There was once a student in Tuy who was so very poor that, if faith in
Providence be not reckoned, he possessed no riches.
But Juan Rivas was endowed with a wonderfully fine gift of ingenuity,
and although he was somewhat behind in the payment for the Masses on
behalf of his predecessors, and even more so with his mundane creditors,
still was he a man who meant well and would do the right thing if he
only had the opportunity.
To the man of the world there is no greater pleasure than to pay his
debts, for by so doing he increases his credit.
Juan Rivas would willingly have paid every creditor had his pocket been
as full of the wherewithal as his heart was of gratitude for small
mercies; but there is no difficulty about showing one’s self desirous of
satisfying one’s debts—the only difficulty generally rests in being
able to do so.
At college he had proved himself a good scholar and a true companion;
but as he could no longer contribute toward the support of his college,
his college could not be expected to support him.
His long black cap, his flowing robes, his pantaloons, and his shoes
were altered in substance, and so was Juan Rivas.
Finally he became reduced to his last maravedi, and as his friends could
no longer assist him, he thought it was high time he should assist
himself.
“Providence,” said he, “has never intended me for a poor man, but Fate
has almost made me one. I will believe in Providence, and become rich
from this day.” Saying which, he went to some of his companions, who
were almost as poor as he was, and asked them if they desired to be
rich.
“Do you ask us if we want to be rich with so serious a face?” answered
they. “Really, friend Juan, you are so strange that you do not seem to
belong to this city!”
“No man can be rich,” continued Juan, “by staying at home. We are
students, and our studies should meet with some recompense. Will you do
as I bid you?”
“Yes!” cried all his poor companions; “so long as you lead us not to the
gallows, for we like not such playthings.”
“Well, then, follow me,” said Juan; “and when you see me release a prize
that belongs to him who shall be bold enough to seize it, off with it to
the market, and dispose of it at the best possible price.”
“Done, and agreed to,” shouted all, “if you will but seize the prize!”
“Leave that to me,” said the poor student, “and I will hand you a prize
fully worth twenty dollars without his garments.”
“But, surely, you are not going to hand some man or woman over to us?”
inquired they.
“Ask me no questions, as the Archbishop of Compostella said to the
pretty widow, and I will be honest with you. The prize I shall hand you
will fetch money in the market, and we sell not human beings in this
country,” urged Juan.
“That is right,” they exclaimed; “and we will follow you.”
The students followed Juan on to the high-road leading from the city to
Ourense; and when they had walked for about two hours’ time Juan told
his companions to get behind the hedge and await results.
Soon after, the jingling of bells was heard, and a muleteer seated
cross-legged on a mule, which preceded five others, was seen
approaching.
As the muleteer had sold all his wares he was indulging in a sleep, and
had it not been for the dog-flies that teased the mules they would also
have slept.
Juan let the muleteer pass; but as the last mule came up he seized it,
and, taking off its trappings, and disencumbering it of its ponderous
albarda, or saddle, he freed the animal on the roadside, and replaced
the trappings and the saddle on himself.
His companions were not slow in seizing the prize and hurrying away with
it, while Juan Rivas continued for some distance along the road,
following in the train of mules.
As soon as he considered that his companions would be out of sight, he
commenced backing with all his strength, which brought the mules to a
sudden halt and caused their bells to tinkle.
The muleteer looked back to see if anything was wrong, but, perceiving
nothing, bestowed a hearty blow on his mule, and on he went again.
The student now began to rear and jump about so that the muleteer pulled
up, and, having dismounted, proceeded to inquire into the cause of the
mule so misbehaving itself; but his astonishment was great when, instead
of a mule, he saw a human being bearing the trappings and the saddle.
“What merry freak is this,” demanded the muleteer, addressing the
student, “that I see you replacing my mule?”
“It is no merry freak, indeed it is not,” replied Juan Rivas, “but a sad
reality. You see before you, good master, a poor, miserable creature,
who for his many offences against Mother Church was transformed into a
mule, and sentenced to remain so for a number of years. My term of
punishment has just expired, and I am restored to my natural form.”
“But where is my mule that cost me one hundred crowns not many years
ago?” asked the muleteer.
“You do not understand me, good master,” replied the student. “I was
the mule, and the mule was I; now I am I. When you used to kick your
mule, you really kicked me; when you fed it, you fed me; and now, when
you speak to me, you speak to all that remains of your mule. Now do you
understand?”
“I am beginning to perceive,” said the muleteer, scratching his head and
looking very sorrowful, “that for your sins you were turned into a mule,
and that for mine, I had the misfortune to purchase you. I always
thought there was something strange about that mule!”
“There is no doubt that we all must put up with the consequences of our
evil ways, and, as you very properly say, you have been punished by the
loss of your mule; but, then, you can rejoice with me, seeing that the
son of the first Grandee in Spain served you in the humble capacity of a
beast of burden, and now is restored to rank and wealth.”
“And are you a Grandee of Spain?” anxiously inquired the poor man, “Why,
then, your excellency will never forgive me for the many kicks I have
bestowed on your excellency’s sides; and I am a ruined man, for you will
have me punished.”
“Not so, kind friend; not so,” replied the student, in an assuring
tone; “for how could you tell that your mule was not a mule?”
“Then your excellency will not be revenged on me?” continued the
muleteer. “And if it will be of any consolation to your excellency, I
promise never to divulge this mystery!”
“It will, indeed, be a great comfort to me to think that no one will
know what became of me for so many years,” replied the student. “And now
I must bid you good-bye, for I am in a hurry to again embrace my dear
parents if they be still living.”
“Good-bye,” said the muleteer, with emotion; “and may your excellency
never again incur the displeasure of Mother Church.”
Thus they parted good friends; the muleteer pondering over what he
termed the mysteries of life, and Juan Rivas full of delight at the
thought of rejoining his companions, and having a good supper with the
proceeds of the mule, which pleasure was not denied him and his friends.
In a fortnight’s time there was a cattle fair in the neighbourhood of
Tuy, and as the muleteer required to replace the mule he had so
mysteriously lost, he attended the fair, and was looking about him for
a serviceable mule, when an acquaintance called out to him to know why
he had parted with the other one.
“I have my private reasons,” answered the muleteer, “and I am not here
to let you know them.”
“Very true,” continued his inquisitive friend; “but the proverb says
that ‘the mule you know is better than the mule you don’t know,’ and if
you will take my advice, you will buy your old mule back again, for
there it is”—pointing to it.
The muleteer looked in the direction mentioned, and was horrified at
seeing his late mule again; but, trying to conceal his emotion, he
approached the animal and whispered in its ear, “Those who don’t know
what sort of a mule your excellency is may buy you, but I know the mule
you are;” and, turning away, he sorrowfully exclaimed, “He has again
offended. Terrible are the judgments of Providence!”