French fairy tales : Mr. Seguin’s Goat

M. Seguin never had much chance with goats. He constantly lost them exactly the same manner -- they chewed their cable, hurried up into the hills, and were eaten there by the large bad wolf. Neither the loving attention of the master nor dread of the wolf ever stopped them. It appeared to him that the goats would pay any price to prance in the fresh air, free. M. Seguin, who couldn't understand this character in his tomb, was completely overrun. "I've had it!" -- he cried, "Goats get restless on my farm, I'll never be able to keep them!"

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This didn't stop him from trying, however. One after the second they dissapeared exactly the same way, and after dropping six goats he obtained a seventh -- only this time, he took the care to purchase a very young man, in hopes that it would get used to him and his farm before it wanted to get away.

Read to : The False Prince and The True

And oh what a beauty this child was! Together with her beard like a petty officer, her eyes large and green, glistening black boot-like hooves, her striped horns and pretty white fur that curled up round the edges! Such a lovely little child!

M. Seguin needed a little patch surrounded by tasty hawthorn which is where he put his new goat. He attached her with a chord into a pole, making sure to leave lots of rope to let her drift just so much, and from time to time, he checked on her to make sure she was alright. The tiny goat seemed so content to graze on the blossoms in her little patch which M. Seguin was simply delighted. "At last!" Unfortunately he was wrong, the goat was becoming restless.

1 day, the little goat, while gazing up to the mountain, said "Oh it must be so very nice up there in the mountains! How I long to have the chance to prance around freely in the fog without this scratchy rope so tight around my neck!

From that moment on, the goat was clutched with ennui. She lost interest in the herbs, she lost weight, she did not give any milk. It was pitiful to see her all the day long putting as far as she could from the post, the rope stretched taut, her muzzle stretched out toward the mountain, sadly bleating.

M. Seguin knew that something was wrong, but he couldn't say what. One day as he arrived to look after the goat, she bleated to him in his speech: "Look at me, Mr. Seguin. I am languishing here at the end of this rope. Won't you let me go up into the mountain?"

"My God!" This time he tried to talk some sense to the goat, and sat down next to her. "What? You want to leave me, Blanquette?"

"Yes, M. Seguin" she responded.

"Oh no, M. Seguin!"

"Can I lengthen your rope?"

"No, it's not that."

"Then what can I do?

"I want to go into the mountain, M. Seguin."

"I'll pierce him with my horns, Mr. Seguin."

"The wolf doesn't care about your horns, my Blanquette. Do you remember poor old Renaude, the massive mother of all goats that was here last year? She battled with the wolf all night long, and in the morning, he ate her."

"Oh poor Renaude!" Blanquette paused. "That doesn't mean anything, M. Seguin. Please let me go up to the mountain!"

M. Seguin was at a loss for words. Another one of his cherished goats will be devoured by the wolf. He put some thought to the love he felt for his beloved Blanquette and said -- "Good, now I know and I am determined to save you, despite that terrible force that's pulling you to the mountain. I know you'll try and chew your chord, so I'm closing you up into a pen, so you will stay with me forever!"

With that, M. Seguin place the litle goat into a pen in the dark secure, and closed the door with 2 turns of the key. Unfortunately, he forgot that the tiny window, through which the little goat squirmed through and escaped.

What? You're laughing, Grignoire? You believe this is funny? You understand very well that you too are a goat, contrary to great M. Seguin. We'll see if you're laughing in a little while!

The little goat felt like she had been walking into paradise once she got to the mountain. Never had the older pines looked so amazing. The forest gave her a royal welcome also, with ancient chestnut trees stopping to caress her softly all along with her procession to the woods. The yellowish flowers joyously swayed in the end to make a welcoming route as she marched into the glowing fields, actually the whole mountain celebrated her arrival.

Consider her happiness, Grignoire! No more prickly rope, nothing longer to prevent her from running free! It's there that the herbs were climbing right up to her horns. And what glorious herb it had been! Delicious, fine, lacy and produced from a million plants. This was a far cry from the stumpy Hawthorn at the end of her rope in the farm. The flowers! Bulbous blossoms with violet stems, all types, brimming with sweet buds.

She was giddy with joy and jumped high in the air, one of the wash along with the brush, one minute looking out from a glorious summit, another lolling in a rocky canyon, here, there, everywhere! You might have stated that M. Seguin had ten goats running through the mountains instead of a single.

Pretty Blanquette was afraid of nothing! She jumped over gaseous currents spraying clouds of watery mist. Completely soaked, she spread out on a bright stone to dry. At a certain moment she watched a rest in the stones, the plantation of M. Seguin far down below, with a faint image of the dark circle of trampled sorry floor surrounding the post that after imprisoned her. Tears streamed down her delicate muzzle as she laughed with joy. "but it's so small." she wondered. "How could that place have held me?"

The poor thing. High up on her perch, she thought she was larger than the entire world. Overall, it was a grand day for our small Blanquette. In leaping from left to right, she ran over a herd of chamois deer chewing in a patch of wild vine, and left quite a sensation. She had been given a place of honor among the vines to chew, and each of the men were gallant along with her. In reality, this will rest between us, Grignoire, but among those chamois had the chance to get a twist in the vine with our beautiful Blanquette. The two amoureux spent a heavenly hour or two from the forest, and in the event that you truly wish to learn what happened, you will need to check with those sources hidden that reside in the moss there.

Suddenly, a cold breeze blew across the hills. The vista turned a rosy purple -- and then, it was night. "Already!" Said the little goat, a little bit suprised. Down below, the areas were drowned in thick fog, and all she could see of M. Seguin's farm was the roof of his own farmhouse with a wisp of smoke rising from the chimney. She also heard the bells of a troop returning to bed down for the evening and felt somewhat sad inside her heart. A swallow coming homemade a flapping with his or her wings. She began to shiver.

Then there was a dreadful howl echoing from the mountain! She thought of the wolf. All day long she didn't think of him but now... At precisely the same time a horn sounded away down at the valley. It was M. Seguin making one last attempt to save her!

The wolf howled, owiooo!

The trumpet called: Come back my little Blanquette!

Blanquette wanted to come back but she remembered that lonely post, the rope, the most dreadful darkness of this pen. Even though she was afraid she believed that it would be better to remain where she had been. The horn eventually stopped.

Suddenly she froze in fear as she heard footsteps behind her at the leaves. She made out in the shadow two directly ears, and two glittering eyes. Huge, still, crouching on his haunches, he saw that the delicate small goat. He could already taste his dinner. Knowing that he was going to eat her, he took his time, and simply watched her. When she turned to see him he let out a dreadful laugh. "Ah, M. Seguin has sent me another little goat", he growled, licking his chops.

Little Blanquette did not know what to do. She recalled the story of the bad old goat Renaude, who battled all night long only to be consumed in the morning, and she thought that maybe it'd be better after all to be eaten right away. Then she lowered her horns to protect herself, such as the brave little kid she had been. She could never hope to kill the wolf. Goats don't kill wolves. But only to see if she could hold him off until sunrise as her beloved friend Renaude had done.

The monster advanced, and participated in a dance with the little goat's horns. Oh the poor little Blanquette, she fought using a clean and courageous heart. Over ten occasions, and I'm telling the truth, the wolf has been made to escape and take his breath. Every time she dropped back to the herb and the tiny gourmande recharged with a few fresh greens and then went right back into conflict. This went on all night, and from time to time the small child glanced up at the twinkling stars and said "Oh if only I can last ’till daylight!" One by one the stars extinguished in the sky and she kept returning with her horns, and the wolf with his teeth.

Read to : The Honest Boy

A gleam appeared at the horizon, and the rooster's call rose from the farmland below. "Finally!" Called Blanquette, having continued all of the evening. She streched out on a patch of grass, her pretty white fur stained with blood. With that, the wolf ate and adores her.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JiXOa0a2Idg