PETITON
"My friends, you are right. But, on your own account, my knife is worth a lot. You won't get it for less than a thousand pistoles."
"No, Petiton. It's too expensive."
"My friends, I won’t spare two farthings. If you say no again, no later than tomorrow morning, I will run to the fairgrounds, and win for myself the fortune you are giving away."
"Petiton, here are your thousand pistoles."
"My friends, here is my knife. I hope it will help you make your fortune."
The two scoundrel cattle dealers left, happy as blackbirds.
The next day, St. Martin's Day, they spent every last penny paying off, on the Lectoure fairground, all the wicked oxen and cows, all the vicious horses and mules that no one wanted.
“Our fortune is made. Our fortune is made."
The same evening, they put all these animals in a large meadow, on the banks of the Gers river. There, with the knife, they bled every last one of them in the chest. It was pitiful to see the poor animals lying dead on the blood-red grass.
Then the two scoundrel dealers presented them with the knife.
Black-handled knife, white-handled knife.
Raise my animals quickly.
The animals did not move.
Black-handled knife, white-handled knife.
Raise my animals quickly.
The animals did not move.
Black-handled knife, white-handled knife.
Raise my animals quickly.
The animals did not move.
“Billion Gods! All our animals are dead. Billion Gods! We are ruined. Petiton took revenge on us again. Billion Gods! This will not happen like that."
The two scoundrel cattle dealers did as they had said. By lying in wait for Petiton, without being seen, they ended up surprising him, sleeping in his bed. Then they tied his hands and feet, locked him in a bag, and loaded him on their shoulders to drown him in the Garonne.
But the load was heavy, and the Garonne was far away. Halfway there, the porters couldn't take it anymore. So they put their bag down in the middle of a wood, and entered an inn, to rest there, drinking one bottle.
Until then, Petiton had not said a word. But then he began to cry like an eagle:
"Help! Help!"
At that moment, a young man was passing through the woods, leading a herd of a thousand pigs.
"Help! Help!"
The swineherd approached.
“My friend, who are the beggars who locked you in this bag?"
"Brave man, these are two servants of the king, who carry me to their master. By force, the king wants me to marry his daughter, a princess as beautiful as the day, and rich as Peru. But I promised the Good Lord to make me a priest, and I will never marry the king's daughter."
Then the swineherd opened the bag.
Source: Petiton, from the French book Contes populaires de la Gascogne, tome 3, published in 1886
Hello, my name is Vincent Celier.
I am writing translations of folk tales that I found in public domain French books, so that people who do not understand French may enjoy them too.
As expected, the two scoundrel cattle dealers fell into the trap that Petiton and his dog Mouret created for them.
The result was that they lost all their money and could only swear their favorite "Billions Gods!"
Now Petiton is in trouble, locked in a bag. But he will probably be saved. Hopefully, he will not cause harm to the swineherd who happened to pass by.
BBC
No, I am not talking about the British Broadcasting Corporation, but about what is written on the license plates in the Canadian province of British Columbia, where we live: Beautiful British Columbia.
Rain and Tears
We have a lot of rain here, and yesterday was no exception. But, to people who live here and complain about the rain, I usually reply that without all this rain, British Columbia would not be as beautiful as it is.
Everywhere, you see grass, shrubs, and trees. For example on our street:
In front of our building, we have several big trees, many shrubs, and some grass. It is only possible because we have some rain falling.
-- Vincent Celier