[Transcriber's Note: Bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and
italic text is surrounded by _underscores_.]
Our Little Quebec Cousin
THE
Little Cousin Series
(TRADE MARK)
Each volume illustrated with six or more full page plates in
tint. Cloth, 12mo, with decorative cover
per volume, 60 cents
LIST OF TITLES
By COL. F. A. POSTNIKOV, ISAAC TAYLOR HEADLAND,
EDWARD C. BUTLER, AND OTHERS
=Our Little African Cousin=
=Our Little Alaskan Cousin=
=Our Little Arabian Cousin=
=Our Little Argentine Cousin=
=Our Little Armenian Cousin=
=Our Little Australian Cousin=
=Our Little Austrian Cousin=
=Our Little Belgian Cousin=
=Our Little Bohemian Cousin=
=Our Little Boer Cousin=
=Our Little Brazilian Cousin=
=Our Little Bulgarian Cousin=
=Our Little Canadian Cousin of the Maritime Provinces=
=Our Little Chinese Cousin=
=Our Little Cossack Cousin=
=Our Little Cuban Cousin=
=Our Little Danish Cousin=
=Our Little Dutch Cousin=
=Our Little Egyptian Cousin=
=Our Little English Cousin=
=Our Little Eskimo Cousin=
=Our Little Finnish Cousin=
=Our Little French Cousin=
=Our Little German Cousin=
=Our Little Grecian Cousin=
=Our Little Hawaiian Cousin=
=Our Little Hindu Cousin=
=Our Little Hungarian Cousin=
=Our Little Indian Cousin=
=Our Little Irish Cousin=
=Our Little Italian Cousin=
=Our Little Japanese Cousin=
=Our Little Jewish Cousin=
=Our Little Korean Cousin=
=Our Little Malayan (Brown) Cousin=
=Our Little Mexican Cousin=
=Our Little Norwegian Cousin=
=Our Little Panama Cousin=
=Our Little Persian Cousin=
=Our Little Philippine Cousin=
=Our Little Polish Cousin=
=Our Little Porto Rican Cousin=
=Our Little Portuguese Cousin=
=Our Little Roumanian Cousin=
=Our Little Russian Cousin=
=Our Little Scotch Cousin=
=Our Little Servian Cousin=
=Our Little Siamese Cousin=
=Our Little Spanish Cousin=
=Our Little Swedish Cousin=
=Our Little Swiss Cousin=
=Our Little Turkish Cousin=
=Our Little Quebec Cousin=
THE PAGE COMPANY
=53 Beacon Street= =Boston, Mass.=
[Illustration: "AT FIRST OISETTE WAS TERRIBLY SHY" (_See page 37_)]
Our Little
Quebec Cousin
By
Mary S. Saxe
_Illustrated by_
Charles E. Meister
[Illustration: SPE LABOR LEVIS]
Boston
The Page Company
MDCCCCXIX
_Copyright, 1919_,
BY THE PAGE COMPANY
_All rights reserved_
First Impression, April, 1919
DEDICATED TO
=Dr. George H. Locke=
A LONG-LEGGED ONTARIO COUSIN,
WHO INSISTED IT CAME WITHIN MY PROVINCE
TO WRITE THIS LITTLE BOOK
PREFACE
THE Province of Quebec covers an area of over one hundred thousand
square miles, and is the largest province in all the Dominion of
Canada. The latter country is sometimes called British North America,
but this particular province is very French indeed.
The persistency of French nationality in Canada is remarkable. The
formal guarantees of the Treaty of Paris and the Quebec Act, that
language, religion, and laws should be preserved, undoubtedly has saved
Quebec from extinction by conquest.
This great province is bounded on the north by Labrador and the Gulf of
the St. Lawrence, and on the south by New Brunswick and the States of
Maine, New Hampshire and Vermont and New York.
The great St. Lawrence river flows through its entire length, and
is navigable for ships as far as the city of Quebec; while great
ocean-going liners come from the Old World and up this river as far
as the city of Quebec, and those of not more than five thousand tons
continue up the river as far as Montreal. This latter city is Canada's
largest and most important settlement.
The city of Quebec is the capital of the province from which it derives
its name, and once, long years ago, it was the capital of all Canada,
and is still known as "The ancient capital."
It is certainly a very picturesque part of the New World, and not the
least interesting are the French Canadian people, descendent of the
early voyageurs who came to this corner of the globe as early as the
year 1535 A. D. One still finds in lower Canada the same spirit that
kept up the fight for the Fleur de lis long after the "few acres of
snow" had been abandoned by the French King, Louis Fourteenth.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
PREFACE v
I AN INTRODUCTION 1
II TWO WONDERFUL EVENTS 17
III NEW YEAR'S DAY 29
IV NEW NEIGHBORS 36
V A SIGHT-SEEING TOUR 52
VI A LITTLE TRAVELER 75
VII THE CITY OF QUEBEC 87
VIII AT HOME 112
List of Illustrations
PAGE
"AT FIRST OISETTE WAS TERRIBLY SHY." (_See page 37_) _Frontispiece_
"MR. SAGE . . . WAS WAVING A GREENBACK IN MONSIEUR
TREMBLENT'S FACE" 18
"BERNADETTE . . . LOOKED UP" 21
"THEY DROVE INTO THE CITY" 25
"SOME OF THE BOYS ARRIVING ON SNOWSHOES BROUGHT
FRIENDS WITH THEM" 29
"'ARE YOU GOING TO THE CITADEL IN ONE OF THOSE
FUNNY CALÊCHE THINGS?'" 100
Our Little Quebec Cousin
CHAPTER I
AN INTRODUCTION
THE traveler who comes to visit on the island of Montreal gets no
correct idea of the beauty of it all until he has climbed to the top
of Mount Royal, which rises directly behind the great city of Montreal
in the Province of Quebec. From this elevation, about one thousand
feet above sea level, the observer beholds not only the banks of the
St. Lawrence river, with its warehouses, grain elevators and shipping;
he sees not only this solidly built city of churches--but far to his
left stretches the farming country of the Province of Quebec, far to
his right, on clear days he can see the Adirondack Mountains and Lake
Champlain, while on the opposite shores of the St. Lawrence, spanned by
the once famous Victoria Bridge, he sees the villages of Longueil and
St. Lambert.
Then, from the very summit of this mountain, he must also look behind
him and see the numerous small towns and villages that lie back of
Mount Royal, all of these being reached by tramways which run out from
Montreal.
The largest of these settlements are known, one as Outremont, the other
as Cote-des-Neiges; translated into English these would be known as
"behind the mountain" and "hill of snow."
It was in the latter village of Cote-des-Neiges that little Oisette
Mary Tremblent, our little Canadian, or, rather, our little Quebec
cousin, was born. The French Canadian child is the product of five
generations of French people whose ancestors came from France with
Champlain and Jacques Cartier, and who, when the British won Canada
from France, were allowed by the British to keep their own tongue,
their own religion and their own flag.
Let me introduce Oisette Mary Tremblent, our little Quebec cousin, to
you. Behold, then, a very plump little girl, with skin the color of
saffron tea and a nose as flat as flat can be. There never were such
bead-like eyes, nor such black shiny hair as hers.
She usually wore a black and red checked dress of worsted, with bright
blue collar and cuffs, and around her neck was a purple ribbon, on
which was hung a silver medal. On this medal was stamped the figure of
the Blessed Virgin Mary.
It will be seen that Oisette Mary's people loved gay colors.
She was a very happy little girl from the time she slipped out of bed
in the morning, always awakened by the neighboring church bell of the
parish ringing its three strokes--"Father, Son and Holy Ghost." When
she heard this bell, Oisette bowed her little head three times and made
the sign of the Cross.
Her day was thirteen hours long and she knew no naps! Small wonder that
she fell asleep the moment her head touched the pillows, and she heard
nothing of the violin playing, the singing and sometimes dancing that
went on in the rooms below stairs.
Oisette Mary had two older sisters away at a convent school, two older
brothers, one already studying for the priesthood, and one small baby
brother, who spent long hours on the cottage floor with "Carleau" the
dog, for company.
A family of six children! What a large family you think? Not at all!
French Canadian families frequently number twelve or more, and less
than ten children is counted as a small household.
Monsieur Tremblent, Oisette's father, owned a large and valuable melon
patch. You know Montreal melon is famous the world over; and on fine
days in August one could see Monsieur Tremblent walking slowly along,
counting his melons as they grew.
"Un, deux, trois, quatre," he would murmur. In his wake little Oisette
would follow, gay little parrot that she was, also repeating after him.
"Cinque, six, sept, huit." In this way she had learned to count.
Now, it happened that the tenth melon was a large fine one, and, when
Oisette beheld it, she sat right down beside it, put her two little
arms around it and murmured: "C'est pour Monsieur, le Curé," which
translated into English reads: "This is for the priest." Her father
chuckled and said to Louis, her brother, who was weeding hard by, "She
is just like her mother, the little one, she always remembers the
priest."
Madame Tremblent was diminutive in stature, her two interests in life
were her home and her church; she understood the English language as
she heard it spoken, but she had never attempted to utter a word in
English herself, nor could she read a line of anything but French.
Her husband wore a silk hat and frock coat on Sundays and Holy Days, he
attended political meetings and was a keen politician, could address
a meeting in either tongue, as can most young Canadian Frenchmen; but
Madame apparently took no interest other than to see that her husband's
coat was well brushed, his silk hat very glossy indeed.
She consulted her priest when anything worried her, she had so little
faith in banks that she always carried her house-keeping money either
in her stocking or in her petticoat pockets.
There came a day in early September when quantities of melons were
gathered for the market, put in the big farm wagon, and Oisette was
allowed to sit by her father on the high seat as they drove to the
Bonsecour Market in Montreal. The start was made in the early morning.
Oisette sang to herself as they rumbled along.
"Alouette, gentille Alouette, Alouette, Je te plumerai,
Je te plumerai la tête, Je te plumerai la tête,
O Alouette, gentille Alouette, Alouette, Je te plumerai."[1]
The French Canadian is apt to sing when he is very happy, and Oisette
was especially happy to-day, for she knew that that tenth melon, or one
very like it, had been left in the front vestibule of her home, ready
to be sent to the priest's home later in the day.
There is one quality that the French Canadian child has, which is
not always to be found in children of every nationality: namely,
obedience. One seldom finds a naughty or willful little French boy or
girl. They are stolid perhaps and placid, but there is no kicking or
screaming.
On this particular September morning, Oisette, when the Bonsecour
Market was finally reached, waited patiently for her father, she sat
on the high seat now by herself. The team, along with many others, was
lined up beside the market. From this perch she could see the beautiful
river, the boats coming in and leaving the harbor; she could see the
wharves and the loading and unloading of great steamers. It was all
very fascinating.
Then back of her was the great market, all the stalls were piled high
with fruit and vegetables of every size and shape in a riot of color.
Along the pavement were coops of live chickens and turkeys. There were
long pouches of "black pudding," dangling from the booths. The stalls
were heaped with home grown tobacco, dark slabs of maple sugar, home
woven toweling, curtains, rugs, carpets, firmly knit socks, elaborately
plaited mats. A charm and a glamor hangs over the generally commonplace
business of buying and selling, getting gain, and making provision for
the needs of the day. The whole thing is like a gay picture book. There
are groups of _habitant_ women, all talking in chorus; the queer little
blue and red carts that have come from across the river by ferry; the
small pink pigs squealing their hardest as they are lifted from the
crates of the vendors to the sacks of the purchasers; the squawking of
fowls whose end is near. Certainly Bonsecour Market is a spot to be
visited if one would see the _Habitant_ in his happiest mood.
About ten o'clock the customers arrive. There are lovely ladies in
limousines, and sometimes there would hop out of a motor a pretty
little English Canadian girl, to buy some nuts from open bags which
always stand in rows along the pavements.
One day a very lively little missie gave Oisette a handful of English
walnuts and invited her to climb down and come inside the market and
see some little pigs.
But Oisette had been told to remain on guard, and remain she did. Now
and then she would have a glimpse of her father as he went from stall
to stall disposing of his stock.
One of his best customers was an old Irish dame, who had a French name
because she had married in her youth one Alphonse LeBlanc, but she
did not speak French at all. She was very popular with the English
customers, and many of the "quality" (as she called them), bought her
fruit and vegetables because she spoke their tongue. Her manners, too,
made her famous throughout the market. As a customer arrived, she would
make a deep curtsy, as though Royalty approached, and would say in her
rich brogue, "And what fer yez, Darlin?"
One market day, when a cold slanting rain came on, Madame LeBlanc
insisted that Monsieur Tremblent should lift little Oisette down and
bring her inside Madame's stall.
So she was made very cozy beside a diminutive stove, known as a Quebec
heater. It certainly was a very warmth giving stove, with a black iron
kettle on the top, which poured forth a long plume of white steam. On
a shelf hard by a big yellow and black cat purred very loud, as though
trying to beat the kettle. He was flanked on each side by pyramids of
cheese.
In spite of wind and weather, customers arrived, one and two at a time;
they would step inside one at a time, leaving just room enough for
Madame to curtsy. Most of them noticed Oisette and asked Madame about
her. When Monsieur Tremblent came back at last to call for his little
girl, he found she had made friends with the cat and had her pockets
full of latire (molasses candy), and was holding a big red apple. Small
wonder that her face was wreathed in smiles.
When her father opened the door, Oisette heard Madame say: "Come in,
dear, shut the door, and we'll have a cup of tay."
A cup of this strong brewing was prepared for little Oisette as a
matter of course--which may explain why her complexion was so murky.
On this particular market day however, as she sat beside her father,
the fresh September breeze gave her a very bright color, and her eyes
were shining with excitement. Several lovely things had happened, all
of which she would remember to tell her mother about when home was
reached. First there was a band of music leading some fine-looking
soldier boys along the road, and the tune was very catching. The boys
were all singing "Over There" as they swung along. Then, because some
road was closed for repairs, her father had driven into town by a new
route and she saw, for the first time, a statue of the late King Edward
the Seventh, which she admired very much. Then after the big market
wagon rumbled down a very steep long hill, she saw the monument in
_Place d'Armes_ Square known as "The Landing of Maisonneuve."
This was an old friend, but she was never tired of looking at it, and
knew all the figures about the base. There was the fierce Iroquois
Indian crouching for his prey. There was the huntsman with his gun and
dog; there was the sweet-faced nun, Jeanne Mance, who founded the order
of Black Nuns in Canada, and then, atop of all, was the dashing French
Cavalier Maisonneuve in his plumed hat, corselet and top boots. He was
the founder of this great city of Montreal in the year 1642.
She was never tired of hearing the story of those early days as her
father told it to her.
How the brave voyageurs had come to a land filled with hostile tribes
of Indians. First these adventurous Frenchmen settled in Quebec,
the city of Quebec was founded, and then Paul de Comedy, Sire de
Maisonneuve, being anxious to follow up this great river St. Lawrence,
coaxed his men to row with him the one hundred and sixty miles right
against a swift current until they came to Mount Royal and beheld the
swift rapids in the river; these are now called Lachine Rapids. So they
decided to land and build another village.
One can read in Parkman's history a very clear picture of that scene,
just at twilight when they stepped from their boats and tired as they
were, they stopped to build an altar and hold a mass of thanksgiving
to God for the safe journey. For lights on that altar, they imprisoned
fireflies in bottles and the company all knelt on the ground while the
mass was said. They were watched by hostile Iroquois Indians who lurked
in the shadow of the trees.
All this was long long ago. There are no more Indians wearing blankets
nowadays. But on this spot where mass was said rises the great solid
city of Montreal with its two nationalities, French and English, trying
to live in harmony.
This statue stands in _Place d'Armes_ Square, just in front of the
famous Notre Dame church, with its twin towers, two hundred and
twenty-seven feet high. In these towers hang some famous chimes. One
bell of this chime weighs twenty-four thousand seven hundred and eighty
pounds and is known as the Great Bourdon. It takes seven men to ring
it, and it has a deep booming note that is heard for miles.
There is a legend about this corner of the square where this church
stands. It seems that there is always a breeze blowing just here,
even the very hottest day in summer, and the story goes that on this
corner the Devil and the Wind once met, and the wind as it swept up
from the river and swirled around the corner said to the Devil: "I'll
travel along with you," and Satan replied, "Before we start, I must go
into this great church here and confess my sins, so you wait around
this corner until I am done." And the wind said: "Very well, I'll hang
around." Now, when the Devil got into the confessional, he had so many
sins to confess that he is still there, and the wind still waits on
that corner; waiting, waiting.
One day when Oisette Mary drove past that street corner, the wind did
sweep up through the narrow street, from the river, swirl around the
corner and away went her hat rolling across the square, driven by
the summer breeze until it was caught at the base of the Maisonneuve
monument and finally handed back to her by a French boy. So she never
forgot the legend.
FOOTNOTE:
[1]
"Alouette, stylish Alouette, Alouette, I adorn myself for thee,
For thee I adorn the head, For thee I adorn the head,
Oh Alouette, pretty Alouette, I adorn myself for thee."
In translation this popular song seems to lose all meaning, rhythm and
sentiment. One needs to hear the appeal in the French Canadian voice as
he dwells on the "Oh Alouetta."