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François le bossu
François est affligé d'une énorme bosse qui lui mange le dos et excite la vilaine curiosité des enfants. Son infirmité l'a rendu timide et craintif. Il est tellement habitué à se trouver en butte aux railleries qu'il est tout surpris du joyeux accueil que lui font Christine et sa cousine Gabrielle. Les petites filles ne se repentiront pas de s'être montrées charitables car François est bon et généreux...
266 pages, Mass Market Paperback
First published January 1, 1864
About the author
Émile Bayard
172 books2 followersÉmile-Antoine Bayard (November 2, 1837 – 6 December 1891) was a French illustrator. A student of Léon Cogniet, he is best known by many for his illustration of Cosette from Les Misérables by Victor Hugo. He died in Cairo.
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Displaying 1 - 11 of 11 reviews
February 8, 2017
I enjoyed re-reading this favorite book from my childhood. I did not appreciate, at the time, the morals that Comtesse de Segur attempted to teach her young readers. This type of writing is no longer acceptable in a mainstream children's book, but I found it quite refreshing. In this book, she definitely wanted to show young readers the difference between selfless and selfish living. I loved her characters.
April 5, 2017
"M. des Ormes, faible et indifférent, avait, comme nous l'avons vu, des éclairs de demi-tendresse qui ne duraient pas ; tranquille sur le sort de Christine depuis qu'il la savait sous la direction sage et dévouée d'Isabelle, il ne s'occupait de sa fille, et cherchait, comme sa femme, à passer agréablement ses journées."
November 2, 2011
Voici l'un des meilleurs romans de la comtesse de Ségur. Je suis totalement sous le charme de la bonté de Christine et François !!
December 11, 2013
my favorite novel ever! and the first one that I've read
August 9, 2026
3🌟
« Je n'en parle qu'à toi, parce que je t'aime plus que tout le monde. »
I am left quite surprised at the outcome of this novel, for, while it used to be one of my favorites by Comtesse de Ségur, I am unsure what to think of it now, or perhaps what to feel of it: did I have a different perspective in my childhood? do I remember an idealised version of my reading that I am currently tainting with my youthful perceptions? am I starting to see frustratingly repeating patterns in Comtesse's storytelling as I rush to read her whole bibliography? is it simply that tender charm of an unexpected hug while feeling too reserved or timid? We do judge books by their covers, don't we?
The relationship that sparks between François and Christine still lingers in my childlike soul as, possibly, the first children's love story that truly affected me: many others would have said Paul and Virginie, yet I had only heard of them in eighth grade and only read their story last year for my university studies, long long after François le bossu, the Paul et Virginie of the French countryside. Though, unlike the tragic ending with the latter's separation, the two protagonists' bond was never bound to break and even strengthened with the help of M. de Nancé, Paolo, and, certainly, God, whom through them, only patience prevails. The symbolism would have completely flown over my head if I hadn't read the postface, as it was extremely striking to me how the insistance of Christine on never leaving the Nancé domain, how she found in François a true brother — and husband — and in M. de Nancé a true father, all represent the idea of a convent and a conversion towards Christ and God. Besides, François's infirmity cannot be but somewhat linked to Hugo's Notre-Dame de Paris: first to Quasimodo being the male protagonist with a hunchback, second to Hugo's view about the good and the bad, the ugly and the beautiful, the sublime and the grotesque, which does not perfectly and necessarily align with Comtesse's own ideology being heavily impregnated in piety, faith, goodwill; however, the main, principal part that both generally share is the topos of appearances, of the famous dichotomy between the inside and out (the ugly shell with a soft heart most embodied by François, or the beautiful shell with a cold heart most embodied by that nonchalant and dissipated Mme des Ormes).
One recurring thing that I might seem to be stubbornly exaggerating on is the notion of a character being the double of the authoress, yet it really is expected for a writer to not just represent parts of themselves, but to even insufflate into a character a spark of their soul, whether it is an idea, a value that they cherish or a temper, a vice that they execrate. Some authors may do it more subtly, in a more complex manner within each character, but Comtesse is severely Manichaean — might I say austerely Jansenistic in terms of predestination — with her characterisations, since, eventually, the good will be rewarded while the bad punished, in order to demonstrate to children the triumph of Christian values and to achieve what used to be perceived as an important objective of literature: the inculcation of morality. And that is where the novel gets curiously interesting, as M. de Nancé is once seen writing a book destined for the education of children, although nothing more is brought to the table concerning this writing, thus a possibility points towards him recounting the story of his two children to educate other ones, to set an example for them. Then, in a chain, he breaks the walls of fiction to tell of that same fiction from within Comtesse's pen.
« Je n'en parle qu'à toi, parce que je t'aime plus que tout le monde. »
I am left quite surprised at the outcome of this novel, for, while it used to be one of my favorites by Comtesse de Ségur, I am unsure what to think of it now, or perhaps what to feel of it: did I have a different perspective in my childhood? do I remember an idealised version of my reading that I am currently tainting with my youthful perceptions? am I starting to see frustratingly repeating patterns in Comtesse's storytelling as I rush to read her whole bibliography? is it simply that tender charm of an unexpected hug while feeling too reserved or timid? We do judge books by their covers, don't we?
The relationship that sparks between François and Christine still lingers in my childlike soul as, possibly, the first children's love story that truly affected me: many others would have said Paul and Virginie, yet I had only heard of them in eighth grade and only read their story last year for my university studies, long long after François le bossu, the Paul et Virginie of the French countryside. Though, unlike the tragic ending with the latter's separation, the two protagonists' bond was never bound to break and even strengthened with the help of M. de Nancé, Paolo, and, certainly, God, whom through them, only patience prevails. The symbolism would have completely flown over my head if I hadn't read the postface, as it was extremely striking to me how the insistance of Christine on never leaving the Nancé domain, how she found in François a true brother — and husband — and in M. de Nancé a true father, all represent the idea of a convent and a conversion towards Christ and God. Besides, François's infirmity cannot be but somewhat linked to Hugo's Notre-Dame de Paris: first to Quasimodo being the male protagonist with a hunchback, second to Hugo's view about the good and the bad, the ugly and the beautiful, the sublime and the grotesque, which does not perfectly and necessarily align with Comtesse's own ideology being heavily impregnated in piety, faith, goodwill; however, the main, principal part that both generally share is the topos of appearances, of the famous dichotomy between the inside and out (the ugly shell with a soft heart most embodied by François, or the beautiful shell with a cold heart most embodied by that nonchalant and dissipated Mme des Ormes).
One recurring thing that I might seem to be stubbornly exaggerating on is the notion of a character being the double of the authoress, yet it really is expected for a writer to not just represent parts of themselves, but to even insufflate into a character a spark of their soul, whether it is an idea, a value that they cherish or a temper, a vice that they execrate. Some authors may do it more subtly, in a more complex manner within each character, but Comtesse is severely Manichaean — might I say austerely Jansenistic in terms of predestination — with her characterisations, since, eventually, the good will be rewarded while the bad punished, in order to demonstrate to children the triumph of Christian values and to achieve what used to be perceived as an important objective of literature: the inculcation of morality. And that is where the novel gets curiously interesting, as M. de Nancé is once seen writing a book destined for the education of children, although nothing more is brought to the table concerning this writing, thus a possibility points towards him recounting the story of his two children to educate other ones, to set an example for them. Then, in a chain, he breaks the walls of fiction to tell of that same fiction from within Comtesse's pen.
January 7, 2020
Je trouve ce petit livre plutôt charmante, car cet histoire, qui était lieu environ 1800, nous apporte à un temps plus simple. L'histoire de Christine et François étant très belle, j'arriverai à le finir facilement. Je recommande ce livre pour ceux qui veulent lire une belle histoire d'amitié et d'amour. Attention, il y a quand même des parties tristes.
March 2, 2018
یک کتاب کلاسیک، که به خاطر تفاوت فرهنگی خیلی قسمت هاش قابل درک نیست اما شیرین و زیباست.
February 23, 2024
Au début, ils étaient frère et sœur
A la fin , ils deviennent des couples 😃
A la fin , ils deviennent des couples 😃
March 28, 2024
Someone tell these people to stop crying so much
October 3, 2024
That was a super read, if you're searching fast reading that autor is for you !!
November 15, 2010
Flashback de mon enfance!
Displaying 1 - 11 of 11 reviews