she distributes; the other looked extremely gloomy--it was Care. She always
attends to her own serious business herself, as then she is sure of having it
done properly.

They were telling each other, with a confidential interchange of ideas, where
they had been during the day. The messenger of Fortune had only executed a few
unimportant commissions, such as saving a new bonnet from a shower of rain,
etc.; but what she had yet to perform was something quite unusual.

"I must tell you," said she, "that to-day is my birthday; and in honor of it,
a pair of walking-shoes or galoshes has been entrusted to me, which I am to
carry to mankind. These shoes possess the property of instantly transporting
him who has them on to the place or the period in which he most wishes to be;
every wish, as regards time or place, or state of being, will be immediately
fulfilled, and so at last man will be happy, here below."

"Do you seriously believe it?" replied Care, in a severe tone of reproach.
"No; he will be very unhappy, and will assuredly bless the moment when he
feels that he has freed himself from the fatal shoes."

"Stupid nonsense!" said the other angrily. "I will put them here by the door.
Some one will make a mistake for certain and take the wrong ones--he will be a
happy man."

Such was their conversation.


II. What Happened to the Councillor

It was late; Councillor Knap, deeply occupied with the times of King Hans,
intended to go home, and malicious Fate managed matters so that his feet,
instead of finding their way to his own galoshes, slipped into those of
Fortune. Thus caparisoned the good man walked out of the well-lighted rooms
into East Street. By the magic power of the shoes he was carried back to the
times of King Hans; on which account his foot very naturally sank in the mud
and puddles of the street, there having been in those days no pavement in
Copenhagen.

"Well! This is too bad! How dirty it is here!" sighed the Councillor. "As to a
pavement, I can find no traces of one, and all the lamps, it seems, have gone
to sleep."

The moon was not yet very high; it was besides rather foggy, so that in the
darkness all objects seemed mingled in chaotic confusion. At the next corner
hung a votive lamp before a Madonna, but the light it gave was little better
than none at all; indeed, he did not observe it before he was exactly under
it, and his eyes fell upon the bright colors of the pictures which represented
the well-known group of the Virgin and the infant Jesus.

"That is probably a wax-work show," thought he; "and the people delay taking
down their sign in hopes of a late visitor or two."

A few persons in the costume of the time of King Hans passed quickly by him.

"How strange they look! The good folks come probably from a masquerade!"

Suddenly was heard the sound of drums and fifes; the bright blaze of a fire
shot up from time to time, and its ruddy gleams seemed to contend with the
bluish light of the torches. The Councillor stood still, and watched a most
strange procession pass by. First came a dozen drummers, who understood pretty
well how to handle their instruments; then came halberdiers, and some armed
with cross-bows. The principal person in the procession was a priest.
Astonished at what he saw, the Councillor asked what was the meaning of
all this mummery, and who that man was.

"That's the Bishop of Zealand," was the answer.

"Good Heavens! What has taken possession of the Bishop?" sighed the
Councillor, shaking his head. It certainly could not be the Bishop; even
though he was considered the most absent man in the whole kingdom, and people
told the drollest anecdotes about him. Reflecting on the matter, and without
looking right or left, the Councillor went through East Street and across the
Habro-Platz. The bridge leading to Palace Square was not to be found; scarcely
trusting his senses, the nocturnal wanderer discovered a shallow piece of
water, and here fell in with two men who very comfortably were rocking to and
fro in a boat.

"Does your honor want to cross the ferry to the Holme?" asked they.

"Across to the Holme!" said the Councillor, who knew nothing of the age in
which he at that moment was. "No, I am going to Christianshafen, to Little
Market Street."

Both men stared at him in astonishment.

"Only just tell me where the bridge is," said he. "It is really unpardonable
that there are no lamps here; and it is as dirty as if one had to wade through
a morass."

The longer he spoke with the boatmen, the more unintelligible did their
language become to him.

"I don't understand your Bornholmish dialect," said he at last, angrily, and
turning his back upon them. He was unable to find the bridge: there was no
railway either. "It is really disgraceful what a state this place is in,"
muttered he to himself. Never had his age, with which, however, he was always
grumbling, seemed so miserable as on this evening. "I'll take a
hackney-coach!" thought he. But where were the hackney-coaches? Not one
was to be seen.



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