The Golden Boy

There lived in a small village in Bavaria (though some say Bohemia) a pious but penurious cobbler. After his wife died in childbirth, he raised his only child, a son, teaching him reading, writing, portions of the good book to memorize, and to follow the strait-and-narrow path of virtue that he himself had trod throughout his life. The boy was a good learner, and with his shining blond hair and good character, he was called by the other villagers “The Golden Boy.”

When he reached his majority, the son set off from his father’s home to seek his fortune in a larger world, eventually, after several moves, settling in the city of C. Because of the difficulty of travel—long distances and uncertain roads—the son returned to his home village only once or twice over the years. 

Years later, one night when the old cobbler was dozing by candlelight in his favorite chair, he was awakened by a loud knocking at the door. When he opened it, he found a neighbor, Herr H., panting and gasping for breath.

“What is the matter?” the cobbler asked.

“I have been riding all the night from the town of P.; my horse is dead on its feet. But I had to rush here to tell you of the news that was passing through the town. It seems that the people heard from a traveller from the Capital City that your son, the Golden Boy, was arrested for many murders and rapes and was sentenced to be hanged. The dreadful event is to take place tomorrow.”

Choking back tears, the old man thanked Herr H. for rushing to tell him the terrible news and shut the door behind him.

Confused and tormented, the old man did not know what to do. But finally he pulled himself together and got down on his knees to pray.

“Oh Lord, although I have prayed to thee every day of my life and have tried to follow in thy footsteps, I have never before tonight asked thee for anything for myself.” As tears cascaded down his cheeks, he continued: “But hearing the news about my son, I must ask, plead, and beg of thee, that thou grant me one favor—allow me to trade my life in place of my son’s and for me to bear his terrible fate.”

*

The old cobbler is standing outside the gates of heaven while Saint Peter examines a parchment in front of him. “I’m sorry, Herr K., but according to this document, you may not pass through the Pearly Gates. You have been consigned to The Other Place.”

“But I have lived an honorable life. I have broken none of the Commandments; I have dealt falsely with no man: I have spoken evil of none. Why am I turned away from Heaven?”

“I cannot answer that,” replied the saint. “It would be best to inquire below.”

*

The Devil stands with his back to the yawning maw of the entrance to The Other Place. “Yes, Herr K., you belong here,” he says to the frightened old man. 

“But why do I belong here? I asked Saint Peter but received no answer.”

“He did not have the facts of the case, which came directly to us. Because you pleaded to take the place of your evil son, you took on his crimes when you did so. Thus, sir, you are damned in his place. But even worse, because you pleaded to allow him to live and, therefore, to continue his murdering and raping, you are doubly damned. . . . Enter, please, Herr K.