The Naughty Boy

A long time ago, there lived an old poet, a very kind old poet. One evening, as he sat in his room, a terrible storm arose outside. The rain poured down from the sky, but the old poet sat warm and cozy by the fireplace, where the fire blazed and a roasting apple hissed.

“Those who don’t have a roof over their heads will get soaked to the skin,” said the kind old poet.

Suddenly, he heard a child crying at the door, knocking and shouting, “Oh, let me in! Let me in! I’m cold and so wet!” The rain poured down, and the wind rattled all the windows.

“Poor thing!” said the old poet, and he went to open the door. There stood a little boy, completely naked, with water running down from his long golden hair. He was shivering with cold, and if he hadn’t come into a warm room, he would surely have died in the terrible storm.

“Poor child!” said the old poet, taking the boy by the hand. “Come in, come in, and I will warm you up! You shall have sweet wine and roasted apples, for you are truly a charming child!” And the boy really was charming. His eyes sparkled like bright stars, and even though the water dripped from his hair, it curled beautifully. He looked just like a little angel, but he was pale and trembling all over. He carried a small bow, but it was ruined by the rain, and the colors of his many arrows had run together.

The old poet sat down by the fire, took the boy on his lap, squeezed the water from his wet hair, warmed his hands in his own, and heated some sweet wine for him. Soon the boy felt better, his cheeks turned pink again, and he jumped down and danced around the kind old poet.

“You’re a happy little fellow,” said the old man. “What’s your name?”

“My name is Cupid,” answered the boy. “Don’t you know me? There’s my bow. It shoots very well, I promise! Look, the weather is clearing up, and the moon is shining through the window.”

“But your bow is ruined,” said the old poet.

“Oh, that would be too bad,” said the boy. He picked up the bow and examined it carefully. “It’s dry now and not damaged at all. The string is tight. I’ll try it right away.” He bent his bow, took aim, and shot an arrow straight into the old poet’s heart. “See, my bow wasn’t ruined after all!” he laughed, and ran away.

What a naughty boy, to shoot the old poet like that—the poet who had let him into his warm room, treated him kindly, and given him warm wine and the best apples!

The poor poet lay on the floor and cried, because the arrow had really pierced his heart.

“Shame on you!” he said. “What a naughty boy Cupid is! I will tell all children about him, so they will be careful and not play with him. He only brings sadness and heartache.”

And all the good children who heard this story were very wary of naughty Cupid. But he still tricked them, because he is amazingly clever. When university students leave their lectures, he runs beside them wearing a black coat and carrying a book.

They can’t recognize him, so they walk arm in arm with him as if he were just another student. Then, without them noticing, he shoots an arrow into their chest. When young girls come from meeting with the priest or go to church to be confirmed, he is right behind them.

Yes, he follows everyone everywhere. At the theater, he sits in the big chandelier and burns like a bright flame, making people think it’s real fire—but soon they discover it’s something else. He wanders through palace gardens and on the city walls.

Once, he even shot an arrow into your father’s and mother’s hearts! Just ask them, and they’ll tell you. Oh, that Cupid is a naughty boy! You should never have anything to do with him. He is always chasing after everyone. Imagine, he once shot an arrow at your old grandmother!

That was a long time ago, and it’s over now, but she still remembers it. Shame on you, naughty Cupid! Now you know him, and you know how badly he behaves.