Part 6 (1/2)

--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 couple of swallows from here....

--G.o.d help us! said the Pope beside himself and looking up.... She must have gone mad! She's going to kill herself.... Come down, you fool!...

Well! there was nothing she would have liked better ... but how? The stairs were not to be entertained, you could climb them alright, but coming down was a different story; there were a hundred different ways to break your legs.... The poor mule was very distressed, and wandered about the platform, her huge eyes spinning from vertigo, and contemplated Tistet Vedene,

--Well, you swine, if I get out of this alive ... tomorrow morning will bring you such a kicking!

The thought of revenge revitalised her; without it she couldn't possibly have held on. At last, somebody managed to bring her down, but it was quite a struggle needing ropes, a block and tackle, and a cradle. Imagine what a humiliation it was for a Pope's mule to find herself hanging from a great height, legs thras.h.i.+ng about like a fly caught in a web. Just about everyone in Avignon was there to witness it.

The unhappy creature could no longer sleep at nights. She imagined that she was still spinning round on the cradle, with the whole town below laughing at her. Then her mind turned to the despicable Tistet Vedene and the really good kicking that she was going to give him the very next morning. Oh, what a h.e.l.l of a kicking that was going to be! The dust would be seen flying from far away.... Now, while the stable was being prepared for her, what do you think our Tistet Vedene was up to?

He was sailing down the Rhone, if you please, singing on a papal galley on his way to the court at Naples, accompanying the troupe of young n.o.bles who were sent there by the town to practice their diplomacy and good manners in Italy. Tistet was no n.o.bleman, but the Pope insisted on rewarding him for his care of the mule, particularly for the part he had 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 her bells furiously...; but that's alright, go away if you must, you mischief-maker, you will still get your kicking when you get back.... I will save it for you!

And save it for him, she did.

After Tistet's departure, the Pope's mule returned to her tranquil life and ways of the old times. No more Quiquet, or Beluguet in the stable.

The happy days of wine _a la francaise_ returned, and with them came contentment, long siestas, and even the chance to do her own little gavotte once again, when she went _sur le pont d'Avignon_. And yet, since her adventure, she felt a certain coolness towards her in the town. Whispers followed her on her way, old folks shook their heads, and youngsters laughed and pointed at the bell tower. Even the good Pope himself hadn't as much confidence in his furry friend and when he wanted a nap mounted on the mule, coming back from the vineyard on Sundays, he feared that he would wake up on top of the bell tower! The mule felt all this, but suffered it in silence, except when the name Tistet Vedene was mentioned in front of her, when her ears would twitch and she would snort briefly as she whetted her iron shoes on the paving stones.

Seven years pa.s.sed before Tistet Vedene returned from the court at Naples. His time over there wasn't finished, but he had heard that the Pope's Head Mustard-Maker had suddenly died in Avignon, and he thought the position was a good one, so he rushed to join the line of applicants.

When the scheming Vedene came into the palace, he had grown and broadened out so much, that the Holy Father hardly recognised him. It has to be admitted though that the Pope himself had aged and couldn't see too well without his spectacles.

Tistet wasn't one to be intimidated.

--Most Holy Father, can you not recognise me? It is I, Tistet Vedene....

--Vedene?...

--Yes, you know me well.... I once served the wine, _a la francaise_, to your mule.

--Oh, yes, yes.... I remember.... A good little boy, Tistet Vedene....

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 older than your mule.... Oh, what a prize of G.o.d, a fine beast! If you only knew how much I loved that mule and how much I longed for her in Italy.

Please may I see her?