Once in a certain kingdom there lived a princess. As a child she was extremely beautiful. The years flew by and the princess turned into a most charming maiden. Then the king ordered his courtiers to announce all over the kingdom that the time had come for his daughter to marry.
Merchants, knights, magicians flocked to the magnificent royal palace from all parts of the land. Amidst them was a young poet.
He was a perfectly ordinary young man, not particularly handsome, or particularly plain, not very tall, but not very short. Neither strong nor weak. In short, there was nothing special about him except that he talked and dressed very simply compared to all the other. His manners were somewhat different, though, from those of the richly-dressed men who gathered in the palace's grand hall, each one eager to become the princess' bridegroom. The princess noticed the young poet. Perhaps it was his modesty that drew the princess attention. Or, maybe it was because she saw at once that he was in love with her.

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"Who are you?" asked the princess.
"I am a poet," the young man said timidly. He stepped forward, his heart pounding, and began to recite an ode he had written especially for her. For he felt it was the right moment to do it...
But the princess interrupted him. She had heard so many poems composed in her honour by the best poets of the country that she had grown used to it. She smiled one of her charming smiles and said:
"Can you present me a crown with diamonds?"
Her request stunned the poet. His words of love froze on his lips.
"I am a poor man, Your Highness," the poet said at last. "My poems are my only wealth. But people say that some of them are worth more than diamonds..."
Perhaps the young man should not have said that to a princess. At once, a son of a merchant known to be the richest in the country, chimed in:
"Oh, Your Highness, give me some time and I swear I shall decorate your lovely head with a crown adorned with the best diamonds there are in the world!"
"There is another thing missing," the princess went on to say, "a kingdom. Which of you is ready to win one for me? Which of you wants to become powerful and grand?"
The merchant's son stepped back, embarrassed.
"But the power of poetry is stronger than that of a king," objected the poet. "A king rules by force often against the will of the people while a poet uses his talent to free people's spirit!"
But the princess only laughed sweetly at the poet's words.
Another contestant stepped forward from the crowd. He was a powerful duke, dressed from head to foot in shining armor.
"I shall conquer a kingdom for you, Your Highness!" he said in a harsh voice. "Just give me a year."
"And finally," concluded the beautiful maiden, "I shall only marry a man with extraordinary powers. Which of you can turn my pussy cat into a lion?"
"Show me the most savage man and I shall turn him into the kindest one," said the young poet.
But the princess shook her head doubtfully.
Then a budding magician stepped forward and declared: "In a year, this pussy cat will be a lion! You will see how my artistry works!"
Discouraged by the princess' demands, the rest of the contestants went away.
The young merchant rushed off to pile up his diamonds; the duke shut his visor and went to fight for a kingdom; the young magician went to perfect his tricks; and the young poet went to write his poems.
..The months slipped by and soon a year had passed. The young poet wrote a perfect serenade and dedicated it to the beautiful princess, of course. This serenade won the hearts of all the young lovers in no time and became their favourite love song.
When the princess heard it, she was moved by the passionate lyrics. No one had ever expressed his feelings to her in such a sincere and tender way...
In a year, the merchant, the duke and the magician came back to appear before the princess again, each of them having fulfilled his promise. But the fair maiden decided to marry the duke who laid at her feet the kingdom he had conquered. Soon after their royal wedding, the old king passed away leaving the young princess, now queen, in full charge of the country. The blossoming beauty of the young queen was compared with a magnificent rose, beautiful and out of reach of ordinary people.
But the country's wise men said that their queen's beauty and her grand ways and expensive tastes were costing her people too much. The poor became still poorer. More and more money was spent on the queen's new dresses, on court-balls, on the never-ending wars the duke waged against neighbouring king doms while the royal henchmen kept an iron grip on the common people making them work day and night...
But what about the young poet? He was becoming increasingly popular. Through his songs he won the hearts of the entire nation, something his old-time rivals, the merchant, the duke or the magician, never achieved. When the poet raised his voice against injustice, his poems thundered like a thousand brass-bands and his sarcasm and bitter irony cut as deep as sharp swords...
In the meantime, the queen grew more and more annoyed with her husband. All brawn and no brain, the duke was terribly
morose and boring. So, the queen impatiently waited for the poet's new songs to come. But for some unknown reason, he no longer praised her heavenly beauty in his poems. Instead, all his new songs and ballads were dedicated to the poor people and their problems.
The queen didn't know what to think and decided to visit the poet. One evening, she disguised herself as a servant girl and went to the poet pretending that she was looking for a job.
The poet recognized the queen immediately but he didn't let on. "Glad to see you, young lady," he said amiably. "I must admit I am very busy writing poems and I do need someone to help me about the house. What can you do?"
The queen wanted to say, "Order people about!" But that would have meant giving herself away. So with a confused smile, she stammered:
"I--d-don't know..."
The poet looked at her gravely:
"Then permit me to ask you if you have a good heart?"
"But of course!..." smiled the queen.
"What would you like to have for the state emblem, an ear of wheat or a sword?"
"A sword, of course."
"Why a sword?" the poet asked in surprise.
"With an ear of wheat you'll have only wheat, but with a sword you'll have the world."
The poet looked closely at the queen and said:
"You don't seem to think before you speak. Still, let me ask you one more question: Which would you like best, a grain of sand that turns into a pearl later to be set into a wicked king's crown, or a grain of sand that gets into the same king's eye as he watches an innocent man tortured?"
"Why, the one that turned into a pearl, of course!"
The poet went on, his brows knit together:
"And the last question: What can the sun's beauty be compared with?"
"With that of the queen!"
"Sorry, young lady," said the poet, looking sternly at the disguised queen, "but I think it's the beauty of youth!"
The queen lowered her eyes and sighed:
"It's true, I am not as young as I was!"
The poet looked straight into her eyes:
"You still don't understand me... It's not that I don't see the charming beauty of a lady who wants to become my housemaid. It's just that I don't like the queen... She lets her lackeys oppress the poor... I'm in no hurry to praise the queen. I'll praise her only when she makes life easier for her people!"
The queen said nothing in response. She just turned her back to the poet and left... And that very night the armed quards broke into the poet's house and arrested him and took to the royal palace. There the poet saw the queen who sat on her throne wearing gold and diamonds. When their eyes met, the queen said in a strict voice:
"From now on I want you to forget your dirty beggars. You must praise my own beauty instead!"
The poet held up his head and smiled:
"No, Your Majesty. I could no more do that than live and die at the same time!"
Angry with his words, the queen had the poet chained up and put into the dungeon. But his songs became even more popular.
Finally, the poor took up arms. They stormed the dungeon and set all the prisoners free. Then they found the poet and said to him:
"Join us, for we shall now storm the queen's palace!"
The rebels pressed on, brandishing their sharp swords. It was their decisive battle with the queen's guards, with grief and misery. The poet found himself in the front rows of the attackers who chanted his most defiant songs.
The insurgents forced their way into the royal palace...
What happened next is yet another story.