He’s an old cobbler with a shop in the Marais, a historic area in Paris. When I took him my shoes, he at first told me: "I haven’t time. Take them to the other fellow on the main street; he'll fix them for you right away."
But I'd had my eye on his shop for a long time. Just looking at his bench loaded with tools and scraps of leather, 1 knew he was a skilled craftsman. “No”
I replied, “the other fellow is bound to botch them up.”
The other fellow' was one of those shopkeepers who fix heels and make keys “While-U-wait”—without knowing much about mending shoes or making keys. They work carelessly, and when they have' finished sewing back a sandal strap you might as well just throw away the pair.
My man saw I wouldn't give in, and he smiled. He wiped his hands on his blue apron, looked at my shoes, had me write my name on one sole with a piece of chalk and said, "Come back in a week."
I ,was about to leave when he took a superb pair of soft, supple leather boots off a shelf.
“See what I can do?" he said with pride. "Only three of us in Paris can do this kind of work."
When I got back out into the street, the world seemed brand-new to me. He was something out of a medieval legend, this old craftsman with his way of speaking familiarly, his weird, dusty felt that, his funny accent from who-knows- where and, above all, his pride in his craft
These are times when nothing counts but the bottom line, when you can do things any old way as long as it “pays,” when, in short, people look on work as a path to ever increasing consumption rather than a way to realize their own intrinsic abilities. In such a period it is a rare comfort to find a cobbler who derives his greatest satisfaction from pride เท a job well done.
Good work is a title of nobility: whatever his trade, a conscientious, honest workman who tries to do his duty with no further ambition than to main¬tain his self-respect has as much dignity as a famous artist. There is no hereditary aristocracy. Decent people are the only true aristocrats.
He’s an old cobbler with a shop in the Marais, a historic area in Paris. When I took him my shoes, he at first told me: "I haven’t time. Take them to the other fellow on the main street; he'll fix them for you right away."But I'd had my eye on his shop for a long time. Just looking at his bench loaded with tools and scraps of leather, 1 knew he was a skilled craftsman. “No”I replied, “the other fellow is bound to botch them up.”The other fellow' was one of those shopkeepers who fix heels and make keys “While-U-wait”—without knowing much about mending shoes or making keys. They work carelessly, and when they have' finished sewing back a sandal strap you might as well just throw away the pair.My man saw I wouldn't give in, and he smiled. He wiped his hands on his blue apron, looked at my shoes, had me write my name on one sole with a piece of chalk and said, "Come back in a week."I ,was about to leave when he took a superb pair of soft, supple leather boots off a shelf.“See what I can do?" he said with pride. "Only three of us in Paris can do this kind of work."When I got back out into the street, the world seemed brand-new to me. He was something out of a medieval legend, this old craftsman with his way of speaking familiarly, his weird, dusty felt that, his funny accent from who-knows- where and, above all, his pride in his craftนี่คือเวลาเมื่อใดนับแต่บรรทัดล่าง เมื่อคุณสามารถทำสิ่งดังเดิมตราบใดที่มัน "คุ้มค่า เมื่อ สั้น ๆ มองคนในการทำงานเป็นเส้นทางไปเคยเพิ่มปริมาณมากกว่าวิธีการตระหนักถึงความสามารถของตนเอง intrinsic ในระยะดังกล่าว เป็นสิ่งที่หายากหา cobbler ที่มาของความพึงพอใจมากที่สุดจากเทความภาคภูมิใจกับงานที่ทำได้ดีทำงานที่ดีเป็นเรื่องของขุนนาง: สิ่งค้าของเขา คุณธรรม ซื่อสัตย์รำที่พยายามทำหน้าที่ ด้วยความใฝ่ฝันไม่ต่อกว่า main¬tain เคารพตัวเองของเขามีศักดิ์ศรีมากเป็นศิลปินที่มีชื่อเสียง มีขุนนางไม่มีรัชทายาทแห่ง คนดีเป็น aristocrats จริงเท่านั้น
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