A Norman

We had just left Rouen and we followed at full speed the road to Jumieges. The light car was spinning, crossing the meadows; then the horse took the step to climb the Canteleu coast.

This is one of the most magnificent horizons in the world. Behind us Rouen, the city with churches and gothic steeples, worked like ivory trinkets; opposite, Saint-Sever, the suburb of manufactures, which erects its thousand smoking chimneys on the great sky opposite the thousand sacred bell-towers of the old city.

Here the spire of the cathedral, the highest peak of human monuments; and there, the "Fire Pump" of the "Lightning", its rival almost as inordinate, and which passes one meter the most giant of the pyramids of Egypt.

In front of us the Seine unfolded, undulating, strewn with islands, bordered on the right by white cliffs crowned by a forest, to the left of immense meadows which another forest limited, there, all over there.

From place to place, large ships at anchor along the banks of the broad river. Three enormous steamers were leaving, one after the other, towards Le Havre; and a chain of buildings, consisting of a three-master, two schooners, and a brig, was going up towards Rouen, dragged by a little tug, vomiting a cloud of black smoke.

My companion, born in the country, did not even look at this surprising landscape; but he smiled incessantly; he seemed to laugh in himself. Suddenly he burst out: "Oh, you're going to see something funny, the chapel to Father Mathieu, that's nanan, my good."

I looked at him with a surprised look. He said :

- I will make you feel a smell of Normandy that will remain in your nose. Father Mathieu is the most beautiful Norman in the province and his chapel is one of the wonders of the world, neither more nor less; but I will give you a few words of explanation first.

Father Mathieu, also known as "La Boisson", is a former sergeant-major who has returned to his native country. It unites in admirable proportions to make a perfect set the joke of the old soldier to the finesse malice of Normand. Back home, he became, thanks to multiple protections and incredible skills, guardian of a miraculous chapel, a chapel protected by the Virgin and frequented mainly by pregnant girls. He baptized his marvelous statue, "Our Lady of the Belly-Belly," and he treats it with a certain mocking familiarity that does not exclude respect. He composed himself and printed a special prayer for his GOOD VIRGIN. This prayer is a masterpiece of ironic irony, of a Norman spirit in which mockery is mingled with the fear of the HOLY, with the superstitious fear of the secret influence of something. He does not believe much in his boss; however, he believes in it a little, out of prudence, and he cleans it up, by politics.

Here is the beginning of this astonishing prayer: "Our good Madame the Virgin Mary, natural patroness of the mother-daughters in this country and all over the world, protect your servant who has missed in a moment of oblivion".

This petition ends thus: "Do not forget me especially with your holy Spouse and intercede with God the Father to grant me a good husband like yours".

This prayer, forbidden by the clergy of the country, is sold by him under the mantle, and passes for salutary to those who recite it with anointing.

In short, he speaks of the good Virgin, as did his master the valet de chambre of a dreaded prince, confidant of all the little intimate secrets. He knows a lot of funny stories about him, whispering to friends, after drinking.

But you will see for yourself.

As the revenues provided by the Patroness did not seem to him sufficient, he annexed to the main Virgin a small business of Saints. He holds them all or almost all. The missing place in the chapel, he stored at the stake, where he leaves them as soon as a faithful asks them. He himself fashioned these statues of wood, improbably comical, and painted them all in green at full color, a year, which was painted his house. You know that the Saints heal diseases; but everyone has his specialty; and we must not make confusion or mistakes. They are jealous of each other like cabotins.

In order not to be mistaken, the old women come to consult Mathieu.

For earaches, what is the best saint?

-But there is Saint Osyme that is good; St. Pamphile is not bad.

It's not everything.

As Mathieu has some rest time, he drinks; but he drinks as an artist, convinced, so that he is gray regularly every night. He is gray, but he knows it; he knows it so well that he notes every day the exact degree of his intoxication. This is his principal occupation; the chapel only comes after.

And he invented - listen well and cling to you - he invented the drums.

The instrument does not exist, but Mathieu's observations are as precise as those of a mathematician.

You hear him say constantly: "From Monday, I spent forty-five".

Or: "I was between fifty-two and fifty-eight".

Or: "I was sixty-six to seventy".

Or: "Crazy creature, I saw myself in the fifties, then I realize that I was in the seventy-five"!

He is never mistaken.

He says he has not reached the meter, but as he admits that his observations cease to be accurate when he spent ninety, we can not absolutely rely on his assertion.

When Mathieu admits to having spent ninety, rest assured, he was gray-haired.

In these conditions, his wife, Melie, another wonder, gets into a rage. She is waiting for him on his door when he comes home, and she screams: "Here you are, bastard, pig, drunkard!"

Then Mathieu, who no longer laughs, stands in front of her, and in a severe tone: "Shut up, Melie, it's not the moment to talk.

If she continues to shout, he approaches, and the trembling voice: "Mouth more, I'm in the ninety, I do not measure, I'll knock, take care!".

So, Melie retreats.

If she wants to come back to the subject the next day, he laughs in her face and replies: "Come on, let's talk enough, it's gone." As long as I have not reached the meter, there's no harm. I pass the meter, I allow myself to correct myself, my word! "

We had won the top of the coast. The road sank into the admirable forest of Roumare.

Autumn, marvelous autumn, mingled its gold and purple with the last verdant verdure, as if drops of melted sun had poured from the sky into the thickness of the woods.

We crossed Duclair; then, instead of continuing on Jumieges, my friend turned to the left, and, taking a side road, sank into the thicket.

And soon, from the top of a large coast we discovered again the beautiful valley of the Seine and the winding river lying at our feet.

On the right, a very small building covered with slates and surmounted by a steeple high as an umbrella leaned against a pretty house with green shutters, all dressed with honeysuckle and rosebushes.

A loud voice shouted, "Here are some friends!" And Mathieu appeared on the threshold. He was a man of sixty, thin, with a goatee and long white mustaches.

My companion shook his hand, introduced me, and Mathieu led us into a cool kitchen that also served as a room. He said :

"I do not have a distinguished apartment, sir. I like not to get away from the fricot. Cookware, you see, it keeps company.

Then, turning to my friend:

- Why do you come on a Thursday? You know very well that it's a day of consultation with my Patronne. I can not go out that afternoon.

And, running to the door, he uttered a frightful bellow: "Meli-ee!" who had to lift the heads of the sailors from the ships descending or ascending the river, there, at the bottom of the hollow valley.

Melie did not answer.

Then Mathieu winked mischievously.

- A is not happy after me, you see, because yesterday I found myself in the nineties.

My neighbor laughed: "In the nineties, Mathieu! How did you do ?

Mathieu replied:

- I'll tell you. Last year, I found only twenty apricot apple razors. there could not be; but, to make cider, there is only that. So I made a piece that I put yesterday pierced. For nectar, it's nectar; You tell me the news. I had here Polyte; I drink a drink, and then another shot, without getting drunk (we would drink until hand), so that, suddenly blow, I feel a coolness in the stomach. I said to Polyte: "If we drank a glass of fine to warm up!" Y consent. But this is fine, it fires you in the body, so it was necessary to come back to cider. But here's that freshness in heat and heat in freshness, I realize that I am in the nineties. Polyte was not far from the meter.

The door opened. Melie appeared, and immediately before saying hello: "... Pig pig, you both had the meter".

Then Mathieu got angry: "Do not say that, Melie, do not say that, I've never been to the meter".

We had an exquisite lunch, in front of the door, under two lime trees, next to the little chapel of "Notre-Dame du Gros-Ventre" and in front of the immense landscape. And Mathieu told us, with mockery mixed with unexpected credulity, incredible stories of miracles.

We had drunk a lot of sweet, spicy and sweet cider, fresh and exhilarating, that he preferred to all liquids, and we smoked our pipes, straddling our chairs, when two good women appeared.

They were old, dry, curved. After having saluted, they asked for Saint Blanc. Mathieu winked at us and replied:

- I'll give you that.

And he disappeared into his stake.

He remained there for five minutes; then he came back with an appalled fig. He raised his arms:

"I do not know where he is, I can find him; I am sure that I had it.

Then, making his hands a megaphone, he roared again: "Meli-ee!" From the back of the court his wife replied:

- What's wrong?

- Even if he is holy white! I find it in the pyre.

So, Melie threw this explanation:

"Is not that the one you took the other week to plug the hole in the rabbit hut?"

Mathieu shuddered: Name of a thunder, it is well!

So he said to the women, "Follow me".

She followed. We did as much, sick of muffled laughter.

Indeed, Saint Blanc, stung on the ground like a pile, stained with mud and garbage, served as an angle to the rabbit hut.

As soon as they saw him, the two good women fell on their knees, crossed themselves, and began to murmur "Oremus." But Mathieu hurried: "Wait, you're in the dung, I'll give you a bundle of straw."

He went to check the straw and made them a prie-Dieu. Then, considering his muddy saint, and, probably fearing a discredit for his commerce, he added:

- I'll get you a bit.

He took a bucket of water, a brush, and vigorously washed the man, while the two old women were still praying.

Then, when he had finished, he added: "Now there is no more harm". And he brought us a drink.

As he carried the glass to his mouth, he stopped, and, with a somewhat confused air, said: "It's alright, when I put Saint Blanc in the rabbits, I thought that It was two years ago that we did not ask for more, but the saints, you see, it never goes by. "

He drank and resumed.

- Come on, let's drink another drink. With friends do not go to less than fifty; and I'm not only thirty-eight.