This
beautiful bay is thirty-five miles long, was christened Baie St. Marie
by Champlain, and here the four ships of De Monts lay in calm and secure
harbor for two weeks in 1604, while the adventurers were examining the
shores of Nova Scotia, - explorations in which the discovery of iron
pyrites deluded them with the belief that this would prove an El
Dorado.
Madame M. at first looks dismayed at the appearance of such a group of
strangers at her door, and is sure she cannot accommodate us; but her
daughters slyly jog her elbow, saying something in an undertone, as if
urging her to consent, and we are made most comfortable.
At first the family are a little shy, but in a couple of days we become
quite well acquainted; and, when the time comes for our departure they
"wish we could stay longer", - a wish which we heartily re-echo.
Madame proudly displays her treasures in hand-spun and home-woven linen
and blankets; also a carpet, the material for which she first spun, then
dyed, and finally wove; and, though it has been in use for ten years,
it is still fresh and shows no apparent wear. In response to our
entreaties, she shows us the loom, and brings out her spinning wheel to
instruct us in that housewifely accomplishment. How easy it looks, as
the fleecy web moves through her fingers, and winds in smooth, even yarn
on the swiftly turning reel; and, oh, what bungling and botching when
we essay that same! The two pretty, modest, and diffident daughters are
quite overcome at last, and join in our peals of merriment.
One - oh bliss! - is named Evangeline, and, if we understand correctly,
there is an old name similar to this among these people. Though they
sing some charming old French chansons for us, the two sweet girls
cannot be induced to converse in that language. Madame laughs, saying,
"Dey know dey doant speak de goot French, de fine French, so dey will
only talk Angleesh wid you." But in the evening, when Octavia sings an
absurd college song, with a mixture of French and English words, they
enjoy the fun; and immediately set to work to learn: -
"Oh, Jean Baptiste, pourquoi vous grease
My little dog's nose with tar?
Madame, je grease his nose with tar
Because he have von grand catarrh,
Madame, je grease his nose
Parcequ'il he vorries my leetle fite chat."
Then the pretty Evangeline in turn becomes instructor, the theme being
an ancient peasant song of France which her grandmother used to sing.
One plays the melody from memory, while the other hastily rules a bit
of paper and writes off the notes, afterwards copying the words from a
scrap of tattered manuscript; and thus the lady from "America" feels
that she has secured a pretty souvenir of the visit:
LES PERLES ET LES ÉTOILES.
1.
Comme les perles et les é - tol – les
Or-nent dé - ja le front des cleux
La nuit e-tend partout votle
Elle vient de ju fermer mes yeux,
Re - viendras tu dans un doux songe,
O mon bel ange, tor que j'adore
Me re - pe - ter divers mensonges
Me re - pe - ter -ye taime encore -
2.
Sur un soup-çon tu t'es en—fuie
Je pleure bélas ton a - ban – don
Par un bais er je t'en supplie
Viens m’accorder undous pardon
Oh crois le bien ma bonne a se
Pour te revoir oh om, un jor,
Je donnerais toute ma vie
Je donnerais tous mes amours
The word "mensonges" has not the meaning in French which our literal
translation would give it. It probably signifies the pretty falsehoods
or white lies to which lovers are somewhat addicted. The next day is
Sunday, and troops of people, in their peculiar costume, appear on the
road from all directions, wending their way to the great white wooden
church.
Despite the innate grace of the French, of which we hear so much, we
see that the young men among these peasants are not unlike the shy and
awkward country lads of Yankee land. Before and between the services
they roost on the fence opposite the church, while the young
girls - totally oblivious of their proximity, of course - gather in groups
on the other side of the road, gossiping. We infer that many have come a
long distance to attend service, as we see several families eating their
lunch, picnic fashion, in the fields near the church. In the church,
what a sensation the strangers make, and how interesting is the service!
To one of us, at least, the grand service of Notre Dame of Paris was
not so impressive as this. In the one case, a famous Bishop, robed in
priceless lace and cloth of gold, with a troop of acolytes at the altar,
while the most famous singers of the Opera filled the vast structure
with rapturous melody; in the other, a large plain wooden building with
glaring windows of untinted glass; the priest in vestments of coarse
Nottingham lace and yellow damask, - but with spiritual, benignant
countenance, - and a choir of untrained voices. A company of men droned
out Gregorian chants in painfully nasal tones, using antique books with
square headed notes; then the sweet voice of our host's daughter,
Evangeline, sounded solo, and her youthful companions in the choir took
up the chorus of the Kyrie Eleison:
