There was once a very merry, but very poor hostler in Salamanca. He was
so poor that he had to go about his business in rags; and one day when
he was attending on the richly caparisoned mule belonging to the
Archbishop of Toledo, he gave vent to his feelings in words.
“Ah,” said he, “my father was always called a donkey from the day of his
marriage; but would to goodness I were the archbishop’s mule! Look at
the rich livery he bears; look at his stout sides; see how he drinks up
his wine and eats his maize bread! Oh, it would be a merry life, indeed!
My father was, they say, an ass, so I would be a mule!”
And then he leant against the manger, and laughed so heartily that the
archbishop’s mule stopped eating to look at him.
“What ho!” said the mule. “Remember that my reverend master, being a
corpulent man, is somewhat heavy; but if thou wilt change conditions
with me, thou need but take hold of both my ears, and, _caramba_, a mule
thou shalt be, and that in the service of the Archbishop of Toledo!”
“And that will I,” answered Pablo the hostler; “for better be a well-fed
mule than a starving hostler.” So saying, he seized the mule by the
ears, and, looking at him in the face, he was immediately transformed;
but, to his surprise, he saw that the quondam mule was changed into a
monk. “How now!” cried he. “Wilt thou not bring me some more wine and
maize bread, sir monk? Wilt thou not be my hostler?”
But the monk turned away and left the stable, and Pablo then saw that he
had made a mistake. But he resolved that as soon as he was led out into
the street he would run off to his old mother, and implore her to
intercede on his behalf with the patron St. James of Compostella.
When the archbishop had rested, he called for his mule, which was
brought out; and, in the absence of the hostler, whom they could not
find, one of the attendants was about tightening the girths, when the
mule Pablo, seizing the opportunity, bolted away as hard as he could
down the road in the direction of his mother’s house.
The archbishop thought his mule had gone mad, and as the servants
followed it, running, and crying out, “Stop the beast—stop it!” the
rabble joined in the chase; but Pablo never stopped till he got to his
mother’s house.
The old woman was at the door, spinning at her distaff, and as she was
very deaf she had not heard the clamour. Pablo, bending over her, tried
to kiss her hand, to ask her for her blessing, but his tongue now failed
him. So frightened was she at the approach of the animal that she hit
him over the head with her distaff, and cried out, “Abernuncio!”
By this time the servants had surrounded him, and were trying to lead
him back, but he would not go. He stood on his hind-legs, and then lay
down on his side, and rolled in the dust till the scarlet saddle-cloth
was spoilt, and then, suddenly rising, rushed into the cottage, and
tried to sit on his accustomed chair.
His mother fled the house, and the rabble entered, and so cudgelled
Pablo that he was fain to return to the inn; and, after being groomed,
he allowed the archbishop to mount him. However, he had not gone far
before he exclaimed, “By St. Iago, this mule hath the pace of a camel!”
Pablo, not being accustomed to four legs, did not know how to use them,
so that he would move his right fore and hind legs together. This caused
the archbishop great inconvenience, for, being a corpulent man, it made
him roll about on the saddle like the gold ball on the cathedral of
Sevilla, when the west wind loosened it, and the east wind blew it down.
Seizing the pommel with both his hands, and raising himself in his shoe
stirrups, he looked as if he intended to vault over the head of the
mule; and as they were at this moment going through a village, the
inhabitants, who had come out to see the archbishop, thought he was
about to deliver a sermon. So, surrounding the mule, they uncovered
their heads, and knelt awaiting the blessing.
Pablo, forgetting he was a mule, thought the people were doing homage to
him, and being of a merry disposition, he gave way to such inward
laughter that it brought on a violent fit of coughing, which the
faithful—not seeing the face of the archbishop, for they devoutly bent
their heads towards the ground—took to be the natural clearing of the
throat before speaking. But the archbishop, who was now becoming
seriously frightened, and thinking that the evil one had entered the
body of his mule, exclaimed, “Exorciso te—abernuncio!” Then did Pablo
sit down on his hind-quarters, so that the archbishop slid off the
saddle and rolled on the ground, and another “Abernuncio!” in a deeper
tone, brought the devout people to their feet. Pablo at this moment got
up, and by so doing completely capsized the venerable archbishop,
causing him to turn over on to his head. Full of dust and anger, the
prelate started to his feet, and carefully examined his mule to see if
he could account for this peculiar behaviour. Sorely grieved did Pablo
feel at having caused the good archbishop so much annoyance, and, so as
to show his contrition, he went down on his fore-legs, thinking to
kneel, which so frightened all the people that they instinctively took
shelter behind the archbishop. But he was as much afraid as the rest,
and had it not been that they held him by his robes, he would have run
away.
“This beats the mule of Merida,” cried one, “who ran away with the
miller’s wife and then regretted the bargain. See, he is craving for
pardon.”
Pablo the mule rose after kneeling for some time, and, after the
fashion of trained animals of this breed, he extended his fore and
hind-legs, so as to facilitate the archbishop mounting him, which he
soon did, feeling convinced that the mule had intended no harm; but
Pablo, regretting his mistake and the loss of time it had caused, set
off at a quick amble, which so disconcerted his rider that he had to
hold on by the pommel and the crupper; and thus he was hurried out of
the village, and the people were done out of the blessing.
The attendants, who were on foot, tried to keep up with Pablo; but this
they could not do, owing to his long strides; and not until they were
within sight of Toledo did they get up to their master, who, by this
time, was out of breath and countenance. They, fearing that the mule
might start off again, placed a man on each side holding the reins, and
thus did they approach the eastern gate of the city, at which many
priests were waiting with the cross and the sword of the archbishop, in
order to give him a fitting welcome, according to the rules of the
Church. Pablo, seeing the large silver cross, the emblem of
Christianity, slackened his pace, and when within a few yards of it, in
obedience to what his mother had taught him as a child, dropped down on
his knees, bending his head to the ground; but this he did so suddenly,
that the archbishop fell off the saddle on to his neck, and, to break
his fall, caught hold of his servants by their ears, nearly tearing them
off, and causing them also to tumble. Thinking that the evil one had
seized them, they struck out right and left, and nearly stunned their
master with the blows and kicks. Pablo, hoping to retrieve his fortune,
started to his legs with the archbishop clinging round his neck, and
galloped after the two servants with his mouth open, so that, should he
catch them, he might bite them. But they, surmising what he meant,
sought refuge among the priests, and these in their turn made haste to
get into a small chapel close by.
“Our archbishop must have changed mules with Beelzebub,” said a fat
priest, “for no earthly animal would thus treat a prince of the Church!”
“Ay,” continued one of the runaway servants; “and if his neck had been a
foot longer I should have been dangling in mid-air like the coffin of
the false prophet.”
“I never thought to have run so fast again,” ejaculated a very short
and stout priest. “Faith, my legs seemed to grow under me, as our
sacristan said after he had been tossed by the abbot’s bull.”
“But what has become of the archbishop?” said another. “We must not
leave him in his sorry plight.”
Saying this, he carefully opened the door of the chapel, and there they
saw their prelate swooning on the pavement, and Pablo dashing full tilt
among the crowd, trying to wreak his vengeance on as many as he could
possibly get hold of.
Having torn the leather breeches of some half-dozen sightseers, and
knocked down and trampled on some score of men and women, he rushed out
of the city by the same gate, and never stopped till he arrived at the
inn where he had been hostler. The master of the inn, thinking that some
mishap had befallen the archbishop, made haste to secure the mule; but
as it was already night, he postponed sending off one of his servants
till next morning.
Once again at the manger, Pablo had time to consider over the mistake he
had made, and he would gladly have undergone any punishment, could he
but have regained his former shape.
While he was thus musing, he saw the monk approaching, looking very
sorrowful indeed.
“Pablo,” said he, “how dost thou like being a mule?”
Now, Pablo was cunning, and, not wishing to let the monk know what had
happened, he answered—
“As for liking it, I enjoyed carrying the archbishop as much as he liked
being carried; but I am not accustomed to such gay trappings and good
living, so that I am afraid of injuring my health.”
“If that be the case,” continued the monk, “hold down thy head, and I
will relieve thee of the danger; for, to tell you the truth, I find out
that my wife is still living, and she recognized me although I was
disguised as a monk. By my faith, I would rather bear my master’s
harness to the grave than my wife’s tongue from morning till night!
_Caramba_, I hear her knocking at the door! Dear Pablo, let us again
exchange conditions.”
And Pablo, when he awoke next morning, was tightly grasping a beam,
thinking he was the Archbishop of Toledo clinging on to the mule’s neck.
Now if you want some volumes nice,
You’ll start at once I’m su-er,
And go and fetch them in a trice,
From Messrs. FIELD AND TUER.—_Punch._
_EXTRACTS FROM_
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_Upwards of 300 Superb Illustrations (some beautifully hand-coloured)._
KENSINGTON: PICTURESQUE AND HISTORICAL. By W. J. LOFTIE, B.A., F.S.A.,
Author of “A History of London,” &c., &c. Illustrated by W. LUKER, JUN.,
from Original Drawings carefully finished on the spot and engraved in
Paris. LONDON: Field & Tuer, The Leadenhall Press, E.C. £2 5s.
Since the publication of Faulkner’s work in 1820, no history of
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