Cameron of Lochiel
was a foolish one; that one must always trust to the providence of God,
who knows what is good for man better than man can know it for himself.
Put your trust in him, and you will not have to endure the humiliation
of having to carry your tithes in a handkerchief.'
"With these words, the stranger again disappeared around the hill.
"Larouche took the hint, and thenceforth acknowledged God's providence,
without wishing to meddle with the weather."
As José brought his tale to an end, Archie said: "I like exceedingly
the simplicity of this legend. It has a lofty moral, and at the same
time it displays the vivid faith of the _habitants_ of New France.
Shame on the heartless philosopher who would deprive them of that
whence they derive so many a consolation in the trials of life!
"It must be confessed," continued Archie later, when they were at a
little distance from the sleigh, "that our friend José has always an
appropriate story ready; but do you believe that his father really told
him that marvelous dream that was dreamed on the hillsides of St.
Michel?"
"I perceive," said Jules, "that you do not yet know José's talents; he
is an inexhaustible _raconteur_. The neighbors gather in our kitchen on
the long winter evenings, and José spins them a story which often goes
on for weeks. When he feels his imagination beginning to flag he breaks
off, and says: 'I'm getting tired; I'll tell you the rest another day.'
"José is also a much more highly esteemed poet than my learned uncle
the chevalier, who prides himself on his skill in verse. He never fails
to sacrifice to the Muses either on flesh days or on New Year's Day. If
you were at my father's house at such times, you would see messengers
arrive from all parts of the parish in quest of José's compositions."
"But he does not know how to write," said Archie.
"No more do his audience know how to read," replied Jules. "This is how
they work it. They send to the poet a good chanter (_chanteux_), as
they call him, who has a prodigious memory; and, presto! inside of half
an hour said chanter has the whole poem in his head. For any sorrowful
occasion José is asked to compose a lament; and if it be an occasion of
mirth he is certain to be in demand. That reminds me of what happened
to a poor devil of a lover who had taken his sweetheart to a ball
without being invited. Although unexpected, they were received with
politeness, but the young man was so awkward as to trip the daughter of
the house while dancing, which raised a shout of laughter from all the
company. The young girl's father, being a rough fellow and very angry
at the accident, took poor José Blais by the shoulders and put him out
of the house. Then he made all manner of excuses to the poor girl whose
lover had been so unceremoniously dismissed, and would not permit her
to leave. On hearing of this, our friend José yonder was seized with an
inspiration, and improvised the following naïve bit of verse:
"A party after vespers at the house of old Boulé;
But the lads that couldn't dance were asked to stay away:
Mon ton ton de ritaine, mon ton ton de rité.
"The lads that couldn't dance were asked to stay away,
But his heart was set on going, was the heart of José Blai:
Mon ton ton, etc.
"His heart was set on going, was the heart of José Blai.
'Get done your chores,' said his mistress, 'and I will not say you
nay':
Mon ton ton, etc.
"'Get done your chores,' said his mistress, 'and I will not say you
nay':
So he hurried out to the barn to give the cows their hay:
Mon ton ton, etc.
"He hurried out to the barn to give the cows their hay.
He rapped Rougett' on the nose, and on the ribs Barré:
Mon ton ton, etc.
"He rapped Rougett' on the nose, and on the ribs Barré,
And then rubbed down the horses in the quickest kind of way:
Mon ton ton, etc.
"He rubbed down the horses in the quickest kind of way;
Then dressed him in his vest of red and coat of blue and gray:
Mon ton ton, etc.
"He dressed him in his vest of red and coat of blue and gray,
And black cravat, and shoes for which he had to pay:
Mon ton ton, etc.
"His black cravat, and shoes for which he had to pay;
And he took his dear Lizett', so proud of his display:
Mon ton ton, etc.
"He took his dear Lizett', so proud of his display;
But they kicked him out to learn to dance, and call another day:
Mon ton ton, etc.
"They kicked him out to learn to dance, and call another day;
But they kept his dear Lizett', his pretty _fiancée_:
Mon ton ton de ritaine, mon ton ton de rité."
"Why, it is a charming little idyl!" cried Archie, laughing. "What a
pity José had not an education! Canada would possess one poet the more."
"But to return to the experiences of his late father," said Jules,
"I believe that the old drunkard, after having dared La Corriveau
(a thing which the _habitants_ consider very foolhardy, as the dead
are sure to avenge themselves, sooner or later)--I believe the old
drunkard fell asleep in the ditch just opposite Isle d'Orléans, where
the _habitants_ traveling by night always think they see witches; I
believe also that he suffered a terrible nightmare, during which he
thought himself attacked by the goblins of the island on the one hand
and by La Corriveau on the other. José's vivid imagination has supplied
the rest, for you see how he turns everything to account--the pictures
in your natural history, for instance, and the Cyclopes in my uncle's
illustrated Virgil, of which his dear late father had doubtless never
heard a word. Poor José! How sorry I am for the way I abused him the
other day. I knew nothing of it until the day following, for I had
entirely lost my senses on seeing you disappear in the flood. I begged
his pardon very humbly, and he answered: 'What! are you still thinking
about that trifle? Why, I look back upon it with pleasure now all the
racket is over. It made me even feel young again, reminding me of your
furies when you were a youngster--when you would scratch and bite like
a little wild cat, and when I would carry you off in my arms to save
you from the punishment of your parents. How you used to cry! And then,
when your anger was over, you would bring me your playthings to console
me."
"Faithful José! what unswerving attachment to our family through every
trial! Men with hearts as dry as tinder often look with scorn on such
people as José, though possessed of none of their virtues. A noble
heart is the best gift of God to man."
As our travelers drew near the manor house of St. Jean-Port-Joli, whose
roof they could see under the starlight, the conversation of Jules
D'Haberville, ordinarily so frivolous and mocking, grew more and more
thoughtful and sincere.
CHAPTER VI.
D'HABERVILLE MANOR HOUSE.
Je bénis le soleil, je bénis la lune et les astres qui étoilent le ciel. Je
bénis aussi les petits oiseaux qui gazouillent dans l'air.
+Henri Heine.+
+D'Haberville Manor House+ was situated at the foot of a bluff which
covered about nine acres of the seigniory, on the south side of the
highway. This bluff was about a hundred feet high and very picturesque.
Its summit was clothed with pines and firs, whose perpetual green
formed a cheerful contrast with the desolation of the winter landscape.
Jules D'Haberville used to compare these trees, triumphing on their
height and flaunting their fadeless green in the face of the harshest
seasons, to the mighty ones of the earth whose strength and happiness
are beyond the reach of vicissitude, however much the poor may shiver
at their feet.
One might well believe that the brush of a Claude Lorraine had
exercised itself in adorning the flanks and base of this hill, so
endless was the variety of the trees which had gathered thither from
all the neighboring woodlands. Elm, maple, birch, and beech, red
thorn, cherry, ash, and cedar, sumach, and all the other native trees
which are the glory of our forests, combined to throw a cloak of all
imaginable greens over the rugged outlines of the bluff.
A wood of ancient maples covered the space between the foot of the
bluff and the highway, which was bordered with hedges of hazel and
cinnamon rose.
The first object to attract the eye on approaching the manor house was
a brook, which, falling through the trees in a succession of foamy
cascades down the southwest slope of the hill, mingled its clear
current with that of a fountain which burst forth some distance below.
After winding and loitering through a breadth of meadow country, the
wedded streams slipped reluctantly into the St. Lawrence.
The spring, bubbling from the very heart of the hill into a basin cut
from the living rock, preserves its icy coolness, its crystal purity,
through the fiercest heats of summer. It was inclosed in those days
in a little white-washed pavilion, thick shaded by a group of ancient
trees. The seats arranged within and without this cool retreat, the
cone-shaped drinking-cups of birch bark hanging on the wall, served as
so many invitations from the nymph of the fount to wayfarers oppressed
by the dog-star.
Fresh as of old, to this day the hill-top keeps its crown of emerald,
the slope preserves its varied verdure; but of the ancient grove there
remain but five gnarled maples. These trees, decaying little by little
beneath the touch of time, like the closing years of the master of the
domain, appear almost like a visible and ceaseless prophecy that his
life will fade out with that of the last veteran of the grove. When
the last log shall have been consumed in warming the old man's frozen
limbs, its ashes will mingle with his own--a grim admonition, like that
of the priest on Ash Wednesday: "Memento, homo, quia pulvis es, ut in
pulverem reverteris."
The manor house, situated between the river St. Lawrence and the
bluff, was divided from the water only by the highway, the grove, and
a spacious yard. It was a one-storied structure with high gables,
about a hundred feet long, with two wings of fifty feet. A bake-house,
built into the northeast corner of the kitchen, served also the purpose
of a laundry. A small attachment, adjoining the great drawing-room on
the southwest, gave symmetry to the proportions of this piece of early
Canadian architecture.
Two other small buildings at the southeast served, the one for a dairy,
the other for a second wash-house. This wash-house stood over a well,
which was connected by a long trough with the kitchen of the main
building. Coach-houses, barns, stables, five small sheds (three of them
standing in the grove), a kitchen garden to the southwest of the manor
house, two orchards on the north and northeast, respectively--all these
went to make up the establishment of one of the old French Canadian
seigneurs. The _habitants_ called the establishment "le village
D'Haberville."
Sitting on the crest of the bluff, it mattered little in what direction
one allowed his gaze to wander. Immediately below the little village,
dazzlingly white, appeared to spring from the green bosom of the
meadows. On all sides a panorama of splendid magnificence unrolled
itself. There was the sovereign of streams, already seven leagues in
width, confined on the north by the ancient barrier of Laurentians,
whose feet it washes, and whose peopled slopes are in view from Cape
Tourmente to Malbaie; yonder, to the west, _Ile aux Oies_ and _Ile
aux Grues_; right in front, the Piliers Islands, one of which is as
arid as the Ægean rock of Circe, the other always green, like the
Ogygian paradise of Calypso; northward, the reefs and shoals of the
Loups-Marins, so dear to Canadian hunters; and, lastly, the hamlets of
l'Islet and St. Jean-Port-Joli, crowned with their gleaming spires.