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Updated: May 18, 2025
You are my child, whom I begot, not indeed with a sylphide, salamandress, or other elementary spirit, but of that poor country lady of a fine old family, to whom the God-forgotten neighbours gave the nickname of the 'goat-girl' on account of her idyllic nature.
Look, I recognize you: I met you last summer." She brought the boat in, stepped ashore, made fast. "You were herding goats. You stopped to fasten your stocking. I met you one night." A little flush rose to her cheeks, and she laughed shyly. "Little goat-girl, come into the hut and let me look at you. I knew your name, too it is Henriette." But she walked past me without speaking.
When I was skirting the buckwheat fields of the valley in the calm open country, there was a sweet and tender glow of evening sunshine upon the purple-tinted sheaves standing with their heads together. The Titan-strewn rocks felt it likewise with all their heather and broom. There was no husbandman in the plain, no song of the solitary goat-girl, no creak of the plough, no twitter even of a bird.
"He is wounded, hurt," answered Jethro, "and for the next few days will be useless. The goat-girl Miriam the wild cat cut his forehead with her reaping hook." "Why did I not hear of this sooner?" cried Dorothea reprovingly. "What have you done to the girl?" "We have shut her up in the hay loft," answered Jethro, "and there she is raging and storming." The mistress shook her head disapprovingly.
No matter where you are in the country, however solitary you may think yourself, you are certain to be the focus of the two eyes of a country bumpkin; a laborer rests on his hoe, a vine-dresser straightens his bent back, a little goat-girl, or shepherdess, or milkmaid climbs a willow to stare at you.
"He is wounded, hurt," answered Jethro, "and for the next few days will be useless. The goat-girl Miriam the wild cat cut his forehead with her reaping hook." "Why did I not hear of this sooner?" cried Dorothea reprovingly. "What have you done to the girl?" "We have shut her up in the hay loft," answered Jethro, "and there she is raging and storming." The mistress shook her head disapprovingly.
Take a few steps, and you come upon that fatal Rue Croulebarbe, where Ulbach stabbed the goat-girl of Ivry to the sound of thunder, as in the melodramas.
"He is wounded, hurt," answered Jethro, "and for the next few days will be useless. The goat-girl Miriam the wild cat cut his forehead with her reaping hook." "Why did I not hear of this sooner?" cried Dorothea reprovingly. "What have you done to the girl?" "We have shut her up in the hay loft," answered Jethro, "and there she is raging and storming." The mistress shook her head disapprovingly.
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