In late-eighteenth-century Bucharest, a pair of traveling showmen appeared, bringing with them exotic objects: a chain that moved on its own, a spyglass that revealed events thousands of miles away, and the shoes of Empress Catherine—shoes endowed with such irresistible power that anyone who wore them was instantly adored by all.
Naturally, these marvels could only be seen for a fee. The showmen, foreigners—a wide-eyed man and a rather faded woman—had pitched a green tent near the Princely Academy. Entry cost half a thaler. The gaping man pointed insistently at the price written on a board, while the woman smiled with a pale, almost lifeless face.
Among those who made the financial sacrifice was a laundress who earned her living mending old clothes, repairing linens, ironing, washing—everything that could extend the life of household textiles.
At first, none of the wonders impressed her—until she reached the shoes. At a glance, she knew they were imperial. She had no doubt they had belonged to Empress Catherine, for they resembled no other footwear. Pale yellow, almost white, with rounded heels, they were partly covered in a fine rain of diamonds. Their brilliance made you dream—and weep that you had been born a laundress. That feeling only intensified when the pale-faced woman, moving with imperial grace, slipped them onto her feet.
There was something about those shoes that melted her entirely—from the way they moved on her feet to the sound of their heels, to the astonishing sparkle of the gems. The leather, of an unimaginable fineness, seemed alive, molding itself to her feet. As she walked among the spectators, her legs appeared to turn translucent, almost ghostlike.
This experience had unexpected consequences.
On the first dark night after everyone had gone to sleep, the laundress slipped into the showmen’s tent and stole the empress’s shoes. To her great relief, there was no outcry. The very next day, the showmen had vanished from the city.
At first, she hid the shoes inside a tree stump in her yard. But after some time, one night, she decided to try them on. They pinched her little toe slightly; otherwise, they seemed made for her. What delight! They were imperial shoes, radiating a sorcerous light.
She stepped into the street and walked toward Lipscani Square. Bucharest was lit by a few lanterns; shadows of carriages and people floated along the walls. The city’s life was just beginning, and the laundress stood at the very center of the world.
The shoes transformed her. Every night she went out and let herself be adored. They made her irresistible; no man could withstand her. Men who ignored her by day became desperate to touch her by night. She was loved, worshipped—and she always vanished in time, careful not to be caught by daylight or recognized by some fool who had paid half a thaler to see the empress’s shoes.
Her double life filled her with dangerous confidence. In time, she began living recklessly: secret meetings in strangers’ houses, evenings in elegant taverns, participation in auctions and in men’s perilous games—among them the fashionable sport of throwing knives at targets.
Thus, the laundress met a grim end. Stabbed in the throat—whether by accident or jealousy is unknown—she died exactly one year after stealing the shoes.
She lay dead in a disreputable café near Zlătari when the guard assigned to watch her noticed her footwear and froze in astonishment. What use were they to a dead woman? He decided to keep them as a gift.
But the shoes seemed stuck; they would not come off her feet. He drew his dagger, determined to finish the job—when a wide-eyed man entered the smoke-filled café. Instinctively, the guard stepped back. Before his eyes, the dead woman—the former laundress, wearing her gilded shoes—rose to her feet. Her face was white, not with death, but with a luminous, spectral glow.
The man hurried out, the laundress following one step behind. They reached the street, climbed into a carriage, and vanished. Seen through the café window, Lipscani Street lay empty, and above it drifted a single thread of silk.
