The tale was told to me in the little valley beneath Dalgrothe Mountain
one September morning. Far and near one could see the swinging of the
flail, and the laughter of a ripe summer was upon the land. There was a
little Calvary down by the riverside, where the flax-beaters used to say
their prayers in the intervals of their work; and it was just at the foot
of this that Angele Rouvier, having finished her prayer, put her rosary
in her pocket, wiped her eyes with the hem of her petticoat, and said to
me:
"Ah, dat poor Mathurin, I wipe my tears for him!"
"Tell me all about him, won't you, Madame Angele? I want to hear you
tell it," I added hastily, for I saw that she would despise me if I
showed ignorance of Mathurin's story. Her sympathy with Mathurin's
memory was real, but her pleasure at the compliment I paid her was also
real.
"Ah! It was ver' longtime ago--yes. My gran'mudder she remember dat
Mathurin ver' well. He is not ver' big man. He has a face-oh, not ver'
handsome, not so more handsome as yours--non. His clothes, dey hang on
him all loose; his hair, it is all some grey, and it blow about him head.
He is clean to de face, no beard--no, nosing like dat. But his eye--la,
M'sieu', his eye! It is like a coal which you blow in your hand, whew!
--all bright. My gran'mudder, she say, 'Voila, you can light your pipe
with de eyes of dat Mathurin!' She know. She say dat M'sieu' Mathurin's
eyes dey shine in de dark. My gran'fadder he say he not need any lights
on his cariole when Mathurin ride with him in de night.
"Ah, sure! it is ver' true what I tell you all de time. If you cut off
Mathurin at de chin, all de way up, you will say de top of him it is a
priest. All de way down from his neck, oh, he is just no better as
yoursel' or my Jean--non. He is a ver' good man. Only one bad ting he
do. Dat is why I pray for him; dat is why everybody pray for him--only
one bad ting. Sapristi!--if I have only one ting to say God-have-mercy
for, I tink dat ver' good; I do my penance happy. Well, dat Mathurin him
use to teach de school. De Cure he ver' fond of him. All de leetla
children, boys and girls, dey all say: 'C'est bon Mathurin!' He is not
ver' cross--non. He have no wife, no child; jes live by himself all
alone. But he is ver' good friends with everybody in Pontiac. When he
go 'long de street, everybody say, 'Ah, dere go de good Mathurin!' He
laugh, he tell story, he smoke leetla tabac, he take leetla white wine
behin' de door; dat is nosing--non.
"He have in de parish five, ten, twenty children all call Mathurin; he is
godfadder with dem--yes. So he go about with plenty of sugar and sticks
of candy in his pocket. He never forget once de age of every leetla
child dat call him godfadder. He have a brain dat work like a clock. My
gran'fadder he say dat Mathurin have a machine in his head. It make de
words, make de thoughts, make de fine speech like de Cure, make de gran'
poetry--oh, yes!
"When de King of Englan' go to sit on de throne, Mathurin write ver' nice
verse to him. And by-and-by dere come to Mathurin a letter--voila, dat
is a letter! It have one, two, three, twenty seals; and de King he say
to Mathurin: 'Merci mille fois, m'sieu'; you are ver' polite. I tank
you. I will keep your verses to tell me dat my French subjects are all
loyal like M. Mathurin.' Dat is ver' nice, but Mathurin is not proud--
non. He write six verses for my granmudder--hein? Dat is something.
He write two verses for de King of Englan' and he write six verses for
my granmudder--you see! He go on so, dis week, dat week, dis year, dat
year, all de time.
"Well, by-and-by dere is trouble on Pontiac. It is ver' great trouble.
You see dere is a fight 'gainst de King of Englan', and dat is too bad.
It is not his fault; he is ver' nice man; it is de bad men who make de
laws for de King in Quebec. Well, one day all over de country everybody
take him gun, and de leetla bullets, and say, I will fight de soldier of
de King of Englan'--like dat. Ver' well, dere was twenty men in Pontiac,
ver' nice men--you will find de names cut in a stone on de church; and
den, three times as big, you will find Mathurin's name. Ah, dat is de
ting! You see, dat rebellion you English call it, we call it de War of
de Patriot--de first War of de Patriot, not de second-well, call it what
you like, quelle difference? The King of Englan' smash him Patriot War
all to pieces. Den dere is ten men of de twenty come back to Pontiac
ver' sorry. Dey are not happy, nobody are happy. All de wives, dey cry;
all de children, dey are afraid. Some people say, What fools you are;
others say, You are no good; but everybody in him heart is ver' sorry all
de time.
"Ver' well, by-and-by dere come to Pontiac what you call a colonel with a
dozen men--what for, you tink? To try de patriots. He will stan' dem
against de wall and shoot dem to death--kill dem dead. When dey come, de
Cure he is not in Pontiac--non, not dat day; he is gone to anudder
village. De English soldier he has de ten men drew up before de church.
All de children and all de wives dey cry and cry, and dey feel so bad.
Certainlee, it is a pity. But de English soldier he say he will march
dem off to Quebec, and everybody know dat is de end of de patriots.
"All at once de colonel's horse it grow ver' wild, it rise up high, and
dance on him hind feet, and--voila! he topple him over backwards, and de
horse fall on de colonel and smaish him--smaish him till he go to die.
Ver' well; de colonel, what does he do? Dey lay him on de steps of de
church. Den he say: 'Bring me a priest, quick, for I go to die.' Nobody
answer. De colonel he say: 'I have a hunder sins all on my mind; dey are
on my heart like a hill. Bring to me de priest,'--he groan like dat.
Nobody speak at first; den somebody say de priest is not here. 'Find me
a priest,' say de colonel; 'find me a priest.' For he tink de priest
will not come, becos' he go to kill de patriots. 'Bring me a priest,'
he say again, 'and all de ten shall go free.' He say it over and over.
He is smaish to pieces, but his head is all right. All at once de doors
of de church open behin' him--what you tink! Everybody's heart it stan'
still, for dere is Mathurin dress as de priest, with a leetla boy to
swing de censer. Everybody say to himself, What is dis? Mathurin is
dress as de priest-ah! dat is a sin. It is what you call blaspheme.
"The English soldier he look up at Mathurin and say: 'Ah, a priest at
last--ah, M'sieu' le Cure, comfort me!' "Mathurin look down on him and
say: 'M'sieu', it is for you to confess your sins, and to have de office
of de Church. But first, as you have promise just now, you must give up
dese poor men, who have fight for what dey tink is right. You will let
dem go free dis women'?'" 'Yes, yes,' say de English colonel; 'dey shall
go free. Only give me de help of de Church at my last.' "Mathurin turn
to de other soldiers and say: 'Unloose de men.'
"De colonel nod his head and say: 'Unloose de men.' Den de men are
unloose, and dey all go away, for Mathurin tell dem to go quick.
"Everybody is ver' 'fraid becos' of what Mathurin do. Mathurin he say to
de soldiers: 'Lift him up and bring him in de church.' Dey bring him up
to de steps of de altar. Mathurin look at de man for a while, and it
seem as if he cannot speak to him; but de colonel say: 'I have give you
my word. Give me comfort of de Church before I die.' He is in ver'
great pain, so Mathurin he turn roun' to everybody dat stan' by, and tell
dem to say de prayers for de sick. Everybody get him down on his knees
and say de prayer. Everybody say: 'Lord have mercy. Spare him, O Lord;
deliver him, O Lord, from Thy wrath!' And Mathurin he pray all de same
as a priest, ver' soft and gentle. He pray on and on, and de face of de
English soldier it get ver; quiet and still, and de tear drop down his
cheek. And just as Mathurin say at de last his sins dey are forgive, he
die. Den Mathurin, as he go away to take off his robes, he say to
himself: 'Miserere mei Deus! miserere mei Deus!'
"So dat is de ting dat Mathurin do to save de patriots from de bullets.
Ver' well, de men dey go free, and when de Governor at Quebec he hear de
truth, he say it is all right. Also de English soldier die in peace and
happy, becos' he tink his sins are forgive. But den--dere is Mathurin
and his sin to pretend he is a priest! The Cure he come back, and dere
is a great trouble.
"Mathurin he is ver' quiet and still. Nobody come near him in him house;
nobody go near to de school. But he sit alone all day in de school, and
he work on de blackboar' and he write on de slate; but dere is no child
come, becos' de Cure has forbid any one to speak to Mathurin. Not till
de next Sunday, den de Cure send for Mathurin to come to de church.
Mathurin come to de steps of de altar; den de Cure say to him:
"'Mathurin, you have sin a great sin. If it was two hunderd years ago
you would be put to death for dat.'
"Mathurin he say ver' soft: 'Dat is no matter. I am ready to die now.
I did it to save de fadders of de children and de husbands of de wives.
I do it to make a poor sinner happy as he go from de world. De sin is
mine.'
"Den de Cure he say: 'De men are free, dat is good; de wives have dere
husbands and de children dere fadders. Also de man who confess his sins
--de English soldier--to whom you say de words of a priest of God, he is
forgive. De Spirit of God it was upon him when he die, becos' you speak
in de name of de Church. But for you, blasphemer, who take upon you de
holy ting, you shall suffer! For penance, all your life you shall teach
a chile no more.'
"Voila, M'sieu' le Cure he know dat is de greatest penance for de poor
Mathurin! Den he set him other tings to do; and every month for a whole
year Mathurin come on his knees all de way to de church, but de Cure say:
'Not yet are you forgive.' At de end of de year Mathurin he look so
thin, so white, you can blow through him. Every day he go to him school
and write on de blackboar', and mark on de slate, and call de roll of de
school. But dere is no answer, for dere is no children. But all de time
de wives of de men dat he have save, and de children, dey pray for him.
And by-and-by all de village pray for him, so sorry.
"It is so for two years; and den dey say dat Mathurin he go to die. He
cannot come on his knees to de church; and de men whose life he save, dey
come to de Cure and ask him to take de penance from Mathurin. De Cure
say: 'Wait till nex' Sunday.' So nex' Sunday Mathurin is carry to de
church--he is too weak to walk on his knees. De Cure he stan' at de
altar, and he read a letter from de Pope, which say dat Mathurin his
penance is over, and he is forgive; dat de Pope himself pray for
Mathurin, to save his soul. So "Mathurin, all at once he stan' up, and
his face it smile and smile, and he stretch out his arms as if dey are on
a cross, and he say, 'Lord, I am ready to go,' and he fall down. But de
Cure catch him as he fall, and Mathurin say: 'De children--let dem come
to me dat I teach dem before I die.' And all de children in de church
dey come close to him, and he sit up and smile at dem, and he say:
"'It is de class in 'rithmetic. How much is three times four?' And dem
all answer: 'T'ree times four is twelve.' And he say: 'May de Twelve
Apostles pray for me!' Den he ask: 'Class in geography--how far is it
roun' de world?' And dey answer: 'Twenty-four t'ousand miles.' He say:
'Good; it is not so far to God! De school is over all de time,' he say.
And dat is only everything of poor Mathurin. He is dead.
"When de Cure lay him down, after he make de Sign upon him, he kiss his
face and say: 'Mathurin, now you are a priest unto God.'"
That was Angele Rouvier's story of Mathurin, the Master of the School,
for whom the women and the children pray in the parish of Pontiac, though
the school has been dismissed these hundred years and more.