Letters From My Windmill by Alphonse Daudet (korean novels in english TXT) 📕

this ne'er-do-well had something in mind for the Pope'smule, and, as you will see, it was something malicious…. One day, asHis Holiness was out with his mule under the ramparts, along cameTistet and accosted him, clasping his hands together in feignedadmiration:

—Oh, my lord, most Holy Father, what a splendid mule you havethere!… Let me feast my eyes on her…. Oh, my dear Pope, she's areal beauty. I'll warrant the German Emperor doesn't have one like her.

Then he stroked her, and spoke gently to her as if she were a younglady:

—Come here, my jewel, my treasure, my priceless pearl….

The kind Pope was truly moved and thought to himself:

—What a fine young boy!… And how kind he is to my mule.

And the result? The very next day, Tistet Védène exchanged his oldyellow coat for a beautiful lace cassock, a purple silk cape, andbuckled shoes ready for his entry into the Pope's choir school. Anestablishment which, previously, had only taken in sons of the nobilityor cardinals' nephews. That's how intrigue was done. But Tistet didn'tstop at that.

Once he was in the Pope's service, the monkey did exactly the sametricks he had mastered before. He was insolent to everybody, havingneither time nor consideration for anyone but the mule, and was to beseen for ever in the palace courtyard with handfuls of oats or bundlesof sainfoin, gently shaking the pink bunches, as he looked at the HolyFather's balcony, with a look as if to say,

"Who's this lovely food for, then?" So much so, indeed, that finallythe good Pope, who was beginning to feel his age, decided to leave thecare of looking after the stable and taking the mule her bowl of wine,à la française, to none other than Tistet Védène. This did not amusethe cardinals.

* * * * *

As for the mule; it didn't amuse her at all…. From now on, at thetime for her wine, she would witness five or six clerics from the choirschool, with their lace and capes, get in amongst her straw. Then,shortly afterwards, a fine warm smell of caramel and aromatic herbsfilled the stable, and Tistet Védène appeared carefully carrying thebowl of wine à la française. But the mule's agony was only justbeginning.

This scented wine, which she loved so much, and kept her warm, and madeher walk on air, was bought to her, in her very own manger, where itwas put right under her nose. And then, just as her flared nostrilswere full of it—it was cruelly snatched away—and the beautiful rosyred liqueur disappeared down the throats of those clerical brats…. Ifonly they had been satisfied with just stealing the wine from her, butthere was more to come. They were like demons, these clerical nobodies;after they had drunk the wine, one pulled her ears, another her tail;and while Quiquet mounted her, Béluguet tried his biretta on her. Butnot one of these thugs realised that with one butt or kick in thekidneys, the brave animal could have sent them all to kingdom come, orbeyond. But, she wouldn't! She was not the Pope's mule for nothing, themule associated with benedictions and indulgences. They often did theirworst; but she kept her temper under control. It was just Tistet Védènethat she really hated. When she felt him behind her, her hoof woulditch to give him what for. The villainous Tistet played some terribletricks on her. And after a drink or two, he came up with some verycruel inventions.

One day he decided to drive her up the bell tower of the choir school;to the very pinnacle of the palace. This really happened—two hundredthousand Provencal folk will tell you they've seen it! Imagine theterror of the luckless mule, when, after being shoved blindly up aspiral staircase and climbing who knows how many steps, she foundherself suddenly dazzled on a brilliantly lit platform from where shecould see the whole of a fantastic Avignon far below her, the marketstalls no bigger than hazel nuts, the Pope's soldiers in front of theirbarracks looking like red ants, and there on a silvery thread, a tiny,microscopic bridge where l'on y dansait, l'on y dansait. Oh, the poorbeast! She really panicked. She cried out loud enough to rattle thepalace windows.

—What's the matter, what's happening to her? cried the Pope rushing tohis balcony.

Tistet Védène, already back down in the courtyard, was pretending tocry and pull out his hair,

—Oh, most Holy Father, it's … it's your mule…. My lord, how willit all end? Your mule has climbed up into the bell tower….

—All alone?

—Yes, most Holy Father, all alone…. Look, look at her, up there….Can't you see the end her ears sticking up?… They look like a coupleof swallows from here….

—God help us! said the Pope beside himself and looking up…. She musthave gone mad! She's going to kill herself…. Come down, you fool!…

Well! there was nothing she would have liked better … but how? Thestairs were not to be entertained, you could climb them alright, butcoming down was a different story; there were a hundred different waysto break your legs…. The poor mule was very distressed, and wanderedabout the platform, her huge eyes spinning from vertigo, andcontemplated Tistet Védène,

—Well, you swine, if I get out of this alive … tomorrow morning willbring you such a kicking!

The thought of revenge revitalised her; without it she couldn'tpossibly have held on. At last, somebody managed to bring her down, butit was quite a struggle needing ropes, a block and tackle, and acradle. Imagine what a humiliation it was for a Pope's mule to findherself hanging from a great height, legs thrashing about like a flycaught in a web. Just about everyone in Avignon was there to witness it.

The unhappy creature could no longer sleep at nights. She imagined thatshe was still spinning round on the cradle, with the whole town belowlaughing at her. Then her mind turned to the despicable Tistet Védèneand the really good kicking that she was going to give him the verynext morning. Oh, what a hell of a kicking that was going to be! Thedust would be seen flying from far away…. Now,