In 1868, the French merchant Jacques Bryan came up with, as he thought, a wonderful way to get rich. After the fierce success of the Orenburg floats at the Paris World Exhibition, French, London and Berlin fashion women struck their husbands, demanding to buy them a shell or sweater from the world's thinnest Orenburg floats. It was almost impossible to counterfeit Russian products: even the fur of Angora goats was one and a half times thicker than the Orenburg and after a long socks slid and fell, while the strange Russian t-shirts, violating all the laws of nature, became softer and fleasier. Demand grew, French ladies waited for three to four months for orders for Orenburg t-shirts, and Russian merchants, engaged in the sale of puffy products, were soon hanged with gold watches, diamond rings and silver chains, like Gypsy barons.
Jacques Bryan decided to buy beautiful Orenburg goats in Russia and breed them on a farm near Toulouse, and patent his products. Having drawn up a plan to wipe the nose of Russian trade, Jacques went to St. Petersburg, taking with him as an interpreter the elderly messier de Auguste, who in his youth was a teacher of French at a landlord estate. The journey did not happen from the very beginning: on the way to St. Petersburg, the sea was storming all the time, and Brian's messenger turned out several times a day, so that he walked on Russian soil losing five kilograms. And when the railway ended, and I had to get to the Orenburg hole, trembling in the chariot on the wheels, the old messier to Augustein accelerated the ischias. Hundreds of kilometers under the accompaniment of the old nuts: "Sitting in Toulouse, eating croissants and drinking croissants" - not everyone is able to withstand this. But Jacques Bryan was a strong nuts, and the breadth of Russian spaces did not scare him.
On the advice of knowledgeable people, Brian sent letters in advance to three Orenburg landlords, who were famous for the best goats - the landlord's people, who came without an invitation to the explorer, could, for good, point to the side and send them without goats and without money. Of the three recipients, one goat farmer Losev, a large landlord, whose possessions were located 25 verses west of Orenburg, responded to the French proposal.
Losev, a possessor of large buttocks and a great practical mind, sent the guards ahead and met the guests while they were riding the steppe. Being convinced that before him there were neither barracks nor starvation, he invited the French to the lord's house, fed, according to the Russian custom, until the outbreak, and advised Mr. de Auguste to apply from the sciatica a compress from the cabbage leaf and black radish.
When it came to the auction, Brian asked what price Losev would give him a dozen goats and a dozen goats.
“A thousand rubles in silver,” said Losev modestly.
A thousand rubles? But this is a robbery, messie, for this money you can buy thirty great horses!
You didn’t ride five thousand horses. And the road here and back will cost you both half that amount. The deal was fair.
The French tried to trade, but Losev was relentless. Tom was cut off. Brian personally examined the goat and goat, signed a deal, received a puppy shell as a gift for his wife and went home with a well-depleted wallet.
Goats, like unpretentious animals, survived the journey safely, and Brian has already begun to count profits in his mind.
But it was worth the goats to find themselves on a French farm, on bay lawns and in an excellent insulated camp, as unexpected problems began. Three months later, the wonderful puch, without waiting for the first haircut, began to fall and hang on the goats. The concerned Frenchman urgently telegraphed to Orenburg: "The hair is rotten. All the goats in cows. What to do?” Soon came the answer: “I know how to help your burn. I will send you a recipe for 1000 rubles. The Loss.”
Brian immediately collected the money and deported him to Russia. Losev did not lie and sent a recipe: in order for the puff to be thin and sprinkled, you need to feed the goat in the morning and evening with a crushed crust, and water it with mineral water. Cut the old, corrupted wool so that it does not hinder the growth of a new, silkish.
Brian immediately ordered a monthly supply to the farm of one hundred barrels of mineral water from Grenoble, and a huge cane cube was brought from the carrier: Brian's pregnant wife tried the mill and found it to taste good.
So the thing went: at 8 a.m. and 8 a.m. the animals were fed with sludge, and the messenger Bryan personally watched for his goats to drink only the expensive mineral and would not swallow during the day water from any sludge.
After three months of such a diet, a new one grew up in the place of the old shrinking feathers, which no longer climbed or collapsed, but was much rougher and shorter, and almost no different from the wool of ordinary French goats.
In desperation, Bryan sent another telegram to Orenburg: "The goats had a rough wool. Everyone has one. Please help with advice.” Soon came the answer: “I know how to save the situation. Get a recipe of 1500 rubles. The Loss.”
Brian cried out from the annoyance, but put it in the safe and sent more money to Russia. The rescue recipe did not make itself wait: you mel-to let us less, Losev wrote, and in the evening feed the goat with vegetables: pumpkin, carrots and cabbage in equal proportions. On one grass, goats will not give puff, because there is not enough potential in the body.
The Frenchman immediately committed to correct the mistakes and began to increase the capacity of the goats. The animals began to get the best cabbage and carrots from the surrounding farms, the reception of the meal remained only for breakfast, and, in addition, on the advice of one peasant woman, a special soft bed was brought to the goat farm so that the animals felt complete comfort and did not experience stress.
Three more months passed, the goats were noticeably amused by the good content, the nausea grew, but the ugly puff fell all out finally. Messier Brian drove veterinarians from all over the province to the goats, who were looking for a skin disease, but when neither depriving nor parasites were found, it remained to resort to the last remedy, and Brian again sent a telegram to Orenburg.
The goats lost their last poop. Please help. No means helps.”
Losew replied, “It’s an eye. There is an ancient rite for cleaning cattle from rot and dirt. Send 1500 rubles. The Loss.”
What was Brian doing? He sent Losev more money, and after some time he received a envelope sealed with a surgeon stamp. In the envelope was described how to remove the spoil.
“At full moon, take 300 raw eggs, 25 pounds of olive oil, 25 pounds of talc, half a pound of beetle flowers, mix and rub the goats in their sides three days in a row.”
Waiting for the full moon, Brian, not trusting anyone such an important procedure, personally broke in a large pelvis 300 eggs, weighed with accuracy to a gram of oil and talc and prepared ointment. Three days in a row he dried the goat with this ointment, which, by the way, on the third day began to dive with a dried egg, although it was put in a cold cellar for the night.
The result of all the efforts turned out to be zero, except for the fact that for the goats in the first days flew whole clouds of flies and cattle, attracted by the sharp smell of unfresh organic matter.
Here to messier Brian came on summer vacation nephew from the University of Lyon. Listening to the story of the horse-animal husband, he decided, “Here’s what, uncle. Stop tormenting the goats. Before you, an English scientist had already tried to grow long-haired Mongolian goats in Dartmoor - three years later, there was nothing left of their long wool. The climate is not that. In the Orenburg province in the summer +40, and in the winter minus 40, here the goats and appeared this thick protective puff. In Toulouse, where there is no snow in the winter, this protection is useless to animals.
Since then, Jacques Bryan began to respect scientists even more, abandoned the goat and engaged in winemaking.