THERE was once a hostler named Peter who was so very poor that he had to go about in rags. One day an archbishop came riding on a richly caparisoned mule to the inn where the poor hostler worked. He was followed by several of his attendants on foot, and they helped him to dismount. Then the archbishop turned to the hostler and said, "Feed and take care of my mule for the night. In the morning I shall resume my journey."

So Peter led the mule into the stable, where he removed its saddle and bridle, gave it the best stall and fed it with all the hay and oats it would eat. The next morning he fed it again and curried it and put on its gay trappings. "Ah," said he, "look at the fine things this mule has on, while I wear rags; and look at his stout sides. He lives a very comfortable life, and always has the best of everything. My life, on the contrary, is full of hardship. I have only a hovel for a dwelling, and, even were it a mansion, I could find small pleasure in it, for when I am at home my wife is constantly scolding me. Would that I might change places with the archbishop's mule."

He leaned against a manger and was laughing loud and long at this fancy of his when the mule looked about at him and began to speak. "What ho!" it exclaimed, "you would change with me, would you? But you must remember that my reverend master is fat and heavy. A weary load I often find him."

"And yet," said the hostler, "see the care you get and the plentiful food you always have."

"Well," responded the mule, "I would nevertheless like a little freedom, and I would sooner be you than myself. So, if you want to change places with me, just take hold of both my ears, and you shall be the archbishop's mule without any further trouble."

"That will suit me exactly," the hostler responded. "Better to be a well-fed mule than a half-starved hostler with a scolding wife."

So saying, he seized the mule by the ears and was immediately transformed. "Now," remarked he, "I will for once eat all I want. Here, hostler, give me some more hay and oats."

The former mule, however, was so rejoiced over being in human form and at his escape from all restraint that he paid no attention to Peter's words, but at once left the stable to stroll about. Peter began to fear that in becoming a mule he had made a mistake. Then the thought occurred to him that if he was going off on a long journey with the archbishop he ought to say good-by to his wife and his old mother. He started to go to them, but found he was tied, and though he pulled hard at his halter he could not get free. "Wait till the archbishop comes for me," said he, "and as soon as I am led out of the stable I will break away and run home."

At length the archbishop appeared and called for his mule. The hostler could not be found, and some of the archbishop's attendants went into the stable and returned with Peter the mule, but as they were tightening the saddle girths the creature bolted away. Down the road he went as fast as he could go in the direction of his house, and the archbishop concluded the mule had gone mad. His servants gave chase, shouting, "Stop the beast! Stop it!" and the rabble joined in the pursuit.

Peter never paused till he arrived at his house. His mother sat at the door spinning, and as she was very deaf she did not hear the commotion of his clattering hoofs and the yelling crowd. Peter came close to her unperceived and tried to take her hand. He wanted to ask her to bless him before he went away with the archbishop, but he found he could no longer speak the language of human beings, and his harsh braying and his attempt to grasp his mother's hand greatly frightened the old woman. She sprang to her feet and hit him over the head with the distaff, at the same time crying out, "Get away from here, you horrid mule!"

A moment later his wife appeared in the doorway and threw a basin of water over him. Now the crowd gathered around, and Peter was seized and the servants started to lead him back to the stable, but he would not go. He stood on his hind legs, and then he lay down and rolled in the dirt till the scarlet saddle-cloth was spoiled. At last, suddenly rising, he rushed into the cottage and tried to sit on his accustomed chair.

 

 His mother and wife fled from the house, but the crowd entered and so cudgelled Peter that he was glad to submit and return to the inn. After being groomed he allowed the archbishop to mount him and they started on their journey. They had not gone far when the archbishop exclaimed, "Goodness! this mule has the pace of a camel."

True enough, Peter, not being accustomed to four legs, did not know how to use them, and he failed to move his front and rear legs in the proper unison. This caused the archbishop great inconvenience. He was very fat, and rolled about in the saddle like a ship in a heavy sea. At length, fearing he would fall off, he seized the pommel with both hands and stood up in the stirrups. He was just then going through a village, and the inhabitants, who had come out to see him, thought he was about to deliver a sermon. So, surrounding the mule, they uncovered their heads and knelt to await a blessing.

This made Peter, who had some idea of the real trouble with the archbishop, give way to such inward laughter that it brought on a violent fit of coughing. The faithful peasants had their heads devoutly bent toward the ground, and, not seeing the archbishop's face, supposed the coughing proceeded from him and took it to be the natural clearing of the throat before speaking.

As for the archbishop, he was becoming seriously frightened and thought some demon had entered the body of his mule. So he gave a cry of alarm. Peter was sadly disconcerted, and, not knowing what else to do, he sat down on his hind quarters. The result was that the archbishop slid off the mule and landed with his back on  the ground. The mule, more alarmed than ever over what he had done, quickly rose, but this only made matters worse, for it completely capsized the venerable archbishop, first standing him on his head and then sending him rolling in the dust. Full of anger, the prelate scrambled to his feet and carefully examined his mule to see if he could account for its peculiar behavior. He was greatly mystified when he could discover nothing but what seemed all right.

Peter was sorely grieved at having caused his good master so much annoyance, and he now turned toward the archbishop and went down on his forelegs, thinking to kneel and show that he craved pardon. The villagers who were gathered around were so scared by the mule's unusual action that they took shelter behind the archbishop. He, however, was as much afraid as the rest, and had it not been that they held him by his robes, he would have run away.

"See!" cried one of the people, "the mule repents what he has done and is asking to be pardoned."

But the archbishop was not sure about that, and he backed slowly away from the strange-acting quadruped, pushing the crowd behind him at the same time to a safer distance. Peter concluded there was no advantage in kneeling any longer. So he got up and stood very quietly, hoping thus to restore his master's confidence. In this he was successful, for the archbishop, after watching him for some minutes, was persuaded that the mule had meant him no harm, and he presently gained the courage to remount.

As they approached the gate of the city a group of priests came forth to welcome them, and the leader carried a large silver cross. At sight of the cross, Peter remembered his mother's teachings, and, when he drew near it, dropped on his knees before the sacred emblem, bowing his head to the ground. This he did so unexpectedly that his rider was nearly thrown out of the saddle. The archbishop's hands had been on the shoulders of two of his servants, and in order to save himself from falling he made a wild grasp and caught them by the hair. They, fancying in their fright that the evil one had seize them, struck out right and left and nearly stunned their master with the blows they rained on him.

Peter, who keenly regretted his errors, thought he ought to help his master make up for the time he had lost, and he set off at a quick amble. The effect was to make the archbishop so unsteady in the saddle that he could only keep from falling off by gripping the pommel with one hand and the crupper with the other. Thus was he hurried out of the village, and the people failed to get their expected blessing.

The archbishop's attendants tried to keep up with their master, but, as they were on foot, the long and rapid strides of Peter the mule soon left them far behind. Not till they were within sight of the city to which the archbishop journeyed did they overtake him. Peter had slowed his pace to a walk, but the archbishop was much exhausted and out of breath. Fearing that the mule might start off again, he had an attendant walk on either side of his steed holding a rein, while he rested a hand on the shoulder of each man.

Peter was greatly angered to see the venerable archbishop treated in this manner, and, to punish the two servants, he started to his feet with the arch-bishop clinging to his neck. The servants fled, but Peter pursued them, opening wide his mouth to bite and shake them. They sought refuge among the priests, and the whole party made haste to get into a small chapel close by.

"Our archbishop must have exchanged mules with Beelzebub," said the priest with the silver cross, "for surely no earthly animal would thus treat a prince of the church!"

"Ay," said one of the fugitive servants, "and if the mule's neck had been a foot longer he would have had me dangling in midair."

"I never supposed I could run so fast!" ejaculated a very short and stout priest. "Faith, I thought I could feel my legs grow under me!"

"But what has become of the archbishop?" asked another. "We must not leave him unhelped in his sorry plight."

So they carefully opened the door a crack and peeped out. There in the highway they beheld the archbishop sitting on the ground where he had fallen off the mule. He was half-fainting with fright and had not the power to rise. Peter was dashing about amid a crowd of citizens, who, attracted by the noise, had come out from the town to see what was going on. Hither and thither galloped the mule full tilt, wreaking vengeance on all who came within his reach. After tearing the clothing of a half dozen or more, and knocking down fully a score, he set off at his best speed along the road by which he had come, and never stopped until he arrived at the inn where he had been a hostler.

The master of the inn made haste to secure the mule, and was much disturbed for fear some mishap had befallen the arch-bishop. Night was coming on, or he would have sent off a servant immediately to investigate.

Once again at the manger, Peter had time to consider the mistake he had made in becoming a mule. "Ah," mused he, "I would gladly undergo any punishment, could I regain my former shape. Many is the time my wife has called me a donkey, and if she was right in so doing, I think I ought to have made a good mule, but it has been far otherwise."

Just then he observed the hostler with whom he had changed places coming into the stable, and he thought the man looked very sorrowful. When the hostler saw the archbishop's mule, he went to it and said, "Peter, how do you like being a mule?"

"As for liking it," replied Peter, who now reacquired the power of speech, "I enjoyed carrying the archbishop as much as he enjoyed being carried; but I am not accustomed to this sort of life and I wish I was quit of it."

"If that be the .case," the hostler responded, "hold down your head and we will change back to our old selves. The truth is, I never could live in the same house with your wife. By my faith, I would rather bear my master's saddle till I drop in my tracks than listen to your wife's tongue from morning till night for a single day."

"But her ways seem not so bad to one who is used to them," said Peter, "and I am willing — "

"Make haste!" interrupted the hostler. "I hear her knocking at the door. Down with your head," and the hostler grasped the mule's ears.

In a twinkling they changed places. Peter promptly turned to meet his wife, who had some sharp things to say to him; but he answered her with such unexpected gentleness that her wrath was much softened. Indeed, with the remembrance in his mind of what he had suffered as a mule, he was never afterward inclined to return sharp answers when his wife scolded, and this made her far less apt to scold, so that their home life was vastly improved.

On the morning after the arrival of the runaway mule, the master of the inn concluded to go himself to learn what had happened to the archbishop. He found him unwilling to ever ride the creature again and anxious to sell it for whatever the innkeeper would give. Accordingly, the innkeeper bought it for a small sum, and Peter the hostler became its caretaker. Peter always treated it with great friendliness and sometimes spoke with it. In response it would look at him with an intelligence that made him quite certain it understood his words, but it never replied, which Peter thought was because it was entirely content in being what it was and wanted to attempt no more experimenting.