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

while the stable wasbeing prepared for her, what do you think our Tistet Védène was up to?He was sailing down the Rhone, if you please, singing on a papal galleyon his way to the court at Naples, accompanying the troupe of youngnobles who were sent there by the town to practice their diplomacy andgood manners in Italy. Tistet was no nobleman, but the Pope insisted onrewarding him for his care of the mule, particularly for the part hehad just played in her rescue.

So, it was the mule who was disappointed the next day.

—Oh, the swine, he has got wind of something! she thought shaking herbells furiously…; but that's alright, go away if you must, youmischief-maker, you will still get your kicking when you get back…. Iwill save it for you!

And save it for him, she did.

After Tistet's departure, the Pope's mule returned to her tranquil lifeand ways of the old times. No more Quiquet, or Béluguet in the stable.The happy days of wine à la française returned, and with them camecontentment, long siestas, and even the chance to do her own littlegavotte once again, when she went sur le pont d'Avignon. And yet,since her adventure, she felt a certain coolness towards her in thetown. Whispers followed her on her way, old folks shook their heads,and youngsters laughed and pointed at the bell tower. Even the goodPope himself hadn't as much confidence in his furry friend and when hewanted a nap mounted on the mule, coming back from the vineyard onSundays, he feared that he would wake up on top of the bell tower! Themule felt all this, but suffered it in silence, except when the nameTistet Védène was mentioned in front of her, when her ears would twitchand she would snort briefly as she whetted her iron shoes on the pavingstones.

Seven years passed before Tistet Védène returned from the court atNaples. His time over there wasn't finished, but he had heard that thePope's Head Mustard-Maker had suddenly died in Avignon, and he thoughtthe position was a good one, so he rushed to join the line ofapplicants.

When the scheming Védène came into the palace, he had grown andbroadened out so much, that the Holy Father hardly recognised him. Ithas to be admitted though that the Pope himself had aged and couldn'tsee too well without his spectacles.

Tistet wasn't one to be intimidated.

—Most Holy Father, can you not recognise me? It is I, Tistet Védène….

—Védène?…

—Yes, you know me well…. I once served the wine, à la française,to your mule.

—Oh, yes, yes…. I remember…. A good little boy, Tistet Védène….

And now, what can we do for him?

—Oh, not a lot, most Holy Father…. I came to ask you something….

By the way, have you still got your mule? Is she keeping well?… Oh,

that's good…. I came to ask you for the position of your Head

Mustard-Maker, who has just died.

—Head Mustard-Maker, you! You're far too young. How old are you, now?

—Twenty years and two months, great pontiff, exactly five years olderthan your mule…. Oh, what a prize of God, a fine beast! If you onlyknew how much I loved that mule and how much I longed for her in Italy.Please may I see her?

—Yes, my child, you may see her, said the good, and by now, very movedPope, and, as you care so much for the dear thing, I don't want you tolive too far away. From this day forward, I am appointing you into mypresence in the office of Head Mustard-Maker…. My cardinals willprotest, but so what; I'm quite used to that…. Come and see ustomorrow after vespers, we will give you the insignias of your officein the presence of our chapter, and then … I'll take you to see themule and you can accompany us to the vineyard…. Well, well, let's doit….

I needn't tell you that Tistet Védène left the hall walking on air, andcouldn't wait for the next day's ceremony. And yet, there was someonein the palace, someone even happier and more impatient than he. Yes, itwas the mule. From the moment Védène returned, right until the nextday's vespers, the fearsome beast never stopped stuffing herself withhay and kicking her rear hoofs out at the wall. She, too, was makingher own special preparations for the ceremony….

And so, the next day, after vespers, Tistet Védène made his entry intothe courtyard of the papal palace. All the head clergymen were there,the cardinals in red robes, the devil's advocate in black velvet, theconvent's abbots in their petite mitres, the church wardens ofSaint-Agrico, and the purple capes of the choir school. The rank andfile clergy were also there, the papal guard in full dress uniform, thethree brotherhoods of penitentiaries, the Mount Ventoux hermits withtheir wild looks, and the little clerk who followed them carrying hisbell. Also there were the flagellant brothers, naked to the waist, thesacristans, sprouting judge's robes, and all and sundry, even theholy-water dispensers, and those that light, and those that extinguish,the candles…. Not one of them was missing…. It was a greatordination! Bells, fireworks, sunshine, music and, as always, thetambourine playing fanatics leading the dance, over there, sur le pontd'Avignon….

When Védène appeared in the midst of the assembly, his bearing andhandsome appearance set off quite a murmur of approval. He was themagnificent type of a man from Provence, from fair-headed stock withcurly hair and a small wispy beard which could have been made from thefine metal shavings fallen from his goldsmith father's chisel. Rumourhas it that Queen Jeanne's fingers had occasionally toyed with thatblond beard. The majesty of Védène had indeed a glorious aspect; he hadthe vain, distracted look of men who have been loved by queens. On thatday, as a courtesy to his native country, he had exchanged hisNeapolitan clothes for a pink, braided jacket in the Provencal style,and a huge plume from an ibis on the Camargue fluttered on his hood.

The moment he entered as the new Head Mustard-Maker, he gave a general,gentlemanly greeting and made his way towards the high steps, where thePope was waiting