Galoshes of happiness. Children's stories online

Page 1 of 13

1. Beginning

It happened 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 see, you yourself will get an invitation someday. The guests split into two large groups: one immediately sat down at the card tables, the other formed a circle around the hostess, who suggested “coming up with something more interesting,” and the conversation flowed by itself. By the way, we were talking about the Middle Ages, and many found that life was much better in those days than now. Yes Yes! Counselor 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 superior to the Middle Ages. The adviser argued 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 newspaper was brought (however, there was absolutely nothing to read in it), let's go into the hallway, where the guests left their coats, sticks, umbrellas and galoshes. Two women just came in here: 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 if you looked more closely, you would notice that these women did not look at all like maids: their hands were too soft and gentle , the posture and movements were too stately, and the dress was distinguished by some particularly bold cut. Of course, you already guessed that they were fairies. The youngest was, if not the fairy of Happiness herself, then, most likely, the maid of one of her many ladies-in-waiting chambers and was busy bringing people various small gifts of Happiness. The eldest seemed much more serious - she was the fairy of Sorrow and always managed her affairs herself, without entrusting them to anyone: so, at least, she knew that everything would probably be done properly.

Standing in the hallway, they told each other about where they had been that day. Today the chambermaid of the maid of honor of Happiness carried out only a few unimportant tasks: she saved someone’s new hat from a downpour, conveyed a bow to one respectable person from a high-ranking nonentity, and everything in the same spirit. But she still had something completely extraordinary left in reserve.

“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 can be instantly transported to any place or setting of any era - wherever he wishes - and thus he will immediately find happiness.

- You think so? - responded 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 later! - said the maid 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.

This is the conversation that took place between them.

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

- What a mess! It's just terrible! - muttered the adviser. - And besides, not a single lamp is lit.

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 there was a lamp hanging, but it glowed slightly, so the adviser noticed the picture only when he caught up with it, and only then did he see the Mother of God with a baby in her arms.

“There was probably an artist’s studio here,” he decided, “but they forgot to remove the sign.”

Then several people in medieval costumes walked past him.

“Why are they dressed up like that? – thought the adviser. “They must be coming from a masquerade party.”

But suddenly the beating of drums and the whistling of pipes was heard, torches flashed, and an amazing sight was presented to the advisor’s eyes! A strange procession was moving towards him along the street: drummers walked ahead, skillfully beating the beat with sticks, and behind them walked guards with bows and crossbows. Apparently, it was a retinue accompanying some important clergyman. The amazed adviser asked what kind of procession this was and who this dignitary was.

It happened in Copenhagen, on East Street, not far from the New Royal Square. A large society has gathered in one house: after all, from time to time you have to receive guests - you receive them, treat them, and you can, in turn, expect an invitation. Part of the company had already sat down at the card tables, while other guests, led by the hostess herself, were waiting to see if anything would come of the hostess’s words: “Well, we should also think of something to do!” - but for now they were talking among themselves about this and that.

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

Under the noise of this conversation, interrupted only for a minute by the appearance of the evening newspaper, in which, however, there was nothing to read, we move into the hallway, where the outer dress hung, there were sticks, umbrellas and galoshes. Two women were sitting right there: a young one and an old one, who had come here, apparently, as guides to some old young ladies or widows. Having looked at them more closely, anyone, however, would have noticed that they are not ordinary maids; their hands were too tender, their posture and all movements were too majestic, and the dress was distinguished by some particularly bold, original cut. They were two fairies; the youngest, if not the Fairy of Happiness herself, then the maid of one of her chambermaids, whose duties were to deliver small gifts of happiness to people; the elderly one, looking very seriously and worriedly, was the Fairy of Sorrow, who always carried out all her orders in her own high persona: 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 carry out only a few insignificant tasks today: saving someone’s new hat from a downpour, delivering a bow to a 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 they gave me a pair of galoshes, which I must bring as a gift to humanity. These galoshes have the property of transporting everyone who puts them on to the place or conditions of that time that he likes best. All a person’s desires regarding time or location will thus be fulfilled, and the person will finally become truly happy!

No matter how it is! - said the fairy of sadness. “Your galoshes will bring him true 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 put them on instead of theirs by mistake and become lucky.”

This was the conversation.

II. What happened to the advisor

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

What a mess! What a horror! - said the adviser. - The whole panel is flooded, and not a single lantern!

The moon has not yet risen high enough; There was a thick fog, and everything around was drowned in darkness. On the near corner hung an 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 noticed him no sooner than he came close to the image.

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

At this time, several people dressed in medieval costumes walked past the adviser.

Why are they dressed up like that? They must have been at a masquerade! - said the adviser.

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

Bishop of Zealand! - they answered him.

Lord have mercy! What happened to the bishop? - The adviser sighed, shaking his head. - No, it can’t be the bishop!

Thinking about what he had just seen and not looking either to the right or to the left, the adviser walked out onto the High Bridge Square. The bridge leading to the palace, however, was not there, and in the darkness the adviser could barely make out some wide stream and a boat in which two guys were sitting.

Do you 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 go to Christian Harbor, to Malaya Torgovaya Street!

The guys just looked at him.

At least tell me where the bridge is! - continued the adviser. - This is a disgrace! Not a single lantern is lit, and there is such mud as if you were 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 to them. But he never managed to find the bridge; There were no railings on the canal either.

After all, this is just a scandal! - he said.

Never before has our time seemed so pitiful to him as it does at this moment!

“Really, it’s better to take a cab! - he thought. - But where have all the cab drivers gone? At least one! I’ll go back to New Royal Square, there are probably carriages parked there! Otherwise, I will never get to Christian Harbor!”

He returned to Eastern Street again and had almost passed it when a full moon appeared above his head.

Dear God! What have they piled up here? - he said, seeing in front of him the Eastern City Gate, which at that time ended Eastern Street.

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

Either it's an optical illusion, Fata Morgana, or I'm drunk! - the adviser groaned. - What is it? What is it?

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

No! I'm positively unwell! - he sighed. - But I only drank one glass of punch, but for me that’s too much! And what an absurdity it is to treat people to punch and boiled salmon! I will definitely tell the agent about this! Should I return to them and tell them what happened to me? No, it's awkward! And, perhaps, they have settled down!

He looked for a familiar house, but it wasn’t there either.

This is terrible! I don't recognize East Street! Not a single store! There are some old, miserable shacks everywhere, as if I were in Roskilde or Ringsted! Oh, I'm sick! There is nothing to be ashamed of here! I'll come back to them! But where did the agent's house go? Or does he not look like himself anymore?.. Oh, they’re not sleeping here yet! Oh, I'm completely, completely sick!

It happened 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 see, you yourself will get an invitation someday. The guests split into two large groups: one immediately sat down at the card tables, the other formed a circle around the hostess, who suggested “coming up with something more interesting,” and the conversation flowed by itself. By the way, we were talking about the Middle Ages, and many found that life was much better in those days than now. Yes Yes! Counselor 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 superior to the Middle Ages. The adviser argued 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 newspaper was brought (however, there was absolutely nothing to read in it), let's go into the hallway, where the guests left their coats, sticks, umbrellas and galoshes. Two women just came in here: 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 at all look like maids: they were too soft and gentle hands, posture and all movements were too stately, and the dress was distinguished by some particularly bold cut. Of course, you already guessed that they were fairies. The youngest was, if not the fairy of Happiness herself, then, most likely, the maid of one of her many ladies-in-waiting chambers and was busy bringing people various small gifts of Happiness. The eldest seemed much more serious - she was the fairy of Sorrow and always managed her affairs herself, without entrusting them to anyone: so at least she knew that everything would probably be done properly.

Standing in the hallway, they told each other about where they had been that day. Today the chambermaid of the maid of honor of Happiness carried out only a few unimportant tasks: she saved someone’s new hat from a downpour, conveyed a bow to one respectable person from a high-ranking nonentity, and everything in the same spirit. But she still had something completely extraordinary left in reserve.

“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 can be instantly transported to any place or setting of any era - wherever he wishes - and thus he will immediately find happiness.

- You think so? - responded 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 later! - said the maid of Happiness, - but for now I’ll put them at the door. Perhaps someone will put them on by mistake instead of their own and become happy.

This is the conversation that took place between them.

II. WHAT HAPPENED TO THE COUNSELOR OF JUSTICE

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

- What a filth! It's just terrible! - muttered the adviser. - And besides, not a single lamp is lit.

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 there was a lamp hanging, but it glowed slightly, so the adviser noticed the picture only when he came level with it, and only then did he see the Mother of God with a baby in her arms.

“There was probably an artist’s studio here,” he decided, “but they forgot to remove the sign.”

Then several people in medieval costumes walked past him.

“Why are they dressed up like that? - thought the adviser. “They must be coming from a masquerade party.”

But suddenly the beating of drums and the whistling of pipes was heard, torches flashed, and an amazing sight was presented to the advisor’s eyes! A strange procession was moving towards him along the street: drummers walked ahead, skillfully beating the beat with sticks, and behind them walked guards with bows and crossbows. Apparently, it was a retinue accompanying some important clergyman. The amazed adviser asked what kind of procession this was and who this dignitary was.

- Bishop of Zealand! - came the answer.

- Lord have mercy! What else happened to the bishop? - Councilor Knap sighed, sadly shaking his head. - No, it’s unlikely that this is a bishop.

Thinking about all these wonders and not looking around, the adviser slowly walked along East Street until he finally reached the High Bridge Square. However, the bridge leading to Palace Square was not in place - the poor adviser could barely make out some small 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? - the adviser asked, not yet knowing that he was now living in the Middle Ages. — I need to get to Christian Harbor, on Malaya Torgovaya Street.

The guys rolled their eyes at him.

- Tell me at least where is the bridge? - continued the adviser. - What a disgrace! The lanterns don’t light up, and the dirt is so muddy that it feels like you’re wandering through a swamp!

But the more he talked to the carriers, the less he could figure anything out.

“I don’t understand your Bornholm gibberish!” - He finally got angry and turned his back to them.

But he still did not find the bridge; The stone parapet of the embankment also disappeared. “What’s happening! What a disgrace!” - he thought. Yes, never before had reality seemed so stinging to him; as nasty and disgusting as this evening. “No, it’s better to take a cab,” he decided. - But, Lord, where did they all go? As luck would have it, not a single one! I’ll go back to New Royal Square - there are probably carriages there, otherwise I’ll never get to Christian Harbor!”

He returned to Eastern Street again and had already walked almost all of it when the moon rose.

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

Finally, he found a gate and went out into what is now the New Royal Square, which in those days was just a large meadow. There were bushes here and there in the meadow, and it was crossed by either a wide canal or a river. On the opposite bank were the pitiful shops of the Halland skippers, which is why the place was called the Halland Heights.

- My God! Or is it a mirage, a Fata Morgana, or am I... oh my God... drunk? - the counselor of justice groaned. - What is it? What is it?

And the adviser turned back again, thinking that he was sick. Walking along the street, he now looked more closely at the houses and noticed that they were all of ancient construction and many were thatched.

“Yes, of course I got sick,” he sighed, “but I only drank a glass of punch, but that hurt me too.” And you have to think of it - treat your guests to a punch with hot salmon! No, I will definitely talk to the agent about this. Should I return to them and tell them what trouble happened to me? No, it's inconvenient. Yes, they probably went to bed long ago.

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

- No, this is just some kind of nonsense! I don't recognize East Street. Not a single store! It's all just old, miserable shacks - you'd think I was in Roskilde or Ringsted. Yes, my business is bad! Well, what’s there to be shy about, I’ll go back to the agent! But damn, how can I find his house? I don't recognize him anymore. Aha, it seems they’re not sleeping here yet!.. Oh, I’m completely ill, completely ill.

He came across a half-open door, from behind which light was pouring. It was one of those old taverns that resembled our beer houses today. The common room resembled a Holstein tavern. Several regulars sat in it - the skipper, Copenhagen burghers and some other people who looked like scientists. While 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 approached him, “I suddenly felt ill.” Can 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 to German. The hostess had already noticed that the visitor was dressed somehow strangely, and now, having heard 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 this the evening “Day”? he asked, just to say something, when he saw the hostess putting away a large piece of paper.

She didn’t understand him, but still handed him the sheet: it was an old engraving depicting a strange glow in 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, although completely fictional. In fact, it was just the northern lights, as scientists now explain; and probably similar phenomena are caused by electricity.

Those who were sitting close and heard his words looked at him with respect; one man even stood up, respectfully took off his hat and said with the most serious look:

- You are obviously a great scientist, monsieur?

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

“Modestia is the most beautiful virtue,” said his interlocutor. - However, about the essence of your statement mini secus videtur, although I will gladly refrain for now from expressing my own ludicium.

- Dare I ask, with whom do I have the pleasure of talking? - the adviser inquired.

“I am a bachelor of theology,” he answered.

These words explained everything to the adviser - the stranger was dressed in accordance with his academic title. “This must be some old village teacher,” he thought, “a man out of this world, the kind you can still meet in the remote corners of Jutland.”

“There is, of course, no locus docendi here,” said the theologian, “but I still beg you to continue your speech.” You are, of course, very well read in ancient literature?

- Oh yeah! You are right, I often read ancient authors, that is, all of them good works; but I also really love the latest literature, but not “ Ordinary stories"; there are enough of them in life.

- Ordinary stories? - asked the theologian.

- Yes, I’m talking about these new novels, of which so many are now being published.

“Oh, they are very witty and popular at court,” the bachelor smiled. — The king especially loves the novels about Ifvent and Gaudian, which tell about King Arthur and the knights Round table, and even deigned to joke about this with his entourage6.

“I haven’t read these novels yet,” said the adviser to justice. - It must be Heiberg who released something new?

“No, no, not Heiberg, but Godfred von Gehmen,” answered the bachelor.

- Yes, he is our first printer! - the theologian confirmed. So, so far everything was going great. When one of the townspeople spoke about the plague that raged here several years ago, namely in 1484, the councilor thought that he was talking about the recent cholera epidemic, and the conversation continued happily. And then how could one not 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 stopped going well and was increasingly interrupted by deathly silence. The good bachelor was very ignorant: the adviser’s simplest judgments seemed to him something unusually bold and fantastic. The interlocutors looked at each other with increasing bewilderment, and when, finally, they completely ceased to understand each other, the bachelor, trying to improve matters, spoke in Latin, but this did not help much.

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

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

“Lord, where am I?” - he thought, and just thinking about it made him dizzy.

- Let's drink claret, honey 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; they poured wine for the guests and squatted low. The adviser even had goosebumps running down his spine.

- What is it? What it is? - he whispered, but was forced to drink along with everyone else. His drinking buddies were so obsessed with him that the poor councilor fell into complete confusion, 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 had the adviser found himself in such rude and uncouth company. “You might think,” he said to himself, “that we have returned to the times of paganism. No, this is the most terrible 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 there, 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 right in front of him. He recognized this house and all the neighboring ones, and he recognized East Street. He himself was lying on the sidewalk, resting his feet against someone's gate, and the night watchman sat next to him, sleeping soundly.

- God! So, I fell asleep right on the street, here you go! - said the adviser. - Yes, here is Eastern Street... How bright and beautiful it is here! But who would have thought that one glass of punch would have such a strong effect on me!

Two minutes later, the adviser was already driving a cab to Christian's harbor. All the way he remembered the horrors he had experienced and with all 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 visited. And it must be said that this time the justice adviser thought quite sensibly.

III. THE ADVENTURES OF THE WATCHMAN

- Hm, someone left their galoshes here! - said the watchman. - This is probably the lieutenant who lives upstairs. What a guy, he threw them right at the gate!

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 up the neighbors.

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

The galoshes suited him just right.

“And how strange the world is,” he continued. “Take this lieutenant, for example: he could sleep peacefully in a warm bed right now, but no, he paces back and forth across the room all night.” That's who the happiness is! He has no wife, no children, no worries, no worries; Every evening he travels to visit guests. It would be nice if I could change places with him: then I would become the most happy man on the ground!

Before he had time to think this, by magical power the galosh instantly transformed into the officer who lived upstairs. Now he stood in the middle of the room, holding in his hands a piece of pink paper with poems that the lieutenant himself had written. And to whom does poetic inspiration not sometimes come? That's when thoughts pour out into poetry. On the pink piece of paper was written the following:

I WOULD BE RICH

“If I were rich,” I dreamed as a boy,

I would definitely become an officer,

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

But it turned out that dreams were a mirage.

Years passed - I put on epaulettes,

But, unfortunately, poverty is my lot.

As a cheerful boy, in the evening, when, you remember, I visited you, I amused you with a children's fairy tale, which made up all my capital. You were surprised, dear child, and kissed my lips jokingly.

If I were rich, I would still be dreaming about the one that I irretrievably lost... She is now beautiful and smart, But my money is still poor, And fairy tales will not replace the capital that the Almighty did not give me.

If I were rich, I wouldn’t know bitterness And I wouldn’t pour out my sorrow on paper, But I put my soul into these lines And dedicated them to the one I loved. I put the fervor of love into my poems! I'm poor. God bless you!

Yes, lovers always write such poems, but prudent people still don’t publish them. The rank of lieutenant, love and poverty - this is the ill-fated triangle, or rather, the triangular half of a die thrown for luck and split. The lieutenant thought so too, hanging his head on the windowsill and sighing heavily:

“The poor watchman is happier than me. He doesn't know my torment. 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 that very moment the night watchman became a night watchman again: after all, he became an officer only thanks to his galoshes, but, as we saw, this did not make him any happier and wanted to return to his previous state. So the night watchman became a night watchman again.

“What a bad dream I had! - he said. - However, it’s quite funny. I dreamed that I became the same lieutenant who lives upstairs - and how boring his life is! How I missed my wife and kids: someone, and they are always ready to kiss me to death.”

The night watchman sat in the same place and nodded in time with his thoughts. The dream could not get out of his head, and the galoshes of happiness were still on his feet. A star rolled across the sky.

“Look at how it rolled,” the watchman said to himself. - Well, there’s still a lot of them left there. It would be nice to take a closer look at these celestial things. Especially the moon: it’s not like it won’t slip between the stars’ fingers. The student for whom my wife washes clothes 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 like that! Oh, if only I could jump to the sky, and let my 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 have probably traveled by train or by boat, which were going “at full speed.” But compared to the speed of light, their speed is the same as that of a sloth or a snail. Light travels nineteen million times faster than the best walker, but not faster than electricity. Death is an electric shock to the heart, and on the wings of electricity the liberated soul flies away from the body. Sunbeam runs twenty million miles in just eight minutes and seconds, but the soul even faster than light covers the vast spaces that separate the stars.

For our soul to fly the distance between two heavenly bodies as easy as walking to the next house ourselves. But an electric shock to the heart can cost us our lives if we don’t have the same galoshes of happiness on our feet that the watchman had.

In a few seconds the night watchman flew through the space of fifty-two thousand miles separating the earth from the moon, which, as we 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 countless lunar ring mountains that are 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 dropped almost vertically down a whole Danish mile, and at the very bottom of the crater there was a city. This city resembled an egg white dropped into a glass of water - its towers, domes and sail-shaped balconies seemed so transparent and light, weakly swaying in the rarefied air of the moon. And above the watchman’s head a huge fiery red ball floated majestically - our land.

On the moon there were many living creatures that we would call people if they were not so different from us both in appearance and language. It was difficult to expect the watchman's soul to understand this language, but she understood it perfectly.

Yes, yes, you can be surprised all 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 further argued that life is possible only on the moon - the only planet where life arose a long time ago.

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

Lifeless, it still sat on the steps; a stick with a star at the end - we called it " morning star,” fell out of her hands, and her eyes stared at the moon, along which the guard’s soul was now traveling.

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

Deciding that the watchman had died, the passer-by was horrified, but the dead man remained dead. This was reported where it should be, and in the morning the body was taken to the hospital.

What a mess it would be if the soul returned and, as one would expect, began to look for its body where it parted with it, that is, on Eastern Street. Having discovered the loss, she most likely would have immediately rushed to the police, to the address desk, from there to the bureau for the search of things to advertise the loss in the newspaper, and only lastly would she have gone to the hospital. However, there is nothing to worry about the soul - when it acts on its own, everything goes perfectly, and only the body interferes with it and forces it to do stupid things.

So, when the watchman was taken to the hospital and brought in the dead body, the first thing they did, 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 insisted that it was the most crazy night of his life. He wouldn't even agree to relive all these horrors for two marks. However, now all this is behind us.

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

IV. "PUZZLE". DECLAMATION. A COMPLETELY EXTRAORDINARY JOURNEY

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

The fact is that the hospital is separated from the street by a rather high grille made of thick iron rods. These bars are spaced so sparsely that many trainees, if they are thin, manage to squeeze between them when they want to get out into the city at an inopportune hour. It is most difficult for them to get their heads through, so in this case, as, indeed, often happens in life, the big-headed ones had the most difficulty... Well, that’s enough for the introduction.

That evening, a young doctor was on duty at the hospital, about whom, although one could say that “his head is big,” but... only in the most literal sense of the word. It was pouring rain; however, despite the bad weather and the duty, the doctor still decided to run into the city for some urgent business, at least for a quarter of an hour. “There’s no point,” he thought, “to get involved with the gatekeeper if you can easily get through the bars.” The galoshes, forgotten by the watchman, were still lying in the lobby. In such a downpour, they were very useful, and the doctor put them on, not realizing that they were galoshes of happiness. Now all that remained was to squeeze between the iron bars, something he had never had to do before.

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

And at that very moment his head, although very large, slipped safely 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 that getting my head through would be the hardest thing.” No, I can't get through!

He wanted to immediately pull his head back, but that was not the case: it was stuck hopelessly, he could only twist it as much as he wanted and without any sense. At first the doctor was simply angry, but soon his mood deteriorated completely: the galoshes put him in a truly terrible position.

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

Oh, the blood just rushes to my head. No, I'm going so crazy! Yes, yes, I'll go crazy! Oh, if only I could be free!

The doctor should have said this a long time ago: at that very moment his head was freed, and he rushed headlong back, completely maddened by the fear into which the galoshes of happiness plunged him.

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

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

In the evening, a performance was given in a small theater located on Kannik Street. The auditorium was full. Among other artists, one reader recited a poem called “Grandma’s Glasses.”

GRANDMOTHER'S GLASSES

My grandmother had such a gift,

That before they would have burned her alive.

After all, she knows everything and even more:

To find out the future was in her will,

She penetrated into the “forties” with her gaze,

But a request to tell always ended in an argument.

“Tell me,” I say, “the coming year.”

What events will it bring us?

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

But grandmother, skilled in deceit,

Stubbornly silent, and not a word in response,

And sometimes she’s ready to scold me. But how can she resist, where can she find strength? After all, I was her favorite.

“In your opinion, let it be this time,”

Grandma told 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 maps you will understand what happened and what will happen.

Saying “thank you”, I quickly left.

But where to find the crowd? In the square, no doubt.

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

On the street? There's dirt and puddles everywhere.

Isn't it in the theater? Well, that's a great idea!

This is where I will meet a whole crowd.

And finally, I'm here! All I have to do is get some glasses

And I will become a match for the oracle.

And you sit quietly in your places:

After all, you need to seem like cards,

So that the future can be seen clearly.

Your silence is a sign that you agree.

Now I’ll ask fate, and not in vain,

For your own benefit and for the people.

So, what does the deck of living cards say? (Puts on glasses.)

What do I see! What fun!

You really would burst with laughter,

When they saw all the aces of diamonds,

Both gentle ladies and harsh kings!

All the spades and clubs here are blacker than bad dreams.

Let's take a good look at them.

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

And suddenly I fell in love with the Jack of Diamonds.

What do these cards portend to us?

They promise a lot of money for the house

And a guest from a distant place.

However, we hardly need guests.

Conversation you would like to start

From the estates? Better keep quiet!

And I will give you one good piece of advice:

Don't steal bread from newspapers.

Or about theaters? Behind-the-scenes friction?

Oh no! I will not spoil my relationship with the management.

About my future? But it is known:

It's not interesting to know bad things.

I know everything - what's the use of it:

You will also know when the time comes!

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

Yeah! I will find the lucky one now...

It would be easy to distinguish him,

Yes, the rest would have to be upset!

Who will live longer? Oh, him? Wonderful!

But talking about this subject is dangerous.

Say? Say? Should I say or not?

No, I won’t say - that’s my answer!

I'm afraid that I might offend you,

It’s better if I read your thoughts now,

Calling upon all the power of magic immediately.

Would you like to know? I’ll tell myself as a reproach:

It seems to you that since when have I

I’m talking nonsense in front of you.

Then I’ll keep quiet, you’re right, without a doubt.

Now I want to hear your opinion myself.

The reader recited excellently, and applause thundered in the hall.

Our ill-fated doctor was also among the audience. He seemed to have already forgotten his misadventures of the previous night. Going to the theater, he put on his galoshes again - no one had yet demanded them, and there was slush on the street, so they could serve him well. And they served!

The poems made a great impression on our doctor. He really liked their idea and thought it would be nice to get some glasses like that. With a little practice, one could learn to read in people’s hearts, and this is much more interesting than looking into the next year - after all, it will come sooner or later, but you can’t look into a person’s soul otherwise.

“If we could take, say, the spectators in the first row,” the doctor thought, “and see what’s going on in their hearts, there must be some kind of entrance leading there, like a store. Whatever I saw there, I must assume! This lady probably has a whole haberdashery store in her heart. And this one is already empty, it just needs to be washed and cleaned properly. There are also reputable stores among them. “Oh,” the doctor sighed, “I know one such store, but, alas, a clerk has already been found for it, and this is its only drawback.” And from many others, they would probably be calling: “Please come to us, you are welcome!” Yes, I wish I could go there in the form of a tiny thought, take a walk through hearts!”

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

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

Among others, this lady’s heart contained casts taken of the physical and moral deformities of all her friends.

Since he was not supposed to linger too long, the doctor quickly moved to another woman’s heart - and this time it seemed to him that he had entered a bright, vast temple. A white dove, the personification of innocence, hovered over the altar. The medic wanted to kneel, but he had to hurry further, 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 purer than he was before, and was now worthy to enter the next sanctuary, which turned out to be a miserable closet where his sick mother lay. But warm rays of sunshine poured into the wide-open windows, wonderful roses, blooming in a box under the window, shook their heads, nodding to the sick woman, two sky-blue birds sang a song about children’s joys, and the sick mother asked for happiness for her daughter.

Then our medic crawled on all fours into the butcher's shop; it was littered with meat, and wherever he poked his head, he came across carcasses. This was the heart of a rich, respected man whose name could probably be found in a city directory.

From there the doctor migrated to the heart of his wife. It was an old, dilapidated dovecote. The portrait of her husband was placed on it instead of a weather vane; an entrance door was attached to it, which either opened or closed, depending on where the husband turned.

Then the doctor found himself in a room with mirrored walls, the same as in the Rosenborg Palace, but here there were magnifying mirrors, they magnified everything many times. In the middle of the room, the little self of the owner of this heart sat on a throne and admired its own greatness.

From there the doctor moved to another heart, and it seemed to him that he had found himself in a narrow needle case filled with sharp needles. He thought that this was the heart of some old maid, but he was mistaken: it belonged to a young military man awarded many orders, who was said to be “a man with a heart and a mind.”

Finally, the poor doctor got out of the last heart and, completely stunned, could not collect his thoughts for a long time. He blamed his wild imagination for everything.

“God knows what it is! - he sighed. - No, I'm definitely going crazy. And how wildly hot it is here! The blood rushes to the head. - Then he remembered his yesterday’s misadventures at the hospital fence. - That's when I got sick! - he thought. - We need to start treatment in time. They say that in such cases the Russian bath is most beneficial. Oh, if only I was already on the shelf.”

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

- Oh! - the doctor shouted and ran to quickly take a shower. The bathhouse attendant also screamed: he was scared when he saw a dressed man in the bathhouse.

Our doctor, without being taken aback, whispered to him:

“Don’t be afraid, it’s my bet,” but when he returned home, the first thing he did was put one large patch of Spanish flies on his neck and another on his back to get the crap out of his head.

The next morning his whole back was swollen with blood - that’s all that the galoshes of happiness blessed him with.

V. TRANSFORMATIONS OF A POLICE SCRIPT

Our friend the watchman, meanwhile, remembered about 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 theirs, and the watchman took them to the police.

- Yes, they are like two peas in a pod like mine! - said one of the police clerks, placing the find next to his galoshes and examining it carefully. “Even the experienced eye of a shoemaker would not be able to distinguish one pair from another.

“Mr. Clerk,” the policeman addressed him, coming in with some papers.

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

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

The clerk put on his galoshes and, putting some papers in his pocket and others in his armpit (he needed to reread and rewrite something at home), went out into the street. It was a Sunday, the weather was wonderful, 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 demonstrate 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.

“Eh, here you are leaving again, and we’re staying,” said the clerk. “You are happy people, you fly where you want and wherever you want, but we have chains on our feet.”

“Yes, but they chain you to the breadfruit tree,” the poet objected. “You don’t need to worry about tomorrow, and when you get old, you’ll get a pension.”

“That’s true, but you still live much more freely,” said the clerk. - Writing poetry - what could be better! The public loves you, and you are your own masters. But you should try 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 in different directions, each remaining with his own opinion.

“These poets are an 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 wouldn’t whine in my poems. Oh, what a wonderful spring day it is today, how much beauty, freshness, and poetry there is in it! What unusually clear air! What fancy clouds! And the grass and leaves smell so sweetly! It’s been a long time since I felt this as acutely as I do now.”

You, of course, noticed that he had 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 ordinary people One often encounters natures that are 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 person, a kind of transformation occurs, and this is exactly the transformation that 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. Lord, how come I never thought of her before! Good old aunt! She lived just behind the Exchange. Always, even in the most severe cold, there were some green twigs or sprouts in jars on her windows, violets filled the room with aroma; and I applied heated coppers to the icy windows so that I could look out into the street. What a view there was from those windows! There were also ships frozen in the ice 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 “hurray,” the sailors chipped away at the ice; the ships were tarred, equipped with everything necessary, and they finally sailed to overseas countries. They swim away, but I stay here; and it will always be so; I will always sit in the police office and watch others receive their foreign passports. Yes, that is my lot!” - and he took a deep, deep breath, but then suddenly came to his senses: “What is this happening to me today? Nothing like this had ever occurred to me before. That’s right, it’s the spring air that has that effect on me. And my heart contracts with some kind of sweet excitement.”

He reached into his pocket for his papers: “I’ll take them and think about something else,” he decided and ran his eyes over the first sheet of paper that came to hand. “Fru Siegbrith, an original tragedy in five acts,” he read. - What's happened? Strange, my handwriting! Was it really me who wrote the tragedy? What else is this? “Intrigue on the rampart, or the Great Holiday; vaudeville". But where did I get all this? Probably someone slipped it in? Yes, there’s another letter..."

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

“Hm,” said the clerk, sitting down on the bench.

Many thoughts suddenly poured into his head, and his heart filled with inexplicable tenderness... for what reason - he himself did not know. Mechanically, he picked a flower and admired it. It was a small, simple daisy, but in one minute it told him more about itself than could be learned by listening to several lectures on botany. She told him the legend of her birth, told him how powerful the sunlight was, 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 the daisy’s beloved, 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 has given me beauty! - said the daisy.

- And the air gives you life! - the poet whispered to her. A little boy stood nearby and tapped the water in a dirty ditch with a stick; the splashes flew in different directions. And the clerk suddenly thought about those millions of living creatures, invisible to the naked eye, who take off along with water drops to a huge size, compared to their own size.

rami, height - it’s as if, for example, we found ourselves on the clouds. Thinking about this, as well as about his transformation, our clerk smiled: “I just sleep and see soybeans. But what an amazing dream this is! It turns out that you can dream in reality, realizing that you are only dreaming. It would be good to remember all this tomorrow morning when I wake up. What a strange condition! Now I see everything so clearly, so clearly, I feel so vigorous and strong - and at the same time I know well that if in the morning I try to remember something, 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 gnomes: at night, when you receive them, they seem like precious stones, and during the day they turn into a heap of rubble and withered leaves.

Completely upset, the clerk sighed sadly, looking at the birds, who cheerfully sang their songs, flitting from branch to branch.

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

And at that very moment the sleeves and tails of his coat turned into wings and became 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’ve never seen such stupid dreams,” he thought, flew up onto a green branch and sang.

However, there was no longer poetry in his singing, since he had 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 at the same time lost his former properties.

“It’s funny, there’s 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 flying like a lark through Fredericksburg Park. Yes, damn it, you could write a whole folk comedy about this!”

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

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

- Oh, you worthless puppy! How dare you. I'm a police clerk!

But the boy only heard a plaintive “pi-i, pi-i-i.” He clicked the bird's beak and walked 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 class - in terms of mental development and success in the sciences. They bought a lark for eight skills. Thus, the police clerk returned to the city and ended up in an apartment on Gothskaya 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 it was my poetic nature that inspired me with the desire to turn into such a little thing. However, this is not a fun life, especially when you fall into the clutches of such brats. 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 happy about the “simple field bird,” as she called the lark, but nevertheless she allowed the boys to leave him and put him in a cage on the windowsill.

“Perhaps he’ll entertain the little bum a little!” - she added and looked with a smile at the large green parrot, which was swinging importantly on a ring in a luxurious metal cage. “Today is the little one’s birthday,” she said, smiling stupidly, “and the field bird wants to congratulate him.”

The parrot, without answering anything, still swayed back and forth as importantly. At this time, a beautiful canary, which was brought here last summer from its warm and fragrant native country, began to sing loudly.

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

- Pee-pee! What a terrible snowstorm! - The canary sighed and fell silent.

The clerk, whom the owner called “the bird of the field,” was put in a small cage, next to the canary’s cage and next to the parrot. The parrot could clearly pronounce only one phrase, which often sounded very comical: “No, let’s be human!”, and everything else was as incomprehensible to him as the twitter of a canary. However, the clerk, having turned into a bird, understood his new acquaintances very well.

“I fluttered under a green palm tree and a blooming almond tree,” the canary sang, “together with my brothers and sisters, I flew over wonderful flowers and the mirror-like surface of lakes, and the reflections of coastal plants nodded to us welcomingly.”

I saw flocks of beautiful parrots who told many wonderful stories.

“These are wild birds,” responded the parrot, “who 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 not you too? Not appreciating good witticisms is a very big vice, I must tell you. No, let's be human!

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

“Of course I remember,” answered the parrot, “but I’m much better here!” They feed me well and please me in every possible way. I know I'm smart and that's enough for me. 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 very genius, but lack discretion. You aim too high, so people push you down. 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, blooming 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 guardians of moisture in the desert - cacti.”

- Stop whining! - said the parrot. - Better say something funny. Laughter is a sign of the highest level of spiritual development. Can a dog or a horse, for example, laugh? No, they can only cry, and only humans are gifted with the ability to laugh. Ho-ho-ho! — the little priest burst out laughing and completely overwhelmed his interlocutors with his “no, let’s be human!”

“And you, little gray Danish bird,” said the canary to the lark, “you too have become a prisoner.” It may be cold in your forests, but in them you are free. Get out of here! Look, they forgot to lock your cage! The window is open, fly - quickly, quickly!

The clerk did so, flew out of the cage and sat down next to her. At that moment, the door to the next room opened and a cat appeared on the threshold, flexible, scary, with green glowing eyes. The cat was just about ready to jump, but the canary darted about in the cage, and the parrot flapped its wings and shouted: “No, let’s be human!” The clerk froze with horror and, flying out the window, flew over the houses and streets. He flew and 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!” — he mechanically repeated the parrot’s favorite phrase, and at that very 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 end up on the table and even fall asleep?” And what a wild dream I had. What nonsense!

VI. THE BEST THING THE GALOSHS HAVE MADE

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

“Please lend me your galoshes,” he said. “Even though it’s damp in the garden, the sun is shining too brightly.” I want to go there and smoke a pipe.

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

The student walked up and down the path. The time was early, only six o'clock in the morning. A stagecoach's horn began to play in the street.

- Oh, travel, travel! - he burst out. - What could be better! This is the limit of all my dreams. If they had come true, I would probably have calmed down and stopped 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 gone too far both for himself and for you and me. At that very moment he was already traveling through Switzerland, hidden in a stagecoach with eight other passengers. His head was cracking, his neck was aching, his legs were numb and hurt because his boots were pinching mercilessly. He was neither asleep nor awake, but was in a state of some kind of painful stupor. He had a letter of credit in his right pocket, a passport in his left, and several gold pieces were sewn into a leather pouch on his chest. As soon as our traveler nodded, he immediately began to imagine that he had already lost one of these treasures, and then he would tremble, and his hand would frantically describe a triangle - from right to left and on his chest - to check everything Is it intact? Umbrellas, sticks, and hats dangled in the net above the passengers' heads, and all this prevented the student from enjoying the beautiful mountain landscape. But he looked and looked and couldn’t get enough of it, and in his heart were the lines of a poem that a Swiss poet known to us wrote, although he did not publish it:

Beautiful region! In front of me, Mont Blanc looms white in the distance. It would truly be heaven on earth here, if there were more money in your wallet.

The nature here was gloomy, harsh and majestic. The coniferous forests that covered the sky-high mountain peaks seemed from a distance to be just thickets of heather. It began to snow and a sharp cold wind blew.

- Wow! - the student sighed. “If only we were already on the other side of the Alps!” Summer has now arrived there, and I would finally receive my money under the letter of credit. I am so afraid for them that all these Alpine beauties have ceased to captivate me. Oh, if only 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 Hannibal had once defeated Flaminius, now the vines peacefully entwined each other with their green lashes. Along the road, under the canopy of fragrant laurels, lovely half-naked children tended a herd of pitch-black pigs. Yes, if we were to describe this picture properly, everyone would just repeat: “Oh, amazing Italy!” But, strangely enough, neither the theologian nor his companions thought so. Thousands of poisonous flies and mosquitoes flew in clouds in the air; It was in vain that the travelers fanned themselves with myrtle branches; the insects still bit and stung them. There was not a person in the carriage whose entire face was not swollen, bitten into blood. The horses looked even more miserable: the poor animals were completely surrounded by huge swarms of insects, so that the coachman from time to time got off the box and drove their tormentors away from the horses, but after a moment new hordes swooped in. The sun soon set, and the travelers were gripped by a piercing cold - admittedly, not for long, but still it was not very pleasant. But the mountain peaks and 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 needs to be seen. The spectacle was amazing, everyone agreed with this, but everyone’s stomach was empty, their body was tired, their soul was yearning for shelter for the night, and 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 as if you were driving somewhere in your homeland, between native gnarled willows. Soon the carriage arrived at a lonely hotel. At its gates sat many crippled beggars, and the most vigorous of them seemed “the eldest son of hunger who had reached maturity.” Some cripples were blinded; others' legs dried up - these crawled on their hands; Still others had no fingers on their mutilated hands. It seemed that poverty itself was reaching out to the travelers from this heap of rags and rags. “Ecce-lenza miserabili!” - they wheezed, showing their ugly limbs. The travelers were met by the hotel owner, barefoot, unkempt, and wearing a dirty jacket. The doors in the rooms were held on by ropes, bats fluttered under the ceiling, the brick floor was full of potholes; and the stench was such that you could hang an ax...

“It’s better to let her set the table for us in the stable,” said one of the travelers. “At least you know what you’re breathing there.”

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

The walls of the room were completely covered with inscriptions, and half of them cursed “beautiful Italy.”

Lunch 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 cockscombs as decoration for the feast; even the wine seemed not to be wine, but some kind of mixture.

At night, the door was barricaded with suitcases, and one traveler was assigned to stand guard while the rest fell asleep. The sentry was a theological student. Well, it was stuffy in the room! The heat is unbearable, mosquitoes, and then there are the “miserabili” that moaned in my sleep, preventing me from falling asleep.

“Yes, traveling, of course, wouldn’t be bad,” the student sighed, “if we didn’t have a body.” Let it lie and rest, and let the spirit fly wherever it pleases. Otherwise, wherever I go, sadness gnaws at my heart. I would like something more than the instant joy of being. Yes, yes, greater, higher, highest! But where is it? 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 there was a black coffin on the floor, and in it the theologian was sleeping 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.

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 nothing but graves and prayers. So, is the thought thrown into dust? Am I an insignificant prey to decay?

What a groaning choir is to the world of vanity! You lived alone all your life, And your lot was heavier than the slab that someone laid on your grave.

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

“Well,” asked Sadness, “have your galoshes brought a lot of happiness to humanity?”

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

“Oh no,” said Sadness, “he himself left the world, before his time.” He was not yet so strong spiritually as to master those treasures that he should have mastered by his very destiny. Well, I'll do him a favor! - And she pulled off the student’s galoshes.

The death sleep was interrupted. The dead man rose and stood up. The Fairy of Sorrow disappeared, and with her the galoshes. She must have decided that they should belong to her 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 humorous manner, the writer sets out fantastic events that can happen to people if they put on the galoshes of happiness. A brief summary of this funny tale will be presented in this article.

Where did it all start?

So, the work takes us to Copenhagen, to East Street, which is located next to the Royal Square. Many guests gathered in one house and had fun. Some of them sat down to play cards, others occupied their leisure time with interesting conversation. Its meaning boiled down to the fact that life was much better than at present. Justice Adviser Knapp especially insisted 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 merciless criticism. During the heated argument, the interlocutors did not notice the appearance of two ladies in the hallway. This is how the fairy tale “Galoshes of Happiness” begins, summary which is given in this article.

Two fairies

So, in the hallway, where the galoshes, hats and umbrellas of the guests were, two unknown women appeared. They looked modest, but their manners appearance and the unusual cut of their clothes revealed that they were not mere mortals. And so it was. One of the ladies - an old one - was the fairy of Sorrow and preferred to do everything on her own because she did not trust others. The other - a young one - was an assistant to the Fairy of Happiness and was distinguished by her fun and cheerfulness. Today was her birthday, and she decided to give people something special in honor of this holiday. The girl brought with her galoshes of happiness, which could transport the person who wore them to any era he wished, and thereby make him happy. The Fairy of Sorrow suggested that such an unusual gift would most likely make a mortal the most unhappy on earth. The ladies have disappeared. The only reminders of their arrival were the galoshes of happiness left in the hallway. The summary of the tale further tells about the fate of Councilor 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 impassable mud, since the streets were not paved in those days. The amazed adviser saw people in medieval costumes and heard unfamiliar speech. He met an unusual procession, consisting of drummers walking in front and guards with crossbows and bows following them, and learned that this was the escort of the Bishop of Zealand. Thinking about why the clergyman would start such a masquerade, the adviser reached the square of the High Cape, but could not find the bridge leading to the river in the same place. Two guys suggested that the adviser cross to the other side by boat. The man refused. The reality seemed more and more disgusting to him: the dirt, lack of lanterns and stone porch made his existence unbearable. He was about to return to New Royal Square to look for a cab driver, but found in this place a spacious meadow crossed by an unknown canal. Then Knap headed to Eastern Street. Under the light of the moon, he was able to see ancient thatched buildings. In the end, the poor adviser had to go into a house in which 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 with amazement to his every word. The adviser decided to sneak away from his interlocutors, hid under the table and began to slowly crawl towards the exit, but he was caught by his legs. Fortunately, the galoshes of happiness immediately fell off Knap. The summary of the work takes us after the new owner of the ill-fated shoes. And Knap again found himself in his era. And until the end of his days he thanked fate for not living in the Middle Ages.

The Night Watchman's Wish

This man discovered galoshes of happiness on the street. He decided that the shoes belonged to the brave lieutenant who lived upstairs. Since it was late, the watchman decided to return them in the morning, but in the meantime he tried on the galoshes himself. They suited him well. The watchman thought about how freely a military man could live. The lieutenant is not bothered by worries; he has no wife and children. Every day he visits guests. The man decided that he would trade places with the military man. The wise Andersen laughed at this naive dream in his fairy tale. The galoshes of happiness immediately made the night watchman a lieutenant.

The Lieutenant's Concerns

While 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 talks about his bitter fate. Being a poor man, he could not marry the one he idolized. His entire capital consisted of beautiful fairy tales that he told to his beloved. But the lieutenant’s eloquence could not win the girl’s heart. The unhappy lover looked longingly at the street, cursed fate and envied the night guard, who did not know his worries. Thinking that a person with a close-knit family is much happier than him, the officer wholeheartedly wanted to become a watchman. Of course, his wish immediately came true, because the soldier had galoshes of happiness on his feet. A short stay in the lieutenant's shoes put the man in a different mood. He finally realized how lucky he was. But now he was overcome by other dreams.

Flight to the stars

The night watchman looked 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 began to daydream, the stick with the star-shaped tip fell out of his hands and he began to nod off. A random passer-by asked the watchman what time it was, and saw the body of a man dreaming in reality stretched out at full length on the sidewalk. Everyone decided that the guard had died. His lifeless body was taken to the hospital. And then the crafty Andersen took pity on his hero. The watchman's galoshes of happiness were removed first, 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 adventure of a medic at the hospital bars

The fairy tale “Galoshes of Happiness,” a brief summary of which is offered in this article, takes us to the territory of the main city hospital in Copenhagen. At the time described by Andersen, it was separated from the street by a fence made of iron bars. Thin trainees squeezed through them when they tried to escape into the city at an inopportune hour. Squeezing the head through the bars was the most difficult thing, so the big-headed doctors had a hard time. The hero of the story, which will be described below, had a big head in the literal sense of the word. This young doctor was planning to run into town for a quarter of an hour on urgent matters. In order not to disturb the gatekeeper, he decided to sneak through the bars. Seeing galoshes forgotten by the watchman in the lobby, the young man decided that in such damp weather they would come in handy and put them on. Finding himself in front of the bars, the medic became worried. He had never had to climb through it before. The guy was only thinking 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 young man's wish. However, the guy's torso was too thick to follow his head. The doctor found himself in a terrible situation. Stuck inside the fence, he dreamed only of getting out of his trap. Afraid that he would have to stand like that until the morning and wait until a crowd of mocking onlookers gathered around him, the guy with all his heart wished himself to get out of the damned bars. Of course, his wish immediately came true.

Adventures of a medic in the bathhouse

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

How a clerk became a poet

A night watchman we knew remembered about 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 Frederiksberg. Having got out of the stuffy office into the fresh air, the young man began to look around and saw a familiar poet. He went on a trip for the whole summer. The clerk envied his friend's freedom and wanted to become a poet himself. The world the surroundings suddenly seemed to him painted in rainbow 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 office protocols, but some manuscripts. Mechanically picking a daisy, the guy admired it. A whole story immediately came to his mind. He thought that the light gave the flower beauty, and the air gave her 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 turned into reality by the Galoshes of Happiness. From this moment on, Andersen's tale tells not about a person, but about a little bird.

Adventures of the Lark

So, the coattails and sleeves of the clerk's coat turned into wings and were covered with feathers, and the galoshes became black claws. The man decided that this was all an amazing dream. The lark, in which he was reincarnated, first flew up onto a branch and sang. Then he moved to the ground and began cheerfully pecking at flexible blades of grass. Suddenly it seemed to him that a huge blanket had been thrown over him. In fact, a mischievous boy threw the hat on him. Having caught the lark in this way, he sold it to two schoolchildren. They brought the bird into a beautifully furnished room and put it in a cage. The lark found himself in the company of two other birds. One of them, a large green parrot, was extremely proud of her intelligence. Still would! After all, she knew how to pronounce a human phrase, which sometimes sounded very comical: “No, let’s be human!” Another - a canary - constantly sang songs about the beauty of her native land and free life. Fortunately, the people forgot to lock the cage, and the lark managed to get free. Leaving the room, he almost fell into the clutches of a scary cat. The clerk became cold with fear, flew 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. The man thought he accidentally fell asleep on the table. This is how Anderson treated the police clerk in his fairy tale. The galoshes of happiness played a funny joke 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 he could go down into the garden and smoke a pipe. So the young man had to test the effect of the magic shoes on himself. He went out into the garden, began to walk along the path and heard the horn of a 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 around Europe cannot be conveyed. brief retelling. The galoshes of happiness first carried 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 unusually inhospitable to him. On the way, travelers were mercilessly bitten by insects. The nature here, however, was magnificent. The play of colors at sunset was amazing. However, in the evening the travelers were overcome by a piercing cold. And the hotel where the traveler happened to spend the night was simply terrible: the brick floor was full of potholes, there were bats on the ceiling, and there was an unbearable stench in the rooms. The dinner offered by the hostess was disgusting. The travelers had to barricade the door with suitcases and post a sentry. The lot fell on the poor philosophy student. The unbearable heat, mosquitoes and the moans of beggars outside the window brought the guy to the point that he wanted to fall asleep forever. The next moment he found himself at home in a black coffin. This is the plot twist that the brilliant H.H. Andersen came up with. Galoshes of happiness made this careless wish come true.

The final

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

The sorceresses we know - the Fairy of Sorrow and the Messenger of Happiness - appeared in the student’s home at the moment of his sudden death. They wondered how much happiness the unusual shoes had brought to people. 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 objects more. The student woke up, got up and began to live his old life.

"Galoshes of Happiness" - summary

In shortening, 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 only enjoy this extraordinary story by reading it in the original. Therefore, the author of this article recommends that everyone once open a book of fairy tales that Andersen himself wrote. “Galoshes 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.

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Hans Christian Andersen

Galoshes of happiness

It happened 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 see, you yourself will get an invitation someday. The guests split into two large groups: one immediately sat down at the card tables, the other formed a circle around the hostess, who suggested “coming up with something more interesting,” and the conversation flowed by itself. By the way, we were talking about the Middle Ages, and many found that life was much better in those days than now. Yes Yes! Counselor 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 superior to the Middle Ages. The adviser argued 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 newspaper was brought (however, there was absolutely nothing to read in it), let's go into the hallway, where the guests left their coats, sticks, umbrellas and galoshes. Two women just came in here: 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 if you looked more closely, you would notice that these women did not look at all like maids: their hands were too soft and gentle , the posture and movements were too stately, and the dress was distinguished by some particularly bold cut. Of course, you already guessed that they were fairies. The youngest was, if not the fairy of Happiness herself, then, most likely, the maid of one of her many ladies-in-waiting chambers and was busy bringing people various small gifts of Happiness. The eldest seemed much more serious - she was the fairy of Sorrow and always managed her affairs herself, without entrusting them to anyone: so, at least, she knew that everything would probably be done properly.

Standing in the hallway, they told each other about where they had been that day. Today the chambermaid of the maid of honor of Happiness carried out only a few unimportant tasks: she saved someone’s new hat from a downpour, conveyed a bow to one respectable person from a high-ranking nonentity, and everything in the same spirit. But she still had something completely extraordinary left in reserve.

“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 can be instantly transported to any place or setting of any era - wherever he wishes - and thus he will immediately find happiness.

- You think so? - responded 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 later! - said the maid 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.

This is the conversation that took place between them.

2. What happened to the justice adviser

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

- What a mess! It's just terrible! - muttered the adviser. - And besides, not a single lamp is lit.

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 there was a lamp hanging, but it glowed slightly, so the adviser noticed the picture only when he caught up with it, and only then did he see the Mother of God with a baby in her arms.

“There was probably an artist’s studio here,” he decided, “but they forgot to remove the sign.”

Then several people in medieval costumes walked past him.

“Why are they dressed up like that? – thought the adviser. “They must be coming from a masquerade party.”

But suddenly the beating of drums and the whistling of pipes was heard, torches flashed, and an amazing sight was presented to the advisor’s eyes! A strange procession was moving towards him along the street: drummers walked ahead, skillfully beating the beat with sticks, and behind them walked guards with bows and crossbows. Apparently, it was a retinue accompanying some important clergyman. The amazed adviser asked what kind of procession this was and who this dignitary was.

- Bishop of Zealand! - came the answer.

- Lord have mercy! What else happened to the bishop? – Councilor Knap sighed, sadly shaking his head. - No, it’s unlikely that this is a bishop.

Thinking about all these wonders and not looking around, the adviser slowly walked along East Street until he finally reached the High Bridge Square. However, the bridge leading to Palace Square was not in place - the poor adviser could barely see a small 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? - the adviser asked, not yet knowing that he was now living during the Middle Ages. – I need to get to Christianova Harbor, to Malaya Torgovaya Street.

The guys rolled their eyes at him.

- At least tell me where the bridge is? – the adviser continued. - What a disgrace! The lanterns don’t light up, and the dirt is so muddy that it feels like you’re wandering through a swamp!

But the more he talked to the carriers, the less he could figure anything out.

“I don’t understand your Bornholm gibberish!” – he finally got angry and turned his back to them.

But he still did not find the bridge; The stone parapet of the embankment also disappeared. “What’s happening! What a disgrace!” - he thought. Yes, never before had reality seemed so pitiful and disgusting to him as it did that evening. “No, it’s better to take a cab,” he decided. - But, Lord, where did they all go? As luck would have it, not a single one! I’ll go back to the New Royal Square - there are probably carriages there, otherwise I’ll never get to Christian Harbor!”

He returned to Eastern Street again and had already walked almost all of it when the moon rose.

“Lord, what have they built here?” – the adviser was amazed when he saw in front of him the Eastern City Gate, which in those distant times stood at the end of Eastern Street.

Finally he found a gate and went out into what is now the New Royal Square, which in those days was just a large meadow. There were bushes here and there in the meadow, and it was crossed by either a wide canal or a river. On the opposite bank were the pitiful shops of the Halland skippers, which is why the place was called the Halland Heights.

- My God! Or is it a mirage, a Fata Morgana, or am I... oh my God... drunk? – the counselor of justice groaned. - What is it? What is it?

And the adviser turned back again, thinking that he was sick. Walking along the street, he now looked more closely at the houses and noticed that they were all of ancient construction and many were thatched.

“Yes, of course, I got sick,” he sighed, “but I only drank a glass of punch, but that hurt me too.” And you have to think of it - treat your guests to punch and hot salmon! No, I will definitely talk to the agent about this. Should I return to them and tell them what trouble happened to me? No, it's inconvenient. Yes, they probably went to bed long ago.

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

- No, this is just some kind of nonsense! I don't recognize East Street. Not a single store! It's all just old, miserable shacks - you'd think I was in Roskilde or Ringsted. Yes, my business is bad! Well, why be shy, I’ll go back to the agent! But damn, how can I find his house? I don't recognize him anymore. Aha, it seems they’re not sleeping here yet!... Oh, I’m completely ill, completely ill.

He came across a half-open door, from behind which light was pouring. It was one of those old taverns that resembled our beer houses today. The common room resembled a Holstein tavern. Several regulars sat in it - the skipper, Copenhagen burghers and some other people who looked like scientists. While drinking beer from mugs, they had some kind of heated argument and did not pay the slightest attention to the new visitor.

“Excuse me,” the adviser said to the hostess who approached him, “I suddenly felt ill.” Can you get me a cab? I live in Christian Haven.

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 somehow strangely, and now, having heard 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 this the evening “Day”? - he asked to say something, seeing how the hostess was putting away a large sheet of paper.

She didn’t understand him, but still handed him the sheet: it was an old engraving depicting a strange glow in 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, although completely fictional. In fact, it was just the northern lights, as scientists now explain; and probably similar phenomena are caused by electricity.

Those who were sitting close and heard his words looked at him with respect; one man even stood up, respectfully took off his hat and said with the most serious look:

– You are obviously a great scientist, monsieur?

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

“Modestial is the most beautiful virtue,” said his interlocutor. - However, about the essence of your statement mihi secus videtur<я другого мнения (лат.)>, although I will gladly refrain for now from expressing my own judicium.

– Dare I ask, with whom do I have the pleasure of talking? – the adviser inquired.

“I am a bachelor of theology,” he answered.

These words explained everything to the adviser - the stranger was dressed in accordance with his academic title. “This must be some old village teacher,” he thought, “a man out of this world, the kind you can still meet in the remote corners of Jutland.”

“There is, of course, no locus docendi here,” said the theologian, “but I still beg you to continue your speech.” You are, of course, very well read in ancient literature?

- Oh yeah! You are right, I often read ancient authors, that is, all their good works; but I also really love the latest literature, just not “Ordinary Stories” (an allusion to “Ordinary Stories” by the Danish writer Güllemburg); there are enough of them in life.

- Ordinary stories? – the theologian asked.

– Yes, I’m talking about these new novels, of which so many are now being published.

“Oh, they are very witty and popular at court,” the bachelor smiled. – The king especially loves the novels about Ifvent 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 says in his “History of the Danish State” that, having read the novel about knights of the Round Table, King Hans once jokingly said to his close associate Otto Rud, whom he loved very much: “These gentlemen Ifwent and Gaudian, about whom this book speaks, were wonderful knights. You will never meet such people anymore.” To which Otto Rud replied: “If there were now such kings as King Arthur, then, probably, there would be many such knights as Ifvent and Gaudian.” (Andersen’s note).

“I haven’t read these novels yet,” said the adviser to justice. – It must be Heiberg who released something new?

“No, no, not Heiberg, but Gottfred von Gehmen,” answered the bachelor.

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

So, so far everything was going great. When one of the townspeople spoke about the plague that raged here several years ago, namely in 1484, the councilor thought that he was talking about the recent cholera epidemic, and the conversation continued happily. And then how could one not 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 stopped going well and was increasingly interrupted by deathly silence.

The good bachelor was very ignorant: the adviser’s simplest judgments seemed to him something unusually bold and fantastic. The interlocutors looked at each other with increasing bewilderment, and when they finally completely ceased to understand each other, the bachelor, trying to improve matters, spoke in Latin, but this did not help much.

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

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

“Lord, where am I?” - he thought, and just thinking about it made him dizzy.

- Let's drink claret, honey 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.<при короле Гансе, в 1495 году, был выпущен указ, по которому женщины легкого поведения должны носить чепчики бросающейся в глаза расцветки>; they poured wine for the guests and squatted low. The adviser even had goosebumps running down his spine.

- What is it? What it is? - he whispered, but was forced to drink along with everyone else. His drinking buddies were so obsessed with him that the poor councilor was completely dismayed, 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 had the adviser found himself in such rude and uncouth company. “You might think,” he said to himself, “that we have returned to the times of paganism. No, this is the most terrible 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 there, 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 right in front of him. He recognized this house and all the neighboring ones, and he recognized Eastern Street. He himself was lying on the sidewalk, resting his feet against someone's gate, and the night watchman sat next to him, sleeping soundly.

- God! So, I fell asleep right on the street, here you go! - said the adviser. – Yes, here is Eastern Street... How light and beautiful! But who would have thought that one glass of punch would have such a strong effect on me!

Two minutes later, the adviser was already driving a cab to Christian's harbor. All the way he remembered the horrors he had experienced and with all 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 visited. And it must be said that this time the justice adviser thought quite sensibly.

3. Adventures of a Watchman

- Hm, someone left their galoshes here! - said the watchman. - This is probably the lieutenant who lives upstairs. What a guy, he threw them right at the gate!

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 up the neighbors.

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

The galoshes suited him just right.

“And how strange the world is,” he continued. “Take this lieutenant, for example: he could sleep peacefully in a warm bed right now, but no, he paces back and forth across the room all night.” That's who the happiness is! He has no wife, no children, no worries, no worries; Every evening he travels to visit guests. It would be nice if I could change places with him: then I would become the happiest person on earth!

Before he had time to think this, by magical power the galosh instantly transformed into the officer who lived upstairs. Now he stood in the middle of the room, holding in his hands a piece of pink paper with poems that the lieutenant himself had written. And to whom does poetic inspiration not sometimes come? That's when thoughts pour out into poetry. On the pink piece of paper was written the following:

If I were rich

“If I were rich,” I dreamed as a boy,
I would definitely become an officer,
I would wear a uniform, a saber and a plume!”
But it turned out that dreams were 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 my entire capital.
You were surprised, dear child,
And she kissed my lips jokingly.
If I were rich, I'd still be dreaming
About the one that was irretrievably lost...
She is now beautiful and smart
But my money is still poor,
But fairy tales will not replace capital,
Which the Almighty did not give me.
If I were rich, I wouldn't know bitterness
And I didn’t pour out my sorrow on paper,
But I put my soul into these lines
And he dedicated them to the one he loved.
I put the fervor of love into my poems!
I'm poor. God bless you!

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

“The poor watchman is happier than me. He doesn't know my torment. 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 that very moment the night watchman became a night watchman again: after all, he became an officer only thanks to his galoshes, but, as we saw, this did not make him any happier and wanted to return to his previous state. So the night watchman became a night watchman again.

“What a bad dream I had! - he said. - However, it’s quite funny. I dreamed that I became the same lieutenant who lives upstairs - and how boring his life is! How I missed my wife and kids: someone, and they are always ready to kiss me to death.”

The night watchman sat in the same place and nodded in time with his thoughts. The dream could not get out of his head, and the galoshes of happiness were still on his feet. A star rolled across the sky.

“Look how it rolled,” the watchman said to himself. - Well, it’s okay, there are still a lot of them left there. - But it would be nice to see all these celestial things closer. Especially the moon: it’s not like a star, it won’t slip between your fingers. The student for whom my wife washes his clothes 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 like that! Oh, if only I could jump to the sky, and let my 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 have probably traveled by train or by boat, which were going at full steam. But compared to the speed of light, their speed is the same as that of a sloth or a snail. Light travels nineteen million times faster than the best walker, but not faster than electricity. Death is an electric shock to the heart, and on the wings of electricity the liberated soul flies away from 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 that separate the stars.

For our soul, flying the distance between two heavenly bodies is as easy as walking to the next house ourselves. But an electric shock to the heart can cost us our lives if we don’t have the same galoshes of happiness on our feet that the watchman had.

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

The watchman found himself on one of those countless lunar ring mountains that are 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 dropped almost vertically down a whole Danish mile, and at the very bottom of the crater there was a city. This city resembled an egg white released into a glass of water - its towers, domes and sail-shaped balconies, weakly swaying in the rarefied air of the moon, seemed so transparent and light. And above the watchman’s head a huge fiery red ball floated majestically - our land.

On the moon there were many living creatures that we would call people if they were not so different from us both in appearance and language. It was difficult to expect the watchman's soul to understand this language, but she understood it perfectly.

Yes, yes, you can be surprised all 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 further argued that life is possible only on the moon - the only planet where life arose a long time ago.

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

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

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

Deciding that the watchman had died, the passer-by was horrified, but the dead man remained dead. This was reported where it should be, and in the morning the body was taken to the hospital.

What a mess it would be if the soul returned and, as one would expect, began to look for its body where it parted with it, that is, on Eastern Street. Having discovered the loss, she most likely would have immediately rushed to the police, to the address office, from there to the bureau for the search for items to advertise the loss in the newspaper, and only lastly would she have gone to the hospital. However, there is nothing to worry about the soul - when it acts on its own, everything goes perfectly, and only the body interferes with it and forces it to do stupid things.

So, when the watchman was taken to the hospital and brought into the death room, the first thing they did, 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 insisted that it was the most crazy night of his life. He wouldn't even agree to relive all these horrors for two marks. However, now all this is behind us.

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