🫏 The Miller, His Son, and Their Donkey

A 13th-century fable about "The Man Who Pleased None"

“The man that pleased none” via Wikipedia: Composite illustration by Walter Crane of all the events in the following tale

Fatigued from a day of operating the machines, his forearms throbbing, the miller decided to take his son into the city to get food at the market. His wife’s family would be visiting this weekend, and they deserved a proper feast.

The afternoon sun was beating down, but no matter. They would walk together, and he would teach his son how to choose the finest fruits and vegetables, perhaps even a live chicken.

While en route, they took turns riding the donkey. They stopped frequently to quench their furry friend’s thirst with water from their canteen. They were three legs of a stool, happily working together to serve the family. The miller swelled with pride, grateful for his abundant, if simple, life.

As they reached the medina nestled in the center of the old city, the son was riding. Two elderly ladies selling baskets of dried fruit cackled from their stall.

“What a spoiled brat,” one sneered under her breath. “He rides the donkey while his elderly father walks alongside? How entitled. This generation has no respect!”

Something soured in the man’s stomach. Maybe they were right; perhaps he was raising his boy to be too soft. So he shooed him off, put one of his own feet in the worn stirrup, and hoisted himself back into his rightful place.

As they passed a rainbow-colored array of spices in circular wooden barrels, new snickers traveled across the warm breeze.

“What a cruel old man!” the purveyor whispered to his assistant. “Making his small child walk in this heat! He’s too young for such treatment.”

The man and his son looked at each other, perplexed. Maybe the spice sellers were right. No problem; his son would ride the donkey until he was older. Except if the son rode again, they would be vulnerable to the same judgment as from the dried fruit ladies just moments ago.

Fine. It was decided—they would both ride the donkey! Then surely people couldn’t criticize. The man mounted first, pulling his son onto the front of his lap, letting him hold the reins. The donkeys hooves only clacked rhythmically a handful of times before another chorus rose above the crowd.

“Heartless! How you are weighing down your donkey like that in this humidity,” a woman shouted from behind her fabric stand, the sequins glittering in golden sunset light. She tsk-tsked, shaking her head. “It may be a beast of burden, but this is abuse.”

Surely they did not mean to harm their loyal friend! So father and son dismounted. All three began walking side-by-side in a neat row, like a royal retinue. Now they were in lockstep. Now they could shop in peace. Except worse than the sun, they felt the hot glare of scrutiny across their faces, and especially boring into their backs, as they traveled farther into the market.

After winding through a small alley, they passed a rug shop, suddenly startled by a man standing in the doorway.

“Buffoons!” he shouted as they passed. All three turned back to look. “You own a donkey, and yet no one rides him! What a waste. Why bring him at all?!”

The rug merchant scoffed, gathering saliva to launch in their direction. The spit landed in a patch of dry dirt near their feet. Father and son watched it in silence, as if in slow motion, before looking back up at each other, stricken with guilt and shame.

Exasperated, the miller didn’t know what to do. He would carry the donkey if he could! It was the only configuration they hadn’t tried, but surely his weary arms would buckle under the animal’s substantial weight.

“What do we do, poppa?” His son pleaded, eyes searching the miller’s face for clarity. It seemed they couldn’t do anything right.

“Alright, son, we’ve been training for this every day at the mill,” the father said, steeling himself. “I need you to be strong for us now, you hear? We’re going to carry the donkey home, it’s the only way to please these people.”

Maybe they’re right, anyway, the father thought to himself. I’m not very educated, after all.

He hoisted their leather bag of breads, fruits, and spices onto the donkey’s back, packing the pouches around his belly until they overflowed.

As sweat fell from his forehead, the father instructed his son to pick up the front two hooves, while he would get the back. The son struggled mightily, but found a way to place them atop his small shoulders and stumble on.

The miller heaved up the donkey’s back two legs as searing pain bolted across his lower back. The donkey brayed and twisted, struggling to wriggle back to the ground where he knew he belonged. “Hang on tight!” the father called up to his son.

The townspeople pointed and laughed. “Have you ever seen a man so stupid that he carries his own donkey?!” Overwhelmed by the magnitude of the task at hand, the miller could no longer hear them.

Father, son, and donkey trudged ahead, determined yet miserable, all the way home.¹

🫏

And weigh in here:

💬 What Donkey Are You Carrying? 🫏

1. I learned about this story from my husband Michael. He did a brilliant job of recounting it over a bowl of vegetable fried rice at a Pho shop on the Upper West Side, after I told him how sensitive I was feeling from others’ scrutiny (real and imagined) lately. I hope I did the fable justice in my retelling of it above.

Some additional context from Wikipedia:

The oldest documented occurrence of the actual story is in the work of the historian, geographer and poet Ibn Said (1213–1286).

In later versions the father exclaims that the only option left is to carry the donkey on his back; in others he does so, or father and son tie the donkey to a pole which they carry on their shoulders. This action causes general mirth and has an unhappy outcome, resulting in the donkey’s death through one cause or another.

The story also occurs in the Mulla Nasreddin, where it is the Mulla and his son who are subject to the advice and comments of passers-by. After the experience is over, the Mulla advises his son:

“If you ever should come into the possession of a donkey, never trim its tail in the presence of other people. Some will say that you have cut off too much, and others that you have cut off too little. If you want to please everyone, in the end your donkey will have no tail at all.”

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