The Goloshes of Fortune Page #3

"The Goloshes of Fortune" is a magical and whimsical tale by Hans Christian Andersen. It tells the story of a pair of magical boots that grant the wearer's deepest desires, taking them on unpredictable adventures. The book explores themes of desire, contentment, and the notion that the grass isn’t always greener on the other side. It's a delightful story reminding us to appreciate what we have, as our hasty wishes may lead to unexpected consequences.

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them vanished the whole enchantment. The counsellor now saw quite
plainly a lamp, and a large building behind it; everything looked
familiar and beautiful. He was in East Street, as it now appears; he
lay with his legs turned towards a porch, and just by him sat the
watchman asleep.

"Is it possible that I have been lying here in the street
dreaming?" said he. "Yes, this is East Street; how beautifully
bright and gay it looks! It is quite shocking that one glass of
punch should have upset me like this."

Two minutes afterwards he sat in a droschky, which was to drive
him to Christian's Haven. He thought of all the terror and anxiety
which he had undergone, and felt thankful from his heart for the
reality and comfort of modern times, which, with all their errors,
were far better than those in which he so lately found himself.


THE WATCHMAN'S ADVENTURES

"Well, I declare, there lies a pair of goloshes," said the
watchman. "No doubt, they belong to the lieutenant who lives up
stairs. They are lying just by his door." Gladly would the honest
man have rung, and given them in, for a light was still burning, but
he did not wish to disturb the other people in the house; so he let
them lie. "These things must keep the feet very warm," said he;
"they are of such nice soft leather." Then he tried them on, and
they fitted his feet exactly. "Now," said he, "how droll things are in
this world! There's that man can lie down in his warm bed, but he does
not do so. There he goes pacing up and down the room. He ought to be a
happy man. He has neither wife nor children, and he goes out into
company every evening. Oh, I wish I were he; then I should be a
happy man."

As he uttered this wish, the goloshes which he had put on took
effect, and the watchman at once became the lieutenant. There he stood
in his room, holding a little piece of pink paper between his fingers,
on which was a poem,--a poem written by the lieutenant himself. Who
has not had, for once in his life, a moment of poetic inspiration? and
at such a moment, if the thoughts are written down, they flow in
poetry. The following verses were written on the pink paper:--

  "OH WERE I RICH!

  "Oh were I rich! How oft, in youth's bright hour,
    When youthful pleasures banish every care,
  I longed for riches but to gain a power,
    The sword and plume and uniform to wear!
  The riches and the honor came for me;
    Yet still my greatest wealth was poverty:
        Ah, help and pity me!

  "Once in my youthful hours, when gay and free,
    A maiden loved me; and her gentle kiss,
  Rich in its tender love and purity,
    Taught me, alas! too much of earthly bliss.
  Dear child! She only thought of youthful glee;
    She loved no wealth, but fairy tales and me.
        Thou knowest: ah, pity me!

  "Oh were I rich! again is all my prayer:
    That child is now a woman, fair and free,
  As good and beautiful as angels are.
    Oh, were I rich in lovers' poetry,
  To tell my fairy tale, love's richest lore!
    But no; I must be silent--I am poor.
        Ah, wilt thou pity me?

  "Oh were I rich in truth and peace below,
    I need not then my poverty bewail.
  To thee I dedicate these lines of woe;
    Wilt thou not understand the mournful tale?
  A leaf on which my sorrows I relate--
    Dark story of a darker night of fate.
        Ah, bless and pity me!"


"Well, yes; people write poems when they are in love, but a wise
man will not print them. A lieutenant in love, and poor. This is a
triangle, or more properly speaking, the half of the broken die of
fortune." The lieutenant felt this very keenly, and therefore leaned
his head against the window-frame, and sighed deeply. "The poor
watchman in the street," said he, "is far happier than I am. He
knows not what I call poverty. He has a home, a wife and children, who
weep at his sorrow and rejoice at his joy. Oh, how much happier I
should be could I change my being and position with him, and pass
through life with his humble expectations and hopes! Yes, he is indeed
happier than I am."

At this moment the watchman again became a watchman; for having,
through the goloshes of Fortune, passed into the existence of the
lieutenant, and found himself less contented than he expected, he
had preferred his former condition, and wished himself again a
watchman. "That was an ugly dream," said he, "but droll enough. It
seemed to me as if I were the lieutenant up yonder, but there was no
happiness for me. I missed my wife and the little ones, who are always
ready to smother me with kisses." He sat down again and nodded, but he
could not get the dream out of his thoughts, and he still had the
goloshes on his feet. A falling star gleamed across the sky. "There
goes one!" cried he. "However, there are quite enough left; I should
very much like to examine these a little nearer, especially the
moon, for that could not slip away under one's hands. The student, for
whom my wife washes, says that when we die we shall fly from one
star to another. If that were true, it would be very delightful, but I
don't believe it. I wish I could make a little spring up there now;
I would willingly let my body lie here on the steps."

There are certain things in the world which should be uttered very
cautiously; doubly so when the speaker has on his feet the goloshes of
Fortune. Now we shall hear what happened to the watchman.

Nearly every one is acquainted with the great power of steam; we
have proved it by the rapidity with which we can travel, both on a
railroad or in a steamship across the sea. But this speed is like
the movements of the sloth, or the crawling march of the snail, when
compared to the swiftness with which light travels; light flies
nineteen million times faster than the fleetest race-horse, and
electricity is more rapid still. Death is an electric shock which we
receive in our hearts, and on the wings of electricity the liberated
soul flies away swiftly, the light from the sun travels to our earth
ninety-five millions of miles in eight minutes and a few seconds;
but on the wings of electricity, the mind requires only a second to
accomplish the same distance. The space between the heavenly bodies
is, to thought, no farther than the distance which we may have to walk
from one friend's house to another in the same town; yet this electric
shock obliges us to use our bodies here below, unless, like the
watchman, we have on the goloshes of Fortune.

In a very few seconds the watchman had travelled more than two
hundred thousand miles to the moon, which is formed of a lighter
material than our earth, and may be said to be as soft as new fallen
snow. He found himself on one of the circular range of mountains which
we see represented in Dr. Madler's large map of the moon. The interior
had the appearance of a large hollow, bowl-shaped, with a depth
about half a mile from the brim. Within this hollow stood a large
town; we may form some idea of its appearance by pouring the white
of an egg into a glass of water. The materials of which it was built
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