« Ah, qu’elle était jolie, la petite chèvre de M. Seguin ! » Il n’y a rien de plus célèbre pour les Français que cette phrase-là. Un grand nombre, sinon tous, l’ont un jour ou l’autre lue, spécialement dans leur enfance, ou entendue de la voix d’un familier, d’un instituteur ou d’un acteur comme – je sais que c’est encore fréquent – Fernandel. Et c’est allé bien au-delà des frontières1. C’est un cliché de la culture française. C’est un classique. Un cliché faux. Un classique truqué. Retouché, ou séparé de la réalité qu’il montrerait, sans ce trucage ; La Chèvre de M. Seguin est la description d’un combat. Un combat social, un combat de la littérature, de la culture, un combat où il n’y eut que des perdants ; ou presque.

A. Viala, « Ah qu’elle était jolie… », Politix, Causes entendues, les conditions de mobilisation (2), 1992, vol. 5, n° 17.

1MR SEGWIN’S GOAT
Translated by Kate Tunstall
Worcester College, Oxford
For Alain and his many fields

Mr Segwin’s goat

2Still the same old Gringoire, eh !

3What’s that you say ? You were offered a job as a reviewer on a respectable Paris newspaper and you had the nerve to turn it down… Have you seen what a state you’re in ? The holes in that jacket ! Your trousers are threadbare and your cheeks are hollow. You’ve got hunger written all over your face. That’s where your beloved couplets have got you ! After ten years of loyal service to His Poetic Highness, Lord Apollo… Have you really no shame ?

4Go and be a journalist, you fool ! Go and write reviews ! You’ll earn a pretty penny, you’ll have your own table at Brébant’s, and you’ll be able to swan along to all the opening nights.

5No ? You don’t fancy it ?… You think you’ll hold onto your freedom to do as you please right up to the last… Well, in that case, you’d better hear the story of Mr Segwin’s Goat. Then you’ll see you what you get for wanting the free life.

6Mr Segwin never had much luck with his goats.

7He lost them all the same way. One fine morning, they would tug so hard on their rope it would snap, and they would run away to the mountain, where they would be eaten by the wolf. Nothing – not the kindness of their owner, nor fear of the wolf – could make them stay. These were, it seemed, independent goats that wanted to roam wild and free, regardless.

8Kind old Mr Segwin, who had no understanding of his animals’ temperament, was dismayed. He would say :

9– That’s it. Goats get fed up living here with me. I’ll never manage to keep one.

10But he didn’t give up, and six goats later, he bought a seventh. Only this time, he took care to buy one young enough to be able to get used to staying with him.

11Oh, Gringoire ! She was so pretty, that little goat of Mr Segwin’s ! So pretty, with her sweet eyes, her tufty beard like a little sergeant major’s, her shiny black hooves, striped horns, and her long greatcoat of white hair ! Almost as lovely as Esmeralda’s kid – and you remember her, don’t you, Gringoire ! And she was sweet-tempered and affectionate too. She would stay still for milking and never kicked over the pail. Quite the most adorable little goat…

12Mr Segwin had a paddock at the back of his house that was surrounded on all sides by hawthorn bushes, and that’s where he put his latest boarder. He tied her to a stake in the nicest part of the paddock, made sure she had plenty of rope, and from time to time, he would go and see if she was alright. The goat was very happy, grazing to her heart’s content, and Mr Segwin was delighted.

13– Finally, the poor man thought, I’ve found one that won’t tire of living with me !

14But Mr Segwin was mistaken. His goat did tire of living with him.

15One day, she looked up at the mountain and said to herself :

16– How beautiful it must be up there ! How wonderful it must be to frolic about in the heather without this wretched rope grating on your neck !… It’s all very well for donkeys and cattle to be confined to a paddock !… But us goats, we need our wide, open spaces.

17From then on, the grass in the paddock seemed drab and tasteless to her. She grew tired of life. She lost weight, and her milk started to dry up. It broke your heart to see her tugging at her tether all day long, with her head turned towards the mountain, her nostrils flaring, and bleating sadly : Me-eh-eh !…

18Mr Segwin could see there was something the matter with his goat, but he didn’t know what… One morning as he was finishing milking her, she turned and spoke to him in her patois :

19– Listen, Mr Segwin, I have grown weary of life here with you. Let me go up onto the mountain.

20– Oh my God !… Not her too ! exclaimed Mr Segwin in astonishment, and he dropped the milking pail. Then, he sat down in the grass next to his goat and said :

21– What’s this, Blanchette ? Would you leave me ?

22And Blanchette replied :

23– Yes, Mr Segwin.

24– Isn’t there enough grass for you here ?

25– Oh, no, it’s not that, Mr Segwin.

26– Perhaps your rope is too short ? Do you want me to make it longer ?

27– There’s no point, Mr Segwin.

28– What’s wrong then ? What is it you want ?

29– I want to go up onto the mountain, Mr Segwin.

30– Oh you poor creature, you don’t know that the wolf lives on the mountain… What’ll you do when he comes along ?…

31– I shall butt him with my horns, Mr Segwin.

32– That won’t impress the wolf. He’s eaten goats of mine with much bigger horns than yours. Do you remember poor old Gruff-Heart who was here last year ? A nanny goat, she was, but as tough and as strong as a billy. She fought with him all night… but in the morning, he got her and ate her up.

33– Mercy me ! Poor Gruff-Heart !… No matter, Mr Segwin. Let me go up onto the mountain.

34– Bless my soul !… exclaimed Mr Segwin. What’s happening to my goats ? Another one for the wolf… Well, I’ve had enough. He won’t have this one… I shall save you, my little minx, whether you like it or not ! And to see you don’t run away, I shall lock you in the stable and that’s where you’ll stay.

35With those words, Mr Segwin led the goat into the barn, and there in the pitch black, he double-locked the door. But he had forgotten about the window, and the minute his back was turned, the little thing fled…

36Do I hear you laugh, Gringoire ? Damn it, I think I can. You’re siding with the goats against kind old Mr Segwin… Well, let’s see in a minute if you’re still laughing.

37When the little white goat arrived on the mountain, the whole place lit up in delight. The old pine trees had never seen anything so pretty. She was given a welcome fit for a little queen… The chestnut trees bowed down to the ground and the tips of their branches caressed her gently as she passed by. The golden gorse took one look at her and burst into bloom, giving out its very sweetest smell. In fact, the whole mountaintop erupted in joyous celebration of her.

38You can well imagine, Gringoire, how happy our goat was ! Gone were the days of being tied to the stake… Nothing could stop her now from frisking about and grazing as she pleased… There was grass as far as the eye could see, my friend, and higher than the horns on her head… And what grass it was ! Hundreds of varieties of superior, sweet and succulent spears… It was nothing like that scrub down in the paddock. And then there were the flowers !… Great big blue harebells, deep-throated purple foxgloves, a whole forest of blooms brimming with so much nectar it made you dizzy !…

39The white goat lay down on her back, half drunk, with her legs in the air, and went rolling down the slopes in a big ball of fallen leaves and chestnuts… Then, suddenly, she sprang to her feet, and hop ! Off she went, charging head first through wood and thicket, up on a cliff-top one minute, down in a ravine the next, hill, dale, and everywhere… You’d have sworn there were ten Segwin goats on the mountain that day.

40For Blanchette wasn’t afraid of anything, you see.

41She went leaping across great waterfalls that spattered and sprayed her as she flew by. Next she found a flat bit of rock to stretch out on, dripping wet, and basked in the sun till she was dry… Once she came to the edge of a plateau and, looking down at the plain below with a sprig of laburnum in her mouth, she caught sight of Mr Segwin’s house with its boxed-in paddock behind it. She laughed so hard it brought tears to her eyes.

42– It’s so small ! she said. How did I ever manage to stay in there ?

43Poor deluded creature ! Perched up so high, she thought she was on top of the world.

44All in all, it was a very good day for Mr Segwin’s goat. Towards noon, as she was springing about all over the place, she found herself among a tribe of mountain goats feasting on a wild vine. Our little springer in her white dress was quite the belle of the ball. She was given the best spot at the vine, and the gentlemen were as gallant as could be… I have even heard it said – and this is just between you and me, Gringoire – that a young black buck was lucky enough to catch Blanchette’s eye. The two lovers got lost in the forest for an hour or so together, and if you want to know what they said to each other, you can go and ask the babbling brooks that run unseen through the mossy undergrowth.

45Suddenly, the wind blew cold. The mountain turned to mauve. Evening had come…

46So soon ? said the little goat, and she stood still, astonished.

47Down below, the fields were bathed in mist. Mr Segwin’s paddock disappeared in a haze, and all that could be seen of the little house was the roof with a wisp of smoke rising up from the chimney. She heard the bells on a flock of sheep being brought in for the night and her heart filled with sadness… A falcon winging its way home brushed against her as it flew by. She shuddered… Then came a cry from the mountain :

48– O-oooo ! O-oooo !

49She remembered the wolf. The foolish thing hadn’t given him a single thought all day… At the same time, a horn sounded deep in the valley. It was that good Mr Segwin trying one last time to get her to come home.

50– O-oooo ! O-oooo !… went the wolf.

51– Come baaack ! Come baaack !… cried the horn.

52Blanchette wanted to come back. But when she remembered the stake, the rope, and the hedge boxing her in, she thought she couldn’t go back to her old life and was better off staying where she was.

53The horn wasn’t sounding now…

54The goat heard a rustling noise behind her. She turned and there, in the shadows, were two short ears, pricked up, and a pair of eyes, gleaming… It was the wolf.

55He was huge and sitting perfectly still on his hind legs, looking at the white goat and licking his lips in anticipation. He knew he would get her in the end, and he was in no hurry. It wasn’t till she turned round that he laughed his wicked laugh :

56– Hehehehe ! Well, well, well, if it isn’t Mr Segwin’s little goat ! And he rolled his big, red tongue round his lips at such a mouth-watering prospect.

57Blanchette sensed her time had come… Her mind turned to the story of old Gruff-Heart who had fought all night only to be eaten in the morning, and she wondered whether it wouldn’t be better to let herself be eaten at once. Then she changed her mind and squared up for the fight, head down, horns to the fore, like the brave little Segwin goat she was… She knew she had no hope of killing the wolf – goats don’t kill wolves – but she wanted to see if she could hold out as long as Gruff-Heart…

58It was then that the monster came at her, and the little horns began their dance.

59Oh, the brave little goatling ! She put her heart and soul into it ! Ten times or more, I swear, Gringoire, she forced the wolf to retreat and catch his breath. And in those brief moments of respite, the insatiable little thing snatched another mouthful of her beloved grass. Then, with the taste still on her lips, she returned to the fray. It went on all night. Every so often, Mr Segwin’s goat would look up at the stars as they danced across the night sky and say to herself :

60– Oh ! If I can only hold out till dawn…

61One by one, the stars went out. Blanchette kept butting harder and harder. And harder and harder, the wolf kept biting… A pale light came over the horizon… A cockcrow rose up, hoarse, from the barnyard.

62– At last, said the poor creature who had held on until dawn to die. And she lay down on the ground in her beautiful white coat, all spattered in blood…

63And then the wolf pounced on the little goat and ate her up.

64Farewell, Gringoire !

65The story you’ve just heard is not one of my invention. If you ever come down south, you will often hear the locals tell the tale of Ol’Man Segwin an’ ‘is Goa’ :

She pu’ up a figh’
A’ frough the nigh’,
Bu’ come the day,
The wolf go’ ’is way,
An’ ’e… a’e… ’er… up.

66Mark my words, Gringoire :

Bu’ come the day,
The wolf go’ ’is way,
An’ ’e… a’e… ’er… up.