Heavily closed, with a creaking sound, the Close by the chimney-side, which is always valves of the barn doors, Rattled the wooden bars, and all for a season was silent. In-doors, warm by the wide-mouth fire place, idly the farmer Sat in his elbow-chair, and watched how the flames and the smoke-wreaths Struggled together like foes in a burning city. Behind him, Nodding and mocking along the wall, with gestures fantastic, Darted his own huge shadow, and vanished away into darkness. Faces, clumsily carved in oak, on the back of his arm-chair Laughed in the flickering light, and the pewter plates on the dresser Caught and reflected the flame, as shields of armies the sunshine. Fragments of song the old man sang, and carols of Christmas, Such as at home, in the olden time, his fathers before him Sang in their Norman orchards and bright Burgundian vineyards. Close at her father's side was the gentle Evangeline seated, Spinning flax for the loom, that stood in the corner behind her. Silent awhile were its treadles, at rest was its diligent shuttle, While the monotonous drone of the wheel, like the drone of a bagpipe, Followed the old man's song, and united the fragments together. As in a church, when the chant of a choir at interval ceases, Footfalls are heard in the aisles, or words of the priest at the altar, So, in each pause of the song, with measured motion the clock clicked. empty without thee; Take from the shelf overhead thy pipe and the box of tobacco; Never so much thyself art thou as when, through the curling Smoke of the pipe or the forge, thy friendly and jovial face gleams, Round and red as the harvest moon through the mist of the marshes." Then, with a smile of content, thus answered Basil the blacksmith, Taking with easy air the accustomed seat by the fireside: ,,Benedict Bellefontaine, thou hast ever thy jest and thy ballad! Ever in cheerfulest mood art thou, when others are filled with Gloomy forebodings of ill, and see only ruin before them. Happy art thou, as if every day thou hadst picked up a horseshoe." Pausing a moment, to take the pipe that Evangeline brought him, And with a coal from the embers had lighted, he slowly continued: ,,Four days now are passed since the English ships at their anchors Ride in the Gaspereau's mouth, with their cannon pointed against us. What their design may be is unknown; but all are commanded On the morrow to meet in the church, where his Majesty's mandate Will be proclaimed as law in the land. Alas! in the meantime Many surmises of evil alarm the hearts of the people." Then made answer the farmer: some friendlier purpose -,,Perhaps Brings these ships to our shores. Perhaps the harvests in England By the untimely rains or untimelier heat have been blighted, Thus they sat, there were footsteps heard, And from our bursting barns they would and, suddenly lifted, feed their cattle and children." Sounded the wooden latch, and the door,,Not so think the folk in the village," said, warmly, the blacksmith, swung back on its hinges. Benedict knew by the hob-nailed shoes it Shaking his head, as in doubt; then, heaving was Basil the blacksmith, a sigh, he continued : And by her beating heart Evangeline knew,,Louisburg is not forgotten, nor Beau Séjour, who was with him. Welcome!" the farmer exclaimed, as their footsteps paused on the threshold. ,,Welcome, Basil, my friend! Come, take thy place on the settle nor Port Royal. Many already have fled to the forest, and lurk on its outskirts, Waiting with anxious hearts the dubious fate of to-morrow. Arms have been taken from us, and warlike He was beloved by all, and most of all by the children; weapons of all kinds; Nothing is left but the blacksmith's sledge For he told them tales of the loup-garòu in and the scythe of the mower." the forest, Then with a pleasant smile made answer And of the goblin that came in the night to water the horses, of the white létiche, the ghost of a the jovial farmer: ,,Safer are we unarmed, in the midst of our flocks and our cornfields, And child who unchristened Safer within these peaceful dikes, besieged Died, and was doomed to haunt unseen the by the ocean, chambers of children; Than were our fathers in forts, besieged by And how on Christmas eve the oxen talked in the stable, the enemy's cannon. Fear no evil, my friend, and to-night may And how the fever was cured by a spider no shadow of sorrow shut up in a nutshell, Fall on this house and hearth; for this is And of the marvellous powers of four-leaved clover and horseshoes, the night of the contract. Built are the house and the barn. The With whatsoever else was writ in the lore merry lads of the village of the village. Basil the blacksmith, Strongly have built them and well; and, Then up rose from his seat by the fireside breaking the glebe round about them, Filled the barn with hay, and the house with food for a twelvemonth. René Leblanc will be here anon, with his papers and inkhorn. Knocked from his pipe the ashes, and slowly extending his right hand, „Father Leblanc," he exclaimed,,,thou hast heard the talk in the village, Shall we not then be glad, and rejoice in And, perchance, canst tell us some news of the joy of our children ?" As apart by the window she stood, with her hand in her lover's, Blushing Evangeline heard the words that her father had spoken, these ships and their errand." Then with modest demeanour made answer the notary public, Gossip enough have I heard, in sooth, yet am never the wiser; And as they died on his lips the worthy And what their errand may be I know not notary entered. III. better than others. Yet am I not of those who imagine some evil intention BENT like a labouring oar, that toils in the Brings them here, for we are at peace; and surf of the ocean, why then molest us?" Bent, but not broken, by age was the form,,God's name!" shouted the hasty and some of the notary public; Shocks of yellow hair, like the silken floss of the maize, hung Over his shoulders; his forehead was high; and glasses with horn bows what irascible blacksmith; ,,Must we in all things look for the how, and the why, and the wherefore? Daily injustice is done, and might is the right of the strongest!" Sat astride on his nose, with a look of But, without heeding his warmth, continued the notary public, wisdom supernal. Father of twenty children was he, and more,,Man is unjust, but God is just; and finally Children's children rode on his knee, and Triumphs; and well I remember a story, that often consoled me, heard his great watch tick. Four long years in the times of the war had he languished a captive, Suffering much in an old French fort as the friend of the English. When as a captive I lay in the old French fort of Port Royal." This was the old man's favourite tale, and he loved to repeat it Now, though warier grown, without all guile Whenever neighbours complained that any or suspicion, Ripe in wisdom was he, but patient, and simple, and childlike. injustice was done them. ,,Once in an ancient city, whose name I no longer remember, Raised aloft on a column, a brazen statue Wrote with a steady hand the date and the of Justice age of the parties, Stood in the public square, upholding the Naming the dower of the bride in flocks of scales in its left hand, sheep and cattle. And in its right a sword, as an emblem Orderly all things proceeded, and duly and that justice presided well were completed, Over the laws of the land, and the hearts And the great seal of the law was set like a sun on the margin. and homes of the people. Even the birds had built their nests in the Then from his leathern pouch the farmer threw on the table scales of the balance, Having no fear of the sword that flashed in Three times the old man's fee in solid pieces the sunshine above them. of silver; But in the course of time the laws of the And the notary rising, and blessing the bride Fell on an orphan girl who lived as maid Till Evangeline brought the draught-board in the household. She, after form of trial condemned to die on Soon out of its corner. was the game begun. In friendly contention the old men the scaffold, Patiently met her doom at the foot of the Laughed at each lucky hit, or unsuccessful statue of Justice. manoeuvre, As to her Father in heaven her innocent Laughed when a man was crowned, or a spirit ascended, breach was made in the king-row. Lo! o'er the city a tempest rose; and the Meanwhile, apart, in the twilight gloom of a window's embrasure, bolts of the thunder Smote the statue of bronze, and hurled in Sat the lovers, and whispered together, be wrath from its left hand Down on the pavement below the clattering scales of the balance, And in the hollow thereof was found the nest of a magpie, holding the moon rise Over the pallid sea and the silvery mist of the meadows, Silently, one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven, Into whose clay-built walls the necklace of Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me pearls was inwoven." Silenced, but not convinced, when the story was ended, the blacksmith Stood like a man who fain would speak, but findeth no language; nots of the angels. Thus passed the evening away. Anon the bell from the belfry And all his thoughts congealed into lines Rang out the hour of nine, the village curfew, on his face, as the vapours and straightway Freeze in fantastic shapes on the window- Rose the guests and departed; and silence panes in the winter. reigned in the household. Many a farewell word and sweet good-night on the door-step filled it with gladness. Then Evangeline lighted the brazen lamp Lingered long in Evangeline's heart, and on the table, Filled, till it overflowed, the pewter tankard Carefully then were covered the embers that with home-brewed glowed on the hearth-stone, Nut-brown ale, that was famed for its strength And on the oaken stairs resounded the tread in the village of Grand Pré; of the farmer. While from his pocket the notary drew his Soon with a soundless step the foot of Evangeline followed. papers and ink-horn, Up the staircase moved a luminous space Came in their holiday dresses the blithe in the darkness, Acadian peasants, Lighted less by the lamp than the shining Many a glad good-morrow and jocund laugh from the young folk face of the maiden. Silent she passed through the hall, and entered the door of her chamber. Simple that chamber was, with its curtains of white and its clothes press Ample and high, on whose spacious shelves were carefully folded Made the bright air brighter, as up from the numerous meadows, Where no path could be seen but the track of wheels in the greensward, Group after group appeared, and joined, or passed on the highway. Linen and woollen stuffs, by the hand of Long ere noon, in the village all sounds of Evangeline woven. This was the precious dower she would bring to her husband in marriage, labour were silenced. Thronged were the streets with people; and noisy groups at the house doors Better than flocks and herds, being proofs Sat in the cheerful sun, and rejoiced and of her skill as a housewife. Soon she extinguished her lamp, for the mellow and radiant moonlight gossiped together. Every house was an inn, where all were welcomed and feasted; Streamed through the windows, and lighted For with this simple people, who lived like the room, till the heart of the maiden brothers together, Swelled and obeyed its power, like the tre- All things were held in common, and what mulous tides of the ocean. one had was another's. more abundant: Ah! she was fair, exceeding fair, to behold, Yet under Benedict's roof hospitality seemed as she stood with Naked snow-white feet on the gleaming For Evangeline stood among the guests of floor of her chamber! her father; Little she dreamed that below, among the Bright was her face with smiles, and words trees of the orchard, of welcome and gladness. Waited her lover, and watched for the Fell from her beautiful lips, and blessed gleam of her lamp and her shadow. Yet were her thoughts of him, and at times a feeling of sadness Passed o'er her soul, as the sailing shade of clouds in the moonlight the cup as she gave it. Under the open sky, in the odorous air of the orchard, Flitted across the floor and darkened the Bending with golden fruit, was spread the room for a moment. feast of betrothal. And as she gazed from the window she There in the shade of the porch were the saw serenely the moon pass priest and the notary seated; There good Benedict sat, and sturdy Basil Forth from the folds of a cloud, and one star follow her footsteps, the blacksmith. As out of Abraham's tent young Ishmael Not far withdrawn from these, by the ciderwandered with Hagar! IV. press and the bee-hives, Michael the fiddler was placed, with the gayest of hearts and of waistcoats. PLEASANTLY rose next morn the sun on the Shadow and light from the trees alternately village of Grand Pré. played on his snow-white Pleasantly gleamed in the soft, sweet air Hair, as it waved in the wind; and the the Basin of Minas, Where the ships, with their wavering shadows, were riding at anchor. Life had long been astir in the village, and clamorous labour Knocked with its hundred hands at the golden gates of the morning. Now from the country around, from the farms and the neighbouring hamlets, jolly face of the fiddler Glowed like a living coal when the ashes sound of his fiddle, Tous les Bourgeois de Chartres, and Le Merrily, merrily whirled the wheels of the As, when the air is serene in the sultry dizzying dances solstice of summer, Under the orchard-trees and down the path Suddenly gathers a storm, and the deadly to the meadows; sling of the hailstones Old folk and young together, and children Beats down the farmer's corn in the field mingled among them. and shatters his windows, Hiding the sun, and strewing the ground with thatch from the house-roofs, Fairest of all the maids was Evangeline, their enclosures; So on the hearts of the people descended the words of the speaker. So passed the morning away. And lo, Silent a moment they stood in speechless with a summons sonorous wonder, and then rose Sounded the bell from its tower, and over Louder and ever louder a wail of sorrow the meadows a drum beat. and anger, Thronged ere long was the church with men. And, by one impulse moved, they madly rushed to the door-way. Without, in the church-yard, Waited the women. They stood by the Vain Then came the guard from the ships, and Entered the sacred portal. dissonant clangour Rang was the hope of escape; and cries and fierce imprecations through the house of prayer; and high Rose, with his arms uplifted, the figure of With loud and As, on a stormy sea, a spar is tossed by the billows. Echoed the sound of their brazen drums Flushed was his face and distorted with from ceiling and casement, Echoed a moment only, and slowly the ponderous portal Closed, and in silence the crowd awaited the will of the soldiers. Then uprose their commander, and spake "You are convened this day," he said, „by Clement and kind has he been; but how you have answered his kindness, passion; and wildly he shouted,— „Down with the tyrants of England! we never have sworn them allegiance! Death to these foreign soldiers, who seize on our homes and our harvests!" More he fain would have said, but the merciless hand of a soldier Smote him upon the mouth, and dragged him down to the pavement. In the midst of the strife and tumult of angry contention, Let your own hearts reply! To my natural Lo! the door of the chancel opened, and Father Felician make and my temper Painful the task is I do, which to you I Entered, with serious mien, and ascended know must be grievous. the steps of the altar. Yet must I bow and obey, and deliver the Raising his reverend hand, with a gesture, will of our monarch; he awed into silence Namely, that all your lands, and dwellings, All that clamorous throng; and thus he |