The Duped Priest

The Duped Priest

In a Basque village among green hills lived a man named Petarillo. He was not afraid of work, but he loved inventing clever tricks even more.

“Take care, Petarillo,” his wife often told him. “Cleverness is a fine thing only while it does not make anyone weep.”

“Oh, it is only for a laugh,” he would answer.

One day the couple acquired two little rabbits so alike that even Petarillo could scarcely tell them apart.

At once an idea came to him.

Soon afterward, the village priest came to visit. He was a respected man, but he had one weakness: he could not bear it when someone else owned a wonder that he did not possess.

Petarillo’s wife served their guest bread, cheese, and apples. Meanwhile Petarillo made as if he were leaving on business.

“Wife,” he said loudly enough for the priest to hear, “if you need me, send the rabbit after me.”

“The rabbit?” the priest asked.

“Of course. He knows the way.”

Petarillo left the house with one rabbit and hid it in a basket not far down the road.

After a little while, his wife said, “We must call my husband.”

She picked up the other rabbit, stroked its back, and whispered, “Run to Petarillo and tell him that supper is ready.”

The rabbit happily dashed into the vegetable patch and vanished in the bushes.

“Amazing!” cried the priest.

A little later the door opened, and Petarillo walked in with the first rabbit in his arms.

“Here I am,” he said. “The messenger delivered the news.”

The priest could not take his eyes from the rabbit.

“Sell him to me.”

“What would you want with him?”

“It would be very useful. Instead of a boy running errands, I would have a rabbit.”

Petarillo named such a price that his wife nearly dropped the bowl she was holding. But the priest paid it.

The very next day, the priest needed to get a message home quickly. He set the rabbit down and said, “Run to my house and tell the housekeeper I shall soon be there!”

The rabbit hopped into the grass, found some sweet clover, and naturally delivered no message at all.

When the priest returned home, he asked his servant, “Did the rabbit warn you I was coming?”

“What rabbit?” she asked.

Then the priest understood that he had been tricked.

“Oh, that Petarillo!” he said angrily. “I shall have words with him!”

Petarillo guessed that his guest would soon arrive to demand his money back, so he planned a new performance. His wife tied a little bag of thick cherry juice beneath her apron.

When the priest came through the door, Petarillo pretended to be quarrelling with his wife.

“There, you see!” he cried theatrically, and he tapped the little bag with a wooden spoon.

Red juice spilled over the apron. His wife gave a cry, lay down on the bench, and closed her eyes.

The priest turned pale.

“What have you done?”

“Do not worry,” Petarillo said calmly. “For such moments, I have a magic flute.”

He took out a small pipe and played a cheerful tune.

Petarillo’s wife wiggled her fingers, sat up, then stood and said, “What lovely music!”

The priest forgot the rabbit and the money altogether.

“Sell me that flute!”

“No, no. It is a family treasure.”

“I will pay well.”

Again the priest named a sum that made Petarillo sigh and pretend that he was giving up something precious.

At home, the priest waited a long time for a chance to test the flute. His servant had worked so hard that she sat in an armchair and fell asleep.

“Now I shall see,” he thought.

He played the flute. The servant did not stir.

He played more loudly.

She pulled a kerchief over her head.

He played louder still.

At last she sprang up and cried, “Will you let a person sleep?”

The priest lowered the flute. There could be no doubt now: Petarillo had fooled him again.

This time the priest decided not to argue alone.

“We shall go to the judge,” he told Petarillo the next morning. “Let the judge decide who owes what.”

“Let us go,” Petarillo agreed.

But the priest feared that the trickster would run away on the road. So he put him in a large wool sack and tied the rope loosely enough for Petarillo to breathe.

“You may sit there until we reach the town.”

They were passing the church when its bell began to ring. The priest had to step inside for a moment.

“Stay quiet,” he ordered, setting the sack in the shade by the wall.

Soon a young shepherd came along with a small flock.

From the sack came a voice. “Ah, and why should I deserve such an honour?”

The shepherd stopped. “Who is in there?”

“A man being taken to town.”

“For what?”

Petarillo thought quickly. “They say the royal court needs a keeper for its finest flocks, and they are trying to make me chief shepherd whether I like it or not. I do not care to be told where I must live.”

The young shepherd’s eyes lit up.

“Chief shepherd? At court?”

“Just so.”

“I would gladly take such a post!”

“I would not advise it,” said Petarillo, though a sly smile rang in his voice.

“But I ask you! Let us change places.”

Petarillo pretended to refuse once more. The shepherd insisted. At last they untied the sack. The shepherd climbed in, while Petarillo took his crook and led the flock toward the village.

When the priest returned, he noticed nothing.

“Come along, then,” he said, and dragged the sack onward.

At the town hall the judge ordered, “Untie the sack. I want to hear both sides.”

They opened it, and out jumped the shepherd.

“Where are the royal sheep?” he asked.

The judge blinked.

The priest blinked.

The shepherd blinked too.

Then such laughter broke out in the hall that the clerk had to wipe his eyes with his sleeve.

“Order!” said the judge at last. “It seems we are missing one participant in this story.”

At that very moment Petarillo appeared at the door with the flock.

“I have brought the sheep back,” he said. “They are not mine.”

The shepherd sighed in relief. “And there will be no royal post?”

“I am afraid not,” said Petarillo.

“Then give me back my crook.”

“Certainly.”

The judge listened to the story of the two rabbits, the flute, the bag of cherry juice, and the exchange in the sack.

Then he looked at Petarillo. “You are quick-witted, but a trick stops being a joke when it makes someone lose money. You will return all that you took for the ‘magic’ rabbit and flute.”

“I will,” said Petarillo.

Then the judge turned to the priest. “And you paid great sums twice without testing whether what you were promised could be true. Why?”

The priest reddened. “Because I wanted wonders that nobody else had.”

“Then today each of you has learned something.”

Petarillo returned the money. The shepherd took back his flock. The rabbit, found later in a neighbouring meadow, was given to the children who owned the field, and it lived peacefully in a large pen with the other rabbit.

At home, Petarillo’s wife said, “Do you remember what I used to tell you? Cleverness is a fine thing only while it does not make anyone weep.”

“I remember it better now,” Petarillo admitted.

From then on, he did not sell any more “magic” things. At village festivals he gave children riddles and showed harmless little tricks that made everyone laugh.

And before the priest bought anything unbelievable, he asked three times, “But is it truly true?”

For a long while the village remembered the tale of one man who loved tricks too much, and another who loved wonders too much, until a judge helped them both find their good sense again.

May this story leave a little light in your heart ✨