Baptiste Larocque, legends of French Canada

Front matter

BAPTISTE

LAROCQUE

Legends ef French Canada

Preface

The object of this little book is to make accessible to English readers a more compre¬ hensive collection than has yet been attempted of the legends which are current in French Canada. It is hoped that the selection is wide enough, that it includes narratives sufficiently varied in theme and in mood, to show some¬ thing of the versatility of a figure that we are in danger of losing (since book-lore is the enemy of folk-lore), — the French-Canadian conteur.

He is perplexing in his contradictions, half poet and half buffoon. He can be sad and gay at the same moment; he can be pious without losing his sense of humour, and utterly flip¬ pant without impairing his reverence towards the things that are sacred.

The tone of many of his tales, in which personages of another world are introduced

VI

PREFACE with easy familiarity, is reminiscent of the early miracle plays, which were so popular in the Middle Ages. A French-Canadian once said to me, “We love the devil ; he’s lots of fun.” So that now, as in the fourteenth century, the devil plays the part of comedian, without, of course, altogether losing his dreadfulness.

My acknowledgments are due to many col¬ lectors of folk-lore in French-Canada, and in particular to Miss R. MacCosham, of Edmon¬ ton, to whom I am indebted for the incidents in “A Ghost for Forty Dollars,” and to Mr. C. M. Barbeau, of Ottawa, who has permitted me to dip into his extensive collection of Canadian folk-tales for the stories about Ti-Jean.

Ti-Jean Goes to Heaven .

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Chapter I. The Legend Of The Perce Rock

THE old habitant buttered his corn, and lifted it to his wrinkled face. His bright eyes twinkled over the yellow cob at a little boy, a summer visitor at a near-by cot¬ tage, who sat with chin on hand at the table, in the glow of the coal oil lamp. The boy was clamouring, “Tell me another story, Ba’tiste, won’t you tell me another story?”

Baptiste munched on at his corn till the cob was bare; then, tossing it over to the table, he wiped his mouth with the back of a hairy hand. “Well,” he said, “w’at you want, eh? Don’t your modder tole you stories enough at bed-tam? W’at for you come to me? I nevaire tole any story, me. Anyt’ing w’at I tole you was true.”

“You promised yesterday to tell me a true

story about a ghost ship,” said the little boy.

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“Dat’s w’at you want, eh?” said Baptiste. “Well, mebbe dat’s all right. I can tole you plenty true story. Dis one about de ghos’ sheep is jus’ so true as all dem odder ones I tole you before.

“How you lak dis true story begin? Once upon a long tam ago — but how long I forget, me. You ask in school — de beeg black high rock call de Rocher de Perce , she stan’ all alone in de sea, look out on de Golfe St. Lau¬ rent. But she’s not alone now. If you look, you’ll see she’s got anodder leetle rock close beside on de water, jus’ lak boat she was sail dere. De new one, she’ call de ghos’ sheep, w’ich I tole you about now.

“One tam feller an’ hees girl was leeve on France, dat’s on odder side Atlantic. Dey was bot’ w’at you call noblesse. She’s name was Blanche de Beaumont an’ hees Raymond de Nerac; two ver’ nice peop’. But Raymond he not have it easy. W’en you want ver’ nice girl lak dat you got to fight, an’ mebbe odder feller he not fight straight. Dat’s de way; you fin’ out one tam, mebbe.

“Dis odder feller, w’ich he was want de girl heemself, he spik on de King, an’ ask heem he’s sen’ Raymond somew’ere else. So de King he

THE LEGEND OF THE PERCE ROCK 3 say, ‘Raymond, you can go on New France for fight dose Iroquois. Dat’s de place for ver’ brave man lak you.’

“So Raymond he go off. Of course he spile wit’ Blanche, an’ say, ‘I come back soon. You don’t worry.’ An’ she say, ‘I will wait, me.’ But Raymond he not come back soon at all; he stay an’ fight in Canada. Someone in France was tak’ de ver’ good care de King he kip dat feller always was fight de Iroquois.

“Dat happen year af’er year, till at las’ Blanche she get tire’ wait. But w’at she do, dat girl? Geeve heem up? You don’t know. She say, ‘He not come to me, I go on heem, you bet.’ Dat’s de kin’ of girl!

“Of course she get somebody come wit’ her; dat. was one oncle, nice feller, t’ink he lak put some money on de fur trade, mebbe mak’ heemself reech in Canada. Dose two dey go on beeg boat was sail for Quebec , an’ ever’t’ing she go ver’ nice at firs’. Not too seeck. But w’at dey should see one morning! Beeg sheep wit’ a black flag, was pirate boat she sail af’er dem. So soon de boats dey come togedder, bang! de pirates dey jomp on board an’ den dey fight. You should hear ! Frenchmen fight lak wolf, but pirate dey got too moch musket.

Blanche she’s oncle he get keell, an’ den de captinne, an’ sailors dey get keell too. De pirates tak’ de sheep an’ all w’at’s in. Pirate Captinne he tak’ Blanche for hees prize, an’ dey sail away.

“Blanche she nearly was go mad. She tole heem all about, an’ ask heem won’t he tak’ her to New France, w’ere she can fin’ Raymond, dat’s de man she love. Pirate captinne he laugh but he swear he do w’at she ask an’ tak’ her to New France all right.

“So she was lef’ by herself till one day, dey see de lan’ ahead. ‘Dat’s de place you ask, New France,’ say de captinne. ‘Now I have do w’at you say, you mus’ do w’at I say. You got to be my wife, eh?’ An’ he smile jus’ lak devil heemself.

“Den Blanche she scream an’ jomp right off de deck into de sea. De wave, she close on top dat girl an’ kip her safe; de pirates dey can’t fin’.

“Dat geeve dose bad feller w’at you call de creepy. Dey sail on down de coas’ nex’ day, till de sheep she come on close on de Rocher de Perce; an’ de captinne, w’en he look up on de beeg black rock, he can’t help sheever. W’at he should see dere! Right on top of de rock a

THE LEGEND OF THE PERCE' ROCK 5 ghos’ in w’ite wit’ han’s she was lif’ on de heaven jus’ lak ask for help — dat was Blanche de Beaumont, dey all can see. De pirates dey stan’ still, too scare for spik. Blanche, she bring down her han’s till dey point on de sheep. At de instant, pirate sheep, captinne, all hees men, dey was turn into stone.

“You can see it. Black rock look lak a sheep in sail close by de Rocker de Perce, she’s still dere. Mebbe de win’ an’ de sea dey knock her about a leetle, but de sheep’s still dere lak always. An’ always she’ll stay. W’at dey say on dat coas’, de feeshermen an’ sailor? Sometarn in de fog dey see Blanche an’ Raymond (he was keell on fight wit’ de Iroquois) dey come back togedder for see de sheep was nevaire come out of de stone. An’ nevaire she will, so pirates dey always can see.”

Chapter II. The Legend Of The Phantom Fleet

UT LIKE ghost ships,” said the little boy | next evening. “Are there any more?”- “Lots an’ lots,” said Baptiste. “W’y, listen here, down in de Golfe, on de odder side, dat’s nort’ of Anticosti, you’ll fin’ a whole ghos’ fleet go plonge aroun’ on foggy nights, an’ wreck itself over again on de rocks jus’ lak w’at happen dere long tam ago. Dat was call Vamiral fantome.”

The little boy was puzzled. “Why should it keep on getting wrecked?” he said.

“W’y should le bon Dieu leeve on Heaven?” retorted Baptiste. “I don’t know, me, but he leeve dere jus’ de sam’. Dis fleet got wreck one night on de lie aux Oeufs, an’ she kip on getting wreck till de work she’s en’. I tole you, dat’s all.

“I don’t know moch story about, only few t’ings lak dis. Ver’ long tam ago, mebbe two-

t’ree hondre’ year, de Bastonnais dey sen’ up

THE LEGEND OF THE PHANTOM FLEET 7 one beeg fleet for tak’ Quebec. It was so beeg dat w’en it come on de St. Laurent you can’t see de water for w’ite sail. Dey have sailor an’ soldier, lots of dem, for mak’ dis capture one sure t’ing easy. Musket an’ cannon all over, wit’ plenty food; an’ some of dem bring deir wife for settle down comfortable af’er Quebec she’s taken. Dat was gran’ sight, but not for long tarn.

“W’en de peop’ at Quebec dey hear about dis beeg' fleet she’s will come, dey feel purty bad. Dey have hard tarn enough wit’out fight on de Engleesh again, but dey got plenty cour¬ age an’ dey mak’ it all ready for fight de Bastonnais. Even dose feller w’ich was leeve on de lie des Borders, w’at you call He d’Orleans, dey get mad also. Jean Pierre Lavallee, he’s a sorcier too, heem, he buiP shack on de islan’ for mak’ de bad weader, lak sorciers dey always do, for kip back de Engleesh. Purty soon, you can see de steam from hees kettle she mak’ beeg fog will drif’ down de reever for catch dat fleet on de Golfe,

“Leetle tarn before fog she’s ready, de Eng¬ leesh dey catch one leetle French sheep, an’ tak’ de captinne, was name Paradis, for pilot de fleet in de reever. He was smart leetle feller, dat sea-wolf, have been mebbe forty tam up an’ down to Quebec. Dey steeck peestol on hees head, lak dis,” — Baptiste held a doubled fist against the little boy’s temple, — “an’ say, ‘We geeve you nice present five hondre’ dollar, spot cash, if you pilot dis fleet for mak’ de veesit on Quebec.’

“He smile, dat feller, an’ say, ‘All right, you Engleesh, you leave it to me. I can feex.’ An’ he feex dem sure t’ing, I tole you.

“Nex’ day de fog she come down, an’ cover all de sheep lak a blanket. Two-t’ree days she lak dat, an’ de win’ she come up on de las’ night of all. De sea-wolf he say, ‘Dat’s all right; you don’t worry. You leave it to me.’ An’ de fleet she sail on.

“Af’er w’ile one feller he come ron on Par¬ adis, an’ say, ‘Beeg noise ahead, jus’ lak some rocks.’

“But Paradis he only say, ‘Dat’s all right. I know w’at.’ An’ de fleet she go on.

“Purty soon de a’miral heemself he come up an’ say, ‘W’at dat noise, see? Soun’ lak breakers. If you play any treeck, I shoot you dead, me.’

“Paradis he only say, ‘Dat’s all right.’ An’ de fleet she sail on.

THE LEGEND OF THE PHANTOM FLEET 9

“Den de sailors dey shout, ‘Breaker! We go on de rock!’ Sure t’ing, de fog she lif’ one meenute, an’ dey see water ahead was w’ite w’ere it hit on de rocks an’ jomp on de air. A’miral shout curse on Paradis, an’ point hees peestol. De ole sea-dog say, ‘Dat’s all right; you can shoot now, if you lak. I tole you I feex it.’

“Dat a’miral, he nevaire was shoot. Before he can pull trigger, hees sheep she go on de rocks. Sapre tonnerre! You should hear! De win’ she was yell, an’ de water, an’ de sailor dey yell too, an’ dat sheep she go bang on de rocks an’ bus’ herself lak t’onder.”

“Was Paradis drowned too?” asked the little boy.

“Paradis? Oh, yes,” said Baptiste. “An’ two-t’ree t’ousan’ Engleesh dey go drown wit’ heem. Body lie all up an’ down de coas’. Dat feller Paradis he have done w’at you call hees bit, eh ? No more veesit from de Bastonnais till ver’ long tarn.

“Paradis, I t’ink he lak dat place; he come back often, on foggy night. My oncle, was feesh on dat coas’, he tole me w’at he see one tarn — eight black sheep wit’ sailor in fonny clo’es ron aroun’ on deck an’ shout, an’ all dose boats sail right slap on de rocks by Pointe aux Anglais, cracky-bang ! in de fog. He can hear. Dat was Paradis come back for have anodder game on Vamiral fantome.”

Chapter III. The Legend Of Cadieux

“Rossignolet, va dire a ma maitresse,

A mes enfants qu’un adieu je leur laisse,

Que j’ ai garde mon amour et ma foi,

Et desormais faut renoncer a moi.”

WHEN the little boy came in one even¬ ing, he heard Baptiste singing softly to himself one of those old chansons that dignified many a French-Canadian farm¬ house before the phonograph intruded its rag¬ time. The old man stopped, on hearing the patter of small feet on the porch, and busied himself with putting wood on the fire.

“I didn’t know you could sing,” said the little boy abruptly.

Baptiste rattled the lid of the stove, a little ashamed at having been overheard. “Me? I not sing,” he said. “I jus’ tole myself some story in tune, dat’s all, lak I tole you story wit’- out any tune sometam.”

“Was that a story?” asked the little boy eagerly.

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“Dat was w’at we call Complainte de Cadieux,” said Baptiste. “I can tole you story about heem, a real story, lak hist’ry book, an’ happen in dis country, le Canada , w’at you leeve in yourself. Dis not a once-upon-a-long-tam-ago story; dis one about de tam your great-great-gran’ fadder still was walk roun’ hees place.

“Cadieux he was han’some yo’ng feller, leeve on Quebec. He have a great deal w’at you call eemagination ; he write some poetry, an’ he want to see de work, so he marry a nice Indian girl, an’ go leeve on de woods for hunt an’ trap. Sometam he mak’ up chansons an’ write dem p’r’aps on a piece of birch-bark — but dey all was get los’, only one, w’at I shall tole you in a meenute.

“In summer he go wit’ hees wife an’ some Indians, her peop’, for camp at de portage Rock of High Mountain by de Seven Chutes, dat’s on Ottawa Reever at de Gran’ Calumet. Dey mak’ wigwams an’ stay dere for buy fur from de Indian w’at come down from de north Cadieux he sometam do beeg beesness dat way, tak’ dose fur back to Montreal an’ sell on de trader.

“You mustn’t forget dere was bad Indians dose days, de Iroquois, w’at come sometam from de sout’ for keell ever’body, ver’ fierce an’ ver’ cruel. Sometam mebbe I tole you about Iroquois witch, la Jongleuse — she mak’ you sheever. Dese feller dey wait on de portage for hunters come down, an’ scalp dem, lak dis.”

Baptiste caught the little boy’s hair and swept a finger in a circle about his scalp.

“One day w’ile Cadieux an’ hees wife leeve ver’ nice on de wigwam by de Seven Chutes, one Algonquin brave, dat was good Indian, ron in for tole heem de Iroquois dey come t’rough de woods for surprise hees camp.

“Dat was bad feex Cadieux an’ hees peop’ dey be in. Dey got canoe, but above on de reever was beeg Falls of de Gran’ Calumet, an’ below was bad rapeeds of de Seven Chutes, w’at canoe she nevaire get over. W’at he should do? An’ de Iroquois dey watch by de portage for see no one get by.

“Cadieux he t’ink queeck, an’ dis w’at he say: ‘Wife an’ you Indians, you get in canoe an’ go down de rapeeds. Mebbe you can go t’rough; I pray de good Ste. Anne, she’s look af’er you. Me an’ Algonquin, we stay behin’ an’ shoot gun off for mak’ dose Iroquois come away from de reever an’ not see you go by. Mebbe we can get away too, af’er dat. You sen’ back some rescue from Montreal, if you come on safe.’

“So hees wife an’ her peop’ dey get all ready de canoe in de boosh, an’ so soon dey hear gun shoot off in de woods behin’, dey shove canoe on de reever an’ go in de rapeeds. De wave was beeg, de water she boil an’ hiss, an’ de rocks steeck up lak black devils for grab dem. Dey not know w’ich way to steer. Jus’ w’en it get ver’ bad an’ de water jomp high, dey see in front woman in w’ite was float on de spray an show dem w’ich way dey should go. Cadieux’ wife, she know it de good Ste. Anne, was watch af’er voyageur on de reever, lak Cadieux have tole her all about. De reever jomp over de rocks, but de w’ite lady she show dem safe t’rough ; an’ dey paddle long tarn hard till dey reach de Lac of Two Mountain by Montreal.

“So soon hees frien’s dey hear w’at was hap¬ pen on Cadieux, dey sen’ out good Frenchmen for rescue. W’en dose feller come on de por¬ tage of Rock of High Mountain by de Gran’ Calumet, dey fin’ plenty dead Iroquois, an’ one dead Algonquin, but no sign of Cadieux — only a hut made of branches w’at look lak somebody was leeve dere, but nobody in it; so dey go up farder in de boosh, look all roun’, t’ink he mebbe have folie des bois an’ walk in one circle. Af’er two days, dey come back on de hut, an’ w’at dey should see ! A beeg cross on de groun’, an’ beside it a grave jus’ deeg out, wit’ Cadieux he was lie in it. He have deeg it heemself, an’ lie in w’en he know he mus’ die. He cover hees face wit’ a piece birch-bark, w’ich have words wrote on it; dat was de Complainte he write on heemself for tole de story w’at happen before he die.

“Af’er hees wife was go on de rapeeds, he shoot at de Iroquois for keep dem away from de reever so dey won’t see de canoe. Den he hide on de woods, w’ere de Iroquois dey can’t fin’ heem at all, till dey go on away. Algon¬ quin, he was keell, ver’ firs’ t’ing, an’ Cadieux he leeve all alone. He walk in de woods for Montreal, but af’er w’ile he get seeck, so he come on back to Rock of High Mountain, an’ buil’ heem a hut by de portage for wait on de rescue. One day, w’at he hear but de noise of men talk! He t’ink dat mus’ be Iroquois dey come back, so he go on off leetle way on de boosh. Purty soon de rescue dey come on sight, an’ w’en he see hees own frien’s, dat was too moch for seeck man. He was so glad, he can’t spik, an’ he drop on de groun’. De rescue go on away wit’out see heem at all. Af’er dat he come back on de hut for write hees Complaint e. Den he deeg de grave w’ich he lie in, an’ die jus’ leetle w’ile before hees frien’s dey come back. You can see hees grave dere, if you go, by de Rock of High Mountain.

“Petit rocher de la Haute Montagne,” the old man’s voice quavered the refrain,

“Petit Rocher de la Haute Montagne,

Quand vous chantez, me rattach’ a la vie:

Ah! si ]’ avais des ailes comme vous,

Seul en ces bois que j’ai eu de soucis !

Pensant tou jours a mes si chers amis,

Les Iroquois les auraient-ils tues?

CJn de ces jours que m’etant eloigne,

En revenant je vis une fumee;

Je me suis dit: Ah! Grand Dieu qu’est ceci?

Les Iroquois m’ont-ils pris mon logis?

Je me suis mis un peu a l’ambassade,

Afin de voir si c’etait embuscade;

Je reste seul .... Pas un qui me console,

Quand la mort vient par un si grand desole !

Un loup hurlant vint pres de ma cabane Voir si mon feu n’avait plus de boucane;

Je lui ai dit: Retire toi d’ici;

Car, par ma foi, je perc’ra ton habit!

Vient se percher tout pres de ma toiture :

Je lui ai dit: Mangeur de chair humaine,

Va-t’en la-bas, dans ces bois et marais,

Va-t’en plus loin, laisse-moi en repos!

Rossignolet va dire a ma maitresse,

A mes enfants qu’un adieu je leur laisse,

Que j’ai garde mon amour et ma foi,

Et desormais faut renoncer a moi !

Chapter IV. The Legend Of Father Labrosse

THE sound of the Vespers bell floated over the fields from the white church down the river, as the little boy pattered into Baptiste’s kitchen.

“Sit down in dat nice beeg chair,” said Bap¬ tiste kindly, “an’ talk wit’ ole man. We don’t go to church at night, you an’ me; you’re too yo’ng, I’m too ole. But I lak sit here an’ listen on de bell. You can hear? Ever’ tarn I hear de soun’ lak dat, I t’ink on de bell dat ring on de St. Laurent w’en ole Fadder Labrosse he was die. You know de story about? No?

“Dis Fadder Labrosse, he was ver’ good man leeve a long tarn ago on Tadoussac, w’ere de Saguenay she come out of de hill for join on de St. Laurent. He have de beeg parish, up an’ down de reever, an’ he veesit many place all de way from Ile-aux-C oudres to de Baie de CJialeur. At las’ he get too ole for travel on de

water, so he stay on Tadoussac, by leetle

THE LEGEND OF FATHER LABROSSE 19 church w’ich have a ver’ ole church bell — You can’t fin’ so ole one in Canada now, only dat one, w’ich you still can see dere.

“One tam af’er supper (it’s a beeg storm dis night) Fadder Labrosse he go in frien’s house close beside for have de nice smoke an’ play card for a w’ile. De evening go fas’. At las’ Fadder Labrosse he say to hees frien’s, T will say Good-bye now. It’s de las’ tam I will say it.’

“Hees frien’s dey laugh, an’ say, ‘Oh, no, you will come back nex’ day, mebbe, bring de pipe.’

“But Fadder Labrosse, he shak’ hees head. ‘I will die dis night on midnight,’ he say. ‘You will hear de church bell soun’ t’ree tam. Please mak’ me de promise. It’s de las’ t’ing I ask on dis work. Go for Fadder Compain, dat’s de pries’ on Ile-aux-Coudres; you will fin’ he’s wait for you by de shore. He will come mak’ de prayer for me w’en my body it is put in de grave.’

“Dey look on each odder, an’ say, ‘But Fad¬ der, de win’ she’s so bad to-night. We can’t tak’ de boat out in storm lak dis; too far!’

“But Fadder Labrosse he only say, ‘You don’t be afraid. De win’ will not hurt you at all. You remember dat tarn on de Lac Gali¬ lee?’

“Hees frien’s dey stan’ still, w’en he go, not know w’at dey should t’ink. Dey sit on de room w’ere he was, a long tarn. At las’ it get late, an’ w’en it come near de midnight, dey watch de clock an’ listen. W’en de clock han’ say twelve, dey hear soun’ on de air, lak you hear jus’ a meenute ago. Dat’s de church bell, she’s ring ver’ slow, lak on funeral, one — two — t’ree tarn. Den dey jomp up an’ ron on de church, go inside, an’ w’at dey see dere? In front of de altar, Fadder Labrosse he lie on de groun’. Dey call hees name, but he can’t hear; he’s dead lak he say.

“Dey remember de promise, dose feeshermen, so dey go down to de water an’ push off de boat. De win’ shout lak devil, an’ de wave she look beeg an’ break on de air; but w’erever dey go it’s all quiet in dat place. De boat she go so fas’ dey can’t believe.

“Dat sam’ night, on de Ile-aux-Coudres, good Fadder Compain he sit on hees chair, af’er supper, for read de book an’ t’ink about plan for help hees parish. W’ile he read to heemself, he come on de place w’ere it say about Aaron, ‘An’ de soun’ of de bell, you. will

THE LEGEND OF FATHER LABROSSE 21 hear it w’en he go on de holy place before God.’ Fadder Compain he put hees book down; he remember Fadder Labrosse one tarn w’en he come on Ile-aux-C oudres he was read in dat place about de bell, an’ he say den, ‘W’en I die, you will hear it. De bell soun’ t’ree tam.’

“He sit up ver’ late dat night, Fadder Com¬ pain, t’ink on ole Fadder Labrosse an’ de work he do, many place on de St. Laurent. He hear de win’ outside, she’s blow on de tree, male’ it crack, an’ he pray for de sailor mus’ work on de water dat night. At las’ it come on, twelve o’clock, an’ he get up for go to hees bed. He stop an’ listen. W’at he should hear! De church bell she soun’, ver’ slow lak over de grave, one — two — t’ree tam. He remember de words, ‘De soun’ of de bell, you can hear, w’en he go on de holy place before God’; so he fall on hees knee, an’ pray for de soul of Fadder Labrosse.

“Den he get heemself ready, an’ go down on de shore. In de morning, before it was light, he hear dose feeshermen from Tadoussac. He say, ‘I am here, all ready. You will tak’ me to Fadder Labrosse; he is die on midnight.’

“W’en dey ask heem how he can know, he tole dem about de bell was ring on hees church.

An’ it’s happen lak dat all up an down de St. Laurent. W’erever Fadder Labrosse have veesit, de soun’ of de bell was heard, t’ree tam, w’en he die.”

Chapter V. The Midnight Mass

THE little boy’s father came with him one evening, ostensibly to beg an extra quart of milk from Mme. Larocque, but really to hear one of Baptiste’s stories. Bap¬ tiste was a little reticent with the newcomer at first; but, after a few minutes with one of his visitor’s cigars, he settled into his usual vein.

“Have you hear about Jacques Valois?” he asked; “de tarn he meet de pries’ wit’out any head? Mebbe I can kip your leetle boy quiet a few meenute if I tole heem dat story. I will try.

“Dis feller, Jacques Valois, I don’t know moch about, only he leeve near Montreal, an’ one night he was walk ver’ late wit’ some frien’s, dat’s odder yo’ng feller, by de church of He Dupas. Fonny t’ing, it’s near midnight, but de church she’s lit up, lak beeg blaze in¬ side. All de windows dey shine out on de night, mak’ w’ite tracks on de road, an’ church door she’s wide open. No smoke, no noise at all, jus’ beeg light, was shine lak for service.

“Course y’ong feller dey want to onderstan’ ever’t’ing, so dey walk in de door for look aroun’. Inside, she’s not so bright w’at she look from de outside, shadows ever’w’ere, an whole place she’s gloomy — jus’ enough light for see statute w’ich look dark an’ frown. W’ile de yo’ng feller look, dey hear soun’ on de air — clock she’s strike twelve. Dat’s de tarn strange t’ing happen. All at once, dey see light in de choir, jus’ float on de air, nobody near it. It float over on de altar, an’ light up de candle each en’. Dat scare dose yo’ng feller; dey ron on de door, Jacques Valois behin’ all de odders. Hees frien’s, dey get t’rough; but before Jacques can get dere, de door close wit’ a soun’ lak t’onder, an’ she’s lock herself also. Jacques, he stan’ lak crazy, too scare he can’t t’ink. Den he hear voice behin’ heem, ver’ solemn, say in Latin, ‘ Introibo ad altare Dei,’ an’ he turn roun’ an’ see pries’ by de altar, stan’ ready for celebrate de mass.

“De church was light again now, lak dey see t’rough de windows; de shadows all gone. He see Our Lady stan’ dere, in de statue, half

THE MIDNIGHT MASS smile on de pries’, half look sad. Four candles dey was light at de altar, an’ beside it de pries’ stan’. Jacques jomp w’en he look at. De pries’ have no head.

“All de sam’, he hear loud voice in Latin, ‘Introibo ad altare Dei’, so he walk on up in de choir. He go on hees knee, an’ he mak’ de response so well as he can, dat tam de night, before pries’ wit’out any head.

“W’en it’s all done, de pries’ he put hees han’ on Jacques’ head, t’ank heem for w’at he do, an’ say, ‘You wonder w’y I am here? Long tam ago I was say prayer too queeck in dis place, wit’out t’ink on de words. For dat I cannot go on de paradise till I fin’ someone here on de midnight will help say de response on de mass. Ever’ night for fifty year, I come on twelve o’clock, look for someone. Dis night you come an’ help, so now I go on de paradise.’

“W’en phantom pries’ tak’ de han’ off hees head, de light she go out, an’ Jacques he fall on de groun’, so scare lak a chil’. It’s so black he can’t see; but soon he feel fresh air was blow on hees face, an’ he know door mus’ be open again. He spik, but no one was dere; hees frien’s dey go back on de village, an’ de pries’ he was go on de paradise. So Jacques Valois, he get on hees feet an’ go out on de