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MSGILL
UNIVERSITY

LIBRARY

M*^f

in Frenob Cannila. By ZjohIii

^|p*||||l|l||Mi[?f^l»«^

CHRISTMAS IN FRKXriI CANADA

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By Louis Trechicttg

r^EDERlC^SiWPSOM COBUKJ

MEW Y©[^[IC

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62298^

^VTHORl;^ED EDlriON.

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Mt ITbrec Eycellent ^rienfta an^ JBrotber poets

George Murray
William McLennan and
William Henry Drummonb

this first english book of mine is cokhiali.y

AND THANKFl'LLY nEPICATEll

I,. V.

ifl

f|i|fl«lf*W«»#->'sJ*»*s»*'?*^'M,».

PREFACE

A MERE glance at most of the stories
-^ which compose this collection will con-
vince anyone that the author is not an Eng-
lish writer. It may be added, moreover, that
he entertains no ambition of ever becoming
one. In his opinion, it is a sufficiently
difficult task to learn how to master one's
own mother tongue.

Then, why publish this book which is
unavoidably defective, at least as regards
phraseology and style?

In writing it, I had two objects in view.
The first was to find a new mode of recreation,
and the other, to do something to popularize,
among exclusive English readers, this portion
of the American soil called French Canada,
with the characteristic features that she bor-
rows from her sui generis climate, and

especially from her people, whose language,

vii

Christmas in French Canada

manners, customs, traditions, and popular
beliefs bear an exceptional stamp, and must
thereby be invested with a peculiar interest
in the eyes of the surrounding populations.

To attain this last object, I have tried, in
a few pen sketches, to convey some idea of
the wild rigor of our winters, by putting, in
turn, face to face with them, our valiant pio-
neers of the forest, our bold adventurers of
the North-VVest, and our sturdy tamers of the
floes, whose exploits of the past are gradually
being forgotten in the presence of invading
progress. I have endeavored to evoke some
of the old legends, to bring back to life
some picturesque types of yore, whose idiom,
habits, costumes, and superstitious practices
have long ago disappeared, or are disappear-
ing rapidly. In the meanwhile, I took
pleasure in leading the reader to some of
our country abodes, into the settler's isolated
cottage, into the well-to-do farmer's residence,
beyond the threshold of our villagers, inherit-
ors of their forefathers' cordial joviality. I
have also invited the stranger into some of
our city homes, initiating him into our family

viii

Preface

life, into our intimate joys fnd sorrows, and
introducing him occasionally to some old and
pious guardian of our dear national traditions.
This I have done with n. .ther concern than
to strike the right key, to place the groups
in their natural light, and to draw each
portrait faithfully.

Are these pictures in any way interesting?
I can claim for them at least one merit:
that of being true.

But why should I have penned these
sketches in more or less awkward English,
when it was so simple to write them in
French, and so easy to secure a good trans-
lation from some experienced critic, familiar
with the beauties and literary resources of
the English language? The reason is no
mystery: a translation would not have been
my own work, and I would have missed my
first aim, that of securing a few weeks of
pleasant recreation.

I always read with renewed interest the
French stanzas addressed by Longfellow to
his friend, Professor Agassiz. The effort is
apparent, no doubt ; but there is a charm in

(' J :

ife''

Christmas in French Canada

the effort itself. Surely, the recipient of this
humoristic poem would have understood
equally well some English effusion from the
pen of the great poet; but nobody will
believe that the satisfaction would have been
the same on either side. As for Longfellow,
he perhaps felt more enjoyment in accom-
plishing that tour de force, than in writing
some of his world-renowned masterpieces.

After this honest acknowledgment, it
only remains <br me to tender my thanks
to the distinguished artist, Mr. Frederick
Simpson Coburn, who was good enough to
seek inspiration in my little stories, and to
take advantage of them to give the public,
once more, proofs of the skilfulness of his
pencil, and of his ability to interpret the
different national Canadian types.

L. F.

. ■?<*

CONTENTS

Voix DE Noel

On the Threshold -

Santa Claus' Violin

A Godsend

In a Snow Storm

Little Pauline

The Christmas Log

Paob.

3
i8

34
80

98
"3

ii ti

Christmas in French Canada

Jeannette -

The Phantom Head

OUISE

The Horseshok

Tom Cariboo

Titange

The Loup-Gakol'

PAQK

169
184

202
223
241

XII

ILLUSTRATIONS

Page.
"V'la l'bon vent! V'i.a i. 'joi.i vent!"

Frontispiece.

"Our Days Passed in Continual Tra-
vel," ....

' ■ - - - lO

"Clasped the Insensible Wood," - ,6

"We were Somewhat Late in arriving

at St. Joachim," - - - . 84
xiii

ill

Christinas in French Canada

I'AUK

" All Pierre's Couplets and Refrains

WERE CONE THROUGH," - - g6

Aunt Lucv - - - - -

Pauline

I CO

103

" To Kiss your Brow and Bless your

uttle great Heart," - - - ua

Christening the Christmas Log

124

Dictated Word for Word by his

Spoilt Pet," 136

'44
'5°

1^2

" It was a Hard Calling,"

Old Baron .....

At Uncle Vien's ....

'• I Bring You Back a Little Saint," 178

" After which it was the Bear we

had to Drag to ihe Camp," - ^16

"Tom Cariboo began to Descend," - 221

xiv

■-imtitamiar

UWPii-'' "TWiaiiiMHJatKB

Illustrations

rAOK

" LOOKEP I.IKE A KrITTKR OUT OK THE

Fpyinc. Pan," 225

** EvEKV Christmas Kve there is always

A NICE Dancing Hop," - - 228

" Beyond the Pointe-aux-Bapteinnes,

God is Nowhere," - - - 232

"Joachim Crete was Proprietor of a

Mill," 247

" Look here, Joachim, if \ou want a
Place in my Berlot there is one
for you," 252

"And He Fell on his Knees,"

258

"W^

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f'^^''Ti'^f^^i7^Mr^^fs':;rf:^''^f^^

Le lourd battaiit defer boitdit dans tair soiwir,
Et le bronze en ritnieiir Sraiile ses essieux , , .
Vo/ez, (loihes ! grondez, daniez, tonnez encore !
Chantez paix siir It terre et gloire dans les cieux !

(

Sous les domes ronflanls des vastes bmilupiesy
Vorgiie n'paud le flot de scs accords pitissants,
Moulez vers I'Elcrnely beaux hynuies synibolii/iies !
Montcz arvc raiinun-, l.i /rnre et I'cncens !

Christmas in French Canada

A vos accenh joyeux laissez prcidre Pessor;
Lancez vos clairs noels : U.-haut ks petits anges
Pom- vo„s accompagner pemhent kurs harpes d'or.

Blonds ch^ruhins chantanl a la l„e„r dcs cierges,
Voix d-airuin, hn.Us sacn< .j„c Ic d,d ,nfn,e entend,
Sain:e musujue, a,t moius, gardez chastes et vierges,
Pour a.u- ,jui „c aoicntplns, les Idgendes d'antan!

ff'-"

•Ill

ON THE THRESliOLD

SS^^KSSS

E were on our way from
Montreal to Quebec,
and during the evening
the Httle group, gath-
ered on the deck of the
steamer, had fallen into a
discussion chiefly on literary
topics.

Of course some of us, (con-
vinced or pretended pessimists), did not fail

ft .

smtt^ ■

Cliristmas in French Canada

to declare our modern progress, exemplified
in trade, practical science, and industry, to
be the inveterate enemy of all that was
ideal. According to them, steam, electricity,
and, above all, the spirit of Commercialism
had killed Poetry: the Eiffel tower was
her funeral monument.

"Pardon me," interrupted one of the little
audience, whom the debate had attracted,
in the easy fashion which rules amongst
travellers, "pardon me, but you are simply
uttering flat heresy. Poetry will never die
so long as there is a heart beating in a
man's breast. The ideal is within oneself,
rather than in the world without. That which
passes generally for the most commonplace
object may, according to circumstances, assume
a glorified aspect, or create an impression
similar to that produced by lyrical or sentimen-
tal poetry of the most elevated description.
All depends on the state of the mind, and
above all on the point of view of the beholder.

" Take my experience, for instance : the
most poetic thing I ever saw in my life, that
which moved and sliired my soul with the

''I

On the Threshold

most vivid and profound feeling, was an object
so utterly con"xmonplace that none of you, I am
sure, would ever think of supposing it capable
of evoking the slightest emotion. It was
nothing more or less than a simple telegraph
pole."

" A telegraph pole? Oh, come! "

" Seriously, gentlemen ; I am not chaffing.
Let me tell you my story, and you shall judge."

The speaker was a Canadian of French
descent, strong and active, although well in
the sixties, with an energetic face, a piercing
eye, a well modulated voice, and the accent of
a man of education.

We eagerly pressed him for his story, and
without further preamble he began :

Gentlemen, I passed twenty-two years of
what I may call my youth in a part of our
country little known at that time, but which
has been widely heard of since — the Klondike.

No one then dreamt of digging in that
frozen soil for either nuggets or yellow sand.
The sole industry in those regions was the fur
trade. The wild treasures we sought were to
be obtained neither by pick nor cradle, but by

;

■Hi

HKtHm

Christmas in French Canada

traps and rifle, whether in our r)\vu hands or in
those of the natives who frequented our trading
posts.

I would not alhide to the circumstances
which led me there, were they not so sugjjestive
as to the state of mind I was in when the
incidents of my story took place. Here they
are in a few words.

I was born at Riviere-Ouelle. My father
died while I was yet at college, and my mother
married a second time some two years later.

When I finished my course, my mother
wished me to enter one of the professions,
which would have suited me well enough ; but
this called for certain economies at home, which
my step-father, with whom I had but little in
common, determinedly opposed. Out of this
arose discussion, misunderstanding and strife ;
in short, an impossible existence for either my
mother or myself

My poor mother I she had suffered from my
presence ; she was to weep over my absence.

Just because I loved her .so tenderly, I could
not endure the thought that I was a cause of
distress to her. The only remedy was my

On the Threshold

immediate and permanent separation from
her, and I took the first opportunity to
apply it.

It presented itself in an offer from the
Hudson's l^ay Company to engage in their
service. So I left home, and started for
the North-West and the far off borders of
Alaska, with a party of adventurous youths
like myself.

I shall not dwell on my wanderings
and the life I led at the different posts
where I was stationed. Ah ! I'll answer for
it that any of those who think modern
civilization too commonplace would have
found there full opportunity to modify
their opinion that primeval savagery is
primeval poetry.

Of the necessities of life there was no lack ;
but those thousand and one little luxuries, those
trifling refinements which make the charm of
life, were not to be dreamt of. Of work there
was plenty, and of the hardest, most exacting
kind. But only at certain seasons. And hov/
to spend the time during the rest of the
year? Books were rare. What could we

Christmas in French Canada

invent to kill the awful monotony of the
weary and interminable winter, face to face
always with the same companions, and only
able to mark the jjassin^r of the clays by
the short appearance of the sun above the
horizon ?

No news from home! Cut off from the
outside world during twelve long months every
year ! Only one )-carly mail, which arrived in
the summer season, and that was all. Imagine
twcnt)--two years of such an existence!

At length, during the autumn of 1876, the
belated mail contained for me two pieces of
news which brought me singularly closer to my
old life and country. The one was that my
step-father was dead, and that my poor mother,
now old and infirm, was living only in the hope
of my return. The other was that the newly
constructed Canadian Pacific Railway had just
reached Calgary, from thence to take a leap •
over the Rocky Mountains.

I was then at Fort Yukon, on the Yukon
River, 300 miles to the northwest of Fort
Reliance, now famous as Dawson City. I
was free to leave. A Sioux, who knew the

On the Thresliold

country and was returning to Kclmonton, would
serve as guide ; with my iieart throbbing with
impatience I hastened my preparations for
departure.

Thus it was that the morning of the first day
of November saw me with my Indian, both of
us on snow shoes, ascending the frozen Porcu-
pine river, one man in front of, and the other
following a long toboggan laden with provisions
and baggage, drawn by four stout Esquimaux
dogs. We were en route for Fort Lapierre, a
good 250 miles to the East.

We would then cross the Rockies to reach
Fort McPherson, seventy miles through a pain-
ful labyrinth of torrents, of precipices, of threat-
ening rocks, of glaciers and towering peaks.
For the poetry of savagery there was the scene.
But I can assure you one was thankful to Provi-
dence when the poetic became less dominant
and sank into comfortable and less dangerous
prose.

Leaving Fort McPherson we had to follow
Peel river for about 100 miles, when another
hundred, of prairie, streams and portages, led
us towards Fort Good Hope on the Mackenzie,

■■f

1 1 'I'

IM .'

I :l(

S!t?-^Sr»,y iliwii'imw'u'i '

CliristniJLs in French Canada

which we ascciuiccl to the Great Shive lake, a.
round of 600 miles this time.

From Great Slave lake our course was a
straifrht line across the prairie to Athabaska
Landing, our last station before reaching
ICdmonton — another march of at least 500

" UKi' days /•assccl in loiituut.tl liai\l.

miles. No pleasure jaunt, that, nor a journey
to be undertaken lightly, as you see. But even
longer and harder stages may be faced with
a light heart when loved ones await at the
goal.

Our days passed in continual travel,

vmrnmsm

wmmmmm

On tlio Threshold

interrupted only by halts for the mid-day meal.
In the evening- \vc camped wherever sufficient
wood offered for our fire. Whcr, I say we
camped, it is only a form of speech, for the
camping was reduced to a very simple cere-
mony. First of all the dogs were unharnessed
and served with their rations of frozen fish — for
the dogs must be taken the greatest care f as
thi V are the most precious possession on such
a journey ; after which, the fire being well
lighted, we boiled our kettle.

Yes, ,ve supped in open air, behind any kind
of shelter, and oftentimes without any shelter at
all, right in the ndnd and the snow drift. After
supper, we had to dry our furs, damped by the
exertions of the day ; then we smoked, and at
last stretched ourselves on the snow between a
bear skin and a blanket made of netted hare
fleece, with our guns close beside us — and
bonsoir, catnarade !

With the exception of our halts at the
various forts and trading posts where we put,
in a day of rest well earned and much needed
we lodged thus every niglit a la belle etoile, up
to the twenty-fourth of December when we had

\ \\

^ w

"'^'^ ^S StSii a wJifewotbiJittiaaB

Christmas in French Canada

counted on making' Athabaska Landinfj early
in the afternoon.

I had contrived a little bone calendar for
myself in the shape of a horse-shoe, in which
small pegs served to mark the date of the
month and the day of the week. Thus I
had kept track of time, and despite cold and
fatigue, I felt cheered and comforted at the
thought of passing the holy Christmas Eve—
that feast dear above all others to the family
—in company with those of my own kind,
beneath a Christian roof.

Unfortunately, this fond desire of mine was
not to be realized. Since early morning heavy
snow had set in, driven by a strong north-east
wind, which rendered our march slow and
difficult. By noon we were in the centre of
a bewildering storm, through which we could
not see ten paces ahead.

Good Quebeckers imagine they know some-
thing of a winter storm. It would be cruel to
send them to the confines of the North-West to
find they have not, in reality, the slightest idea
of what it is.

In those remote regions it is simply a thing

SS^^S

-I— ^^

On tho Threshold

of horror. It buffets and chokes, blinds and
freezes one. Footing' is lost, one stunibl'js at
each step and cannot breathe ; all sense of
distance or direction is lost. Then nothing
serves to guide ; the sun itself shows only a
feeble, diffused glimmer through the thickness
of the air. Even the compass fails, and one
staggers on at random, feeling the wa)-, stiffened,
panting, half drowned in the furious bursts and
rage of the tempest.

Had I not been so bent on gaining the fort
that day, we might have squatted down in some
ravine, behind the shoulder of some protecting
rise, under a bush — anywhere at all — where the
storm might spend its fury over out heads ; but
I was obstinately determined ncjt to camp in
the open that Christmas Eve, and we went on
stumbling ahead, even though our dogs would
not stir without the lash across their backs.

But all our efforts were in vain ; the fort
seemed to retreat before us, and by evening it
was clear we had missed our way. We were no
longer in doubt of that when the snow ceased
and the clouds broke sufficiently to let .us see
by the stars that we were wandering too far

I illi

-.i&.4i«.-— -^-r,^

-^^^'T^'' *'^m'?m^m 'n rTF^'-^^'-"'«rrffa

S i

Christmas in Frencli Canada

towards the West. To reach the fort that
night was an impossibility ; there was no help
for it. ^

Changing our direction, we struggled on for
a kw hours longer, not so much in the hope
of making the fort, as of finding the wood
necessary for our camp, I was literally broken
with fatigue, and I followed the dogs, stagger-
ing with nerveless limbs, and with my heart
numb with disappointment.

Suddenly the I.idian, who was ahead, cried
" A tree ! "

A tree! That a tree ! Standing by itself in
the open prairie? Impossible! The Indian
must be dreaming.

Nevertheless, I slipped my axe from the
toboggan and joined him. Sure enough, right
ni front of us, was a tall bare trunk without a
single branch, standing upright in the open
desert.

I stood for a moment in astonishment. But
suddenly my heart leaped within me, and I
gave a cry~a cry choked by a sob.

That bare, barkless trunk, that lifeless tree
emerging from the soil like a lonely mast in

*J''il

^•^^^

On the Threshold

mid ocean, had been planted by man's hand.
It was a telegraph pole !

We had passed Athabaska Landing and
were on the trail to Edmonton.
Can you understand ?

A telegraph pole ! The advance sentinel of
civilization. Was it not like a friendly hand
stretched out towards me from the threshold
of my own country? Was it not a greeting
from a re-discovered world, the welcome to a
living, cultivated land, peopled by intelligent
beings, by comrades and by friends? Was it
not . . was it not home ?

I was re-entering social life after twenty-two
long years of exile in the savage solitude.
More than that, it was almost a re-entrance
into family life, for that wire which I could
hear humming above my head was a link
between n^e and the past; it connected me
with my village, with the paternal roof now
dearer to me than ever, with my poor old
mother, to whom I almost imagined I could
send a cry of joy and comfort despite the weary
3,000 miles that still lay between us.
Can you understand ?

'/I

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Christmas in French Canada

Ah! but to realize what I n^ean, you n.ust
have felt ,t all as I did. Lost, as I wa, under
an arct,c sky, in the midst of a frozen desert
w.th all the memories of the holy Christmas'
Eve u. my despairing heart, my brain reeled
before the unexpected symbol of intercourse,
of fellowship, of civilization !

Before the staring eyes of my companion in
m-cry, who, terrified by the weird song of the
-re which vibrated in the sweeping .ind,
tammered '. Manitou ! Manitou!" I sprang
forward with outstretched arms, clasped the
-sensible wood, fell on my knees, and burst
mto tears.

That is my story, gentlemen. We camped
'ha. n,gl„ fireiess and ,,.pperle,,s, crouchL,

round the pole; and through my dreams, I,:
vo,ce of the wire boomed and rang, bearing to
me, now the sacred hymns of the midnight
service, now the carillon of the distant bells

ot La Riviere-Ouelle.

Take my word for it, I never attended such

a poetic midnight mass in the whoh of my life

as that my fancy supplied in those hours of

waiting and of hope.

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was, under
:en desert,
Christmas
ain reeled
itercourse.

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ig of the
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sprang-
ped the
id burst

camped
■ouching
ims the
iring to
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It bells

d such
my life
)urs of

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into tenn

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f 1 mean, you must

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desert,

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On the Threshold

No, no, gentlemen, the spirit of Poetry never
dies ; it lives alwajs in the innermost recesses
of our souls, and the mere touch of those waves
of realism, which, in the eyes of some people,
threaten to drcnvn it, is often sufficient to
awaken its divinest thrills and to evoke its
most h art-stirring melodies.

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111

"ill ii''\fni?i]i&SSiSmmlii

SANTA CLAUS

^~ -ti?£i*^w&''"' ■■'■^'

VIOLIN.

UFFER me to intro-
duce you to a quiet
household. Although
they were not exactly
what may be called
elderly, the father
and the mother were
no longer in their first
youth, when, after one
year of marriage, blessed
by the Angel of happy
loves, little Louis was born.
He was a charming baby, pink and white,
with large black eyes, full of dreams. His

mother rocked him almost incessantly in her

Santa Claus' Violin

arms, with tremors of wild joy, and his father
watched his sleep at night, for hours together,
awalcened by hauntings of happiness and
paternal pride.

The child grew up and developed under
this double effusion of tenderness, just as some
delicate plant unfolds beneath the warm in-
fluence of the sun, and the caress of the
vernal breeze. He grew up full of grace and
gayety, always fondled and always adored ;
no crease of a rose leaf had ever disturbed his
sleep, nor had the lightest cloud overshadowed
the soft brightness of his life's morning. He
was decidedly charming ; his smile seemed to
radiate ; the tone of his voice was like the
warbling of a bird.

At the age of two, he made remarks
of profound ingenuity. When he saw for
the first time the silvery half-circle of the
increasing moon, he called out as if in
pain : —

"Quick, father! A hammer and nails;
the moon is broken."

He was at the same time brave as a
paladin.

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Christmas in French Canada

"You must never go to the corner of the
street," said his nurse to him one d;n'.
"Why not?"

" Because there are savages tlierc."
"Savages?" he exclaimed, with his fist on
his hip, and a frown on his brow; "don't be
afraid; I'll get my sword."

On the other hand he would sometimes
lose himself for whole hours in strange
reveries. One evening, there was great alarm
in thi' house: the child had disappeared.
Full of anxiety, they looked for him vainly
right and left, in all the rooms, outside the
house, everywhere. There was no trace of
the little one.

It was late at night, and all were beginning
to lose their heads, when some one discovered
the child, alone on the balcony, with his chin
in his two hands and his gaze lost in the
open sky.

" What on earth are you doing there ? "
they asked."

" I am looking."
"At what?"

" Beautiful star."

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Santa Clans' Violin

But that which characterized him above all
was his passion for music : the sound of a
flute called forth his enthusiasm ; a. flourish
of trumpets made him start like an electric
shock, and threw him into an ecstasy.

Let us add, by the wa\', that this sort of
frenzy followed him even to the school-benches,
where, at the age of eight or nine, the blast
of a bugle or the roll of a drum made him
irresistibly throw aside books and pencils
and fling himself into the street without the
slightest thought of asking leave, to follow
the first detachment of soldiers that was
passing.

Ikit as it is with the baby alone that we
at-e concerned, let us return to the baby.

If ever a child was passionately loved by
his parents, it was Louis. But — the poor
parents ! — Heaven had a terrible ordeal in
store for them.

The child was now fully three and a-half
years old, and his mother discovered that a
small tumor which for two years had been
forming in his throat, in the region of the
larynx, was developing in an alarming manner.

tmmtiim:

Clnistnuis in Freiicl. Caiia.la
To u.e a .ecl.nic.l expression, „„, p,,,,,,,,^

•""; " "■■■■» ""»' - -"<-i in ..,„„•„,

phra.seology_„ sebaceous cyst.

•As is well l-.,own, those serous bodies
"■■--• not generally atlende.l will, any real

'J-g-; but, in this case, the conditions „.erc
peculiarly critical, o,ving to the pr„.i,ni,y ,,

c r.a,„ del.cate vessels. The operation-
wl..ch sooner or later would be necessary-
-J^ , .f inconsiderately postponed, becle
cl.iiigcrous.

The paternal devotion, after having deferred

« Z, r"""" ■" ""'« ^» P--We, could
no he„ta.e any further, and a few days before
Ch. st,nas the surgeons were sun,moned.

W,th terrible anguish-„eed we sav it =
-the parents witnessed the dreadful prepara'
..ons f.r what seeded to the. the rac' ^
'he httle betng .hey cherished so dearly.

The mother, shut up in her room, wept

every tear that could flow; wh,lc the fat, e,

" '"P '''»'--. -'d ,vi.h bleeding heart Id

- secure the poor K,t,e one on .he sv t

Of an anaesthetic.

p.««»*a(iU»|j

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Santa Chius' Violin

And ill this way— yes, in full health .uul
frolicsome gaycty, with his e>-es beamin-r
and riiij^rin^r laut,dUer on liis lips— the dear
baby's wrists were seized ; and in spite of his
strujrgles, he was made to inhale the loath-
some drug, until he fell back, as senseless
and pale as a corpse, on the table where
the surgeon's knife was awaiting him.

Unfortunately, the operation was ncjt so
successful as could have been desired. At
the most critical moment, the child was
seized by a convulsive cough, and this acci-
dent, impossible to hinder, was followed by
grave results. Tiie cyst, instead of being
completely removed, could only be partly
extracted, and the wound harl to be kept
open for the secretion whc. remained,

by means of suppuration.

But we must abridge those painful details.
The parents, who had sought refuge in an
adjoining room, waited for the result in a
state of mind more easily imagined than
described.

"Well?" they both exclaimed at the same
time, with the sweat of agony on their brows,

ItJ

Christmas in French Canada

as they rushed towards the family physician
who had superintended the operation. "Well?"
" It is all over," he replied gravely.
" Ah ! and then . . . ? "

"All is going well," he added, with an
air and tone which rather belied his words.

"Ah! doctor, doctor, if there is any
danger . . . ! "

" No, there is no danger ... for the
present at least. Only let the mother arm
herself with courage, for unremitting atten-
tion will be necessary, and, perhaps, for a
long time-provided no complications arise
• . ■ . " he added with a shake of the head
betraying his uneasiness. "At all events
fever has to be warded off by all possible'
means. The sick nurse has my written
prescription. I will come back this evening"
In the evening the doctor came back.
He found the poor parents in utmost
despondency : a high fever had declared itself.
During three long days and three long
n.ffhts, the little martyr lay between life and
death.

"If he could but sleep! ..." said the
24

■5,'C*lgl||J"*4.''

Santa Claus' Violin

doctor, who no Ion<rcr took any trouble to
conceal his anxiety ; " if he could but sleep !
. . . Sleep alone can save him ; unfortu-
nately, in his present state of weakness, it
would be exceedingly imprudent to admin-
ister to him any narcotic. We must wait for
everything from nature .... or Providence."
It was agony to the poor mother, con-
fined to the bedside of her child. As for
the father, he wandered distracted about the
house, wringing his hands and longing to
dash his head against the walls.

His son! his little darling! his idol! his
only child ! He accused himself of having
killed him, and cursed his fate in a paroxysm
of wild despair.

The child had had no sleep for over two
days. Me was insensible to all that was
taking place aroun^' him, and the veiled
glances of his large, glassy eyes, consumed by
fever, wandered unconsciously through empty
space.

"To-morrow is Christmas-Day, my dar-
ling," said the father, bending over the pillow
wet with his tears, and covering with

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Christmas in French Canada

passionate kisses tiie burning little hand
wnich lay motionless on the bed, '• to-morrow
IS Christmas-Day, and to-night Santa Claus
will go his rounds distributing his presents
among the little children who are lying asleep
Your new shoes are on the hearth-stone-
there, just in the next room-you have only
to say what playthings you wish to have, and
If you sleep soundly, Santa Claus will bring
them to you. sure eiwugh. Sleep! wiH
you not?"

And the poor father turned away his head
to hide his tears and stifle his sobs.

"What do you want Santa Claus to bring
you? Come, tell me, my treasure."

" A violin!" replied the child, with i gleam
of joy in his gaze.

" A violin ? Well, Santa Claus, I am sure,
has some violins. Sleep well, then, and your
good Angel will tell him to bring you a fine
one."

But the child did not sleep; and the
doctor, who came to see him several times a
day was in despair.

"Ah! if he could but sleep! ..." he kept
26

■■ -rvh^vm^ffw^ma^'-^.

Santa Claus' Violin

saying.

"If he could sleep, were it for one
hour only."

During the evening, the child motioned to
his father.

"What is it, my dearest?" said the latter,
leaning over the bed to listen.

" Can he play the violin ? " asked the child
in a voice as feeble as a breath.

"Whom do you mean, my pet?"

" Santa Claus "

The fat? . ose at once, tapping his fore-
head. A -.uicen inspiration, an inspiration
from Heaven, had just passed through his
heart and brain.

"Yes, my love!" he exclaimed, pressing
the feverish hand of the child ; "yes, my love!
Santa Claus knows how to play the violin.
He can play it charmingly, too ; and if you
will only sleep, there, on your little pillow,
your Angel will have him play for you, and
you shall listen to him in a dream. Oh!
how fine that will be ! "

And the poor father, with a las^ faint ray
of hope in his soul, went out on tip-toe, while
the mother, alone, knelt by the^ other side of

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Christmas in French Canada

the bed, on which the little patient sat
up, openincr large, steady eyes in the dim
light which glimmered through the transpar-
ency of the lamp-shade.

Night was coming on— the holy Christmas
night.

The bells began to chime in the lofty
towers in the distance.

But the child did not sleep.
The father, after an absence of about half
an hour, came in again.

" I have just seen Santa Claus with his
basket full of toys," he said, "and amongst
them I have seen peeping out a jewel of a
violin. PTe cannot fail to be here in a
minute, for he was just coming out of a
neighbouring house. Let us lower the
lights ; and you, my darling, do shut your
eyes, and make, at least, a pretence to sleep."
He was interrupted by a slight noise that
came from the drawing-room close by.
"Hush! it is he."

The noise became more distinct : it seemed
as if some mysterious hand was secretly

tuning the strings of a violin.

f.y:^ '^■•:^iii^^'^~\-«Sffff$^ 4*\^%J»-'

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Santa Claus' Violin

The sick child gave a start, and listened
eagerly. One might have heard iiis little
heart beating in his breast.

Then followed a real enchantment.

Sounds of angelic purity floated through
the silence of the night. Fragments of
melodies of unsurpassed sweetness rippled
in the air. Accents of infinite suavity,
that seemed to emanate from the regions
of dreams, spread them.selves in wandering
airs through the calm and restful shadow.s of
the room.

The hand of the child trembled in that of
his father, whose [^aze, drowned in the twilight,
watched with feverish interest the varied
phases of surprise, joy and melting emotion
which revealed themselves in turn, on the
emaciated features of the little patient.

The latter kept listening.

For a moment the invisible bow seemed
to obey some new inspiration. The capricious
fancies of the prelude died away gradually,
and little by little, veiled themselves beneath
the texture of musical phrases, assuming a
more definite character.

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Clinstmas in French Canada

Melodies more clearly outlined began to
pour forth in the sonorous vibrations of the
instrument, and the ear could seize as it
were on the wing a whole series, or rather
an intertwined sequence, somewhat confused,
but still perfectly perceptible, of those Christ-
mas carols, so impressive in their antique
simplicity-,:he work of unknown geniuses
who knew so well how to blend the two
poles of human life by causing at one and
the same time, childhood to smile and old
age to weep.

They all came out in turn, the good old
canticles of long ago, solemn, but ever
full of deep feeling :_«p, bergers, assem-
blons-nous ! "—<' Noiwelle agrcable ! "— " // est
n^ le divin Enfant !"—" Dans cette etable."
" Les anges dans nos campagnes." . . And that
" Adeste fidetcs:' so broad in its waving har-
mony, and so thrilling with Christian poetry.
All these melodies succeeded one another,
fused in a marvelous whole, to which this
nightly scene of speechless grief lent a
charactc- of intense and ineffable impres-
siveness. At length the child no longer

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Santa Claus' Violin

moved, no lonrjer trembled. The external
world had faded away for him: he was
literally entranced with ecstacy.

By degrees, the sounds becoming weaker
and weaker simplified themselves into a
sequel of modulations, lulling and sweet,
through which the oar gucssed-almost heard
—the touching words of the popular carol :

Siispeiidaut kur saiute harnwiiie,
Lcs ciciix dloiiii^s se son/ tits,
Car la douce voix de Marie
Chan/ait pour eiidormir /dsus.

CoA U. ^^ -U

* -Jfe ^ . t. /X- A,^

tn*n -A*./ jtnt\ Cfi VM'Mw. Z*- ^H./ '"

P/%lA «N 'tUX m^\Jk- «tM

The father cast a glance on his child:
two big tears were flowing down upon the
little cheeks.

Then it was like the sighing of the breeze,
like the murmuring of flocking humming birds',
like the whisper of a stream amid the sedcre.

.■■■

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Chiistnias in French Canada

, .IS It were,
or

Witli the softness of a caress
to the ear, tlie woiuh-ous vioh'n sail"'
rather sighed forth the artless cradle-son^t;
which had so often sent the baby to sleep
in the arms of his nurse:

CV.iV Ai poiiletle giise
Qua /<oiidii (fans I'l'i^/ise^
E/i'e a fait tin petit coco
Pom- bdhd qui va fairc dodo ;
Dodiche! dodo! . .

C'uh /m. ^i^tUtc y^-M-y ^i^.ai^i^/i-^'. «;

(lit i <^«*j*«- A/ it-. If VruA /i;.U «».« «. A^' ]ud' ' sT.

tiU~ cJu., €(0-- Ma ' JP<»-«tf '-</*. iT>-<r>- '

The h'ttle one shut his eyes, bowed his
head, and his shoulder buried itself softly in
the down of the pillow. Almost at the same
moment, another head fell back on the side
of the little bed. It was the poor mother,
worn out by her viijils, who sank to sleep
with a smile on her lips — a sniile of infinite
thankfulness to God.

The father, all perplexed with hope and

»S'!;,

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Santa Clans' Violin

fe^r rose as nofselessly as a ph.-,„,o„ and
met the doctor at the half-opened door

hJ*,!-' "r"" ''' ""'™"'-=''' 0""= beside
himself; "he is saved, is he noti-

••They are both saved!" replied the

TJZ: """^ ' ^-« '"- *e Sic.

And in a rapture of gratitude the once
despamng „an burst in tears while he
clasped the t.o hands of .he great artist,
Jehm-Prume, who had just replaced his violin
in Its case.

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T is a modest hotel in
Montreal.

With his back

'' half turned to the

window of his room,

palette in one hand, and

■JSi

,;- ',: -^^:v-..^; ^ --i^,- ■',-; - -

' ''•'?!'%

ck
:he
im,
nd

A Godsend

brush in the other, a youn, painter is
fevenshly at work in front of a small camp

On his left, pinned to the frame of a
mirrored wardrobe, hangs an old canvas, about
twenty mches by thirty, all dark and tattered
•n the centre of which, through the be-
smoked tones of the clair-obscures. appear
. the graceful form and roseate complexion of
an Infant Jesus resting on a cushion, the
brow haloed by vague lights softly reflected
from the glossy twining of fair and abundant

right hand drop, and gazes at the picture
with an intensity suggestive of profound
admiration ; and again he resumes his task
his brush passing between the mosaic of the'
palette and the canvas with an accuracy of
movement which reveals the skilful and
experienced artist.

He is evidently painting a copy of the
beautiful Christ Child.

But why does he so often consult the
modest silver watch, the old fashioned chain

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"* it"-.-*-"-

Christmas in French Canada

of which hangs from his waistcoat pocket?
This we shall soon know. Meanwhile, let
us notice that hi.s glance, with an expression
of triumph, falls also, now and thL-n, on some
papers scattered on the small table beside
him, and let us claim the privilege of the
story-teller to ascertain what of interest those
papers contain.

Here is, to begin with, a stained envelope,
with broken seal, so rumpled, that it must
have been opened many times. It must also
have travelled a considerable distance, for
it bears a Canadian stamp, and its address
reads as follows :

Monsieur Maurice Flavigny,

Artiste-peintre,

Paste Restante,

Paris, France.

Let us open the letter and read :

CONTRECOEUR, November loth, 1872.

My Dear Son, — A few words in haste to tell you how
happy your last letter has made me by announcing' to
me your approaching return. Make haste, my dear
child. Alas 1 I shall not be able to see you, but I

'--^

1 *-••.»,.,..

IW^W

A Godsoiid

shall hear you, and I shall press you to my hoar I, as
I did a long- time ago.

I am still the g-uest of Mile. d'Aubray, my little
Suzanne whom I love as a daughter, anil who is good
enough to act as my secretary, since God has d.privod
me of my poor sight.

Come soon, will you not? Try . ' K; with us by
Christmas.

Your old mother, who longs i . , i,.,biace -• ni,

SOPi'i:; FLAV GNY,

There is also a telegram:

New York, December aand, iSja.
To Maurice Flavigny,

Great Wcslcm Hotel,

Montreal, Canada.

If Murillo authentic and well preserved, will give ten
thousand dollars. See agent Victor Muller, 4 Little
Craig St.

CORNHILL & GRANGER.

Besides tiie telegram, bearing the same
signature, but dated a day later, is a letter
ordering a credit in favor of Maurice Fla-
vigny, on the Bank of Montreal, for ten
thousand dollars, payable to the order of
Victor Muller, Agent of the firm of Cornhill
& Granger, of New York.

« *^*"-%< •> >; .

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Christmas in French Canada

This last letter the young artist has left
open on the table, within reach of his eye,
as if to convince himself at every turn that
he is not the victim of a delusion.

Ten thousand dollars! A small fortune!
He sees the paternal homestead redeemed ;
the good old mother saved from poverty;
and, for himself, the necessaries of life, even
an honorable and happy comfort, until repu-
tation comes with its consequences in train.

He hardly can believe his own eyes.
Does he dream ?

And while blending his colors and hastily
brushing the canvai, Maurice Flavigny
reviews all the circumstances which have
lately favored him in such an exceptional
way, together with the events which preceded
them.

He pictures himself, five years before this
time, at the age of eigh een, bidding farewell
to his family, and starting at random for the
country of modern Art, in search of that
science which develops talent, and without

— JP%,%|:^r:-

A Godsend

which genius itself remains impotent and
bhnd. He remembers his long- days of
feverish ambition, his weary nights devoted
to ungrateful tasks, the buffeting he encoun-
tered, his disappointments, his moments of
discouragement. He recalls the selfishness
of his masters, the jealousies of his comrades,
the humiliations he underwent, and all the
pangs of his wounded pride. He lives over
again his anguish, his doubt, his weariness,
his home longing, oh! yes, his home longing,
in the heart of that monstrous city where, by
a cruel irony, all the pleasures seem to con-
spire together to invest one with the sense
«-f utter solitude.

The first two years had been comparatively
serene. Maurice Flavigny had been hard at
work, striving conscientiously, living modestly
on a small pension which came from his
father— a country notary, proprietor of two
small farms which yielded but a limited
revenue— and spending his leisure hours in
the museums, studying the great masters, and
endeavoring to learn from their immortal
masterpieces the secret of their inspiration.

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Christmas in French Canada

He made rapid progress; and already
glimmering hopes began to smile upon his
ambition, when a scries of casualties over-
threw his fondest dreams and plunged him
into distress and despondenc)-.

Misfortunes impossible to foresee had
assailed the paternal home. Unwise specula-
tions had dragged the old notary to complete
ruin. And on the very day upon which the
house where Maurice was born was sold by
judicial authoritv, his father died from grief
and apoplex}', leaving to his heirs nothin-"-
but a life insurance policy barely sufficient
to prevent his wife, who had lost her sight,
from becoming an object of jjublic charity.

She had been succoured by the young
school-mistress of the neighborhood, the only
survivor of an old seigncurial family, who had
spontaneously offered her the hospitality of
one of the four rooms which constituted her
residence in the school-house.

All the details of these cruel events had
been communicated to him by the young
school-mistress herself, who had naturally to
hold the pen for her to whom the saddest

fe&,.;

..»•*« "Sftsswisiias*'

A Godsend

of infirmities forbade all personal correspond-
eiice.

Deprived of the paternal pension, the
young painter had been oblijrcd o neglect
his studies, and to give himself up almost
exclusively to mercenary labor, in order to pro-
cure his daily bread. He became. like many
others, the victim of heartless mercantilism,
which, in Paris, as in other large cities,
speculates on needy talent and draws the
blood from the veins of poor young artists
in exchange for a morsel of food.

During two long >-cars he strove and lived
miserably, without even succeeding, at the
price of the most enslaving toil, in saving
the sum necessary for his return home.

Then came the Franco-Prussian war, the
seige of Paris and the horrors of the Commune.
The young Canadian, full of devotion and
patriotism, had no;, hesitated; he had vaUc-^tly
paid his debt of blood to the great Mother,
and had been wounded at the storming of
Buzenval, side by side with his master and
friend, Henri Regneault, fallen a'.o beneath
the hail of German bullets.

r '( ..V

Christmas in French Canada

Then the lon^ months of hospital;
and afterwards the harness resumed, the
neck once more bent to the yoke to
recommence the desperate task.

As he recalls these long years of
d.stress, of hardship and sorrc.v. the young
pamter bows his head. ... a heart-rending
expression of wee pervades his features

But suddenly his whole face radiate, with
a beam of joy. One of his paintings
received and admi.ed at the Exposition
bale; a nch amateur; a brilliant sale; his
d'.bts paid, and his return to America, with
a future before hir.^ at home, by the side of
his old mother!

Unable to control his emotion, the younc^
man paces up and down the floor of the
room, and then stops in front of the table,
^azes for a long time upon the bank draft
-real, palpable, before him. After which he
returns to his work, murmuring in a tone
of supreme gratitude to God :

"And now, I am rich! . . Yes, rich'
And this after my last resource had disap-
peared, with that unfortunate pocket-book

'} 'mm

A Godsend

And the brush still hastens, fusing shadows

Ight, t,II under the influence of feverish
3-on a ™arve,„„s intensity of iife flX
from tne canvas, as the work advance, and

.He^p.cture emerges radiant,, from the r^r

> 1.4

h'4

n\^

III

But let us leave the arti«t „ u-

and relate the storv of th' "°*'

e story of ih.s lo,,t pocket boolc

Upon reaching the Bonaventure station by
the dnec. .rain from Ne,v York, Maurice
Flavgny had ordered ,,i» ,„g„,„; ""'"'
;a^en to a neighboring hotel, r.^d'" ad pa J

never fa,l ,o carry ,n their pockets for the
exigences of the /»„*,/«.

But, after reaching his room, the poor
fc"-v, with a feeling of despair o„e 'can

43 '

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Christmas in French Canada

which contained all the money he had i-i the
world, was no longer in his possession.

All search was useless. Maurice was the
victim of a pickpocket, and war; left with-
out even enough money to reach the v-llage
where he \vas impatiently expected by his
mcrther, as poor as himself

Maurice Flavigny yielded to the inevi-
table, wept si OMtly, then fell on his knees and
j.rayed. i

The next morning some one knocked at
his door.

"M. Flavigny?"
" That's my name."
" A parcel for you."

Much puzzled, the young man took the
package and opened it. An exclamation of
joy burst from his lips. There was his
pocket-book together with a parcel the size
of his arm, and a letter.

With his hand trembling with surprise,
Maurice broke the seal, and read the follow-
ing extraordinary epistle :

Sir, — The person who writes this is a stranger.
Last nig-ht, he saw a p(H-ket-booi< fall from your

y^^^-

A Godsend

pocket, and picked it up. If he returns it untouched,
nothing is left for him but to starve. In consequence,
he takes the liberty, in sending it back to you, to
retain fifty dollars out of the hundred and ten which it
contains. But, as he is not a thief, and has just
learned, from the register of your hotel, that you are a
painter, he leaves you in exchange an object which is
useless to him in this country, but which, you can
judge for yourself, is certainly worth the sum he has
retained, and even more. He came from Quebec six
weeks ago on foot ; and finding himself endowed with
very little disposition for that mode of tiavellmg, will
purchase a railroad ticket for Chicago with your
money. God preserve you from the necessity of bor-
rowing by such a process.

No signature,

Maurice Flavigny, at once relieved and
perplexed, untied the parcel, and discovered
the picture which we have just seen him
copying.

He examined it rather indifferently at
first, believing it to be like so many other
pretended "masters," a perfectly worthless
copy. But the more attention he gave it,
the more he felt his interest awakened. It
was something after all. No mistake, it
was something! A genuine piece of old

(

MHIMUaHUMi

Christmas in French Canada

art ; a master's work ; a masterpiece per-
haps.

" What can it be ? " he said with intense
interest.

He spread open the canvas, took it near
the window, surveyed it at a distance, then
again more closely. Suddenly a flash of
light passed through his mind :

"Can it be possible!" he cried ... "An
Infant-Jesus by Murillo ! . . . Yes! this
smoothness of tone, those aerial and waving
shadows, those warm reflections of light, the
moistness of the eyes and lips, the grace of
the modelling, the morbidezza of the flesh,
the harmony of the whole, both ideal and
realistic, all the characteristics of the old

Spanish master! Every dash of the

brush marks the signature. But here? By
what miracle? . . . And, I am the owner of
this treasure. Oh ! my dear mother . . ."

And Maurice wiped his eyes full of tears.
Passing through New York, he had made
the acquaintance of wealthy dealers in paint-
ings, who had said to him : " There must be

some works of the old masters In Canada,

', i^r

A Godsend

among the ancient French families. If you
ever come across some of them the owner
be wilh'ng to dispose of, please think of us,"
"Holy Virgin!" cried he, "in three days
from now, it will be Christmas ; if I sell this
picture I vow to paint a copy of it for the
creche of my village ! "

To paint the copy in two days was a
hard task indeed, but it was accomplished.
The original was delivered to the agent of
Cornhill & Granger. The price agreed upon
was paid, and with the copy he had made,
neatly framed, Flavigny, the afternoon before
Christmas Day, crossed the river at Longueuil,
and there hired a conveyance to drive him
down to Contrecoeur.

In the evening we find him knocking at
the door of the presbyter}^ his votive offering
in hand. The Cicr^, a good soul with some
artistic tastes, delighted with the godsend,
welcomed with extreme courtesy his parish-
ioner, whom he knew by name only,

( >,:

i • \

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Chri' tuias in French Canada

as he hiiu been in the place but a short
time.

He greatly admired the little chefd\vuvre
in which he found a 1 li oi familiar
appearance," he said ; and an hour later the
new painting, adorned with flowers and ever-
greens, and suspended on the background of
tlie sacred shrine of the | arish church,
.ibove the traditional manger, awaited the
midnight bell to radiate in the glow of
lamps and wax-tapers.

Maurice Flavigny left the presbytere of
Contrecoeur with an order for a large paint-
ing of the Holy Trinity, the patron of the
parish. One can imagine what a hymn of
gratitude rang in the heart of this youth of
twenty-three, who, on this Christmas night,
so joyful, so solemn, so impressive to all, was
carrying both happiness and wealth to her
he loved best 'v! th,> world, his old mother,
poor and blind, whom he had not seen for
five long years.

Maurice found her at the school-house,
attended by only a young maid: he school-
mistress, who was at th.' same time the

A God solid

organist of the parish, having had to spend
the day in the vicinity of the church for the
rehearsal of the Christmas music, at a cousin's
of hers, a young physi'ian recently settled in
the village.

We shall not describe th meeting of the
mother and son. Such happy scenes of over-
llowing tenderness cannot be depicted. The
human heart is so constituted, that intensity
of joy, like sorrow, naturally resolves itself in
tears. Long did the reunited ones weep in
°ach other's arms. And then — oh! the
mysterious impulse of the soul which, in
haf.piness as in distress, leads us to the feet
of Him who is the source of all felicity as
He is all consolation ! — the poor invalid

took her son by the hand :

"Come, Maurice," said she, feeling her
way as best she could towards a part of the
bare wall, whore her unsec ing eyes seemed
to contemplate some invisible object, " come,
kneel down with me before the Infant-
Jesus I "

.<:'

(

I ^ ... ..

i l.i

* i

Cbiistnias in Imi'ikIi Canada

"What Iiifant-Jcsus?" asked the young
artist, not nolicin<j the significant beckoning
of the little maid, busy with the dressing of
the table.

"The Infant-Jesus of Suzanne, there,
on the wall, the old painting she loves so
well."

" I don't know what you mean," said
Maurice, whose eyes, moving to and fro
between the wall and his mother, still did
not catch the glance of the little maid.

" Why ! don't you see the picture on the
wall?"

"Surely, no," said the young man, looking
at his mother with anxious surprise.

"The Infant-Jesus is not there? ....
The Infant-Jesus is gone I . . . Oh! pity
on me ! I dread to understand ! "

And the poor blind woman sank on her
chair, sobbing.

The little maid was questioned by Maurice,
and after some hesitation, she explained all.
During the last illness of Mme. Flavigny
Mile. Suzanne, who had become entirely
destitute, and knew not where to find money

A Godsend

for the medicines ordered by the doctor of
a neighboring village-for there was no
physician at Contrccoeur at that time-had
sold the old painting to a stranger, a passer-
by who had entered the house by chance.
She had received a good price f,;r it though,
said the maid. Five dollars ! Which did not
prevent her eyes being red with tears when
she parted with her treasure. She had warned
the little maid not to say anything about
the matter, especially to Mme. Flavigny,
who, being blind, imagined all the time that
the Infant-Jesus was in its usual place.

" Now," entreated the poor girl in con-
clusion, "don't tell Mile. Suzanne I have
betrayed her secret; she would not scold
me, she is too kind for that; but it would
grieve her. Would it not, Madame?"

Maurice's mother wept silently, while he,
preyed upon by a strange preoccupation, re-
flected profoundly, pacing the room up and
down, from one end to the other. After a
moment he spoke:

"What kind of a painting was it?" he
asked.

\ I

• -.••f«.»l-<ta««»i#

Christmas in French Canada

"Oh! merely old rubbish," answered his

mother, "but the child had a love for it. It

was a treasure to her. It was all she had

inherited from her family— one of the oldest

in Quebec ; the last remnant of their former

wealth, which she held from her grandmother,

who left it to her, saying that it would bring

her good luck. . . And imagine, the dear

little one sacrificed it for me. . . Oh!

Maurice, Maurice, what an angel! . . And

so beautiful, they say! . . "

Maurice still reflected ; at last he said :
"What size was the painting?"
"About three feet by two," answered the
little maid.

"An Infant-Jesus?"

"Yes, with nice little golden locks, and
lying on a silk pillow."
Maurice grew pale.

" On a dark ground ? " asked he with
quivering voice.

" Yes, sir, very dark ! "

iiilii^is

A Godsend

For some time past, the tinkling of sleigh
bells, mingled with the grinding of runners on
the snow, hardened by the cold, had been
heard at intervals. It was the parishioners
hastening to church to prepare themselves for
Communion, at the mysterious and poetic
nocturnal mass.
Suddenly :

"Whoa! . . Whoa! . . Stop!"
Voices were heard at the door. One
sleigh, two sleighs just halted.

" Who is ' it ? " asked Mme. Flavigny.
" It is the Gendreau and the Benoit,
Madame."

" Our old farmers, Maurice ; you knew
them; good people who do not forget me,"
she said with satisfaction.

"\^^-^lk in, messieurs et dames, walk in!"

" Good evening to all ! " exclaimed the
new comers.

*' Bonsoir, la compagnie ! How is your
health, Madame Flavigny ? "

\\\

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Christmas in French Canada

''Trcs Men I It is you, Monsieur and
Madame Gendreau? It is you, Julie? And
your husband, I suppose? . . "

"Marcel Benoit, pour votes scrvir !"
" Yes, Madame," intervened Gendreau, who
was somewhat of an orator, having been a
candidate for municipal honors, "here are
Marcel Benoit and Philippe Gendreau. your
old farmers, who never forget their good
mistress, and who come with their wives,
also present, to offer you their Christmas
greetings, with all the compliments of the
season, as big people say."

"Thank you, thank you, my good friends!"
" More than that, Mame Flavigny, we have
just heard that your long expected son has
returned home to-day. and as you are con-
fined to your house, if you will allow it, we
shall join here and have a good supper
together after the midnight mass."

"You are too kind, indeed," said Maurice,
who, absorbed as he was in his reflections,'
had remained aside. "Monsieur and Madame
Gendreau, Monsieur and Madame Benoit, I
am deeply touched with your thoughtfulness,"

iHWs:

A Godsend

he continued. "I know you have been ex-
cellent friends to my poor mother, and I am
happy to have this opportunity of thanking
you for it. As to the supper. . . "

"This is no great place for feasting," inter-
rupted Mme. Flavigny.

"Tut! tut! . . you have nothing to say
on the subject. We have brought all that is
wanted. We know how it is when visitors
are not expected."

"Come, Lisette! Come, Julie!" exclaimed
Marcel Benoit, "show your stock of supplies.
Here, look at this ! Two hampers full : meat
pies, tarts, a chine-piece of fresh pork, a
turkey, and a-oquignolcs* real Christmas cro-
quignoles, as we know you like them,
Mame Flavigny."

"Yes, yes, yes! but we must not forget
to mention something else," added Philippe
Gendreau with a significant wink and strum-
ming lightly on the round fat belly of a
h-ttle stone jar; "here is some Jamaica of
the good old time, Monsieur Maurice. The
X^ thing your father used to like. I

* Doughnuts.

I >

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!^l

(Mfl#/^^«l^*J(

Ill

Christmas in French Canada

thought this would please you, and I hope
it will suit your taste. Poor Monsieur le
notairel it is the remainder of a small keg
he made me a present of on my wedding
day."

Maurice Flavigny, moved to the heart by
this simple friendliness, passed around from
on^ group to the other, silently pressing the
hands of each person, too much affected to
otherwise express his gratitude.

" That's all right, then ! " said Philippe
Gendreau in his resounding vo.ce.

"That's all right!" repeated Marcel Ben-
oit, his faithful echo.

"La Louise will come," continued Gen-
dreau, "to help the little creature to set the
table. As for us, let us go. The last bell
will ring soon. To church first, and the
rt'veillon afterwards. Monsieur Maurice, there
is a place for you in my cariole at the side
of my wife. But, be careful, mind you, for
she is somewhat ticklish."

Maurice, who was not a stranger to those
jovial and familiar manners, heartily accepted

the invitation, and after having put on his

■*f tl>'*.l,«.

A Godsend

heavy winter wraps, impressed a long and
warm kiss on his mother's brow.

"A bientdt, my son!" she said; "go and
thank the good Infant-Jesus for all the
happiness he is bestowing upon us this
evening. You will see Suzanne; tell her
that she is expected here without fail after
mass with her cousin, the new doctor, and
his wife, if she is not afraid to venture out
in the cold."

"Ho! ho! . . Get in, get \n\ Let us lose
no time, 7ios gens!"

It was the thundering voice of Philippe
Gendreau giving the signal for the start.

"All aboard! all aboard, les creatures!"

It was Marcel Benoit, who, according to
his custom, seconded his comrade's motion.

VII

And gling! . . glang! . . diriding!

Here are the ' vo joyful sleigh loads mov-
ing off at full speed over the creaking snow,
under the stars glitterini'^ on their blue back-
ground like burning points of steel.

f I

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i 'li.

Christmas in French Canada

Gling, glang, glong ! . . diriding, ding!
There they go, the fiery little Canadian
horses, snorting in the mist, tossing their
rimy manes, and exhibiting their well-known
mettle,— Maurice Flavigny and the farmers'
wives, warmly wrapped up in the depths of
the carioles, while, standing in the front, well
belted up in their wild-cat overcoats, with their
fur caps pulled down to their eyes, icicles on
their moustaches, and the reins passed around
their necks, Philippe Gendreau and Marcel
Benoit vigorously beat their bodies to warm
their fingers, for the cold is fierce and
bitter.

And gling! . . gling, diriding! . .
Still they go, the brave little Canadian
ponies, excited by more solemn and distant
sounds which the wind brings to them in
intermittent peals :
Dang ! dong ! . ,

It is the great bells this time. The big
parish bells which sing their joyous carillon in
the night from the lantern-shaped steeple of
the old church of Contrecoeur, the tall win-
dows of which appear in the distance, their

■"^M,

A Godsend

rosy gleam contrasting with the pale hghts
of the outside.

As Maurice Flavigny entered the church
and walked towards Philippe Gendreau's pew,
placed in the front of the Virgin's Chapel!
face to face with the manger-shrine, a voice,
sweet but powerful, a woman's voice full of
emotion, accompanied by the strains of a
harmonium artistically played, intoned the old
carol often sung by our ancestors, that old
hymn so touching in its ancient form and
simplicity :

f^, herf^ersy assemblons-nous !

-0 *-

Ca.^ oe/t.-^ci^i a.<i~^iyu-t '*</ fta^^ < .

« i

Was it only the impression which every
natural and sensitive heart feels at the sight,
after long absence, of the old village church
where he was baptized, where he received
his first communion, and which echoed his
infant prayers, or was it the effect produced
on him by this silver-toned voice which he

1 1 «

' v-"'^*)i i i i aii j |W |,4*^iy-

Christmas in French Canada

\ I

heard for the first time? At all events, the
young stranger knelt, or rather fell on his
knees, hiding his face in his hands, his
breast shaken by tumultuous sensations
hitherto unknown to him.

When he raised his eyes, his copy of
the Infant-Jesus was before him. From the
midst of flowers, gold ornaments, and lamps
of varied colors, the soft eyes looked upon
him with an ineffable smile. Then, two big
tears glided over his cheeks. He felt as
though in a dream — and, lulled by the
simple and impressive chants of this holy
night full of sacred mystery, his thoughts
involuntarily gathered in sweet memories and
indefinite hopes which invaded his heart
overflowing with emotion and happiness.

By degrees, the face of the divine bam-
bino, which he did not cease to contemplate
with the pride and interest of an artist,
seemed transformed into the delicate features
of a fair young girl with virginal brow, and
eyes soft and caressing, in their supreme
expression of kindness and sweet melancholy.

The whole scene also changed gradually.
60

'-A

iittM

A Godsend

Maurice saw this young girl, brought up in
luxury, but condemned to work for a livin^r
sharing her home with a poor, blind and
helpless woman, and becoming her guardian
angel, her daughter, her nurse. More than
this, he saw her giving up for a trifle a
family relic, a sacred keepsake, a master-
piece beloved and venerated, to save the
poor invalid stranger. For he doubted no
longer, the Infant-Jesus the copy of which
had seemed familiar to the parish priest-—
that painting which had fallen into his hands
by such an extraordinary hazard — that
Miirillo which had enriched him— could be
nothing else but the old heirloom secretly
sold to save his mother.

And this voice which so profoundly
stirred all the fibres of his heart, was it
not the voice of this young girl, of this
modest benefactress — that of Suzanne? . . .
And this name, half uttered, expired on his
lips, like the most exquisite, but at the same
time the most bewildering music.

* I

m
I

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Christmas in French Canada

V!II

The communion drew near. The voice
which had just modulated the last notes of
a touching pastoral became silent. A dyinjr
strain of harmony floated a moment in the
sonorous depths of the arches. Then Maurice
saw passing at his left hand, to approach the
communion table, a fair, tall, young maiden,
with an unusual air of distinction, modestly
dressed in black, the sight of whuiii deeply
moved hirp.

She ki)v,'it down, received the Sacrament,
and t' ,.i; vvcnt and reverently prostrated her-
self bcfor' the Christmas shrine. But when
she rose and lifted her eyes to make the
sign of the Cross on her breast, she uttered
a cry of surprise, and tottered.

With a bound Maurice was at her side,
and supported her in his arms.

A few minutes later, they were at the

doctor's house ; but happily, Suzanne — for

the reader has, no doubt, recognized the

identity of the young girl — Suzanne did not

kMWI

A Godsend

require his aid, the fresh outdoor air having

completely restored her from the shock

she had experienced at the sight of the
painting.

When Maurice and Suzanne's cousin tr
their surprise was manifested by two excla-
mations :

" Gustavo ! "

" Maurice ! "

"By what chance, I wonder?"

"This is my home; and yourself? when
did }-ou return?"

" I arrived this very night."

" Is it possible ? and what brings you
here ? "

"My mother. She lives with . . . Mile.
D'Aubray, if I am not mistaken?" said
Maurice, bowing to the }-oung lady.

"With Suzanne?"

"Yes, cousin," intervened the school-mis-
tress, "the blind lady I spoke to you about
is this gentleman's mother, it appears."

" What a coincidence ! I have been
requested to give her my professional
attendance."

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Photographic

Sciences
Corporation

23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580

(716) 872-4503

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Christmas in French Canada

"In fact, you were an oculist, at Paris?"
commented Maurice.
" Exactly."
" Ah ! my dear friend, if you could ever

" I understand ; you may depend upon
me. I will do my best."

"Thanks, but how is it . . .?"

"That an oculist .should be at Contre-
coeur instead of Montreal? Family interests,
dear friend. The health of my wife demands
country air — for I am married, my jrood
fellow, married for the last six months. But
I shall tell you all this on our way; I
have just ordered my horse for the purpose
of driving Suzanne home, and there is a
j)lace for you in the sleigh — with your per-
mission, cousin ? "

"Good! let us drive on, then!" inter-
rupted Philippe Gendreau, who had just
appeared on the threshold of the door, whip
in hand, his faithful Achates at his heels.

" Let us drive on ! " repeated Marcel
Benoit, " the women are ready."

"You know we take the n^veillon together,
64

A Godsend

doctor," added Philippe Gendreau ; "it's
understood."

" It's understood, doctor," re-echoed Marcel
Benoit.

"Ah! well," said the doctor, "there is
a irvcillon, eh? That's another thin- Vou
must wait a second, then. I shall have to
do my share in it."

A moment later, the wh.^le ,,arty drove
away at full speed.

ij ;

On entering the school-house, the voun-
mistress hastened to ki.ss Maurice's mother
It was a daily habit ; but whether from the
effect of one day's absence, or something else
the blind woman could not help noticing
that "her little Suzanne" kissed her with
unusual fondness that evening.

"Oh! such a beautiful midnight, mass as
u-e have had, Mame Flavigny ! " exclaimed
the farmers and their wives. Philippe
Gendreau, Marcel Benoit, Lisette and Julie
surrounding the table burdened by a weight

t^Sfr;

Christmas in French Canada

of substantial and succulent country dishes,
interspersed with lofty pyramids of croquig-
noles in their dress of powdered sugar — the
traditional Christmas cake of French Canada.

And after a grace reverently pronounced
by the blind lady for the blessing of that
table around which sat all that were dear
to her in this world, the feast began amidst
laughter and joyful exclamations.

" Yes, a splendid midnight mass ! " said
the doctor. " Did you notice in what par-
ticularij' good spirits the Cure seemed to
be?"

" And what perfect singing I " timidly
added Maurice.

Suzanne raised her eyes to his. The
painter was seated by hi; ther ; and the

young girl had modestl> ..^en a place at
the side of her cousin at the other end of
the table.

"Yes, yes, yes, that's all very well!"

cried out Philippe Gendreau, "but in the

meanwhile it's long time between drinks.

Ladies and gentlemen, sauf vof respect,

Mame Flavigny, don't you think we ought

A Godsend

to drink a little toast between ourselves
were it only to have a short speech from
Monsieur Maurice?"

"A capital idea!" emphasized Marcel
Benoit, never too late when called upon
to favor the views of his friend and can-
didate.

"Well, then," interposed the doctor, has-
tenmg to open a parcel he had left behind
on entering the house, "if that be so, here
IS the moment for my surprise."

And he exhibited two sealed bottles
which-no matter what may be the opinion
of the reader-did not seem too much out
of place on the table of the humble school-
house of Contrecoeur.

"Champagne, upon my word!" exclaimed
Maurice.

"Yes, champagne, and not bad champagne
either," cried the doctor, with the nod of a
connoisseur.

"A real banquet, then."
"Yes, the remainder of one tendered to
me on the eve of my marriage, by my col-
leagues of the Faculty, my good fellow. It

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Christmas in French Canada

IS a jo3T)us circumstance added to your
happy home cominfr."

And the Doctor, after having popped the
corks, filled the glasses and raised his own,
saying :

"My friends, to the health of Madame
Flavigny first, and then to that of my brave
comrade, Maurice, who, by a happy coinci-
dence, joins us on this Christmas night."

"Merry Christmas!" cried out all the
guests, rising and touching their glasses
across the table.

Meanwhile. Suzanne had disappeared.
The recipient of this cordial toast rose to
his feet while the other guests resumed their
seats. After having emptied his glass,
Maurice opened his lips to utter a few
words of thanks;

" My friends," he began—
But he stopped. A melodious voice, the
same which had so much impressed the
young artist on his entrance into the
church, one of those voices which come
from and go to thr heart, a voice which
conveyed by its freshness a peculiar serenity

- "--■"•^"^'■a>.te*»A£ife-,mfeiri #^jfa.,,,.rtta^ ^ ,^^

A Godsend

of expression, sounded from the adjoining
room, accompanied by the sweet and trem-
bhng notes of a mclodeon.
The voice sang :

Ncuvelle afcrdable !

^^M

salvo of applause.

"Merry Christmas!" cried the in

company again and again ^°"'

Maurice kissed his weeping mother.

Suzanne had resumed her seat at the table,
and bowed blushingly under the ga^e full of
caressmg emotion with which the son of
Mme. Flavigny enveloped her. A current of
^Tiysterious affinities floated in the air In .

s.ngle moment two hearts held entrancing.

communion : most sacred compact which the

Angel of Love signs In the face of God

with a smile on his lips.

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Christmas in French CanacUi

Maurice tried to resume his speech :
"My friends," said he, "you have been
drinkin^r t'le healths of my mother and my-
self . . "

He was interrupted once more:

"Wait a minute, here am I!" cried the
joyous voice of a new comer.

A general outburst of surprise followed :

^'Monsieur le curt'!"

And every one rose with respect to greet
the beloved and venerated pastor of the
parish.

"Yes," said the priest, who held under
his arm a somewhat voluminous object ; "yes,
Madame Flavigny; yes, Mademoiselle' Suz-
anne, it is I, who asks your leave to share
in your joy."

"Bravo! bravo. Monsieur le curd! Come
and have a seat with us at the table."

"Certainly, my children; but first allow
me to furnish my own share towards the
general rejoicing."

^m.

A Godsend

Whereupon the good priest exhibited, to
the admiration of all, the object he had
under his arm, and which was nothing else
but the copy of the Murillo so fondly
painted by Maurice.

"My Infant-Jesus!" exclaimed Suzanne,
bewildered. "My Infant-Jesus! . . Yes, it is
He ; it was not a dream. . . And quite
new. . . Revived, radiant. . . How can it
be?"

" Mademoiselle," said the good priest, " I
have just heard that there were for you some
dear family remembrances and a touching
tale of devotion attached to the original of
this picture. You deserve that at least the
copy should be yours, and I made it a duty
to present it myself this Christmas night.
The parish owes you more than th.'s for all
the services you render to our chu..T. from
one year's end to the other."

"Merry Christmas!" cried again all the
voices, while Suzanne, with folded hands,
and still overcome with her surprise, said :

"Monsieur k curd, explain. It is not a
dream. . . It is a miracle, is it not.?"

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Christmas in French Canada

"Yes, my child," answered the curd, "a
miracle of artistic skill. Ask my new
parishioner, Monsieur Maurice, who now
must do his part towards concealing the
theft I have committed to the prejudice of
my cloth, and without the knowledge of my
more virtuous church-wardens."

The young lady slowly turned towards
Maurice and repaid to the young man the
gaze with which he had caressed her a
moment ago. After having divined, they
understood each other. The sweetest emotion
filled their two souls.

"Well, now, a tabic I d tabled cried
Philippe Gendreau; "we are only beginning."
Another voice echoed :
"^ tabic!"

Needless to ask if it was that of Marcel
Benoit.

'\A

" Monsieur Maurice, I congratulate you
on your happy return," said the good priest,
emptying the glass tendered to him by the'

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A Godsend

doctor; "God bless you in your wa>s, and
keep you ever worthy of the pious mother
he has favored you with."

"Thank- you, Monsieur le am\ for your
good wishes," said Maurice, speaking in a
particuk-irly serious tone; "I shall try to
prove to you, this very moment, that I
deserve them."

And leaving his seat, he passed around
the table, and laid a large white envelope
before the younjj school-mistress, saying:

" Mademoiselle, this envelope contains a
bank draft for ten thousand dollars; it is
a sum which I restore to its owner."
" Eh ? "
"What?"
" How is that ? "
" Ten thousand dollars ! "
"What does this mean?"
" It mr-ns, my friends," answered Maurice,
"that th^ original of the painting you have'
just admired, belonged to Mademoiselle;
that it was the work of a great master; that
it fell into my hands by chance, or rather by
an interposition of Providence; that I sold it

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, \

Christmas in French Canada

for ten thousand dollars; and that I simply
renr.it the price to whom it is due."

" Hut, sir," said Suzanne, whom so many
emotions had rendered pale and trembling,
"you do not owe me an)'thing. The picture
no longer belonged to me ; I had sold it."

"Oh! no. Mademoiselle, you had not sold
it. Like the good angel that >ou arc, you
had sacrificed that family relic which was
so dear to you, in order to help my poor,
sick and forsaken mother."

"No matter. Monsieur. Even supposing
such a charitable action on my part, I cannot
be considered as the owner of an object to
which I have no claim whatever.''
" Mademoiselle . . ."

'' Non, Monsieur, I cannot take the
money," said Suzanne, returning the envel-
ope to the young man ; " it is not mine."

" Then here, mother," said Maurice, placing
the paper in the hands of the invalid; "give
it to her yourself, since she will not accept
anything from me?"'

" Maurice, you are worthy of your father,"
said the good old woman.

>*a

A Godsend

And adflressin^r Suzanne :

"My child," said she, " take this money,
't is yours; it comes as the accomph-shmcnt
of >our frrandmother's prediction; you
remember, she said the old painting would
brin^r you good luck. You have taken care
of me, you have rescued me in my distress,
you sat at my bed-side, you have saved my
life; God rewards you for it by the hand of
my son, and through the unconscious object
which was the instrument of your charity.
Take this money."

"No, Madame, it is useless to insist," said
Suzanne, resolutely. "The money is not
mine."

" But it is dae to you."
" Madame Flavigny," said tho girl, proudly,
"even though I had some title to your grati-
tude it would be no reason for me to accept
the price of a service rendered, would it ? "

" And as for me, Mademoiselle," inter-
vened Maurice, "I cannot keep the money
which belongs to you. To enrich myself
through your .sacrifice when I am already so
greatly indebted to your kindness would

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Christmas in French Canada

be an act of meanness which ivould make
me despicable in my own eyes. Do accept,
I beseech you . . . Suzanne!"

He stopped, extremely confused at having
dared to utter those two syllables which had
so far ascended his heart only to expire on
his lips. "Do accept," he insisted, "for your
happiness and ours ! "

" Impossible, Monsieur Maurice," answered
the young lady hiding her face in her hands.
"^ The money is yours ; I shall never accept
it . . . never ! . . ."

Maurice let his arms fall helplessly
by his side, and threw a glance around,
as if to seek for advice. What was to be'
done?

"Monsieur le cure, speak!" besought the
poor blind mother.

The two young people were standing
facing each other, with downcast eyes, and
in painful embarrassment, both perplexed and
grieved in the contemplation of the unex-
pected wealth, fallen from heaven, but which
neither of them could touch without a
capitulation both of pride and conscience

d I

. ? " said one

A Godsend

"Well, mo7isieur le awe .
of the by-standers.

"My good friends," said the priest, "the
case is really a difficult one . . . Neverthe-
less, since God has sent this treasure, there
ought to be some means of . . . The fact
is that there is one means ... but . . ."

''Monsieur cun<, I understand you,"
interrupted the doctor, joyously. "You
have discovered the true and only means
of making matters right. There is no other
. . . And if, by chance, Mme Flavigny had
the least thought of asking from me the
hand of my cousin for her son, after what
I have seen at my house, on the road and
here, I give her my word of honor that I
would order the publication cf the banns in
less than two weeks."

"And it would not cost you much," cried
the Cur^, laughing.

"I'll take your word for it, Monsieur
/' abb^; as for me, I have only one
condition to insist upon : it is, that, in
order to avoid all new conflict of interest,
the future wife and husband be married

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Christmas in French Ccanada

under the old regime: community of pro-
perty."

" Bravo ! Merry Christmas ! merry Christ-
mas!" ejaculated the delighted company.

Maurice and Suzanne were so confused
that they did not dare to raise their eyes
on each other.

The blind woman stretched her trembling
arms towards Suzanne, who threw herself
into them with a sob.

Lisette, Julie, /a Louise and the little
maid wiped their eyes with their aprons
Maunce bent one knee on the floor, took
Suzanne's hand in his and impressed upon
It a long and fervid kiss.

"Bless them. Monsieur le cur/!" prayed
the good old mother, also wiping her poor
blind eyes. '< Bless them, you. who can see
them."

And while the old priest extended his
long white hands over the two reclining
brows, the doctor, who had stealthily and
more than once observed the eyes of the
invalid, drew near her, and whispered in her
ear:

A Godsend

"You shall also see them in a few weeks
Madame Flavigny. take my word for it." '
The little picture was bound to bring
luck to everybody.

And if any one, at that moment, had
passed along the road in front of the old
school-house at Contrecoeur, he would no
doubt have heard, mixed up with joyous
laughter, voices young and old, clear and
ringing, crying:

''Noel! nocl! . . Merry Christmas'"
"We shall elect him a member of the
council," cried out Philippe Gendreau.

"We'll elect him mayor!" exclaimed Mar-
cel Benoit, who. for the first time, took upon
himself to differ with his friend.

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In a Snowstorm:

HE first time I stood
godfather was
under very extra-
ordinary circum-
stances indeed,
said the Judge.
It was well in the month of December,

fully forty years ago, when for some reason

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was
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In a Snow Storm

or other, an election for the legislature was
to tal:e place in the county of Charlevoix,
in January following.

Things happened in those days pretty
much as they do now: all the young
lawyers and other members of the profes-
sions who had aspirations for public life,
were enlisted to assist, with their oratory,
one or other of the candidates.

Living in Quebec at this time, and being
one of the phalanx on our side, I was among
the first called to the front. You all know
what a task it is to carry on an election
campaign in rural districts during the winter
time ; but, as you know, youth recoils from
nothing when called upon to rally under the
flag.

I had never visited that part of the
country, which was said to be very pictur-
esque ; and, although the season was anything
but favorable for a tourist, I made up my
mind to undertake the journey, consoling
myself with the thought that whatever the
landscape might lose in peaceful beauty at
this season of the year, would be more

1 ! ("l

Christmas in French Canada

than compensated for by its uild and
impressive character.

My traveUing companion was to be one
of my class-mates of the Seminary, a prom-
ising young doctor, who, alas! was lost to
science before he could give the world the
full measure of his talents.

We both remembered that another class-
mate of ours had just been nominated cur^
of St. Tite des Capes, and we got it into
our heads that it would be a pleasant thing
to surprise him by our presence at midnight
mass in his nev/ parish, where opportunities
for worldly recreation were not frequent
enough to afford him many occasions br
indulgence.

A joyful evening en f<wiille, between
pipe and cork screw, and then an interest-
ing midnight ceremony in some rustic
chapel, after which a cheerful rc<vemon
with wholesome tourticres and the tradi-
tional croquignolcs, together with a {qw
glasses of cordial to toast the health of
our candidate, this constituted, you must
admit, a simple but rather alluring prospect.

/ i\

[f^« i-y— •■•■•• •

and

In a Snow Storm

Our plans were quickly arranged; and
we started on our journey with a trust-
worthy carter by the naa.e of Pierre
Vadeboncoeur, who knew the road well
and a lively prancing tandem shaking their
Jingl.ng collars in superb style and gait

The sky was grey, but there was no
particular indication of bad weather, and
apparently nothing to prevent us from
reachmg our destination before ^ix o'clock
in the evening

The box of our sleigh had been divided
'nto two compartments ; in the one we had
placed our ammunition for the election, that
•s to say, the campaign literature to reinforce
our oratorical flights ; in the other all that we
considered necessary to supplement the cellar
and larder of our friend, who lived, of course
the simple abstemious life usual to our country
rurcs, especially in those out-of-the-way re-
gions.

I shall not give a description of the
country through which we were obliged to
pass; Beauport, Ange-Gardien, Chdteau-Richer
Ste. Anne de Beaupr^ and St. Joachim are

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Christmas in French Canada

all beautiful parishes; but from there to St.
Tite, it is an interminable ascent across the
most broken and desolate country one can
possibly imagine; a dreadful road, plunging
at times into dense forest, then winding up
to bare summits, reached by rugged roadways
creeping through fantastic gorges or sidling
along dizzy precipices.

Such are the Capes. This infernal tract
is known as the road of La Miche. And
the road of La Miche, that is the place
above all the others where " the north wind
doth blow," and where the storms of winter
find full scope to unbridle their fury.

Now the weather, which had been reason-
ably fine during the early afternoon, had
begun to change for the worse after our
passage through the village of Ste. Anne.
The snow— thick and dry—drifted from time
to time by sudden gusts of wind, began to
fill up the road, sadly impeding our pro-
gress. Consequently wc were somewhat
late in arriving at St. Joachim, where we
halted at the house of an old fellow by
the name of Filion, the keeper of a neat

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In a Snow Storm

country inn, to light our pipes and shake off
the chill.

''Messicursr said the innkeeper, "perhaps
you will think it is none of my business
but if I were in your place I would go no
further to-night."

"What do you mean?"
"I mean that Cape Tourmente does not
bear his name for nothing; see if he has
not the appearance of hiding himself for
some mischief Take my word, in half an
hour from this, it will take no ordinary
horses to cross the Cftpes."

"Mine are not St. Joachim horses, you
know," said the driver, somewhat piqued.
"I have seen your CApes before; I know
what they are."

"Not so well as I do," returned the inn-
keeper; "and I wager you my house with
all that's in it, that you won't go throu-h
the capes this evening."

"Well, well, we shall see," replied Pierre,
lighting his pipe and tipping us a kind of
malicious wink which we understood full
well.

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Christmas in French Canada

Filion-evidently an honest man-under-
stood it also, for turning towards us he
remarked :

" If these gentlemen suspect me of giving
interested advice, I have nothing left but to
wish them good luck; my duty is done."

We felt he was si- :cre ; but to miss our
Christmas Eve, our surprise for our friend
the cure, was too much of a disappointment.
And then Pierre Vadeboncoeur seemed so sure
of his venture. . .

In short, we re-entered the cariole, and
while we warmly wrapped ourselves in the
robes, the driver vigorously lashed his horses,
who sprang forward, snorting, through the'
drifts.

The innkeeper had spoken truly; in less
than an hour, we were travelling blindly over .
impracticable roads, in complete darkness,
enveloped in a torrent of snow and sleet, of
'vhich no one. who has not seen the same,
can form an idea. After having mounted
perpendicular escarpments, at the summit of
which our horses could hardly stand against
the wind, wc had to descend into yawning

\\ r;!i«f ,»!)!■«,

Ill a Snow Storm

gulfs, bordered by giant firs, where the poor
animals almost disappeared in the whirling
snow.

Of course, we could not advance at more
than a walk ; and with nothing but instinct
to guide them, our beasts, exhausted and
blinded by clinging rime, trudged painfully
along with hanging heads and heaving flanks.

"Suppose we turn back," said I to the
driver. " It is evident we cannot go much
further."

" Turn back ! " e.xclaimed the poor man,
who seemed bitterly to regret his recent
boasting; "it is too late, monsieur; I am
as blind as my horses; in turning back, we
would risk missing the track, and with the
track missed, I would not give five cents for
our three skins."

The doctor said nothing.

Our situation was becoming hopeless ;
since wc could not retrace our steps, it was
just as impossible to remain where we were,
for the cold was increasing in a terrible
manner, and in .'-pite of our thick furs, we
were chilled through and through. We had

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Christmas in French Canada

no alternative but to advance-to advance at
all hazards.

I was once in my life in distress at sea
with but little hopes of escape; but no'
agony of shipwreck can be compared to that
which my companion and myself went
through that evening, lost in the dark
solitude and tempest, half paralyzed with the
wolfish cold, and depending on two wretched
horses, which threatened at every moment to
drop uncfer the suffocating whirlwind.

This last calamity was at hand. Suddenly
our shaft horse snorted wildly, and stopped
dead, shivering with terror; the other one
had missed his footing on the edge of a
declivity, rolling on his flank, and struggling
in h.s agony, half swallowed up in a flurry
of moving snow.

That cursed Filion has bewitched us ! "
cried our unhappy driver, throwing himself
at the head of the second horse to prevent
him from being dragged down by the frantic
efforts of his companion; "if we have lost
the road, there is nothing left for us to do,
messieurs, but say our prayers."

' r)

"''^r*}m

In ca Snow Storm

While uttering these desponding words,

the poor devil had nevertheless succeeded in

unharnessing the fallen horse. But what

next? Leave the poor animal to perish in

the snow? It was first to be seen if the

other was able to continue the journey by

himself We got out of the sleigh, and

rather plunged than walked to give help to

the unfortunate driver, who, in spite of all,

retained sufficient courage to endeavor to'

save his horses.

What a night, ;;/^« n/a^ / I would not
wish my mortal enemy to experience the
shadow of the same.

Suddenly our coachman uttered a loud
cry of joy :

"A gate! We are .saved."

And so it was ; on the other side of the
road opposite to the slope on which the
horse had sunk, our man had come upon a
fence ; and groping for a pole to help him
in his work, he had put his hand upon a
gate. A gate meant a house, and a house
meant safety.

"Wait a bit!" cried the brave Pierre:

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Christmas in French Canada

"in ten minutes there will be some one to
help us."

And, in fact, to our great relief, he
appeared a few inoinents afterwards with a
man bearing a lantern and a rope. And,
hurrah I There was our poor horse on his
feet again.

"Good-bye now!" said the new comer
with an extraordinary business-like air; "if
the good God does not take care of you
people this night, I pity you from my heart."
" What do you mean ? " cried I ; "do you
think we are going further on such a road?
Your house is near by; you would not leave
travellers outside a night like this?"

"Mes bons messieurs;' said the man with
the lantern, "you are going to say it is not
very Christian-like, but on my conscience
and honor, there is no possibility of sleeping
at my house this night."

"No possibility? 15ut we are not exact-
ing, iiion drai'c ; a little corner under your
roof, two chairs, a bench, the bare floor— any-
thing at all ; but in the name of heaven,
don't leave us lost in the snow, freezing

f (■■

vjfcw.-^

In a Snow Storm

alive in the depths of night, on this miser-
able road ! "

" Alas ! wes chcrs messieurs, it sounds hard
indeed, but believe me, it is not my fault;
it is impossible ! "

For a moment he took our driver aside,
but suddenly he uttered a cry :

"A doctor! There is a doctor here!"
And rushing back to us he exclaimed:
"The doctor! Where is the doctor?"
" Here ! " answered my friend.
"Ah! sir," said the poor man, almost
throwing himself upon the neck of my
companion: "you are a doctor? It is the
good God who has sent you. This way
this way, quick ! " *

By the light of the lantern Pierre and I
followed with the horses.

"The stable is at the right," called out
the man to us, dragging the doctor after
him towards the house, the door of which
he shut in our faces.

"I've an idea that there Is no business
for us inside there for the moment," said
I'lerre Vadeboncoeur, somewhat mysteriously ■
"but as my fin.,ers are badly frozen, satif

ill

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■::'f'^f«:4tahAi>U

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Christmas in French Canada

vof respect, I think you had better let the

others manage their own business and help

me to unharness the horses."

"Ma for: reph-cd I, "one must adapt

himself to the times ; to help one another is

a law of nature. Come on ! "

And while the poor fellow, chilled through,

and moaning with pain, busily chafed his

fingers with snow, I drew our cariole under
an open shed, and drove our exhausted
horses into the stable. Then, after putting
a bundle of hay in each of the mangers, I
turned my steps towards the house, accom-
panied by Pierre, who was still suffering from
the numbness of his fingers. He pushed
open the door, and I entered, shaking the
snow and frost which covered me from head
to foot, and removing the icicles which hung
on my hair and moustache.

Hardly had I entered, and in my haste
to get near the huge stove which hummed
away joyously in the middle of the room,
let fall in a corner the heavy furs in which
I was wrapped, when my compagnon de voyage
appeared with a beaming face, carrying in

A, jjiaBWiL J^ I'i-ir? :"■

In a Snow Storm

both hands a small bundle, with all the pre-
caution and reverence he would have displayed
in bearing the Holy Sacrament itself.

"Mon mnir said he, bowing, "I have the
honor of presenting to you a newly fledged
citizen of the world, to whom I have just
given, in the name of the Faculty of Medicine
of Laval University, a passport for the stormy
journey on the Road of Existence, without
counting that of the Capes."

"Is it possible— a new-born child?"
" Old, monsieur, pour vous servtr," said our
rescuer, much disturbed but all smiles, "a
little angel of the good God; our first!"

" On Christmas Eve, too ! you might take
him for the Infant Jesus Himself."

"It is indeed true; our little one is born
on Christmas Eve!" cried the happy father,
turning towards the open bedroom door.

" You see, then," said the doctor, " it is him,
not me, that God has sent you, my friend."

" Him and you both, sir ! all of you ! you
are all messengers of Heaven here," cried the
brave man, drying his eyes with the back of
his sleeve.

!.i

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Christmas in French Canada

What then?

The baby was very weak and considering
the condition of the roads, it was absolutely
out of the question to carry the little one to
church for at least three days. Therefore, to
calm the anxiety of the poor mother, so
terribly unnerved by her trial on this night
of storm, the doctor advised that a private
baptism be proceeded with.

"You will not refuse to be godfather, will
you?" said the father, addressing me.

" Godfather ? most willingly, my good
fellow; I certainly will be godfather."
"And you will name the boy?"
"Noel, why not? We will call him Noel;
it is the very name for a Christmas child."

"Noel, that's it; it will go perfectly with
my family name, which is Toussaint." *

We arranged matters as fittingly as
possible. The doctor officiated, of course;
and I took my role of godfather most
seriously, assisted by an agreeable god-
mother, the mother of the sick woman.
I see you smile; well, perhaps, I looked

* All S,-i;rits' Day.

In u Snow Storm

rather grotesque in my ne^v character, but
'f you had been there, you could not have
smiled When the water of re.^eneration
nck-led on the forehead of the h'ttle
beinfr, so frail, so helpless, whose life by
a most wonderful interposition of Providence
we had probably saved, at its very entrance
'nto this world, you could not help turnin<r
your thoughts back from this humble home
to the sacred stable of Bethlehem. And this
'mpressio,. was so real to me, that it seemed
as though I actually heard the voices of the
shepherds of old, when our comrade Pierre
who had gone back to the stable to finish
h's duties, set his foot on the threshold of
the door, giving forth, amid the booming of
the tempest, the first notes of the old carol :
" ^^^ ^"S:<-'^ (^'iiis nos caiiipagncs—"

T=T

^^^^

We fell on our knees, and for my part-
why should I deny it ?_I fdt a big tear

■li

.11

■\>

Christmas in French Cnnada

running down my cheek, whicli I did not
even attempt to conceal.

But the ceremony did not end there.

Pierre's journey to the stable h.id not had

the interest of his horses for its only end.

His Norman sagacity had smelt out the

contents of the hamper he had sfcn us tuck

away beneath the seat of the cafiole ; and

making the judicious r-'ection that what

was good for the aav could not be bad

for his parishioners, he concluded with

sound logic that the midnight watch at

the presbytery of St. Tite having been

unavoidably missed, it would be absurd not

to utilize the good things elsewhere.

Upon this, as his frozen fingers had
recovered their normal circulation, he had
simply brought the hamper to the house,
and when we noticed the fact, the table
was already prepared for the feast.

One can imagine the explosion of gayety
which followed.

All Pierre's couplets and refrains were
gone through, accompanied by the clinking
of the glasses, and sustained by the majestic

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voice of the storm, roaring and thundering
in the distance.

I have enjoyed the Christmas fete in
France, in England and in this country at
my house and at the houses of others ; well
the remembrance of the finest feast I ever
sat down to cannot obliterate the memory
of that joyful repast, and the merry toast
we drank that night to the health of this
humble son of peasants, dozing beside his
happy mother under the roof of a miserable
cottage, isolated in the mountains and shaken
in the raging grasp of a northern hurricane

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^M.

LITTLE PAULINE

ilTTLE PAULINE, little Paul-
ine, why, so young and already
an unbeliever !
You do not believe any more
in Santa Claus. . .

Neither in the bogie man, of
course— the one being the com-
plement of the other.

Already indifferent to infantine legends'
VVliat will it be, when you are twenty, when
you begin to discover what amount of decep-
tion life keeps in store f. - the hearts fond of
fanciful illusions?

Had she learned the fact through her
elder brother, or had the little maid found
It out herself at the previous Christmas?

Half awake in her little white couch, had
98

,)l

' tf|i4cl i^f^T*' •"* •''*** •*

Little Pauline

•she treacherously spfed, by the dim reflection
of the night lamp, her mamma stealing silently
towards the fire-place, where the small shoes
awaited the passage of Santa Claus ?

At all events, little Pauline had lost her
childish faith.

Little Pauline, little I'auline, beware; once
on the path of scepticism, where shall you
stop ?

Farewell to the radiant visions which
make you smile in your sleep!

Farewell to the beautiful floating angels
who lull you in their arms, and refresh
your brow with the fanning of their long
silken feathers!

Farewell to the first illusions!
Little Pauline, little Pauline, God spare
you the others!

Little I>auline was a charming lass of five
years, blonde and pretty, with soft and
dreaming eyes, very tall for her a-c who
could "-ead well enough already, sing \' song
at the piano, and dance a minuet with ex-
quisite gracefulness.

When she balanced h.rself, her waist

I',

l!ll

r-^s^is

Christmas in French Canada

elegantly cambered, the point of her foot
projected forward, and her skirt open like a
fan in the gentle pressure of her delicate
fingers, the father had a happy smile, the
mother was ravished uith admiration, and
"Aunt Lucy," crazy with pride, would seize
the child like a prey, enveloping her in a
jealous and rapturous caress.
Who was Aunt Lucy?

Aunt Lucy, who,
by the way, had of an
aunt only the name. . ,
and tenderness, was the
widow of a man whom
she adored, and who
worshipped her, but had
left her childless.

She possessed en-
ough to insure her independence; but, almost
without relatives, she had found herself con-
demned to comparative loneliness, when a
young married couple, hearty friends of the
departed one, invited her to spend some time
in their comfortable and happy home.

When she talked of leaving, they would
not let her go. ,00

V» u

iEn»3«»"tst*"

Little Pauline

Her good r.aturc, her delicate disposition
of mind, her advice always dictated by the
soundest judgment, together with any amount
of petty services of all ki„d. had made her
the benevolent genius of the house.

She had grown indispensable ; she became
one of the family.

In the meantime, little J'auline was born
Usele.ss to tell who was the godmother.
Aunt Lucy eagerly took possession of the
baby, which henceforth had two mothers.
The role of the nurse became a sinecure.
The true mother herself had one only
privilege, that of offering her breast.

This stranger, who had never known the
felicity and ecstasies of maternity began to
cherish that child with all the virginal love
treasured up in her heart.

Her worship for the husband, all the
affection, all the devotion, all the idolatry she
would have had for children of her own if
God had given her any, all was conveyed
upon that sweet little blonde head, who smiled
to her old days with an ineffable expression
of gratitude.

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Christmas in Frencli Canada

For children, as is the case with certain
beings deprived of judgment, if they have not
the intuition of life ^o a degree which permits
them to reason about their feeh'ngs, have at
least the instinct of them, and h'ttle Pauh-ne
probably without reah-^ing the immensity of
such an affection, gave love for love to the
old friend who had eyes only for her.

Little Pauline grew up, we may say, in
the shadow of Aunt L cy.

And both, the rosy baby and she who
could have been her grandmother, became
inseparable.

At night, the two bedsteads, the large and
the small one, were side by side.

At table, Aunt Lucy gave the beakfull to
h'ttle Pauline, who turned around from time
to time to caress her old friends cheek with
her small rosy nailed hand, or interrupted her
meal to pass her arms around the good lady's
shoulder like a graceful necklace.

The child followed Aunt Lucv everywhere
sat by her side to lull the big doll, held her
hand while passing from one room to the
other, entertained her with inexhaustible

I02

IWalSltfaJi^nnrtjjifxnwsfintM

Little Pauline

chattering, or, while the embroidery or the
net-work was going on, amused herself by
humming fragments of melodies like a night-
ingale in a bush.

If little Pauline ever per-
ceived she was alone, "Aunt
Lucy!" she cried with
anxiety.

There is always some
one to tease children; if
any body ventured to say:
"You know, little Pauline,
Aunty Lucy is going away! "
h'ttle Pauline would raise her
eyes with alarm, her face
would take an expression
of supreme distress, and the
sweet smile of her dear little
lips would contract, into a
convulsive expression prelu-
sive to a sob. /'au/,;u'.

One had to hasten with: "No. no, darling!
nodarhng.it'sallforfun!- or else the poor
httle one would burst into tears.

Her brow resumed at once its calmness.
103

i '.'

(' '

"I. i

Cliiistmas in French Canada

but her little breast still throbbed a while,
like that of a wounded bird.
But Cliristmas was coming.
Christmas bo.xes, New Year's gifts, presents
of all kinds were freely talked of

Little Pauline's eyes sparkled, questioning
those of Aunt Lucy, whose crow's foJt
wrinkled in a mysterious and good smile
full of alluring promises and joyful fore-
bodings. ,

" If little Pauline behaves like a good
girl," said Aunt Lucy, " if she says her
prayers well and retires early, after having
hung up her stockings at the foot of her
bed, and left her pretty new shoes in the
chimney corner, sure enough, Santa Claus,
who is the good Jesus' messenger, will come'
down this night and fill them up with candies,
dolls and toys."

" With his long white beard ? "

"Yes, love."

" With his big pointed hat ? "

"Yes, my beauty."

"And his nice fur mantle?"

"Yes, my treasure."
104

Little Pauline

"And his large basket?"
"Yes, darling, full of beautiful presents for
the good babies who g,^ to bed early and say
their prayers well."
" Ah ! Ah I Ah ! . . "

And the pearly laugh of little Pauline
burst out fresh and ringing, like a gurgling
of a silver stream, while, her forehead sur-
rounded by a wreath of curl-papers, and
her feet entangled in the folds of her
white-laced night robe, she knelt before
Aunt Lucy with a cunning wink full of
provoking incredulity.

"And you, Aunty," said she, "are you
also going to hang your stockings at the
foot of your bed, and put your new boots
on the hearth-stone?"
" Nonsense ! "
"Why not?"

"My stockings and my boots are too big;
Santa Claus will see very well that they are'
not baby things."

" Put them there anyhow ! "
"What for?"

"To please little Pauline."
105

-^9l«*

Cliristnias in French Canada

Ah ! well, since It pleases little Pauline,
Aunt Lucy will obey ; it is written !

And here are Aunt Lucy's stockings hang-
inff at the bars of her brass bedstead, and
her slippers ranged near the andirons, side
by side with the new shoes of little Pauline,
who hides her blonde head in her p,|l,.ws,'
quivering and laughing like a tickled baby,'
with the same sly and perfidious expression
of face.

Little Pauline, little Pauline, you conceal
some mischief; what kind of plot are you
meditating?

There you are, closing your eyes, and
pretending to sleep; what waggish trick are
you scheming, little Pauline?

Every evening, after prayer and night
toilet, Aunt Lucy used to sit down by the
cot, hold little Pauline's hand in her own,
and talk the child to sleep by relating to
her Cinderella, the Sleeping Beauty, and
Aladdin's Lamp, or some other fairy tales
which told of beautiful princesses all spark-
h'ng with jewels, drawn by quadrigas of gold
horned gazelles, in mother-of-pearl carriages

io6

Little Pauline

roUinii on wheels glittering with ch-amonds
and rubies.

Some other time she would sing, endeav-
oring tr, imitate, as much as p.wsible the
accent of Gascony, the facetious son-r of
Nadaud :

I.anlitilii. , ,

The little one laughed heartily, and more
than once fell asleep murmuring:

Za Galoiiiie. . . I.aiiliilu. . .

But that evening little Pauline asked for
neither the daily fairy tale, nor Nadauds
song.

It appears she had something else in
mind.

She was thinking, the little rogue! she
was thinking, opening now and then just
the corner of an eye, to see if Aunt Lucy
was soon, herself, going to sleep.

She was thinking under her curtains,
trembling like a poor anxious turtle-dove,
eyes and ears on the look-out, watching—'
the little spy !_a kind of vague rummage

107

]'!■

■■

!■

Cliiistma.s in Frondi Cauiuh

and smothered noise which came from
mamma's bed-room, next to Aunt Lucy's.

At last Aunt Lucy is asleep, as indicates
herlongcr and more accentuated respiration.

Aunt Lucy sleeps ; and little Pauline, who
•s au-are of it. outlines a cunning smile, and
doubtless to be in a better position to hear
and see. and resist at the same time the
•sleepn^ess which threatens to take possession
of her also, she raises her fair head and
gracefully leans it .upon her plump little
hand, and with her elbow sinking in her
pillow, A-aits in expectancy.
What is she waiting for?
Suddenly some footsteps are heard or
rather guessed ; and little Pauline, whose
heart beats rapidly, thrusts herself back
"nder her blankets, restless, in the soft
and s.lky feathers, with her eyes well closed
"P, and her mouth half opened for a smile
just like a child who had been sound asleep
for an hour.

Ah! little Paulin, little Pauline, what a
hypocrite you are. . . i

All dressed in white and glad-looking, like
.08

^
't

Little Pauline

those charming phantoms who sometimes pass
throuK'h our youthful dreams, the mother has
•stealthily entered the room; she throws a long
glance to her child, f^azes with gratitude at
the sweet and kind friend who has made
herself the guardian angel of the dear little
one, and then wiping a tear of happiness
which has glided over her cheek, she stoops
one moment before the pretty stockings
hanging at the foot of little Pauline's bed.

• • • .

She has left now; gone towards the draw-
ing room where stands the chimney through
which Santa Claus is to come ; and soon she
returns, pissing, all white and smiling, ;n
front of the room where little Pauline peeps
out, white and smiling also, in the vague
and soft glimmer of the night lamp.
And what then?

Ah! h'ttle Pauline, you are a terrible rogue;
but what a delicious picture you make thus,
m that dim light while slipping out of your
bed, frightened and shivering, alone with
your eyes open in the darkness of this big
silent house!

109

1 1 i

h !i

Christmas in French Canada

What is she doing?

No doubt she is going to taste the
candies her mamma has dropped into the
httle stockings. She is too impatient to
wait till morning to admire the toys and
especially the sparkish doll under which her
new shoes must be buried; it is quite natural.
But no, far from it.
She hardly looks at the candies.
They rapidly pass through her hands ; to
go where?

Not far ; right into the stockings of Aunt
Lucy, who is sound asleep.

The shares are quickly made. Little
Pauhne does not take the trouble of
counting; and when Aunt Lucy gets up
in the morning, she will have no reason
to complain of her lot.
But this is not all.

Where are you going now, little Pauline ?
Are you not afraid of the black dog. crossing
that dark and lonely parlor?

Yes. she is; she trembles, trembles, the
poor thing; but she walks right through all
the same, and then hastens back, after having

;

Little Pauline

knelt down a moment in front of the biV
fire-place. ^

To-morrow, Aunt Lucy, as well as little
Pauline, will find lots of nice presents crammed
m her boots.

And little Pauline, with gleeful heart
returns quietly, quietly to her bed, and
falls asleep with her face turned towards
her who will weep to-morrow in discovering
the touching fraud, the sacred treachery of
the httle heroine she loves more than life

And now, little Pauline, you do not hear
the sonorous peals of the church bells chim-
ing m the night.

You do not hear the sacred hymns
floatmg in the illuminated sanctuaries, nor
the harmonies of the great organs roaring
and thundering under the arches of the
iofty vaults.

You do not see, from your downy little
bed, the pious crowd kneeling around the
manger in which the Infant-Jesus outstretches
h.s httle arms towards the pious and kneeling
crowd. ^

No, but surely the good angels who

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i'-:

Christmas in French Canada
looked at you this evening from tl,e alti-
tudes where they sang: "Glory to God in
Heaven and peace on Earth to men of
good-w 1, have descended towards you, my
iKtle Pauhne. and now l«nd their heads
over the white couch where you sleep, to
k.ss your brow, and bless your little great

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RANDMAMMA, tell
us a story, please."

"A story, a story,
grandmamma ! "
" A Christmas story."
"The story of the Man
in the Moon. You promised

to tell it."
, . . . And the pretty heads,

. . " ^ dark with opened mouths and

^ 113

'I..

■WIS

l^i

Christinas in riencli Canada

chair of grandmamma, who, her spectacles on
her nose, after treating herself to a pinch of
Spanish snuff, took her net-work, threw a
glance around, which brought a smile on
her wrinkled lips, dropped her woollen ball
into the apron of the youngest, began to
move her knitting-needles rapidly with her
long and slender fingers, and then com-
menced in a slightly quivering voice :
"Once upon a time, my children, . . "
At this ..loment, there was a stir amongst
the listeners. Everyone moved in his place;
the tallest gave a little cough ; the most
attentive leaned forward with elbows on
knees and chin in hands ; then there was
a hush, and everyone began to listen with
mouth, eyes and ears.

"Once upon a time, my children," repeated
the old lady as she went on with her knitting,
" there was an old chateau, very old indeed,
very gloomy and solitary, standing on the
rocky flank of a hill crowned by a forest of
large oaks, and named the castle of Kerfoel.

" I mean that this was its real name, for
it was better known in the country as the
Devil's Tower. j,^

r.i,t»ssl«.

n.i!.-V#5«itSt.

The Christmas Los

" In fact it was said that, in old days, the
Devil had built a forge and furnace in one of
the highest rooms of the turret, where he
made gold for the owners of the domain,
who, for his services, belonged to him from
generation to generation.

"There must have been some evil source
for the wealth of these wretched miscreants,
for, from the top of their towers, one could
make out nothing but barren and dry moors
planted here and there with big fairy-stones,
standing up like men, which are called in
Brittany menhirs or Satan's distaffs.

"For I must tell you, my children, that
the story I am about to tell took place in
France, in the old province called Brittany,
where the grandmother of my own grand-
mother came from, when our people settled
in this land of America.

" Well, in the days I am speaking of, the
lord of Kerfoel, the owner of the Devil's
Tower, was named Robert. He was crippled
from birth— bandy-legged and club-footed, and
this deformity, which did not prevent his being
as strong as a giant, had not lightly con-

«^*^:ili

Chiistnicis in French Canada

tributed to the diabolical reputation he had
gained by his ill tempered, ungoverned and
thoroughly bad character.

"Brought up like a heathen, he had passed
his youth hunting wild boars in the woods —
even on Sundays and other holy days —
harrying the poor peasants, blaspheming the
name of God, and indulging in ill sorts of
wickedness. He was never seen in church ;
he never uncovered his head before the
Calvaries he passed on his way ; he shame-
lessly ate meat on Fridays, and laughed with
impudence at funerals,

" People pretended they had seen him at
night, limping on his twisted leg far away on
the moor, in company with the great big
stones I told you of, which followed him
like dogs in the moonlight, without anybody
being able to tell where he was going. In
short, the Count Robert de Kerfoel was a
wretched sinner, fearing neither God nor
Satan, sneering at holy things, and although
quite young yet, had by this impious and
sacrilegious conduct caused his mother's death
from a broken heart. As to his father, whose

ii6

Tlio Christmas Log

life had hardly been better than his son's, he
had died— without confession— in a corner of
the forest, where his body had been found
half-devoured by wolves.

"It was a sad end, indeed, but the son
was to finish still more miserably, as you
shall see."

No interruption was to be heard in the
little group; on the contrary not even a
finger moved ; every word, every syllable was
snapped up, and the attention of the small
audience increased as the good old lad)- went
on with her narrative:

"You have seen the man in the moon,
have you not, my children?"
"Yes, grandmamma."
"A lame map."
"Who is going down hill."
"With a bundle of straw on his shoulders."
" No, a faggot."

"A log, children, a burning log. One can
see him clearly at night, when the stars glitter
in the sky and when the full moon rolls her
silvery disk between us and the blue depths
of the firmament ; especially on the holy

117

-mi"

Christmas in French Canada

Christmas night, when Santa Claus goes
from house to house with his presents for
the good little children; when the church
windows mingle their rosy glare with the
pale lights which /Till from Heaven 0,1 the
snow-covered hills; you have seen him, have
you not?"

"Yes, yes, grandmamma."

"With the log on his shoulder."

"Yes, and with his cn-oked leg,"

"Well, listen, now."

And the little circle pressed once more

around the rocking chair, while grandmamma

continued :

" In Brittany—the valiant land of Brittany
—in that good old fatherland of our fore-
fathers, Christmas was not celebrated as it is
here, where we simply attend midnight mass
and drink a glass of liquor, nibbling a branch
of croqnignole sprinkled with powdered sugar
There, it was the peasants' day, the feast of
the poor, and the country festival .hove all
others.

"The folk gathered in the chateaux and
large farm houses ; and there young and old

118

/ft ii

The (Jliristmas Log

waited for midnight mass with all manner of
rejoicinfj.

" First, they had what was called the
'Christmas log,' a huge fragment cut from
the trunk of a tree, prepared and well dried
beforehand, which was burnt in the great
chimnev ..'re, after having been baptized
by dr.ppjng o 'er it a brimmer of wine from
the l.-st vintag, ; after which they sang the
old care' : and .easted with cider and niadles.
" Nieu.ies, you know, were crusty little
cakes baked for Christmas only. No Christ-
mas was complete without them.

"So they used to crunch nieulles ; chucIi
nieuUes, you understand. Evidently the origin
of our croquignoles.

"And they danced. Ah! well, our fore-
fathers had not fine pianos as we have
to-day. The violin it.self was still unknown
in the villages of Brittany. No waltzes, nor
quadrilles, nor even cotillions. Boys and girls
danced the bourrce and the ..uole to the sound
of the binioH, an instrument something like the
bagpipes you have seen with the Scotch regi-
ments.

•

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life

Cliristiiias in French Canada

"No floors brilliantly waxed, either, my
children; nor Oriental carpets, nor elegant
■shininn; pumps. But people did not enjoy it
the less for that, I fancy; at all event- it
was not the harmonious c//r-c/ac of the beecli-
tree shoes on the resounding flagstones that
could spoil the music.

" As 3-ou can easily imagine, my pets, the
Holy Christmas was not celebrated in this
fashion at the Devil's tower.

"The people at the chateau on that night
(lid but as we do here ; they simply wcnt'^to
church to adore the divine Infant in his
manger, and returned silently to gather
around the hearth, where the old game-
keeper Le Goffic, like your grandmammas
to-daj-, used to relate some old story, or
sing some old carol, but in a very low voice,
of course, for fear of being overheard by the'
master.

" And it was thus, over anr over from one
•season to another, the years following in sad-
ness ai.J fear, without a moment of gayety,
without a glimmer ol" joyousness.

"One morning it happened that Count

The Christmas Loir

Robert sent for his steward, Yvon Kerouak,
and had a long talk with him. Then he'
ordered his l.est steed to be saddled, and
with a heavy traveHinir bag well buckled
on the croup, he started away without saying
a word to a living soul.

"Where did he go? Nobody ever knew.
" Months followed weeks, and j-ears
months, without bringing the slightest news
of him. After a long while he was supposed
to be dead, and everyone made the sign of
the cross on his breast with his thumb on
hearing the name of the Count de Kerfoel,
who must have been the victim of some'
dreadful punishment, and who surely would
never be seen again in this life, and, if it
pleased God, in the other either.

"Twenty j'ears had gone by. The steward,
the housekeeper, and other servants had grown
grc)-; the old watchman Le Goffic counted over
eighty years; and everyone having become
convinced that the absentee would never
return, a more peaceful life had introduced
itself by degrees, if not under the lofty
ceilings of the state rooms, at least under

121

■I

1^ II

Christmas in French Canada

the smoked rafters of the common hall,
where the peasants and shepherds of the'
neighborhood occasionally gathered on public
festivals or days of rest, to enjoy themselves.
" In short, thanks to the disappearance of
Count Robert, the inhabitants of the old
chateau had begun to lead a more quiet
and happy life; and merry times became as
frequent at the Devil's Tower as anywhere
else.

"Especially on Christmas Eve was there
joyful merry making and abundant feasting
under the battlements of the old Tower
which might not have failed, in time, to
acquire a Christian reputation, if the tragical
event I am going to relate had not added
Its fantastic page to the old legend.

"One year the inhabitants of" the chAteau
had made up their minds to celebrate Christ-
mas Eve with exceptional splendor. A hu-e
billet cut out of one of the giant oaks of
the park had been prepared for the cere.nony;
and, as early as eight o'clock in the evenin-'
all the neighbors, the biniou-player headin-,'
crowded into the large hall of the chateau

taa

■m'^

The Christmas Log

illuminated by rosin torches and the lively
blaze which already caressed the Christmas
log proudly in.stalled right in the centre of
the hearth.

"The foamii.o; cider was passed around,
stimulating joyous repartees and provoking
explosions of laughter among tiic feasrers ;
and each one swallowed his bumper to the
ringing of the rustic goblets, while, and
through all, droned the long and snuffling
notes of the biniou.
"Suddenly:

"'Noel! Noel! . . ' cried all the voices in
one enthusiastic acclamation which made the
old Gothic windows with their colored and
leaded panes tinkle. The Christmas log had
just taken fire, crackling and spreading all
about showers o^ brilliant sparks.

"'The baptism! the baptism!' cried every-
one.

"'Uncle Le Goffic ! to you the honors of
the ceremony ! '

"'Come, baptize the Christmas log, uncle
Le Goffic!'

"'Uncle Le Goffic! i;icle Le Goffic!'
123

11'

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.*'ii

Christmns in French Canada

"And all fell on their knees, while the
old game-keeper, with bare head, advanced
towards the lar-e fire-place, whose lijxht
shone like a glory around his long white
hair, outlining- as on a golden background, the
majest- and imposing figure of the old man.
" • Ju the name of the Father, ami of the
Son, and of the Holy Ghost!' said he in a
low and solemn tone, while his knotty and
trembling hand dropped a ruby-like string of
wine on the heavy fragment of oak bitten
by the winding blaze.

. "The bystanders had not time to answer
amen, before a wild gust of \\i,ul swept aside
the flames of the hearth, and in the opened
door stood the evil and deformed figure of
Count Robert de Kerfoel.

"Everyone stood up, dumb and horrified.
After a moment of deadly silence, the new-
comer threw a ferocious glance about, and
with a drawn sword, advanced through the
terrified peasants towards the chimney.

"'Par la mort Dien !' cried he with a
haughty and thundering voice, 'since when
has my dwelling become the scene of such

124

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The Christmas Loy-

ridiculous mummeries? . . Jo,;],' added he,
as he turned towards his old groom and
pointed to the blazing fire, 'throw away this
emblem of a cursed superstition!"
" An exclamation of terror followed :

The Christmas log ? '
"'Yes, the Christmas log, out of this with
it! Do you hear me, Joei ?

•"My Lord Count,' replied Joel, kneeling
down in fear, 'the Christmas log is sacred:
I'd rather die than touch it.'

" The count Robert was crazy with rage.
'"By all the devils!' yelled he, addressing
the steward, whom he had just detected in
the crowd, 'who commands here, Yvon Ker-
ouak ? '

'"My Lord Count,' replied the steward,
' the Christmas log is hallowed ; to touch it
would be a crime!'

"'It would be a crime!' repeated all like
an echo.

"At this the exasperation of the miscreant
knew no bounds.

"'Stupid idiots!' cried he.

"And then, laying hold of two jugs of

■i

*f*,vfri=.

Christmas in Froncli Canada

cider, he emptied tlicm over the burning
log. and pulled the same with his own
hands ovt of iU. fire-place, and lifted it
to his shclder without rej^ard to the fire-
brands which singed his hair and shrivelled
his skin.

'"My I.,rd Count/ besought the old
game-keeper, .shivering from head to foot
'the Christmas log has been baptized.'
beware of Gods h.nd, my Lord C'ount ' '
"'Sacrilecre!' exclaimed several voices
as hmi Mig .n a dreadful fashion his back
bent under the weight of the smoking
b.llet, the Count stepped across the thres-
hold, and, with horrible blasphemies, dis-
appeared in the outside darkness.

"'Let us kneel down!' cried old Le Goffic
"But it .-as too late; a terrible cry of
distress, wh.Vh had in it nothing human,
sounded in the nigh, raising up the hair
of all the witnesses of the terrible scene

"And never again was the Count Robert
de Kerfool. the 'ast Lord of the Devil's
lower, seen aiuongst the living.

"Eve, K. that night, my children, one
126

The Christmas Locr
can see on the shfnin<r disk of the moon in
clear weather, a man with a twisted knee
stooping under a strange burden in which
those who see clearly enough can make out
a half-burnt log ,till fla,r,ing here and there

"The unfortunate Count Robert is con-
demned to .any the burden on his shoulder
untd the day of the last judgment."

" And it is he we see in the moon, grand-
mamma?"

"They say so, my children."

"With the Christmas log?"
"Yes, my children."
"With his crooked leg?"
" And his club-foot?"
" Yes."

"Is that story true?" asked one of the
^•rchins, who had listened most attentively
and with the most widely opened eyes.

"Pshaw!" said the tallest of the girls- "a
fairy tale." '

" Well, of course, my children," said the
grandmother, smilingly, "you asked me for
a Christmas story. I have related you what
was related to me when I was a child ; you

'27

h^ii

Clnistnias in Frencli Canada

may do the same in your turn when you
are old ; let your h'stciicrs believe if they
' wish."

laS

IfPWFilll

M..

if.Htk»<h

n you
r they

eannetfe.

lEANNETTK. a chubby
httle maid, roly-poly and
plump, with inviting dim-
ples and wary black eyes,
had, at first— oh!
immediately ! almost
from birth — shown an
instinctive antipathy for her
father.

VVhen he leaned over her cradle with a
kiss on his lips, she would outline a grimace
of dislike at him, and if he opened his arms

ij-

129

Christmas in Frencli Canada

for an embrace, she would turn to her mother,
with outstretched hands, as if to implore help.

A painful circumstance, which changed
the face of things, came to console him.

Jeannette fell ill.

During several days, a devouring fever
hollowed her cheeks, dulled her eyes, and, so
to speak, gnawed her thin and shivering little
limbs.

The father did his best to encourage his
wife in despair. When the poor mother
took a little rest, he in his turn sat at the
bed-side of the little one, and bending over
her with tear-dimmed eyes, heavy-hearted and
dejected, he almost imprecated his powerless-
ness to relieve the dear child for whose health
he would so willingly have given his own, a
thousand times.

One morning Jeannette opened her eyes
at the very moment when a heavy tear
splashed on her poor, pale, helpless little hand.

She had the strength to turn her head
toward her father ; and then, these two beings
so different in age and in nature, exchanged
one of those looks that are never forgotten,

130

Jeannette

and by which is sometimes effected that trans-
fusion of souls, that only those who are made
to love passionately can understand.

The father had conquered the heart of his
child; the child had guessed and sounded
that of her father.

Convalescence is rapid with the little
ones. The dear invalid took a new lease on
life; her cheeks bloomed anew, her large,
velvety eyes recovered their pristine brightness,'
her pretty diinples appeared once more as the'
lurking-place of sweet kisses, her lips, !ong
mute and livid, found again their smile, their
color and their silvery notes.

The house became once more as ringin-
as a spring day, and as cheerful as a sunbeam"
^ revolution had taken place in Jeannette's
character ; she adored her father.

She was never happier than, when sitting
on h.s knees, she pulled his beard, tickled his
neck, or teased him with a thousand coaxincr
caresses, while she prattled as uninterruptedly
as :. finch on a marauding expedition.

On his side, never was the father more
beaming with joy than when he rocked the

131

Christmas in Frencli Canada

arch little lass in his arms, relating to her
the adventures of Hop-o'-my-Thumb, or singing
to her some ballad of the times of yore.
Do not ask me if they were happy.
But all this is digression.
Jeannette had grown ; she was now turned
four years, and the affection she had vowed
to her father had not diminished.

On the contrary, the little one had become
his inseparable companion; and, as long as
he was at home, she deafened, or rather
charmed him by her chatter, told him a
myriad adorable nothings, and asked him
a thousand questions which the good papa
answered with imperturbable complacency.

At the coming of Christmas, a holiday so
impatiently awaited by the little foiks, the
conversation between the parents and babies
runs, naturally enough, on the presents to
which this time of the year almost always
gives rise in well-to-do families.

This was Jeannette's great preoccupation.
The day before Christmas Eve, as the family
dinner was drawing to a close, all at once
she became pensive, and after a moment's

132

lii &

Jeannette

reflection, durii.g which the graceful curve of
her eye-brows had become somewhat marred
in the struggle of a confused thought, she said
brusquely :

" Tell me, papa, is it the Infant-Jesus or
Santa Claus who comes down in the chimney-
to put presents in the shoes of the little
children who have been good ? "
"Why do you ask me that?"
"Weil, there are some people who say
that it is Santa Claus, and others who say
it is the Infant-Jesus."

" They both come, my love ; each one in
turn, each one his year."

"And this year it is the turn of ?

" Of the Infant-Jesus."
And as the child clapped her hands with
a joyous exclamation, the father added :
" You are glad ? "
" Oh ! yes."

"You love the Infant-Jesus better than
Santa Claus?"
" Yes, indeed."
" But why ? "
" Because ....!"

^33

f(!

Christmas in French Canada

And Jeannette put her finger in her mouth
with a deh'ciously provoking expression of face.

" Tell me why," insisted the father ; " Santa
Claus brought you handsome toys last year"

" Yes."

" With a beautiful big doll."
" Yes."

" Then why don't you love him ? "
" Because . . . he is not good to everybody."
" He is not good to everybody ? "
" No ; he does not love the little children
who are poor ; he does not give them any-
thing."

"Are you sure that Santa Claus gives
nothing to the poor children?"

"I am ; Rosina told me so."

"Who is Rosina?"

"The washerwoman's little girl. I asked
her if she was going to put her shoes in the
chimney to-morrow night. She said she
had put them last year, but that she had
found nothing in them, although she had been
ever so good. Her mother says that Santa
Claus only goes to rich people. But since it
is the Infant-Jesus who comes this year, I

»34

Jeannette

will tell Rosina to try again. Little Jesus
must love poor people as much as the others,
since he was poor himself."

" But are you sure that he will go ? "
Jeannette remained a few moments non-
plussed ; but after a moment's reflection :

"Yes," she said. "He will go. I shall pray
him hard, hard, and surel/ he won't refuse
me."

An hour after ; softly enveloped in her fresh
white night dress, her chin propped upon her
primly folded hands, and her knees sunk in the
long silky hairs of a llama skin rug, Jeannette
prayed like a little angel that she was ; then
while the mother gave her the good night
kiss, and tucked in warmly the covering of
the little bed, tne name of Rosina passed
like a sigh on the lips of the sleeping child.
When the morning sun stained with pink
the window of the room where she slept,
Jeannette rose absorbed in thought. Her
father's last words " Are you sure that he will
go? " returned to her memory, and the child
began not to be so sure of the efficacy of
her prayer,

'35

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■ -"**»«:'i>»?-n«'»

II j

Cliiistnias in French Canada

"After all, perhaps he will not go" she
•said to herself. And this supposition saddened
her almost to tears.

"What is the matter with you this mornincr
my Jeannette," said the father; "you are not
so gay as usual. Don't you know that to-
n.Rht is Christmas Eve, and tiiat, since you
have been very good, to-morrow morning your
I'ttle shoes, and even your little stockings
perhaps, will be crammed with prettv things?"
Jeannette smiled, but remained pensive.
"I'apa," 3he said as though she had
suddenly come to a decision, "if I knew how
to write .... but I can only sign my name."
"What would you do if you could write?"
" I would write a letter."
"To whom?"
" To little Jesus."

" Well, my love, tell me what you want to
tell the Infant-Jesus ; I will write to him, and
you will sign."
" Truly ? "

"At once, if you want."
"And it will be the same thing?"
"Exactly the same."
136

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have
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pcrhcif
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sudflen
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tell the .
you will
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"At o
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Jeannette

" Oh ! dear good papa ! "
And the little one threw herself into
the arms of the "dear .>d papa." who. a

^''' "^'""^^'-^ '^ -«•' w, a ng at his desk
writing the following letter dictated word for
word by his spoilt pet :

Dear Little Jesus,

"To-morrow is your feast of Chrislmas, and as I
have been very good. 1 put „,y ,„,,, ,„ „,^ ,,^^^,
s.one. just like the other children. But give me only
your p.c,ure, and take the presents to Rosina ,vho
- very good also, but .hose mother is a poor widow
You know her house, dont you? I.s on Sanguinet
street. There is a big tree right in front- -

Here Jeannette jumped.
A big tear, similar to the one that had
wakened her one day by falling on her sick
little hand, had just wet the paper, where the
father's nervous fingers had some difficulty in
following the lines.

"Why do you cry?" she asked, passing
a pudgy little arm around his neck and
looking tenderly into his eyes.

Too much moved to answer, the good
father took his child in his arms, pressed her

■37

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(716) 872-4503

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Christmas in French Canjuhi

closely to his heart, cnvelcpincr her in a
lasting passionate embrace; and for a long,
long time, he jealously contemplated his
treasure through the tears of happiness and
love that filled his eyes.

When the little one had scribbled her name
at the foot of her touching letter to the Infant-
Jesus, her father stood up and walked up and
down for a k^v minutes to recover himself
Then, with his back turned, he stood for some
time before the window of his study, his gaze
lost in the brilliant azure of the December
•sl<y ; and when entering the room, the mother
-tenderly loved also-heard him murmur in
a half-sob :

"Provided God does not take her away
from us .... "

At night the naive missive, carefully
directed, lay in the little shoe slid behind
the fire dogs; and, after having said her
prayers as the night before, Jeannette softly
fell asleep amid her white laces, to dream of
Child Jesus, of the good Angels and of
Paradise.

Not far from there, in a humble and lowly

wii:r

IMTfilf

ula

Iicr in a
T a long,
lated his
iness and

her name

le Infant-

d up and

himself.

for some

his gaze

December

3 mother

urmur in

er away

carefully
behind
aid her
e softly
ream of
and of

d lowly

Jeannette

home, at the first glimmer of dawn, a poor
httle girl-who sometimes accompanied her
mother when the latter brougiit newly-
washed clothes to the house of Jean-
nette's parents-the little Rosina so warmly
recommended in the letter to the Infant-
Jesus, had a great surprise and a great
joy.

Beaming with haj.piness, she carried to
her mother's bedside a pink-cheeked, yellow-
haired doll in elaborate costume.

Her old shoes had disappeared, yielding
the place in the corner of the chimney to
warm and elegant boots in both of which
-shone a gold coin.

Of course it is unnecessary to add that
on the special recommendation of her mother,
the child's first visit was to Jeannette.

" Me," said the latter, " I have not a doll,
nor new shoes, nor gold pieces, but I have
more than all that. The little Jesus gave me
his picture. Here it is."

And she ran to get a pretty chromo-litho-
graph, very brilliantly festooned with gold
arabe.sques, showing the divine Infant in his

'29

■ .Si

Christmas in French Cnnada
"ganger. On the back of the picture was
-scnbed in a superb round hand!

To Jeannette, from ,he Little Jesus.

"It comes from Him?"

"Yes, I found it i„ my shoe"

"Oh! how beautiful He is I" cried Rosina
enthusiastically. ^osma

nett? "' "' ^harmin^P" approved Jean-

"And how well He writes!"
"Yes, He writes just like Marius."
By the way. Marius was a valet, whose
graphical talent was generally p t in L
requ.s.tion when there was som^ c^^
writmg to be done.

No. Jeannette had no other presents for
Chnstmas that year, but she lost no time
by wa,t.ng, for papa and mamma took thei
revenge royally on the Ne^v Year
Jeannette is now nineteen.
She is a tall, handsome brunette, who has

Tall ; f '" " ''' '-' '^- C-her!:
ball,^and who cherishes her father as much

140

r . v» i- » i *i J A < i «■ - « i* 8-* i - V-

Jeannette

Recently she happened to unlock an
elegant ca.,ke. in the presence of one of
her friends.

"Here," she said, "this is a picture I
have kept since I .as a four years old
httle bit of a thing."

"Really? Oh! the pretty Christ Child."

" Is It not nice ? "

"Why don't you put this little jewel
among your other knick-knacks?"

"Ah! well, do you see," answered the
young girl hesitatingly, " I don't know why
but every time that papa looks at it it
never fails to bring a tear to his eyes"'

141

■-aSiS^>Ka!^iBK:Bias

^v^xvx The Phuntom Head

HE traveller of to-day
who crosses the St.
Lawrence between
Quebec and Levis,
during the winter
season, comfortably
seated between decks in the powerful
screw steamers which occupy only a
(e\v minutes in passing from shore to
shore, forcing their way through the
drifting floes, untroubled by mist or
wind driven snow, can have but a
>4a

rfraBCT

r^of:^

Tho Phantom Head

faint idea of what this crossing, in old days,
really meant.

The trip was made in heavy canoes, or
dug-outs, formed of two large trunks solidly
joined by a wide and flat keel of polished
oak, turned up at both ends, so that the
craft could be used as a sledge when needed.
The captain sat astern, on a small platform
where he commanded the manoeuvring, steering
with a special paddle; while, at the bow
sometimes standing right on the p,-„ce~
the slender projection of the p.ow-another
fearless fellow explored the passes and
watched the false openings.

In the front of the pilot, a certain space
was reserved for the passengers lying on the
flat bottom, wrapped up and covered with
buffalo robes, perfectly protected from the
cold, but with hardly the power of moving
The rest of the canoe was crossed with
thin planks, equally spaced, which not only
strengthened the craft, but also served as
seats for the men, who paddled in time
encouraging themselves with voice and
gesture.

'43

'1 '"il

i'i

RT^» ^^(f^^p.,0^

Christinas in French Canada

It was a hard calling; and, as the
Canadian winters of those times were much
more severe than those of ours, it was some-
times a dangerous one.

Every launching of the canoe— that is,
every start from the shore-gave a thrill to
the sturdiest. Down from the top of the
batture~(thQ icy rampart built along the
beach by the rising and falling of the tide,
and the constant grinding and breaking of
the drifting floes)_down from the top of
the batture into the dark and swirling waters
the crew hurriedly jumping on board in a
desperate entanglement of hands, legs and
arms, it was a matter of a few seconds only,
but every heart stood still until the flying
start was accomplished.

And, Nagc\ camnmdcs 1 .... Haut les
cocurs ! . . . . Lcs botis petits coeurs !

Enormous lumps of greenish ice block the
way: quick! go for them! There we are!
Down with the paddle, shoulder the rope, and,
forward again on the frozen surface of the
river !

Further on, great masses are crammed and
144

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Tho Phantom Head

heaped up one upon the other. The passage
■seems impracticable. ... No matter, hoist up
the canoe, and forward once more over the
obstacle I

A crevice opens before us ; it is an abyss
perhaps. . . . Never mind, drive on at all

hazards ! Wet snow freezes and sticks to the
-sides of the canoe, impeding our advance : not
a moment to lose : roll in ! roll in. boys ! . . .
And off we are again!

Now it is different ; everything gives way
all around. It is „o longer water ; it is no
longer:. Paddling is impossible ; no point
of support to heave upon ; prisoners in the
melting snow and the dis. olving ice I
Courage, boys ...... Away, away, altogether !

forward, anyhow ! . . . .

And the struggle might go on for hours
sometimes even for the whole day.

Oh ! yes, it was a hard calling indeed,
y.ctor Hugo has depicted the "Toilers of the
Sea. He should have seen the canoe-men of
■Levis at work !

'45

I !

I h 1

^'}

Christmas in French Canada

Some thirty years ago, I happened to be
m company with a newly-married couple from
Horida, who had been original enough to un-
dertake a wedding journey through Lower
Canada in mid-winter.

These travellers, from a country fragrant
with magnolia blossom, and oranges ripening
in January, found a deep interest in the
peculiarities of our winter weather; and as a
proof that their wanderings had been planned
with tiie intelligence and sagacity of two
lovers in search of the picturesque, it will be
sufficient to say that their itinerary included
a visit to Quebec and its vicinity, the mid-
night mass in the old historic cathedral, a
shde on the frozen cone of Montmorency,
and a moonlight crossing of the St. Lawrence
au'd the floating ice.

They had reached Levis in the morning
of the day before Christmas, and to insure
the moonlight crossing, had spent the day
at the Victoria Hotel, where, as an old
acquaintance of the husband, I had hastened
to join them. ,.^6

►«*«4»i»«<;«-,i»«''«»»''***iiiii

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Liple from
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fragrant
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in tlie
and as a
planned
of two
t will be
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he mid-
ledral, a
norency,
awrence

morning
insure
he day
an old
lastened

The Phantom Plead

In the evening, we made ourselves read^•

and started for the quarters where the cano;.'

-en generally stood waiting for passengers.

it IS fine moonlight, that's true," said one

of them a fellow by the name of Na.aire

Jodom. ..but the cold is bitter and the fioes

-n fas, I tell you! I ■ ou don't wish to

would' 7'' °" ''^ '^"'^ ^^ ^^— nt. r
would adv,se you not to face the ice bef^e
a co,p, ,, ,,^^^ ^^ ^^^^^ ^^^.^^ ^

Po.nte-a Puyseaux with such a current. Old
Baron h.mself would not dare to try it"
"Where is old Baron?"

"At Uncle Vien's, smoking his pipe. But
he won take you across before eleven or
half past, take my word for it- You can
walk m and warm yourselves until the ebb
-over, and by low tide, I'llland you safe

and sound in the Cul-de-sac, just L quick

as you can desire."

"Well, then," said I to my friends, " wait
for me, I will consult with old Baron ; he is
the oracle in such matters."

"We will go with you" said th^
lady. ^'^^ y"""^^

! I

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Christmas in French Canada

h ■ I

" But, madam, remember I am not going
into a drawing-room."

"What do I care? We are not looking
for luxuries in our crossing of the St. Law-
rence this freezing night."

"But those people smoke like volcanoes;
you will be suffocated."

" It cannot be worse than our negroes'
cabins, I presume."

"Oh! certainly not."

" I am used to that, let us go ! I travel
not only to see the country, but also its
inhabitants."

" All right, then ; the fact is, you will see
only honest people, somewhat rustic in their
manner, but all kind, good-beared fellows."

I knew the house of old Vien; we entered
without knocking, to find ourselves in a large
hall surrounded by wooden benches running
close to the wails. On these benches, with
crossed legs, or elbows on their knees, a
•score of canoe-men smoked their brown
pipes, exchanging from time to time a few
words with indifference or good-natured
interest.

148

The Phantom Head

Others, more recently arrived from out-
side, with frozen boots and soaking beards
dried their leather mittens, striking the floor
with their feet, around the huge cast-iron

stove which roared away in the centre of

the room.

These men, in more or less shabby attire
wore, for the most part, a grey or red flannel
shirt under a round jacket made of baracan
corduroy or ^offe du pays tightly fastened
around the waist by a belt of gaudy colored
wool. A fur cap pulled down to their ej'es •
their trousers half buried in long-legged moc-
casins were held up on the hip by a well-
buckled strap.-suspeuders being inconvenient
for the handling of the paddle.

There they were, young and old, black-
bearded or grey-haired, hardly distinct in
the confused lights falling from the tallow
candles held on the wall by tin brackets,
and which were themselves hardly distin-
gu.shable through the smoke of the pipes
and the vapor produced by drying clothes.
Two passengers, seated in a corner
awaited, like ourselves, the favorable moment

to start.

149

/ t

ft" !|

'Ml

M: 11

i H;

Christmas in French Canada

I : ?^

III

On our entrance all conversation ceased
and each o,ie uncovered himself, for pol;te-
ncss is traditional with the French Canadian,
liumble as may be his position in life.

''Entrcz, uurw.clle! entre,, ccs messieurs t»
said the master of the house, advancing;
"come and seat yourselves. You wish to

cross, no doubt ? "

"Ves, M. Vien," said
1, "and at once if pos-
sible. What do you think
'if it, M. Baron ? "

" It is always possible
to tempt Providence," sen-
ten tiously answered a tall
old man, white-headed
and honest-looking, who
was smoking his short
pipe ajxirt from the others, seated on the only
chair there was in the room, " it is always
possible to tempt Providence, but it does not
bring good luct:."

"You believe there is a risk?"
'SO

Old Baron.

ititit'itui*.

«.«.«i»iPI»-!*»j«

said

The IMiaiitom Head

" There fs at least the risk of passing, the
night on the ice ; and with a cn'arure (lady)
>t IS not a pleasant thing."

"You can depend on old Baron," intervened
our host, "he seldom gives bad advice"

"That's true," said one of the smoking
crowd ; " if poor Sanschagrin had listened to
h-m. last year, he would probably be still in
the world."

" Well." said one of the canoe men who
had not spoken yet-a man with a gloomy
air and a long black beard-" he had seen
leter.^-- head, you understand; and when a
fellow has seen Peter's head . . . . "

"He is bound to perish within a year"
added one of his comrades.

" ^•"^'^'■^"^ '^^ •' '^ I had the misfortune to
see such a thing," said another voice "I
wouldn't board a canoe for a thousand! "

"I wouldn't touch a paddle for a fortune'"
added another fellow.

"Nor I, surely!" exclaimed several
listeners.

" A legend ? " whispered my friend's wife
to whom the good old man had courteously

'S'

i(-

I!,

'■a!
ill

!l;'

Christmas in French Canada

offered the only chair in the hall, " a legend ?
It is a godsend ; pray, have them tell us the
story."

" What do you mean by Peter's head ? "
said I to the man who had first alluded to
the matter.

"Friend Baron can tell you about that
better than I," said the man of gloomy
appearance, " the thing happened in his days."
"Sure enough!" .said old Vien ; "Baron
knew Peter Soulard well, and .so did I. A
young man of good character, but not lucky.
^^^ "If he was not lucky," .said old Baron,
"he was not very prudent either, the poor
devil ! Take my word, mcs gars, it is very
well to be brave and valiant, but one must
not tempt Providence. One never repents of
having been too cautious, while he often
regrets not having been cautious enough. I
don't like to boast, but I have paddled across
the St. Lawrence in winter, spring, and
autumn, in all kinds of weather, almost every
day of my life, and I never met with the
slightest accident. Why? Because I never
played the braggart, and always hated

152

j*T,-Jij»«#««5

^iMJkiJ

kA' {

i^aiiim

!'i

i i

li'^

At I'lH-le V }('})' s

•'l^!t• 1.1,-

till (I

f.vi

'^-"^^^^^^^**^!#«*Prt»ii^-. m.

of,
It

stc

the

beti
app

you I

"he

devil

well

not t

havin

rcfrret

don't

the i

autiim

day o

slighte

played

S'iii

VVr-f. ,t«i,|

iie iv;is nf)i Inckv.

I '.kUi.l.c'i :

.!(

\'i

Wii

Vil

J I

'( If

The riiantom Head

bravado. I was not scared by trifles, certainly
not ; but I was never ashamed to witiuiraw
before a real danger. One can risk his own
life if he wishes, when not stopped by the
fear of God, but the hVes of others are not
to be played with. Unfortunately poor Peter
Soulard was more courageous than prudent.
He preferred facing any danger than to be
suspected of cowardice."

And old Baron, yielding to enthusiastic
recollections, told us the story of Peter
Soulard.

The story takes us back to January. 1844.

The winter was exceptionally severe. Al-
most uninterrupted easterly winds had blown
over the region of Quebec, blizzard upon
blizzard, in rolling avalanches of hail and
blinding snow, which made the crossing of
the river most difficult and .sometimes
impossible.

The tide drifted, from morning till night,
and from night till morning, mountains oi^
ice which broke furiously on the angles of

^53

i ' I

\ ill

ft 1

iA\

•ii

■^* 3^-

Christmas in French Cniimla
the wharves with cremendous crnsh. It was
only at intervals that the eye could reach
from one shore to the other, through the
heavy fogs tormented by the squalls

The life was hard for the poor canoe-men.
VVhen they left their homes in the morning.
the>' were not always sure to be back it
night.

One day, however, the sun had risen on
a clear and calm atmosphere. The cold was
sharp, but dry. One could hear the ice-floes
creaking in the distance, and the snow, hard-
ened by the frost, cracked under the k^f
but the sky shone, limpid and transparent
like blue rock crystal.

The floes had gathered so abundantly
dunng the night, that they had frozen into
a solid mass, closing the outlet of the Quebec
basin at the place where the river suddenly
narrows, between Point Levis and the south-
west end of the Island of Orleans. To use
the technical expression: "the ice hnVJge
was frozen at the key."

Now. when the ice bridge freezes - ih^
key. the rest of the floes which come from

IS4

The I'lijintom Head

above are still driven i,p and down by the
current, so that the rising tide thrusts them
several miles backwards, until the ebb drives
them down against the formidable barrier.
This is called the "Chariot."

When the chariot is up above, the river
between Quebec and Levis is clear, and the
crossing is just as free as in summer time;
but beware when the gigantic mass, filling
the space from shore to shore, runs down
to hurl itself against the rampart that bars
its way to the Gulf! The impact is terrible.
Woe to those who are caught in the jaws
of the blind monster I

As already stated, the weather was
exceptionally fine, but the river was no
less threatening. Peter Soulard, who com-
manded a canoe of his own, had crossed
from Levis to Quebec early in the morning;
and after having loaded his homeward cargo,'
was preparing for his return to the south'
she re.

Unfortunately, one of his passengers had
caused him to lose much precious time, and
the chariot, driven down by the ebbing tide,

'55

lit.

v f

Chri.stmas in Freudi Canada

was already doubling the Foulon's wharves

when l>eter Soulard. his paddle in his hand'

cned out with all the .^ight of his lungs-'

"All aboard! all aboard- £,„^,„y,, ,,

C7iibarqitc ! "

" It is late, Peter ! '" remarked some one
" I^«"'t bother me, please ; I .- ,,, ,,i,^,
1 am about."

" Your canoe is too heavily loaded,"
observed another; " vc)u will have the
chariot on you before you can reach
loint Levis."

"Mind your own business!" was the
only reply. " Do you take me for a green-
horn ? "

"Peter." called old Baron himself, who
happened to be near b^-, "no tom-foolery
n^y friend ; there is nothing to be gained
by tempting Providence."

" You are a set of old women," cried out

Peter Soulard, launching his canoe from the

top of the batture of the Champlain Market

It was a heavy plunge in a resounding

gush of foam ; the paddles strenuously dipped

"^to the waves; and the canoe, manned by

•56

The Phautoni Head

■s.xtcen passengers and crew, shot away
under the blue sky, leaving a long silverv'
fack n. the dark waters behind, while th'e

bravJy.''"' °' ''''" ''°"'^''' '"''^"^ -^

The tide ran with extreme violence ; in
a re^v moments, they were out of sight in
the direction of the West India pier

Twenty minutes later, the roaring chariot
was opposite Quebec, and the idlers, who
watched the torrent dashing along, .saw old
Baron stealthily crossing himself, with his
eyes turned offward.

That evening, when the early night of
January spread its darkness over the hills
of Lev.s. two men were seen walking alon.
the ,ce-covered beach, sobbing and shaken b^
convulsive shiverings. It was Peter SoularJ
who had escaped from death as by a miracle'
wUh one of his comrades. The other fourteen
had perished-drowned in the tumultuous
waters, or ruthlessly crushed beneath the

onward rush of the snv-uro

uic .savage mass.

'57

1 1

ll!

Christmas in French Canada

_ Strange to say, the terrible lesson.
fr'^Htful as it was. was of no avail to
the reckless man. Two years later, his
Jiab.tual imprudence brought to a fatal end
two more unfortunates who ventured to
embark with him. in spite of the reputation
of fatalism naturally attached to his person.
But this time it was the end of him
also, and a most tragical one. too.

While clinging to the flank of his canoe

wh.ch had capsized in mid-stream, a rapidly

n-nning floe of fee. thin and sharp as a steel

blade, struck him a fair blow in the neck

and cut his head clear from his shoulders'

•n full sight of his horrified companions, as

swiftly as would have done the fatal knife

of the guillotine itself

The head of the unfortunate man bounded
ofifward, and slid by starts, leaving behind a
dreadful trace of blood upon the ice.

In that dangerous part of the Quebec
basin, known as " .w/;r /.. ,/,,cv r-Hscs"
between the two churches of St. Joseph
and Beauport, especially in foggy or snov.-
dnfting weather, the horrible head sometimes

'58

iiii*i*t*'insifi

WfWRJf

The Pliaiitom Head

appears to the terrified crew led astray in

those perilous waters.

Suddenly, they see. emerging from the

n^'ll<y darkness, a huge slab of floating ice
on which rolls and bounds a black and
shapeless object hardly distinguishable in the
shifting light.

It is Peter Soulard's head.

Then, about! about! without losing a
second ! Woe to those who have seen the
spectre: they must die within the year, and
generally by a sudden and tragical death.

It was said poor Octave Sanschagrin had
once been in such a crew.

Old Baron was at this point in his story
when a loud voice resounded outside :
"All aboard ! all aboard!"

Instantly all the canoe-men were on their
feet.

I^'lt's low tide; water still; come on!"

"How many passengers?"

"Five,"

'59

I I

' i>

U I'

Chi'istnms in French Canada

" One canoe and eight good paddlers will
be enough."

" Murry up, it's your turn, Nazaire."
"And it's lucky for you," said I. "for you

are going to take across a newly married

couple."

" You don't say ! "

" Yes, and who see the St. Lawrence for
the first time."

" Is that so ? "

"Yes, it will bring you luck."

"Ah! well, then, if .such be the case
listen to me: I have a brand new craft
which I intended to hansel on New Year's
day; why not hansel htr to-night?"

" That's an idea ! " said old Baron ; " is she
ready ? "

" She has only t(^ be taken out of the shed
and launched."

"Get her out, then."
" You order so ? "

" Of course ! We shall christen her like
a three-master."

"Will the little lady consent to be god-
mother !' "

160

ida

idlers will

lire."

" for )-ou
married

rence for

he case,
iw craft
/ Year's

"is she

:he shed

ler like
)e god-

The Phantom Head

"I should think so!" I exclaimed, "and
her husband will be godfather. As to „.e

; 7/:\^"-' ^ ^hall furnish the liquid.'
is that right ? "

"That's right!"
" Hurrah ! "

"Well then, forward, hearties!
Ho !...." ■ ■ '

We started, and «,o„ the elegant new
craft, dressed up with flags, and with a joyou,
crew-some at the rope and others at the
gunwale slid along the sloping path whieh
led to the r ver A f.».r

re . ^ ''^^ moments were

sufficient to reach the beach.

Old Baron accompanied us.
"Uncle Kdouard," said Na.aire Jodoin
addressing him ■ " vo.i cN.ii J ^uom,

^ ™, you shall come with us

wont you.P You shall command ; it will be
another good omen for my canoe"

Old Baron never hesitated when called
upon to perform a task of any kind

"As you wish, boys!" said he, "but since
we are going to baptize a new Christian, have

you thought of choosing a name for he;."
In fact, wc must choose ^ name."

i6i

,!(

IJ:

Cliristnms in French Canada

"Well," said somebody, "it is Christmas
Kve-iV.v/ ill Frencli-why shouldn't we call
her Xoci} "

" No, no ! '■ intervened the owner ; " I I,avc
lost a law suit with Nocil J^audoin of St-
Henri: I won't name my canoe Nor/\"

"In that case we might call her the
Infant-JcsHsr f)roposed one of the crew.

" Tanfan Rheaume, )-„u'd better liold y„ur

tongue. We are not at church here. Would

>-ou only promise never to swear o.i board

this canoe, if it was called the Infant- J csusr^

" Well . . . now . . . '■

"Of course not, you wouldn't. We are
too great sinners, do you hear me? all of us,
to give such names to our canoes."

" If we called her Santa Claus ..." said
a voice.

"Ves! to have lier rush with her load
into Mother ]iegin's garret, like Michel
Couture's canoe which bore that name ? You
remember when she broke her rope running
down the Eraser hill ? "

" Into a garret, )ou said ? "

"Yes, Madame, at night, on her way down
162

iSs«*S!«^

iT J %f Is LaJLAi^J i-J

nada

i Christinas
J n't \vc call

;i' ; '" I have
oin of St-
ATor/]"

1 Iicr the
crew,
hold )'()iir

•c. Would

on board

mt-Jcsus ? "

We are

all of us,

• . " said

her load

2 Michel
ic ? You
: running

ay down

T'le /'(.aiitom Hea<l

^™" St. Joseph, by land The „. , ,
°'> 'he same level „ T !; ""-"^ '■»

-■^^ - ia,ie„ :' h" „ ;: ^^^ -.

'""«tl of f„|,„„,,. "■ "'^"'^'^ loose, a,„|

partition frames n,„| u , ' '"""S"' «"™s.

'-"■ You ca^ i ■ ""' ""■"' ">-■• -n.

"A„d.!^e J"' r;' ''""''- fo-l«."

'He,a,i;\:i:'r:,^'--K.e.a.,.„,

"Oh! no!" u-as \\. ,

"^h-^ would have been I '^''"^ "^•^"^'- '•
^'-'^" too much."
i'l-^'ten to me • f r

be agreed upon," 'said l"'' 7 '""^"•^^' ^^'■"
the group. « Let us ^^'^^"cing towards

;^'- godmother. ■brCTwLV'^"'"^
^hnstmn name, Madam.." '' >'°^"-

"Mary, sir."

"'St time ;„ his life
163

^>jy^i

M 1)1

r r

Christmas in French Canada

" Merry Christmas ! hurrah ! . . . "

At this moment, the first call to midnight
mass rang in the distance, and at the majestic
sound of the bells of Notre-Dame in full peal,
the traditional libation glided over the prow
of the swift canoe, while twenty joyful voices
cried : " Merry Christmas 1 " to the echoes of
the lofty hills which face the rock of old
Quebec.

A few minutes later, my companions and
1 were warmly nestled down amid the heavy
furs heaped at the bottom of the canoe. The
light craft, with her prow turned towards the
river, advanced slowl>- at first, head (jverhang-
ing in the space, balanced there for one
moment, and then, carried away by the
weight of the paddlers jumping aboard, she
shot forward like an arrow, dived into the
waves, rebounded like a ball, and under the
effort of eight good ])addlcs skilfully handled,
swept off in the whirling foam.

" Merry Christmas ! " cried the paddlers.

" Merry Christmas ! " repeated old Baron,
who sat astern, bent on his long paddle
wriggling in the eddy like the tail of a Triton.

i6j.

}

.m. IE

Tiidni^ht
majestic
full peal,
he prow
111 voices
choes of
of old

lions and
le heavy
oc. The
ards the
)verhang-

for one

by the
aard, she

into the
ndcr the

handled,

iddlers.
d Baron,
y paddle
a Triton.

The rhantom Head

"Let us have a song!" cried somebody.

"No, boys, no songs to-night!" said old
Karon, "but a Christmas hymn if you like."

And with a true and sonorous voice which
old age had not )et aflfected, the old veteran
of the St. Lawrence canoe-men, intoned over
our heads the old carol whose cheerful rhythm
keeps time so well with the movement of the
paddles, and which sums up the whole
Christian Legend :

// es/ tid, k divii) Etifaii/ .-
Joiiez, hau/hois ! rhoniiez, muselle!: !
II est iid, !e diviii Enfant :
Chantons tons son avhtemeiit !

^^£

gfeg

e^ « di •• 9M. tn - liAu^

^^^^m

1 r * I ■-™— — ■ J

ft=r

'jt

::i=^t=-^

±=t:

<3*A n€ ^ A di - vt*t. Ut. - fiZF:

'65

Christmas in Frondi Canada

To which the manly voices of the crew
answered in unison :

a I

|'(

// est III', le i/h'hi F.iifiuit .'

I shall never for<,fet that wonderful voyafjc.

We sped on, rapidly, under the sparkling
blue sky, flooded by the white ra>s of the
moon, which spread afar its silvery glitter
over the undulation of the waves. One
could fancy that each star, as .. magic
spark, lighted thousands of flaming cressets
here and there among the masses of the
resting floes.

No, I shall never forget that delightful
voyage.

Suddenly our way was barred by a vast
piece of ice, flat-surfaced like a marble floor.
In two seconds, our canoe was hauled on it ;
and we halted to contemplate the scene. It
was fairy-like.

The steep shores of the St. Lawrence
unrolled right and left their snowy tapering
heights, which the roofs, the trees, the cam-
paniles and the church steeples seemed to

i66

J It I

1.:^

<Sl,

ula

the crew

1 1 voyafjc.
sparklinfT
's of the
■y glitter
2s. One
<v ma^jio
J cressets
s of the

dch'ghtful

y a vast
ble floor.
;d on it ;
cene. It

^.awrence
tapering
he cam-
em ed to

The Plmntom Horn!

perforate with dim or kmiinous points, like

a frmge of silver embroidery.

Around us. on the br.ast of the gigantic

nver, as far as the eye could reach, white
•surfaces appeared in a soft diffused li.rht
broken here and there by furrows, rents'
crevices, pools, lakes of deep water, all
spangled with reflections int. .sifying its
inky darkness.

And all this in an atmosphere of bitin-
cold, but the strange calmness of which
penetrated the soul with an extraordinary
imj>ression of serenity.

F. • some time the church bells of
Quebec had been mingling their clangor
u>th the resounding peals from the other
shore. Unconsci(Jusly overwhelmed by the
grandeur of the spectacle, we instinctively
pressed against each other, listening to the
■solemn voices of the sacred bronzes ex-
changing from height to height their call to
prayer, through that wondrous night-sublime
anniversary of the great event.

"Ave Maria!" cried out old Baron,

taking off Ju's I-"'--!,-., r,,..

fc> 111.1 i,v.a\y lur cap.

.67

l-l'

»!'

""* ""BUI "*«■

'f |)

13 if

Cliri^stmus in Fioncli Caimdu

And all the .sturdy canoe-mcn uncovered
their heads, while their tawny faces glowed
under the starry splendors of the ni^dit.

Impossible to picture the inajest)- of the
scene !

"Nothinj,' could be more beautiful!" ex-
claimed, with one voice, my two friends
from Florida.

"And thank God, we have not seen the
Phantom Head," uttered Nazaire Jodoin,
setting his foot on the batture of Quebec.

• » • •

Several years later, passing along the foot
of the cliff which overhangs the cove where
like a bee-hive, hums the great ship-yard, I
noticed the remains of an old canoe, on the
shattered bow of which a tattered piece of
tin bore the four letters " TMAS," half
washed out by time and weather.

Was it the skeleton of the old Merry
Christmas ?

ida

uncovered
:.s glowed
iiif,'ht.
t)- of the

full" cx-
j friends

seen the

Jodoin,

Quebec.

the foot
/e where,
3-yard, I

;, on the
piece of
>S," half

J Merry

iOyisE

J FEW jears ago. some peculiar
circumstances had led to Nicolet
—a pleasant little tou-n situated
on the banks of the Nicolet nver— a famih- of
five persons, neither rich nor poor, of neither
humble nor brilliant condition, but in whose
home the angel of happiness had always had

i6()

'.(II
i

'< nil

■,>l9^>K-tff4f^„^^^

."^'^.''^'Vj^ni.jHK

Christinas in French Canada

hh corner at the hearth and his place at the
table.

At the time of my story, the youngest of
the three children-a delicate fair-haired little
ma.d, with dark eyes-was just four years
old; but her pretty face and her winning
ways had already made her friends with the
whole neighborhood.

Most of the time she spoke of herself in
the third person, and this peculiarity con-
tributed to make her name of Louise-which
she pronounced <9/.m-_famiHar to every one
from old Boivert's r^rry to the Bishop's'
Palace.

When she leaned over the railing of
the balcony, or when, light as a lark, she
wandered in the alleys of the garden, her
provoking little head emerging here and
there among the rose bushes and honey-
suckles, the old priests who passed by on their
way to the Bishop's, the students who turned
the corner of the college avenue, the gentle-
men and the ladies who followed the sidewalk
of the main street, never failed to say:
" Bonjoui; Louise ! "
170

1 l\

PS iisij J!'-T rrniTiT ri JTii

sida

ace at the

3ungest of
lired little
bur years
' winning
with tliQ

lerself in
rity con-
e — which
lery one,
Bishop's

ih'ng of
ark, she
:len, lier
■re and
honey-
on their
> turned
gentle-
idewalk
ly:

Ouise

To which a fresh and laughing baby voice
invariably answered:
" Bofisour ! "
The carters and the lumbermen who

work sm.led to her with a pleasant word
y^ofisoir, mamzclle Louise!"
And the little one answered in her dear
nnging voice, like a bird's call :
" Bonsoir, monsieur ! "

. ^^'" '^' -^^^PP-d the coachmen with a
•s.gn of her dimpled finger, and when they
came nearer to ask what she wanted •

"A drive!" she whispered, with a whole
regnnent of l.^king .smiles nestled at the
corners of her eyes and mouth.
Sometimes they would object:
"I am in a hurry, Mamzelle Louise"
But then, she would put the index of her
n^ht hand on the index of her left, and with
an accent of irresistible coaxing:

" A I't- • . lit. . . little one ! " she would
pray, varyn.g her gentle intonations in the
most exquisite manner.

That was all ; the coachman would stop,
•7'

(■

Cliiistmas in Froiicli Canada

look at luT a moment, and then yidclin- to
a fit of snily kindness, would t;rumble:

"What a child! Impossible to refuse her
anythino-.''

And seizinij the h'ttle one in his two
•sturdy hands, he would place her on the
seat of l,i- vehicle, jump to her side, give
a craciv of his whip, and start at random,
while the child shook her fair curls in thJ
wind, and her peals of laughter rang in the
ears of the passers-by, Avho looked at her
with a smile.

In short, Louise was a favorite.
Did she love an>one in return ?
Did she love anyone? Why, she loved
everybo<ly. Oh, yes! But, after her father,
mother, brother and sister, the one she loved
the best was her dog.

hor Mademoiselle Louise had a dog, a
fine French a';///"'''/, very queer in his heavy
fleece, nhich completely covered his eyes, a
good docrgy who had becii named Cor/uw/,
on account of his being a jet black. And,
on his part, the dog had taken a fancy to
the child, and never left her the breadth of

•7^

lula

/ieldinsr to
inble :
refuse her

Ill's two
I' on the
side, give

random,
Is in the
ig in the
I at Iier

le loved
r father,
he loved

do£T, a
s heavy
ej'cs, a
Corbeau,
:. And,
Fmcy to
adth of

Guise

Ik's sole, if this expression be permitted when
talkinjj of dogs.

If one tiling more than another had the
power to throw Louise into fits of mirth, it
was that old popular ballad, which her father
used to sing to her, and which began thus:

// I'lail ,11! p,iit homiiic
Qui s\ip/<,-lail (.iii/Ztii,

Cdia/'i !
II sen Jul a la c/iasxc,
■ I Ai i/iiissc II//.V /<i-ii///.v,
I'ili, iurabi: 7\>lo, airaho !

"Toto Corbeau!" exclaimed the little one.
And her ringing laughter sparklec' like a
piece of fireworks.

The first time she was taken to confession,
her father said to her :

"You will pray for me, won't you, Louise."

"Oh! yes, papa."' she answered.

And when, on her return, she was asked
iT she had remembered her promise:

"Ves, papa," she said, "Ouise told two
big sins for )-ou ; there ! "

As the winter feasts drew near, the papa
had gone to M.Mitreal for a short trip. He

'73

i -ni i -fti M Mi ii

Christmas in French Cana.hi

returned ho.e on the very ..y before Christ-

J -"Jrf not open, having, to the great
disappointment of the I,>Ho ^ .
n^f-^i I .. ^ ^"^''' unfortu-
nately lost the k-ey on his wa^-

Of the contents of the m^.terious trunk
he had not the shghtest recollection

prestnts'"a'7'' '" ^""" ""^ '^' ^'-'^^--^
presents, as, for one reason or another, he

IZ 'T ^' '^^ --S of Montreal closed

bee ' t T ""^ "°''^ •^""">'"^'^^' '- ^-^'
Been .short of money.

Under such eondition,,, l,„„ could he have
pureha.,ed anything at all ? „ „,., ^j,

=.ppo,nth,g indeed ; bnt everyone k„„„.., ,ha
on Christmas Eve Santa Claus makes his
round witii his basket full „f
good children. ' """"'^ '"'

JVVell. now, my honeys," said the father,
P"t your shoes in the (ire-pkace, ha„^, up
your s.ock„,,,s at ,l,e foot of your beds '
your prayers, and_c,uick, under the bl„„ke„l
To-morrow morning we shall see what the
ttle ones fr.end will have brought to you.

If you sleep wen, you may be sure that he
wont forget you."

'74

Ouiso

for r« 'rV'",' "■""■' '""'' "^ eiven ,o him
for that_ha<l . |.„| „f „„„^ ^^,_.^|_ ^_^^^^

a certain a,r of incredulity ; the eldest sister

began to dance, clapping her hands, utter-

HIS bursts of laughter anri i i

cries of joy. ^°"^ "''^ing

Sudcienly she stepped, and had a moment
ofsenous thought. Then. hTtin,. up her in-
qms.fve eyes, she said to her father:

"Will Santa Claus also brin,. something
t^^ the httle Jesus in the church ? »

"No. my child."

"Why not?"

■• Because the little Jesus needs nothing ;
ail things belong to him."

"V-:', IMpa. he needs .something; he i,
poor; Ouise saw him to-day. He has no
c othes ; he must feel cold. cold. The poor
baby will cry."

And tte little one. almost moved to tears
put her finger „. her trembling lips, her
breast quivering li,e that of a bird seized

by a feather of its win-

But childish emotion.^ pa.s.s quickly; the
'75

■''«m<mmmm^'.

"'^**w*>Wiiia

ClirisliMMS ill hcMcli ('.■||i;i(l;|,

R"-.l Mioh, ,,,,,,inj. ,,n.l tl.r p,vpay,a\ou (,„■
rest ma.lr a li.ippy (li\cisi(.ii.

'riin-(< no,.,l S(.UH(lill^r l^issi-s t,, ,,;,|,,.,, tlllVC

tondor luins to uKimina. ami (ui inimiu-s later,
ihrcv pairs of fiiir m-w sli.n-s lay ,,n the
stones ,.(■ tlu> lu-arlli. an.! tinv.- .rrntl.> heads.
'"■"■'■ and dark, sank int.. Umv uhiu- |,i||o\vs,
in tiK- sha.lou- ..f tin- nnlains ra.vss.-d by
tlu- trcniMin.; n|i,„„HMs ,,C ilu> ni-lit l.nn|..

As ,)no may -ncss, (lu- key of tlu>
trunk w.is cMsily Cnin.k Aii.l prr -itts of all
kinds s.)..n craninu-d tlu- sIkh-s in tli(> (lic-
PI.HV ; a bin- d.,11 -..r-cnisly dvcssal was
l.ii.l a.n.ss those of L.,ui,se ; the little stoek-
in.i;s h.ni-in- .,t the lo.,t of the beds were
'"'lle.l up with landies and pretty -^ifi^ |,y
tlie .lisereet h.nul of the mamma ; and when,
before retirin- the papa threw a l„vin^'
.q:kince thr.n.oh the halC-,.pene.l ,!„<„■ hehin.l
"'licli reste.l I,is treasures, he faneie.i !,e
could see a swarm of th.)se winged spirits
called dreams lluttcrin- around the brow of
liis darlin- pet. murmurinnr to her ears s.,me
of the divine secrets which, th.u nioju especi-
'illy, the an-cls of Heaven exchange between

^7*4

ilv

id.'i

atidii Idi

ipa, three
itt-s later,

on the
le heads,
• pillows,
essed by
t lain|).

of (he
ts of .all
th(> iuc-
sed was
le st()cl<-
xis were
^ifts In-
Ill when,

lovint^

hehiiid
:ied lie

spirits

[ivow of

"s some

cspcci-

bctuccn

Oiii

.S(!

, ';";7.'- "' ""■ •"' ' ".^ ..f .1,,* ,.„.,

Iial (elidty.

„,,■''"'; ■""■-- I— I ,i„. ,1,,.,,,,.

' ,'""V" ^ "" ""■ « ■■-.

'■'■'■ ".'"■• »■"' '" *'-v. I.,„,,l ,,, ,„'

"■'';";",' ' '■'■ ""■ i-ii. ci,a,„i„„ .I,,,,-,.

,:",''"■ ";' «'""""■'■■ "'' ",. „,„, ,,„.,,

"\ "•''«■"■■'' "!■ '■)■ i"yn.i .xHa,,,.,,;,,,,,

ll"lll tin- |„„,,. ^1,,,,.,, 'I'

„'" ',"■ ' -^ ""■ l'""M-- >V.,s „„ f„,„

Kall.,T,.,l i„ „„„ ^,,„„|,

,,,"""'"''■■■■•■ '-^ ""■""'••'• '-?'asl<,.,| „,„

"■;■ '"»"■"'•' ""■• '».. cl.leM cl,il,i,x-„. "Is

""I I.oiiise ii|) 3'ct?"

■■VVIH.-1-,- is si,,., ,1,^.,,,..

If""' ,':; ■" ""»»"-! 'Lc liuio ,„„s.

Louise !

"Louise! "

search.

•77

:?Hesa»«>«~«^.,

1^ f

•}

Cliristmas in French Cmicada

"Where is the dog?" asked the father
anxiously.

" Corbeau ! "

No answer, not even a growl.

The p(,or father gave a cry of alarm •

"The dog is not here! the child is gone!
Good Heavens, where is she ? "

And almost crazy, he rushed out bare-
headed, without even noticing that the door
bolt was drawn.

A thin coat of snow had fallen during
the night; footprints were visible crossing,
the front garden and leading towards the
cathedral. One could easily detect the tracks
of two little feet together with that kind of
rosette, in the shape of a five-leafed clover
which the foot of a dog imprints.

This somewhat reassured the anxious
father, who continued his run in the direction
indicated by the traces.

He had not gone a hundred paces when
he stood face to face with the Bishop, an old
college companion, who came to him holding

the father

f" alarm :
cl is gone!

out bare-
the door

-n during
crossinp-

-ards the

he tracks
kind of

d clover.

. m

anxious
direction

es when

, an old

holding-

•^ hriffg you hack „ litti, saiui

ill

*f™B|lli

" Wlu
anxious I)
" Corl
" Corl
" Cor
No .-
The
" Th(
Good I
And
headed, uithi
bolt wa
A tl
the nig
the fro
cathedn
of two
rosette,
which t
Thu
father, i
indicate
He
he stoo
coilej;e

'i paces vvli; M

", an old

'S wilt' I

an olfi

ssasitmmmm

'/I

Guise

by the nVht haiul the h'ttle maid, whose left
disappeared among the long and shaggy hairs
of the griffon.

" I bring back to you a h'ttle saint," said
the Bishop.

And handing to his friend a small parcel
he held under his arm :

"With a restitution," added he, smiling.

The father was soon acquainted with what
had happened.

It was dark yet, and the lamps, lighted
since five o'clock at the Bishop's Palace, had
not yet jielded before the morning dawn
when the door bell was heard.

It was old Thcrese, the gardener, who
answered the call.

A type worth picturi,ii,r, this same Tht:--
rese.

Imagine an old crone, who worked hard,
grumbling from morning till night, smoked
like a locomotive, and who, satisfied or dis-
satisfied, had only one energetic expression
to show torth her joy or discontent : " Crt<
million ! "

If you gave her a few cents, some tobacco,
'79

.x^--,

'h!:,

I p.

Christmas in French Canada

some old clothes, or even a glass of wfne
she never failed to say:

"Thank you, ere million! that's exactly
what's good for me."

If the little brats of the neighbourhood
entered her garden, walked on her flower-
beds or plundered her rose-bushes:

"Cre million!" she said: "hold on a bit
you scoundrels ; I'll hang you by the ears on
the handle of the door."

The children, who knew the value of her
threats, were not frightened more than was
necessary-and had given her the surname of
MdUon, to which she seemed to have no
objection.

It was she who went to the door.

''Bonaour,Miyonr said a little voice from
out the dark.

Therese drew near: it was Louise with
h^"- dog and a little parcel she held with
outstretched arms as something precious and
sacred.

"Why, is it you, puceron?" cried the old
•"aid; "what arc you about at such an
hour ? "

I So

tii.iitMi»i

HJaKiSJtiJ

ada

3 of wine,

s exactly

ibourhood
-V flower-
on a bit,
e ears on

Je of her
than was
rname of
have no

lice from

ise

with

ous

and

the

old

uch

Ouise

" Want to see Monsieur Monscigncurr

" Monseigneur ! Monseigneur ! Crc milhon '
he has something better to do than listen to
your nonsense, Monseigneur. Come in and
warm yourself. Did you ever see the like ? "

"What is it?" asked a low paternal voice,
well known to the little girl.

And the good Bishop appeared in the
opening of the ante-chamber.

"What is it?"

"It's me."

" Who you ? "
" Ouise ! "

"Louise! upon my word! so it is. Who
is with you ? "
" Corbeau."

"Does your father know?"
"Is asleep."

"And what are you here for?"
"Ouise brings a dress for the little Jesus"
"You bring a dress for the little Jesus?"
"Yes; Ouise saw him yesterday; has no
dress. Feels cold, cold."

" But where did you get that dress ? "
And the child told, in her baby language
i8i '^

''I

Christmas in French Canada

with hesitation and stammering efforts at the
long words, how she ],ad put her shoes in the
fire-place before going to bed ; how Santa
Clans had come during the night and brought
her a big doll with a nice new dress ; how
-she had then thought of the Infant-Jesus all
alone in his n^anger in the big cold church ;
and, at last, how she had taken off the doll's
dress to bring it to the poor little Jesus.

The Bishop listened with emotion.

"^ But now your doll is going to be cold
too," said he.

"Oh! no, she's wrapped up in Guise's shawl."
"Well, then, come away!" said the good
prelate, stealthily passing the end of his fingc.-
in the corner of his eye, " I shall take you
back to your papa ; you will dress up your
doll again ; and, as to the little Jesus, don't
be anxious about him, I shall have his manger
warmed so that he will be quite comfortable "
. " Surely ? "

'• Surely ! You will see to it, won't you
Therese ? "

Thcr^se \\as wiping her eyes with the
corner of her apron.

182

Ouise

" Cre million ! my lord," she said, " I'm
ready to heat him until he melts."

" All right, then ; and now, Louise, here
is a nice picture for you ; it is the picture of
the little Jesus himself."

"Thank you. Monsieur Monseigneur."

"You like it?"

" Oh ! yes ; have you got another one ? "

" You want two ? what for ? "

" Ouise wants one for her Indian."

"What Indian?"

'■ood Indian brought Oui.se to mamma,
when Ouise lit— lit— little."

The Bishop and old Thcre.se had a good
laugh, and the Indian was made happy too.*

It is a received traditi.m v,i,h our little ones that they are
bror.Rht to their p.ironts by .n "good Indian," which theory is at
least as elTective as that of the :abbage Leaf.

■ di

•83

^«safaas£i--,.-.

j|HE narrator was a well-
•^ known Montrealer.

I was spending the
winter in New Orleans,
■V said he, in company with
l^ a countryman of ours,
whom I shall call Al-
Phonse, if you permit me: the most amiable
of comrades, the most loyal of friends, but at

the same time the greatest fatalist in Creation
So complete a fatalist that, one day, in the
open -street, he almost fell into my arms
exclaimmg joyfully :

iust^^t 'T '"''^""' '°"^"^"'^^^ --• ^ have
JUi't lost a five dollar bill "

^ee in thi. any serious subject of
184

''-■■MMi..:^:-y -i:

well-

ive

Tlio Horseshoe

fel.-cha.i„„ he was executing a .na^uAa ,„ep
" the s,de.alk .o .,,0 g.ea. a„,a.e„,c„t Jf

tnc passers-by.

a slaiT TT''"' '" '"' --•*"'='"y broken

a small Jookinsf fjlass -nifl i.

da,.. The loss of the five dollars had
averted the .hrca.e„h,g fatal,,,, hence
exuberance of his joy.

A black cat, in particular, had the effect
of exasperating him .0 madness. „e would

"ave walked miles to avoid the sight or::'

It was the first winter I h^rt
u, , „ ^"^ ' ^^^ ever passed

a so , hern n„ate, and knowing nothing
n the shape of December temperature bu^

h snow storms of Quebec and the free.i„,
orth wn,ds of Chicago, I lived in ecs ,cv
;;-V^ indicated with sunshine and';::.'

As for my friend, he was a jolly fellow
eagerly feasting upon the sweet fruit 'of h^:
'«s youth ,. and, free from al, annova, "e
anx,et,es and regrets of any kind, we Id

hr:re'::r"'^-----cou;'

'85

fll

€1

I '' i

li f'

Christmas in French Canada

Our mornings were devoted to work ; but
the afternoons .... but the evenings ....
all left to our fancies!

Alphonse was connected with a large firm,

exporters of Louisiana produce ; and "on the

same floor as the offices, but in rear, and

separated from them by a large and almost

empty hall, which served occasionally as a

store room for samples, he had fitted up a

very pretty suite of apartments which we

shared like two brothers.

The partition walls which separated us
from the offices weie glass-framed from the
dado to the ceiling; so that from our bed-
room—it was this apartment especially that
we amicably shared— we could see more or
less what was going on in the front rooms,
through which was our only exit.

A narrow ante-chamber put us in com-
munication with the wareroom.

Christmas drew near .... New Year's
also, naturally ; and we looked forward to all
sorts of good times, of joyous parties with
pleasant acquaintances.

One evening, however, on returning home
186

1 I II

i I ii

Ik-

but

com-

The Horseshoe

after a night passed at a planters of the neigh-

A dark colored cat. according to his story,
had entered our rooms th^f ^ ■
Inhr. ,j mornmcr; and

John, our old servant, who was, by the way
nearly as dark as the intruder, aided by all'
available hands, had succeeded in ridding the

house of this new guest, but only after endless
difficulties.

For two long days, my fnend seemed
worried and strangely preoccupied

This brilliant talker, always ready for a
hearty laugh, was turning taciturn.

The black cat might have annoyed him
no doubt; but to have disturbed him to such
an extent was beyond all reasonable sup-
position. '^

"Look here," said I. on Christmas Eve

whue he was searching every corner of the'

roc^ .n a nervous and impatient manner

what ,s the matter with you, anyhow .? " '

"The matter with me," said he. in a

furious tone, " the matter with me is that I

have been robbed.—that's all ! "

.87

(}!

V »

Christmas in French Canada
" Robbed ! "

"Yes, robbed! and the worst of ft is"
added he. letting his ar.s fa„ i„ ,,j,,,.,;^

Jhe worst of ,t is that I a,n afraid to sus-

"Whom do you mean?"

" I mean John. Do you understand ? To
suspect some one hitherto considered honest.
D.schargmgr a poor fellow, dishonouring an old

servant, with the risk of ounishing an innocent
n^an. J .vouldn't do that for ten times

what I have lost And still . . . . "

"But what is it you have lost?"

"My pocket-book."

" With money in it ? "

" With two bills of five hundred each "
No!"

"Ves, my friend; I had drawn that
money from the bank to conclude a bargain
J" the evening, with an old Creole. You'
know that most of those old Creoles won't
hear of checks ; scarcely will they accept
^reen-backs. Now, the man having missed
his appointment, the two bills remained in
my pocket-book. It was there, in the inside

188

■arte f( % ','

mfWriff nwaafuiiti

The Horseshoe

pocket of ,ny vvafstcoat on the back .f that
cha-r, when I turned in the night before last •
-I now it is gone. Oh I that cursed black

^_^_^_;'And yon have searched everywhere for

" I have turned everything inside out

But no more of this," he added, seizing 'rnJ
by the arn. and turning my head towards the
httle fancy stove which stood in the centre of

our bedroom; "it shall be the last time such
a stup,d thmg will happen to me"

"What is that?"

"A horseshoe, which I have just found on
the street. I can defy bad luck now "

And sure enough, I saw the gleam of a
half-worn and polished horseshoe balanced on
the central ornament of the little heater
"And you believe. . . ?" .^i,^ j ^^,j^,^ ^

"Ves. I believe!" he interrupted with
conv.^.on. -.you shall see for yourself"

Well then, let us get to dinner; we
shall dnnk the health of the wizard who is
to bnng back the star of good luck to our

1 89

^^^r.^^f'

■''»•*'%»*»«*;

''""'V'mmmmi,

Chn-stm,is i„ n-ench Oaimda

pock-et-book- ! "

"Who knows? At all events. let us
^J'"e ; we shall sup after midnight mass. I
have ordered so.ne ,.ood n-o,„^:,„,„, at
Victors to remfnd us of our home "

"A L^ood idea! but is midnight mass of
great imjjortancc to y ,u ? "

"Of course. The artists of the Opera
are^ ,^oing to sing at the Jesuits', you know."
The.i you shall go alone, for I have an
appomtment for high mass to-morrow."

"And what about the cro./u;\r„,/,, ^ „
^^^^ "Vou'll take some home with you. that's

And thus it happened that on the sqth
of December, i8;o, by one o'clock in the
morning. I was sleeping alone-our servant
havmg his lodging elsewhere-in our bachelor
quarters of Po.dras street, in the city of
New Orleans, while, under the illuminated
vaults of the churches, resounded the Joyful
carols of that mysterious Christmas night so
dear to all Christian hearts.
Suddenly, I awoke.
190

"i-iisran-; -~^^^zTj2m$»mfm

your

The iroivseshoo

A noise was heard in the direction of the
ortices.

"Here is Alphonse comin,. in," said I to
-yself; - I should have left the ,as h.hted."

Now. for some weeks past, a strange ex-
citement had reigned in New Orleans

IWie talked of nothing else but burglars
and burglaries. ^

Every morning, the newspapers contained
accounts of broken doors, of forced drawers
ol plundered safes.

The police were of no avail. The bold
tlHcves set watchmen and detectives at
defiance with e.vtraordinary skill and un-
heard of audacity.

While thev^ were apparently cornered at
one pomt, they operated in another direction
and generally with successful result.

The plundering of iron safes was their
Pnncpal specialty, and when the same
-s.sted picklocks and other instruments
they used gun-cotton, nitro-ghcerine or
any other kind of explosive to break open
hinges and safety locks

JlT" "'° ''' "•^' ---"'^ "p-

191

V '

C'liiistnias in Froncli Canada

N"u-. to return to my narrative: at tl,e
very nio.ncnt uhen I uas ,nal<in. the remark
tha r ouK^ht to have left the gas h'^^htecl ,o
k'mde my companion. [ perceived, on turning
'ny head, a faint and intermittent reflection
Play.n,r on the glass partition of our room

"i5o much the better." thought I- "he
has a h'ght."

I waited.

No footsteps— complete silence.

"What is he about?" I muttered. l<neeling
on my bed to ,ook in the direction of ti.e
onfices.

" VVh^^ he is not alone ! " sairi I. somewhat

surpnsed;.- and what has he got to do at the
cashiers office? "

At the same moment, the hght of a dark

lantern flashed across my face, and I saw two

shadows bending over one of the safes of tho

estabbshment ; I even heard the clicking .^(

the safety knob.

A thought, rapid as a flash of lightning
made me shiver from head to foot.
No doubt, they were burglars.
What was going to happen?

J 93

lada

vo: at the
he remark
li^^htecl to
>" turnin^r
reflection
Lir room.
■ f; "he

Tho Horseshoe

kneeling
11 of the

omewhat
lu at the

r a dark
saw two
> of the
:kin<4 ^)f

^htnnijT,

Would the thieves be satisfied with the
plundern.g of the offices?

Would they venture in my direction ?
And then ....

How to escape? how to ,Mve an alarm?
how defend myself? , ., „ ,•„ , ,,,,^,,
-thout a weapon, vilhoni .>ou a stick.

I vvas even una'^lc to d-. .ss. for fear the
s-^htest noise might ,. t.a.. the attention of
tlic ruffiatis, and reveal my presence

On the other hand, it was folly to stay in
bed. ^

A thonght came to me : the horseshoe '
And here I am creeping out of my sheets
as cautiously as possible; and stealthily
qu.etly, slowly. I ^ade my way towards the'
-stove where I saw. glittering vaguely in the
pale U^ht of the night, the only weapon a
mere hazard had left to my disposal.

A mome.it later I stood in the .-te
cl^amber, half hidden behind the frame of
the door opening on the back store, in night
sown, with chattering teeth and shaking
l.mbs, holding my breath, the perspiration
of anguish on n>y forehead, a desperate

•93

ilJ

Christmas in French Canada

pang in my heart, and the horse.hoc i„ .ny

One is generally more t-.id abroad than
at home. Beside, to be surted from sleep

as I had been, is not calculated to give con-
fidence. I was terribly afraid.

Did the \vaitin<r last lono- ? i
, , . '^ ^^^ '°"g ^ 1 cannot sav •

but It seemed an age to me

Of what the thieves had done in the
-anuh e I had no idea. I had lost my
head, and I waited for the end, with only one
hope: that the burglars, satisfied with their
Phmde, would start ofif without discovering me.
Ihat hope was vain.

The ,„.o shadow, „.hich .seemed mon-
»^™s y ,a„,,er., he offices and. ere c,,™„«

TT '"'' ""= "■«'" "' "- '-ten,:

wande,.,„g .-.yht and left as ,f to explore the
premises, and a. las. falling right on the o.en
oor, „ ,e.e du,nb .ith te.„. and .note d;ad
man alve. I exnpnff^rt 4^1

' ^-^P^cted the catastrophe M'hich
-rdy could not fail ,„ ^ „,„ ^. '^^^^

^t this critical moment fh«
, . '"ument, the courage of

t7^'P™/"P--y''ear,a„d,,,,„;,J

my coomess for one instant.

•94

ana da

ishoc in my

abroad than
i from sleep
to give con-

cannot say ;

one in the
d lost my
h only one
with their
overing me.

mecl

mon-

Ere cominpr
le lanterns
xplore the
I the open
more dead
phe n'hich
hand.
3urage of
recovered

1'Ii'J Hoi'seslioc

I considered the situation.

I -said to myself that there w-m nni

chance of escape left to me • oT "^ ""
-sault but to fell one o "h "' '"

fi- bio., and then go L LT' ' ^
to man. ^ ^'''' ''^^'^'' man

Not a .second elapsed between the thought
ana its execution ^

"y strength and w th terr/hlf. ,. • •
"gl" a. >he head of one f .! "'

bandits. . ""= ■''"PPosed

yelH,,!: ■ '°«""" "■■■"^ » f"™'<iab,o voice

" Damn it ' dmi'i- i.;ii .1

^,, '"^"^ '^'Jl tfie police'"

Tic reaction made me stao.e,- • ;,
so sudden that I could h, ^
H'ord of e.xcuse to th -' ''"^"^^'" ^

'95

ill

' H

:u.

1 1

Christmas in Fi-encli Canada

peace whose death I ^v•a.s so „early Juicing
on m}- conscience.
AH was explained.

Leaving for the midnioht mass, Alphonse
• had inadvertentlN- left the big iron door which
led to our apartments unclosed ; th<; spring
lock had not caught.

The two poh'cemen, particularly on the
lookout for signs of burglary, had, on their
night watch, pushed the door, and finding it
unlocked, entered the house in search" of
possible mischief

They luid visited the offices, cxann-ncd the
iron safes, and uere just completing their
inspection by a tour about the other parts of
the building, when my weapon had struck
and broker, the brass number which shone on
the front of my man's shako.

If the blow had struck Uvo inches lower,
the unfortunate man would have been killed.'
I recovered by degrees, and when my
friend Alphonse returned from church puz-
zled to see the door open, he found me busy
uncorkmg a bottle of old Kentucky Bombon
to restore my nerves in the first place, and

196

ii.lfAH-iitir.Srlt,.' 1 1 . >

nada

^'irly lia\ing

IS, Alphnnsc
door which
th(; spring

rly on the

d, on their

i fiiidintj it

search of

imiiicd the
-ting their
er parts o{
liad struck
1 slione on

•

;hes lower,
ccn killed,
when my
Lirch piiz-
me busy
Bourbon,
)lace, and

The Horseshoe

' f ' • '"■■ ^'""^ '"•»" fellows wl,., ,„„,„,«,

" Here's to your luck ' " th^,. , • .

with n,. ^ L-xclanned

W'th the most enthusiastic spirit.

""'-''•es to your luck, old iVicnls - "
answered I with ,-,. i '

faction. '=" -r.A^.,n^^i satis-

"Merry Christmas!" intervened Alphonse
ye„*"^ Chr,s.,n.s a„„ , „„,,p^ ^^^

"God bless j.„ ,„,.,„„ p.,., ^,^ .

My c„,„,.ade was soon acquainted 'with
the situation. "

"You see, old fellow," he s-i,VI to

"thit !> ,v- J • i'L said to me,

t'^at It IS good sometimes to have a horse
sh(je near one's hand."

f.uc, sa„l tl,e policeman vho had so
narrowly escaped my blow,

"% the way," I remarked, ".speaking of
the horseshoe, what has be. .me of it-.

" ' """'' ''"™''" '^-•'l one of the patrol men.

'97

f to rll

Christmas in French Canada

"Neither do I," said the other

"The fact is. I did not hear it falV said I
Let us look for it."

And armed with candles and with the

two lanterns, we befran fr u .

. ue Degan to search for the
horseshoe in pi-«,-,, -i i

in ever)' possible corner of the
place. ^

"But where could it be.'"
"It cannot be very far, anyway"
"To get out of the room, it should have
passed through the glass partition."
" And we heard no sound whatever."
" And not a pane broken."
"Strange, isn't it?"
" Unless it be on the top of that
ventured one of the policemen

And he pointed out a pile of empty
barrels standing endwise in one corner of

the store, and which almost reached the
ceihno-. "-"^

" It is impossible ! "

^ "Well, I shall judge for myself," said Pat
Lend me your shoulders, Michael "

barrels' rt ''''"'"' '" ^'^ ^' ^^^
barrels, wh.ch resounded jovfull)- under the

198

iht-iHtitHimM-ti titi'.ri^i k-iH-i'i

nada

fall," said I.

' with the
:h for the
er of the

lould have

;er.

lat.

f empty
orner of
hed the

said Pat.

of old
ider the

The Horseshoe

pressure and hammering of his hands and
knees.

At last he reached the summit.

"Hurrah, boys!" cried he, "here's the
beggar!"

And he triumphantly brandished the
horseshoe.

Suddenly :

"Hold on!" .aid he ; ■< .here', some.hin,.
else. Whaf, this? A pocket-book, b?
J ove ! ^

"My pocket-book!" exclaimed Alphonse.
And f,,o brave policeman almost fell
Cd ""^ ''""'' '""' *''' Po^I^et-book in his

'^ It wouldn't have remained there twenty
years, said he. "Good hiding place. Pretty
smart, the thief" ^

Alphonse was hugging me, laughing to
tears. ^

"Friend, friend," said he, " the horseshoe!
will you believe in it now ? "

But after a while his face took an expres-
sion of sadness, and he threw the pocket-book
on his bed.

199

Christmas in French CanaLt

"Oh! John," said he, with a gesture of
discouragement, "I would have risi.od a icr-
tune in his handa Who can be trusted
now ? "

Tn the morning, John rnido ids ;ippear-
ance, ami between us three, we found the
y to the enigma.

From the waistcoat hanging on the back
of tho clrnr, the pocket-book had dropped
irito ;• boot which had happened to lie right
underneath.

The infernal black cat, chased by d\\ the
broom-sticks of the establishment, had taken
refuge on the pile of whisky barrels. The
boot, thrown by Alphonse's supple wrist, had
turned out the animal, but had fallen back
empty.

The pocket-book had remained on the
top of the pile of barrels ; and, as nobody
would ever have suspected its presence in
such a place, it might, in spite of Pat's
opinion, have stayed there twenty years
and more, had it not been for the horse-
shoe.

As for good old John, if he is still living,
200

The Iforsi'shoe

he doubtless remembers the Christmas box
he took home that evcniii<r.

And as for me, I never thought one
could be so terribly scared on a Christmas
Eve.

living,

I'!

»„

'j.l

1.1

'i t

Si !

TOM. CARIBOO

it^'-^-: 2>'tf^ip^

./?/C^, crac, girls and boj-s !

Par/of/s, parlee, par-

loiv ! The whole

thing if you want to

know, pass the spittoon

to Fiddle Joe ; sacatabi,

sac-d-tahac, all who arc

deaf will please draw

back."

It is hardly necessary
to mention that the narra-
tor who thus commenced
his speech was Fiddle Joe
himself, my friend Fiddle
Joe, presiding over a vcillce de contcs (a
story telling party), on Christmas Eve
at the blacksmith's, old Jean Bilodeau.

202

il I

■MMltkk

Tom Cariboo

Poor old Bilodeau, it is over fifty years
now since I heard the sound of his anvil, and
I fancy I can see him yet, sitting in the
h'j,dit, with his elbows on his Ixiiees, and the
shanl< of his short j^ipe tightlx- held between
his three remaining teeth.

Fiddle Joe was a queer kind of a fellow,
very interesting and very popular, who had
spent his j-outh in the shanties, and was very
fond of relating his travelling adventures in
the pays d'cn haut, the t-mber lands of the
Ottawa, the Gatineau and the St. Maurice.
That day he happened to have a fit
of inspiration.

lie had been compere in the morning,
which meant he had stood as godfather to a
new-born child ; and, as the accessories of the
ceremony had brought a slight breeze into
the sails of his natural eloquence, his stories
went on marvellously.

All camp and forest incidents of course :
fights, casual ities, fishings extraordinary, mi-
raculous hunting exploits, visions, sorcery,
feats of all kinds; he had a collection to suit
every taste.

203

^;M

I f

''^feSf*

(JhrisLmas in French Canada

" Do tell us ii Christmas story, Joe, if you
know one, to fill up time until we leave for
church," cried a girl b\' tlie iiuiac of Phemie
Boisvert.

And Fiddle Joe, who prided himself on
knowing what was due to the fair sex, had
responded by the characteristic formula as
above. Then, after haviUj-^ moistened his
throat with a finger deep of Jamaica, and
lighted his pipe at the candle, with one of
tho.so long cedar splinters which were used
by our country folk bcure, and even after
the invention of phosphorus matches, he
opened his narrative in the following terms :

This is to tell you, m\' friends, that, on
that )'ear, we had gone rafting above Bytown,
at the elbow of a small river called La
Galeuse, a funny name but whirh is of no
importance to what I ai i going to relate.

We were fifteen in (jur camp . beginning
with the boss, and ending with the choreboy.

Nearly U .vere good m' n, not quairelsome,
not given to cuss words— of course I don't
speak of a little innocent '. caring here and
there to keep thing- oing— and nut drunk-

'^s t swsmt ot .^ , ,

--^c-'jafc jfcii

Tom Cariboo

ards— with the exception of one, I must
acknowledge— a touirh one indeed.

As for this fellow, boj-s, he was not
exactly what may be called a drunkard-
when he happened to come face to face with
a demijohn, or when his lips met those of
flask or bottle, he was no longer a man, he
was a regular funnel.

He came somewhere back of Three Rivers.

His real name was Thomas Baribeau ;
but as our foreman, who was Irish, had
always some difficulty over this French name,
we had nicknamed him "TOM CARIBOO,"

Thomas Baribeau— Tom Cariboo— it sound-
ed pretty much the same, as you see. At all
events, it was the fellow's mwi dc ,^ncrri\ and
th( boss had caught it as easily as though it
hau jeen a name freshly imported from Cork.

Anyhow, to speak in polite terms, Tom
Cariboo, or Thomas Baribeau, as j-ou wish,
had a galvanizcd-iron throat of the first
quality, and he wa^, moreover, a patenteu
ruffian ; but something out of the common,
to give the Devil his due

VVhe; I think of all I have heard him say

.■-ias%*'***«w--

Christiims ill I'Yciicli Caiiadii

;ijl:|;

against ( k1, the Blessed Vir^iin, the i^ood
an^'els, the saints of Heaven and all the
Holy Trinity taken together, I still feel a
shiver down my back.

Oh ! the worthless swagger, what a scamp
lie was !

He swore, he lied, he cursed his father
and mother five or six times a day, he never
said a word of prayer ; in short, I don't hesi-
tate U> say that his miserable carcase, with
his soul into the bargain, was not worth,
with due respect to the company, the wag of
a dog's tail. That's my opinion.

There were not a few in our crowd who
swore to having seen him on four paws, at
night, in the fields, roving about in the shape
of some devilish lonp-garou.

As for me, my friends, I saw the brute on
all fours several times, but, take my word,
he was neither playing the lonp-garou, nor
anything so respectable, I assure you : he was
too beastly drunk for that.

Anyhow, I must tell you that, for some
time, I was one of those who thought if the
rascal practised any sorcery at all, he had a

io6

trood

Tom Cariboo

preference for the cliasse-galerie \ for, one
night, Titoine I'elchat, one of our ro.-ul
cutters, had spied him comini; down a big
tree, when the pagan had told him : " Toinc,
curse my soul ! if you ever mention a word
of this to anybody, I'll rip you cold, that's
all!"

Of course. Titoine had not failed to tell
everybody in the shant)-, but in the greatest
confidence.

If you don't know what the cliassc-galerie
is, my friends, I am the man to post you fine
on the matter, for the chassc-galcric I can boast
of having seen with my own eyes.

Yes, I, Fiddle Joe, (jne Sunday afternoon,
'twixt mass and vespers, in full daylight, I saw
the infernal machine pass in the air, right in
front of the church of St. Jean Deschaillons,
on my soul and conscience, as clear as I see
you now.

It was something like a canoe, which
travelled, rapidly as an arrow, at about five
hundred feet above the earth, manned by a
dozen reprobates in red flannel shirts, paddling
like damnation, with Satan standing in the

JMMh^^

Cliristnias in French Canada

1 ;

stern, steering straight forward in the direc-
tion of Three Rivers.

We could even hear them sing in chorus
with all sorts of devilish voices :

/ "la r/ion vciil '. T'/a FJoli vait !*

But I may say there are many who don t
require such a dis[:)lay to practise chasse-g<xlcric.

The regular scalawags like Tom Cariboo,
have only to climb up a tree, and launch
themselves on a branch, or stick, or anything
else, and the Dev'l drives them on.

Thus they travel thousands of miles in a
single night to concoct God knows what kind
of jugglery, in some infernal recess where
honest people wouldn't set foot for a fortune.

'The origin of this chasse-galetie legend can be traced to the
middle .nges. In France and (jeriiviny, they had what w.-\s called the
niack Unntsiiian. It was a fantastic coursing which rode in the air
with wild clamour and desper.Lte speed, through the darkness of the
night. In French Canada, hy a curious ph'-noniena of mirage
observed in some circumst.ince sii^iil;ir to th;it related by Fiddle ]c\ti^ a
mounted canoe was seen Hying through the air, and the same was
n.'ttiir.'itl}' substituted fi)r the Bl.-u-k Huntsman, who went also, in
some Province of France, by the name of Chasar-gnlerir. It was
supposed that the lumbermen who. by the way, did not enjoy a very
envi.ilile reputation- managed through some devilish process, to
travel in this way to save fatigue and shorten the distance.

208

i V

Tom Cariboo

At ail events, if Tom Cariboo did not
practise chasse-galerie, when he used to steal
out alone at night, peeping about to sec it-
anybody watched him, it was certainly not to
go to confession, for, to the astonishment of
our gang, ahhough there was not a drop of
liquor in the whole shanty, the blackguard
smelt, every morning, like an old whiske)-
cask.

Where c'id he get the stufif?
It vva.s m the latter part of December, and
Christmas was drawing near, when another
gang workmg for the same firm, about fifteen
miles higher up on the Galeuse, sent word that
if we wanted to attend midnight mass, we
Hi^d only to join them, for a missionary on
liis way down from the Nipissing w<;uld be
there to celebrate it.

"By Jove!" we said, "it is seldom enough
that wc see an Infant-Jesus m the sha .tics
let us go ! "

We are not angels in the lumber camps,
you know that, boys. Even when we dou't
plague all the saints in the calendar and
scandalize the Bon Dieu from morning till

209

Christmas in French Canada

ni'^ht like Tom Cariboo, one can't reasonably
pass six months in the woods and six months
on the rafts every year, without getting a
little " off" on his duties.

But there must be a limit to rascality.
Although one may not wear out his knees in
the church, or play viistigri every night with
the beadle, he likes to remember at times, do
you see, that a good Canadian boy has some-
thing else than the soul of a dog in the mould
of his waistcoat, so to speak.

Consequently the trip was soon decided
upon, and everything carefully stowed for the

occasion.

It was b/illiant moonlight ; the snow was
fine for a tramp ; we could start after supper,
be there in time for mass, and back again
for breakfast in the morning, in case we
could not spend the night over there.

"You shall go by yourselves, you con-
founded fools:" cried Tom Cariboo, with a
.string of blasphemies, almost splitting his
knuckles with a blow of his fi.st on the
shanty table.

As you may well imagine, none of us

reasonably
ix months
getting a

rascality.

s knees in

night with

t times, do

has some-

the mould

Dn decided
ved for the

: snow was
fter supper,
back again
1 case we
ere.

, you con-
loo, with a
flitting his
ist on the

lone of us

Tom Cariboo

thought of kneeling down to coax the ruffian.
The absence of such a parishioner could not
spoil the ceremony, and there was no need
of his sweet breathing voice to intone the
sacred hymns.

" Well, if you don't wish to go," said the
foreman, "do as you please, my dear fellow.
You'll sta\- here to watch the fire. And since
you don't care about seeing God, I hope you
won't see the Devil, while we are au-ay."

Well then, boys, off we go, with belts
tight around the waists, snow shoes well
lastened at the toes of our moccasins, each
with his little bag of eatables on his shoulder,
and a twist of tobacco right behind his teeth.'
As we had only to follow the frozen befl
of the river, the road was a trifle of course ;
and we marched on, singing " La Bonlcw^ri^re}
on the fine, levelled, white snow, under l sky
as transparent as cr)-stal, without a crevice
or jolting to hamper our progress.

All I can say, mj' friends, is that merry
parties of that kind are far between in shanty
life. ^

Ton my word, I fancied we could hear

311

Christmas in French Canada

the old church bell pealing : " Come on !
come on ! " as in the good old times ; and
more than once, bless my soul ! I couldn't
help turning round and looking back to see
if we were not followed by some of the fine
little Canadian trotters of home, with manes
floating in the wind, and a row of merry
bells ringing at their martingales.

That's what sharpens the wit of a country
boy, I tell you. And you ought to have
seen Fiddle Joe paddling his canoe that
night :

1 suppose it is useless to tell you that
our midnight mass was not as brilliant as
an archbishop's ceremony.

The vestments of the priest were not
exactly what may be called imposing ; there
was no danger of being blinded by the glare
of the altar decoration ; the singers' wind-
pipes were not oiled like a nightingale's
throat, and the acolytes would doubtless
have showed a more natural gait with
shoulder under a canthook than a censer
at arm's length.

You may add, besides, that there wasn't
3ia

fmrilBsBi^T '• :

ijJsTffmmru

t»A^

,iS£>PSftS«Sr

nada

Come on !
times ; and
I couldn't
Dack to see
of the fine
with manes
\r of merry

if a country
It to have
canoe that

1! you that
brilliant as

were not
)sinfT ; there
ly the glare
igers' wind-
lightingale's
1 doubtless

gait with

1 a censer

:here wasn't

Tom Cariboo

even the shadow of an Infant-Jesus; which,
as you all know, is no small drawback to
a Christmas performance.

To tell the truth, the good old man Job
himself couldn't have been more poorly fitted
to say his daily mass.

But no matter, there are lots of church
services with music and gilded ornaments
which are not worth the one we had that
night, my friends, take Fiddle Joe's word for it!
It reminded us of old times, do you see.
of the old parish, of the old home, of the old
mother, and all that.

Good gracious me I you all know that
Fiddle Joe is no squinny nor crying baby;
well, I had never done passing my quid from
one cheek to the other to control my emotion.
But that's enough about this part; let us
see what had happened to Tom Cariboo
during our absence.

I need not tell you that, after the mass
was over, w. returned to our camp by the
same way, so that it was full daylight when
we reached the shanty.

At first, we were greatly surprised not to

Christmas in French Canada

see a single thread of smoke rising from the
chimney; but \V(> were still more astonished when
we found tlie door wide open, the stove without
an ember, and not a trace of Tom Cariboo.

As true as I live, our first thought was
that the Devil had carried him away. A
worthless cha[) like him, do you see. . .

But, after all, that was n>) reason for not
looking for him.

Hard enough it was to look for him, for
not a bit of snow had fallen for several days,
and the consecjuence was there were thous-
ands of foot-prints around the shanty and
even in the surrounding woods, all so well
crosoed and mixed up together, that it was
impossible to make out anything of them.

Fortunately the boss had ;". very smart
dog : Polisson, as wc used to call him for a
pet name.

" Search, Polisson ! " said we.

And off g(jes Polisson searching out right
and left, his nose in the snow, wigging his
tail, while the rest of us followed on with a
double-barrelled gun loaded with bullets, and
which I carried m)'self.

21.|

•m

■■Wml

■ ••% y*.t ,

ttitit,ti,it

ada

Tom Cariboo

g from the
lished when
n'e without

Cariboo.
1 ought was

a\»'a)-. A
sec. . ,
ii)ii for not

or him, for
;vcral days,
-ere thous-
■ihanty and
all so well
Lhat it was
f them.
very smart
him for a

g out right

nggiiig his

on with a

bullets, and

A good gun in a shanty is like the petti-
coat of a woman in a family. Remember that,
my friends.

We had not been two minutes |)eeping
through the branches, when our clog suddenly
stood still in his tracks, trembling like a leaf
'Pen my word, if lie had not been ashamed
I think the scamp would have made a right
about for the house.

As for me, I threw up my gun and stepped
forward.

You'll never imagine, my friends, what I
saw right in front of me, on the slope of a
ravine where the wood was thicker and the
snow heavier than eLscwhere. . .

It wasn't funny at all, I tell you. Or
rather, it would have been very funny, if it
hadn't been so fearful.

Just fancy that our Tom Cariboo was
roosted in the fork of ;i big wild cherry
tree, pale as a winding-sheet, his eyes start-
ing out of their sockets, at the muzzle (jf
a she-bear who clung to the trunk about
two feet below him.

Thunder ! Fiddle Joe is not a man to

2'5

Clii'istmas in French Canada

skedaddle when called upcMi to face a squall,
\oii all know that ; well, this terrible sight
made my blood whirl up from my toes to
the nape of my neck.

"This is the time not to miss your aim
iny pcjor I'^'ddle Joe," said I to m\'selt.
"Point blank I or God save }'our soul!"

Shifting; was no use: bini,^ ! banLj ! . . .
I aimed and shot both barrels at once, ni)-
two bullets strikint,^ the beast rii^ht between
the shoulders.

She cjave a f^rcnvl, stretched her paws,
swung for a moment, and then fell head
long with her back broken.

It was high time. M)' gun was still
smoking, when I saw another mass tum-
bling down from the tree.

It was Tom Cariboo, who s])read himself
fainting and sprawling right across the dying
she-bear. He was terribl}' torn by her claws,
which had struck him more than once, and
his hair. . . Well, now, try and guess, my
friends. . . His hair had all turned white!

Yes, as white as snow. Fear had turned
his hair white in a single night, as true as

216

inysclt.

1 I"

head -

After tchit'l, if
to fhr ('anin

w<in fhi^ h,',ir

u'i' hud to li'i

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

,:y €P..

.<?

:/-

f/i

1.0

I.I

11.25

■- ilia

2.2

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IM IIIIII.6

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Scieices
Corporation

23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, NY. 14580

(716) 872-4503

^■^^.^v^
^1>^ <^1>^"

1^ .->>

Tom Cariboo

I intend to take nn p'tit coup by and by,
with the grace of God, and the permission
of Uncle Bilodeau, who shan't lose anythinp;
by it.

Yes, honestly, the rascal had suddenly
grown so old, that some of us would not
believe it was the same man.

We hurriedly made a kind of hand-barrow
with branches, and we laid the poor fellow
on it, cautiously handling that portion of his
body which had been damaged b}- the bear's
claws; and so carried him back to the shanty
half dead, and frozen nearly as hard as a
piece of Bologna sausage.

After which, it was the bear we had to
drag to the camp.

But here's the fun of it.

You may call me a liar if you wish ; it
wasn't credible, but the infernal beast seemed
to have inherited poor Tom's most character-
istic quality, and was smelling of rum like a
seasoned cask, so much so that Titoine Pel-
chat said it gave him a mind to lick the
animal.

But it was no miracle.

Christmas in Fiouch Canada

You know, my friends — if you don't,
Fiddle Joe will tell you — that the bears
don't spend their winters working hard as
we do, poor lumbermen building rafts for
the spring.

So far are they from working, that they
haven't even the energy to eat.

At the first frosts of Autumn, they dig
a hole between the roots of a tree, and lie
there for the winter, buried alive in the snow
which the animal's breath melts from the
inside, so as to form a k'nd of oven where
they spend the whole season, half asleep
like marmots, and licking their paws for a
living.

Our own, that is Tom Cariboo's bear, had
chosen the roots of that particular cherry tree
to shelter himself, while Tom had chosen a
forked branch in the same. . . You'll knov\
what for in a moment.

C>nly, as you remember that the ground
was on a slope, Tom Cariboo — which was
quite natural — gained his branch from the
upper side of the declivity; and the she-bear
— which was natural also — had dug her hole

3l8

iiijifit'ttiiitj

ula

()U don't,

;hc bec'trs

Iiard as

rafts for

that they

they dig
2, and lie

the snow
from the
ven where
ilf asleep
,w.s for a

bear, had
herry tree

chosen a
m'll knov\

\e ground
vhich was
from the
2 she-bear
r her hole

Tom Cariboo

from the lower side, where the roots were
not so deeply buried in the sod.

This accounts for these two savages having
lived neighbors and almost partners, without
having ever met; each of them being under
the impression that he iiad the exclusive
possession of the premises for himself

You will probably ask what business Tom
Cariboo had in the fork of that tree.

Well, in that fork there was a hole, and
in that hole our drunkard had hidden a jar
of high-wines which he had smuggled into
the camp, we never exactly knew how. I
suppose he had made us tow it under water
behind one of our canoes, at the end of a
string.

At all events, he had it ; and almost
every night he would sneak out and climb
the tree to fill his flask.

It was from that nest of his that Titoine
Pelchat had seen him coming down, that
time we spoke of the chasse-galerie ; and
that was why, every morning, one could
have set the scoundrel on fire, merely by
passing a live coal under his nose.

219

Christmas in French Canada

Well, then, after we bad left for the
midnii,^ht mass, Tom Cariboo had gone to
fill his flask out of the hidden demijohn.

On a merry day like Christmas, of course,
the flask was soon emptied, although there
was only one drunkard to treat ; and Tom
returned to his cupboard to renew his
stock.

Unfortunate!)', if the flask was empty, it
was not the case with its master ; on the
contrary, its master was too full.

The demijohn, carelessly handled and
uncorked, overflowed on the other side of
the cherry tree, right on the muzzle of the
she-bear.

At first, the animal had naturally licked
her chops, sniffing; and then, finding that
this kind of rain had a peculiar taste and
smell, she had opened her eyes. Her ej'es
open, the whisky- had flowed into them.

High-wines, friends ! it's no use asking if
the beast awoke for good.

On hearing her howls, Tom Cariboo began
to descend the tree, but noi a bit ! Stop,
boy ! The bear, having also heard a noise,

ti((jii«i<U3

Stop,

Tom Cariboo

had walked around the tree, and before the
poor devil was half way clown, she had
clapped a destroying paw on the most
prominent part
of the descend-
ing intruder.

But the
mo n ster wa s
too torpid to
do more ; and,
while our hea-
then was climb-
ing back up the
tree, bleeding
and terrified, she
remained cling-
ing to the bark,
without being
able to follow
further up.

That's what
had happened.
You see, that
if the bear smelt of whisky, it was no miracle.

Poor Tom Cariboo ! between ourselves, it

321

Tom Cariboo hci^ait /o descend.

! !

fee Silii f •

Christinas in French Canada

took three long weeks to repair his dam-

ages.

Never could we convince the repentant
drunkard that it was not Satan who had
appeared to him, and who had thus lacer-
ated his. . , feelings.

You ought to have seen him, begging
even the dog's pardon for all his oaths and
all his nightly sprees*

He couldn't sit down, of course; and so
had to kneel.

It was his punishment for having refused
to do so on Christmas Eve.

And lifting his glass to his lips. Fiddle
Joe added :

Cric, crac ! . . Sacatabi sac-a-tabac !
Here's to your luck, old Jack!

222

HAT'S a rattlirif^ fine
stor)-!" said old Jean
Bilodeau ; " but haven't you
got another one? There
is plent)' of time yet for
midnight mass."

"Yes, tell us another
story, Uncle Joe," said
Phemie Boisvert ; "don't
223

Christmas in French Canada

you know any about that Chassc-galeric yow
were speaking of just now ? "

" Good ! " said we all around, " a Christmas
story of the Chassc-GalcricV

Fiddle Joe had never to be asked twice :

" Very well," said he. " Cric cnxc, boys
and girls . . . Parlous, parlce, pailozi.' ..."

Et cetera. And he went on :

This is to tell you, m\' friends, that, on
that year, I was hired by old Dawson, for
squaring timber at a lumber shanty h« had
opened at the entrance of the Rat River, on
the St. Maurice, together with a gang of
raftsmen from Three Rivers.

Although the 7'<))'(tj^r//rs of Three Rivers
are a prett\' rough lot, as you will see by
and b)', the winter we spent there was peace-
ful enough, owing to a very extraordinary
accident which happened to one of us on
Christmas Eve, and which I am going to
relate.

As you all knf)w, I reckon, for squaring a
piece of timber it requires two men, one to
handle the squaring-axe, and the other to
pick and butt : so the boss had mated me

224

mada

'-galerie j'ou

a Christmas

ced twice :

erne, boys
loxo ..."

ds, that, on
Dawson, for
mty he had
xX. River, on
a gang of

liree Rivers
will .sec by
; was peace-
xtraordinary
e of us on
n going to

r squaring a
ncn, one to
he other to
1 mated me

Titan

o-e

with a queer fellow whom his coniradcs had
nicknamed Titniigr.

Titange is a contraction for pctitange,
which means "little angel." A prettv- odd
name for a shantyman, but I couldn't help it,
could \} What was the origin of thit name?

" Looked !i!;c a frillcr out of I he Jn^ii^

/a,i."

It appears the fellow had got it through his
mother.

His father, Johnny IMorissette, was as
strongly built a man as could be found

V i

1ft

!♦ n

Christmas in French Canada

among the St. Maurice voya<,'eiirs in his day,
and although of a quiet cliaracter, was par-
ticularly proud of his muscles. Fancy how-
cheap the poor man felt when, one fine spring,
on returning home after a shanty wintering, his
wife handed him a small rickety bit of a tot,
who looked like a fntter out of the frying
pan, saying : " Kiss your son, my friend ! "

"What is this?" exclaimed J ihnny Moris-
sette, who nearly choked himself swallowing
his quid.

" This is a little angel that the good God
has sent us while you were away."

" An angel ! Bless my soul, my dear
woman, I'd just as soon take it for a shabby
attempt at a scarecrow ! "

But the poor fellow had to take the brat
as he was, of course — there was no help fc/r
it ; and, as he seldom missed the chance of a
joke, when he saw one of his chums passing
his house, he would shout out :

" Hello ! won't you come and have a look
at my ' little angel ? ' "

And so the boy grew i: > known by all as
Johnny Morissette's little angel ; and with

aa6

.*'lf «( ««^ll«i€^(

luidii

ill his day,
r, was par-
Fancy how
fine spring,
•intcring, his
bit of a tot,
the frying
/ friend ! "
linny Moris-
swallowing

e good God

y."

1, my dear
or a shabby

ke the brat
no help for
chance of a
urns passing

have a look

vn by all as
; and with

Titanj(o

time he came to bear no other na.nc but that
of Titangc.

When I talk of his growing up. it would
be a mistake to think that he ever turned
out to be anything like a patch to his father
Far from it : he was horn a weakling and he
remained a weakling. In short, as a man he
was a dead failure.

This must have bee.i a great worry to
h.m. for, take my word, in the whole of my
l>fe. whether in the woods or on the rafts I
never saw such a blazing fire-brand. Althou'di
he was no h-'gger than my fist, as a make u^p
I suppose, ne fussed, and fumed, and swore'
and stormed like a whole shantv ^.ang, all by
I'lmself. At every turn and mostl . for no
purpose, he would viciously swing ' his a.xe
and promise nothing dse but to kill to'
destroy, to slaughter, to rip you open 'and
tear your heart out.

Those who knew no better took him for
a demon and were scared to death ; but I
could .size him up better than that. And
then, as we were mated together, do you see,
I had to bear with him such as he was. The

227

mSmSSssameammtm

Christmas in French Canada

consequence was, that, in spite of his rough
ways, we remained pretty good friends ; and
so we had a chat now and again at our
work, without wasting time of course.

One morning— it was the day before
Christmas— the fellow dropped his axe, and
started staring at me like some one having a
mighty big thing to tell.

I stopped also, and looked at him.

" Uncle Joe ! " said he, spying around.

"What's up, Titange?" said I.

" Are you a safe man for a secret ? "

"Did you ever hear me tattle about?"

« No, but I would like to know if I could
trust you with something very particular."

" Well, that depends."

" "What do you mean ? "

" I mean if there is no mischief in-
tended . . . .'

" Thei\. is no mischief whatever ; the ques-
tion is to go and have a little jollification
to-night at old Calice Doucet's of the Ban-

lieue ?

"Which Banlieue?"

" The Banlieue of Three Rivers, to be sure
aaS

:iilMi.iitSM

mmfii uti JiSsi

nischief in-

s, to be sure

■ iaam,-^,-.Mlmf

ada

his rough
ends ; and
lin at our
se.

iay before
5 axe, and
le having a

lim.
around.

:ret?"
about ? "
V if I could
ticular."

;r; the ques-
; jollification
of the Ban-

•Vi, • ^rf

(itvichuj hop "

//V///.S n iiirc

I'.ltfc JiS

' - '"-""W iir«3«

of I he iiais-

HwiiiSftjIMiJi^p-

faiEr«

■HUMV^'W- ■ . -T

iSBUfj'i

UKJit

rret?"

. ..if.

oi the Bau-

s,U^

I *

ir i

• ^«>«it.-jljl<2ij

wxn

fifiiif'"''*"^"'**'''^

Titange

0,d Calice Doucet is a tip-top fiddler, do you
see; on every Otristmas Eve there. ahva>s

a nice dancing hop with pretty g.rl. at h,s

"'"you mean to go dancing at the Danlieue
of Three Rivers to-night ! More than t«o
hundred miles through the woods, wuhout

roads or teams 1 Are you mad ?

.. There is no need of roads or teams.
.•How is that? Do you imagine you can

travel as the crow flies?"

■One can travel much easier than the crow

flies, uncle Joe." ^^

"Over forests and mountains?

" Over anything at all."

...pon my word. I don't understand you.

"Uncle Joe," said he, glancing once more
all around as if to make sure nobody wa
near by; "you must have heard of the
Cto^-W^''^-^ before this, haven t you?

" Of course I have."

" Well ? "

«Well, you don't mean to run Chasse-

galerie, do you ? " _^

"Why not? we are no children.
229

..J

Ml /

/ . I

Christmas in French Canada

On my conscience and honor, my friends

on hearing that, the shivers ran do^vn my'

back. I felt as if a heUish warm breath

passed right in my face. I tottered on my

legs, and my axe shook so in my hands

that twice I missed the chalk Hne, a thing

which had not yet happened to me that fall.

"But, Titange, my dear fellow," said I,

"have you truly no fear of God?"

"Fear of God!" exclaimed the ruffian in
an outburst of blasphemous laughter. " There
is no God around here. Don't you know
we have stored him en cache at the Forge
village? It's all very well down below, but
up the river, with all cautions taken, as long
as you are all right with the Devil, every-
thing goes."

"Will you hold your tongue, you repro-
bate!" said I.

"Now, now, come, uncle Joe!" said he
" Don't be such a hayseed. Here, listen to
me, I'm going to tell you how the thing is
worked."

And chopping ahead, he went on quietly
to tell me all about the whole infernal con-

230

mada

my friends,
down my
arm breath
red on my
my hands
ne, a thing
ne that fall,
•vv," said I,

- ruffian in
;r. "There

you know

the Forge

below, but

-n, as long

:vil, every-

^'ou repro-

said he.
, listen to

- thing is

)n quietly
rnal con-

Titange

corn. A true invention of Satan himself, my
friends, no more nor less. My flesh crawls
only to think of it.

I must warn you, by the way, that if
the town of Three Rivers has a great name
for its good people, it has a mighty great
one too for those who are not. And if we
are to go by the set of worthless scamps it
supplies every year to the lumber shanties,
that reputation is not a stolen one, I tell you !
I know Sorel, and I know Bytown ; and I
can stake my word for it, as far as roughs
are concerned, there is nothing to beat
Three Rivers.

If you want to know how far those scoun-
drels can go, listen. When they start for the
shanties in the fall, they are too darn wicked
to go to confession, of course ; but as they
still dread God somewhat, they put Him en
cache, as they say; which means they lock
Him up.

How do they go through that hellish
game? This is what I am going to explain,
at least according to what Titange told me.

First, they get a bottle of rum which has

2.3'

Christmas in French Canada

been filled up at midnight, on All Souls' day,
by the left hand of a fcllcnv standing heels
over head. This bottle they hide well in the
bottom of the canoe, and they start for the
St. Maurice Forges, the first station on their
way up.

That's where the fine work of the devilish
trick is gone through. Remember, the chapel
of the village has a flight of wooden door
steps. Weil, v.hen it is pitch dark, one of
the scalawags lifts up one of the planks, while
another empties the bottle in the hole, say-
ing :

" Gloria pat ri, gloria patro, gloria pat nun"

To which the other replies, replacing the
plank as it was :

" Let the cat free, let the t^'iiul bhni>, let
the boys dm in ! "

" After which," added Titange, " if yon are
all right with old Harry, you need not fear
anything for the whole winter. Beyond the
Pointe-aux-Baptemes, God is nowhere ; no
saints, no angels, nothing at all! One can
work the Chassc-galerie every night if he
wishes to. The canoe travels like wind at

232

Souls' clay,
iding heels
well in the
:ait for the
on on their

;he devilish
the chapel
)oden door
rk, one of
anks, while
hole, say-

z patnitn."
)lacing the

' lilozu, let

if )'ou are
i not fear
jyond the
here ; no

One can
:ht if he

wind at

■■«f|.;.

'' Beyomf the Pninfe-mur-fiapfp.un's (r<d is
nowhere "

I'.iKt -i.i-t

^!^i:

t
c

a
ai
P

w
w

- - v"-v'»te|i. '.t,^...

•*-SS«l*^,»«,Si*iiki»

; I

I (

iltiitSi.i.i,

Titaiige

Inindrcds of feet above the earth ; and as
long as you do not utter the name of Christ,
or of the \';rf,Mn, and you take care not to
run against the church steeples, you can pad-
dl=^ thousands of miles ahnost in the twink-
ling of an eye. Isn't that smart ? "

" And this is what you are after to-
night?" said I.

"Yes," he replied.

"And you want to take me along with
you ? "

" That's it. We are five alread)- ; if you
join us, it will make six: just one at the
bow, another at the helm, and two paddlers
on each side. I have thought of you, uncle
Joe, because of your brawny arm, of your
sharp sight and your spunk. Now, say yes,
and we shall have a high old time to-night."

"What! and this on the holy Christmas
Eve, too ... ! Do you think of it ? " said I.

"Why, this is nothing but fun, and
Christmas is a da>- of rejoicings, you know
that.'

As you may well think, my friends, al-
though Fiddle Joe may not be a Christian of

233

',1

t^Mtmmtmummta

Christmas in French Canada

the first water, I couldn't stand such profanity
without being startled. But at the same time
I must declare that I had often heard of
this invention of Satan called Chasse-galcrie ;
I had even seen it. as I have already said,
in broad daylight, right in front of the c'^ xh
of St. Jean Deschaillons ; and I shall not
deny that 1 was rather anxious to know how
those scamps managed the infernal machine.
In fact, my friends, to tell you the whole
truth, I had a kind of notion to witness the
thing with my own eyes.

" Well, what have yow to say to this,
uncle Joe ? " said Titange, " are you in it ? "

" Ma friinc! o\d fellow," said I, " I don't
say no. Are you sure there is no danger ? "

" Not the slightest. I'll go bail for that."

"Well, I think I'll chime in."

" Well done ! I may depend upon you ? "

" Honest ! When shall we start ? "

" As soon as the boss is asleep ; at half-
past nine, the latest."

" Where ? "

" You know where the big drive canoe
lies ? "

234

]

lada

h profanity

same time

heard of

ssi'-galcn'c ;

ready said,

the c'^ ,-ch

shall not

know how

.1 machine.

the whole

fitness the

y to this,

)u in it ? "

, "I don't

danger ? "

for that."

ion you ? "

; at half-

ive canoe

Titange

" Yes."

"That's the one we'll take; don't fail to
be there in time. In less than half an hour
we'll be at old Doucet's. And then, hurrah,
boys, with the 'double-double,' the gigm
simple, and the 'pigeon-wings.' You'll see,
uncle Joe, how we twist up a midnight mas.s,
we boys of Three Rivers ! "

And so saying the rash fellow started a
quickstep on his piece of timber, clogging
his heels as if he had been already hopping
at old Calice Doucet's, with the girls of the
Banlieue of Three Rivers.

As for me, my friends, I was far from
feeling so merry. In fact, I was more than
ill at ease, I was dreadfully scared ; but I
had my plan, of course.

So, I wasn't late on the spot. At half-
past nine sharp, and before the others had
turned out, I had time to pin a small pic-
ture of the Infant Jesus right on the stem
of the craft.

"There!" said I to myself, "this is
stronger than all the ev

an an tne evil spn-its of (
tion : we shall see what's going to h;

235

I ;

jamna-
ippen."

Christmas in French Canada

" All aboard, all aboard, quick ! " whis-
pered Titange, falling in with four other
worthless chaps, and taking his place at the
stern. " Uncle Joe, you have keen eyes, sit
in front. The others at the paddles ! No
scapulars on any of you ? "

" No."

" No medals ? "

"No."

" Nothing holy, you understand ? "

" No."

" All right, then. You are ready ! Atten-
tion now . . . ! Let every one repeat after
me :

Satan, our master fair.
Heave us t(p in the air . . ,

IVin^s^, wang, woni^ !

IVong, waug, wing !

Drive us along
On the nighfs dark wing ! . . .

Now paddle on ! paddle on, boys ! . . .
Damn it, paddle on ! . . . ."

But it was no go, my friends. Vainly did
Titange and his comrades paddle as if to
save their lives, the canoe didn't stir.

236

^L■.■^i*■*Xttil.i-*ilthSl^Jtltiti^lMix.^Mit-ilti^liiJl..

Titaiiffe

" How is this ? " shouted out Titange, with
a dreadful oath. "You did not repeat cor-
rect after me ; let us begin over again ! "

We began over again, but it was no use ;
the craft remained motionless in the snow,
like a dead trunk.

" By damnation ! " cried Titange with a
string of oaths ; " some of you are cheating.
Step out, one after the other, we shall see
who is the confounded traitor."

We stepped out one after the other as
he said ; but for no good ; the machine did
not move an inch.

"By all thunders!" swore out the little
man, " I shall go alone ; and may all the
devils of the St. Maurice hang the whole set
of you by the neck . . . Satan, our master
fair . . . ."

And the reprobate went on with the
devilish imprecation.

But, far from travelling " on the night's
dark wing," Titange couldn't jump over a
fence, and we didn't see even the wing of a
bat.

The canoe was frozen dead.
237

■I !

1 1 :

i I

.■; t

Christmas in French Canada

Then, my friends, it was a tempest the
sole remembrance of which makes my hair
stand on end.

" My axe ! my axe ! where is my axe ? "
yelled the ranter; "I'll kill! I'll murder! I'll
massacre ! . . . My axe, I tell you ! "

Bad luck! there was one at the bottom
of the canoe. He grabbed the tool, and
standing up straight on one of the cross-
ings, wild with rage, he swung it three or
four times around his head like a desperate
maniac.

It was terrible; but at the same time it
was a real curiosity, my friends, to see this
insignificant little bit of a man who looked
hke a consumptive mosquito, raising such an
infernal row. A pack of mad hounds couldn't
have been more noisy.

The whole shanty flocked out, of course,
and witnessed the dreadful scene.

Titange had it in for the canoe now:
" You accursed rascal," he cried, " I have
said all the words correct: you must start,
or I'll know the reason why."

And saying so, he darted forth with his
238

U V

jaifl—Mw

mada

tempest the
:cs my hair

my axe ? "
murder! I'll
ou ! "

the bottom
tool, and
the cross-
it three or
1 desperate

Tie time it
to see this
.'ho looked
ig such an
ds couldn't

of course,

now:

, " r have
lust start,

with his

Titange

axe, to demolish the bow of the craft, where
my little picture stood fast on the stem.

Goodness of my soul ! we had time only
to utter a cry. The axe, catching in a branch,
had whirled out of his hand, and fiillen back
right on the outstretched arm of the mis-
creant, whom the shock had hurled headlong
to the bottom of the canoe.

The sinews of his wrist were clean
cut . . .

At twelve o'clock that night, the whole
shanty, moved by the terrible ordeal, knelt
do ,n for once, and fervently offered an hon-
est prayer to the newly born Redeemer.

On New Year, an old missionary visited
our camp, and we, as one man, confessed our
sins — Titange first of all.

Full of repentance, and confused for hav-
ing so poorly succeeded in putting le bon
Dieu en cache, he moreover took advantage
of the good priest's company to make his
way down to Three Rivers, without thinking
for a moment, I'D stake my word for it, of
sparking with the girls at old Calice Doucet's
of the Banlieue.

239

Christmas in French Canada

Some two years later, happening to stop
at the St. Maurice Forges, I saw, on the
steps of the chapel, a poor ailing beggar
holding out a hand with fingers crooked, dis-
torted and twisted like a Christmas croquig-
nole.

I drew near to give him a penny : it was
my former timber mate, old Johnny Moris-
sette's little angel : Titange !

And cric^ crac ! ... Et cetera.

340

aomti

yaiiad

2ning

to stop

saw,

on the

ailing

beggar

crooked, dis-

>tmas

croquig-

>enny

it was

uhnny

Moris-

^ujs:.€.^

^_yhe Loup Garou \

AVE you heard that la
belle Merance a Glaude
— i ') Couture* is going to be
TTWJ^yA married?"

"Well, she is; the

* The prc-scnt st.i-y is not wholly ori^rimil, some of its fealures
hems traditional among our peasants uiuier more o;- less dilTerent
forns. The louf,.,^r„r„„ is nothin- else than the wehrwoif of the
Get.nan letjend founded on the helief that some people could trans-

241

fc^j^^q^ittCEaiM

^^..^ ;^i?R'M

ff^^-'

i .

■ 1

Oliristmas in French Canada

banns are to be published next week."

" Married to whom ? "

" Guess."

" It's pretty hard to guess : /a belle
Merance is surrounded with sweethearts hy
the score every Sunday that God brings
along."

" With Ikiptistc Octcau, I bet ! '

" No."

" It must be to Damase Lapointe, tiien."

" Not at all. . . Ma foi, it's just as well to
tell you at once : she is going to be married
to Captain Gosselin, of St. Nicolas."

" To Captain Gosselin, of St. Nicolas ? "

" Exactly."

"Well I declare!"

" You don't say so ! "

" She is to take such a miscreant ? "

" Well, the fellow is well off, you know ;

form themselves into wolves at ple.isure. In French Canada, though,
a moral has heen aJJed to the fantastic tradition : the loiifi-gnrou,
here, is not ,i sorcerer, hut a victim of irreligion. A man who has
been seven years without partaking of the Easter Sacrament falls a
prey to the infernal power, and m.iy he condemned to rove about
every night in the shape and skin of a wolf, or any other kind of
,'inim.tl, according to the n.iture iif his sins. A hloody womul imly can
release him.

Vi\

h.'

H<K--,.A--„i3B8Sm

The Loui)-Garon

He has made her a present of a nice gold
brooch and a diamond ring, and Mcrance
doesn't sneer at that, I tell you."

"Any how! I wouldn't marry him, even
though he were a scigncio; and owned all
the farms of the parish."

"Neither I: a man who has no religion.."
"Who has not fulfilled his Easter duties
for years. . . "

"Who never goes to church. . . "
"Nor to confession. . . "
"Who is going to be bewitched into some
horrible loup-garou some da>'."

" It's doomed fate for him, if he passes
seven years without absolution for his sins."
" Poor Mcrance, it's too bad ! . , "
"'Tis no fun to have your husband con-
verted every evening into a beast roaming
wildly along the roads, through the woods,
God knows where. I would just as soon
marry old Harry himself"

" It is true tiiat there would be a means
of releasing him."
"How?"

"By wounding him, of course; by pricking
243

'W b

( i

ijii

Cliristmas in French Canada

his forehead, by cutting his ear, his nose, his
tail, anything at all, with some sharp instru-
ment, the main thing being to draw blood."

" And the beast will be again a man ? "

"At once."

" Why, thanks ! As for me, I prefer a
man that needs not to be bled."

"So do I," exclaimed all the girls.

" You believe in such silly tales ! " cri i
a voice : " you set of fools ! "

The foregoing conversation was held at
an old farmer's of St. Antoine de Tilly,
where a number of young people from the
neighborhood had gathered for an i<p\:-kctte
de ble-d'hide — corn bee — which was to be
followed by a griddle cake rcvcillon.

As can be seen, the company was indulg-
ing in a general chat ; and from one subject
to the other, the loup-garou legend had fallen
on the tapis.

Of course it is useless to add that the
scene takes us back to a great many years
ago, for — fortunately — our country folk give
but very little attention now to these queer
superstitions of the past.

244

.15
I

The Loup-Garou

The interruption brou^'ht cnit by the last
speaker is, besides, an evidence that, even in
those days, and amony our iUiterate people,
these mysterious traditions found some un-
believers.

" All these are f^randmother's stories ! "
added the same voice in answer to he
almost unanimous protest to whicli die
irreverent sally had given rise.

"l^ut, tut, tut! . . It is not well to treat
one's own grandmother with contempt, my
young fellow!" intervened an old woman,
who, taking n- part in the cpluchcttc, pur-
sued silently her knitting at the light of
the hearth, which threw fitful and inter-
mittent glimmers on her long wrinkled
face,

" Old people know more than the young,"
added she ; " and when you have trod my
path, you'll not be so ready to scoff at those
who believe in the old stories."

" So you believe in loup-garons, mother
Catherine?" said the young interrupter with
a provoking smile.

" Had you known Joachim Crete as I
245

ssasi

: I.

*!i

Cliiistina; in Fiondi Canada

have, you could not but believe in them
also, my friend," retorted the old woman.

"I have already heard of that story of
Joachim Cn^te,'' said one of the hearers ;
"why shouldn't you tell it, mother Gather'
ine?"

I have no objection, said she, dipping
her thumb and fore-finger into an old horn
snuff-box. It docs not harm young folks
to know what may happen to those who
have no respect for religion and sneer at
things they do not understand. It's an old
saying with me that the fear of God is never
out of place.

Unfortunately, poor Joachim Cr^te didn't
think so.

He was not precisely what may be called
a wicked man, oh no! but he was like many
others of our own time : he thought of God
and performed his duties only when he had
nothing else to do. This is not what helps
a man ahead, my friends.

He wouldn't have cheated a neighbor out
of a copper, no doubt ; he observed Lent and
Fridays as well as anyone, the)- said. But he

246

The Lonp-Garou

partook of the holy sacraments at Easter-time
only — once a year and no more ; he winked
jecrin^l)- when somebody spoke of the church
collection.^; and besides, wilhoul being a regu-

'^ Joachim Crete was propnetor of a mill."

lar drunkard, he was fond enough of the drop
to go to bed, every Saturday night, too fuddled
to mind if his mill was running on Sunday.
For I must tell you, my friends, that
247

1 1 ;

I rii

Christmas in French Canada

Joachim Crete was proprietor of a mill, a
cor.i mill, situated in the owcrss/ou of Beaus^-
jour, on the little river called La Rigole.

Of course it wasn't anything like a
sei-neurial mill, but it worked the best it
could, and ground its oats and corn, any
way. r fancy I can see it yet, the old
mill, seated right alongside the c/uwim du
nn. When we used to go to catechism for
our first communion, we little folk never
failed to stop there for a rest.

There it was that I got acquainted with
the wretched man-a mar. about forty, who
had no objection to tease little girls, I may
add without any mischievous meaning.

As he was unmarried, he had fixed up
a small dwelling inside the mill, where he
lived like a bear with a hired man by the
name of Hubert Sauvageau, a fellow who
had travelled in the pays d'en haut, who
had lived on the rafts, who had been
knocking about for years, without-it was
evident— having learned much for the benefit
of his soul.

How had he come to settle at St Antoine
248

The Loup-Garou

after such wanderings ? Nobody ever knew,
All I can say is that if Joachim Crete was
not exactly <^ model for the parish, it was
not his hired man who could give him lessons
on principles, as people say.

With all deference to the company, the
fellow had no more religion than a dog.
Never was he seen at church ; never did he
take off his hat to the Calvary ; he hardly
saluted the cure with the end of his fin<Ters
when he met him on the road. In fact, he
was a man of poor reputation indeed.

"What's all this to me?" said Joachim
Crete when the matter was referred to in
his presence ; " he is a quiet fellow who
never faints at work ; he is reliable, just as
sober as myself; he eats no more than
another, and plays checkers to put in the
time with me : nobody would give me
better satisfaction, even though he wore
out his knees, from morning till night, at
le cheniin de la Croix."

As you see by his own words, Joachim
Crete was a checker player. And a good
one too, for if anybody had ever won a

249

'^m^mm

!',?■!

i%i I

Christmas in French Canada

game of polonaise against him no one in all
St. Antoine could boast of having seen him
lose more than a pnrtie simple.

But one must suppose that the fellow
Sauvageau was a pretty good match for him,
as— especially when the miller had returned
home from town in the course of the day
with a demijohn— those who passed by the
mill in the evening heard them yell, each
one in his turn: ''Mange! Souffle! Franc
coin! Partie nulle!" And so forth, as in a
rage of ambition.

But let me reach the adventure you wish
me to relate.

On that day— it was Christmas Eve— and
Joachim Crete had returned from Quebec
rather tipsy, and — useless to add— with a
fine stock of supplies in the box of his
cariole for the festivities.

The whole mill was in merriment.
My grand uncle, old Jose Corriveau, who
had a bagful of grain to mill, called in the
evening and said to Joachim Crete:

"You are going to attend midnight mass,
of course ? "

250

■Laa

iiilU-t,*UiMiH:,U.-i{4iMtiimititiliiJi

The Loup-Garou

A grin was the only answer. It was
Hubert Sauvageau coming in, and seating
himself in a corner with his pipe.

"We shall see about that," he said.

" No joke, young men ! " added old
Corriveau, walking out ; " the midnight mass
is not a thing to be missed."

And he left, with his whip in his hand.

" Ha ! ha I ha ! . . " laughed Sauvageau ;
" but we shall first play a game of checkers,
won't we, monsieur Joachim ? "

" Ten if you wish, old fellow ; but before
all, we must have a smile," was the reply.

And the spree had commenced.

At about eleven o'clock, a neighbor by the
name of Vincent Dub6 knocked at the door :

" Look here, Joachim," said he, " if you
want a place in my der/of to go to the mid-
night mass, there is one for you, as I am
alone with the old woman."

"Thank vou, I've got my own horse,"
answered Joachim Crete.

" Are they going to bother us much
longer with their midnight mass?" grumbled
Hubert Sauvageau when the door was closed.

25»

fr,

" ttaOT ll > ll l l | ||||l g| | ' , r ii i | - |

■ii fc

r,
1 ■

i ■ 1

> :l:iii

■'I ■ I,

Christmas in Froiich Canada

"Let LIS have a drink," said the miller.
And hurrah with the glasses and the
checkers !

The people who passed by, going to
church, riding or on foot, said to each
other :

"Why, Joachim Crete's mill is still run-
ning ; he must have quantities to grind."

" Surely he won't go on working on
Christmas, will he ? "

" I wouldn't be surprised."
"Especially if his accursed Sauvageau has
a hand in it. . . "

And so on. In the meanwhile, the mill
went on rolling, the game of checkers didn't
stop, and the drinking continued. Toasts
were endless.

Some one knocked at the window :
" Hold on, you fellows ; it's near twelve.
The last bell is pealing. It's not very Chris-
tian-like, what you are doi:''^ there."
Two voices answered :
" Go to blazes ! Let us have peace ! "
The last passers-by vanished. And the
mill went on rolling. As the weather was

252

mada

the miller,
■s and the

, ^^oin<^r to
d to each

s still run-
) grind."
lorking on

ivageau has

:?, the mill
k-ers didn't
d. Toasts

dow :

ear twelve.

very Chris-

re.

:ace ! "

And the
father was

i^ LiHtk here Juachhii, if you imiil a pluer in
my berlot, there itt one for you' \\x^.- is'

Yi'

',1

' i ■'

'^^SSSmesM

The Loiip-Garou

calm and quiet, its runiblint,^ noise was heard
afar, and the good peojjlc hurried away, mak-
ing the sign of the Cross on their breast.

Although the church was nearly two miles
distant from the mill Joachim Crete could
hear -learly the sound of the bell. At the
last toll he felt a kind of remorse :

"Tis twelve," said he; "if we rai.sed the
paddle -door. . . "

" Pshaw ! are you such a poltroon ? " said
Sauvageau. " Here ! let us have a horn, and
then I'll make you capot."

" Ah ! well, as to that, you are not fit for
it, my young man. . . Help yourself, and
here's your luck ! "

" Here's yours, monsieur Joachim."
They had barely replaced their tumblers
on the table, when the last sound of the bell
passed over the mill like a whisper in the

wind.

It was as rapid as thought. . . Crac! . .
the mill was .stopped dead, just as if a thun-
derbolt had broken the machi'iery. A deep
silence followed, through which one could have
heard the creeping of a mouse.

253

if»'^af^'

.!•!,

..( '

'i:

Christmas in French Canada

"What's the matter^" cried out Joachim
Crete.

"Some impudent jokers, no doubt," said
the hired man.

" Let us go and see, quick ! "
A lantern was h"t, and our two checker
players started with uncertain step in the
direction of the undershot-wheel. But vainly
did they search and poke everywhere; all
was in good order, nothing seemed to have
bet.i interfered with.

"This is most extraordinar)-," they said,
quite nonplussed.

At all events, they oiled the machine,
started her again, and returned to their
checker-board — not without making their
first call at the table, though.

"Your health, Hubert."

"This is to yours, monsieur Joachim."

But hardly were the glasses emptisd, when
the two men started staring at each other
with a bewildered expression : they were
beastly drunk first of all, and then the
mill had become silent once more.

" Some confounded rascals have thrown
254

iiada

ut Joachim

oubt," said

/o checker
ep in the
But vainly
ivhere ; all
d to have

they said,

machine,

to their

:ing their

achim."

:ied, when

ich other

hey were

then the

e thrown

The Loup Garou

rubbish into the grindstones," muttered Joa-
chim Crete.

"Let the devil wring my neck," jabbered
Sauvageau, "if we don't find what's wrong

this time."

And here are once more our two drunk-
ards, lantern in hand, prowling everywhere
about the mill, stumbling and tripping on
everything they came across.

But all uselessly ; there was nothing the
matter either in the grindstones or elsewhere-
The marhine was started again, but
ouic/i/e! half a turn of the wheel, and that
was all. The whole mechanism was at a
dead stand still.

" The Devil take the whole concern ! "
yelled out Joachim Crete; "let us go!"

A desperate oath was uttered. Hubert
Sauvageau, who had urobably entangled
his feet in some kind of obstacle, had
fallen headlong on the floor like a helpless

brute.

The lantern had gone out of his hand,
to be sure; so that it was pitch dark, and
Jcachim Crete, who had all he could do to

ass

l-ljMM

mmm

Christmas in French Canad.i

steer himself, li;ul no j^'reat miiul to ^o to
the rescue of his companion.

" Let the rogue look after himself as best
he can!" said he; "I'm ^o'mg for a drink."

And by the dim light of the candle which
glimmered in the distance through the half-
opened door, he succeeded, after many stum-
bles and slips, to worm his way into the
room, where he entered without closing the
door behind him, so as to give the loiterer
a chance to do the saine.

As soon as he had passed the threshold,
you ma)' well imagine that his first thought
was to go right to the table where the glasses
and bottles stood ; but as he was pouring out
a gobletful of rum, swinging on his hips, he
heard behind his back something like a groan.

" That's you ? " he said without turning ;
" here you are, come on ! "

Another moaning answered, stror.ger than
the first.

"What's the matter? . . Did you hurt
yourself? . . Have a drink, that .. cure you."

But no one apfieared nor responded.

Quite surprised, Jijachim Crete turned

2$6

'W'Wttdf^ttf^jp i^^

luad.i

(I to ^o to

nself as best
"or a drink."
candle which
gh the half-
many stum-
ay into the
closing the
the loiterer

le threshold,
first thought
e the glasses
pouring out
his hips, he
like a groan.
)ut turning ;

trotiger than

J you hurt
.. cure you."
responded.
,rete turned

The Loiip-Gaiou

around, laying his glass on the tabic, and
stood terrified, with eyes fearfully fixed and
his hair standing on end.

It wasn't at all Hubert Sauvageau who
was facing him ; it was a huge black dog,
as tall as a man, with formidable teeth,
sitting on his haunches, and who stared at
him with eyes blazing like embers.

Without being a hero, the miller was not
precisely a coward : after his first impression
of terror, he plucked up courage and called
out to Hubert.

"Who has let this dog in?"

No answer.

" Hubert ! " he insisted, stammering with
a thick voice ; " where this dog come

from ? "

Not a word.

"Why, that's rather cool. . . Get out of
this, you ! "

The big dog gave a growl that sounded
like a bit 'f laughter, but didn't stir a foot.

And Hubert was nowhere to be seen.

Joachim was anything but merry, as you
may reckon. He couldn't understand what

257

- '^^'^ev^a^^ilt^^}

Christmas in French Canada

was going on; and as a dreadful fright was
creeping over him again he thought of mak-
ing for the door. But the terrible dog had
only to turn his head with his blazing eyes
to bar tlic way. Seeing this, the poor man
crawled backwards to take refuge between
the table and the bed, without losing sight
of the monster.

" And he fell on his knees."

The latter advanced a few steps with
another hellish growl.

"Hubert!" cried out the unfortunate man
in a tone of horrible anguish.

The dog kept moving towards him, erect

ititjua^gii

mtimmfmm

ards him, erect

The Loup-Garou

on his legs, growling more and more, and
keeping his burning eyes fastened on the
trembling man.

" Help ! help ! . . " howled Joachim Crete,
crazy with fear, and backing himself up to
the wall.

None answered his call, but at that very
moment the church bell pealing for the Ele-
vation was heard.

Then a thought of repentance passed
through the brains of the wretched man.

"It is a loup-garou!" cried he; "my God,
forgive me ! "

And he fell on his knees.

At the same time the infernal beast darted
upon him.

Fortunately the poor miller, while kneeling
down, had felt something on the wall that
caught him by the clothes.

It was a reaping-hook.

The man instinctively seized the weapon
and hit the brute right on the head.

It was the matter of one instant. Every-
thing disappeared in the dark. In the struggle,
short as it had been, the table had been over-

"59

r , !

Christmas in French Canada

turned, and the glasses, bottles and candle
were scattered on the floor.

As to Joachim Crete, he had fainted away.

When he returned to his senses, somebody
was throwing cold water in his face, and a
well-known voice was saying :

"What has been the matter with you,
monsieur Joachim?"

" Is that you, Hubert ? "

" As you see."

"Where is he?"

" Whom do you mean ? "

"The dog."

'•Which dog?"

" The loiip-garou."

" What ? "

" The lotip-garou I have released with my
reaping-hook."

"Good Heavens/ have you gone mad.
Monsieur Joachim?"

" I have not dreamt that surely. . . And
yourself, where are you from?"

"From the mill."

" I see it is running now, the mill. . . ''■

"You can hear it."
260

tf, I s

anada

and candle

ainted away.

Js, somebody

face, and a

' with you,

id with my
gone mad,
:ly. . . And

: mill. . .''

The Loup-Garou

"Go and stop it right off; it must not
work on Christmas."

" Why, Christmas is passed, it was yester-
day."

"How is that?"

"You have been senseless for two days,
that's all."

" Is it possible ? . . But what is ^he
matter v/ith your ear? . . Blood!"

" That's nothing."

"How r.' you get that? Speak out!"

"Do- remember I had a fall in the

mill on Christmas Eve?"

"Yes."

" Well, I cut my ear on the edge of a
pail."

Joachim Crete, my friends, sat up on his
bed, haggard and shaken by a shiver of hor-
ror. . .

"Ah ! damnable wretch ! " cried he ; " it
was you ! . . "

And the poor fellow fell back on his
pillow, never to recover his wits again.

He died ten years later in a lunatic
asylum.

361

1. I

l\>

Christmas in French Canada

^s to the mill, jt was tr^rr. j
earned away in th. °'"" ^"^

"P of the L ^ ^™'' ^^ ^'^^ ^-^-^

..*t'"" "*-"■— '"■"»«.

of corn!" ^"^ ^^^^

"Is that so? . Givpf" -J 1

A„ . . . • ^*^^' said he stealthily

And rising on his feet- ^'

my rights!"* ■■■ . . i cla-m

And, to the applause of all ft,,
man bowed ,o his right and '^"""^

'oving .,-ss o„ the blush g cheerofTI '
neighbor. °^ ^'^ fair

"And so help me Gnri" -j ,
all fh« "' s^'d he, "that'-

aM_the sorcery I believe in!"

* III an ipiuchetle de bli-d' In^. v.

.'1,1.' '

263

MiM

■- 1 .jntitiS. tjmkii

'nch Canada

^'as torn down and
ng. at the breaking

L sweet voice in the
ose increduh'ty had
tory; "a red head

said he stealthily.

with a joyful ex-
^°'"''-' • . I claim

^f all, the young
and impressed a
cheek of his fair

said he, "that's

'^e>- finds a red head of
s choice.