Letters From My Windmill Alphonse Daudet (top 10 ebook reader .txt) 📖

dozen times, I'll swear, Gringoire, she forced the wolf backto catch his breath. During these brief respites, she grabbed a bladeor two of the grass that she loved so much; then, still munching,joined the battle again…. The whole night passed like this.Occasionally, Monsieur Seguin's kid goat looked up at the twinklingstars in the clear sky and said to herself:

—Oh dear, I hope I can last out till the morning….

One by one the stars faded away. Blanquette intensified her charges,while the wolf replied with his teeth. The pale daylight appearedgradually over the horizon. A cockerel crowed hoarsely from a farmbelow.

—At last! said the poor animal, who was only waiting for the morningto come so that she could die bravely, and she laid herself down on theground, her beautiful white fur stained with blood.

It was then, at last, that the wolf fell on the little goat anddevoured her.

* * * * *

Goodbye, Gringoire!

The story you have heard is not of my making. If you ever come toProvence, our tenant farmers often tell you, of M. Seguin's kid goat,who fought the big bad wolf all night before he ate her in the morning.

Think about it, Gringoire, the big bad wolf ate her in the morning.

THE STARS

A tale from a Provencal shepherd.

When I used to be in charge of the animals on the Luberon, I was in thepasture for many weeks with my dog Labri and the flock without seeinganother living soul. Occasionally the hermit from Mont-de-l'Ure wouldpass by looking for medicinal herbs, or I might see the blackened faceof a chimney sweep from Piémont. But these were simple folk, silencedby the solitude, having lost the taste for chit-chat, and knowingnothing of what was going on down in the villages and towns. So, I wastruly happy, when every fortnight I heard the bells on our farm's mulewhich brought my provisions, and I saw the bright little face of thefarm boy, or the red hat of old aunty Norade appear over the hill. Iasked them for news from the village, the baptisms, marriages, and soon. But what particularly interested me, was to know what was happeningto my master's daughter, Mademoiselle Stephanette, the loveliest thingfor fifty kilometres around. Without wishing to seem over-curious, Imanaged to find out if she was going to village fetes and evening farmgatherings, and if she still turned up with a new admirer every time.If someone asked me how that concerned a poor mountain shepherd, Iwould say that I was twenty years old and that Stephanette was theloveliest thing I had seen in my whole life.

One Sunday, however, the fortnight's supplies were very late arriving.In the morning, I had thought, "It's because of High Mass." Then aboutmidday, a big storm got up, which made me think that bad roadconditions had kept the mule from setting out. Then, just after threeo'clock, as the sky cleared and the wet mountain glistened in thesunshine, I could hear the mule's bells above the sound of the drippingleaves and the raging streams. To me they were as welcome, happy, andlively as a peal of bells on Easter Day. But there was no little farmboy or old aunty Norade at the head. It was … you'll never guess …my heart's very own desire, friends! Stephanette in person, sittingcomfortably between the wicker baskets, her lovely face flushed by themountain air and the bracing storm.

Apparently, the young lad was ill and aunty Norade was on holiday ather childrens' place. Stephanette told me all this as she got off themule, and explained that she was late because she had lost her way. Butto see her there in her Sunday best, with her ribbon of flowers, hersilk skirt and lace bodice; it looked more like she had just come froma dance, rather than trying to find her way through the bushes. Oh, thelittle darling! My eyes never tired of looking at her. I had never seenher so close before. Sometimes in winter, after the flocks had returnedto the plain, and I was in the farm for supper in the evening, shewould come into the dining room, always overdressed and rather proud,and rush across the room, virtually ignoring us…. But now, there shewas, right in front of me, all to myself. Now wasn't that something tolose your head over?

Once she had taken the provisions out of the pannier, Stephanette beganto take an interest in everything. Hitching up her lovely Sunday skirt,which otherwise might have got marked, she went into the compound, tolook at the place where I slept. The straw crib with its lambskincover, my long cape hanging on the wall, my shepherd's crook, and mycatapult; all these things fascinated her.

—So, this is where you live, my little shepherd? How tedious it mustbe to be alone all the time. What do you do with yourself? What do youthink about?

I wanted to say, "About you, my lady," and I wouldn't have been lying,but I was so greatly nonplussed that I couldn't find a single word byway of a reply. Obviously, she picked this up, and certainly she wouldnow take some gentle malicious pleasure in turning the screw:

—What about your girlfriend, shepherd, doesn't she come up to see yousometimes? Of course, it would have to be the fairy Esterelle, who onlyruns at the top of the mountain, or the fabled, golden she-goat….

As she talked on, she seemed to me like the real fairy Esterelle. Shethrew her head back with a cheeky laugh and hurried away, which madeher visit seem like a dream.

—Goodbye, shepherd.

—Bye, Bye, lady.

And there she was—gone—taking the empty baskets with her.

As she disappeared along the steep path, stones disturbed by the mule'shooves, seemed to take my heart with them as they rolled away. I couldhear them for a very long time. For the rest of the day, I stood theredaydreaming, hardly daring to move, fearing to break the spell. Towardsthe evening, as the base of the valleys became a deeper blue, and thebleating animals flocked together for their return to the compound, Iheard someone calling to me on the