So the Tsar drove into the city and ordered that at all his feasts the plates should be neither of silver nor of pewter, nor of copper nor of wood, but only of clay. The potter carried out the Tsar’s orders and brought his goods into the city. A boyár rode up to the potter and said to him: “God be with you, potter.”

“Thank you, your honour.”

“Sell me all your goods.”

“I cannot; they are already sold.”

“What does that matter? Take my money for it; you will be doing no wrong, as long as you have received no orders for the work. What do you want?”

“I want every plate filled with money.”

“Listen, potter⁠—that is too much.”