The red book of animal stories/Mathurin and Mathurine
MATHURIN AND MATHURINE
In the small village of Saint Jean, near Carcassonne, there dwelt a young man named Mathurin, who made his living by selling milk. This he always carried on his shoulder when he went his rounds, in a large earthen jar, but one unlucky day when he was going over a piece of rough rocky ground, overgrown with gorse and heather, his foot slipped, and his jar fell on a stone, and was broken to atoms.
Close to where the accident happened the rocks formed a little hollow, into which the milk flowed, and soon formed a small white lake. There was no use trying to pour it back again, for the jar was too badly broken for that, so the young man returned as fast as he could to Saint Jean to get some more milk for his customers.
This time he took care to get a stronger pot, and to hold it more firmly on his shoulder; and then he made haste back along the path he had come, for it was getting late, and everybody would be thinking about breakfast.
On reaching the place where he had slipped and fallen, he found that a splendid adder had taken advantage of his misfortunes and was lapping up the pool of milk with the utmost enjoyment. As he came near, the adder turned and hissed, and showed quite plainly that she did not intend to allow anybody to interfere with the piece of good luck which had fallen in her way. The young milkman understood the hint, and was, besides, in a hurry, so he passed on quickly, and left the adder to finish her breakfast.
Still, he felt rather curious to know if she could possibly drink up so much milk, and when he had served all his customers he took the trouble to come back the same way to see what had become of the adder. He found her stretched out on the rock, quite drunk with milk, and being a young man of kind heart, he left her to have her sleep out, instead of killing her, as most people would have done in his place.
MATHURIN AND MATHURINE
The next morning, when he passed by the dry little hollow which, the day before, had been a milky lake, he thought of the adder, and how dull it must feel after its delightful meal of yesterday. So he looked at his jar and then at the hollow, and then at the jar again. Finally he stooped down, and poured out a little milk, and walked quickly away. When be had gone a few steps, he glanced round cautiously, and saw the adder in the act of gliding out from under a bush and making straight for the milk.
This time there was not enough to make it drank, for when Mathurin came back, an hour or two later, the adder had disappeared.
The following day he looked about to see if the adder was anywhere in the neighbourhood, and detected two bright eyes and a small flat head, watching him from under a bush. He called it by the first name that occurred to him, which was ‘Mathurine,’ the feminine of his own; the adder seemed to listen. Then he poured out some milk, and called it again. The adder seemed to understand, and came about a yard nearer, then stopped doubtfully.
The young man did not want to frighten her, so he moved to a little distance, but not without seeing his new friend busy over the milk he had poured out. He did not go near her again, but called gently, ‘Mathurine! Mathurine! Mathurine!’ and each time the adder lifted her head and looked at him.
From that day he never passed the place without calling ‘Mathurine!’ and at every call the adder hastened more quickly to answer it, till she soon became quite tame, and recognised not only the young man’s voice but the sound of his footsteps.
The friendship between this odd pair lasted for a year. Every day during that year Mathurin poured out a glass of milk for Mathurine, and every day Mathurine was on the look out for him, standing on her tail when he appeared, and licking his hand affectionately with her forky tongue.
But at last there came a day when the young man chew the lot of conscription, and had to leave the village where he was born, and join the regiment to which he was appointed.
He bade an affectionate farewell to his little friend, who had grown quite a foot during the last few months, and was now as tall as Mathurin himself when she reared herself to her full height. She quite understood that she was not going to see him for a long time, and overwhelmed Mathurin with caresses; curling about his legs and arms, and rubbing her head against him. Then she glided by his side for part of the way, and only vanished among the bushes at the sound of the bells of the stage coach.
Mathurin was away seven years, from 1793 to 1800—a rather lively time he had—and it was only after the peace of Luneville that he was set free to return home, with the uniform of a corporal.
His first visit was of course to his mother; then to his sisters, his cousins, and his friends. After that, he thought about the adder. Would she remember him, he wondered, after seven years’ absence? He was curious to know.
He put on his old milkman’s clothes, so that Mathurine might the more easily recognise him, and went straight to their old meeting-place in the rocks. ‘Mathurine! Mathurine!’ cried he.
Instantly there was a loud rustling among the leaves, and a snake ten feet long, with gleaming eyes, came wriggling along with amazing quickness and flung herself with a bound upon Mathurin, twining herself tightly round bis neck. He tried to free himself from the pressure which threatened to choke him, but could not unloose the closely curled rings; then he attempted to call for help, but his voice died in his throat, and, throwing his hands despairingly in the air, he rolled dead upon the rocks, strangled by the embraces of his friend.[1]