The Tale of the Poor Shoemaker

Once upon a time, in a certain city, there lived a poor shoemaker. Throughout his entire life, he had never managed to save even a single ruble, let alone two copper coins. Whatever he earned during the day, he and his wife and children would spend by evening.

He never visited taverns, yet he was always cheerful. When he went to work, he sang songs, and when he returned, he cracked jokes. And so he lived, free from sorrow and worries.

The city was ruled by a cunning and wicked king.

One day, the king decided to see how his subjects lived. He dressed in the attire and insignia of a market overseer (ustabashi, a kind of elder or supervisor), and when evening fell, he set out to wander the streets.

He peered into windows, eavesdropped at doors, and no matter how much he walked, he noticed nothing unusual: some were counting their daily profits, others lamenting their losses, some quarreling with their wives, others scolding their children. Only in one house did he hear cheerful laughter and songs.

The king was surprised and decided to see who lived there and why they were so happy and content.

He knocked on the door. They opened it and invited him in for supper. The meal on the table was modest, there were no other guests, yet the feast was in full swing.

The king sat at the table, eating lobio (a bean dish) and drinking wine, but curiosity burned within him: he was not accustomed to seeing happy and satisfied people in his city.

"Forgive me for asking, dear friend," the king finally said, "but I am very curious to know who you are and what you do, if even on a weekday you drink and make merry as if it were a holiday."

"I am a simple, poor shoemaker, sir," replied the host. "I have a stall in the market. If someone passes by, I patch their boots, resole their shoes, or mend their leggings. I work during the day and feast with my family in the evening. Why wait for a holiday? Every day is a good day."

"Well, what will you do if your stall is suddenly closed?"

"Oh, I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy what would happen to me then! I’d go hungry," said the shoemaker. "But why think about that? What evil person would ever think of closing the stalls?"

The king sat with the shoemaker, ate, drank, and then left.

The next morning, he sent his heralds throughout the city to announce his royal decree. In honor of the holiday, the king ordered all market stalls to be closed so that no one would dare to work while the king rested—neither tailors, nor shoemakers, nor blacksmiths, nor barbers.

The people didn’t understand what whim had possessed the king. They wandered about idly, cursing the king, but dared not disobey his order.

As soon as it grew dark, the king disguised himself again and went to visit the shoemaker. "Let’s see," he thought, "if he’s as cheerful as yesterday, if every day is still good for him!"

He arrived to find the shoemaker, as if nothing had happened, sitting with his wife and children at the table, drinking, eating, and making merry.

"Hello, friend, please, my dear, join us at the table," said the shoemaker, welcoming the guest.

"I see you’re feasting as usual," said the king. "Where did you get the money? All the stalls are closed. Or did you disobey the king’s order?"

"May our king be cursed," said the shoemaker. "Because of him, I almost starved. He’s celebrating, but they closed my stall. What could I do? I went out into the street—carried water for some, chopped wood for others, helped someone carry their things, and so I earned a little, and here we are, celebrating. Why should we be worse off than the king?"

The king sat with the shoemaker, talked, and then left. The next morning, a royal servant appeared at the shoemaker’s door and took the poor man to the palace.

By the king’s order, the shoemaker was girded with a heavy sword and stationed at the palace doors.

"Watch," they told him, "don’t take a single step from here, and guard your sword as if it were your own eyes."

The poor shoemaker stood guard all day. In the evening, he returned home disheartened. He had earned nothing that day. Where would he get money now? How would he feed his family?

"Why are you so downcast, my dear?" his wife asked. "So what if we go without supper tonight? Others go without bread for weeks and still endure. Surely we can manage one day?"

The shoemaker immediately cheered up at these words and, to keep himself occupied and not think about food, he took a stick and, humming a tune, began to whittle it. He whittled and whittled, and soon one side of the stick became flat—like a sword.

"Aha," thought the shoemaker, "now I’ll make something useful! I won’t let this foolish king make me go hungry!"

He whittled the stick on both sides, sharpened one end, and attached an ornate handle to the other, and soon he had a real sword—only it was made of wood.

The shoemaker placed the wooden sword in its scabbard and took the iron one to his neighbor, the moneylender. The neighbor gave him money, and the shoemaker bought so much bread, wine, fat, and lamb that he could barely carry it all home.

"Here you go, wife," he said, "and thank the king for this rich supper."

Meanwhile, the king disguised himself again and came to visit the shoemaker.

"Well," he thought, "today he has no reason to be merry."

But not at all. The shoemaker was even more cheerful than before, and the feast was even grander. The shoemaker seated his guest at the table, laughed, and told his new friend:

"You see," he said, "today our foolish king made me stand guard, protecting his chambers. I stood there all day, came home, and there was no money, no bread. So I thought: I’ll sell the king’s sword and put a wooden one in the scabbard. How will the king know? Here, wife, fetch my wooden sword and show our friend what kind of sword I have."

The wife brought the wooden sword.

Everyone laughed, ate their fill, drank, and the king left.

The next morning, the king’s messenger came for the shoemaker again.

Once more, the poor man was stationed at the palace doors. He stood at attention, hands at his sides, with the wooden sword at his side.

The king sat on his throne, chuckling.

"Now," he thought, "he won’t be able to wriggle out of this." And to teach the shoemaker a lesson, the king devised a plan.

He ordered his treasurer to be summoned, and when the man arrived, the king suddenly began shouting at him and stomping his feet, as if the treasurer had truly wronged him.

"Traitor!" he yelled. "Thief, scoundrel! You stole gold from my treasury. I’ll have you executed at once!"

The treasurer was so shocked he could barely speak.

"May your son not die! Come to your senses, merciful king! What evil person put such words in your mouth?"

But the king refused to listen.

"Hey!" he shouted. "Call the guards! Have this thief’s head cut off immediately!"

The shoemaker was brought before the king.

The king leaned back deeper under the canopy of his throne, pulled his crown down to his eyebrows, and covered himself with his mantle up to his eyes so the shoemaker wouldn’t recognize him.

"Cut off this traitor’s head," he said. "He stole a sack of gold from my treasury."

"Merciful king," wept the treasurer, "I swear, I am innocent. Count your treasury yourself…"

"I won’t count it," said the king, "and I won’t listen to you. Execute him! Hey, guard, cut off his head!"

The shoemaker couldn’t think of a way out of this mess. He wasn’t afraid for the treasurer—he knew the man’s head would be safe. The treasurer would get a whack on the neck with a wooden stick, and that would be that. But how could he save his own head?

"Great, merciful king," the shoemaker pleaded, "forgive and have mercy on this unfortunate man. If he took anything extra, I’m sure he won’t take even a single gold coin now."

"I cannot forgive him," replied the king. "Let everyone know what it means to deceive the king. I said: cut off his head, or yours will roll too."

What could he do? The shoemaker raised his eyes to the heavens and said:

"Lord, if this man is innocent, perform a miracle: turn iron into wood. Save me from killing, and him from death."

With that, he drew the sword from its scabbard. Everyone looked—and the sword was wooden. The king smiled.

"Well," he said, "you can’t be outsmarted. Even though you tricked me, I must praise your cleverness." He rewarded the shoemaker with gold and silver and sent him home in peace.

"Go," he said, "and live as you lived before." And so the shoemaker lived as before—cheerfully and happily. He worked during the day and feasted in the evening.

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The Tale of the Poor Shoemaker

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