The Shirt-collar
by Hans Christian Andersen · from Collected Fairy Tales
Adapted Version
Once there was a collar. He was very proud. He thought he was the best. He was old now. He wanted to get married.
The Collar was in a wash-tub. He saw a Garter. "You are pretty," he said. "Tell me your name." The Garter was quiet. "I have a boot-jack," the Collar said. "I have a brush." This was not true. The Garter said, "No. Go away."
Next, the Iron came. It was hot. The Collar felt warm. "Marry me," the Collar said. The Iron moved fast. "Old rag!" she said. She did not want him.
The Collar had old edges. The Scissors came. "You dance well!" the Collar said. "Marry me." The Scissors moved fast. She cut him too much. The Collar was sad.
The Collar was not good. He tried to talk. No one wanted him. He felt very sad. He said, "I do not care." He cared.
Time passed. The Collar got old. He went to a big place. Old clothes were there. It was a paper-mill.
The Collar talked to the old clothes. He told many big lies. "The Garter loved me," he said. "She jumped in the tub for me. She wanted me." "The Iron loved me too. She was warm." "The Scissors cut me. She loved me." "The Hair-brush loved me. She lost her hair for me."
All the old clothes went to a machine. The machine made them new. It made them into white paper. Clean, white paper.
The Collar became white paper too. His story is on this paper. His lies are on this paper. Everyone can read his lies. This was his punishment.
It is not good to tell lies. The truth always comes out. Be honest, little friends. Do not boast about things.
Original Story
The shirt-collar
A fairy tale by Hans Christian Andersen
There was once a fine gentleman who possessed among other things a boot-jack and a hair-brush; but he had also the finest shirt-collar in the world, and of this collar we are about to hear a story. The collar had become so old that he began to think about getting married; and one day he happened to find himself in the same washing-tub as a garter.
"Upon my word," said the shirt-collar, "I have never seen anything so slim and delicate, so neat and soft before. May I venture to ask your name?"
"I shall not tell you," replied the garter.
"Where do you reside when you are at home?" asked the shirt-collar.
But the garter was naturally shy, and did not know how to answer such a question.
"I presume you are a girdle," said the shirt-collar, "a sort of under girdle. I see that you are useful, as well as ornamental, my little lady."
"You must not speak to me," said the garter; "I do not think I have given you any encouragement to do so."
"Oh, when any one is as beautiful as you are," said the shirt-collar, "is not that encouragement enough?"
"Get away; don't come so near me," said the garter, "you appear to me quite like a man."
"I am a fine gentleman certainly," said the shirt-collar, "I possess a boot-jack and a hair-brush." This was not true, for these things belonged to his master; but he was a boaster.
"Don't come so near me," said the garter; "I am not accustomed to it."
"Affectation!" said the shirt-collar. Then they were taken out of the wash-tub, starched, and hung over a chair in the sunshine, and then laid on the ironing-board. And now came the glowing iron.
"Mistress widow," said the shirt-collar, "little mistress widow, I feel quite warm. I am changing, I am losing all my creases. You are burning a hole in me. Ugh! I propose to you."
"You old rag," said the flat-iron, driving proudly over the collar, for she fancied herself a steam-engine, which rolls over the railway and draws carriages.
"You old rag!" said she.
The edges of the shirt-collar were a little frayed, so the scissors were brought to cut them smooth.
"Oh!" exclaimed the shirt-collar, "what a first-rate dancer you would make; you can stretch out your leg so well. I never saw anything so charming; I am sure no human being could do the same."
"I should think not," replied the scissors.
"You ought to be a countess," said the shirt collar; "but all I possess consists of a fine gentleman, a boot-jack, and a comb. I wish I had an estate for your sake."
"What! Is he going to propose to me?" said the scissors, and she became so angry that she cut too sharply into the shirt collar, and it was obliged to be thrown by as useless.
"I shall be obliged to propose to the hair-brush," thought the shirt collar; so he remarked one day, "It is wonderful what beautiful hair you have, my little lady. Have you never thought of being engaged?"
"You might know I should think of it," answered the hair brush; "I am engaged to the boot-jack."
"Engaged!" cried the shirt collar, "now there is no one left to propose to;" and then he pretended to despise all love-making.
A long time passed, and the shirt collar was taken in a bag to the paper-mill. Here was a large company of rags, the fine ones lying by themselves, separated from the coarser, as it ought to be. They had all many things to relate, especially the shirt collar, who was a terrible boaster.
"I have had an immense number of love affairs," said the shirt collar, "no one left me any peace. It is true I was a very fine gentleman; quite stuck up. I had a boot-jack and a brush that I never used. You should have seen me then, when I was turned down. I shall never forget my first love; she was a girdle, so charming, and fine, and soft, and she threw herself into a washing tub for my sake. There was a widow too, who was warmly in love with me, but I left her alone, and she became quite black. The next was a first-rate dancer; she gave me the wound from which I still suffer, she was so passionate. Even my own hair-brush was in love with me, and lost all her hair through neglected love. Yes, I have had great experience of this kind, but my greatest grief was for the garter, the girdle I meant to say, that jumped into the wash-tub. I have a great deal on my conscience, and it is really time I should be turned into white paper."
And the shirt collar came to this at last. All the rags were made into white paper, and the shirt collar became the very identical piece of paper which we now see, and on which this story is printed. It happened as a punishment to him, for having boasted so shockingly of things which were not true. And this is a warning to us, to be careful how we act, for we may some day find ourselves in the rag-bag, to be turned into white paper, on which our whole history may be written, even its most secret actions. And it would not be pleasant to have to run about the world in the form of a piece of paper, telling everything we have done, like the boasting shirt collar.
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Story DNA
Moral
Boasting and fabricating stories, especially about one's own importance and conquests, will ultimately lead to exposure and humiliation.
Plot Summary
A vain shirt-collar, believing himself superior, attempts to find a wife among other household items, but is repeatedly rejected due to his arrogant boasting and false claims of ownership. After being discarded and sent to a paper-mill, he recounts exaggerated tales of his past 'love affairs' to other rags. Ultimately, he is transformed into a piece of white paper, upon which his own story of deceit and vanity is printed, serving as a cautionary tale about the consequences of untruthful boasting.
Themes
Emotional Arc
pride to humiliation
Writing Style
Narrative Elements
Cultural Context
Andersen's tales often personified inanimate objects to comment on human foibles, reflecting the social norms and domestic life of 19th-century Denmark. The process of turning old rags into paper was a common industrial practice of the time.
Plot Beats (14)
- A fine shirt-collar, proud of himself, decides it's time to get married.
- In the wash-tub, he tries to flirt with a garter, who rejects his advances.
- The collar boasts about owning a boot-jack and hair-brush, which actually belong to his master.
- While being ironed, he proposes to the flat-iron, who calls him an 'old rag'.
- His frayed edges are trimmed by scissors, whom he tries to flatter and propose to, but the scissors angrily cut him too deeply.
- Discarded as useless, the collar then attempts to propose to the hair-brush, only to discover she is engaged to the boot-jack.
- The collar pretends to despise love-making after his repeated rejections.
- A long time passes, and the shirt-collar is taken to a paper-mill with other rags.
- At the paper-mill, he boasts to the other rags about numerous fabricated love affairs, exaggerating his past encounters.
- He claims his first love, the garter, threw herself into the wash-tub for him, and that the flat-iron was warmly in love.
- He falsely states the scissors gave him a wound from passion and that the hair-brush lost her hair from neglected love for him.
- All the rags are processed and turned into white paper.
- The shirt-collar becomes the very piece of paper on which his story is printed, a punishment for his untruthful boasting.
- The narrator concludes with a warning about the consequences of boasting and having one's true history exposed.
Characters
The Shirt-collar
Fine, old, frayed edges
Attire: A gentleman's detachable shirt collar, starched stiff
Boastful, arrogant, conceited, a liar
The Garter
Slim, delicate, neat, soft
Attire: A delicate garter, possibly with ribbons or lace trim
Shy, demure, unimpressed
The Flat-iron
Glowing, hot, heavy
Attire: A heavy iron used for pressing clothes, heated by coals
Proud, disdainful, forceful
The Scissors
Sharp, slender blades
Attire: A pair of sharp scissors used for cutting fabric
Easily angered, precise, sharp
The Hair-brush
Beautiful hair (bristles), eventually loses hair
Attire: A wooden-handled hairbrush with bristles
Vain, engaged, easily heartbroken
Locations
Washing Tub
A tub filled with water, presumably soapy, containing various articles of clothing.
Mood: Intimate, confined, a place of cleansing and revelation.
The shirt-collar first encounters the garter and attempts to woo her.
Ironing Board in Sunshine
A wooden board, bathed in sunlight, where freshly laundered items are ironed.
Mood: Hot, pressured, a place of transformation and potential destruction.
The shirt-collar is ironed and proposes to the flat-iron.
Paper Mill Rag-Bag
A large bag filled with discarded rags of varying quality, awaiting processing.
Mood: Confined, crowded, a place of reckoning and transformation.
The shirt-collar boasts about his past loves to the other rags.