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Main > Spain folktales > Fairy tale "The Cobbler of Burgos"

The Cobbler of Burgos

At last he met a priest who was kind enough to listen to him, and he said he would be allowed audience of the Pope next morning with other pilgrims, but that meantime he had better confess what his fault had been.

Sancho recounted all about the lovely young widow, and the priest very properly admonished him for having dared to frighten a lady whose anxiety respecting her deceased husband was quite enough of sorrow without having it added to by being forcibly detained by a cobbler.

“It is a pity,” said the worthy priest, “that you were not handed over to the inquisitorial brothers, for they would have burned you before you were allowed to import the odour of all the fields of Spanish onions and garlic into the Eternal City. It is a sign of the bad times that are approaching when errant cobblers are allowed to vitiate the precincts of St. Peter’s with their pestilential breath. To-morrow you will be regaled with a view—mind, only a view—of his holiness’s toe, and then you must depart this city.”

Sancho recognized the truth of what the good priest said, and, having refreshed himself with some more onions and a glass of water, he lay down to sleep behind one of the large stone pillars and slept until next morning, when the large bell of the cathedral awoke him. He then hurried in to the presence of the Pope, nor had he much difficulty in so doing, for the other pilgrims were glad to get out of his way. Bowing low before the golden chair, he exclaimed—

“One weary soul, though cobbler he by trade,

Comes here to seek a pardon for his sin;

Most holy father, ere the daylight fade,

Oh, let me in!

“From sunny Spain, where runs the Arlanzon,

To thee, oh, father, come I now to crave

That thou wilt raise Don Pedro Torrezon

From restless grave,

“And to his widow him restore again.

This done, dismiss me to my home in peace,

To be thy servant as a priest in Spain,

And faith increase.”

To which the Pope replied—

“We smelt thee from afar, oh, son of Spain;

We know thy errand, and we grant thy prayer.

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