In Their Shoes Page 4
Then the sun shone bright, and the white-robed angel stood before her. He was the same angel she had seen that night, at the door of the church. But he no longer held a sharp sword. In his hand was a green branch, covered with roses. He touched the ceiling with it. There was a golden star where it touched, and the ceiling rose high. He touched the walls and they opened wide. She saw the deep-toned organ. She saw the portraits of ministers and their wives. She saw the congregation sit in flower-decked pews, and sing from their hymnals. Either the church had come to the poor girl in her narrow little room, or it was she who had been brought to the church. She sat in the pew with the pastor’s family. When they had finished the hymn, they looked up and nodded to her.
“It was right for you to come, little Karen,” they said.
“It was God’s own mercy,” she told them.
The organ sounded and the children in the choir sang, softly and beautifully. Clear sunlight streamed warm through the window, right down to the pew where Karen sat. She was so filled with the light of it, and with joy and with peace, that her heart broke. Her soul travelled along the shaft of sunlight to heaven, where no one questioned her about the red shoes.
HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN wrote this story in 1845. He was the Danish son of a shoemaker, who died when he was 12. His fairy tales are famous all around the world.
The Story of Chernushka
ALEXANDER NIKOLAYEVICH AFANASYEV
ONCE UPON A TIME THERE LIVED A GENTLEMAN who had a kind wife and a beautiful daughter called Masha. But his wife died, and soon after he married a widow. She had two daughters of her own, and they were mean and spiteful girls! They both bullied poor Masha. They forced her to do their chores for them, and when there was no work to do they forced her to sit by the stove and rake out the cinders. Masha was always dirty and covered in soot, and so they called her Chernushka, which was the Russian for “Cinderella”.
People started to say that the Prince wanted to get married, that he was planning to hold a big party where he would choose himself a wife. And indeed he was. The Prince invited everybody to his palace. Masha’s stepmother and stepsisters started to get ready, but they refused to bring Masha; however much she begged, they wouldn’t change their minds. So her stepmother and stepsisters set off for the Prince’s party, and they left Masha with a whole sack of barley, flour and soot, all mixed up together. Her stepmother ordered her to separate all the grains from the soot by the time she got back.
Masha went out onto the doorstep and wept bitterly. Then two doves flew up, separated the barley, flour and soot for her, and alighted on her shoulders – and suddenly Masha was clothed in a splendid new gown. “Go to the party!” said the doves, “But be sure not to stay past midnight.”
The moment Masha entered the palace, people began to stare at her in wonder. The Prince liked her most of all, and her stepmother and stepsisters didn’t even recognize her. She enjoyed wandering through the party, and talking to the other girls there. Then she saw that it was nearly midnight; she remembered what the doves had said, and hastened home. The Prince hurried after her. He wanted to ask her who she was, but she was nowhere to be found.
The next day the Prince had another party. Masha’s stepsisters bustled about, primping and preening, all the while screeching and swearing at Masha: “Oi, Chernushka! Dress us! Clean our clothes! Cook our dinner!” Masha obeyed, but when evening came, she had a wonderful time at the party and went home before midnight. The Prince hurried after her – but again she got away.
On the third day, the Prince provided a lavish banquet. That evening, the doves shod and clothed Masha even better than before. She went into the palace, and enjoyed the party so much that she forgot all about the time. All of a sudden it struck midnight; Masha quickly ran home, but the Prince had ordered the whole staircase to be spread with pitch and tar. One of her slippers stuck to the pitch and stayed on the staircase. The Prince picked it up and the very next day he ordered his men to find the girl whose foot fitted the slipper.
They scoured the whole town – but the slipper wouldn’t fit on anyone’s foot. At last they came to Masha’s house. Her stepmother tried to squeeze the elder daughter’s foot into the slipper – but no, it didn’t fit, her foot was too big! “Chop off your big toe!” the stepmother said to her daughter. “When you’re a princess you won’t need to do any walking!” So she chopped off her toe and put on the slipper. The Prince’s messengers started leading her off to the palace, but then the doves flew up and started to coo: “Look – there’s blood on her foot! Look – there’s blood on her foot!” The messengers had a look and saw blood flowing from the girl’s slipper. “You’re right,” they said, “It doesn’t fit!” The stepmother tried the slipper on her other daughter, and the same thing happened with her.
Then the messengers saw Masha and ordered her to try it on. She put the slipper on her foot – and suddenly she was clothed in a beautiful, shining gown. Her stepsisters were awestruck! Masha was taken to the Prince’s palace, and the next day they were married. When she and the Prince approached the altar, the two doves flew up and alighted one on each of her shoulders. When the newlyweds came back from the church, the doves swooped down and pecked out an eye from each of Masha’s stepsisters.
The wedding was a very merry affair. I was there. We drank honey beer and it spilt on my moustache and didn’t go into my mouth.
ALEXANDER NIKOLAYEVICH AFANASYEV was an outstanding collector of Russian folktales. He was born in 1826 in the Voronezh region of Russia, and went on to publish nearly 600 fairy tales and folktales, many of which inspired later writers and composers.
Brer Rabbit and Mr. Dog
JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS
“DEY WUZ ONE TIME W’EN OLE BRER RABBIT ’UZ bleedzd ter go ter town atter sump’n n’er fer his fambly, an’ he mos’ ’shame’ ter go kaze his shoes done wo’ teetotally out. Yit he bleedzd ter go, an’ he put des ez good face on it ez he kin, an’ he take down he walkin’-cane an’ sot out des ez big ez de next un.
“Well, den, ole Brer Rabbit go on down de big road twel he come ter de place whar some folks bin camp out de night befo’, an’ he sot down by de fier, he did, fer ter worn his foots, kaze dem mawnin’s ’uz sorter col’, like deze yer mawnin’s. He sot dar an’ look at his toes, an’ he feel mighty sorry fer hisse’f.
“Well, den, he sot dar, he did, en ’twa’n’t long ’fo’ he year sump’n n’er trottin’ down de road, an’ he tuck’n look up an’ yer come Mr. Dog a-smellin’ an’ a-snuffin’ ’roun’ fer ter see ef de folks lef’ any scraps by der camp-fier. Mr. Dog ’uz all dress up in his Sunday-go-ter-meetin’ cloze, an’ mo’n dat, he had on a pa’r er bran’ new shoes.
“Well, den, w’en Brer Rabbit see dem ar shoes he feel mighty bad, but he ain’t let on. He bow ter Mr. Dog mighty perlite, an’ Mr. Dog he bow back, he did, an’ dey pass de time er day, kaze dey ’uz ole ’quaintance. Brer Rabbit, he say:
“‘Mr. Dog, whar you gwine all fix up like dis?’
“‘I gwine ter town, Brer Rabbit; whar you gwine?’
“‘I thought I go ter town myse’f fer ter git me new pa’r shoes, kaze my ole uns done wo’ out en dey hu’ts my foots so bad I can’t w’ar um. Dem mighty nice shoes w’at you got on, Mr. Dog; whar you git um?’
“‘Down in town, Brer Rabbit, down in town.’
“‘Dey fits you mighty slick, Mr. Dog, an’ I wish you be so good ez ter lemme try one un um on.’
“Brer Rabbit talk so mighty sweet dat Mr. Dog sot right flat on de groun’ an’ tuck off one er de behime shoes, an’ loan’t it ter Brer Rabbit. Brer Rabbit, he lope off down de road en den he come back. He tell Mr. Dog dat de shoe fit mighty nice, but wid des one un um on, hit make ’im trot crank-sided.
“Well, den, Mr. Dog, he pull off de yuther behime shoe, an’ Brer Rabbit trot off an’ try it. He come back, he did, an’ he say:
“‘Dey mighty nice, Mr. Dog, but dey sorter r’ars me up behime, an’ I dunner zackly how dey feels.’
> “Dis make Mr. Dog feel like he wanter be perlite, an’ he take off de befo’ shoes, an’ Brer Rabbit put um on an’ stomp his foots, an ’low:
“‘Now dat sorter feel like shoes;’ an’ he rack off down de road, an’ w’en he git whar he oughter tu’n ’roun’, he des lay back he years an’ keep on gwine; an’ ’twa’n’t long ’fo’ he git outer sight.
“Mr. Dog, he holler, an’ tell ’im fer ter come back, but Brer Rabbit keep on gwine; Mr. Dog, he holler, Mr. Rabbit, he keep on gwine. An’ down ter dis day,” continued ’Tildy, smacking her lips, and showing her white teeth, “Mr. Dog bin a-runnin’ Brer Rabbit, an’ ef you’ll des go out in de woods wid any Dog on dis place, des time he smell de Rabbit track he’ll holler an’ tell ’im fer ter come back.”
“Dat’s de Lord’s trufe!” said Aunt Tempy.
JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS was an American journalist and folk lorist from Georgia. His first collection of folktales based on the African-American oral storytelling tradition was published in 1880. It was an instant success, and his stories – among which the most famous are the ‘Brer Rabbit’ tales – inspired generations of writers.
Perseus and the Winged Sandals
MURIELLE SZAC
THE YEARS HAVE PASSED, PERSEUS HAS GROWN. He has become a handsome young man, strong and brave. On this island, however, where he had been so warmly welcomed, an enemy is lying in wait for him. The king of the island has fallen in love with his mother, the beautiful Danae. This king is a brute and Danae does not want to be his wife. She refuses to marry him, claiming that she must stay with her son to look after him. King Polydectes, however, has no intention of giving up on this marriage. So he decides to get rid of Perseus. He invites him to dine at the palace, planning to set a trap for him.
That evening, Perseus is among the first guests to arrive at the palace. All the young men on the island had been invited and they rejoiced in advance at the idea of having a really good time. Perseus’ good looks did not pass unnoticed. The maidservants whispered with admiration as he passed and the young man noted this with pleasure. Because he really liked to please and to be noticed. The more the evening progressed, the more Perseus talked and laughed loud. The wine flowed in currents and he never ceased to drink, and to drink even more. Presiding at the banquet, at the centre of the table, the king did not take his eyes off Perseus. Soon, the king rose and asked for everyone’s silence. “Dear friends,” he began, “it is with great pleasure that I welcome each of you in my house. Amuse yourselves well! I would like to thank all those of you who have brought me gifts. You, Lycos, for this magnificent black horse which is pawing the ground outside my door. You, Nepumenus, for this splendid grey mare. And you, Aristos, for this golden-eyed colt, which shall be the pride of my stables.” The king addressed himself in turn to all the guests present around the table. Most of them, knowing his passion for horses, had offered him a new one.
The others had brought him gems or precious objects. As he heard the list of gifts, Perseus began to blush. He was too poor; he had come empty-handed. His turn was about to come and he felt crushed by shame. So as not to lose face, the proud young man leapt into the middle of the room before his name had even been pronounced. Wine and the thrill of the moment were making his head spin.
He shouted: “I, Perseus, the son of Danae, shall bring you the most extraordinary gift of all. I shall offer you the head of Medusa, the terrible Gorgon.”
A murmur ran through the assembled guests. The Gorgons were three monstrous creatures who spread the reign of terror. These three repugnant sisters had, instead of hair, a multitude of serpents swarming on their heads. Above all, however, they transformed into stone any man who dared to look at them, even if it were only for an instant.
The king was delighted: his trap had worked. He had had strong hopes that Perseus, exasperated, would do something foolish. He said, smiling:
“Very well, my dear Perseus. Leave then at once and fetch me that Gorgon’s head.”
Perseus had made himself the centre of everyone’s attention. Yet he had also just thrown himself into an adventure fraught with danger, for no one had ever come out alive from an encounter with the Gorgon.
Perseus went outside. The cold night wind lashed his face. Little by little he regained his spirits. His pride had made him throw himself right into the wolf’s mouth. Without some help from the gods, he would never be able to pull through this one. He had been walking along the beach with his head bowed for quite some time, when someone laid a hand on his shoulder. It was Hermes, who had come to offer his assistance to his young protégé.
“I am Hermes, your half-brother,” the god said to him.
“I could tell,” replied Perseus, “there is no one else but you who wears a winged helmet and sandals.”
They both sat on a rock. “I heard everything. Do you know where the Gorgons live?” asked Hermes.
Perseus shook his head mournfully: “Not even that!” he sighed.
“Well, in that case, you must first meet the Graeae. They are their sisters. They, and they alone, know where the Gorgons live. But be very careful, for they are as formidable themselves.” As he leant over Perseus, Hermes really looked like an older brother advising the younger one. The moon was shedding a white light on them.
“You… will you come with me?” stammered Perseus, his voice hesitant all of a sudden. Nothing remained any more of the young braggart who had been boasting a few hours earlier in the king’s palace.
Hermes smiled. He had not forgotten the laughter of the child shut up in the crate. “Yes,” he replied, “I will accompany you.”
They both decided to wait for dawn before setting out. They lay on the sand, huddling close to each other, and tried to get some rest.
Perseus’ meeting with Hermes had bolstered up his spirits, and he came to the mountain where the three Graeae lived feeling confident. The air was scalding hot and a cloud of dust rose at each step he took. The closer he approached, the more the landscape turned grey. The rays of the sun did not reach into this sinister region. The journey was long and painful. Yet each time he hesitated about which path to follow, Hermes would point him in the right direction. When he arrived at the cave of the three old women, he hid himself not too far from the entrance and waited. Soon he saw them appear. One could just barely make out their forms in the flickering light of a candle that one of them was carrying. They were horrible to look at. Their skin was yellow and wrinkled, like old crumpled paper. Their white hair fell in disarray over their shoulders, like skeins of string. And a foul smell exuded from their bodies, a smell of withered flowers and mustiness which stung one’s throat.
“It is my turn to look! Pass me the eye!” said one of them in a harsh, metallic voice.
“No! It’s my turn!” replied the other old woman, in an equally rasping tone.
“I am hungry, so give me the tooth!” cried the third sister.
Perseus then saw the one who had spoken first take out her solitary tooth and hand it to her sister. In the meantime, the second removed her solitary eye and passed it to the third sister. The three sisters shared a single eye and a single tooth among them. Perseus observed the three old women playing this game of pass the parcel; then he did as Hermes advised. As one of them was removing her eye to give it to one of the other two, he leapt forward and snatched the eye. The three Graeae could no longer see a thing! They began to shout and argue among themselves to find out which had taken the eye, but Perseus interrupted them and said in a strong voice: “It is I, Perseus, who holds your eye. If you wish me to give it back to you, show me the way that will lead me to your sisters the Gorgons.” After a moment of bewilderment, the Graeae gave him all the directions he needed to reach the den where their horrible sisters were hiding. Perseus hesitated as to whether he ought to give them back the eye. Yet he had promised and he had to keep his word. He returned the eye to them and departed immediately.
Hermes had left him a little earlier and Perseus was now trav
elling alone.
“Well done, Perseus, continue like this, I am proud of you and I will help you too.”
Who was speaking like this in Perseus’ ear? Where did this congratulatory voice come from? Surprised, the young man stopped walking. He said rather nervously:
“But… But who are you? Show yourself!”
He heard a little laughter. Then a woman appeared on his path. She bore a helmet and a spear and she stood proudly erect in her armour. Perseus recognized immediately the goddess Athena.
“You are a brave young man,” she said. “I know that my brother Hermes protects you but I would like to help you as well. After all, we all have the same father, don’t we?” Intimidated by the great goddess, Perseus gave no answer. She approached him and held her shield out to him. “You know this already: any person who meets Medusa’s gaze is transformed into stone. Take my shield. When you are in the presence of Medusa, turn the shield towards you, and use it as a mirror. You will be able to see her reflection on it. In this way, you can fight her without ever looking at her straight in the face.”
Perseus took Athena’s shield. It shone like the sun. When he lifted up his dazzled head to thank the goddess, she had already vanished…
Perseus was walking sure-footed towards the den of the three monsters, but Hermes did not feel so easy in his mind. That’s why he had gone away: to seek help. Soon enough, he rejoined Perseus along the way, carrying a huge sack on his shoulder.