“They are ready for sale,” said Ivan quietly, pointing to the shoes on the table beside his bed. The shoemaker inspected them very closely, and his eyes opened wide in wonder. “Why, young man,” he said, with a jolly smile, “you are not a shoemaker but a magician. I must go at once to the market and turn these fine shoes into good red gold.”
Off he went to the market, and while he waited for customers to arrive he heard all the gossip of the city, which was greatly moved to curiosity over three forthcoming weddings at the palace of the Great White Tsar. He heard that Prince Peter was to marry the Golden Tsaritza, Elena the Beautiful, that Prince Vasily was to marry the Silver Tsaritza, and that the Copper Tsaritza was to marry a general. Dresses were being made for the wedding, said the good dames of the market-place, such as had never yet been designed or embroidered within the memory of the oldest in Holy Russia. Then came a royal messenger seeking shoes for Elena the Beautiful, and after searching the whole market he came to the stall of the jolly old shoemaker and easily concluded that his wares were finer and more delicate than any others; so he told the man to pack up his entire stock and come with him to the apartments of the Golden Tsaritza, Elena the Beautiful, in the palace of the Great White Tsar.
The Golden Tsaritza was seated among her maidens, who were so busy and excited and trembling that they sewed many of the lovely garments quite wrong; and as the shoemaker entered the room the Lady-of-Honour, who bore the high title of Golden Scissors, was scolding a pretty young dressmaker for putting the right sleeve in the place of the left. As for Elena the Beautiful herself, she sat looking straight before her with the expression on her face of a person who is obliged to do one thing but would rather do something else.
When she saw the shoes spread out on a table before her she looked at them in a listless manner; then, all at once, her beautiful eyes moistened and brightened, and she said to the shoemaker who stood near with his cap of rough fur in his hand, “What is the meaning of this? They make shoes of this pattern only in the mountains.” At once an idea for gaining time came into her mind, and turning to the somewhat bewildered shoemaker, whose jolly face was clouded and anxious owing to his good fortune, she said to him in a voice which sounded hard and cold like the ring of steel upon an anvil, “Make me, without measure, another pair of shoes cunningly sewn, set with precious stones and glittering with diamonds. They must be ready for to-morrow, otherwise my servants will hale you to the gallows.”
The shoemaker was then taken to the Tsar’s treasury, where he chose the precious stones required, and was given money to buy leather of the richest and softest kind that could be obtained. He had received the most exalted order he had ever been honoured with, and might have put upon his signboard, “Shoemaker by Royal Appointment to the Golden Tsaritza,” but still he was far from happy—in fact he was utterly miserable. “By Svyatogor, Ilya, and Vladimir and all the heroes,” he said, “but greatness means great worry. Whatever shall I do? How can I make shoes by to-morrow when I am not allowed to measure the exalted foot of the beautiful Tsaritza? I shall make nothing by to-morrow but an end to my life, for it is very clear that I shall make acquaintance with the gallows—say about ten o’clock. However, seeing that it cannot be helped, let me have a last jollification with my companions.”
Off he went to the inn where he had more friends than was good for him, and when they saw his face so gloomy which was usually so jolly and generous they eagerly asked him the cause of his trouble.
“Oh, my dear friends,” he said, “I have been honoured with a Court order and as a consequence they are going to hang me to-morrow, and only the lucky man who succeeds to my business will reap the benefit of being able to call himself ‘Shoemaker by Royal Appointment to the Golden Tsaritza.’”
“Why so?” asked his companions, who were so thirsty that they thought the shoemaker might have made a much shorter speech. Then the man told his trouble as shortly as possible, concluding with the words, “What think you, friends, of an order like that? I may as well enjoy myself with you for the last time, for they will surely come for me to-morrow morning—say about ten o’clock.”
So they drank and drank and sang and joked and danced and then drank again, by which time the shoemaker was by no means steady upon his legs. “Well,” he said, as the town clock struck twelve, “I will take home a keg of spirits and lie down to sleep, and to-morrow when they come to take me to the gallows I will drink a gallon and a half at one draught, and if they hang me drunk I may be able to look and feel jolly until the last.”
Then he staggered home with the keg under his arm. He had scarcely passed the threshold when he saw Ivan and began at once to upbraid him. “You abandoned rascal,” he cried, “see what your fine shoes have done for me.” Then he told him as much of the story as he could remember, and staggered off to bed saying, “When they come for me in the morning, wake me up.”