[story] devil's heart
author/artist: tammy lee (tammylee)
email: tammalee [at] laleeloo.com
Once upon a time when all things made were made by hand and machines were toys for nobility, there lived a cobbler who crafted dancing slippers which were prized more than diamonds.
When he had learned the craft from his father he had been a humble boy, eager to learn and eager to please. As he grew in experience his talent expanded accordingly and his modesty became more and more of a shell, eaten away on the inside by a growing pride.
At first he would make all kinds of shoes for all kinds of people but his intended client became more and more specific until, after his father's death, he closed his door to all but the most beautiful and the most wealthy clients, and as the most beautiful were usually dancers and the most wealthy usually liked to dance, he began to specialize in dancing slippers.
Word of his fantastic creations spread around the world and requests would pour in from those who knew a pair of his slippers would guarantee social status. His wife would screen these letters and pick only the ones that she felt her husband should be bothered with. These requests she would place in a wooden box in his workshop and he would, once a day, reach his hand in and pick a random client to create slippers for. The cobbler enjoyed the feeling of being sought out by the most beautiful and wealthy people in the world, and he enjoyed the feeling of power he held over them even more. For all the modesty he displayed in person was only a thin veneer covering a monstrous pride.
The cobbler would make one exception to how he selected a client; if a client had beautiful feet, he would make them slippers for free. Many a servant would attend the local peasant ball wearing his fantastic creations and all present would know that person had beautiful feet.
If the truth should be told, the cobbler resented selling his slippers to cover ugly feet. He felt his beautiful creations should only encase the most perfect of feet but alas, most dancers had horribly ugly feet. Their toenails were cracked and bleeding from standing on their toes, they often developed horrible calluses and their feet bent in strange ways from the pressures exerted on them.
Dancing slippers made him wealthy but inside he despised those who purchased them for their ugly feet.
One day, a strange carriage stopped before the cobbler's shop. It appeared to be crafted entirely of ebony with gold leaf and rubies set into the details so it sparkled in the early morning sun. Drawing the carriage were eight matching horses the same dark color as the carriage and fitted with headdresses inset with rubies. The cobbler's wife watched, with great interest and greed in her heart, as the doorman performed his duties and the most handsome man she had ever seen stepped out of the carriage and onto the red carpet the footman had rolled out before him.
He was tall and well-formed with black hair he wore wantonly loose and tousled about his shoulders. His skin was dusky but his eyes were a startling green, framed by sinfully long black eyelashes. But as handsome as this man was, it was the way he was dressed that stirred the greedy wife's heart. He wore rare furs, jewels and silks the like of which she had never seen, and he wore them with the air of having thrown on any old thing.
"This wealth," the wife thought to herself, "we needs must have a piece of!" The cobbler's wife ran to the door and opened it on the very first knock. "Welcome, my lord, to our most humble workshop. How may we be of assistance to you?"
The handsome man cast his glance over every aspect of the room then enquired, "Where is the cobbler?"
"He is in the backroom, my lord, working on today's pair of slippers."
The handsome man waved his hand dismissively, "Tell him to cease what he is doing and attend to me personally, goodwife. I have a ball this evening that I must be properly attired for." Greed warred with pride in the cobbler's wife's heart. She watched the light dance off the jewels on his fingers and at his throat and the greed roared inside her. With a deep curtsy she fled to the back room to speak with her husband.
"Husband, stop what you are doing and attend to the client waiting in the front room!"
The cobbler looked up from the silk he was cutting and frowned at his wife. "Wife, you know how I work. I will not change for someone so unimportant that they come to me to beg a pair of slippers." He turned his attention back to the task at hand. "Tell them to place their request in the box and pray Fate allows their slippers to be made on time."
Normally the wife, obedient woman that she was, would have done as her husband requested (after all it was his genius and reputation that kept her in fine dresses and exotic foods), but the flashing rubies danced before her eyes and gave her the strength to defy her husband. "No, you must attend to this client, dear husband! He wears the wealth of a hundred nobles and needs a pair of slippers worthy of him for this evening! Please, do me this one favor, and we will charge him enough to buy a new workshop!"
But the cobbler was not in the habit of doing anyone a favor. "If you lack the courage to tell him, wife, then I must do so myself. I am an artist, not just a tradesman; I will not be intimidated!" Full of conviction, the cobbler marched into the front room and was stopped dead in his tracks. The handsome man had removed a shoe and had placed his bare foot on a velvet footstool his footman had placed before him.
"Ah, cobbler, do not tarry any longer. I have a ball this evening and I must have slippers worthy of these feet." The handsome man's foot was the most beautiful the cobbler had ever seen. It was straight and neither too narrow nor too wide, his toes long and graceful while the nails shone like mother of pearl. The skin was soft and unblemished and even the ankles were comely for a man. The cobbler was overwhelmed and found himself kneeling before the footstool, cradling the perfect foot in his hands.
"Is the other foot as beautiful as this one?" The cobbler wondered aloud in breathless admiration. The handsome man smiled a secret smile,
"But of course, dear cobbler, for you see feet often come as a matched set." The cobbler's wife laughed politely, although she did not care for the tone of the handsome man's voice, and broached the topic of payment.
"Of course you realize," she began, "to have the slippers ready for this evening will mean extra work and extra work means extra cost?" The handsome man frowned in her direction then waved his footman forward. The footman carried a small chest which he opened and presented to the cobbler's wife; it was filled to the brim with rubies. "Oh," the cobbler's wife exclaimed, "This should cover it."
"No." The cobbler said in a clear, strong voice, "I will make these slippers for free, for never have I seen such a perfect foot. It would be my pleasure to work hard for such a foot." The footman snapped the lid of the chest shut and retreated to his place behind his master. The handsome man smiled.
"You are a dear man, cobbler. I will return before dark."
All day the cobbler worked as a man possessed. He took neither food nor drink, afraid to waste precious minutes, as he labored with the most luxurious materials he had at his disposal. His fingers bled, his back ached and his eyes wobbled from the strain of the effort he was putting into the slippers but his heart held true and he finished just as the sun was sinking in the sky.
Riding the last of the day's light the black carriage rumbled into town and stopped in front of the cobbler's workshop. Red lanterns swung from the corners of the carriage and the footman, the doorman and the driver were dressed in livery the color of blood. The handsome man stepped out onto the red carpet, and paused so the rays of the dying sun could admire him, for he truly was resplendent in finery that would make a King gnaw his lip with envy.
The door to the cobbler's workshop flew open and the cobbler himself was at the door to greet the handsome man. He was dressed in his finest and held a velvet cushion in his hands on which rested a magnificent pair of slippers cut from yellow silk and adorned with topaz and citrine. "My lord, your slippers are prepared if you would like to do a final fitting?"
The handsome man followed the cobbler into the front room of his workshop and looked amused at the regal chair and footstool which had been added since his visit earlier that day. He sat in the regal chair and presented a foot to the cobbler.
The cobbler was awhirl with strange emotions; more than anything he wanted to see the man's perfect feet naked before him again but he also wanted his slippers, which he had poured so much of his heart into, to be met with admiration and gratitude; to have both things on this auspicious evening would be the pinnacle of his career. Reverently he slid the expensive, heeled shoe off the proffered foot and was mildly disappointed to see the handsome man wore a silk stocking beneath. "S-shall I remove the stocking too, my lord?" the cobbler asked. The handsome man smiled his secret smile again,
"I am in a hurry this evening, good cobbler." He replied. "Ask me again another day." The cobbler felt his heart pinch at being denied the chance to see the handsome man's perfect feet naked again but did not allow it to show on his face.
"Will there be another day, my lord? I am a busy man after all." The handsome man arched an eyebrow at the cobbler's boldness.
"I think there will be, for I have a new ball each day this week and I cannot be seen wearing the same pair of dancing slippers twice." The handsome man gestured and the cobbler slid the yellow slippers on his feet. The handsome man stood and examined his feet, turning them this way and that and performed a few dance steps which caused the cobbler's heart to soar. To see his work on such perfection was enthralling but a small frown marred the handsome man's face and the cobbler's pride bruised a little.
"What is the matter, my lord? Do these slippers not please you?"
"Dear cobbler, you have poured your heart into these slippers; but I can not be truly satisfied until I have on my feet a pair of slippers you have poured your soul into. Make me such a pair and I will make you my personal cobbler. You would never need to make slippers for feet less perfect than mine again."
The cobbler's heart leapt at the handsome man's words; it was as if he had seen into the cobbler's heart and picked out the one thing he wanted most in the world. "In addition to the balls, at the week's end there is special anniversary party for me, and for that party I must have the most perfect set of slippers mortal man can devise!"
"My lord, on an average day I can craft a single pair of the most beautiful slippers; adequate for the balls you have spoken of, but to create the most perfect pair of slippers a mortal man can devise ... would it not serve you better to take the entire week to craft such an item?" The handsome man laid a heavy hand on the cobbler's shoulder and slid a thumbnail, polished and perfect, along the skin beneath the cobbler's jaw. A single drop of blood dotted the nail and the handsome man lifted it to his mouth and sampled it with his tongue, appearing to savor the flavor as a connoisseur would an exquisite wine.
"Deep within you have the ability, dear cobbler, but I wonder if you have the passion to create the slippers I require?" The handsome man smiled, and his smile was cruel. "You were recommended to me as the finest maker of dancing slippers in the world; if you do not feel you can live up to this, tell me now and I will find the true master of the craft."
At the handsome man's scornful words the cobbler's heart swelled with pride and anger. "I am the master!" he declared loudly. "I will not allow another to shoe you, my lord, for their creations would be as mud on your perfect feet! You shall have your daily slippers of utter beauty for your evening balls and, even if it kills me, you will wear the most perfect set of slippers mortal man can devise come your anniversary gala!" After uttering such bold words the cobbler ran into his back workroom and feverishly began planning the slippers he would make.
The following evening the handsome man came to collect his slippers and was quickly fitted then sent away so the cobbler could begin work on the next pair. The handsome man said nothing of this brisk treatment but only thoughtfully licked his nail where the drop of the cobbler's blood still shone as wet as when it was first acquired.
The cobbler's wife placed and received orders for fine silks, furs, feathers and jewels; rare shells were purchased from travelers and soon the cobbler's coffers were running low on funds. This greatly upset the cobbler's wife, whose chief entertainment was counting their wealth, so she confronted the handsome man that evening to inquire about payment.
"My lord," she began with a deep curtsy, "My dear husband has now made you three pairs of exceptional slippers from materials that suit your lordship's station; but such creations are costly and I must ask when you intend to pay for your slippers?"
The handsome man, who had been admiring the combination of gold-leafed feathers set with rubies against the deep purple velvet of the slippers, turned to the cobbler and said, "What would you have me pay you, cobbler?"
The cobbler was appalled. "My lord! I could not ask you to pay me for the privilege of serving you! It is I who should humbly enquire if I am in arrears, for your feet are a marvel of nature and only enhance my masterful works!"
The cobbler's wife did not know what to say to such madness and ran embarrassed from the room. The next day she sought the aid of a holy man.
"You must help me," she implored. "My husband, a renowned maker of dancing slippers, has become obsessed with the feet of a nobleman! He will not take work from any other and he refuses payment for the work he does! If you do not help us, we will be beggared before the week is out!"
The holy man, familiar by trade with the ways of temptation, knew to take the cobbler's wife's pleas very seriously indeed. "You say he is obsessed with a man's feet? What sort of man is he and what sort of feet?"
"He is a nobleman, very handsome, but he has not said where he comes from; he arrives in a black coach drawn by black horses and he has small servants who attend to his traveling needs. He wears finery of a sort that is rarely seen in these parts and as for his feet, they are, in the words of my dear husband, perfect!"
"You say he is noble in appearance, yet you know nothing of his origins. He adorns his carriage in the color of death and he has perfect feet? Tell me quickly, has he made mention of a celebration or event at the week's end?"
"Why, yes," exclaimed the cobbler's wife. "He has commissioned a pair of dancing slippers from my husband for an anniversary that day that are not only the most perfect mortal man can devise but that he has also poured his soul into the creation of!"
The holy man made a blessed sign in the air between them. "Dear child, I fear this handsome man is the Devil himself come to tempt your husband and take his soul! Although few know it, this week's end marks the anniversary of the Devil's exile from God's Kingdom; surely that is the event he is speaking of!"
The cobbler's wife fell to her knees and began to weep and tear at her hair. "My husband is damned! I am ruined!"
"Do not despair, good woman, for there is a power greater than the Devil's own, and it lies within us to battle for your husband's soul! Through God's Grace we shall deliver him from the temptation set before him!" The holy man thought deeply a moment then said, "We must somehow destroy the Devil's perfect feet; only then will the spell over your husband be broken and he will be freed from temptation."
"I would do anything to free my husband from the Devil's spell," the cobbler's wife declared.
"Then hold fast your courage, dear woman, for you will need it all before the week has ended! We must hide a blade in each of the final slippers that will cut deep into the feet of this villain but hide them in such a fashion that he will not feel them until he stands and presses his feet down." Together the cobbler's wife and the holy man planned the perfect way to destroy the handsome man's perfect feet.
The week passed with a glorious pair of dancing slippers being created each day to outdo the ones created the day before, until finally the eve of the end of the week arrived and with it the handsome man to collect his perfect slippers.
The cobbler was a hollow shell of the man he had been before viewing the handsome man's perfect feet. He spared neither time to eat nor sleep, sustaining himself on the handsome man's praise and the slipper fittings where he had been permitted to touch, hold and gaze upon the handsome man's feet. The hours he would have spent sleeping he instead put into the anniversary slippers, which he imbued with not only his blood, sweat, tears, and his heart, but his very soul as well.
And what magnificent slippers they were to behold; they shone like the sun and were so radiant they seemed to burn with the same furious heat. They were slippers like no other that had ever been made before. True, they were not as adorned as the glass-beaded slippers, nor were they as colorful as the slippers the cobbler crafted from the feathers of a thousand birds, but their shining glory reflected the all-consuming passion the cobbler felt for his craft and for the handsome man's perfect feet. They shone like the sun because they were crafted from the cobbler's soul itself.
The handsome man's hands shook as he took the glorious slippers in his hands and his voice was more kindly towards the cobbler than he had ever been before, "Dear cobbler," he said, "you have done what no other has ever been able to do; you have given me your everything. I am truly humbled."
The cobbler knelt at the handsome man's feet and felt his heart swell with incredible pride. "My lord, please allow me to fit the slippers on your feet," the cobbler asked.
"But of course," the handsome man replied. "Whom else would I bestow such an honor on?"
The cobbler reverently removed the handsome man's traveling shoes and marveled at the immaculate nails on and perfect length of his toes; truly it was good fortune that the handsome man had offered the cobbler a permanent appointment, for the cobbler could not imagine making dancing slippers for another ever again. Slowly, unaware of the surprise his wife had deftly sewn into the soles of the dancing slippers, the cobbler slipped his creation on one foot then the other, and then offered him his hand to rise to his feet.
"These slippers are so warm and seem to hug my feet in a tight, yet not unpleasant embrace," the handsome man exclaimed. "Truly these slippers will be the envy of all!" But as the handsome man stood the blades hidden in the soles of the slippers cruelly bit his feet, splitting them in half from the toes to the heel. The handsome man screamed from the pain and shock of the betrayal and rounded on the bewildered cobbler, "Is THIS what you have in your soul; this hatred and cruelty?"
The cobbler stared in horror as bright red blood began to overflow and spill out of the slippers. The handsome man collapsed into the fitting chair and turned the color of chalk. "You have slain me, dear cobbler, when I have shown you naught but generosity and admiration. I do not need to curse you," the handsome man's voice faded to a whisper as the life flowed quickly away from him through the grievous wounds, "by your actions you have cursed yourself."
The cobbler snatched the treacherous slippers from the handsome man's feet and gasped with horror when he saw each foot split in twain by the cruel blades now exposed through the bloody tatters of the slippers' soles. The slippers' golden radiance began to discolor and turn black where the red blood soaked the material spun from the cobbler's soul until in his hands the cobbler held a pair of slippers as dark as the Devil's heart.
Just then the cobbler's wife and the holy man sprang into the front workroom. "We have you, Devil! You shall not claim this good cobbler's soul tonight," the holy man exclaimed. "Be gone from this place and take temptation with you!"
"There is no devil here." The cobbler held the dark slippers out for his wife and the holy man to see, "There are only two innocent men, one murdered by suspicion and the other whose soul was used to commit the crime."
"B-but, this man was the very Devil himself," stammered the wife. "And yet, his blood is as red as any man's I have seen..." She looked to the holy man but he would not meet her eyes.
"Surely, this must be one of the Devil's tricks?" The holy man bent over the handsome noble and examined his face. He was pushed aside by the cobbler.
"This man was no Devil! Oh! How I wish it were you, wife, lying here in his place! His perfect feet inspired such joy and such love in my heart the likes of which your greedy self never has!" The cobbler ripped at his shirt and hair in his grief. "I gave him my everything and now I have nothing." And with that the cobbler fell down dead beside his noble patron, his heart broken beyond repair.
The nobleman's footman raised up the cry of murder twice done and the holy man and wife fled before they could be apprehended. But no matter where they ran or where they hid the cursed dancing slippers, the color of the Devil's heart, would soon follow. Driven mad by the haunted pursuit, the wife finally threw herself from a cliff into the sea. The holy man, lacking her courage, took refuge in a monastery high in the mountains but he dared not step outside the high walls as the slippers waited for him on the road beyond.
As for the nobleman and the cobbler, the nobleman's servants brought their bodies back to the nobleman's kingdom beyond the sea and the cobbler was given the great honor of being buried at his patron's feet; forever near to those which he loved above all else.
the end
email: tammalee [at] laleeloo.com
Once upon a time when all things made were made by hand and machines were toys for nobility, there lived a cobbler who crafted dancing slippers which were prized more than diamonds.
When he had learned the craft from his father he had been a humble boy, eager to learn and eager to please. As he grew in experience his talent expanded accordingly and his modesty became more and more of a shell, eaten away on the inside by a growing pride.
At first he would make all kinds of shoes for all kinds of people but his intended client became more and more specific until, after his father's death, he closed his door to all but the most beautiful and the most wealthy clients, and as the most beautiful were usually dancers and the most wealthy usually liked to dance, he began to specialize in dancing slippers.
Word of his fantastic creations spread around the world and requests would pour in from those who knew a pair of his slippers would guarantee social status. His wife would screen these letters and pick only the ones that she felt her husband should be bothered with. These requests she would place in a wooden box in his workshop and he would, once a day, reach his hand in and pick a random client to create slippers for. The cobbler enjoyed the feeling of being sought out by the most beautiful and wealthy people in the world, and he enjoyed the feeling of power he held over them even more. For all the modesty he displayed in person was only a thin veneer covering a monstrous pride.
The cobbler would make one exception to how he selected a client; if a client had beautiful feet, he would make them slippers for free. Many a servant would attend the local peasant ball wearing his fantastic creations and all present would know that person had beautiful feet.
If the truth should be told, the cobbler resented selling his slippers to cover ugly feet. He felt his beautiful creations should only encase the most perfect of feet but alas, most dancers had horribly ugly feet. Their toenails were cracked and bleeding from standing on their toes, they often developed horrible calluses and their feet bent in strange ways from the pressures exerted on them.
Dancing slippers made him wealthy but inside he despised those who purchased them for their ugly feet.
One day, a strange carriage stopped before the cobbler's shop. It appeared to be crafted entirely of ebony with gold leaf and rubies set into the details so it sparkled in the early morning sun. Drawing the carriage were eight matching horses the same dark color as the carriage and fitted with headdresses inset with rubies. The cobbler's wife watched, with great interest and greed in her heart, as the doorman performed his duties and the most handsome man she had ever seen stepped out of the carriage and onto the red carpet the footman had rolled out before him.
He was tall and well-formed with black hair he wore wantonly loose and tousled about his shoulders. His skin was dusky but his eyes were a startling green, framed by sinfully long black eyelashes. But as handsome as this man was, it was the way he was dressed that stirred the greedy wife's heart. He wore rare furs, jewels and silks the like of which she had never seen, and he wore them with the air of having thrown on any old thing.
"This wealth," the wife thought to herself, "we needs must have a piece of!" The cobbler's wife ran to the door and opened it on the very first knock. "Welcome, my lord, to our most humble workshop. How may we be of assistance to you?"
The handsome man cast his glance over every aspect of the room then enquired, "Where is the cobbler?"
"He is in the backroom, my lord, working on today's pair of slippers."
The handsome man waved his hand dismissively, "Tell him to cease what he is doing and attend to me personally, goodwife. I have a ball this evening that I must be properly attired for." Greed warred with pride in the cobbler's wife's heart. She watched the light dance off the jewels on his fingers and at his throat and the greed roared inside her. With a deep curtsy she fled to the back room to speak with her husband.
"Husband, stop what you are doing and attend to the client waiting in the front room!"
The cobbler looked up from the silk he was cutting and frowned at his wife. "Wife, you know how I work. I will not change for someone so unimportant that they come to me to beg a pair of slippers." He turned his attention back to the task at hand. "Tell them to place their request in the box and pray Fate allows their slippers to be made on time."
Normally the wife, obedient woman that she was, would have done as her husband requested (after all it was his genius and reputation that kept her in fine dresses and exotic foods), but the flashing rubies danced before her eyes and gave her the strength to defy her husband. "No, you must attend to this client, dear husband! He wears the wealth of a hundred nobles and needs a pair of slippers worthy of him for this evening! Please, do me this one favor, and we will charge him enough to buy a new workshop!"
But the cobbler was not in the habit of doing anyone a favor. "If you lack the courage to tell him, wife, then I must do so myself. I am an artist, not just a tradesman; I will not be intimidated!" Full of conviction, the cobbler marched into the front room and was stopped dead in his tracks. The handsome man had removed a shoe and had placed his bare foot on a velvet footstool his footman had placed before him.
"Ah, cobbler, do not tarry any longer. I have a ball this evening and I must have slippers worthy of these feet." The handsome man's foot was the most beautiful the cobbler had ever seen. It was straight and neither too narrow nor too wide, his toes long and graceful while the nails shone like mother of pearl. The skin was soft and unblemished and even the ankles were comely for a man. The cobbler was overwhelmed and found himself kneeling before the footstool, cradling the perfect foot in his hands.
"Is the other foot as beautiful as this one?" The cobbler wondered aloud in breathless admiration. The handsome man smiled a secret smile,
"But of course, dear cobbler, for you see feet often come as a matched set." The cobbler's wife laughed politely, although she did not care for the tone of the handsome man's voice, and broached the topic of payment.
"Of course you realize," she began, "to have the slippers ready for this evening will mean extra work and extra work means extra cost?" The handsome man frowned in her direction then waved his footman forward. The footman carried a small chest which he opened and presented to the cobbler's wife; it was filled to the brim with rubies. "Oh," the cobbler's wife exclaimed, "This should cover it."
"No." The cobbler said in a clear, strong voice, "I will make these slippers for free, for never have I seen such a perfect foot. It would be my pleasure to work hard for such a foot." The footman snapped the lid of the chest shut and retreated to his place behind his master. The handsome man smiled.
"You are a dear man, cobbler. I will return before dark."
All day the cobbler worked as a man possessed. He took neither food nor drink, afraid to waste precious minutes, as he labored with the most luxurious materials he had at his disposal. His fingers bled, his back ached and his eyes wobbled from the strain of the effort he was putting into the slippers but his heart held true and he finished just as the sun was sinking in the sky.
Riding the last of the day's light the black carriage rumbled into town and stopped in front of the cobbler's workshop. Red lanterns swung from the corners of the carriage and the footman, the doorman and the driver were dressed in livery the color of blood. The handsome man stepped out onto the red carpet, and paused so the rays of the dying sun could admire him, for he truly was resplendent in finery that would make a King gnaw his lip with envy.
The door to the cobbler's workshop flew open and the cobbler himself was at the door to greet the handsome man. He was dressed in his finest and held a velvet cushion in his hands on which rested a magnificent pair of slippers cut from yellow silk and adorned with topaz and citrine. "My lord, your slippers are prepared if you would like to do a final fitting?"
The handsome man followed the cobbler into the front room of his workshop and looked amused at the regal chair and footstool which had been added since his visit earlier that day. He sat in the regal chair and presented a foot to the cobbler.
The cobbler was awhirl with strange emotions; more than anything he wanted to see the man's perfect feet naked before him again but he also wanted his slippers, which he had poured so much of his heart into, to be met with admiration and gratitude; to have both things on this auspicious evening would be the pinnacle of his career. Reverently he slid the expensive, heeled shoe off the proffered foot and was mildly disappointed to see the handsome man wore a silk stocking beneath. "S-shall I remove the stocking too, my lord?" the cobbler asked. The handsome man smiled his secret smile again,
"I am in a hurry this evening, good cobbler." He replied. "Ask me again another day." The cobbler felt his heart pinch at being denied the chance to see the handsome man's perfect feet naked again but did not allow it to show on his face.
"Will there be another day, my lord? I am a busy man after all." The handsome man arched an eyebrow at the cobbler's boldness.
"I think there will be, for I have a new ball each day this week and I cannot be seen wearing the same pair of dancing slippers twice." The handsome man gestured and the cobbler slid the yellow slippers on his feet. The handsome man stood and examined his feet, turning them this way and that and performed a few dance steps which caused the cobbler's heart to soar. To see his work on such perfection was enthralling but a small frown marred the handsome man's face and the cobbler's pride bruised a little.
"What is the matter, my lord? Do these slippers not please you?"
"Dear cobbler, you have poured your heart into these slippers; but I can not be truly satisfied until I have on my feet a pair of slippers you have poured your soul into. Make me such a pair and I will make you my personal cobbler. You would never need to make slippers for feet less perfect than mine again."
The cobbler's heart leapt at the handsome man's words; it was as if he had seen into the cobbler's heart and picked out the one thing he wanted most in the world. "In addition to the balls, at the week's end there is special anniversary party for me, and for that party I must have the most perfect set of slippers mortal man can devise!"
"My lord, on an average day I can craft a single pair of the most beautiful slippers; adequate for the balls you have spoken of, but to create the most perfect pair of slippers a mortal man can devise ... would it not serve you better to take the entire week to craft such an item?" The handsome man laid a heavy hand on the cobbler's shoulder and slid a thumbnail, polished and perfect, along the skin beneath the cobbler's jaw. A single drop of blood dotted the nail and the handsome man lifted it to his mouth and sampled it with his tongue, appearing to savor the flavor as a connoisseur would an exquisite wine.
"Deep within you have the ability, dear cobbler, but I wonder if you have the passion to create the slippers I require?" The handsome man smiled, and his smile was cruel. "You were recommended to me as the finest maker of dancing slippers in the world; if you do not feel you can live up to this, tell me now and I will find the true master of the craft."
At the handsome man's scornful words the cobbler's heart swelled with pride and anger. "I am the master!" he declared loudly. "I will not allow another to shoe you, my lord, for their creations would be as mud on your perfect feet! You shall have your daily slippers of utter beauty for your evening balls and, even if it kills me, you will wear the most perfect set of slippers mortal man can devise come your anniversary gala!" After uttering such bold words the cobbler ran into his back workroom and feverishly began planning the slippers he would make.
The following evening the handsome man came to collect his slippers and was quickly fitted then sent away so the cobbler could begin work on the next pair. The handsome man said nothing of this brisk treatment but only thoughtfully licked his nail where the drop of the cobbler's blood still shone as wet as when it was first acquired.
The cobbler's wife placed and received orders for fine silks, furs, feathers and jewels; rare shells were purchased from travelers and soon the cobbler's coffers were running low on funds. This greatly upset the cobbler's wife, whose chief entertainment was counting their wealth, so she confronted the handsome man that evening to inquire about payment.
"My lord," she began with a deep curtsy, "My dear husband has now made you three pairs of exceptional slippers from materials that suit your lordship's station; but such creations are costly and I must ask when you intend to pay for your slippers?"
The handsome man, who had been admiring the combination of gold-leafed feathers set with rubies against the deep purple velvet of the slippers, turned to the cobbler and said, "What would you have me pay you, cobbler?"
The cobbler was appalled. "My lord! I could not ask you to pay me for the privilege of serving you! It is I who should humbly enquire if I am in arrears, for your feet are a marvel of nature and only enhance my masterful works!"
The cobbler's wife did not know what to say to such madness and ran embarrassed from the room. The next day she sought the aid of a holy man.
"You must help me," she implored. "My husband, a renowned maker of dancing slippers, has become obsessed with the feet of a nobleman! He will not take work from any other and he refuses payment for the work he does! If you do not help us, we will be beggared before the week is out!"
The holy man, familiar by trade with the ways of temptation, knew to take the cobbler's wife's pleas very seriously indeed. "You say he is obsessed with a man's feet? What sort of man is he and what sort of feet?"
"He is a nobleman, very handsome, but he has not said where he comes from; he arrives in a black coach drawn by black horses and he has small servants who attend to his traveling needs. He wears finery of a sort that is rarely seen in these parts and as for his feet, they are, in the words of my dear husband, perfect!"
"You say he is noble in appearance, yet you know nothing of his origins. He adorns his carriage in the color of death and he has perfect feet? Tell me quickly, has he made mention of a celebration or event at the week's end?"
"Why, yes," exclaimed the cobbler's wife. "He has commissioned a pair of dancing slippers from my husband for an anniversary that day that are not only the most perfect mortal man can devise but that he has also poured his soul into the creation of!"
The holy man made a blessed sign in the air between them. "Dear child, I fear this handsome man is the Devil himself come to tempt your husband and take his soul! Although few know it, this week's end marks the anniversary of the Devil's exile from God's Kingdom; surely that is the event he is speaking of!"
The cobbler's wife fell to her knees and began to weep and tear at her hair. "My husband is damned! I am ruined!"
"Do not despair, good woman, for there is a power greater than the Devil's own, and it lies within us to battle for your husband's soul! Through God's Grace we shall deliver him from the temptation set before him!" The holy man thought deeply a moment then said, "We must somehow destroy the Devil's perfect feet; only then will the spell over your husband be broken and he will be freed from temptation."
"I would do anything to free my husband from the Devil's spell," the cobbler's wife declared.
"Then hold fast your courage, dear woman, for you will need it all before the week has ended! We must hide a blade in each of the final slippers that will cut deep into the feet of this villain but hide them in such a fashion that he will not feel them until he stands and presses his feet down." Together the cobbler's wife and the holy man planned the perfect way to destroy the handsome man's perfect feet.
The week passed with a glorious pair of dancing slippers being created each day to outdo the ones created the day before, until finally the eve of the end of the week arrived and with it the handsome man to collect his perfect slippers.
The cobbler was a hollow shell of the man he had been before viewing the handsome man's perfect feet. He spared neither time to eat nor sleep, sustaining himself on the handsome man's praise and the slipper fittings where he had been permitted to touch, hold and gaze upon the handsome man's feet. The hours he would have spent sleeping he instead put into the anniversary slippers, which he imbued with not only his blood, sweat, tears, and his heart, but his very soul as well.
And what magnificent slippers they were to behold; they shone like the sun and were so radiant they seemed to burn with the same furious heat. They were slippers like no other that had ever been made before. True, they were not as adorned as the glass-beaded slippers, nor were they as colorful as the slippers the cobbler crafted from the feathers of a thousand birds, but their shining glory reflected the all-consuming passion the cobbler felt for his craft and for the handsome man's perfect feet. They shone like the sun because they were crafted from the cobbler's soul itself.
The handsome man's hands shook as he took the glorious slippers in his hands and his voice was more kindly towards the cobbler than he had ever been before, "Dear cobbler," he said, "you have done what no other has ever been able to do; you have given me your everything. I am truly humbled."
The cobbler knelt at the handsome man's feet and felt his heart swell with incredible pride. "My lord, please allow me to fit the slippers on your feet," the cobbler asked.
"But of course," the handsome man replied. "Whom else would I bestow such an honor on?"
The cobbler reverently removed the handsome man's traveling shoes and marveled at the immaculate nails on and perfect length of his toes; truly it was good fortune that the handsome man had offered the cobbler a permanent appointment, for the cobbler could not imagine making dancing slippers for another ever again. Slowly, unaware of the surprise his wife had deftly sewn into the soles of the dancing slippers, the cobbler slipped his creation on one foot then the other, and then offered him his hand to rise to his feet.
"These slippers are so warm and seem to hug my feet in a tight, yet not unpleasant embrace," the handsome man exclaimed. "Truly these slippers will be the envy of all!" But as the handsome man stood the blades hidden in the soles of the slippers cruelly bit his feet, splitting them in half from the toes to the heel. The handsome man screamed from the pain and shock of the betrayal and rounded on the bewildered cobbler, "Is THIS what you have in your soul; this hatred and cruelty?"
The cobbler stared in horror as bright red blood began to overflow and spill out of the slippers. The handsome man collapsed into the fitting chair and turned the color of chalk. "You have slain me, dear cobbler, when I have shown you naught but generosity and admiration. I do not need to curse you," the handsome man's voice faded to a whisper as the life flowed quickly away from him through the grievous wounds, "by your actions you have cursed yourself."
The cobbler snatched the treacherous slippers from the handsome man's feet and gasped with horror when he saw each foot split in twain by the cruel blades now exposed through the bloody tatters of the slippers' soles. The slippers' golden radiance began to discolor and turn black where the red blood soaked the material spun from the cobbler's soul until in his hands the cobbler held a pair of slippers as dark as the Devil's heart.
Just then the cobbler's wife and the holy man sprang into the front workroom. "We have you, Devil! You shall not claim this good cobbler's soul tonight," the holy man exclaimed. "Be gone from this place and take temptation with you!"
"There is no devil here." The cobbler held the dark slippers out for his wife and the holy man to see, "There are only two innocent men, one murdered by suspicion and the other whose soul was used to commit the crime."
"B-but, this man was the very Devil himself," stammered the wife. "And yet, his blood is as red as any man's I have seen..." She looked to the holy man but he would not meet her eyes.
"Surely, this must be one of the Devil's tricks?" The holy man bent over the handsome noble and examined his face. He was pushed aside by the cobbler.
"This man was no Devil! Oh! How I wish it were you, wife, lying here in his place! His perfect feet inspired such joy and such love in my heart the likes of which your greedy self never has!" The cobbler ripped at his shirt and hair in his grief. "I gave him my everything and now I have nothing." And with that the cobbler fell down dead beside his noble patron, his heart broken beyond repair.
The nobleman's footman raised up the cry of murder twice done and the holy man and wife fled before they could be apprehended. But no matter where they ran or where they hid the cursed dancing slippers, the color of the Devil's heart, would soon follow. Driven mad by the haunted pursuit, the wife finally threw herself from a cliff into the sea. The holy man, lacking her courage, took refuge in a monastery high in the mountains but he dared not step outside the high walls as the slippers waited for him on the road beyond.
As for the nobleman and the cobbler, the nobleman's servants brought their bodies back to the nobleman's kingdom beyond the sea and the cobbler was given the great honor of being buried at his patron's feet; forever near to those which he loved above all else.
the end