Swiss Fairy Tales
Copyright© 2025 by William Elliot Griffis
Chapter 24: The Ass That Saw the Angel
In that part of the Swiss Republic, called the Grisons, there is a sharp mountain, thin and round, like a horn. Because it is red, its name has always been Rothhorn, or Red Peak.
In one of the towns near by, lived a proud man, named Gruntli, who scouted the idea of there being any fairies, or Santa Claus. To his view, there was no intelligence, or virtue, in dumb brutes. He did not believe in anything but what he could see, taste, smell, hear, or handle with his ten fingers. This was what he called “science.”
This old fellow, Gruntli, boasted of being “a man of science.” He considered that everything belonging to religion was superstition. Mule drivers, cow milkers, cheese makers, and such folk, whom he called “the ignorant common people,” might have faith in such things, but not he.
Gruntli was rich. He had a large house, with one room full of books, but not one of these contained any poetry, or stories, or novels, or romances. He sneered at anybody who said they believed in Santa Claus, and he openly insulted people who loved to think that William Tell, their national hero, ever lived. As for the exploits of Joan of Arc, or of Arnold of Winkelried, he used to say that what was told of them was only the same as nursery stories.
Nobody loved Gruntli, for he was a hard master with his servants. Though he called himself “a man of science,” and sneered at the village folks, when they went to church on Sunday, he did nothing to help the poor people of the valley.
Part of the wealth, of this hard-hearted man, consisted in mules, of which he had twenty or more. These were sumpters, or pack animals, that carried the milk, butter, cheese, and produce of the valley, to be sold in the nearest large city, and to bring back what was needed.
Gruntli’s favorite animal for the saddle was a pure-blooded white ass, which his father had given him, when a boy, so that he and the dumb brute were well acquainted with each other. Large in size and imposing in appearance, this animal was named Julius Cæsar; or, for short, “Gulick,” for that was the way the great Roman conqueror’s name was pronounced in the local dialect.
People used to say that this donkey was the only living creature for which Gruntli cared, or had any affection; or, that he even treated decently. Occasionally, his master would allow this, his favorite beast, to be ridden by his overseer, or chief clerk—a privilege on which this head man set great store. The sure-footed creature carried its rider over the most dangerous passes. It seemed almost a miracle, the way in which, along narrow ledges of rock, the ass moved as if on a well-paved road.
Gulick seemed to measure with its eye, and gauge the width necessary, even making allowance for its load, for the pack saddle, or for the knees of the rider; so that, though a dumb beast, its reputation for safety was great in all the region. Muleteers often used to scold their stubborn animals, by calling them “rabbit-eared fools,” and “not worth one hoof of Gulick,” the paragon among long eared animals.
Nevertheless, there were times, when the donkey, Gulick, showed that it had a mind of its own. Then it could be stubborn, too. But this was what men thought, and not the animal’s own opinion of itself. This usually took place, when it saw that the path ahead, or the ledge of rock, over which it was expected to pass, with a pack load, or a stout lady in the saddle, or a big fat fellow, with both legs far out and taking up the room, between the ass and the rock.
Then, no amount of scolding, yelling, bad temper, hard names, or even beating, could move the creature. The only thing to do was to get off and unload. In fact, the ass had a very poor opinion of some human beings. He even pitied them, because they had only two legs, while donkeys had four.
Not once, in all its long life, did Gulick lose its way, slip, fall down, or have an accident. In fact, its master could go to sleep, while riding home. When, as was often the case, the man was too full of strong wine, to sit up straight, this was a good thing; for a sober donkey has more brains than a drunken man.
Some people, who believed in fairies, even thought that Gulick was really a human being who, for doing something wicked, in another world, had been changed, by a fairy, into this creature with the shaggy hide, ropy tail and ears like a jack rabbit’s.
An event, that seemed to furnish a fresh foundation for the common belief, took place near the village of Plurs. Then, the general idea, that a man had, somehow, got into an ass’s skin, was confirmed.
One night, Gruntli’s overseer was returning from Zurich. He reached the village of Plurs, late at night. There, the wine being good and the stabling cheap, he expected to make his stay, until next morning. So, stepping into the wine room, and calling for the hostler, he sat down before the table, thinking that all was right, according to the usual way of beasts and man, until morning.
But when the stable boy went outdoors, he found the line of mules was some distance up the road, and that Gulick was leading them.
Running after the train, he brought the animals back, to the inn; but when, for a moment, being at the end of the line, he left the beasts, to open the stable door, off trotted Gulick and all the donkeys after their leader.
So the boy had another run and was in very bad temper. He seized the bridle of Gulick, and gave such a jerk, in his anger, that he nearly broke the strap, and pained the animal’s jaw.
Nevertheless, for a third time, the sagacious beast ran away. When the stable boy, out of patience, rushed into the wine room, and told the overseer of the strange behavior of his donkey, Gulick, the man had sense enough to follow the mule train.
Well for him and his master, that he did so, for, when hearing a frightful noise, he looked behind him, from the top of the hill, he saw a landslide, from the mountain flank, wipe out the whole town, leaving the houses, people and cattle buried under one white pall of earth, rock and snow.
After this, one would suppose that the owner of Gulick would fully trust the animal’s wonderful instinct and unerring vision, as well as his sure footedness.