Bedtime Tale: The Best Thing The Goloshes Did

The Best Thing the Galoshes Did by Hans Christian Andersen Early on the following morning,

While the clerk was still in bed,

His neighbor,

A young divinity student who lodged on the same story,

Knocked at his door and then walked in.

"'Lend me your galoshes,

' said he.

"'It is so wet in the garden,

But the sun is shining brightly.

I should like to go out there and smoke my pipe.

'" He put on the galoshes and was soon in the garden,

Which contained only one plum tree and one apple tree.

Yet in town,

Even a small garden like this is a great advantage.

The student wandered up and down the path.

It was just six o'clock,

And he could hear the sound of the posthorn in the street.

"'Oh,

To travel,

To travel!

' cried he.

"'There is no greater happiness in the world.

It is the height of my ambition.

' This restless feeling would be stilled.

If I could take a journey far away from this country,

I should like to see beautiful Switzerland,

To travel through Italy.

And it was well for him that the galoshes acted immediately,

Otherwise he might have been carried too far for himself as well as for us.

In a moment he found himself in Switzerland,

Closely packed with eight others in the diligence.

His head ached,

His back was stiff,

And the blood had ceased to circulate so that his feet were swelled and pinched by his boots.

He wavered in a condition between sleeping and waking.

In his right-hand pocket he had the letter of credit.

In his left-hand pocket was his passport,

And a few pieces of money were sewn into a little leather bag which he carried in his breast pocket.

Whenever he dozed,

He dreamed that he had lost one or another of those possessions.

Then he would awaken with a start,

And the first movements of his hand formed a triangle,

From his right-hand pocket to his breast,

And from his breast to his left-hand pocket,

To feel whether they were all safe.

Umbrellas,

Sticks,

And hats swung in the net before him,

And almost obstructed the prospect,

Which was really very imposing.

And as he glanced at it,

His memory recalled the words of one poet at least who was sung of Switzerland,

And whose poems have not yet been printed.

How lovely to my wandering eyes Mont Blanc's fair summits gently rise,

Too sweet to breathe the mountain air,

If you have gold enough to spare.

Grand,

Dark,

And gloomy appeared the landscape around him.

The pine forests looked like little groups of moss on high rocks,

Whose summits were lost in clouds of mist.

Presently it began to snow,

And the wind blew keen and cold.

Ah,

He sighed,

If I were only on the other side of the Alps now,

It would be summer,

And I should be able to get money on my letter of credit.

The anxiety I feel on this matter prevents me from enjoying myself in Switzerland.

Oh,

I wish I was on the other side of the Alps.

And there,

In a moment,

He found himself far away in the mist of Italy,

Between Florence and Rome,

Where the lake glittered in the evening sunlight like a sheet of molten gold between the dark blue mountains.

There,

Where Hannibal defeated Flaminius,

The grapevines clung to each other with the friendly grasp of their green tendril fingers,

While,

By the wayside,

Lovely half-naked children were watching a herd of coal-black swine under the blossoms of fragrant laurel.

Could we rightly describe this picturesque scene?

Our readers would exclaim,

Delightful Italy.

But neither the student nor either of his traveling companions felt the least inclination to think of it in this way.

Poisonous flies and gnats flew into the coach by thousands.

In vain they drove them away with a myrtle branch.

The flies stung them notwithstanding.

There was not a man in the coach whose face was not swollen and disfigured with the stings.

The poor horses looked wretched.

The flies settled on their backs in swarms,

And they were only relieved when the coachman got down and drove the creatures off.

As the sun set,

An icy coldness filled all nature,

Not,

However,

Of long duration.

It produced the feeling which we experience when we enter a vault at a funeral on a summer's day,

While the hills and the clouds put on that singular green hue which we often notice in old paintings and look upon as unnatural until we have ourselves seen nature's coloring in the south.

It was a glorious spectacle,

But the stomachs of the travelers were empty,

Their bodies exhausted with fatigue,

And all the longings of their heart turned towards a resting place for the night.

But where to find one they knew not.

All the eyes were too eagerly seeking for this resting place to notice the beauties of nature.

The road passed through a grove of olive trees.

It reminded the student of the willow trees at home.

Here stood a lonely inn,

And close by it a number of crippled beggars had placed themselves.

The brightest among them looked,

To quote the words of Marriott,

Like the eldest son of famine who had just come of age.

The others were either blind or had withered legs,

Which obliged them to creep around on their hands and knees.

Or they had shriveled arms and hands without fingers.

It was indeed poverty arrayed in rags.

The hostess received the travelers with bare feet,

Untidy hair,

And a dirty blouse.

The doors were fastened together with string.

The floors of the rooms were of brick,

Broken in many places.

Bats flew about under the roof,

And as to the odor within.

Let us have supper laid in the stable,

Said one of the travelers.

Then we shall know what we are breathing.

The windows were opened to let in a little fresh air,

But quicker than air came in the withered arms and the continual whining sounds.

On the walls were inscriptions,

Half of them against La Bella Italia.

The supper made its appearance at last.

It consisted of watery soup seasoned with pepper and rancid oil.

This last delicacy played a principal part in the salad.

Musty eggs and roasted coxcombs were the best dishes on the table.

Even the wine had a strange taste.

It was certainly a mixture.

At night all the boxes were placed against the doors,

And one of the travelers watched while the other slept.

The student's turn came to watch.

How close the air felt in that room.

The heat overpowered him.

The gnats were buzzing about and stinging,

While the miserable outside moaned in their dreams.

Traveling would be all very well,

Said the student of divinity to himself,

If we had no bodies,

Or if the body could rest while the soul was flying.

Wherever I go I feel a want which oppresses my heart,

For something better presents itself at the moment.

Yes,

Something better,

Which shall be the best of all.

But where is that to be found?

In fact,

I know in my heart very well what I want.

I wish to attain the greatest of all happiness.

No sooner were the words spoken than he was at home.

Long white curtains shaded the windows of his room,

And in the middle of the floor stood a black coffin in which he now lay in the still sleep of death.

His wish was fulfilled,

His body was at rest,

And his spirit traveled.

Esteem no man happy until he is in the grave were the words of Salon.

Here was a strong,

Fresh proof of their truth.

Every corpse is a sphinx of immortality.

The sphinx in the sarcophagus might unveil its own mystery in the words which the living had himself written two days before.

Stern death,

Thy chilling silence waketh dread,

Yet in thy darkest hour there may be light.

Earth's garden reaper,

From the grave's cold bed,

The soul on Jacob's ladder takes her flight.

Man's greatest sorrows often are a part of hidden griefs,

Concealed from human eyes,

Which press far heavier on the lonely heart than now the earth that on his coffin lies.

Two figures were moving about the room.

We know them both.

One was the fairy named Care,

The other the messenger of fortune.

They bent over the dead.

Look,

Said Care,

What happiness have your galoshes brought to mankind?

They have at least brought lasting happiness to him who slumbers here,

She said.

Not so,

Said Care.

He went away of himself.

He was not summoned.

And?

His mental powers were not strong enough to discern the treasures which he had been destined to discover.

I will do him a favor now.

And she drew the galoshes from his feet.

The sleep of death was ended,

And the recovered man raised himself.

Care vanished,

And with her the galoshes.

Doubtless she looked upon them as her own property.

And that is the end of our story this evening.

Until next time,

Sweet dreams.