Stop 1
For an ideal experience, follow the stops in order from 1 until 14.To listen to a sound capsule, click on the headphone icon at the top left in each stop.The English translation is always available below.To access the audio transcript, click on the text icon to the far right of the headphone icon.Markers along the path indicate the best place to start an audio capsule.We hope you will enjoy this unique and magic experience!
Stop 2
FRED: The big house is so beautiful. Back in the day, when the Forges was operational, this large building was the ironmaster’s house. Of course, the first master of the ironworks was the one who built it. You have to go back as far as the first third of the 18th century to find out. That man was François Poulin de Francheville.** MUSICFRED: François Poulin de Francheville was the grandson of Maurice Poulin de La Fontaine, making him a distant relative of Jean de La Fontaine. De La Fontaine. Not the plumber, the fabulist.NARRATOR: Monique, cashier at the Saint-Michel des Forges village depanneur.MONIQUE: Jean who?FRED: De La Fontaine.MONIQUE: Raymond? The name Jean Fontaine ring a bell?RAYMOND: Who?FRED: The hare, the tortoise, the fox, the crow…MONIQUE (To Raymond): Isn’t that the guy from the zoo?FRED: Francheville was lord of the Saint-Maurice seigneury and agent for the King of France. He was a merchant who arrived from France in the summer and who had no idea what he was getting into on the thermometer front. During the first winter, guided by his shivering, he decided to get into the fur trade. A few years later, he would light the giant furnaces at the Forges. As you can tell from his activities, Francheville was sensitive to the cold.NARRATOR: Jean-Pierre Boisclair, archivistARCHIVIST: Documents show that on March 25, 1730, François Poulin de Francheville obtained the royal privilege to exploit the iron mines in the region, surface mines, also called bog mines. He was also given the mission of setting up the equipment for ore processing. Two years later, in the spring of 1732, work began, and a year and a half later, the ironworks buildings, housing for workers, and equipment were finally ready. Francheville moved to the Forges. He would live there, with his wife… Madame Poulin.FRED: Ah, yes! Madame Poulin. Old Lady Poulin. They say she had long nails, so long… she could undo her corset without twisting. Even before the invention of remotes, she could change the channel without getting up from the couch. All thanks to her fingernails. The few people who ever saw her take off her gloves – she didn't do it often – say they looked like claws. Old Lady Poulin and her mysterious ways. She never wanted to take off her hat... and she would roll her "r’s" as if they were mounted on ball bearings.OLD LADY POULIN: It’s so darrrrk in the mansion tonight!FRED: Did Francheville and Old Lady Poulin live in the big house?NARRATOR: Claude Pépin, historian.HISTORIAN: The big house that stands today at the Forges was rebuilt on the foundations of the previous one. The big house of Francheville's era was different; it was located lower on the property, near the river, and you can still see part of its foundation. But Matthew Bell lived in this big house.FRED: Matthew Bell! Ah! Sir Bell… No, no, no… Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We’ll talk about Bell later. For now, let’s pin our hopes on Francheville, an easily chilled man with big ambitions!-
Stop 3
FRED: François Poulin de Francheville died on November 28, 1733, three years after launching his project at the Forges.- A sigh -NARRATOR: Monique, cashier at the Saint-Michel des Forges village depanneur.MONIQUE: I didn’t even know he died. Who’s that? Eh, Raymond?RAYMOND: Who’s that?MONIQUE: Died of what?FRED: We don’t know the cause of Francheville’s death. Some historians say it was sudden death. But he was so sensitive to the cold, and it was the end of November… hypothermia can’t be ruled out.MONIQUE: Oh, come on!** MUSICFRED: Normally, according to the rules of the seigneurial system of the time, the territory of the Forges belonged to the King of France. But you know…NARRATOR: Claude Pépin, historian.HISTORIAN: Despite the fact that Francheville owned almost nothing outright in the ironworks business, he still managed to finagle an inheritance for his wife, Madame Poulin.FRED: What he left her was a piece of land within the Forges property. The land was in an area with mature maples, with a clearing that would later be baptized La Vente-au-diable, and it included a comfortable home. The death of Old Lady Poulin’s husband put her in control of the significant fortune he had accumulated as a fur trader. At the Francheville funeral, Old Lady Poulin left her hat on… along with her gloves.OLD LADY POULIN: May he rrrest in peace!FRED: Old Lady Poulin would go live in her house, away from the action, a bit like a hermit.HISTORIAN: Not long after Francheville’s death, France hired Olivier Vézin, himself an ironworks master in the big city, to evaluate the Forges and advise on what should be done next. The French wanted to know whether it was the right site, whether they should continue to invest, or whether they should put an end to any development. After his investigation, Vézin presented a plan to improve and relaunch the Forges. Construction resumed in 1736.NARRATOR: Annabelle Auger-Grenier, folkloristFOLKLORIST: In his remarks, Vézin mentioned the presence of Old Lady Poulin. He said: “When I crossed the lot line, inadvertently going beyond the boundaries of the aforementioned King’s lands, I was surprised to hear a strident cry from a source nearby. It was the lady widow of the master of the place, Francheville, who approached me with these words: Do not lay a hand on…OLD LADY POULIN: …my trrrees!FRED: Sensitive to the cold, as I said. According to semi-official archives, Francheville was buried in his one-piece wool underwear.-
Stop 4
FRED: Thanks to the work of archeologists and millions of strokes with little cleaning brushes, some of the ruins and foundations of what used to be houses are visible on the plains of green at the Forges du Saint-Maurice site.NARRATOR: Claude Pépin, historian.HISTORIAN: We found enough to confirm the existence of the old village and picture what it looked like. At one time in this now empty field, there were small houses for the labourers, a chapel, a bakery… There was a general store, stables, and more. At its busiest, the village of Forges du Saint-Maurice had a population of over 400.** MUSICHISTORIAN: From 1730 to 1783, we saw the gradual establishment and development of the first industrial village within the colony. During these decades, the Forges du Saint-Maurice moved from the authority of the French regime to the authority of the English regime, after the Conquest.NARRATOR: Curiosity break.MONIQUE: Oh, come on!** JINGLE FOR THIS “CURIOSITY” INSERT (Casio keyboard?)HISTORIAN: Pélissier was the manager of the Forges in the mid-1770s. During the American Revolutionary War, he sympathized with the American rebels who were marching through the region on their way to Québec City. In an act of conscience and support for the troops, Pélissier decided to supply them with cannonballs. Cannonballs produced in Trois-Rivières were used to attack Québec City.MONIQUE: Oh, come on!FRED: Yes! At the Forges du Saint-Maurice, it seems they produced munitions to defend Québec City in 1759, and others to bombard it in 1775-1776. (Sound of cannon fire) Upon learning this, the authorities forced Pélissier to leave the colony. He would be replaced by his inspector Pierre de Sales Laterrière. Cannon fire, you say? More like fireworks. Laterrière inherited the job and… Pélissier’s wife.(End of the curiosity break jingle)** MUSIC: Blacksmith’s Lament (Nicolas Pellerin song no 4)In a village a clock strikes twelveAs a blacksmith strikes his ironNear a glowing blazeHammer lifted in the airHe lets it fall and his hirsute handIs accompanied by a songWhile forging a plowFor a harvest to comeIt is for peaceThat I work, he saysFar from the canonsI live in libertyI shape the steelUsed for sowingAnd forge ironFor humanity aloneFRED: From 1730 to 1783, the management of the ironworks changed hands a number of times, the furnaces were stoked, and iron ore and coal were carted this way and that, but things were fairly quiet over Old Lady Poulin’s way. She hadn’t moved a muscle. Tucked away in her maple grove, she filed her claws and painted a mystery, the rumours of which reached far beyond the village limits.-
Stop 5
FRED: Into the 1780s, the Forges hadn’t diversified production. If you needed iron bars, that’s where you went. They also made a few cast iron works. For anything else, best go elsewhere.NARRATOR: Claude Pépin, historianHISTORIAN: At the Forges du Saint-Maurice, to produce iron from bog iron ore, first they had to go through the cast iron stage. First the blast furnace heated the ore to get masses of pig iron called pigs. The pigs were then sent to the upper or lower forge to be reheated and hammered to become… iron.FRED: So, around 1780, the Forges du Saint-Maurice was limping along: the buildings were leaking, the bellows didn’t have enough air, wear and tear was winning out over good intentions… Was there a sense they were nearing the end? The end of a period, perhaps… but a new era was in the making.** MUSICFRED: In 1793, Matthew Bell took the reins of the Forges du Saint-Maurice. Matthew Bell. His reign at the Forges would last more than fifty years. A half century! It was during these years that the Forges would become the village we have been talking about.NARRATOR: Kareen Pillon, genealogist at Boston Memorial University.GENEALOGIST: Matthew Bell arrived from England in 1784. Bell was a businessman, a politician, and a family man. Bell had 12 children. When he arrived at the Forges, he ensured the ironworks buildings and equipment were restored. He would also work on a plan to diversify the production of the Forges.FRED: Matthew Bell would change the course of the Forges as its course had never been changed before or would ever be changed again. The only thing he didn’t accomplish was getting closer to Old Lady Poulin and establishing neighbourly relations. His final attempt was in the spring. While iron was being heated in the blast furnace, Old Lady Poulin was boiling water from her maple grove to make syrup.OLD LADY POULIN: I-don’t-want-to-see-no one-on-my-land. No one.FRED: Bell would invest a lot of money in rebuilding the Forges. But he wouldn’t put one cent into the falling-down old chapel, which had been abandoned in 1763. Instead, he would pay the expenses for the priest from Trois-Rivières to visit when needed. No chapel. No priest in residence. The devil didn’t wait in the wings for too long: he would visit the Forges much more often than the priest!-
Stop 6
NARRATOR: Jean-Pierre Boisclair, archivist.ARCHIVIST: In his 1984 master’s thesis on the devil of the Forges, Nicholas Hancock wrote: “It wasn’t the devil that generated fear, but fear that gave rise to the devil.”NARRATOR: Monique, cashier at the Saint-Michel des Forges village depanneur.MONIQUE: The devil and fear are like chicken and egg. Best not to start thinking about it, because you’ll never stop!RAYMOND (muttering): … stupid hens!MONIQUE (louder): What ya sayin’, Raymond?FRED: One day, the labourers noticed a black cat in front of the flames of the blast furnace hearth. A black cat? I can hear the doubters among you eager to say that at the Forges, with the thick soot in the air, all cats were black. Yes, I know. But what was odd about this cat wasn’t so much its colour as the fact that it would lie there, right in front of the massive fire, where any other living being would have roasted in a few seconds. So, was the cat… the devil?** MUSICNARRATOR: Claude Pépin, historianHISTORIAN: To make iron, you needed iron ore from neighbouring bogs. To process the ore, coal was used to feed the fire at the Forges. It took tons of coal produced from cut wood. When business was brisk, there were worries about a shortage in coal to fuel the blast furnace. Faced with a possible shortfall that could jeopardize the business, Matthew Bell decided to take matters in hand.FRED: The coal sellers said: we can’t produce more; we don’t have enough wood. So, Bell buttoned up his coat and went to see the lumberjacks who had made it almost as far as what is now Saint-Étienne, some ten kilometres north. The lumberjacks said: we can’t supply because of the distance and the transport. Bell asked: can’t you log closer? The lumberjacks responded that the only promising trees were in the maple grove, on the land… of Old Lady Poulin. The next morning, a dozen lumberjacks turned up in the widow’s maple grove, their faces set on clear cutting. Oh, how she had aged, Old Lady Poulin, but she hadn’t lost her ability to cut to the quick. From her doorstep, she engaged in a shouting match with the men and their saws. But orders were orders. Trees fell all day long.LUMBERJACK: Timber!(Sound of tree falling.)FRED: The next morning, Matthew Bell received a cease and desist letter from Old Lady Poulin. Did he stop? Not for one second. Matthew Bell maintained the order to cut the trees on the widow’s land. The lumberjacks lumberjacked, and the maples fell. And so, as the number of stumps mounted, things continued to escalate. Old Lady Poulin would even sue the master of the Forges. Despite her best efforts, she never managed to put an end to the plunder.** MUSICFRED: Already old, but mainly worn down from the dispute that had been going on for months, Old Lady Poulin prepared for her end.OLD LADY POULIN: “If I can’t stop the otherrrrs from taking my prrroperrrty, then may the devil take them!”FRED: In the final days of her life, Old Lady Poulin asked someone to bury a heavy chest in the clearing, at the place called La Vente-au-diable, and she had the keys to the chest thrown in the Rivière Saint-Maurice. They say her last words were:OLD LADY POULIN: I-leave-it-all-to-the-devil!FRED: And what was in the chest? Some claim she put her entire fortune in there to stop people from getting their hands on it. To extinguish the embers of the strained relationship, Bell gave his workers the following Saturday off so they could go to Old Lady Poulin’s funeral. And just when they should have heard the funeral toll sound on the cast iron bell of the dilapidated old chapel, just when ALL the labourers were away from the furnaces and the upper and lower forges, what did they hear? It wasn’t the bell; it was the big hammer from the upper forge with no one operating it. A sign? They say that’s the precise moment the devil took control of the Forges du Saint-Maurice.NARRATOR: Monique, cashier at the Saint-Michel des Forges village depanneur.(Raymond can be heard coughing.)MONIQUE: Don’t choke! Say it right close to the mic.ONE OF RAYMOND’S PROVERBS: (Cough) When the anvil sounds on Saturday, bad luck is sure to follow.FRED: And what about the black cat? One night, a labourer went after him with a stick because he was getting underfoot. Just to scare him. To make him clear out. From what we know, the cat ran off… by way of the lit furnace’s chimney. Did the black cat attract bad luck, or did bad luck attract the black cat?MONIQUE: I don’t like talking about this sorta thing.-
Stop 7
SONG: Nicolas Pellerin (Three men in black)After supper on the wedding nightThree men in black arrivedThree men in black arrivedAsking for the brideThe bride isn’t hereBut please do sit downWe don’t want to eat or drinkBut we would love to danceFRED: It was a wedding night in one of the village homes. Everyone was there… except for Old Lady Poulin, of course! She was dead. A man showed up, fashionably dressed. His hat, his gloves… It was as if he had something to hide. Horns? Claws? Maybe. The visitor did acrobatic jigs, which everyone found amusing. Then he jumped as high as the ceiling, which they found less amusing. At one point, he led a woman in a dance. It went on for hours. When the priest from Trois-Rivières dropped in wearing his stole and his aspergillum, the stranger broke away from the dancer and disappeared. The dancer fell to the floor. Later, they found scratches and burns on her back.** MUSICFRED: Since Old Lady Poulin’s death, there had been a number of reports of the devil appearing at the Forges du Saint-Maurice. - GRICHHH – There is the story of the dancing devil, the one about the black cat in front of the blast furnace fire, and the one about the bellower…NARRATOR: Annabelle Auger-Grenier, folkloristFOLKLORIST: The bellower… People say it was a powerful voice that came from the forest and that would scare off passers-by along the road to the Forges.A VOICE: –HAOO-FRED: Imagine: you live in a tiny village in the middle of the thick Mauricie forest. A smattering of houses, fire constantly spewing from a large chimney, soot all over everything, a few labourers wandering about like shadows, black snow in winter… and, all of a sudden, the cry of the bellower.A VOICE: –HAOO –FRED: An anguished cry, a long, tormented wail. You’ll know fear when you’ve heard the bellower.FOLKLORIST: How would you describe the voice of the bellower? Hard to say. What we know is that the French word beuglard comes from the English “burglar.”FRED: Ah! So, the bellower is a thief? Could it be someone who found and stole Old Lady Poulin’s chest? Or maybe it’s the wandering, lost souls of the lumberjacks who stole the trees from the widow’s land?A VOICE: -HAOO-FRED: Another troubling story suggesting the devil was in residence is set at La Vente-au-diable, in the clearing where Old Lady Poulin’s chest was buried. At the time, Old Lady Poulin’s forest was a huge field of massive, rotting stumps. It wasn’t unusual for people passing that way to have their horse stop for no reason. The horse would be trotting, trotting, then, all of a sudden, without warning, it would freeze. Zoop. It was as if the cart had grown too heavy or gotten caught on something. From that moment on, the horse could do whatever it liked, it couldn’t budge. The only way to lift the spell was to pay a toll: you would take a handful of change from your pocket and throw it on the ground. Like magic, the spell would be broken. The horse would start off again straight away. It was the same principle as a toll booth, but you didn’t know why or whom you were paying.FOLKLORIST: Some stories say that it was the devil claiming a toll. Others lean toward the idea that the money went to the late Madame Poulin, who, even after her death decades before, continued to conduct her affairs and manage her claims against Bell for chopping down her trees. But now we are getting into speculation and the slippery mud of hearsay.FRED: One day, it was Édouard Tassé’s cart that came to a stop in La Vente-au-diable. “Throw a handful of change,” he had been told. Tassé wasn’t about to pay one red cent. He jerked the reins for a while. After a half hour the horse still wasn’t moving, so the man decided to put the animal in the sled and hitch himself up, and he went back home as if nothing was amiss. Édouard Tassé was not happy. Neither was the devil.SONG: Nicolas Pellerin (Three men in black)The next day in his gardenThe strolling handsome gentlemanSaw coming toward himThe devil in the form of a horsemanHmm hmm hmm…-
Stop 8
FRED: Given so many unexplained manifestations, a question merits asking: had the devil become the true owner of the Forges du Saint-Maurice?NARRATOR: Jean-Pierre Boisclair, archivist.ARCHIVIST: …and I quote: “On the one hand, people said that the devil lived at the Forges. On the other, they said that he lived there, but that he wasn’t the real devil, the one from hell.”NARRATOR: Monique, cashier at the St-Michel des Forges village depanneur.MONIQUE: At the Forges, couldn’t tell you, but what I can tell you is that he’s never come in to the depanneur. Or if he did, he didn’t introduce himself.RAYMOND: Who you talking about?MONIQUE (louder): The devil, Raymond!** MUSICFRED: Matthew Bell hired Édouard Tassé as foreman of the Forges. His mission was to put order into the company’s human and inhuman resources. Édouard Tassé was no schoolboy. He was a giant, a behemoth. They say he never reached the limit of his strength. How big was he? His shoulders were so broad that he couldn’t get them both through the stable door at once. His big failing was his mouth: Édouard Tassé swore.ÉDOUARD TASSÉ: Baby cheeses and crackers and holy ol’ mackerel!FRED: It seems the discouraged cook at the canteen kept a log for the winter of 1796-1797, in which he describes Foreman Tassé’s breakfast:ARCHIVIST (quoting): “three coffees, a small pork roast, a quarter loaf of bread, 12 eggs fried in butter, strawberry jam, head cheese, and a ladle of porridge if there was any going.”FRED: Legend has it that when Édouard Tassé arrived at the Forges, to set the tone for the workers, he swallowed a mouthful of molten metal and burped within a minute to attest to normal digestion.SOUND: Mega-burp! (Or sound of metallic rumble!)ARCHIVIST: During his research into the oral folklore of the Forges, the Abbot Napoléon Caron met Father Comeau and confided the following: “Everyone liked working for Tassé. “Leapin’ lizards, let’s go,” he would say, “put your heart into it, for pete’s and paul’s sake. We’ll rest later.” And the men would get down to work. When evening came, no one felt tired, and it would turn out that they had gotten a lot more work done than they did under other task masters.”FRED: One day, already in a fit of rage because production wasn’t going the way he wanted, Édouard Tassé learned from one of the oldest workers at the blast furnace that Old Lady Poulin had once bequeathed the Forges to the devil.ÉDOUARD TASSÉ: Farging the forging of all that is holy.RAYMOND: “When a lumberjack swears, the devil sharpens his claws.”MONIQUE: Where’d you get that saying from?RAYMOND: (cough).FRED: The devil… From the day Édouard Tassé heard the story, that the beast would appear in the form of a cat, a dancer, or a toll, he put all his energy into hunting it down.ÉDOUARD TASSÉ: Crikes and bikes with brown butter sauce.-
Stop 9
**MUSIC : Nicolas Pellerin song no 1. (Hit the anvil)Behind our house there was a blacksmithBehind our house there was a blacksmithAnd all the girls could see his charmsBut he turned them downHave to strike, have to blowBlacksmith you’re wearyHit the anvilBecause the chimney is smokingHave to strike, have to blowBlacksmith you’re wearyHit the anvilBecause tomorrow you have to workHit the anvilBecause tomorrow you have to workTa da da da...Didn’t seem to care about girlsDidn’t seem to care about girlsThey would ask him to dance the rigadoonBut he turned them downHave to strike, have to blowBlacksmith you’re wearyHit the anvilBecause the chimney is smokingHave to strike, have to blowBlacksmith you’re wearyHit the anvilBecause tomorrow you have to workHit the anvilBecause tomorrow you have to workTa da da da...FRED: Here are the ruins of the mill: sawmill, flour mill… Why don’t we make it a time mill and travel back around sixty years into the past. (Sound of going back in time) It was a rainy Monday evening. François Poulin de Francheville, founder of the Forges du Saint-Maurice, was returning from a business trip earlier than planned. When he arrived, one of his servants greeted him in a panic. ‘What is going on?’ The seigneur asked his right-hand man about the reason for his agitation. The servant couldn’t hold back… He said that Francheville’s hasty return had caught his wife unawares and that Old Lady Poulin was with her lover. According to the servant, the visitor was hiding in the large chest in the bedroom.** MUSICFRED: Francheville went up to his room without taking off his boots or his coat. His first impulse was to question his wife directly. Madame Poulin was outraged. But one has to wonder: was she pretending to be outraged to divert suspicion or was she truly shocked by a false accusation? Old Lady Poulin refused to answer her husband’s questions.OLD LADY POULIN: You can choose to believe yourrrr serrrrvant or-to-believe-yourrrr-wife...FRED: Upon which, Old Lady Poulin placed the key to the chest in her husband’s hand.OLD LADY POULIN: If you don’t trrrrrust me, you just have to open the chest. That way, I’ll know what you think of me.FRED: Francheville trusted his wife. Francheville trusted his servant. How could he be certain without checking the chest? He just had to hitch his horses and place the chest on the cart. He went to La Vente-au-diable clearing, where he dug a large hole, six feet deep. He lowered the chest into it and buried it with his own shovel. A few hours later, on his way home, he threw the key to the chest… in the river.SOUND: Ha-Oo.FRED: What if the treasure wasn’t a treasure? What if the bellower’s voice was the voice of a lover buried alive? Legends have the rich quality of offering more questions than answers. Otherwise, we would stop telling them.**MUSIC-
Stop 10
FRED: The towering chimney of the lower forge still stands straight centuries later. Straight, despite the fact that it has long been missing a foot. As you can see, at the base, one of the four feet is made of poured concrete, unlike the others, which are made of stone. The concrete is relatively recent, and the story of the missing foot is an interesting one indeed.** MUSICFRED: That night, wind was gusting through the village. It felt like a storm coming on, or a tornado…SOUNDSCAPE: wind, bellower in the distance. Ha-oo. (We are approaching a house with a party going on. We hear the sound of the violin.)FRED: The workers and their families had been invited to a party at the big house. Since that morning, the wind had been blowing through the village. Smoke was spewing from the blast furnace chimney, taking a horizontal course, then twisting, untwisting, and disappearing. Everyone who entered the big house was greeted by Matthew Bell himself. In person. Guests removed their hats and shook the big boss’s hand. Meanwhile, the casement windows were enthusiastically banging in the wind. Édouard Tassé, standing apart from the others and in his Sunday best, was biting his nails as if he were aiming for his elbows.MATTHEW BELL: Thank you for coming. Make yourself at home. I hope you had a good day.FRED: “It was a frightening day. The devil is at the lower forge,” the people answered. The devil is at the lower forge…NARRATOR: Annabelle Auger-Grenier, folkloristFOLKLORIST: Historically, the lower forge was the least productive spot for the company. There were good workers at the lower forge, that wasn’t the issue… Agile men, maybe even more so than at the upper forge, but the men lacked discipline. Why, you might ask? Well, because from the big house, the bosses couldn’t see all the way to the lower forge. From their windows, they could see everything on the site: they watched the arrivals of ore, products sent to the blast furnace, they monitored the upper forge, trips between workshops, the movements of workers… From the big house, they could see everything... Except the lower forge. That was the blind spot.NARRATOR: Jean-Pierre Boisclair, archivist.ARCHIVIST: Dollard Dubé wrote: “Here, at the lower forge, is where the devil wreaked the most havoc.”FRED: “The devil is at the lower forge!” Hearing that for the hundredth time, Édouard Tassé had had enough. He abruptly got up, tipping his chair over backward, and banged his fist on the table. He took off his good clothes and announced that he was going to beat the devil in battle.ÉDOUARD TASSÉ: If you hear anything, don’t go outside. Stay in the house.FRED: Tassé went out, his face sullen like a punch, slamming the door and hurling a string of profanity that would have made a sailor blush.ÉDOUARD TASSÉ: Jumpin’ jehoshaphat and sausage on Sunday.FRED: A racket, cries of cats, terrifying screams. You could hear bodies hit the outer walls of the big house. Jolts. Mortar fell between the walls. Children were crying; old people were screaming. Tassé will be killed! Three times, the devil backed Tassé up against the door of the house. The men inside leaned on the door to keep it closed. They heard punching, barking, wolves... And then suddenly, everything went quiet. A few seconds passed… A final big earthquake came from the lower forge… And then nothing. The doorknob turned, the door slowly opened… Édouard Tassé came in, covered in blood, his clothing in tatters, his beard half torn from his face.ÉDOUARD TASSÉ: I broke his horns. He apologized.FRED: Tassé had just delivered the Forges from the troubles left to it by Old Lady Poulin. It lasted… 20 minutes! The next day, they discovered that amid the battle and the blows, the two adversaries had ripped one of the feet from the chimney of the lower forge.-
Stop 11
FRED: The devil has left his name on plenty of places in the world: there are countless hell’s gates, devil’s gulches, hell’s kitchens, devil’s ribs. But there is only one devil’s fountain.** MUSICNARRATOR: Rose Lachance, chemistCHEMIST: The devil’s fountain is an underground source of combustible gas that emerges in a water hole, near the river. At first glance, it looks like boiling water. And if you hold a flame to the spot where the water is bubbling, a small dancing fire will start.NARRATOR: Claude Pépin, historian.HISTORIAN: The devil’s fountain is a strong, intriguing image of a flame on the water. Fire meeting water, a flickering flame that is easily explained today, but that was a mystery to our ancestors. That flame could have easily become a symbol. And it had spiritual importance for Indigenous peoples.FRED: Many tellers of the legend of Old Lady Poulin’s chest believe that the keys, thrown in the water on a day when the river was high, are still hidden at the very spot known as the devil’s fountain.SOUND TRANSITIONHISTORIAN: In 1846, after over 50 years of uninterrupted leases granting the operation of the Forges to Matthew Bell, the Forges was sold at auction. It slipped from Matthew Bell’s hands for just 125 pounds, on a transaction of 5575.NARRATOR: Jean-Pierre Boisclair, archivistARCHIVIST: As he was leaving the Forges for good, Bell set fire to the books and said in front of witnesses: “You owe nothing more to Matthew Bell.”** THEME MUSICFRED: Maybe because of the length of his reign and definitely because of the stature of the characters, traces of the Bell administration can still be found in the landscape of the region. (Concluding tone) Édouard Tassé’s name appears on a tombstone in the Saint-Boniface cemetery, and Bell, the big boss, left his name on a lake in Saint-Élie-de-Caxton.SCRATCH SOUND (END THEME MUSIC)FRED: But… the story is far from over.-
Stop 12
FRED: March 11, 1883 was a Saturday. The fire in the blast furnace was extinguished for the last time. The men had just received their pay, and they had closed up shop. The chimneys had come out in favour of breathing. It was the day the Forges du Saint-Maurice closed for good.** MUSICNARRATOR: Claude Pépin, historian.HISTORIAN: After the end of industrial activities at the Forges, houses and outbuildings moved one by one. The bell from the old chapel was also moved. A number of the buildings would become the heart of the future village of Saint-Michel des Forges.NARRATOR: Monique, cashier at the Saint-Michel des Forges village depanneur.MONIQUE: Raymond! This guy here is asking if the depanneur is the same building as the depanneur from 1730?RAYMOND: I don’t know about the building, but I hope it wasn’t the same stock on the shelves (snorting laugh. cough.)MONIQUE: Idiot!HISTORIAN: Gradually, in the following decades, the site became pasture lands for the livestock of nearby farmers, and a pleasant place for visitors to picnic and hold campfires.FRED: The end of activities at the Forges attracted nearby residents who came to sift through the materials of the ironworks. Construction materials, bricks, rocks… Like ants, they salvaged methodically, taking with them many of the traces that were testimony to the scope of the Forges operations. The vestiges were gradually washed away…MUSICAL TRANSITIONFRED: After many years, smoke is a rare sight around the Forges… What keeps the embers burning is the persistent rumour, the legend of Old Lady Poulin’s treasure, which still attracts many hunters every year. From the information collected as part of my work, I noted that several theories come up regularly. Some say that the chest was found in 1922 by a family that later went into exile in the United States. There’s a theory that the treasure was found by the owner of the neighbouring golf course when they were digging for the 13th hole. And there are those who say that the Québec and Canadian governments launched an archeological dig at the Forges du Saint-Maurice in 1966, when in fact, what they were looking for was… the treasure!-
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No doubt of ancestryFor the character from the storyWho wove cast iron skilletsOut of steel woolThe man was a labourerAnd while he couldn’t affordTo buy any giftsHe had a heart that could loveNot enough to swingThe engagement ringHe came up with the ideaOf fashioning scrap iron:A pendant in ironA ring in leadA chain, a medallionFrom metal and skillPoor but enamouredAnd far too generousUltimately his love buckledUnder the weight of his giving.Is this a true storyOr is it fabulation?Try a little, come on, believeIs this a true storyOr is it a song?Try a little, come on, believeWould I ever lie to you?He was a conscientious ironsmithWho so wanted a childBut who never had oneNow too old to tryLike an orphan in reverseSunday, he would often sitIn front of his house, on the benchAs he smoked until nightFlitting around him like birdsThe neighbourhood kidsDid pirouettes, put on a showTo earn their giftsHe smoked his pipe, this father deniedAnd on the embers of the red tobaccoHe melted a bullet, a nailAnd he fashioned iron toysIs this a true storyOr is it fabulation?Try a little, come on, believeIs this a true storyOr is it a song?Try a little, come on, believeWould I ever lie to you?The American Revolutionary WarAmericans heading to the capitalThey stopped at the ironworksAnd negotiated a deal:They would make projectilesThat the combatants would slideInto the mouths of their canonsTo bombard the cityCannonballs to destroy Québec City?A labourer whose familyLived in the heart of the targetDecided to melt the weathervaneHe took the top off the old chapelWith the hope that before it would strikeThe cannonball would spread its wingsAnd decide to take flightIs this a true storyOr is it fabulation?Try a little, come on, believeIs this a true storyOr is it a song?Try a little, come on, believeWould I ever lie to you?-
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FRED: The Forges du Saint-Maurice… People talk about it as a major industrial venture that lasted a little over a century and a half… From 1730 to 1883. But as we’ve seen, if we broaden the scope of study and include the enduring legends and mysteries surrounding the ironworks, we realize that the echoes are still being heard.** MUSICFRED: The Forges is still active? Madame Monique at the depanneur in Saint-Michel des Forges has seen treasure hunters just recently.MONIQUE: He was here, right in front of me, with a lamp on his head, and a pickaxe and a round shovel…NARRATOR: Mario Lamarre, plumberPLUMBER: One night, me and my team had work to do on the aqueduct near Saint-Michel des Forges. We were on land neighbouring the Forges. Our job was to find the main water valve for a house. René had the company metal detector. Once the job was done, he started goofing around as if he was trying to find the treasure. He swept the detector over the ground, laughing. Suddenly, he got close to Martin… and wouldn’t you know it, it beeped! The men got serious. It beeped as if it had detected a car. The guys were curious, so they dug a little and found nothing. We felt pretty stupid! Martin was laughing at us, smoking a cigarette, a little ways away. René turned the detector back on. He got pretty close to Martin: it beeped again. What’s going on? So we dug…MONIQUE: They can’t find the treasure cuz the curse makes it so that whenever anyone gets near it, it changes places.PLUMBER: We dug again: nothing. We turned the detector back on, and it beeped again. We dug seven times. Always near Martin who was a little ways away… Eventually we realized that he was wearing steel-toed boots, and we were digging under him every time… We kept that under our hat.(La suite sur musique, en crescendo de témoignages enchaînés qui se termine en cacophonie.)FOLKLORIST: A total of nine people heard the bellower last summer, but you know…PLUMBER: The guy with the tow truck that covers the area around the Forges, he says that every year, at least a half dozen cars stall in front of the clearing. Half the time, the guy who drives the tow truck throws a handful of change in the ditch, and the car starts up again.RAYMOND: You can often see a black cat walking along the roofs of the homes that heat with wood in Saint-Michel des Forges.MONIQUE: I don’t know about the devil, but the devil’s fountain keeps bubbling.OLD LADY POULIN: Don’t-touch-my-trrrrrrees!FOLKLORIST: People ask us: “Where’s the Forges?”GENEALOGIST: What’s crazy is that all this could be true.NARRATOR: All this could be true.CHEMIST: There are scientific explanations for such things.FRED: Diabolus ex machina. The devil in the machine.NARRATOR: Your call is important to us.ÉDOUARD TASSÉ: - Grissshh – Suf –beep -- ferin’ snails and pancake Tuesdays – beep – where the heck are my socks beep(Calm is restored after the cacophony.)FRED: The Forges treasure remains a mystery that earns interest with time. It grows every time people look for it; it mushrooms every time people talk about it. Its value is… on the rise. The Forges treasure will keep getting bigger just as long as… it’s not found.** EXTRO MUSIC.-
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