence, he only dreamed of getting out of his trap. Afraid that he would have to stand like this until morning and wait for a crowd of mocking onlookers to gather around him, the guy wished with all his heart to get out of the damned lattice. Of course, his wish came true immediately.

The adventures of a physician in the bath

But the misadventures of the physician did not end there. Feeling ill, he decided he had a cold and needed treatment. The best way to restore health seemed to him a Russian bath, and the guy wanted to find himself in it. Naturally, he immediately found himself in the steam room, on the topmost shelf, fully dressed and with galoshes on his feet. Hot water dripped from above. The young man rushed in horror to take a shower. On the way, he scared the bath attendant to death with his appearance. Returning home, the doctor decided that he had lost his mind. He immediately put one impressive plaster on his neck, and the second on his back. In the morning, the entire back of the young man was swollen with blood. This is all that the galoshes of happiness have benefited the physician.

How a Scribe Became a Poet

The night watchman we knew remembered the forgotten shoes, took them from the hospital and took them to the police station. There, a young clerk put them on by mistake. In wonderful shoes, he wanted to walk around Fredericksburg. Having got out of the stuffy office into the fresh air, the young man began to look around and saw a familiar poet. He was away on a trip all summer long. The clerk envied his friend's freedom and wanted to become a poet himself. The world around him suddenly seemed to him painted in iridescent colors. The young man noticed how fresh and beautiful it was around. He admired the bizarre clouds above his head. The clerk's heart sank with sweet excitement. In his pocket, he found not familiar clerical protocols, but some manuscripts. Automatically picking a daisy, the guy admired it. The whole story came to his mind at once. He thought that the light gave beauty to the flower, and the air gave it life. Overwhelmed by unusual sensations, the clerk saw a singing bird. It immediately occurred to him that for complete happiness he lacked the miraculous ability to fly. This careless idea was immediately translated into reality by galoshes of happiness. Andersen's fairy tale from now on tells not about a man, but about a small bird.

Adventures of the Lark

So, the tails and sleeves of the clerk's coat turned into wings and covered with feathers, and the galoshes became black claws. The man decided that all this was an amazing dream. The lark, in which he reincarnated, first flew up onto a branch and sang. Then he moved to the ground and began to merrily peck at the flexible blades of grass. Suddenly it seemed to him that a huge blanket had been thrown over him. In fact, a mischievous boy threw a hat on him. Having thus caught a lark, he sold it to two schoolchildren. They brought the bird into a beautifully furnished room and put it in a cage. The lark was in the company of two other birds. One of them - a large green parrot - was extremely proud of her mind. Still would! After all, she knew how to pronounce a human phrase, which sometimes sounded very comical: "No, we will be people!" Another - a canary - constantly sang songs about the beauty of her native land and free life. Fortunately, people forgot to lock the cage, and the lark managed to get free. Leaving the room, he almost fell into the clutches of a terrible cat. The clerk went cold with fear, fluttered out of the window and flew through the streets for a long time until he found a house that seemed familiar to him. He flew into the window of his own room, sat down on the table and mechanically uttered the parrot's favorite words: "No, let's be human!" The lark immediately turned into a man. It seemed to the man that he had accidentally fallen asleep on the table. This is how Anderson dealt with the police clerk in his fairy tale. Galoshes of happiness played a funny trick on the dreamy young man.

Travels of a Philosopher Student

In the morning, the clerk received a visit from his roommate. It was a philosophy student. He came to ask for galoshes so that he could go down to the garden and smoke a pipe. So the young man had to test the effect of magic shoes on himself. He went out into the garden, began to walk along the path and heard the horn of the stagecoach. The student suddenly wanted to travel. He always dreamed of visiting Switzerland and Italy. All the details of what the young man suffered while traveling in Europe cannot be conveyed in a brief retelling. Galoshes of happiness first brought the student into a cramped stagecoach, where he, in the company of eight other passengers, rode through the picturesque places of harsh Switzerland. Then the young man wanted to be on the other side of the Alps, and he immediately found himself in Italy. However, the sunny country seemed to him extremely inhospitable. On the way, travelers were mercilessly bitten by insects. Nature, however, was magnificent here. The play of colors at sunset was amazing. However, in the evening, the travelers were overcome by a piercing cold. And the hotel in which the traveler happened to spend the night was simply terrible: the brick floor was full of potholes, there were bats under the ceiling, and an unbearable stench in the rooms. The dinner offered by the hostess was disgusting. The travelers had to barricade the door with suitcases and put out a sentry. The lot fell on a poor student philosopher. The unbearable heat, mosquitoes and the groans of the beggars outside the window brought the guy to the point that he wanted to sleep forever. The next moment he found himself at home in a black coffin. Here is a plot twist invented by the brilliant H. H. Andersen. Galoshes of happiness fulfilled this careless desire.

The final

Many instructive conclusions can be drawn from this ironic tale. Andersen wanted to tell a lot about this work. "Galoshes of Happiness" (a brief summary of the work is given in this article) is a story about how unreasonable and meaningless human desires are.

The sorceresses familiar to us - the fairy of Sorrow and the messenger of Happiness - appeared in the student's home at the time of his sudden death. They thought about how much happiness brought people unusual shoes. The Fairy of Sorrow took pity on the young man, took off his galoshes and disappeared with them. Perhaps she decided that she would need these magical items more. The student woke up, got up and began to live his former life.

"Galoshi of happiness" - summary

In abbreviation, this work loses its original charm. The great writer has his own unique style of presentation, which makes his fairy tales truly magical. You can enjoy this extraordinary story only by reading it in the original. Therefore, the author of this article recommends that everyone one day open a book of fairy tales written by Andersen himself. "Galoshi of Happiness" (a brief summary of this work will help readers take the first step in this direction) is a fairy tale that everyone should read.