Russian Fairy Tales :: The Soldier and the Tsar

The Soldier and the Tsar

The Great Tsar Peter always liked to see everything far himself. Often he would put on workman’s clothes and stroll about the town, listening to rumours and starting conversations. One day he walked into an inn. It was a holiday and the place was full.
People were sitting I group of three or four discussing this and that. Peter looked round and sat at the corner table where there was a soldier drinking alone. Peter asked him:
”Where do you come from, my boy?”
”From Kostroma,” replied the soldier.
Peter smiled. “We’re fellow-countrymen, then. My grandfather came from there, too.”
The soldier offered Peter some wine. Peter drank and ordered more.
”What’s your job, then, friend?” the soldier asked.
”I’m carpenter by trade. My name is Peter Alexeev,” replied Tsar peter.
”Ah!” said the soldier. “I thought you’d be a carpenter. We’re all carpenter in Kostroma. My grandfather and father and I myself-we’re carpenter, the lot of us.”
They chatted and drank together and the soldier got tipsy.
”Shall we order some more wine?” he asked Peter.
Peter refused. “I’ve no more money,” he said. “And you’re sure to have to be at work early in the morning.”
”Oh, never mind about that! As for the money, we’ll pawn my sword.”
But Peter tried to dissuade him. “Don’t be foolish, my boy! What if there’s an alarm in the night and you need the sword?”
The soldier laughed. “Our officers and the general sleep until midday. There’ll be plenty of time to get the sword out of pawn.”
”Well, do as you wish, I must go home.”
Peter got to his feet and went away. Meanwhile the soldier pawned his sword, drank some more, and went back to the barracks singing loudly, drunk as a lord.
Suddenly at dawn the alarm sounded in the regiment. The soldier sprang up, pulled on his uniform-but he had no sword! What was he to do? There was no time to deliberate, so he sharpened a block of wood, coloured the hilt with some black paint, and pushed it into the scabbard.
The officers, from the highest rank to the lowest, and even the general himself. Were rushing about in great excitement and they formed ranks.
The Tsar passed up and down the ranks once or twice and soon saw the soldier. He ordered:
”Four steps forward!”
The soldier did as he was told.
”Show me what they teach you in the ranks. Slash me with your sword!” ordered the tsar.
”I couldn’t raise my sword against Yours Majesty!” said the soldier.
”Do it, if I tell you to!”
The soldier seized the hilt and the shouted at the top of his voice:
”May God turn this deadly weapon into a block of wood!”
He drew the ‘weapon’ and slashed at Peter with it-and the weapon broke into splinters.
The soldier and officers stood with their hearts in their mouths and the regimental priest to pray.
”A miracle! God has granted us a miracle!”

Peter winked at the soldier. “You’re a fine fellow all right! You like your drink, but you keep your wits about you. I like men such as you. You’ll stay for three days in the guardroom, and then, off with you: you have no sword now, an so we’ll make you a sailor instead.”