The Clever Lad

In ancient times, there lived a poor widow in a small village. She lived with her son, who was—I don’t know exactly how old—maybe thirteen, maybe fifteen. He helped her in the fields, but, truth be told, he worked halfheartedly.

One day, the widow said to her son:

"Son, you should work harder in the fields, or you’ll be known as a lazybones."

"I’m not lazy, Mother. I just want to do something else."

"Like what?"

"First, I’ll become a trickster. I guess that’s just how I was born."

"A what? A trickster?"

"Yes, a clever lad... I really want to outsmart all those rich folks around here."

"Oh, my God, my God!" the widow exclaimed, throwing up her hands. "I’d better go to church and ask the Lord for advice."

She said this and actually went to the church. Meanwhile, her son, not wasting any time, also ran to the church, but by a different path. He arrived first, hid behind the altar, and began waiting for his mother. A minute later, the widow approached the altar. She knelt down and began to pray:

"Tell me, Lord, what should my dear son become?"

"A clever lad," a voice came from behind the altar. The widow couldn’t believe her ears, so she asked again and received the same answer. Though surprised, she didn’t dare argue with God and, bowing her head to the stone floor, whispered:

"Thank you, Lord, for your advice!"

Then she rose to her feet and headed home, muttering:

"Oh, my God, my God! A clever lad!" But as she walked, her son overtook her and, meeting her at the doorstep, asked as if nothing had happened:

"Well, Mother? What did the Lord say?"

"Oh, son, don’t even ask! He told me you’re to become a clever lad."

"Well, that’s right... That’s what I thought. I’ll start today."

And he really did get to work.

Not far from their hut lived a rich and greedy peasant. The boy sneaked into his yard, caught all his chickens, and hid them in the forest.

In the morning, the rich man burst into the widow’s hut and shouted:

"It was your son who stole all my chickens! No one else could have done it!"

"Oh... oh... oh..."

"Don’t oh me. I’ll call the gendarmes, and then you’ll see what’s what!"

"Gendarmes? No, the gendarmes have nothing to do with this. My son isn’t some thief—he’s a clever lad! Remember that."

"What?" the rich man exclaimed, his eyes wide with surprise. "A clever lad? If that’s the case, let him try to steal my horses from the stable tonight. Let’s see how clever he really is!"

"All right, neighbor, I’ll pass on your words." The rich man went home, summoned three stable boys, and told them:

"This evening, you’ll go to the stable, sit on my horses, and stay there all night. Don’t even think of getting down! That way, no clever lad will be able to steal them."

That evening, the boys climbed onto the horses and listened carefully: was the clever lad sneaking around? They sat like that for a long time but heard nothing. It was quiet all around, except for the occasional barking of dogs. Then, around midnight, a cheerful voice called out:

"Hey, boys, what are you doing here in the stable?"

"Oh, it’s you!" the startled boys exclaimed, recognizing the widow’s son. "The master told us to watch over the horses, in case some clever lad comes and steals them."

"Ha-ha-ha!" the boy laughed. "I’d love to see this clever lad!"

"If you want to see him, stay with us."

"Why not? I’ll stay... I’m in no hurry."

The clever lad stayed. After sitting for a while, he yawned and said to the boys:

"I’m getting sleepy, and it’s boring here. I’ll go get some water, and I’ll bring some for you too."

The widow’s son left the stable and soon returned with a flask of water—not ordinary water, but water laced with a sleeping potion.

"Drink up, friends, or you’ll fall asleep from boredom."

The boys drank the water and immediately fell asleep. The clever lad carefully lifted them off the saddles, laid them on the straw, led the horses out of the stable, and hid them in the forest: let the master search for his horses now.

In the morning, while the boy was still in the forest, the angry rich man ran to the widow’s house again:

"It was your son who stole my horses last night! I’ll call the gendarmes and have him thrown in jail!"

"I told you before, the gendarmes have nothing to do with this, since my son isn’t a thief—he’s a clever lad. Besides, you were the one who challenged him. Have you forgotten?"

"That’s true... All right. If he’s a clever lad, let him show his skills again—let him steal the sheet from my bed while I’m sleeping."

The widow passed on the rich man’s words to her son. He smirked and said:

"Very well."

That evening, he made a large straw doll the size of a man, tied a long rope to it, and at night, climbing onto the rich man’s roof, he lowered the straw figure down the chimney. He hid behind the house and began tugging on the rope.

The straw figure rustled in the chimney. The rich man heard the noise and thought the clever lad was climbing down the chimney. He grabbed his gun and fired at the figure!

Bang! The bullet severed the rope, and the straw figure fell right into the kitchen hearth. The rich man rushed out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.

"Got you, you rogue! Got you, clever lad!" he shouted at the top of his lungs.

But when he saw the straw figure in the hearth, he nearly burst with frustration. While the rich man was examining the figure in the kitchen, the clever lad slipped into the bedroom through the window, grabbed the sheet, and disappeared in an instant.

The rich man returned to the bedroom, looked at the bed, and gaped in astonishment: the sheet was gone!

Now, it should be mentioned that the rich man had a brother, and he wasn’t just any commoner—he was the village priest. By the way, you probably know that these gentlemen are much craftier than their parishioners?

So, when the rich man told his brother about the widow’s son’s tricks, the priest was utterly amazed, laughed heartily, and, being a competitive man, immediately ordered that the clever lad be told of his challenge: he should try to steal his personal money.

"Tell him that!" he repeated several times to his brother. "But warn him: if his trick fails, I’ll give him a good thrashing!"

"All right, I’ll tell him," the rich man agreed and relayed the priest’s words to the boy that very evening.

"Well, we’ll see... Morning is wiser than evening," the widow’s son replied and went to bed.

The next day, the priest went to the church to conduct the morning mass.

Meanwhile, the widow’s son hid behind the altar—thankfully, there weren’t many people in the church—and as soon as the priest began the service, he whispered ominously:

"If you don’t give all your savings to me, the Lord God, you will be cursed and stripped of your rank!"

"Oh, Lord!" the priest gasped in fear. "If that’s what you want, I’ll run home and fetch my savings."

And indeed, the priest ran home. However, he didn’t notice that the widow’s son followed him.

The boy sneaked up to the priest’s house, pressed his ear to the door, and heard the maid ask:

"What’s happened to you, Your Reverence? What are you doing?"

"Leave me alone, wretch! The Lord has blessed me! I’m giving Him all my money."

"Giving it away? What about me? You owe me a whole month’s wages!"

"Don’t worry, I’ve hidden another hundred gold écus under the mattress."

"Aha, you scoundrel!" the widow’s son thought, listening to their conversation. "Just you wait!"

Having learned what he needed, he rushed back to the church, hid behind the altar, and waited for the priest. The priest arrived, placed a bulging bag of gold écus on the altar, and murmured softly:

"Here is my money, O Lord, accept it with a pure heart and grant me heavenly bliss!"

The priest bowed his head humbly, when suddenly he heard:

"Ah, you wicked man! You thought you could hide some of your wealth from me? You’ve got another hundred écus hidden under your mattress!"

"Oh, Holy Father!" the priest fell to his knees. "I forgot about them. Truly, nothing escapes your all-seeing eye!"

Twist as he might, the priest had to run home again and fetch the forgotten hundred écus. Meanwhile, the boy placed a large, sturdy bag next to the money-filled one, and when the priest brought the hidden hundred écus, he spoke in a deep voice:

"You’ve done well, my son. For this, I shall take you to heaven while you’re still alive. Climb into the bag headfirst."

The priest, overjoyed, climbed into the bag. The boy gathered the money into his pocket, tied the bag tightly, hoisted it onto his shoulder, and set off.

On the way, the priest said:

"Could you be a bit gentler? You’ve bruised all my ribs, Lord."

"Endure, my son. You’re not going for a stroll—you’re heading to heaven. The road there is hard and thorny. So endure."

The clever lad carried the bag to the rich man’s chicken coop, set it down by the door, and said sternly:

"When you hear the door open, shout as loud as you can: 'I’m in heaven! I’m in heaven!'"

Having said this, he placed the bag of money on the ground—take that!—and went home, chuckling.

Meanwhile, the poor priest spent the whole night listening to the cooing of the pigeons hiding under the coop’s roof and occasionally sighed blissfully:

"Oh, my God, my God, those must be the angels talking in heaven!"

Early in the morning, the rich man opened the chicken coop door, and his brother the priest shouted:

"I’m in heaven! I’m in heaven!"

The rich man’s eyes bulged in amazement, his mouth fell open, and he froze in place.

Meanwhile, the villagers gathered around the coop, and the priest kept shouting:

"I’m in heaven! I’m in heaven!"

The peasants untied the bag and nearly burst with laughter—out climbed the priest himself. The priest looked around, utterly confused. When he finally understood what had happened, he grabbed his bag of money and ran home to the sound of cheerful jeers.

So, you see, what a trick the cunning boy played. It wasn’t about the money—he didn’t need it. He just wanted to show the priest and his brother who was the fool. And he did. What a clever lad! Just like me.

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The Clever Lad

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