“Here is the beginning of this extraordinary prayer:
“ ‘Our good Lady, the Virgin Mary, natural Patroness of girl-mothers, in this country and in all the earth, protect your servant who has sinned in a moment of forgetfulness.’
“The supplication terminates thus:
“ ‘Especially, do not forget to speak for me to your sainted Husband, and intercede with God the Father that he may accord me a good husband like your own.’
“This prayer, forbidden by the clergy of the country, is sold by him privately, and is regarded as helpful by those who repeat it with unction. In fact, he speaks of the good Virgin as a valet might of his master, some redoubtable prince, knowing all his little intimate secrets. He knows a host of amusing stories about her which he whispers amongst friends after he has been drinking.
“But you must see for yourself.
“As the revenue furnished by the Patroness did not seem sufficient, he has added to his chief asset, the Virgin, a little trade in saints. He keeps them all, or nearly all. And, as room was lacking in the chapel, he stocked them in the woodshed, from which he gets them whenever the faithful ask for them. He has carved these wonderfully comical statuettes himself, out of wood, and painted them all green, a solid colour, one year when they painted his house. You know the saints heal maladies, but each has his specialty; and one must not run into error or confusion in these things. They are jealous one of the other, like play-actors.
“So that they may not make any mistake, the poor old women come and consult Matthew.
“ ‘For bad ears, what saint is best?’ they say.
“ ‘Well, there is Saint Osymus who is good; and there is also Saint Pamphilius, who is not bad,’ he tells them.
“That is not all. When Matthew has time on his hands, he drinks. But he drinks like an artist, one that is sure of himself, so much so that he is tipsy regularly every evening. He is tipsy, but he knows it; he knows it so well that he notes each day the exact degree of his drunkenness. It is his principal occupation. The chapel comes afterward.
“And he has invented—listen to this and prepare for a surprise—he has invented the boozometer. The instrument does not yet exist, but Matthew’s observations are as precise as those of a mathematician. You will hear him say continually:
“ ‘Since Monday, I have not gone above forty-five.’ Or, ‘I was between fifty-two and fifty-eight,’ or ‘I had sixty-six to seventy,’ or, perhaps, ‘Ah! confound it, I believed I was in the fifties, when here I find I was at seventy-five!’
“He never makes a mistake. He says that he has not yet reached the hundredth degree, but, as he admits that his observations cease to be precise after he has passed ninety, one cannot absolutely rely upon this statement.
“When Matthew recognizes that he has passed ninety, you may be sure that he is really tipsy. On these occasions, his wife, Mélie, another marvel, works herself into great anger. She waits for him at the door when he enters, and shrieks: ‘Here you are, you nasty pig, you drunken good-for-nothing.’
“Then Matthew, no longer laughing, plants himself before her, and in severe tone says: ‘Be still, Mélie, this is no time to talk. Wait till tomorrow.’
“If she continues to vociferate, he approaches her, and with trembling voice says: ‘Shut your jaw; I am in the nineties; I can no longer measure; I am going to hurt someone; take care!’
“Then Mélie beats a retreat.
“If she tries the next day to return to the subject, he laughs in her face and answers: ‘Come, come! enough of that; that is all over. So long as I have not reached the hundredth degree, there is no harm done. But if I pass that, I will allow you to correct me, I give you my word!’ ”
We had reached the summit of the hill. The road lay through the wonderful forest of Roumare. The autumn, the marvelous autumn, mixed her gold and purple with the last green leaves, still vivid, as if some drops of sunlight had rained down from the sky into the thickest of the wood.
We crossed Duclair; then, instead of continuing toward Jumièges, my friend turned to the left, and, taking a shortcut, struck into the wood. And soon, from the summit of a green hill, we discovered anew the magnificent valley of the Seine and the tortuous river itself, winding along at our feet.
Upon the right, a little building, with a slate roof and a clock-tower as high as an umbrella, leaned against a pretty house with green shutters, all clothed in honeysuckle and roses.
A loud voice cried out: “Here are some friends!” And Matthew appeared upon the threshold. He was a man of sixty, thin, wearing a pointed beard and long, white mustaches. My companion shook hands with him and introduced me. Matthew made us enter a cool, clean kitchen, which also served as a living-room.
“I, sir,” said Matthew, “have no distinguished apartment. I like better not to get too far from the eatables. The pots and pans, you see, are company.” Then, turning toward my friend, he added:
“Why have you come on Thursday? You know well that it is My Lady’s consultation day. I cannot go out this afternoon.”
Then, running to the door, he uttered a terrible call: “Mé‑li‑ee!” which must have made the sailors raise their heads in the ships going up and down the river, at the bottom of the valley.
Mélie did not answer.
Then Matthew winked maliciously: “She is not pleased with me, you see, because yesterday I was up to ninety.”
My neighbour began to laugh. “Ninety, Matthew! How was that?”
Matthew answered: “I will tell you.
