You may be attached too short do you want me to lengthen the rope? Why, Blanquette, do you want to leave me? Seguin stupefied, and suddenly he dropped his bowl then, sitting down in the grass beside his goat: Listen, Mr, Seguin, I’m languishing here, let me go to the mountains. One morning, as he finished his milk, the goat turned round and said to him in his patois: Seguin noticed that his goat had something, but he did not know what it was. It was pitiful to see her laying all day on her loin, her head turned to the side of the mountain, her nostril open, making Baa! … sadly. How well one must be up there! What a pleasure to frolic in the heather, without that cursed lanyard that flattens your neck! … It’s good for the donkey or for the ox to graze in a clos! … The goats, they need wide.įrom that moment on, the herb of the enclosure seemed to her bland. One day she said to herself, looking at the mountain: Finally, thought the poor man, there’s one that will not be bored at home!
The goat was very happy and grazed the grass with such a good heart that Mr.
He tied it to a stake, in the most beautiful place in the meadow, taking care to leave him a lot of rope, and from time to time he came to see if she was well. Seguin had behind his house an enclosure surrounded by hawthorns. Seguin’s little goat! How she was pretty with her gentle eyes, her non-commissioned officer’s beard, her black and shining hooves, her zebra horns and her long white hairs that made her a coat! It was almost as charming as the cabri of Esmeralda, you remember, Gringoire? - and then, docile, caressing, letting himself to be milked without moving, without putting his foot in the bowl. However, he was not discouraged, and after having lost six goats in the same manner, he bought a seventh Only this time he took care to take a very young, so that she got used to stay at home.Īh! Gringoire, how pretty was Mr. It’s finished the goats are bored at home, I will keep none. Seguin, who understood nothing of the character of his beasts, was dismayed. They were, it seems, independent goats, desirous at all costs of open air and liberty. Neither the caresses of their master nor the fear of the wolf, nothing restrained them. He lost them all in the same way: one beautiful morning, they broke their rope, went into the mountain, and up there the wolf ate them. Seguin had never had any happiness with his goats. You will see what you gain by wanting to live free. No? You do not want? You pretend to remain free at your leisure until the end … Well, listen to the story of Mr. Make yourself a chronicler, imbecile! Be a chronicler! You will win beautiful rose crowns, you will have your cover at Brebant’s, and you will be able to show you during the premiere with a new feather to your barrette … Yet this is where the passion of beautiful rhymes has led you! That is what you earned for ten years of loyal service in the pages of Sir Apollo … Are you not ashamed, at the end? But look at you, you unhappy boy! Look at this holed doublet, those ruffled breeches, that thin face that screams hunger. How! you have an offer for a job as a chronicler in a good newspaper in Paris, and you have the strength to refuse.
YOU will always be the same, my poor Gringoire!
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