Frédéric Ortoli.
“Compère Bouc et Compère Lapin.”
Chandler Harris, trans.
“A French Tar-Baby.”
Table of Contents
“Compère Bouc et Compère Lapin.”
U
temps des lutins et des fées, compère Bouc et compère Lapin habitaient dans la même plaine, non loin l’un de l’autre.
Fier de sa longue barbe et de ses cornes aiguës, compère Bouc se montrait fort dédaigneux pour compère Lapin; à peine le saluait-il quand il le rencontrait, et son plus grand plaisir était de lui jouer les tours les plus pendables.
— Compère Lapin, voici maître Renard!
Et compère Lapin de fuir aussitôt.
— Compère Lapin, voici maître le Loup!
Et compère Lapin de trembler de tous ses membres.
— Compère Lapin, voici maître le Tigre!
Et compère Lapin de frémir et de croire venue sa dernière heure.
Fatigué de cette triste existence, messire Lapin réfléchit au moyen de changer en ami son terrible et puissant voisin.
Il trouva des raisons infaillibles et compère Bouc fut invité à dîner.
Le repas fut long et abondant; rien n’y manquait, les meilleurs plats furent servis. Compère Bouc s’en léchait la barbe de satisfaction; jamais il ne s’était trouvé à pareille fête.
— Eh bien! mon ami, s’écria au dessert, compère Lapin, es-tu content de ton souper?
— On ne peut davantage, mon cher hôte, toutefois mon gosier est bien sec et un peu d’eau ne ferait pas de mal.
— Ma foi, compère Bouc, je n’ai point de cave, aussi je ne bois jamais pendant les repas.
— Une idée, compère Lapin, moi non plus je n’ai pas d’eau; si tu veux venir par là, auprès du peuplier, nous allons creuser un puits.
Compère Lapin espéra se venger:
— Non, compère Bouc; à l’aube naissante je bois la rosée dans le calice des fleurs, et pendant la chaleur du jour, quand j’ai soif, je bois dans la piste des vaches.
— C’est bien; tout seul je le ferai et tout seul je profiterai de mon puits.
— Bon courage, compère Bouc!
— Merci, mon bon ami petit Lapin!
Compère Bouc s’en alla au pied de l’arbre et fouilla son puits; le voilà qui avance, qui se creuse, qui devient de plus en plus profond. Le puits est fait, l’eau jailli!, et compère Bouc se désaltère largement.
Compère Lapin qui l’avait suivi se mit alors à rire derrière un buisson tout en fleurs.
— Ah! mon pauvre ami, comme tu es innocent! ne put-il s’empêcher de dire.
Le lendemain, lorsque Bouc à la grande barbe et aux cornes pointues retourna chercher de l’eau à son puits, il aper�ut la trace des pas de petit Lapin encore marquée dans la terre fraîche. Compère Bouc réfléchit profondément, se gratta la tête, tira sa barbe, se frappa le front, puis enfin s’écria;
— Mon bon ami, je vais t’attraper!
Et aussitôt il court prendre ses outils et fait une grosse poupée en bois de laurier; ensuite il la goudronne de-ci, delà, à droite, à gauche, en haut, en bas, jusqu’à ce qu’elle soit noire comme une petite négresse, une négresse de Guinée.
Cela fait, compère Bouc attendit tranquillement la lin de la journée; le soleil couché, il courut, se cachant derrière les arbres et les buissons, planter sa poupée’ au ras du puits.
La lune venait de se lever; au ciel brillaient des millions de petits flambeaux; compère Lapin crut l’instant arrivé. Il prend son baquet et va chercher de l’eau.
En route il a peur d’être surpris, il frémit au plus petit bruissement de feuilles, au plus léger souffle du vent. Il marche par sauts, se cachant ici derrière un monticule, se couvrant par là d’une; touffe d’herbe.
Enfin, il arrive au puits. Compère Lapin aper�oit la petite négresse; il s’arrête effrayé, avance, recule, avance et s’arrête encore.
— Qu’est-ce là? se dit-il. Il écoute; les herbes ne parlaient pas, les feuilles et les branches restaient muettes. Il cligne des yeux, baisse la tête:
— Hé! l’amie, qui donc es-tu?
Petite Négresse ne bouge pas.
Compère Lapin avance un peu plus, puis crie encore. Petite Poupée ne répond pas.
Il respire, souffle plus à l’aise, puis s’approche du bord du puits.
Mais, quand il regarde clans l’eau, Petite Négresse regarde aussi.
Compère Lapin devient rouge de colère.
— Écoute, petite, si tu regardes dans ce puits, je vais te flanquer sur le nez.
Il se baisse au ras du puits et voit la poupée qui lui sourit.
Il lève sa main droite et la lui envoie.
Pan!
Ah! sa main reste collée.
— Qu’est cela? lâche-moi, fille de démon, ou je vais te flanquer sur les yeux avec l’autre main. Il la lui flanque.
Bin!
Hé! la gauche se colle aussi.
Compère Lapin lève son pied droit.
— Petite Congo, fais attention et mûris bien mes paroles. Vois-tu ce pied-là? Ce pied, je te l’envoie dans l’estomac si tu ne me lâches à l’instant. Aussitôt dit que fait.
Boum!
Le pied se colle; compère Lapin lève l’autre.
— Tu vois, celui-ci? Si je te l’envoie, tu croiras que c’est la pierre de tonnerre qui te cogne.
Il la frappe.
Tarn!
Le pied se colle encore.
Compère Lapin tenait bien sa Guinée.
— Hé! la petite! j’ai déjà battu bien du monde avec mon front. Attention ou je brise ton affreuse tête en petits morceaux. Lâche-moi!
— Ha! ha! tu ne réponds pas? Vlau!
— Négresse, es-tu morte? Ouais, que ma tête colle bien! Quand le soleil fut levé, compère Bouc se rendit au bord du puits pour prendre des nouvelles de son ami petit Lapin: le résultat avait dépassé ses espérances.
— Hé! hé! petit coquin, grand coquin, couquinasse. Hé! hé! compère Lapin, que fais-tu donc là? Je pensais que tu buvais la rosée dans le calice embaumé des fleurs ou dans la piste des vaches. Hé! hé! compère Lapin, je vais te punir pour me voler mon eau.
— Je suis ton ami, ne me tue pus.
— Voleur! voleur! crie compère Bouc. Et vite il court dans le bois, ramasse un gros tas de branches sèches, allume un grand feu, puis va chercher petit Lapin pour le brûler tout vivant.
Or, comme il passait près d’un tes de ronces avec compère Lapin sur son épaule, compère Bouc rencontra sa. fille Bélédie qui se promenait dans les champs.
— Où vas-tu, Bouc, mon papa, ainsi affublé d’un pareil fardeau? Viens manger l’herbe fraîche avec moi, et jette vilain compère Lapin dans ces ronces!
Petit voleur, tout penaud, dresse alors les oreilles et fait l’effrayé.
— Non, non, compère Bouc, ne me jette pas dans ces ronces; les piquants déchireraient ma peau, crèveraient mes yeux, me perceraient le cœur. Ah! je t’en prie, jette-moi plutôt dans le feu.
— Hé! hé! petit coquin, grand coquin, couquinasse, hé! hé! compère Lapin, tu n’aimes pas les ronces? Eh bien! alors, va rire là-dedans!
Et il l’y envoie sans pitié.
Compère Lapin roule en bas du tas d’épines, pais se met à rire:
— Kiak! kiak! kiak! compère Bouc, mon ami, que tu me sembles bête! kiak! kiak! kiak! Meilleur lit jamais je n’ai eu; kiak! kiak! C’est dans ces ronces que maman m’a fait naître!
Compère Bouc en fut désespéré mais compère Lapin eut la vie sauvée par sa présence d’esprit:
Longue barbe n’est pas toujours signe d’intelligence.
I
“A French Tar-Baby.”
In the time when there were hobgoblins and fairies, Brother Goat and Brother Rabbit lived in the same neighborhood, not far from each other.
Proud of his long beard and sharp horns, Brother Goat looked on Brother Rabbit with disdain. He would hardly speak to Brother Rabbit when he met him, and his greatest pleasure was to make his little neighbor the victim of his tricks and practical jokes. For instance, he would say:
“Brother Rabbit, here is Mr. Fox,” and this would cause Brother Rabbit to run away as hard as he could. Again he would say:
“Brother Rabbit, here is Mr. Wolf,” and poor Brother Rabbit would shake and tremble with fear. Sometimes he would cry out:
“Brother Rabbit, here is Mr. Tiger,” and then Brother Rabbit would shudder and think that his last hour had come.
Tired of this miserable existence, Brother Rabbit tried to think of some means by which he could change his powerful and terrible neighbor into a friend. After a time, he thought he had discovered a way to make Brother Goat his friend, and so he invited him to dinner.
Brother Goat was quick to accept the invitation. The dinner was a fine affair, and there was an abundance of good eating. A great many different dishes were served. Brother Goat licked his mouth and shook his long beard with satisfaction. He had never before been present at such a feast.
“Well, my friend,” exclaimed Brother Rabbit, when the dessert was brought in, “how do you like your dinner?”
“I could certainly wish for nothing better,” replied Brother Goat, rubbing the tips of his horns against the back of his chair; "but my throat is very dry and a little water would hurt neither the dinner nor me.”
“Gracious!” said Brother Rabbit, “I have neither wine-cellar nor water. I am not in the habit of drinking while I am eating.”
“Neither have I any water, Brother Rabbit,” said Brother Goat. “But I have an idea! If you will go with me over yonder by the big poplar, we will dig a well.”
“No, Brother Goat,” said Brother Rabbit, who hoped to revenge himself — “no, I do not care to dig a well. At daybreak I drink the dew from the cups of the flowers, and in the heat of the day I milk the cows and drink the cream.”
“Well and good,” said Brother Goat. “Alone I will dig the well, and alone I will drink out of it.”
“Success to you, Brother Goat,” said Brother Rabbit.
“Thank you kindly, Brother Rabbit.”
Brother Goat then went to the foot of the big poplar and began to dig his well. He dug with his forefeet and with his horns, and the well got deeper and deeper. Soon the water began to bubble up and the well was finished, and then Brother Goat made haste to quench his thirst. He was in such a hurry that his beard got in the water, but he drank and drank until he had his fill.
Brother Rabbit, who had followed him at a little distance, hid himself behind a bush and laughed heartily. He said to himself: “What an innocent creature you are!”
The next day, when Brother Goat, with his big beard and sharp horns, returned to his well to get some water, he saw the tracks of Brother Rabbit in the soft earth. This put him to thinking. He sat down, pulled his beard, scratched his head, and tapped himself on the forehead.
“My friend,” he exclaimed after a while, “I will catch you yet.”
Then he ran and got his tools (for Brother Goat was something of a carpenter in those days) and made a large doll out of laurel wood. When the doll was finished, he spread tar on it here and there, on the right and on the left, and up and down. He smeared it all over with the sticky stuff, until it was as black as a Guinea negro.
This finished, Brother Goat waited quietly until evening. At sunset he placed the tarred doll near the well, and ran and hid himself behind the trees and bushes. The moon had just risen, and the heavens twinkled with millions of little star-torches.
Brother Rabbit, who was waiting in his house, believed that the time had come for him to get some water, so he took his bucket and went to Brother Goat’s well. On the way he was very much afraid that something would catch him. He trembled when the wind shook the leaves of the trees. He would go a little distance and then stop and listen; he hid here behind a stone, and there behind a tuft of grass.
At last he arrived at the well, and there he saw the little negro. He stopped and looked at it with astonishment. Then he drew back a little way, advanced again, drew back, advanced a little, and stopped once more.
“What can that be?” he said to himself. He listened, with his long ears pointed forward, but the trees could not talk, and the bushes were dumb. He winked his eyes and lowered his head:
“Hey, friend! who are you?” he asked.
The tar-doll didn’t move. Brother Rabbit went up a little closer, and asked again:
“Who are you?”
The tar-doll said nothing. Brother Rabbit breathed more at ease. Then he went to the brink of the well, but when he looked in the water the tar-doll seemed to look in too. He could see her reflection in the water. This made Brother Rabbit so mad that he grew red in the face.
“See here!” he exclaimed, “if you look in this well I’ll give you a rap on the nose!”
Brother Rabbit leaned over the brink of the well, and saw the tar-doll smiling at him in the water. He raised his right hand and hit her — bam! His hand stuck.
“What’s this?” exclaimed Brother Rabbit. “Turn me loose, imp of Satan! If you do not, I will rap you on the eye with my other hand.”
Then he hit her — bim! The left hand stuck also. Then Brother Rabbit raised his right foot, saying:
“Mark me well, little Congo! Do you see this foot? I will kick you in the stomach if you do not turn me loose this instant.”
No sooner said than done. Brother Rabbit let fly his right foot — vip! The foot stuck, and he raised the other.
“Do you see this foot?” he exclaimed. “If I hit you with it, you will think a thunderbolt has struck you.”
Then he kicked her with the left foot, and it also stuck like the other, and Brother Rabbit held fast his Guinea negro.
“Watch out, now!” he cried. “I’ve already butted a great many people with my head. If I butt you in your ugly face I’ll knock it into a jelly. Turn me loose! Oho! you don’t answer?” Bap!
“Guinea girl!” exclaimed Brother Rabbit, “are you dead? Gracious goodness! how my head does stick!”
When the sun rose, Brother Goat went to his well to find out something about Brother Rabbit. The result was beyond his expectations.
“Hey, little rogue, big rogue!” exclaimed Brother Goat. “Hey, Brother Rabbit! what are you doing there? I thought you drank the dew from the cups of the flowers, or milk from the cows. Aha, Brother Rabbit! I will punish you for stealing my water.”
“I am your friend,” said Brother Rabbit; “don’t kill me.”
“Thief, thief!” cried Brother Goat, and then he ran quickly into the woods, gathered up a pile of dry limbs, and made a great fire. He took Brother Rabbit from the tar-doll, and prepared to burn him alive. As he was passing a thicket of brambles with Brother Rabbit on his shoulders, Brother Goat met his daughter B�l�die, who was walking about in the fields.
“Where are you going, papa, muffled up with such a burden? Come and eat the fresh grass with me, and throw wicked Brother Rabbit in the brambles.”
Cunning Brother Rabbit raised his long ears and pretended to be very much frightened.
“Oh, no, Brother Goat!” he cried. “Don’t throw me in the brambles. They will tear my flesh, put out my eyes, and pierce my heart. Oh, I pray you, rather throw me in the fire.”
“Aha, little rogue, big rogue! Aha, Brother Rabbit!” exclaimed Brother Goat, exultingly, “you don’t like the brambles? Well, then, go and laugh in them,” and he threw Brother Rabbit in without a feeling of pity.
Brother Rabbit fell in the brambles, leaped to his feet, and began to laugh.
“Ha-ha-ha! Brother Goat, what a simpleton you are! — ha-ha-ha! A better bed I never had! In these brambles I was born!”
Brother Goat was in despair, but he could not help himself. Brother Rabbit was safe.
A long beard is not always a sign of intelligence.
Text prepared by:
- Bruce R. Magee
Source
Ortoli, Frédéric. “Compère Bouc et Compère Lapin.” Les Contes De La Veillée. Illus. G. Robert Kemp. Collection Picard: Bibliothèque d’Éducation Récréative. 3rd ed. Paris: Librairie Alcide Picard Et Kaan, n.d. 15-24. (BnF Gallica — Bibliothèque nationale de France. 17 Feb. 2017. Web. 3 Nov. 2019. <https:// gallica.bnf.fr/ ark:/ 12148/ bpt6k6578084h. texteImage>.
Ortoli, Frédéric. “A French Tar-Baby.” Trans. Chandler Harris. Evening Tales: Done into English from the French of Frédéric Ortoli. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1919. 1-12. Project Gutenberg. 10 Dec. 2017. Web. 3 Nov. 2019. <http:// www. gutenberg.org/ files/ 56153/ 56153-h/ 56153-h.htm>.